The Story of Madame C (The introduction)
Ok everyone; here is what's brewing in my writer's kitchen. I've been having the idea of a character in my mind for the last month or so, and have finally decided to put her on paper.
I would like to introduce you all to Madame C, who is a brothel owner in the south back in the late 1800's-1920.
I'm still debating if I'm going to turn this idea into a novella or just a short character study. Please take the time to read all the parts to this story because it's going to be VERY entertaining and intriguing.
My mind is on OVERLOAD right now.....
The Story of Madame C
By Erika Jones
The Introduction
The year was 1921, and the weather was a sweltering hot heap of a mess down here in the Louisiana swamp lands, but goddammit my brothel was the hottest ticket in town. Everybody who was anybody had strolled through these halls and had a taste of the finest black asses to ever walk across a plantation.
The girls were exhausted from working all night while the white men stumbled about the hallways drunk with laughter. This was the only place in the South where whites and blacks could co-exist in a peaceful manner, and not feel the strains of prejudice and separation.
The local voodoo priestess had just finished giving 4 bootleg abortions to some girls who had become "In the family way", and afterwards we sat and drank cold lemonade spiked with Gin.
Luckily for me, Tambo was a Voodoo priestess with a weakness for whiskey, so as a payment, I would simply give her an entire case of bathtub Gin and whiskey!
Tambo had been a friend to the family for over 50 years, and now well into her 80's she doesn't move about as fast as she used to, and I'm not sure if it's because of the whiskey or her age. She got the name Tambo from her late husband who was also heavily into voodoo, and would often use a Tambourine in her spells and rituals, hence the name Tambo.
Lord chile, that woman would shake that Tambourine over my girls when she thought they had a demon or was hexed and it would drive me absolutely crazy.
I myself was getting too old to be trying to keep up with these 20 and 30 year old gals. Hell, I'm 64 years old and I surely didn't want to be peddling pussy and bootleg liquor for the rest of my life. I've done it for 40 years already, and the girls today ain't nothing like the girls I managed back in the 1880's when I first began.
But I can't complain though. I've had a good life considering that I'm the daughter of slaves. Both my parents were Mulattos that could pass for white, and so could I, which benefited me greatly.
To my girls I was just another white woman who they only knew as Madame C. Only a select few knew my real name or that I had black blood pulsating through me veins.
Only a select few know anything about Madame Claudette Becquette, and that's how I liked it. I've participated in some of the worst activities known to man, so keeping my identity a secret is not only important, but my life and safety depends on it!
To be continued.......
I would like to introduce you all to Madame C, who is a brothel owner in the south back in the late 1800's-1920.
I'm still debating if I'm going to turn this idea into a novella or just a short character study. Please take the time to read all the parts to this story because it's going to be VERY entertaining and intriguing.
My mind is on OVERLOAD right now.....
The Story of Madame C
By Erika Jones
The Introduction
The year was 1921, and the weather was a sweltering hot heap of a mess down here in the Louisiana swamp lands, but goddammit my brothel was the hottest ticket in town. Everybody who was anybody had strolled through these halls and had a taste of the finest black asses to ever walk across a plantation.
The girls were exhausted from working all night while the white men stumbled about the hallways drunk with laughter. This was the only place in the South where whites and blacks could co-exist in a peaceful manner, and not feel the strains of prejudice and separation.
The local voodoo priestess had just finished giving 4 bootleg abortions to some girls who had become "In the family way", and afterwards we sat and drank cold lemonade spiked with Gin.
Luckily for me, Tambo was a Voodoo priestess with a weakness for whiskey, so as a payment, I would simply give her an entire case of bathtub Gin and whiskey!
Tambo had been a friend to the family for over 50 years, and now well into her 80's she doesn't move about as fast as she used to, and I'm not sure if it's because of the whiskey or her age. She got the name Tambo from her late husband who was also heavily into voodoo, and would often use a Tambourine in her spells and rituals, hence the name Tambo.
Lord chile, that woman would shake that Tambourine over my girls when she thought they had a demon or was hexed and it would drive me absolutely crazy.
I myself was getting too old to be trying to keep up with these 20 and 30 year old gals. Hell, I'm 64 years old and I surely didn't want to be peddling pussy and bootleg liquor for the rest of my life. I've done it for 40 years already, and the girls today ain't nothing like the girls I managed back in the 1880's when I first began.
But I can't complain though. I've had a good life considering that I'm the daughter of slaves. Both my parents were Mulattos that could pass for white, and so could I, which benefited me greatly.
To my girls I was just another white woman who they only knew as Madame C. Only a select few knew my real name or that I had black blood pulsating through me veins.
Only a select few know anything about Madame Claudette Becquette, and that's how I liked it. I've participated in some of the worst activities known to man, so keeping my identity a secret is not only important, but my life and safety depends on it!
To be continued.......
Wow that's great! I love it so far. I've already got the imagery going on in my head of the "days back then".
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Thank you Miss Brisbane.
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