A motel666 Counterpoint. (NOLA vs Seattle, "the grass is greene

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New Orleans is the Big Easy because she has to be.  She's tired.  She's down at the heels.  She forgets to bathe.  But she gets liquored up and puts out, and isn't afraid to dress and act like a tart (or, dare I say it, a cheap whore) to get that love and attention she craves.  She's got a reputation, Nola does.  Bonhomie with a risque flair; but do be polite and not ask what's beyond the receiving room, please.

Don't get me wrong - she knows how to party (or at least used to), and the old girl knows more ways to feed you well than just about anyone else.  There's the warm, cloying caress of the thick air (she's good for the skin, but it's a little sweaty, her embrace) and the long, warm, quiet walks where she can show off a little of her old-world voluptuousness; the kind that make the youths with their Victorian pretentions swoon, and the lifers glow subtly with something like pride.

But underneath her flowered and jeweled mask, Nola's not feeling so well.  She doesn't eat right, and all that partying wears on a body.  It weakens the defenses against parasites and calcium loss.  She doesn't sleep well, or enough, and it shows in the lines around her eyes and the way her back stoops (despite the gaudy corset).  She doesn't look ravaged, but she's more than a little care-worn.

Her eyes have a tendency to dart suspiciously, looking for her next score, the next excuse to get dolled up. But she's in no hurry; nobody there is so gauche as to rush anything.  She knows that her next companion will come calling, and soon, because they know her number, and what she'll do for their ducats and attentions.

A gentleman will buy the lady a drink, you see, but there are obligations.  They both know.  It's polite of him not to ask, and proper of her not to seem bored with the whole affair.  The pleasure is real, to be certain, but thin after so many times, like a favorite camisole that the thrill has worn off of but remains comfortable, retaining the barest ghost of happier, more novel times.

It's almost all paste and costume jewelery.  Nola scrapes to get by, and that gratuity the gentleman leaves is barely enough to keep her going.

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Seattle seems stark and prudish by comparison; people buttoned up and buttoned down, everyone in a hurry to Be Somewhere.  The crisp grey air doesn't catch the light and glow romantically like it does in the deep south (Spanish Moss, nature's gothic eyeliner); instead, it fills in the shadows with an austerity that denies public secrets. 

She's got money, in the same way the young executive in the BMW that's stuck in traffic does; a useful abstraction that provides a measure of comfort, but which might not be appreciated because it seems like it's always been there.  Socializing by the numbers is the order of the day, if you overlook the places around the next corner where there are people going about things the old-fashioned, organic way (but maybe feeling a little furtive about it).

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S-K: Speaking as a former resident, New Orleans is the epitome of the "Great place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there" city.  The mellow, ornate glow of decadence is a patina over a poor, corrupt, and struggling city, and unless you can find work to finance a visitor's lifestyle, it's little different from anywhere else.

Comments

[sukipot.livejournal.com]

I hope you'll take what I'm about to say in the proper, metaphorical fraternal artistic spirit of approbation in which I mean it:

Will you marry me?

:)

(Just describing Spanish moss as "nature's gothic eyeliner" alone would have done it.)

[etcet.livejournal.com]

Aw, shucks, Miss Suki, you done gone and made be blush and stuff.

[Not that I stopped checking out your neckline when I did it, but still. . . ;-)]

Well, I should think not...

[sukipot.livejournal.com]

I'd be insulted otherwise. Respect my intellect *and* my decolletage, damn it! ;)

(O the paradox that is woman. Or, at least, Suki.)

Always glad to make you blush, sir.

Re: Well, I should think not...

[drcuriosity]

I respectfully put forward that there is no paradox whatsoever in respecting both intellect and decolletage. Both in the same package is to be doubly admired.