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“Have to wait outside. Can’t go in,” Wally said.
“Why not?”
“Broke some glasses they say. Don’t remember it. Was inebriated at the time.”
“They have good wine,” Avery said.
“I’ll wait for you. It’s always awkward to have scenes with Italian restaurant owners.”
Avery walked down two blocks and bought a large two-liter bottle of red wine in a straw basket. He met Wally at the corner.
“I forgot to get a corkscrew,” he said.
He cut out the top part of the cork with his pocketknife and pushed the rest through the neck into the wine.
“Good man,” Wally said.
They each had a drink. They could taste the cork when it floated up inside the neck. They walked along, Avery holding the bottle by the straw loops of the basket. They came to an apartment building with a Spanish-type courtyard that had an iron gate and an arched brick entrance. The courtyard was strung with paper lanterns, and there was a stone well with a banana tree beside it in the center. The walls were grown with ivy, and there were potted ferns in earthenware jars o
n the flagging. People moved up and down the staircase, and laughing girls called down from the balcony to young men in the court.
“Hello!” Wally said.
“It’s Wally,” someone said.
“I say, is there a party here?”
“Come in. You look shaky on your feet,” another said.
“Does anyone know if there’s a party here?” he said.
“Someone help Wally in,” a girl said.
“We’re agrarian romanticists. This is Freneau Crèvecoeur Broussard.”
“Avery.”
“That’s not agrarian enough. You’ll have to change your name,” Wally said.
Everyone turned and looked at Wally.
“Do you remember my party last Saturday?” a girl said.
“I was helping out at the mission last Saturday. We’re starting a campaign to make New Orleans dry.”
“He said he was somebody out of War and Peace,” she told the others. “He stood backwards on the edge of my balcony and tried to drink a fifth of Scotch without falling.”
“Couldn’t have been me. I’ve never read Chekhov.”
“You would have broken your neck if you hadn’t fallen in the flower bed,” she said.
“Don’t like those Russian chaps, anyway. A bunch of bloody moralists,” Wally said.
“Sit down, fellow. You’re listing,” someone said.
“Won’t be able to get up.”
“Tell Freneau Crèvecoeur to sit down. He doesn’t look well,” the girl said.
