Mr. Pettigrew Although Bruce does not drink, he offers to buy me a drink in the Kingfish bar at the Hilton Capitol Center in Baton Rouge. Kingfish is for Huey P. Long who built the Capitol, the tallest in the United States. I remember Huey P. Longs name. I remember his cry, Every man a king! I had not known how bloody and tragic was the death of Huey P. Long, nor could I have imagined that so many years later, any mans presence would linger so long in any place, not a ghost but a living presence. The hotel driver speaks as if the Kingfish was just down the street at the Capitol, and quickly recounts all of his achievements. Over the city hangs a gauzy veil of old Southern ways and green moss; along the long walk beside the great river are hundreds of light poles and filigreed benches. Earlier in the day beside the river, Id seen a homeless man sleeping long into the morning, zipped in layers of hoodies and wrapped in old jeans. Bruces hand is warm in mine as we sit in a massive red velvet chair that could seat five average people. The bartender, slim and elegant, with a fine brown flavor-saver and flashing brown eyes, comes to our corner. Mr. Pettigrew would like to buy you two a drink, he says. Looking back to the bar, he indicates an elderly gentleman in a gray serge suit sipping whisky – Pettigrew. Bruce and I smile. Bruce says, Tell Mr. Pettigrew well have his next round. Bruce gets club soda and I have Jamesons on Pettigrews dime. Wordlessly, Bruce and I think, Oh, the lonely Southern gentleman. We know there is some story there and are already imagining, although weve just come to this place and do not know it well. Soon, Pettigrew rises from the bar and comes over. We stand to greet him. Hes about 70, I think, and has the soft Louisiana accent, like slow honey. I thought you would like to know why I bought you a drink, he says after shaking Bruces hand. Without waiting for us to answer, he continues, looking past us through the French doors. I saw you two walking down the street holding hands. You looked so happy. Then he smiles at us. Bruces hand tightens on mine. You never see people in our age range looking so happy, he says. He turns to me and nods politely. Oh not you, maam, he says. Then he looks toward Bruce. But you – youre in my age range. Bruces dimple deepens but I feel his displeasure at being shoved roughly past AARP postcards into the twilight years in a single phrase. We exchange a few more words and Pettigrew returns to his seat at the bar. The barstools are pink leather, punctuated with huge brass brads. I think that comment was more about Pettigrew than you, I tell Bruce. I mean it, but hes still smarting. Pettigrew was truly old; Bruce and I grow younger every day. Then a crowd of ten to twelve women, all heights, hair colors and sizes, ranging in age from their mid-twenties to late fifties, rushes into the bar from the lobby. Theyre loud and happy brightly-made up birds, twittering with joy. They envelop Pettigrew and make over him, touching his shoulder, kissing his cheek, patting his hand. He is in his element, beaming. His harem has arrived. So much for the lonely old guy, I say as we finish our drinks and stand to leave, for Pettigrew has refused our offer of another drink and hes quite busy. We cross the grand lobby with its ancient furnishings and marble floors. I think hes not a person at all, Bruce says. I think hes a troll. He lives under the bridge, I say, meaning the I-10 bridge across the great river. Hes going to eat some of those women, Bruce says. He could be a brownie or a redcap, I say as we get in the elevator. They eat people. Hes hundreds of years old, says Bruce. Therell be nothing left but their shoes and teeth in the morning, I say. And by that time we are laughing so hard that the woman approaching us down the hall glares and thinks we are quite drunk. And so we are – but not on liquor. We have entered a world where the Kingfish is still alive, and our hearts are full with old Southern blood and love. In the morning I walk along the Mississippi, but not near the bridge. The homeless man was quite wise to wrap himself so tight. There are some things youd just rather not see.
Posted on: Sun, 09 Mar 2014 06:16:53 +0000
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