Mississippi Queen, Louisiana Man

When she finally decided to accept the invitation of her co-workers to join them for an overnight trip to New Orleans, Melanie Hayes never dreamed that she'd fall in love that weekend, much less to a man she literally met on the street.

But love has a funny way of striking at the oddest times when you least expect it.

Truthfully, even though she was still young at age 38, Melanie had thought her capacity to love another man had died the night six years earlier when her husband had been killed in a car crash. They had gone to a party and had both had much more to drink than they should have. John, though, had been quite a bit more intoxicated than she'd been, yet he'd insisted that he could drive.

But on the two-lane highway that led to their house, they'd continued a heated argument they'd been engaged in at the party, he'd taken his eyes off the road at the wrong moment, missed a curve, then overcompensated and run off the other side of the road, hitting a tree. Melanie had managed to crawl from the wreckage without serious injuries, but her husband was dead on the scene.

It had been a hard six years. The first thing she'd done was admit to herself that she had a drinking problem and joined Alcoholics Anonymous.

After she'd been sober a year, she left the small central Mississippi town where she and John had lived, and moved to Jackson, the state capital and the largest city in the state. She enrolled in nursing school, obtained her degree and had been working in the emergency room at a large hospital for three years.

During that time, Melanie had made some very close friends among her co-workers, but had little social life, preferring to concentrate on her career and her two sons. She was a good nurse, with a friendly demeanor you couldn't help but like.

She was also pretty, with striking green eyes and short, curly hair that was a flaming orange color. She was average-sized, with everything in absolute perfect proportion. Indeed, whatever excess weight she had carried around during her drinking days had melted away from the combination of stress and exercise.

A month or so previously, not long after the beginning of the school year, one of her best friends from work had approached her about joining a group that was planning to make a trip down to New Orleans in early November, when it was a little cooler.

They were planning on driving down on Saturday morning, spending the day seeing the sights and enjoying the lively nightlife that evening. They were planning on getting a room at a funky old hotel in the French Quarter to spend Saturday night, then would return Sunday afternoon. They wanted her to come along, to get her out of her rut, and to be a sober presence.

"We could use someone who's not drinking to kind of keep us in line a little bit," her friend had said. "But the main thing is I want you to get out and have some fun. You can't stay locked up forever."

Melanie wasn't sure why she'd agreed to come along. Certainly she missed going down to the city, where she and John had spent many happy times. She thought she could do some early Christmas shopping, and finally, there was the encouragement from her mother, who had urged her to make the trip.

"You have to confront your memories, dear," her mom had said. "At some point, you have to let it go. If it's too much, at least you'll know you tried."

So she'd taken the boys to her mother's, then gathered a carload of co-workers that Saturday morning and headed off for New Orleans. It was a beautiful autumn day, warm, but not too hot, and unusually dry for the Deep South, and the bright, clear day put Melanie in a happy frame of mind, as if promising something.

It was a little after noon when the caravan of three cars picked its way into the French Quarter to their hotel. They had booked two rooms at The Thomas Jefferson Hotel, a quiet little place tucked amongst the shops on Royal Street. It looked like what it was, an old ante-bellum home that had been converted into an inn.

After getting their luggage stowed, the group went out to explore the Quarter. Melanie and a couple of others made their way through the shops, then took the requisite walk down Bourbon Street. Melanie bought a few gifts, and was able to sit down at a couple of clubs to listen to good jazz without being tempted to drink, a good sign.

They were walking back down Chartres Street to meet the rest of the group for dinner, just a block before reaching Jackson Square, when fate played its hand.

The sun was starting to dip into the west, and Mathieu Sonnier was about to call it a day. He'd been standing on the street playing for most of the day, and had made a tidy sum from the passersby who had stopped to hear him perform. His feet hurt from standing on the old pavement and his fingers were raw from playing his guitar and dobro all afternoon.

Mat didn't need to perform to make a living. During the week, he taught social studies and Louisiana history at one of the many large Catholic high schools in the city, and while teaching didn't pay tremendously well, he did well enough to afford a one-bedroom apartment on Dauphine Street. Living in the Quarter allowed him to walk to the Jackson Square area and perform.

He was a full-blooded Cajun, originally from Breaux Bridge, so he was steeped in the culture, especially the music. So on weekends when the weather was nice, he would take his guitar and his dobro and spend several hours playing traditional Cajun songs, singing most of them in French, which had been his first language.

Melanie was walking with two of her friends when they heard the mellifluous tones of Mat's voice and the peculiar sound of his dobro. Melanie was captivated by the clear tenor tone of Mat's voice, even though she couldn't understand a word he was singing. But as they approached, she was even more captivated by the man's dazzling blue eyes, which seemed to pierce right through her.

At 35, Mat was still lean and wiry, and though he wasn't real tall, he had an air of confidence that came through in the way he sang and played. He was nice-looking, with the dusky complexion of his people, and his hair was dark and full with just the first few wisps of gray starting to creep in.

He took keen and immediate notice of the pretty redhead with the sad eyes who had stopped to listen, and he bowed dramatically when she dropped a five-dollar bill into his guitar case. At first, Mat thought she would simply walk on, and he felt a twinge of disappointment, for some reason.

But Melanie told her companions to go on, that she'd meet them at the hotel in a few minutes. She wanted to hear more from this mysterious-looking creature who seemed to look right into her soul. She looked around and there were a half-dozen other people standing enjoying the man's performance.

"For my final number tonight, I'll be performing the Cajun National Anthem," he said jovially in his peculiar accent, then broke into a leisurely rendition of "Jole' Blond," a song his mother had put him to sleep with when he'd been young.

Melanie let the two-step rhythm and soulful lyrics move her, even though she couldn't understand the words, and she found herself swaying to the music. When he was finished, to the applause of the onlookers, she dropped a couple of ones into the case, but made no move to leave. It was as if she was anchored to the spot.

"You're quite good," she said hesitantly, nervously, as the rest of the audience drifted away.

"Well, I'm OK, but I'm not good enough to make a living at it," Mat said as he gathered the bills and loose change, then put his gear away. "So what brings you to our fair city?"

"Just a little overnight visit," she said, still hesitant to open up to this man that she had just met.

"Where you from?" he asked, and nodded when she told him.

"It's been quite a few years since I've been down here, though," Melanie said. "My husband and I used to come down all the time. In fact, we had season tickets for the Saints, and never missed a home game. But that was before..."

And she turned away suddenly as tears filled her eyes.

"Mon chere," Mat said softly, reaching up instinctively to touch her face. He'd always known that the eyes were the mirrors of the soul, and he'd seen from the beginning that while this beauty was smiling and enjoying herself, there was plenty of pain in her soul.

As quickly as the melancholia came on, Melanie brushed the tears away and took a deep breath. She was here to have fun, not wallow in self-pity.

"My husband was killed six years ago," she said simply. "We were both drunk and he insisted on driving. I haven't had a drink since that night."

"You're in a mighty strange place for a non-drinker," Mat said. "But that's OK, because I'm that rare breed of Coonass that doesn't drink his weight in beer every weekend. I might have one or two here and there, but that's about it."

By this time, they had strolled casually to the square and taken a seat on one of the park benches.

"By the way, I'm Mat, Mathieu Sonnier," he said.

"Melanie, Melanie Hayes," she answered, and they shook hands. As they did, something passed between them, and she shivered from his touch.

"Melanie. I always liked that name," Mat said.

"You're just laying on that Cajun flattery now," Melanie said teasingly.

"No, really," Mat said. "I have an aunt named Melanie, and she's my favorite."

They just sat and chatted as the sun fell into the horizon and the shadows lengthened. Neither was ready for the spell to be broken, but finally Melanie had to go.

"It was nice meeting you," she said as she stood up.

"Where are y'all going to do tonight?" he asked, in the fractured syntax common in that part of the country.

"Well, we're going for dinner at the Gumbo Shop, then I'm going to try to get into Preservation Hall," she said. "I've always wanted to do that, but the times before, John and I were so busy bar-hopping we never got the chance. What about you?"

"I'm going to go home and drop off my instruments and change clothes, then I'm going to Molly's, on Toulouse Street, to watch the game," Mat said. "LSU's playing Auburn on ESPN, and I like to watch the Tigahs with a big crowd. We really get into it. I'll have a burger and a couple of Guinesses. Indulge a little bit."

"So, you're an LSU man?" Melanie asked.

"All the way," Mat said. "Class of '92. Don't tell me. If you're from Jackson, I'll bet you're a Rebel."

"Hoddy toddy," Melanie said with a laugh. "Yep. Ole Miss Class of '88. I was a Delta Gamma. For whatever that's worth."

"Just means you got a little breeding," Mat said. "I was GDI myself, although I had plenty of friends in the frats. Anyway, you'd better be going. Your friends are going to think I kidnapped you."

"Well, enjoy yourself," Melanie said, thinking that perhaps being kidnapped by this handsome Cajun wouldn't be such a crime. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

"Look, I'll be there until about 10:30 or so," Mat said, not sure why he thought she'd be interested. "If you get a chance, come on by."

"I'll think about it," she said as she walked off down the street. Mat watched intently as Melanie walked into the distance. After she had gotten about a block away, she turned, noticed he was still there, so she smiled and waved. As she did, she felt that funny feeling in her stomach that she hadn't felt in years, a barely-suppressed excitement.

"Stop it," she admonished herself as she neared the hotel. "Nothing's going to happen. We're just two ships in the night." Yet she couldn't get the image of his face out of her mind.

Melanie's friends teased her about Mat when she returned to the hotel, and she blushed a little at that. Everyone was in a fine partying mood, and ready for more. It was just dark, and already some of the group were more than half-drunk, including one of the younger nurses, a small girl who seemed a little overwhelmed by the place. It was her first time ever in New Orleans, and the sights, sounds, smells and tastes of the exotic city had her slightly dazzled, not to mention all the beer she'd already packed away.

The Gumbo Shop, a block or so from Pat O'Brien's on St. Peter Street, is perfect for the tourist on a limited budget. The Creole cuisine is excellent and reasonably priced, and caters to a middle-class clientele, as opposed to the more famous French Quarter restaurants. Their party ate well, then headed out into the night to do some serious partying.

Everyone wanted to go to Pat O's for hurricanes, and Melanie decided to accompany them. Cassie, the young nurse who was on her first visit, had drunk three more beers with dinner and was just about smashed. Melanie had a feeling that her soberness would be needed shortly.

They sat in the courtyard around several tables, and it was pretty easy to tell the rookies from those who had been to New Orleans before. The rookies all had hurricanes, the veterans had something a little more modest, and Melanie had a soda.

Cassie finished one tall glass of the fruity rum concoction and was working on her second when she suddenly bolted from her chair and ran toward the ladies room. Melanie and another nurse followed her and found Cassie slumped over the toilet, puking her guts out. When she was finished, Melanie could tell the poor thing was done, so she sent the other nurse for her things, then helped Cassie stagger back to the hotel and put her to bed.

Melanie sat in the quiet room, making sure Cassie was all right, and thought about what she wanted to do. Suddenly, she made a decision. She was going to go for it. She was here to have fun, to let herself go, and she decided that she was going to take a chance on Mat Sonnier. She'd thought of little else in the time since they'd met.

She grabbed a quick change of clothes, a simple sundress and a pair of panties, and few of her toiletries and stuffed them in her purse. Then she left and headed for Molly's Irish Pub, a place she was very familiar with from the old days.

Molly's is as authentic an Irish tavern as you'll find in the American South, and it was packed with LSU fans watching the game on one of the three TV's that hung in several places inside. Melanie's heart was pounding, and she was a touch fearful, especially since the bar next door appeared to be something of a biker's hangout.

But the atmosphere was warm and friendly as she pushed her way into the crowded pub. At first, she was afraid that Mat had changed his mind, but as she picked her way through the crowd, she saw him sitting at the bar. Almost simultaneously, their eyes met, and Melanie was gratified to see a genuine spark light up Mat's eyes. He motioned for her to come over, and when she did, he gave her a quick hug of greeting.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come," he said loudly, trying to be heard over the din.

"I'm not sure why I came," she answered. "I guess... I don't know."

"Coffee?" he said.

"Please," she said. Even now, she wasn't about to trifle with six years of sobriety. Mat ordered two coffees and got up from his seat to let her sit down, like a true Southern gentleman, she thought. Melanie sipped her coffee and studied Mat as he tried to pay attention to her while still watching the game.

It quickly became apparent to Mat that LSU was going to take a back seat to Melanie. He wanted to find out about her, get into her soul. He believed strongly in serendipity, and he suspected that she'd been placed in his path for a reason. Besides, LSU was winning handily. After finishing their coffee, Mat paid his tab and motioned for Melanie to come on with him.

"Let's get out of here and go somewhere where we can talk," Mat said.

Instead of turning left out of Molly's and going to Bourbon Street, they turned right, toward the river.

As they walked toward the square, and beyond, they engaged in some light conversation, finding out a little about each other. Melanie learned that Mat had never married, and lived quietly as a bachelor. At the moment, he wasn't seeing anyone, news that sent Melanie's stomach flipping.

"Why haven't you ever married," she asked, curious as to why such a talented, good-looking guy as Mat had never been snagged. Mat seemed to look far away and didn't answer immediately, so Melanie was afraid she'd offended him. When he did answer, it was with a wistful look.

"I was engaged once, about 12 years ago," Mat said. "A month before the wedding, she backed out. At first, she told me she just didn't know if she loved me. I soon found out that an old boyfriend from high school had come back in the picture, and he kind of swept her off her feet. I was really hurt, but at least she had the decency to leave me before the wedding. Too bad, 'cause I really loved her."

Melanie was absorbed with that information, and didn't immediately notice that she and Mat were holding hands and that they were gravitating toward the Moon Walk, over the railroad tracks and across the levee along the waterfront.

They sat on the long bench and watched the muddy water flow toward the gulf, listening to the blasts from the large freighters headed out to sea. They talked a little about life, and death. Melanie talked candily about her marriage for the first time ever. She had loved John, and he'd loved her, but it had been a volatile relationship, made worse by alcohol.

After they had been there awhile, Melanie started to feel a breeze from the river. She'd worn a light sweater over her short-sleeved blouse, but as the night deepened, she felt a little chilly. Mat wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and the contact seemed to be electric. For a long, pregnant second they looked deep in each other's eyes.

"I shouldn't..." Melanie whispered, a split second before their lips met. They kissed slowly at first, but as the spark sizzled, it picked up steam and soon their mouths were straining, open, their tongues working at each other. Melanie could feel herself getting wet and hot between her legs, and her emotions were boiling.

Finally, she pulled away, and looked far down the river.

"I'm sorry," Mat said. "I shouldn't have." In answer, Melanie turned back to him, wrapped her hand around the back of his head and pulled him to her. They kissed deeply, as passion built to a white heat.

This time, when they came up for air, Melanie took a deep breath and tried compose herself. Part of her wanted to drag this man to some place private and ravage him, and part of her was afraid to give herself to a man she barely knew.

Mat, too, was conflicted. He wanted this woman like he hadn't wanted a woman in a long time, but he didn't want to come on too strong. And yet, he didn't want to let the chance for a promising relationship slip away by being timid.

"Melanie," he said finally. "I know we just met and all, and I can understand if..." Melanie just pressed a finger to his mouth, then kissed him again, this time slower, with more tenderness.

"I want you," he said simply when they broke apart again. "But... But I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. I like you a lot, and I think I could grow to love you. But..." Again, he faltered.

"Mat, I knew the moment I saw you that you were something different, something special," Melanie said. "I want to spend as much time with you this weekend as I can. Let's just go with the flow and see what happens. OK?"

They got up and walked back to Decatur Street, their arms wrapped around each other's shoulder, they lost themselves in their own thoughts. Melanie thought about how good it felt to lay her head on a man's shoulder again, to feel a man's strong arm around her. Mat was just the slightest bit taller than she was, so that her head fit perfectly on his shoulder and their arms fit around each other like a glove.