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348 pages, Hardcover
First published February 12, 2013
How many college girls cleaned cathouses?
"You're named after a madam. I'm named after a murderer. Mine's worse."
“This town will eat you up if you’re not careful. But I won’t be here forever.”
“Let me tell you something 'bout these rich Uptown folk,” said Cokie. “They got everything that money can buy, their bank accounts are fat, but they ain’t happy. They ain’t ever gone be happy. You know why? They soul broke. And money can’t fix that.”
“What do you do with all this bank, Josie? Be a lot easier if you just lifted your skirt.”
“The only reason I’d lift my skirt is to pull out my pistol and plug you in the head.”
“My mother’s a prostitute. Not the filthy, streetwalking kind. She’s actually quite pretty, fairly well spoken, and has lovely clothes. But she sleeps with men for money or gifts, and according to the dictionary, that makes her a prostitute.”
“There was something ice-cold, dead in Cincinnati.”
"Let me tell you something 'bout these rich Uptown folk," said Cokie. "They got everything that money can buy, their bank accounts are fat, but they ain't happy. They ain't ever gone be happy. You know why? They soul broke. And money can't fix that, no sir."
"Why you frettin', Jo? You not sure?"
I inhaled my tears in order to speak. "I'm sure I want to go, but I'm not sure it's possible.Why would they accept me? And if they did, how would I pay for it? I don't want to get my hopes up only to be disappointed. I'm always disappointed."
"Now don't let fear keep you in New Orleans. Sometimes we set off down a road thinkin' we're goin' one place and we end up another. But that's okay. The important thing is to start. I know you can do it. Come on, Josie girl, give those ol' wings a try."
"Willie doesn't want me to."
"So what, you gonna stay here just so you can clean her house and run around with all the naked crazies in the Quarter? You got a bigger story than that."
The scent of Havana tobacco draped thick from the magnolia trees in the front yard. Ice cubes mingled and clinked against the sides of crystal tumblers. Patrick said hello to a group of men sitting on the veranda. I heard the pop of a champagne cork and laughter from inside.
Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else...these pages must show.
"I've got a business to run. Elmo's bringing over a new bed frame. Dora broke her's last night. That girl should be in a side show, not a whorehouse."
"They drink like fish and ask the most probing questions."
"Welcome to the South." Patrick laughed.
"Patrick explained that your father is absent. What about your mother, dear?"
Mother? Oh, she's in a dusty motel in California right now, cooling herself with a cold Schlitz in her cleavage.
If I poured all the lies I had told into the Mississippi, the river would rise and flood the city.
Charlie Marlowe never wrote horror, but somehow horror was writing Charlie Marlowe.
I wasn't certain of anything anymore, except that New Orleans was a faithless friend and I wanted to leave her.