Out of the Easy

I leapt eagerly into books. The characters’ lives were so much more interesting than the lonely heartbeat of my own.

Sometimes we set off down a road thinkin' we're goin' one place and we end up another. But that's okay. The important thing is to start.

Let me tell you something 'bout these rich Uptown folk," said Cokie. "They got everything that money can buy, their bank accounts are fat, but they ain't happy. They ain't ever gone be happy. You know why? They soul broke. And money can't fix that, no sir.

What do you do with all this bank, Josie? Be a lot easier if you just lifted your skirt.” “The only reason I’d lift my skirt is to pull out my pistol and plug you in the head.

Some things just won’t go away, no matter how hard you scrub.

You like me, Josie Moraine. You just don't know it yet.

Tragedy was a big social event, and everyone wanted in on it.

We all laced together—a brothel madam, an English professor, a mute cook, a quadroon cabbie, and me, the girl carrying a bucket of lies and throwing them like confetti.

Willie said normal was boring and that I should be grateful that I had a touch of spice. She said no one cared about boring people, and when they died, they were forgotten, like something that slips behind the dresser.

There was no ‘Miss Woodley.’ There was Willie. Willie was about life, and she grabbed it by the balls. Y’all know that. She loved a stiff drink, a stiff hundred, and she loved her business. And she didn’t judge nobody. She loved everyone equal—accountants, queers, musicians, she welcomed us all, said we were all idiots just the same.

If I poured all the lies I had told into the Mississippi, the river would rise and flood the city.

Man, you’re a regular Bonnie Parker.” “A dame that knows the ropes isn’t likely to get tied up.” Jesse found that hysterical. “Did Willie say that?” “Nope, Mae West. Now, how do I get on this thing in a skirt?

Charlie Marlowe never wrote horror, but somehow horror was writing Charlie Marlowe.

I wasn't certain of anything anymore, except that New Orleans was a faithless friend and I wanted to leave her.

One day when I was fourteen, I told Charlie that I hated Mother. “Don’t hate her, Jo,” he told me. “Feel sorry for her. She’s not near as smart as you. She wasn’t born with your compass, so she wanders around, bumping into all sorts of walls. That’s sad.” I understood what he meant, and it made me see Mother differently. But wasn’t there some sort of rule that said parents had to be smarter than their kids? It didn’t seem fair.

Look at you, locked and loaded, like Mae West of the Motor City.

It amazed me how some people could touch an instrument and create something so beautiful, and when others tried, like me, it just sounded like mangled noise.

This town will eat you up if you’re not careful. But I won’t be here forever.

Writers of historical fiction would be lost without libraries and archives.

They got everything money can buy, their bank accounts are fat, but they ain't happy. They ain't ever gonna be happy. You know why? They soul broke. And money can't fix that, no sir.

They drink like fish and ask the most probing questions." "Welcome to the South." Patrick laughed.

Jesse motioned to my hair. “Looks like you’ve been in the bath yourself.” He settled into a chair on the front porch. “I had just washed my hair, but then I had to go shoot someone. Do you want a cold drink?

I wished I had a friend in the Quarter, someone like Charlotte. Someone I could share secrets with, collapse on her bedroom floor, and spill my guts about Patrick to. I saw so many girls walking arm in arm, laughing, an inexplicable closeness and comfort that they had a protector and confidante. They had someone they could count on.

Engrave your pieces, Jo, and they’ll always find their way back to you,” said Willie.

Willie appeared completely calm about the news of Mother. She always said she could make tea in a tornado.

God, I need that coffee. I feel like a bag of smashed assholes.

Why you frettin', Jo? You not sure?" I inhaled my tears in order to speak. "I'm sure I want to go, but I'm not sure it's possible.Why would they accept me? And if they did, how would I pay for it? I don't want to get my hopes up only to be disappointed. I'm always disappointed." "Now don't let fear keep you in New Orleans. Sometimes we set off down a road thinkin' we're goin' one place and we end up another. But that's okay. The important thing is to start. I know you can do it. Come on, Josie girl, give those ol' wings a try." "Willie doesn't want me to." "So what, you gonna stay here just so you can clean her house and run around with all the naked crazies in the Quarter? You got a bigger story than that.

You got to get outta here, Josie. New Orleans is fine for some people, real good for a few. But not for you. Too much baggage that’ll pull you down. You got dreams and the potential to make ’em real.