Louis Collins: A Post-American Odyssey

The luncheon was held in a long room off the hall. The newly sworn veterans were seated by district, with officials, families, and visiting delegates mixed among them. Judith and Maria went to a front table with David and Jessamine Simington. Two youth corps representatives intercepted Serana and Jacques and led them away. Philip and Constantine were already with Harvey and his senior staff.

A civic hostess approached Louis.

“Mr. Collins,” she said, “please follow me.”

His table was near the windows. Three place cards. Two already occupied: Gladice Simington and Angelique Bourbon. Gladice sat with one elbow over the arm of her chair, angling away from the table, one boot set slightly forward. Louis took the empty chair. Angelique watched him sit. Her mouth moved once, then settled. Gladice waited until he had unfolded his napkin. Then she leaned one elbow on the table.

Gladice picked up the linen napkin and laid it across her lap, smoothing one corner before the other.

“So,” she said, “they’ve seated us together.” She looked at Louis, then Angelique, then Louis again. “That feels very deliberate. And very generous of them.”

Louis filled his glass and set the pitcher down before answering.

“Most things here do.”

“True.” Gladice turned to Angelique and looked over the jacket, the hair, the still hands on the table. “And you’re the French girl I’ve been hearing about. An-gé-lique Bour-bon.”

She let the last syllable sit there before reaching for her glass.

“Navarrese,” Angelique corrected, “but I suppose people in Texas don’t much care.”

“Probably not.” Gladice smiled without looking away. “What I do care about is that the three of us are sitting very close together.” She touched the edge of her place card, then Louis’s, then Angelique’s. “So… are we meant to become friends?”

Louis laughed under his breath. “I think they want us to talk.”

Gladice leaned forward. Her jacket pulled tight at the waist and shoulders. She turned her fork between two fingers, then looked up at him. “So what shall we talk about? You’re the son of the most powerful man in the West. She’s the daughter of a king who doesn’t have a throne.” She settled back in her chair. “And I’m the daughter of a city that doesn’t entirely belong to its own state.” She set the fork down. “Should I begin?”

Angelique looked at Gladice, then Louis, then Gladice again. She set her glass down.

“You could start by telling us why you look as though they offered you citizenship only under threat.”

Gladice laughed once. “That obvious, is it?”

“Very.”

“Good.” Gladice set her fork across the plate. “I don’t like ceremonies. I find them inefficient.” She looked at Louis. “And I don’t enjoy being reminded that New Orleans has to fight to be treated like a real member of the Collective when it does most of the work.”

Louis set his glass down. “And yet you took the oath.”

“I took it because it is useful.” Gladice set the fork down. “Because without full citizenship I couldn’t take certain postings or stand for certain offices. And because I have no intention of letting this country pretend that a girl from the bayou hasn’t earned her place.” She looked at Louis first, then Angelique. “That doesn’t mean I have to pretend to be happy about it.”

A steward arrived with the first course: Gulf shrimp with citrus, and thin slices of brisket beside tomatoes and herbs. He set the plates down and refilled the glasses.

Angelique waited until he had gone. “So what do you plan to do with your new rights?”

“Use them.” Gladice put both elbows on the table. “My dad can play nice with Austin. I don’t have to. New Orleans is still alive because it knows how to survive on its own terms. And someday, if I’m smart enough, I’ll be in a position to make those terms official.” She turned to Angelique. “What about you? Why are you here?”

Angelique kept looking at Gladice. “I was invited.”

“No. That’s what you did. I asked why.”

“Because my family was invited.” Angelique moved one hand from her glass to the table. “And because I’m expected to carry a name that other people still find useful. What do you think of that?”

Gladice whistled softly. “You’re honest.”

“I’m practical.” Angelique glanced at Louis, then back at Gladice. “You asked.”

“I did.” Gladice looked at her longer this time. The corner of her mouth eased. “I like that you didn’t try to charm me. It would have been a waste of time.” Then she turned to Louis. “You, on the other hand, are very good at being charming.”

“I try,” Louis said.

Gladice nodded. “I can tell.” She pushed her glass aside and leaned closer. “But I don’t need charming right now. I’m curious. What is it like, being the son of the great Constantine Collins?”

Louis smiled. “Do you want the official answer or the real one?”

“Start with the official one. I’m sure it’s polished.”

Louis straightened and gave her his camera face. “It’s a privilege. It comes with responsibility. I’m learning how to serve.”

Gladice wrinkled her nose. “That’s the worst lie I’ve heard all week.”

Louis spread his hands. “I didn’t say it was my answer.”

Gladice laughed and turned to Angelique. “Do you believe that?”

Angelique set her fork down. “I believe Louis knows what is expected of him. I believe he is also capable of being more than that.”

“Ah.” Gladice’s eyebrows rose. “So the French girl knows him.”

“We’re not strangers.”

Gladice looked from Louis to Angelique and stopped smiling. “So that’s why we were seated together.” She shook her head once. “Politics is such an obvious business sometimes.” She leaned back in her chair. “Fine. If you’re not strangers, and you don’t need the official answer, give me the real one. What is it really like?”

Louis looked down at his glass before answering.

“Feels like you’re always being looked over, you know? And they only trust you as long as you’re useful,” he said. “Like your whole purpose is just to be a good enough copy of somebody else. And you learn to act like you’ve got some authority before you’re ever actually given any.” He looked up at Gladice. “And then sometimes you realize you’re just... stuck inside this whole thing that’s so massive you can’t even tell where you stop and it starts.”

Gladice breathed out and picked up her glass. “Better,” she said. “Much better.”

A steward arrived with the next course: two small tacos on each plate, barbacoa and charred peppers folded into warm tortillas. He set them down and moved on.

Gladice picked one up and took a bite.

“Yeah,” she said. “That sounds right.” She swallowed. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Louis lifted one shoulder. “I guess I’m still figuring that out.”

“That’s fair.” Gladice turned to Angelique. “And you? What do you think he should do?”

Angelique took a bite and swallowed before answering. “He should stop pretending he’s just figuring it out.”

Louis looked down at his glass and did not pick it up.

Gladice laughed. “Yes,” she said. “That’s exactly what I thought.” She wiped her mouth and looked back at Louis. “I like you both already, especially you.”

She kept looking at him after the last word. Louis smiled.

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

“Gladice.”

“Alright. Gladice.”

Gladice tapped one finger against her glass. “You know, I don’t usually make friends with people from out of the Collective. Most of them don’t survive a real conversation.” She looked from Louis to Angelique. “But you two might be interesting enough to keep around.” She reached for her water glass. “For now.”

Angelique picked up her own glass and took a slow sip. “We’ll see.”

Gladice grinned. “Oh, I hope we do.” Under the table, her boot brushed Louis’s knee and stayed there for a second. “In the meantime, this has been my favorite part of the whole damn ceremony.” She leaned back and smiled at Angelique. “We should do this again sometime. In New Orleans. Without the cameras.”

Angelique set her glass down and gave Gladice a brief smile. “I’m sure Louis will be delighted to accept.”

Heat rose in Louis’s face. He looked at Angelique. She was already looking at him. Her mouth moved once. Gladice looked from him to Angelique. Her grin widened.

“I knew it,” she said, triumphant. “This is going to be fun.”

A steward arrived with dessert: small plates of churros and dark chocolate sauce. He set them down and cleared the empty glasses from the table. Gladice broke one churro in half and dragged the end through the chocolate.