The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

7 - Lady Bijou

Brightly colored buildings and people swarming the sidewalks like ants alert me to the fact that we've reached our destination. As Sully drives down Bourbon Street, I take in the street vendors and vivid architecture trimming both sides of the road. He wedges into a parking space and we hop out the SUV, me snapping pics from my phone every step of the way. We just made it to the sidewalk and sweat is already dotting my hairline.

Earlier this morning, Penny refused to take us to the French Quarter, New Orleans' oldest and most notorious neighborhood. Now that we're here, I can understand why. Restaurants, bars and strip clubs dominate the community, with pedestrians drinking from open containers in various stages of inebriation.

Hartley catches my confusion. She takes one last drag on her cigarette, making the end glow orange, then flicks it to the ground. "There's an open container law here. Bars in the French Quarter all have to-go cups so people can drink alcohol wherever they want. On the streets and in the park—just about anywhere as long as they're not driving."

"And they won't get arrested?" I ask, stepping around a guy dry-heaving over a trash can.

Sully cocks an eyebrow. "Not for drinking. But don't even think about urinating on the sidewalk. That's considered 'lewd behavior'."

"I'll make sure to hold it in." I wrinkle my nose and stuff my phone into my back pocket. "So, does Lady Bijou live on this street?"

Hartley grins. "No, she just works here—and you're going to adore her!"

"Yeah, right," Sully mumbles under his breath, though loud enough we both hear.

Hartley flips her hair and shoots me a look. "Don't listen to him. Sully wouldn't know a good time if it started twerking on his face."

I watch a group of twenty-somethings stumbling ahead of us. They're laughing hysterically and falling all over each other.

"Is every night a party here?" I ask. "It's not even the weekend and everyone's drunk."

"Absolutely. But this is nothing compared to Mardi Gras," she says, wiggling her brows. "The floats and costumes are to die for, and everyone's throwing doubloons and beads. I collected so many necklaces this year, I could barely stand up!"

Sully swoops up a discarded Styrofoam cup from the sidewalk and tosses it into the trash. "And the crowd-watching is as entertaining as everything else. You never know what you're gonna see. There are literally thousands of people in the streets, and sometimes the cell phone service goes out."

"That does sound like fun," I say, though I'm not sure I mean it. Mom warned me that pickpocketing is like a sport here, and I'm not sure I like the idea of being surrounded by that many people in such a small space. The French Quarter isn't that big. Earlier, Penny said it's only about thirteen blocks.

"Here we are," Hartley announces.

Above us, a neon-red sign flashes LADY BIJOU in big fancy letters.

"I thought Lady Bijou was a person?" I ask.

"She is. She owns this place."

"Is it a bar?" I glance at the burly bouncer manning the front door. All the windows are blacked out.

"Sort of. That's why we have to go around back." With that, Hartley darts around the side of the establishment.

Like a human train, I follow after her and Sully follows after me down a path sandwiched in between two buildings. "How are we going to get in? We're not twenty-one."

Hartley shushes me with a finger to her lips. "Don't worry. I know a guy."

I let out a moan. "The last time you said that you nearly got arrested."