Lafitte's Feast

   Biloxi was no place for Felix. He’d only been there two days. Already he wanted to go home.
 
   He sat in the sand next to an old fishing pier that jutted out into the sea like a pointy pirate finger. He watched as the new day began to light up, contemplating his situation.
 
   It was a crumby sort of sunrise. Fitting for the moment, Felix thought. The sky was gray, and so was the ocean swishing beneath it. Each sip of rum tasted terrible. But the rum was doing its job, alright. It was slowly burning off his hangover.

   Felix imagined a beautiful nut-brown girl out across the horizon somewhere, the next continent over, sitting on a beach of her own. Her dark eyes sparkled as a gentle breeze feathered her long, black hair across her shoulder. Her beach, way over there, facing his, was soft and silver. Her sky and water were tropical and blue. For a flash, Felix envied her beach and her beauty and her spectacular sunrise. But he quickly got over it and drank in the loveliness of the vison for what it was. The nut-brown girl spotted him staring at her. She smiled at him, lifted a sandy hand and waved. She was saying something. Felix waved back. “Good morning!” he yelled. “What’s your name?”
 
   “I’m Russel,” a voice answered back, “but everybody calls me Rusty.”
 
   Felix started, snapped back to reality. Not wishing to be caught chatting with some imaginary girl across the water, Felix coughed up a proper acknowledgement. “Hey, Rusty,” he said.
 
   “Mind if I join you?” Rusty asked.
 
   “Not at all. Have a seat.” Felix eye-balled his new friend, wondering what this was all about.
 
   Rusty plopped down in the sand next to Felix, close, but not too close, preserving Felix’s personal space. “Looks like you’re starting early,” Rusty said, nodding to the pint of rum.
 
   “Hair of the dog.”
 
   “Yep. I figured.”
 
   “Want a taste?”
 
   “Don’t mind if I do.” Rusty received the rum with another nod and took a healthy swig. “Ahhh,” he said, satisfyingly. “Gracias, amigo.”
 
   “De nada.”
 
   “So, what’s your story, man? What brings you here?” Rusty asked with a raised eyebrow.
 
   “I’m Felix,” Felix said, extending his hand for a quick shake. “I’m down here from Ohio for the week. Just got here the day before last. I came down with my buddy, Emmitt. He’s an old college buddy of mine. We try to get together every year ‘round this time, go someplace interesting. Spring break time, I mean. He’s a teacher, so he gets a week off.”
 
   “Must be nice to have a friend like that. Somebody to kick around with. Me, I fly solo.”
 
   “Going solo sounds alright to me. I mean, I can see the appeal. Emmitt’s kind of a handful,” Felix said. He was thinking about the events of the last few days. “So, what’s your story? I mean, flying solo and all.”
 
   “Oh, I’m what you might call homeless – although I prefer the good old-fashioned term: bum. I’m a bum.” Rusty took another swig and handed the bottle back to Felix.
 
   “More power to ya. How’s bum life?”
 
   “It’s got its ups and downs. Sure is nice bein’ down here, though. I used to be up your way. Detroit.”
 
   “Motown, eh? You know, I never could figure why homeless people…”
 
   “Bums.”
 
   “…right – bums – would ever want to live up North. I mean, the winters are so brutal and all.” Felix knocked back another swig of rum.
 
   “It’s all about amenities. You know what I mean?” Rusty took off his shoes and pushed his feet into the sand. Felix noticed that two of Rusty’s toes were missing from his left foot. The two smallest ones. “The winters up North are a pain in the ass, for sure, but you get all these free meals and shelters and stuff. You know. They really take care of you up North. Down here, you’ve got none of that. You have to fend for yourself more. But you’ve got this killer weather and the beach and all. It’s a trade-off.”
 
   “I never thought about it that way. That’s interesting to hear.”
 
   “Yeah, I might head back up North again one of these days. But for now, I’m happy as a clam down here. I got some roots down here. Memories.”
 
   “You have friends around here? Relatives?” Felix handed the bottle back to Rusty.
 
   Rusty nodded his acknowledgements again. “No, not no more. All my people are gone now, except from in here.” Rusty placed his palm over his heart and gave it a tap, tap, tap – indicating where his people currently resided. “A long time ago, I used to work at Barq’s. Back before they shut the plant down. Had some good friends there. Good people.”
 
   “What’s barks?”
 
   “Barq’s Root Beer, man! You don’t know what Barq’s is?” Rusty chuckled and had another sip.
 
   “I think I’ve heard of it.”
 
   “Oh man, you’re missin’ out. You gotta try you some Barq’s sometime. You’re missin’ out! Barq’s started right here. In Biloxi.”
 
   “Roger that. I’ll look out for it.”
 
   “They still serve Barq’s over at Lafitte's Feast. Of course, it’s not the real thing anymore. It’s the corporate formula. But you can still get a hint of it anyway.” Rusty passed the bottle back to Felix.
 
   “What’s Lafitte's Feast?”
 
   “Oh man! You’re some kind of greenhorn, ain’tcha?”
 
   “Maybe I am. Hard to say.”
 
   “Lafitte's Feast is the buffet over at Treasure Island. The casino, man. Ten bucks for all you can eat every Wednesday. I tell ya, you’re missin’ out!”
 
   “Wednesday, eh? That’s tomorrow,” Felix said.
 
   “You gotta go. Go get you some Barq’s. It’s nothing like the original, but it’ll give you a taste anyway.”
 
   “I’m in. I’m going. Whether Emmitt wants to or not.” Felix meant it.
 
   Felix and Rusty sat there for a while without speaking, watching the waves. Both of them were comfortable, content. Two clams.
 
   After a little time had slipped past in silence, Felix said aloud, quietly, almost to himself: “Happy as a clam. I always wondered what that meant. Are clams happy?”
 
   “That ain’t the whole thing. The whole saying, I mean,” Rusty replied.
 
   “What do you mean?”
 
   “The whole saying is ‘Happy as a clam at high tide. Clams are happy at high tide.”
 
   “I’ll be dipped. Learn somethin’ new every day.” Felix nodded, taking it in.
 
   “So, where’s your buddy, anyway. He sleeping one off?”
 
   “Yeah, we both got pretty loaded last night. He’ll be down for the count ‘till noon, I’m guessing.”
 
   “Well, say hello to him for me.” Rusty stood up, brushed off his backside. “I gots to mosey on. Gots places to be. Things to do. Hey, can I bum a ten off you? I could really use it.”
 
   “Sorry, Rusty. I don’t have any cash on me. You need a ten for Lafitte's Feast?”
 
   “Something like that. No problem. Had to ask.” Rusty began to stroll away on his eight toes, shoes in hand, heading over toward the pier. “See ya around, friend,” he said, throwing Felix a little backwards wave.
 
   As an afterthought, Felix shouted after him, “Hey Rusty, you want this?” Felix held up the bottle of rum and gave it a wag. It was still about half full.
 
   “Naw, you keep it. Barq’s is more my thing.”

*          *          *

   When Emmitt finally got around, Felix told him about meeting Rusty on the beach.
 
   “Geez, man,” Emmitt said. “You gotta be careful hangin’ around with hobos down by the pier. You’re lucky he didn’t butt rape you.”
 
   “Get a grip, Emmitt. Rusty was cool. He was good people. He said we should check out the buffet over at Treasure Island. They have some sort of Wednesday special over there. All you can eat for ten bucks.”
 
   “Sounds good to me, I guess.” Emmitt took a shot of tequila and winced as it went down. “I mean, I definitely want to check out the casino over there at Treasure Island. Hey, you wanna check out that Emporium place?” Emmitt was referring an adult bookstore called Shark’s Adult Emporium that was located about a block west of their motel. Felix and Emmitt had driven past it when they first arrived in Biloxi, and Emmitt had been ruminating on it ever since. The front of the windowless building was a huge, crudely-painted mural depicting a school of sharks pursuing girls in bikinis. Emmitt was more than intrigued about what might be inside.
 
   “Yeah, I’m up for the Emporium, I guess.” Felix figured he should bite the bullet and check it out, if only to shut Emmitt up about it.
 
   “Sweet. I need a couple more shots, and then I’ll be good to go.”

*          *          *

   Once past the mural Felix and Emmitt found the inside of Shark’s Adult Emporium to be no different than any other adult bookstore: an unnaturally lit little shop with an array of magazines, videos, and “toys,” with some pay-to-play jerk-off rooms in the back. The guy at the front desk was covered in tattoos, and he eye-balled Felix and Emmitt as they staggered in. Felix was about half-drunk. Emmitt could barely walk.
 
   Felix and Emmitt split up, each of them migrating to their areas of interest. Felix perused the bargain bins. Emmitt hit the video section.
 
   From across the room Felix heard Emmitt shout, “Holly shit! They’ve got Gator Bait 2: Cajun Justice!” Emmitt loved girls with southern accents. The guy at the desk twitched a little at Emmitt’s shouting.
 
   Ignoring Emmitt and the desk guy, Felix half-heartedly rummaged through one of the bargain bins, a wire basket catch-all of back-dated magazine bundles and pornographic miscellany. Nothing particularly caught his eye, but he continued rummaging, just in case.
 
   Mid-peruse Felix noticed a fellow patron to his left, standing a little too close to him – a poindexter sporting slicked-back hair, thick glasses, and a plaid shirt.
 
   “Wanna see something?” Poindexter asked.
 
   “Sure,” Felix replied, curious as to what might come of it.
 
   Poindexter shakily produced a small bundle of Polaroids from his back pocket and covertly began to present them, one-by-one, to Felix, such that the desk guy couldn’t see what he was doing. It was a slide show of sorts. The photos were of a halfway-decent looking girl striking various naked poses on a bed, some of them spread-eagle. “This is my girlfriend,” Poindexter declared with some measure of pride.
 
   “More power to you,” Felix said.
 
   “You like her?”
 
   “Sure. She’s pretty. You’re a lucky guy.”
 
   “You want her?” Poindexter asked, his voice shaking.
 
   “What?”
 
   “I mean, if you want her, I can hook you up.”
 
   Before Felix could answer, there was a sudden crash-bang-boom, a catastrophe of some sort. Across the room Felix saw an end-cap display stand teetering and then toppling on top of Emmitt. He saw Emmitt’s face as it went down, contorted, pained, followed by Emmitt’s hand grabbing at nothing.
 
   The tattooed desk guy leap over the counter in a single bound. His brows were crossed, his fists clenched. He was going after Emmitt.
 
   Felix abandoned Poindexter, sprinting up the aisle to help his friend.
 
   “I want you two assholes outa here! Now!” the tattooed desk guy shouted. He was bent over, hands on his knees, yelling straight down at Emmitt. But his order was meant for Felix too.
 
   Emmitt floundered on the floor, swimming in a pile of rubble – dildos and nipple clamps and lube and wire rack fragments and such – all the stuff that had fallen down on top of him. As Felix reached down, offering a helping hand, Emmitt continued to swim and gulp for air, like a drowning man desperately trying to make it ashore. All Emmitt could manage to say was, “I’m fucking up. I’m fucking up.”

*          *         *

   Felix and Emmitt made it to Lafitte's Feast, but not until Friday, their last full day in Biloxi. They missed the Wednesday special and had to cough up twenty-five dollars apiece to get in. The place was packed, wall to wall.
 
   Emmitt made a bee-line for the buffet. He had swallowed several peyote buttons a few hours before, and his unblinking eyes were wide and wild.
 
   Felix, dead sober, by choice, found an unoccupied corner booth and slipped into it.
 
   A waitress strolled up, tray in hand. Like all the staff at Lafitte's Feast, she was dressed like a pirate. Hat, eye patch, frilly blouse, tattered skirt – the works. The only giveaway was her tray and her apron, which held napkins and straws instead of weaponry and gold doubloons. “What can I get you to drink, honey?” she asked.
 
   “Wow. You’re the cutest pirate I’ve ever seen. I mean it. I’ll have a Barq’s. And a coffee and a water for my friend. He’s already tackling the buffet.”
 
   “Thanks, sugar. Me tries me best. Aargh.” the waitress said with a wink and a curtsy.
 
   Felix didn’t have to wait very long. A few minutes later the waitress returned with the drinks. She placed them on the table along with a couple of straws, deftly fetched from her arsenal. Her fingernails were painted black except for her left pinky, which sported gold paint and a miniature skull and crossbones sticker. “Enjoy the Feast, honey,” she said with another wink. “It’s a lot to take in. Say: Your friend get lost or somethin’?”
 
   “Probably. He’s a sucker for buffet.”
 
   The waitress chortled. “Who isn’t? The plates are up there, sweetie. You should start at that end.” She nodded over to the far end, where an elderly group in Hawaiian shirts and visor hats had amassed, shuffling about, patiently waiting for their epicurean adventure to begin.
 
   The waitress sauntered off and Felix took a sip of his Barq’s as he watched her tattered butt-twitcher do its thing. The Barq’s was sweet and salty and wet. It went down real smooth, like an elixir. He scanned the crowd, looking loosely for Emmitt, but mostly taking in the scene at large. So many people. All these individual lives and energies crisscrossing, intertwining.  Who were they all? Where did they come from? Where were they going? He took another healing sip.  
 
   Felix was on the verge of looking inward and pondering whether or not he wanted to continue volunteering himself to serve as one of Life’s drunk and stupid foot soldiers rather than being fully awake and engaged in living. But his musings stopped short when he spotted Emmitt returning from the buffet, skip-staggering to the booth with apparent glee.
 
   Emmitt was loaded down, both hands carrying plates overflowing with biscuits and crab legs and French fries and god-knows-what. His mouth and chin and shirt and hands were covered in what appeared to be blood. He looked like a hyena in the midst of a kill feast. Or perhaps a wounded G.I. crawling out of a rice paddy after getting shot up by Charlie. Felix wondered if Emmitt was hurt, if he had gotten himself punched in the face by some Hawaiian-shirted old-timer at the buffet while fighting over the biggest crab leg. He wondered if they were in trouble now, if they were both about to get thrown out of Lafitte's Feast by some less than friendly pirate.
 
   “They have red velvet!” Emmitt announced with delight. “They have red velvet!” Emmitt had made it all the way through his first pass of Lafitte's Feast, through to the dessert end. Finding his plates lacking in available real estate, he had fed himself a few greedy handfuls of red velvet cake while still at the trough. Blood-red crumbs coated his lips and were falling and spraying out of his mouth as he spoke. “Red velvet, man!”
 
– O.M. Kelsey