Anthony Scott - Mardi Gras Madness (Carnival of Love)

“But Babs! Do you mean to sit there and tell me that you’re still unconvinced after listening to me argue for almost a whole week?” Ethel kicked a dusty slipper from her foot viciously and stepped onto the rag rug to peel a cotton frock from her lissome figure.

“I’m still unconvinced,” Barbara Dorn admitted cautiously. “You make it sound like a fairy tale, but I still don’t see how I could possibly do it.” She had just stepped from a cold shower that was the only modern convenience the old farmhouse could boast, and her body glowed rosily as she sat lightly on the bed.

“You make me sick!” Ethel made an exasperated face at her. “It is just like a fairy tale... a fairy tale come to life. I haven’t exaggerated one tiny bit. Just to think of you living all your life... just a hundred miles from New Orleans... and you’ve never even seen a Mardi Gras festival!” She looked at Barbara wonderingly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Barbara laughed. “You look as though I had committed some terrible crime.”

“I feel as though you have,” Ethel told her with asperity. “A crime against nature. It isn’t natural for a girl like you to coop yourself up on a farm and never see anything of life.”

“I don’t know that I would care so much about that part of life,” Barbara said quietly.

“That’s just it. You don’t know. You’ll never know until you find out,” Ethel cried triumphantly. She had stepped from her slip and stripped off sheer panties which clung to her flesh as though reluctant to be removed from such delightful intimacy. Now she fumbled with the hook at the back of her brassiere.

“I’m happy here.” Barbara spoke reflectively. “You’ve been here a week and you can see how peacefully life flows on in Tancipahoa Parish. I don’t know that I’d care for the noise and excitement and bustle and foolishness of the city. Especially at Mardi Gras. From what you’ve told me I judge that everyone just lets go with everything during Mardi Gras. I believe in decent restraint.” Barbara set her lips firmly. She would not, she told herself fiercely, let Ethel see how much she wanted to go.

Ethel looked at her curiously. She started to speak, then checked herself.

“I can’t unhook this damn brassiere,” she said in a changed tone. “Be a dear and help me.”

She turned a slimly beautiful back as Barbara arose from the bed to assist her.

The hook was easily, unfastened under Barbara’s nimble fingers, and the wisp of silk fell away to the floor. Ethel caught her hand quickly and held her as she would have moved back. Then she turned and faced Barbara with a queer smile.

“You’re utterly adorable,” she said slowly, her sleepy eyes traveling downward to drink in the beauty of Barbara’s nudity. “What you want to bury yourself on a farm for is utterly beyond me. You’d be a sensation in New Orleans.”

She lifted her free hand and touched the rounded firmness of Barbara’s breast.

“You’ve never been touched, have you? You don’t know what passion is. You poor kid.”

Barbara shrank from the strange huskiness of Ethel’s voice. Nervously, she drew away her hand and turned to the closet to select a fresh petticoat and frock from the meager store. Her cheeks were flushed and her heart pounded strangely.

Ethel stood quietly for a moment, her eyes widened as she watched her. Then she smiled slowly and hurried to get under the shower.

Barbara sighed deeply as she started dressing to the accompaniment of the sound of splashing water and shrill shrieks from the bathroom.

Ethel’s visit to the quiet farm had been very upsetting. They had been roommates at the small college from which both had graduated the previous year. Ethel lived in New Orleans, and Barbara had been looking forward to this visit delightedly for a month.

Now that it was almost over she looked forward to Ethel’s departure with a feeling of relief. Ethel’s talk of the city disturbed her more than she wished to admit. She didn’t want to be disturbed. She was satisfied with the simple round of life on the farm.

She was twenty-two years old. Engaged to Robert Sutler and definitely committed to the task of making a home for him on the farm which he was cultivating with the scientific exactitude learned at agricultural school. She had been very sure of herself. Sure of Robert, and sure of the future.

Until Ethel had come to visit her.

Now she found that she wasn’t sure of anything. She frowned abstractedly as she drew on fresh stockings. Ethel was challenging. She had never understood Ethel very well. They had not been intimate friends even while rooming together at college. Their interests had been different, and each had found her own circle of friends.

Barbara had always vaguely understood that Ethel was not one to shrink from strange experiences. There had been whispers at college...

But she had always discounted those rumors. Ethel was vivacious and gay. Sometimes Barbara had thought her shockingly immodest. But she didn’t believe that Ethel had ever...

A strange glow seemed to creep over her as she wondered. How much did Ethel know? Was it possible that she had ever gone so far as to let a man...? Well... even in her thoughts Barbara would not go so far.

Ethel was humming a gay tune as she reappeared and started to dress. She would have laughed immoderately could she have read Barbara’s secret thoughts.

“Why so serious?” she asked suddenly. “Make up your mind to come in about next Sunday and stay over Mardi Gras. That’s the only sensible thing to do. You’ll never regret it.”

“That’s all settled.” Barbara smiled demurely. “I couldn’t if I wanted to. I’ve told you before.”

“You mean your mother and dad? Oh pshaw. They couldn’t keep you here if you really wanted to go. They wouldn’t want to if you explained that you wanted to have just one taste of life.” She sat beside Barbara and spoke persuasively:

“You’ll be my guest. I’ll phone mother this afternoon and ask her to write Mrs. Dorn a note if you want me to. It won’t be as though anything could really happen to you.”

“But you said that anything could happen during Mardi Gras.” Barbara faced her with a hint of mischief in her brown eyes.

“Well, you know what I meant. Of course, that’s the intriguing part of Mardi Gras. Anything can happen... and does. You simply can’t understand the spirit of Mardi Gras unless you’re there and a part of it.” Ethel spoke enthusiastically. Her slumbrous eyes took on a sparkle of delighted memories.

“Imagine half a million people giving themselves up utterly to the spirit of play. With dull care forgotten, and all repressions and inhibitions removed for a few days. All the streets alight with color and gayety and glamour. Masked throngs everywhere, dancing, singing, shouting. Buffoonery and madness and mirth. The whole city one vast playground with everyone determined to grab what small bit of joy they may find... and with no regrets.” Ethel paused breathlessly. Her lips were parted and her face seemed vividly alive.

“You make a good press agent.” Barbara spoke demurely. In spite of her decision, her blood seemed to run faster as she listened to Ethel’s words.

“I ought to. I live from one year to the next just waiting for Mardi Gras. It’s so hard to make you understand.”

“Go on.” Barbara touched her arm lightly. “Perhaps I am beginning to understand better than you think.”

“Oh Babs!” Ethel turned to her delightedly. “If you only would! I’d give anything to show Mardi Gras to you... and show you to Mardi Gras,” she ended softly.