The first sound we heard on Friday morning was the sound of The Hot Flashers going about their business as if the entire world should be awake at 6 a.m. My truth is that 6 a.m. is more like my bedtime. Most of my normal friends wake at 8 a.m. on vacation. We snuggled down into the covers trying desperately to keep warm as the air conditioner blew frigid air through both the floor and ceiling vents. Poor Breezy had washed her crowning glory (a thick, glorious head full of chocolate silk that falls to her waistline) before falling asleep and I cannot imagine the misery she endured.
The cold finally got the best of us all and we got up, opened the balcony doors, and let some warm air blow into the room in an attempt to thaw out. The girls, once again, headed to Clover Grill for down-home-goodness and entertainment. As was my ritual, I had coffee on the balcony.
Miss Audrey came in and put a towel over the floor vent. She told me to turn the air-conditioning to a higher setting because it was too cold. I didn’t want The Hot Flashers to complain at the front desk again so I told her that it was probably easier for us to layer and keep warm than for the Damn Yankee women to cool down. Before I ever uttered the words, she said, “Honey…they must be hot flashin’.”
And I think back to the day they arrived. As we were leaving our room one afternoon, we caught sight of the woman next door because her door stood wide open. She was lying on a mattress in the middle of her living room floor with one arm raised, limp wrist resting on her forehead, looking every bit like a Southern-Belle wannabe from Gone with the Wind. “Are you all staying in one of these rooms?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“I told them 2 hours ago to turn on the air-conditioning and it is still burning up in here,” she told us.
The day was absolutely beautiful–not too hot and not too cold. “If you open your balcony doors, you can get a wonderful breeze,” I told her.
“I already did that,” she said, and the girls and I headed out, comfortable as could be. Our rooms were located in an area of the hotel that was not part of the original Creole Townhouse. These rooms originally belonged to a house next door on the corner of Toulouse and Dauphine. While most rooms at Olivier House have their own heating and air units, a few of them do not. The controls are located outside of the rooms and control the temps in a grouping of rooms instead of only one room. Naturally, bossy, high-maintanance types are going to complain about whatever ails them. The truth is that I am just happy to be there. Miss Audrey will always give us more blankets. And…she let us know that the fireplace in our room was a working fireplace and we could have it lit if we wanted.
I helped Miss Audrey for a bit while the girls were at Clover Grill. In the Honeymoon Suite, another couple had suffered through the night in the frigid temps. Jim, son of Kathryn and Jim Danner, came in and lit their fireplace to take the edge off.
The lovely photos above show the Honeymoon Suite.
I have never in my life seen such good customer service as I did on this particular visit to Olivier House. While The Hot Flashers had the temps turned as low as possible without causing damage to the air-conditioning unit, other clients had their fireplaces turned on to combat those frigid air-conditioning temps. I should also mention that only 4 rooms were affected by the situation. The Hot Flashers flanked the rooms beside ours. The Honeymoon Suite was around the corner.
Wow. I’ve not even began to tell you about the rest of the day. I let Dr. Len know that I was finished working for the day so he asked me to meet him on the corner of Magazine and Canal. From there, he took me to a costume shop. While I do enjoy every minute with my dear friend, he can be so bitchy. He and his friend were costuming as Roman Soldiers at M.O.M.’s Ball on Saturday night. He wasn’t going to let me out of going….and he was determined that he was going to choose my costume.
This particular shop (as most often is the case) has pre-packaged costumes of the cheapest grade and cut to fit…who? In a best-case scenario, I cannot buy clothing off the rack. I am Jessica Rabbit minus the miniscule waistline. I have thighs and bosoms and I pack much back. To humor the man, I tried on every Cleopatra costume he chose. It was a joke. He veered away from that theme and started choosing others. “You don’t have to go with the same theme as us…” and so my wheels began turning. I tried on the Firefighter costume, the German girl costume, the Mummy costume…and then he spotted a Mafia costume. “I have everything I need for that,” I told him. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”
We headed out and went to lunch at Luke. This place, the most casual of four restaurants that Chef John Besh has opened in New Orleans, was absolutely wonderful. If you don’t know the man by name, here’s what wikipedia has to say about him:
“Besh competed against seven other renowned chefs in the first season of the Food Network’s The Next Iron Chef, surviving throughout the competition to battle Michael Symon for the title. Though Symon was selected as the Iron Chef, Besh’s work was highly praised by the judges and the Iron Chefs alike.”
Beverages were Champagne AuPeche (champagne with fresh peach puree) for me and a St. Charles Streetcar (St. Germain, pear vodka and champagne) for him. I had a glorious roasted chicken over whipped potatoes surrounded by just enough fresh green beans to feel like I’d gotten something healthy. He ordered the hamburger which was like none I’d ever seen before. It was somehow fancy.
Here’s what someone had to say about this particular menu item:
“Not in the budget traveler’s consideration set; however its $16.00 Luke Burger which Emmenthaler cheese demands to be mentioned. Luke is one of the four restaurants owned by celebrity chef John Besh and is not a pop in type place so you will need to make a reservation. The good news is that they are open every day from 7am to 11pm and serve all meals, so you have plenty of opportunity to squeeze it into you itinerary.”
Now me? I go to the hole-in-the-wall places where there is good food to be found for a moderate budget. Dr. Len is a man who has chosen to live otherwise. He appreciates the finer things in life and samples them as a way of life. He and I are polar opposites and yet we connect in that “only in New Orleans” kind of way. He takes great pleasure in treating me to these finer things and I appreciate every bit of it. I’m proud to say that he loves to come on over to my side of the world and hang at Port of Call with me for New Orleans #1 ranked hamburger. Luke has the #3 ranked hamburger.
While we costume-shopped and enjoyed a heavenly lunch, the girls shopped, browsed, had coffee at Royal Blend, and gelato at La Divina Gelateria..
When we met up again, we did what we do best: visit in the parlor. I should take a minute to rave about Bobby’s ipod. Bobby is one of the Danner kids (ok, he’s forty-something) who actually runs Olivier House these days. He is the one who never married and never had kids. He told me that he’s got enough nieces and nephews to keep him company. He is well-traveled, speaks many languages fluently, and here’s my personal favorite: he has the best taste in music. His ipod (and I’ll never tell the secret, hidden-away-location) plays continuously. He is a very intelligent man who knows how to set an atmosphere that will engage all of your senses. The fireplace warms you, the spice-scented candles please the olfactory senses, and the music provides the final come-hither—that persuasive taking-of-the-hand that draws you to melt right into the embrace of the antique sofa.
At one point, I went upstairs to get a drink. When I came out, I saw a couple from the corner of my eye. The female was like a goddess…statuesque, black, beautiful. The male was white, studious-looking, handsome. My first thought was “what an unusual couple.” My second thought–filled with sadness–was, “that guy looks so much like Chris.”
Chris was the concierge we formed a strong connection to at Olivier House. He fell in love first with my brother (he has a thing for handsome men with salt and pepper hair). On subsequent visits, he formed a deep bond with my daughter. The two of them would visit for hours through his night shift. The day came when he was no longer there, which is the curse of forming bonds with people in the Quarter. No longer was he so easily accessible but we had to travel uptown to visit him at his new job and his home.
I passed the unusual couple, stepped down 3 stairs and then I heard a voice say, “Dawn?” I turned and it was, indeed, Chris. We visited with him and his beautiful hostess on her balcony for a time. I learned that she, like I, was a repeat guest. I asked if this was her favorite room She told me that this was her “Halloween room”. Kimmy’s room that opened to the pool, was her summer room. I didn’t want to wear out my welcome, so I made my way back to the parlor with the girls. As was their pattern, they were in bed by 10:30 p.m.
Kimmy, the gorgeous New Yorker, was all dressed up with nowhere to go. I imagine she’d worn out her older companions at this point. I took her ¼ block away to a youthful place she’d never been. The Dungeon used to open at midnight in a pre-Katrina world. They open earlier now. I had my old, worn-around-the-edges V.I.P. pass so we bypassed the line and walked through the door, excempt from cover charge, well-guarded by body guards for the duration of the night. This is where you can hear Rob Zombie, Disturbed, Pantera, Korn, NIN and any number of newer bands. I’m happy to say that Kim was in her element. I’m old enough to be her mom. Thankfully, I am exposed to all kinds of music and even better, I happen to like all of the above.
I was not home by 12:30 a.m. I did stay as long as I could but this old grandma eventually got sleepy. Kim was happy and in good company so I headed home, hoping I would not be too mad at myself when it was time to wake in the morning. The good part is that gracious Bobby had lit the fireplace in our room and turned the temperature on the air control to a higher setting. My old ladies (not to be mistaken for The Hot Flashers), were having a very sweet sleep.
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