Nick and Sarah headed east to Louisiana.  They had been there before, for Mardi Gras, but never to look around and really see the city—especially how antique engagement rings in New Orleans were different.  They had to be.

“It will be nice,” Sarah said, “to see New Orleans without all the Mardi Gras mess going on.”

“Agreed,” Nick told her.  “But it WAS fun.”

“Yeah,” Sarah laughed, “after we looked at the pictures to see what happened.”

Nick looked thoughtful.  “I’d still give a nickel to know,” he said, “how and when I got into that cow costume.”

“Or where you got that wheelchair,” Sarah added.

They sat and thought for a few minutes.  They were both wondering where, indeed, that wheelchair had come from.

“Well,” Sarah said, sitting up straight, “You know who’s from New Orleans?”

Nick rolled his eyes.  “Yes,” he told her, “I know that Anne Rice is, and Branford and Wynton Marsalis.  Louis Armstrong, too, and Dr. John, Fats Domino, and Eli and Peyton Manning.”

“Nice,” Sarah responded.  “But what about Truman Capote, Richard Simmons, Lee Harvey Oswald, Mel Ott, John Kennedy Toole, and the brothers Jean and Pierre Lafitte?”

“Ah, yes,” Nick sighed.  You and your pirates and authors and whatever Richard Simmons is.  But you forgot…William Faulkner!” 

Sarah had a thing about William Faulkner.  She had disliked “The Sound and the Fury” so intensely that she couldn’t bring herself to finish it and actually got a bad grade in an English class because of it.

Through gritted teeth, Sarah said, “He’s from Mississippi.  He just lived in New Orleans.”  She relaxed her jaw and rolled her head to face Nick.  “Harry Connick, Jr. is from New Orleans.”

“Of course,” Nick raised his eyebrows and raised his voice a few octaves, “and he’s just dreamy.”

Sarah reached over and whacked Nick on the arm. 

When they reached the city limits, they just looked.  So much had changed.  It wasn’t just that it wasn’t full of drunk college students.  It still had some of the scars left over from Hurricane Katrina.  Stores that had flooded and closed, never to be reopened.  Houses abandoned. 

“It’s humbling,” Nick said.

Sarah nodded, but didn’t say anything.

Then they got to the French Quarter.  It seemed the same as it did before, only less crowded.  They pulled up to the 905 Royal Hotel, at 905 Royal Street, New Orleans, LA 70116. 

Looking up, Sarah said, “This is SO New Orleans.”  She climbed out of the Jeep and she and Nick got their bags.  Their room had an exit to the balcony overlooking the street.  It was ideal for people-watching.  There was plenty of people-watching to do from the street, though, too, so they headed out in search of food.

They went to Petunia’s for dinner.  After learning an exhausting amount about the difference between Cajun and Creole, they decided to order and split the Baby Back Ribs and Shrimp Creole.  The dining room was amazing.  The restaurant was built in a house, so they felt like they were eating in someone’s parlor.

“This is so southern,” Sarah said.  “It reminds me of that haunted restaurant in Charleston.”

“Let’s hope this place doesn’t have the same reputation,” Nick told her, “because I’m not going to the bathroom with you again.”

The food was delicious, and they went out into the muggy New Orleans night to go have a few drinks.  They knew where they wanted to go.

Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop was well-known and historical.  Both Nick and Sarah were into the whole ‘pirate’ connection.  When they arrived, though, they were surprised.

“Are you sure this is it?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah,” Nick told her.

“It looks like a blacksmith’s shop,” she stated.

He took her by the arm and they went into the darkness.  Lit only by candles and with the music of a piano coming from the back of the bar, it was definitely one-of-a-kind.   It looked like it hadn’t been decorated since the 18th Century.  Wooden tables, dim lighting, musty.  It looked like a one-legged pirate could come bursting through the door at any time.

“They say this place is haunted by Jean Lafitte,” Nick said to Sarah.

“Then I’ll try the Hurricane,” she told him.

A few hurricanes later for each of them, they were ready to go back to the hotel.  It had been a long day, and they fell into bed, exhausted.

20 minutes later, Nick felt Sarah shaking him awake.

“Go away,” he told her.

“Nicky, wake UP,” she pleaded, letting drops of water from her freshly-washed hair hit him in the face.

“It’s the middle of the night,” he told her, and rolled over.

“Its 7a.m., baby, and we have to get UP!”  She pulled the covers off of him.

Sitting up, Nick looked her in the eye and asked, “Why are you insane?”

Sarah cocked her head to one side, blinked, then started jumping on the bed, chanting: “Beignets!  Beignets!  Beignets!” over and over until he got up and got into the shower.

There was only one place to go for the delicious fried fritters called ‘beignets’, of course: Caf? du Monde at 800 Decatur Street.  Nick was still yawning, and Sarah was jumping around and skipping her way down Royal. 

Since it was early and a weekday, they were actually able to sit.  Nick ordered two coffees and an order of beignets for them. 

“And another order of beignets,” Sarah said.  “Or will you be drinking both coffees, too, Nicky?”

“An order is three of them,” he told her.

Sarah leaned back in her chair and raised her eyebrows.  “And your point is what?”

“Nothin,” he said quietly, looking at the ground.  He was also careful not to say anything when she got an order to go.

“These things are like crack,” Sarah said, licking powdered sugar off of her fingers.  “I can’t stop myself.  I won’t stop until I explode.”

“Maybe you should hand me that bag,” Nick told her, gingerly reaching to take it from her.  “And we can always come back for more, you know,” he reassured her.

They walked down to the river to check out the sculptures.  Since it was still pretty early, there weren’t too many people out walking around.  They sat down for a while and watched the river traffic.  It seemed busier than some highways. 

“Let’s go to the aquarium,” Sarah suggested.  “I want to do that ‘under the Caribbean reef’ thing.”

Nick stood up and reached his hand out to her.  “Why not?” he said, helping her up.

The Audubon Aquarium was rumored to be amazing.  It did not disappoint.  As soon as they walked in, they were able to go into a tunnel surrounded by an artificial Caribbean reef.  While they were there, they saw a guy in scuba gear doing some kind of maintenance or feeding the sea life.

Sarah waved at him, but he didn’t seem to see.

“It’s so weird,” she said, “how he’s in there, but it feels more like he’s the one that’s outside and we’re inside.”

“Kinda messes with your head,” Nick said, “Don’t you think?”

Sarah took his hand.  “A little bit, yeah,” she told him.

Then they checked out the Amazon rainforest upstairs, making an odd transition from the Amazon to the penguins.  Sarah could have watched the penguins all day, they were so cute.  Then there were the seahorses, which were amazing and beautiful.  Then, Nick covered Sarah’s eyes.

“What?” She asked him.

“There’s something special I want you to see,” he told her.

She began to struggle a bit.  “If it’s the Insectarium, you are SO not funny,”

“No bugs, I swear,” he said, and then tickled her on the back of the neck.  He knew she’s jump just thinking it might be a bug, or worse—a spider.

He stood her still and turned her, and then uncovered her eyes.

She gasped.

“I want to die,” she said.  “I want to die, they are so cute.”

Nick had brought her to meet the resident sea otters, Buck and Emma.  Nick and Sarah stood and just watched them for a while.  It seemed like all they had to do all day was play.  Buck was playing in some ice, looking for seafood treats, and it was painfully cute to watch.  He was very determined.

“They’re kind of giant,” Nick announced.

“The sign says that Buck weighs 61 pounds,” Sarah told him.  “But he’s so cute.  I want one.  Nicky, can I have an otter?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” he responded, taking her hand.

Then they checked out the frogs, the Mississippi River exhibit, and then went to the gift shop so Sarah could get a few plush Emmas “for her nieces”.  Nick knew that at least one of them would find its new natural habitat in their apartment.

After stopping at Johnny’s Po-Boys for lunch, they walked to the famous St. Louis Cemetery #1.  They hadn’t had time to see the cemeteries at all during Mardi Gras, and this was the one everyone HAD to see.  Of course, all of the guidebooks and websites warned women not to go alone, that it is near a high-crime area, and that you’d better be out by three or you’ll get locked in. 

“You know,” Sarah said, “this is the place they filmed the cemetery scene in ‘Easy Rider’.”

“Well,” Nick said, “They WERE headed to New Orleans.”

When they got to Marie Laveau’s tomb, they went silent.  There were several other people there as well, also silent, just looking at it.  Of course, no one was 100% certain that she was actually entombed there, but people would make red triple-x marks anyway, hoping her spirit would grant them a wish. 

“Do you believe in voodoo?” Nick asked Sarah.

“I believe in it enough to be afraid to say I don’t believe in it,” she told him.  Then she stopped and thought, squinting a little bit.  “Did that make sense?”

As Nick kissed her on the top of the head, he said, “It makes sense when you say it, babe.”

They stopped at Reverend Zombie’s House of Voodoo.  Nick offered to get them a tarot card reading, but Sarah said it freaked her out, and she just wanted to look around. 

“It’s so…authentic-looking,” Sarah said.  “Like this is the real deal.”

“It might be,” Nick said.

Sarah asked a woman working there to help her pick out talismans for herself and Nick.  After asking a whole bunch of questions, the woman picked the talismans for Sarah, and then asked her if they felt right.

Sarah thought for a minute, holding them.  “I think so,” she said.

Then it was back to the hotel for a nap, the Redfish Grill for dinner, and to Preservation Hall by 8pm for the nightly jazz show.  They had both imagined it would be huge, for some reason, and were very pleased to be wrong.  They got there too late to get seats, but it was well worth an hour of standing to hear the Preservation Hall Jazz Band.

“We are SO buying some CDs,” Nick said to Sarah as they left.

“I would totally be a groupie for them,” Sarah added.

“Even the ones who are 80?” Nick asked.

“Okay,” Sarah relented.  “I’ll be their biggest fan ever.”

New Orleans at night was something amazing.  It was like Halloween year-round.  Nick and Sarah decided to go to the Old Absinthe House at 240 Bourbon Street, New Orleans, LA 70130 to try a drink that someone at the hotel had told them about.  When they got there, it was already crowded with a bizarre mix of people.  They each had the Absinthe House Frappe, which was so tasty that they each had another.  They had a few each and became best friends with the
folks sitting around them.  Since neither one had a business card, they wrote their names on the back of a receipt in Sarah’s purse and tacked it on the wall with the gazillion others as they left.

Walking out into the night again, they were both giddy.

“Is it the absinthe?” Sarah giggled.

“It’s called something else, remember,” Nick warned her.

“Right, right,” Sarah said.  “But doesn’t everything look so crisp and clear to you?”

“Definitely,” Nick said, looking around at the old buildings with their wrought-iron balconies and colorful shutters.  “No place looks like this,” he went on.

“One place does,” Sarah told him. “This town is completely full of awesome.”

They walked around the French Quarter for hours, like they were trying to drink in the city.  It was surreal.  It was creepy and beautiful.  It was the only place that could be home to Anne Rice’s characters.

“I heard she sold her house here,” Sarah said.

“Me too,” Nick agreed.  “But we’ll go check it out tomorrow, anyway.  I think it’s not far from Trent Reznor’s.”

“You know,” Sarah began, “I bet it’s really, really annoying to have people constantly peeping at your private house.”

Nick thought for a second.  “Let’s do it anyway,” he finally said.

“Well, duh.”

The next morning, even Sarah was moving a little sluggishly as they went to Caf? du Monde again.  The couple sat silently over coffee, slowly chewing beignets and blinking in the sunshine.  When they had a head of steam, they set out in search of their dreamy New Orleans engagement ring.

The shop they went into had mostly antique jewelry, which neither Nick nor Sarah had a lot of experience with.  It was not a big store, but there were display cases everywhere, including freestanding ones making almost a maze of gems.

The salesperson, Marcus, asked if he could show them anything.

“We’re looking for an engagement ring,” Nick said, putting his arm around Sarah.  “And she really wants an antique ring.”

Marcus smiled as led them to a case and walked around behind it.  Unlocking it, he pulled out a gorgeous platinum and diamond ring.  He wiped it with a cloth and handed it to Sarah.  She showed Nick and moved it just slightly, watching the light dance off of the diamond.

“It’s a cushion-cut diamond,” Marcus explained.  “They were much more common years ago.  The setting, as you can see, is engraved platinum.”

“It’s stunning,” Sarah said.

“That is an Edwardian piece,” Marcus told them.  “You won’t find anything else like it.”

Sarah slid it onto her finger.  “It’s a little loose,” she whined.  “But I love it.”

Marcus reached for her hand to see.  “It’s not too bad.  Resizing won’t be a problem,” he reassured her.  “You just don’t want to change too much, or you risk damaging the detail in the ring, and, like I said, its one-of-a-kind.”

Nick cleared his throat.  “I’m assuming,” he said, “that one-of-a-kind antiques are a bit more expensive.”

“Yes, definitely,” Marcus answered.  “Especially in a ring of this quality.”

“Can you be a little more specific?” Nick asked.

When Marcus told them the price, Sarah’s eyes opened like saucers and Nick’s eyebrows raised.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Marcus said.  “It’s really about it being an antique.  Antique rings are very popular now.”

Sarah made a sad face and slid the ring off of her finger. 

“This is something we need to think about,” Nick said, wrapping his arm around Sarah’s waist.  She nodded.

As they cleared the block, Sarah said, “I would totally say yes if you gave me that ring.”

Nick smiled.  “You would totally say yes anyway,” he grinned.

“Yeah,” she said, burying her face in his shoulder.

“You think maybe we should actually leave the French Quarter and see a little more of the city?”

“I think so,” Sarah told him.  “It’s a big city.”

“Let’s go,” Nick said.  “We’ll start by peeping in on Trent Reznor.”

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