“These are some high end gays.” — Jennifer Coolidge, The White Lotus
1) The main event of the day was what Lindsay described as “one of my favorite things of the year,” a private Sunday brunch at the Royal Windsor Hotel that I gather has been going on for years and years. Given the limitations of my travel wardrobe, I had to have a fashion consult via text so I wouldn’t embarrass my host. He ended up choosing what I’ll call Beaded Safari Casual, khaki jacket and pants with pink accents and a silk scarf.
2) Lindsay asked me to meet him at the brunch, so off I went like a baby duck into the sunny and pleasantly cool streets of New Orleans, observing the sizeable midday crowd and trying unsuccessfully not to get lost. The Royal Windsor was only two blocks away, and yet . . .
3) And my goodness, it is fancy. Light wood paneling, tapestries, highly polished brass. If you want to elevate the tone of any given situation, just add a live harpist delicately plucking away somewhere in the corner. Now Mardi Gras is an Ostentatiously Excessive Occasion, but I must say, walking into that hotel lobby I felt like the only person wearing beads in the place.
4) Lindsay’s friend came downstairs for me to escort me into the function, sleek and chic in a pinstripe pantsuit and the kind of brooch described as Important in auction catalogs, very much evoking Shelley Hack and Lauren Hutton and the Manhattan Transfer. He brought me into this luscious little suite of function rooms bustling with brightly clad ladies and gentlemen, piano music, prosecco and other drinkables, and a sumptuous brunch. I was introduced to a table full of Lindsay’s friends, most of whom I missed seeing at the ball on Friday — including the marvelous Fatsy Cline in a to-die-for red caftan heavily spangled in gold. Like me, Lindsay knows only the Very Best People.
5) And about ten minutes later Her Majesty arrived with Wontonya Dumpling, and we really got down to the serious business of brunch and partying. What followed was a great deal of prosecco, vivacious chatter, and parade viewing from the two balconies.
6) As mentioned, Mardi Gras was just not part of my childhood at all; I don’t think Lago di Carlo even had a parade until I was in junior high school. But it was integral to Lindsay’s, and I enjoyed hearing how he grew up with it, and how it’s become so vital for him now.
7) We had a marvelous view of the parade below from the second-floor balcony, and I certainly appreciated being “above it all.” I was surprised by the number of beads that had landed on the roofs of vehicles in the parade, one of which actually had a 12-foot long tail of beads running behind it.
8) The only person I knew coming into this event was Lindsay, so imagine my surprise when someone vaguely familiar approached me on the balcony to say “What on earth are you doing here?” This turned out to be a delightful young interior designer I know from Provincetown, who is also a Louisiana boy. “Well, what are YOU doing here?!” followed by happy exclamations. We had a good catchup and compared Cape Cod vs. NoLa social life.
Religious exhibitionists.
9) The time came for us to promenade through the French Quarter, but not before meeting the hostess of the hotel bar (delightful) and hanging out there for about 15 minutes. The joint was jumpin’!
10) Then off we went, beads and caftans flying, through the Quarter, through Jackson Square, talking a mile a minute. Our ultimate destination: a little bar they nicknamed Acquaintances on or near Dauphine Street. If we had been drinking tea in the parlor earlier, this was the transition to sippin’ whiskey on the back porch with your belt undone.
10a) I was reminded of a passage from Edward Swift’s novel Splendora when the main character, Timothy John, finally took the advice of his mentor, a drag queen named Magnolia, about his persona Miss Jessie. Magnolia said “Don’t try to be so made-up all the time. Let your hair down once in awhile and it’ll be a breather for you. Who told you you had to take yourself so seriously anyway?” And the result: “On a warm spring evening not long after Miss Jessie’s birth, Magnolia . . . was sitting on the corner stool, her stool, in a bar downstairs from her apartment, when Timothy John — wearing Miss Jessie’s hairstyle and tight-legged jeans together with a camisole top flaring out around his waist, a string of pearls, and silver lamé heels — came strolling into the bar and took a seat on the next stool just like she owned it. Magnolia took one look. It was all she needed. ‘You don’t seem so much like a cartoon no more, honey,’ she said. ‘You been taking lessons from the right person is all I can say, and there ain’t nothing left for me to do but pronounce you “graduated with honors.”’”
10b) Standing on the bar balcony overlooking the intersection does indeed give one a different perspective of the Quarter — and I rather like it.
11 Eventually the time came for us to part, and I picked my way through the revelers back to my hotel and a bit of shuteye before stepping back out for some dinner. When I did, a perceptible chill had come into the air to remind us all that it really isn’t spring yet.
12 Oysters Rockefeller for dinner, and a small steak.
13 And then packing! I had a train to catch first thing in the morning . . .