Chapter Text
Alastor makes a point of sampling every new restaurant in New Orleans. If they are good enough, he talks about them on his show. Even if they don’t quite meet that standard, they can still be enjoyable, especially if there is music. Tonight’s venue is a little establishment in the Garden District. It has a beautifully candle lit outdoor dining area, complete with a miniature bandstand though there is regrettably no music tonight.
Also regrettable: The number of happy couples cooing at each other over their meals. Alastor can’t quite put his finger on why this bothers him but it does. Perhaps, deep down, he wants to find a sweetheart of his own? His mama seems to think he will eventually. But Alastor isn’t convinced that he is craving it on any level. Actually, he is hoping that meeting the right lady will kick start the desire that seems to come so naturally to everyone else. Unless they are exaggerating their feelings as part of some elaborate courtship ritual, which Alastor half suspects is the case.
Enough of that. He sets bothersome thoughts aside, tunes out the tiresome lovestruck couples and focuses on the gumbo he selected from the menu. Not too fussy a menu, he noted, which he takes to be a good sign. Better to do a few dishes right than serve wide ranging but substandard fare. A few bites confirms that this establishment knows what it’s doing.
A few people glance his way, some looking almost pitying. One tiresome thing about couples – and people in general really – is their assumption that anyone eating alone must be miserable. Alastor keeps his smile in place and ignores them. He chose to eat alone. Better to scope out venues in advance of bringing other people. There is a certain subtle power to be gained from being the one who knows the best places. Since this place meets his high standards, he might come back with friends. Or, well, with acquaintances. Friends might be stretching it. He has never quite seen the point of getting too attached to people.
It's not that he doesn’t know how. How people go about getting attached seems easy enough. Alastor knows plenty of people through work: Radio technicians, script writers, musicians, fellow hosts. Even a few people he’s interviewed have stayed in touch. People are easy enough to charm. Flatter them, find things in common, do those things together. It is the why that puzzles him.
Or not. Obviously there is influence to be had. Alastor is well aware that he has people in his life who consider him a friend, and that these people are more likely to do as he asks or to offer him favours. But he knows full well that that is not what his mama would call friendship.
Of course, his mama and her friends are all women. Perhaps it is different for men. They are baser creatures and they meet through work, where they are in competition. Although Alastor isn’t sure any of his relationships would meet his mama’s definition of friendship, but he does at least enjoy spending time with many of the women of his acquaintance. Time with women can be relaxing and comfortable, and Alastor is more lenient with them when it comes to the favours he is prepared to give in return. Time spent with men is just groundwork, preparation in case the man ends up being key to gaining a better broadcasting slot or an exclusive interview.
Though, in fairness to men, they rarely expect Alastor to go to bed with them or do any of the baffling activities that seem to prelude that. Not never, but rarely. For all he prefers to spend his time with the ladies of his acquaintance, Alastor has had to distance himself from a few after accusations of being a tease or a heartbreaker. The last thing he’d want to do is break a lady’s heart.
Well, second last. Going to bed with her would be a step too far in sparing her feelings.
Alastor tries to put these troublesome thoughts from his mind but it’s hard when he is surrounded by courting couples. In every corner of the garden, men and women are whispering together or staring soulfully into each other’s eyes. On the other side of the bandstand, a woman lifts her hair so her gentleman friend can fasten a necklace. The pair seated right in front of Alastor have abandoned their meal entirely and are openly necking across the table.
Alastor looks down at his food. When he comes here again, he must ask for a table inside. Perhaps it’s less romantic there. Just in case it isn’t, he must come with several people, not just one who might get the wrong idea.
Glancing up, he sees the man reach across the table to cup the woman’s breast, and feels himself blush. Really, they’re in public!
The woman seems not to mind, though, so Alastor doesn’t intervene. Instead, he focuses on his meal. It really is very good, enough that it actually manages to distract him from the horrible display at the other table.
Then there is a shriek. Looking up, Alastor sees a new customer has entered the garden, an older woman who stops still, staring at the couple in front of him. Disgust is written across her face. Alastor is a little relieved that he isn’t the only one with that reaction.
The man at the table stands up quickly, sending cutlery clattering to the ground. “Honey” he says, “This isn’t what you think!”
The new woman laughs. “Milton, you great lump! I saw you kissing her!” She marches over to the table, snatches up a half finished glass of wine and throws what is left of it across the man’s chest. “You bastard! Again! Do twenty years of marriage mean nothing to you?!”
The rest of the diners have grown silent. There is some awkward shuffling. Good, thinks Alastor. He has felt awkward witnessing this cad’s courtship display all evening while they were busy with displays of their own.
The cad in question opens and closes his mouth a few times. His wife glares and the little blonde sat opposite him stares at the pair of them, then scowls when the wife turns to her and says, “And you, you little floozy! Don’t go thinking you’ll get a penny out of him! It’s not his money anyway, it’s all from my daddy!”
“Pfft, your daddy!” snaps the husband, “Damn the old bastard and his money!”
“Make some of your own then!” shouts his wife, “And stop wasting your time with floozies!”
“Hey!” the blonde woman finally snaps, “Watch who you’re calling a floozy! When Milton leaves you, I’m getting the final say in your allowance, you know.”
Milton seems to surprised to hear this. His wife scoffs. “Oh, he’s said he’s leaving me, has he? He said the same to that bitch in Lakeview, and the one out in Lafeyette!” She turns to her husband. “I bet you have whores all over the state, don’t you, you bastard?”
The man gapes at her and then at his mistress. The mistress asks, “Milton?”
“Mimzy” he begins, “I…” He trails off under her expectant gaze. When he can’t come up with a better explanation, she sits back with a huff. “Oh, what the fuck! I thought I was special!”
“Special is one word for it” Milton mutters.
Mimzy stares. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His wife answers. “It means” she says, “Find your own husband and stop trying to steal mine! Milton, we’re leaving.” She turns and marches out. Milton hurries after her. Keen to keep his access to her father’s money, Alastor supposes.
“Wait!” says Mimzy as they leave, “What about the cheque…?” But they have gone.
Mimzy sits back in her chair and starts to cry. Loudly.
Around her, the rest of the customers go slowly back to their conversations, glancing every so often at the table where the drama unfolded. A nervous looking waitress approaches the weeping Mimzy and tries to soothe her, but she flaps her hand at the girl until she retreats.
Alastor wonders if this glimpse of the marital bliss he’s supposedly missing out on merits a mention on his show. Probably not. His producers like to stay away from adultery that isn’t their own.
Mimzy is still crying. Sitting here and just waiting for her to stop is starting to feel ungentlemanly.
Alastor is torn. On one hand, this really is an excellent gumbo and he doesn’t want to interrupt his enjoyment of it to engage with a stranger’s emotions, emotions hardly being his area of expertise in any case. On the other, his mother raised him to be chivalrous to those of fairer means.
As soon as he thinks that, it is as if mama is at the table, giving him a disapproving look. Fine, mama, he thinks wearily, and stands up to head over to the crying woman.
“There, there, my dear, I’m sure it can’t be as bad as all that” he says as he slips into the seat opposite. He hands her his handkerchief.
She stares at him. “Oh, but it is! You caught the show, didn’t ya?”
Well, Alastor thinks, it was a flawed conversational opener. It obviously is as bad as all that to Mimzy and now he has dismissed her feelings. See, mama, this is why I should stick to gumbo. “Well” he tries, “The man didn’t seem to be worth your time.”
“Oh he isn’t! You wait til I see him next, I’ll show him who’s special!” Mimzy blows her nose loudly and offers the handkerchief back.
“No, no” says Alastor, “Keep it.”
“Thanks.” She snuffles a little, then looks at him properly. “Say, don’t I know you?”
Alastor opens his mouth to deny it, then looks at her properly. The lighting is a little better at this table, it being close to a string of tealights as well as having a candle in the centre. Now that he looks at Mimzy in better lighting, without a cad in her face, he realises they have met before. “Sam’s Place?” he asks, naming a dingy little club that sells excellent whiskey. “You perform there?”
“Yes, that’s right! Oh, so you must be one of my fans!”
This is putting it strongly, but Alastor nods, and she preens, practically bouncing in her seat at the thought of being admired. She tells him, “I shoulda known you’re a man of good taste, you looking all refined and all.”
Alastor offers his hand across the table. “Alastor. Pleasure to be meeting you.”
She takes it with a surprisingly firm shake. “Mimzy. But ya knew that already.”
Alastor did, but only because of the drama with the wife, not from her performances as she is clearly hoping. Some of the dancing at Sam’s Place is surprisingly good but he doesn’t know the name of every last performer. It wouldn’t do to say so though, so he just smiles.
Mimzy makes an attempt to clean up the make up that ran when she cried, dabbing at it first with the handkerchief, then with a napkin, checking herself in a compact mirror that she seems to produce from nowhere. “That bitch, making me cry” she comments. “You know she expects him to watch the kids while she plays bridge with her pals? That’s why he goes to Sam’s, he has to pretend he’s working because she’s too stingy to hire a sitter.”
Really, Alastor is fairly certain dear Milton goes to Sam’s to pick up impressionable women half his age. “I wouldn’t waste another thought on him, my dear.”
“Oh, I won’t. He wants to stay hen pecked, he’s welcome to it. I coulda showed him a good time.” Mimzy snaps her compact mirror closed and turns to Alastor with a grin. “So are you gonna tell me you’re so much better than him? That you don’t got any floozies in Lafeyette?”
Alastor blushes, then laughs in a doomed attempt to hide the blush. “No, no floozies. And I like to think that if I had children, I wouldn’t find watching them while my wife played bridge too onerous a task.” This is true, but the idea still makes him suppress a shudder. Wife? Children? He wouldn’t know himself.
Mimzy laughs like he’s said something funny. “So you don’t got kids? You’re not married?”
Alastor shakes his head. “Still free as a bird.”
“Ah, spreading your wild oats.”
Alastor blushes again. This time Mimzy notices and laughs again. “Aw, sweetie, are ya shy?”
Alastor recovers himself with a laugh of his own. “Far from it. I do talk to nine thousand people daily after all!”
When Mimzy looks blank, he proudly tells her about his work. Her eyes sparkle. “Oh, you’re that Alastor! I’ve been listening to your show since I got to this city! Fancy you coming to Sam’s to watch little old me perform! Hey, this means we’re both fans of each other!” Mimzy laughs again, then batters her eyelashes in a way that makes Alastor wish he’d faked being married. It is a relief when all she says is, “I, ah…I don’t suppose you could pick up the cheque? Since I’m a fan and all. I’ll pay ya back!”
Alastor chuckles at how forward the request is. Almost too forward, but she is a lady and he does have money now. “There’s no need to owe me. Of course I’ll cover your cheque.”
“Thanks, Alastor. You’re a real gent.”
“All my mama’s doing, I assure you.”
She giggles. “Well, you tell her from me she did a good job.”
Alastor beams at the compliment, both to himself and mama.
Mimzy gestures to his table. “Were ya eating alone?”
“Naturally. It allows me to focus on the food.” For some reason, Mimzy laughs, so Alastor elaborates, “If the food meets my standards, I’ll bring friends next time.”
She blinks owlishly at him. “Wait, you’re serious? You were eating alone voluntarily?”
Alastor shrugs. “Mai oui.”
To his surprise, Mimzy looks blank at the French. She must not have been in New Orleans long, he realises. Good. Less time to grow attached to Milton. He translates, “Yes.”
“Huh. I could never. I wouldn’t want people thinking I was some sad pill. But maybe it’s different for you fellas. Ya don’t have to rely on someone else to keep you hip to the jive.” Mimzy smiles and bats her eyelids as she says that last part and Alastor can’t help but laugh at how quickly and shamelessly she switches from insulting him to complimenting his independence.
Mimzy adds, “Why don’t you bring your plate over? I don’t count as a friend yet so you can still do your lonesome thing.”
Alastor fetches his plate. It is only as he puts it down at her table that he notices the yet.