In the Tremè Neighborhood, deep in the city of New Orleans...
Melia D & Elizabeth T
"So... What'll it be, wet blanket?"
“Mornin’ Thomas!” A cheery voice called out from the adjacent balcony. “How’re you faring today?” “Same as every other day, Eli,” Thomas responded, almost immediately irked by the cheerful tone of voice his neighbor was sporting. It was 1925 in the Tremè neighborhood, and Thomas couldn’t find many reasons to be exhibiting such a jovial front. Life was nothing but inequality and work without much pay off.
“I know, I know…” Eli chuckled snarkily, placing his hands on the balcony railing before mocking with a flourish,“‘Eli, my life is miserable, and my family and I are going through rough times so that means no one else is allowed to smile.’”
Thomas scowled at the terrible impression, still refusing to look at his infuriating friend. It wasn’t just his family that had been roughing it, but also just about every other colored family across the entity of the states. Racial inequality and segregation was everywhere and for that reason, Thomas couldn’t fathom a logical reason to smile.
“Look here, Eli-”, the twenty-three year old started angrily.
“No, you look here, Thomas,” Eli interrupted incessantly, leaning so far over the railing that his legs dangled off the edge. “You need to take some time off. My friend, my buddy, my brother, take a look at this.”
Thomas watched, releasing a tired sigh as Eli quickly jumped onto Thomas’ side of the railing, plopped down onto Thomas’ favorite recliner and started fiddling with the radio by his table desk. He played with the various buttons with a sense of purpose as snippets of vaguely familiar voices passed through in a incoherent flurry until he suddenly froze at the sound of a sign off from a female news reporter.
“...--hat’s a end of our section. We’ll probably elaborate more next time. See you soon and here’s some more music before you leave!”
“So much for listening, Eli.” Thomas looked at Eli pointedly with a lift of a thick brow, to which the lounging male responded, “Just you wait, there’s more to this channel than meets the… ear.”
Thomas just sighed, any residual anger dwindling as he crossed his arms and listened to the soft jazz playing. He waited til the music cut to silence, the static ringing, yet Eli still held that mischievous grin of his.
“Well…?”
Eli paused for a second, mentally counting for what felt like a fortnight. The jazz music grated unpleasantly at Thomas’ ears. It was times like these when he longed to wrangle his friend’s neck and shake some sense into him.
“Look, Eli…” Thomas began, rubbing his temple to soothe the ache the jazz music had caused. “I-”
“Ah ah ah,” Eli held up his hand, abruptly silencing the male standing across from him. “Listen.”
Exhaling loudly, Thomas leaned heavily against the rotting, wooden door frame, expectations extremely low.
“Hello? Anyone else still listening…? Ok, good. Those who have been keeping up, if you’re bored and want to be free for one night or many more, come see us, Melia and Sorel. We’ll be at the Old Press Club down at the French Quarter, where the good bootleg, flirtatious flappers, amazing music, and lovely ambiance will be at!”
The announcement went on but Thomas’ eyes bugged out in shock. An illegal speakeasy!? There was an echo of the same words and it took him a second to realize that he said it out loud.
“Eli, you possibly can’t be serious--” He was cut off by one of the radio’s reporters.
“...as usual, the password is…-"
Another female voice cut in.
“I believe it’s knocking on the bar table three times while moaning of your sore-missed drink of choice and instead ordering for ‘something a little special’. Strange choice, but I’m sure no one could guess the password with-” The radio’s hum jutted to silence as Eli cut off the volume.
“My dear friend, I’m completely serious.” He cocked a brow with a smirk before jabbing, “So what’ll it be, wet blanket?”
“Ppfft… I--” all at once, the words caught in his throat and Thomas, usually so sure of himself, hesitated.