VenCo(85)

“I hope so. I’m looking for Claudia?”

The woman beamed at her. “Is that a question?”

“No, I know I’m looking for Claudia.” Lucky was not used to this level of joy coming from a person. Mania and no-holds-barred energy, because she was Arnya’s daughter. But happiness at that same intensity? That was foreign. It made her a bit shy.

“Well, you’re having a good day, then, because I am a Claudia.” The woman chuckled.

“Uh, yes. So, Meena—well, Wendy, really—sent me your name. I’m looking for something and I think it’s here. Well, not right here, but in New Orleans.”

“Everything anyone needs is in New Orleans,” Claudia answered, opening her arms wide. “Unless what you need is peace and quiet. Gotta head past city limits for those.”

She walked back into the studio, waving for Lucky to follow her. They stepped carefully over uncapped paint tubes and wet palettes and went out a small door in the back that creaked when it was pushed. They walked through a small courtyard of tall grass and drowsy wildflowers beaded with fat bees, with a wrought-iron bistro set in the middle. They followed a narrow path to a small shed, the green paint peeling into curls like gift ribbon. Claudia reached into her coveralls and pulled out a key that dangled on a thin gold chain and used it to unlock the door.

“Mind your feet. I gotta get some lights on in here.”

Lucky was expecting must and dirt, since from the outside it looked like a mostly unused garden shed. But instead she smelled incense and old paper. Claudia fumbled with a plug for a moment, and then the space was filled with light.

There was a long trestle table in the middle, reaching from one wall almost to the next, every inch of it covered in books—piled, opened, and sealed. Here and there were scraps of paper with notes in the most beautiful calligraphy. Pens and pencils were scattered in the mess. At first glance, it appeared the back wall was covered in bland, cream wallpaper, but on closer inspection, Lucky saw it was stacked with scrolls, held straight by thin wires fastened to the wall. A striped rug was laid out under the table, and what she could see of the bare floor was swept clean. There was only one round stool in here, the right height for the tall table. It was chaos and order at the same time, and Lucky imagined this was what the inside of Claudia’s head must look like.

“Here we are. You want a drink before we get started?” Claudia moved carefully around to the other side of the table, only knocking two pens off the edge with her backside.

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay then, Wendy says you are looking for an alligator.”

Lucky was confused for a moment. “No, I’m looking for a spoon.”

“One thing at a time. You’re looking for a round alligator, tail all up in his face, aren’t you?”

“Oh, right. Yes. I am looking for an alligator.”

“Alright then.” Claudia clapped her hands together. “Let’s find your gator!”

She searched the tabletop, moving piles of pages and notebooks this way and that. “Now, where did I put it . . . ?”

“Which book are you looking for?” Lucky leaned over to examine the piles.

“Ah! Here is it!” Claudia pulled a laptop from a pile of loose pages and plopped it on top of a botanical encyclopedia. “Now, let’s just make sure we’re connected to the internet.”

“Wait, you’re just going to look online?” How was this secret knowledge? Lucky could have Googled an alligator herself. And she had—she’d found swamp tours, a clothing store, three separate high schools with alligator mascots, but no circular gator surrounded by spokes.

“Have some patience and belief there, baby. Let me see the image they drew? Wendy said you’d bring me one.” She held her hand out, and Lucky pulled up the picture she’d been sent and handed her phone over.

“Huh. I seen this one before. Long time before . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she tapped her chin with a forefinger. Lucky waited in the silence, shifting from one foot to the other.

The pause went on for so long, Lucky had zoned out watching two small birds fight over a beetle near the open door and jumped when Claudia yelled out, “I got it now!”

She pushed her laptop aside and dug around on the table again, pulling out a hardcover as long as her arm. Across the navy front was gold lettering: Culinary Establishments in New Orleans, 1900 to 1950.

“A Booker is more than just books—it’s about memory and local knowledge too,” Claudia said, flipping the large pages.

“Does each place have a Booker?”

“Every good place does.” She turned more pages, running her finger down each one as she searched. “People get it wrong. The magic’s not in the person. The magic is in the place. It just takes the right kind of person to pull it up.”

Lucky leaned over and scanned the pages as Claudia turned them. Black-and-white photos of men with impressive mustaches, standing in front of glass windows displaying their names; Creole women in aprons, smiling under striped awnings; quaint patios rammed with people in stiff shirtsleeves and giant straw hats. Towards the middle was a section on signs. A magnolia tree with curlicue lettering for roots. The outline of a busty woman in a bustle skirt. A crawfish holding a bowler hat up in one claw by way of greeting. Then a small photo of a brick shop front with a wooden sign by the entrance. They both leaned in to get a closer look, and painted on the sign they saw an alligator with one flat eye, his tail curled up to his snout.