We went to the bathroom. Inside in the blank white light we were the only two inhabitants of a new universe. We could make the world over again, good or evil. Clara cut out two lines each. It was too much for me, but I didn't say anything. She rolled up a twenty and took her two. When she was done she held out the rolled up bill to me, tipped her head back to let the drugs run down her throat, and laughed ecstatically at the ceiling. I barely got the second line in me. My whole body felt cold. We stood for a moment assimilating the new feeling. Raw physical power combined with total disembodiment. I couldn't feel my fingers but I could perceive the energy in the particles between me and her.

 

"You're cute," Clara said. "How did Bobby find you again?"
"At Coops."
She looked at herself in the mirror, puckered her lips up.
"How do I look?"
"Beautiful."
"That's right."
She pulled her dress off over her head.
"How bout now?"
"Amazing."
"You should see my pussy. I have the most beautiful pussy in the world."
"What's up with you and Clyde?"
"What's up with me and anybody? Want to see my pussy?"
"Okay."

 

She pulled her underwear to the side and her fingers pushed the lips open. The colors were amazing, white skin, dark hair, pink flesh. Then she stopped, frowned in the mirror.

 

"I'm bored," she said.
She threw her dress back on over her head, wiggled into it so it fell right. She readjusted her ponytail then blew a kiss in the mirror and snorted.
"Let's go," she said.

 

She started for the door. I've been a spectator for much of my life. Chief Boudreaux's face came to me. Callin' ‘em back. I grabbed her wrist hard, harder than I meant to. She turned on me fast and swung her right palm at my left cheek. I caught it and her eyes burned into mine. They were laughing at me, at the power she had over me, but I held both her wrists.

 

"You can fuck me later if you want to," she said, pulling her wrists from my hands. "Let's get out of here."
"Give me a kiss," I said.
"No."

 

I kissed her and she held her lips closed until I stuck my tongue between them. She pushed me away.

 

"I don't like being kissed," she said. "I like being fucked."

 

I let her go. I was trying to walk into her dark world but I got lost, stopped to think, and then she was out the door. I needed practice.

 

Bobby and Clyde were sitting on the couch. Rebirth had his trumpet out and he was testing its action with the fingers of his right hand, holding the mouthpiece in his left hand and mouthing some melody no one will ever hear again with his lips. Clara jumped on Clyde's lap.

 

"I thought you left me, baby," she said to Clyde.
"You're a crazy bitch Clara," he said.

 

She tipped her head back and laughed. She only had about five poses but she executed them all perfectly.

 

"You look like you're on airplane glue, cher," he said to me.

 

There was a jealous edge in his voice and it made me feel good. Something concrete.
The next few hours are a blur in my memory. I was so coked up I was trying to swallow the whole world with my eyes. We went out to hear the music from the balcony. When Rebirth came on we went downstairs right up close. I have images of watching him play the trumpet but they are mixed with the images in my head of being him, of seeing my long black fingers firing like pistons over the stops and through their blur the white faces frozen in ecstasy and the gleam of the lights on the silver trumpet washing them into nothingness. Goodbye white faces, we're calling them back. I danced like a madman, like a Seminole. I know because when the music stopped, I was drenched in sweat. The rest of my gang was gone and I turned back and looked through the crowd for them. No clues. I was alone in New Orleans again. I didn't want to be alone ever again in my life. The coke high was gone and now it was just the awful cold clear wakefulness that would last for many hours. I decided to go upstairs and get a drink.