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come to the right place. In this town we’ve always talked restaurants before sex or politics. Even beats football.”
    “You think I could get the recipe for this sauce?”
    “We’ll ask Gerard. Now, is there anything you want to know about the ball tomorrow night?”
    Sam whispered, “Maybe we shouldn’t even be talking about it here—it being so secretive and all.”
    “Secretive?” Kitty hooted. “Darlin’, you don’t even know the meaning of the word. Exclusive is what we’re talking here. You’ve got your attitude on crooked. Why, there are still geezers grousing about having had the Duke and Duchess of Windsor as guests of honor forty years ago. What with her past. And poor old Huey Long never got an invite to anything. Made him so mad he tried to ban Carnival. Might as well have tried to close the river down.”
    “No wonder most people just drink in the street.”
    “Great. Great. That’s the thanks I get for breaking my butt to get you in. I had to put your name in to the invitation committee months ago to get you certified.”
    “Come on.” Sam laughed.
    “I’m not kidding. You think the Piedmont Driving Club over in Atlanta is something? They are nouveaux upstarts compared to us. I want to tell you your pedigree barely got you in.”
    “Yeah, well, you know how seriously I take all that bull.”
    “Oh, my, yes. You always were so proud of trading in your debut for that little green Triumph you had at school. You’re the biggest reverse snob I’ve ever known, Miz Adams. But your uncle George still flies the flag, doesn’t he?”
    “Belongs to the Driving Club? Sure, for business. But since his retirement he never goes. Now, lay off my grand egalitarianism, and quit changing the subject, and answer my question about this callout business. I didn’t come all the way over here not to know what’s going on, make a fool of myself.”
    “They don’t call them reporters for nothing, do they?” Kitty rolled her eyes up at the ceiling. “Okay, okay, callouts are dance cards—of which I wangled you two. Your name gets called out loud when it’s your turn to dance with the gentlemen who have sent you the callouts.”
    “And the rest of the time I boogie with whoever I want?”
    “It’s more like a waltz than the boogie, and the rest of the time you sit. There are only about six tunes, and the members first have to make sure they’ve taken care of their own women. So two puts you in the Ms. Popularity stakes. With none you’d sit up in the balcony and watch with the other biddies who’ll be checking you out through their mother-of-pearl binocs. Who’s she ? they’ll say.”
    “You think I’d come all the way from Atlanta to watch ?”
    Kitty sighed. “There are local women who have never done anything but watch. You don’t understand how exclusive this all is. How important to us. Why, there have been threats over callouts not forthcoming. Acts of vengeance over queenships. Suicides .”
    “Why don’t those who are snubbed just move to another town?”
    “Because—”
    And then Kitty realized that Sam was putting her on. No matter that Sam had chosen to skip her debut in Atlanta, that she had lived for many years in California, or that she had a liberal education and an even more leftish turn of mind. Once a belle, always a belle with those Deep South sensibilities—even if they were well hidden most of the time.
    “Quit wasting my breath with your bullshit, woman,” Kitty said.
    “You’re absolutely right. We have more important things to worry about. Like does Galatoire’s still make jelly crepes for dessert? And where’s our coffee?”

Three
    IN THE CRESCENT City, drinking in a neighborhood bar is a legitimate and time-honored avocation that has nothing to do with which side of the blanket a man was born on or the amount of cash in his pocket. Such bars are egalitarian clubs where Uptown and Downtown mingle, where one sees old and new friends and neighbors, exchanges