SEBASTIAN
Ipick Lana up from outside the shop early on Friday afternoon. She’s already waiting for me on the sidewalk, pulling her suitcase along behind her, an excited grin on her face.
The flight from New York to New Orleans is almost four hours long, meaning we should get there just after six p.m., if all goes well.
But, before that, we have to get from East Hampton to New York.
The quickest way is via seaplane, which takes about thirty-five minutes, and then from there, we can catch a cab to LaGuardia Airport.
I’ve booked us first-class tickets, so we sit in luxury, watching a movie together, and drinking champagne as we fly.
When we enter the room Lana looks around wide-eyed.
“Oh my god, this place is like a fairy-tale.”
“I’m glad you like it. I wanted you to have the full New Orleans experience. Tonight, we have the choice of two restaurants here in the hotel. Or we can go out and explore.”
“Or we can order room service,” Lana suggests with a raised eyebrow.
“You know I was only half-serious about spending all our time in the hotel room,” I reply, as I lounge on the Louis XVI-style sofa, which is upholstered in an intricate gold and cream damask pattern.
Lana kicks off her shoes and comes to sit on the other end of the couch. “I know, but I’m tired from travelling. We can stay in tonight, and then tomorrow, we can explore.”
“Okay, what do you feel like for dinner?”
After looking through the menu, we decide to get a number of dishes we can share, including crawfish hushpuppies, with smoked chorizo aioli, fried green tomatoes, truffle fries and marinated olives, along with a bottle of champagne.
“I’m just going to freshen up,” Lana tells me, as we wait for our food to arrive.
I’m tempted to join her in the bathroom, but I don’t know how long it will take for room service to get here, so instead, I switch on the TV.
It isn’t long before Lana returns, freshly showered and wearing one of the complimentary robes.
My eyes widen as she approaches, and she unfastens the robe slightly to reveal she’s not wearing anything underneath. But, before I can even make my move, there’s a knock at the door.
“Room service,” the person outside calls.
With a frustrated groan, I get up off the couch and answer the door.
A female server wearing smart black uniform wheels in a golden service trolley. “Where would you like me to serve dinner, sir?”
“At the table, please,” I say, gesturing in the direction of the small, three-seater table that overlooks the French quarter.
The server lays everything out, placing the champagne bucket on the table, too, and then says, “When you’re finished you can call me back in to clear up,” she glances hesitantly at Lana.
“Or if you’d prefer not to be disturbed just load up the service trolley and leave it outside your room for me to collect. ”
Lana snickers and the server blushes, before excusing herself.
Feeling terrible for embarrassing the young woman, I make sure to give her a generous tip as she leaves.
When I close the door behind me, I turn to find Lana seated at the table, still robed, and pouring us both Champagne.
“The view from here is amazing. I need to get pictures so I can paint when I get home.”
“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?” I ask as I join Lana at the table.
We help ourselves to bits of the various dishes provided.
“Everything,” Lana replies with a light laugh. “I want to visit Bourbon Street, and tour all the popular places, like the Mardi Gras Museum, the Garden District and St. Louis Cathedral. Oh, and we have to take a steamboat along the Mississippi.”
I laugh at her enthusiasm. “I hope we can fit it all in.”
“I’m sure we will,” Lana replies, then bites into her crawfish hush puppy.
The food is amazing. It’s cooked to perfection, with local and fresh ingredients, and spiced in the perfect Cajun way.
“Do you want dessert?” I ask, once we’ve eaten our fill of everything, and the bottle of Champagne is almost empty.
“I couldn’t eat another bite,” Lana insists, with a satisfied smile. “And I don’t want to be too full to enjoy beignets, as I’ve heard they’re amazing.”
“We’ll have some for breakfast tomorrow, with cafe au lait,” I reply, and Lana grins.
“Perfection.” She stands from the table and starts loading the empty plates onto the service trolley.
“I can do that, you should relax,” I say.
“No, I’ll do it. You go shower and make yourself pretty for me.”
Lana flashes me a devilish grin that makes my dick twitch. “Yes Ma’am.”
As Lana wheels the trolley out, I get into the massive shower. It’s more than big enough to fit three people, maybe even four, and I’m thrilled when Lana enters the bathroom and drops her robe. She pulls back the glass screen, and then gets under the hot stream of water with me.
I take the loofah and shower gel and start smoothing it over her skin.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our phone call,” I whisper in her ear, as I lather soap on her breasts. “Knowing you were touching yourself and thinking of me was so hot. I want to watch you make yourself come.”
“Only if I get the same treat in return,” Lana replies, tugging on my cock.
On the wall opposite the shower attachment is a raised platform. I don’t know if it’s for storing toiletries on, or what, but when I test it, it seems more than sturdy enough to hold a person’s weight.
I take Lana’s hands, and lead her over to the platform, then instruct her to sit down.
I reposition the spray of water, so it’s raining down on both of us, and then stand opposite Lana, my gaze locked on hers. I take hold of my cock and start stroking it.
I watch as Lana opens her legs, and with one hand spreads her labia, while the other strokes from her opening to her clit, and then she slowly circles it.
I want to close the distance between us, and suck on her glorious tits, but I hold myself back, simply enjoying the view, as my grip on my dick gets firmer.
Lana lets out a heavy sigh, and her hand starts moving faster, her finger circling her clit rapidly. I increase my own pace, jerking on the head of my cock until it’s throbbing.
“Oh god, I’m gonna come,” Lana says breathlessly, and I take that as my queue.
I finally close the distance between us, first sucking on her breasts until both nipples are stiff peaks. Then, I bend Lana over the ledge, and pound into her from behind. My one hand plays with her clit, as the other strokes her nipple, and we both find our release almost instantly.
I kiss the back of Lana’s neck, and her shoulders, and down her spine, as my breathing returns to normal, and I go limp inside her.
“I love you,” I whisper against her skin.
“I love you too.”
We finish up in the shower, and then I carry Lana to bed, bridal style, and we’re soon ready for our second love-making session.
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I don’t know how we manage to wake up the following morning, considering we had so little sleep the night before, but we eventually make it to the exclusive club member’s suite for breakfast.
The room is expansive, with the same Louis XVI-style furniture as our suite. There are a handful of other guests in there, mostly couples or lone businesspeople, helping themselves to the breakfast buffet laid out.
Lana and I get beignets and coffee and settle at a small table by the window. An older couple close by gives us a friendly smile as we approach, and I suddenly envision Lana and I coming here in ten years’ time, for our wedding anniversary or something.
After breakfast, we don’t waste any time going out to explore.
As Bourbon Street and the French Quarter are most lively at night, we decide to save them for later.
We start with a walk around the city, heading in the direction of the Garden District, where author Anne Rice used to live in a Greek Revival style house on First Street.
Lana takes plenty of photos of the grand old mansions, as well as the massive oak trees lining the sidewalk, and the cable car that travels down St. Charles Avenue.
From there, we travel to St. Louis Cathedral.
The white building is the oldest cathedral in continuous use in the United States and has three tall towers with pointed roofs.
The central tower is slightly taller than the ones on the left and right and has a large clock face on the third storey.
Once again, Lana stops to take a number of photos, before we tour the inside of the cathedral.
Inside is a high, arched ceiling painted with beautiful religious murals.
The floor is black and white checkered marble and leads to the high altar at the front.
According to Lana, it's a gilded altar in Rococo-style. It’s adorned with carved angels and flanked by statues of Saints Peter and Paul, while statues of Faith, Hope, and Charity look down from above.
We spend hours in the cathedral as Lana takes pictures of everything, from the wooden pews to the stunning stained-glass windows, and the various shrines and statues. I imagine she takes enough material to produce paintings for years to come.
From St. Louis Cathedral, we make our way to the Mardi Gras Museum, where they offer regular tours that showcase the various Papier-maché floats and statues, and the artists working on them. As with the cathedral, we’re there for hours so that Lana can take as many pictures as she likes.
I love seeing her so happy, and so excited about something, and the joy in her eyes as she snaps photo after photo makes the trip all the more magical for me.
When we leave the Mardi Gras Museum, it’s time for us to board our daytime jazz cruise on the Mississippi.
We embark on the steamboat, and we’re treated to live music, while we eat from a buffet menu including fried fish, red beans and rice, and chicken jambalaya, as well as white chocolate bread pudding for dessert, and unlimited coffee and iced tea.
We return to the dock at about four thirty, and as it hasn’t been long since we ate lunch, we decide to explore Bourbon Street and the French quarter next.
“I think for dinner, we should just see what takes our interest while we’re out here,” Lana says, as we walk hand-in-hand around the French Quarter.
“I agree,” I say as we pass a red brick building with its doors and windows wide open to let the river breeze float through.
Beaded curtains hang over the open window and doorway, and a soft, fragrant smoke drifts from within.
A sign over the doorway proclaims the shop offers genuine fortunes, palm reading and tarot cards. “We should go in.”
Lana glances up at the sign of a gold palm on a blue background. “I don’t know. Messing with that sort of stuff can be dangerous. Nana always used to warn me about old folk magic and things like that.”
“Oh, come on, it’s part of the New Orleans experience,” I encourage, and eventually Lana gives in.
We push back the beaded curtains and enter the smoky shop. I’m expecting to find a somewhat stereotypical woman, in a long flowy skirt, wearing a headband and gold jewelry. Instead, we’re faced with a young man with skin just a few shades lighter than Lana’s.
He offers us an easy smile, and I see he has a gold tooth.
“Good afternoon,” he says in an unmistakable Cajun accent. “I’m Remy. Come, take a seat, and I’ll tell your fortunes.”
Lana and I sit in the wicker seats opposite Remy, and he takes out a packet of tarot cards. “Who’s first?”
I see the hesitation in Lana’s eyes, so I say, “Do me first.”
“As you wish, mon ami,” Remy replies, the earring in his ear glinting in the low light. “Take the cards and give them a good shuffle, and as you do, think about your question in your head.”
I do as he instructs, and as I shuffle, I silently ask … I don’t know, the card, the spirits ...whoever is listening, ‘Will Lana and I make things work a second time around?’
“Now draw your first card and lay it on the table.”
I pull out the card that speaks to me the most and lay it down on the table. When Remy flips it over, it reveals the card of The Lovers. Remy looks between me and Lana and smiles.
“A good start. Draw your second card.”
The next one is Judgement. “This one represents second chances and seizing the moment. Very promising. Now, draw your final card.”
I pick out one last card and turn it over to reveal The Two Of Cups.
“This last one represents reconciliation, and finding a balance in a relationship,” Remy tells me.
My gaze moves to Lana, and I smile, but she doesn’t look as convinced. I don’t press her yet, and Remy takes the cards back and starts shuffling again.
“Your turn,” he says, handing the deck to Lana.
Lana closes her eyes and begins shuffling. After a few moments, a card falls out of the deck and onto her lap.
“The Moon, which represents illusion and impressionability, deception, confusion, and strife,” Remy says looking down at the card in Lana’s lap.
“That doesn’t count. It fell out,” Lana insists.
“If a card presents itself from the deck, that means it’s important. Draw your second card.”
Lana hesitates, and I think she’s about to refuse, when she plucks out the second card, The Three of Cups.
“The suit of cups is connected to water, which is associated with emotions, feelings, and intuition,” Remy tells us. He looks at Lana and their eyes lock. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and for one weird moment, I wonder if he’s reading her mind or something.
Finally, Lana draws her last card.
Death.
“Oh, this is a load of nonsense,” Lana says, slamming the cards down on the table.
Remy doesn’t say anything, and instead watches as Lana stalks from the shop.
“I’m so sorry,” I say as she leaves. I pull my wallet out, and hurriedly hand him a fistful of notes. More than enough money for two tarot readings, and extra to compensate for Lana’s rudeness.
As I leave, Remy calls out, “The death card should not be seen as a death prophecy. Rather, it represents endings, harvesting, freeing oneself, and moving forward.”