The ABC Affair 2019- W is for White Linen Night

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

While commonly referred to as a season of events, Mardi Gras was actually only one day. The words Mardi Gras translated from the French meant ‘Fat Tuesday, or sometimes referred to as Shrove Tuesday.” Napoleon said.

“Yes it grew out of Shrovetide which is an English term, meaning the last day before the period called Lent. Shrove means to confess or be absolved of sin, “ Kuryakin added.

“The floats, parades and, to put it mildly, partying as well as debauchery that lead up to  Mardi Gras is actually called Carnival. The day after Fat Tuesday, all the nonsense is supposed to stop; there’s forty days to try to remember what one did and ask forgiveness for it on Ash Wednesday,” Napoleon snickered.

“I think forty days are not long enough for you my friend,” Illya laughed.

“And look who’s calling the kettle black tovarisch.”

“Oh I think there is no comparison when you add all of your libidinous liaisons.”

“I’ll have you know I have been celibate since we arrived in New Orleans. There’s so much going on here that I’ve been a bit preoccupied.”

“The great Napoleon Solo celibate?”Mark laughed.”Now there’s a word I never thought I’d hear in reference to you!

The four agents were casually dressed, sitting in a bar with no windows, only its louvered doors were folded back revealing the sidewalk and street that was now being drenched in a downpour of near biblical proportions.

Luckily the wind was blowing it in such a way that the rain wasn’t coming inside the bar.

“Well cheers to Illya and his weather sense; saved us from getting soaked,”Mark raised his beer mug in a toast.

As the others raised their glasses, the power went out. That elicited a collective moan from everyone in the premises.

The help immediately went into action, pulling out candles and hurricane lamp sconces in which to set them.

“No worries people,” the barman called.”This happens all the time. Power will be back up before you know it.”

Napoleon disappeared, answering the call of nature and headed to the men’s room in the rear of the bar. Once inside he set up his communicator. It didn't matter that it was dark.

“Channel F- Kripke.”

“Here sir.”

“What’s your status?”

“Power’s out sir; we have nothing but flashlights. The door can be opened manually from the inside so we’re not trapped in here, but we have no security cameras.

“All right, someone put on a rain slicker and stand guard outside the door. Use a specific knock for the door to be opened.”

“Mister Solo, we have a transistor radio on and the weatherman is saying we’re getting a big tropical storm. It was supposed to hit Florida but it changed course and New Orleans it’s getting a direct hit.”

“All right, Kripke. Cancel the guard and sit tight. We’ll be there as soon as we’re able. Solo out.”

Napoleon returned to the bar and looked to the barman.”Do you have a transistor radio?”

“Yeah somewhere around here. Why?”

“I suggest you turn it on. Apparently New Orleans is being hit by a pretty powerful tropical storm. You need to let your patrons know.”

“Heck, I can do that! Hey y’all we’re getting a tropical storm. Y’all wanna leave?”

“Hell no!” It was a collective answer.

“Well then, this round is on the house! Laissez le bon temps rouler!”

There was a series of hoots and hollers from the patrons.

“These people are a tad serious about their drinking,” Mark said.

“You have no idea,” Illya swallowed the last of his vodka and headed to the exit, following Napoleon.

April opened her large shoulder bag and pulled out a bright yellow plastic poncho, and a small folding umbrella.

The others looked at her, wide eyed.

“Well a girl has to be prepared.”

She and Mark held the poncho over their heads while Napoleon and Illya took the umbrella. It was one of those clear vinyl dome things that offered little protection for two adult men..

The best laid plans of mice and UNCLE agents didn’t last very long as a huge gust of wind blew away both the umbrella and poncho.

The agents watched as they went down the street, along with flower baskets, trash bins and you name it. If it wasn’t nailed down it was blowing away.

There were a few people running here and there, but the streets were mostly vacant.  The French Quarter was pretty much on lockdown.Everyone was tucked in safely with all their windows and doors shuttered, except for a few bars filled with those not letting a little tropical storm interfere with their keeping their own personal Mardi Gras going.

The soaked agents headed straight to the hotel Monteleone to change their clothing. Management had been made aware of the planted explosives and were so grateful that the hotel and everyone in it had been saved, they gave the four agents rooms...on the house. That was going to make Accounting very happy back at headquarters in New York.

The lights in the hotel flickered on and off as they approached the desk to get their keys, but instead of taking a chance on the elevator a bellhop with a flashlight escorted them up the stairwell to their rooms.

Once changed into dry clothes, Solo and Kuryakin intended to head to the field office, wearing trench coats they’d brought with them. The hotel management gave them proper umbrellas as well. It wasn’t worth it calling a taxi to go to the distance as it was as it was just around the corner from the Montelelone.

The hotel manager was adamant at first about calling them a cab, but Napoleon insisted they weren’t going far and would be fine.

The lights went out again, and much to the manager’s dismay, the phones were out as well.

One of the employees appeared carrying an arm of hurricane style oil lanterns and set them on the front desk.

“May we have one of those. Our friends are without any lights at all and are in a windowless location.”

“Certainly Mister Kuryakin,” the manager handed one over to them. “Please be safe out there gentlemen. Miss Dancer and Mister Slate I take it are remaining here?”

Napoleon nodded. I may send some of my people here for a break. They can use mine and Mister Kuryakin’s rooms if that is all right with you.”

“Oh but of course Mister Solo,” the manager had been clued in about the presence of the U.N.C.L.E. in New Orleans and felt ever grateful for their saving the Monteleone.

Napoleon thanked him before saluting the man as he and Illya walked towards the door.

“Wait, one moment gentlemen. The manager named Dwayne Bedlowe, disappeared for a few minutes. He returned with a large paper sack. “Take this, as I think you and your people will need something to eat. I’m afraid it’s going to be a long night.”

Illya accepted the bag, and feeling the weight of it he knew there was a lot of food in there.

They hurried along the sidewalk, staying as close to the buildings as possible as many of the overhanging balconies created some cover for those below.

It was getting dark and with the street lamps out it made walking a bit difficult. They arrived at the gate and Napoleon entered a code in a hidden keypad to open it. Luckily it was powered by a backup battery and was able to open the door in the middle of the gate.

Illya pounded the office door with his fist, rapping the agreed upon code.

Kripke opened up, greeting them with his special in his hand as he had no way to see who it was. It was a precaution of which Solo took note.

They lit the hurricane lamp and emptied the contents of the bag given to them by Bedlowe.  It was filled with po’boy sandwiches, containers of gumbo, jambalaya and quite a few beignets. A veritable feast thanks to the hotel Monteleone kitchen.

Once they were done eating, Napoleon stood, clapping his hands, and rubbing them together

“All right gentlemen, and Valerie you have two options. You can stay here or you can go to the Monteleone. You can use the rooms that are set aside for myself and Mister Kuryakin.

Kripke decided to remain with them but the others opted to go to the hotel. It would probably be the only time they’d ever be able to stay there as none of them could afford it.

Napoleon and Illya offered their trench coats, but they were declined. The staff always kept rain gear on hand as it was the south after all.

Napoleon insisted they take a flashlight as he opened the door for them and watched as they headed out.

“Be careful out there.”

“Will do sir,” Valerie called back.

It was a wild night, with the lights flickering on and off multiple times. They could hear the wind howling from time to time.

Taking turns using the cot, they each got a bit of shut eye.

The first thing in the morning the power came back on, all systems were up and running. Kripke sent a status report to New York, though nothing was heard back from Waverly.

They opened the door to let in some fresh air, and were hit with ungodly heat and humidity.

Kripke laughed at Illya’s reaction as the Russian was not a fan of hot sticky weather.

Kuryakin gave him one of ‘those’ looks; Kripke got the message right away to never mess with the Russian.

“Today will be what we call a white linen night here in New Orleans,” he said.

“Why?” Illya looked at him.

“Well what we call a white night usually happens in August when it so hot and humid that everyone wears light white clothing. If you don’t have any, there’s a shop around the corner where you can purchase some if you like. It’ll help you feel a little more comfortable while you’re outdoors.

That’s all Napoleon needed to hear, an excuse to buy some new clothing.

Valmont and the others arrived, refreshed and ready to take over. The hotel had graciously cleaned and pressed their clothing for them so they’d be presentable to do their job.

The streets had been washed clean by the storm, all the shutters were now open and the city had come back to life again.

The bars they passed by were going strong. “Let the good times roll indeed,” Illya said as he sook his head.

They went to the shop recommended by Kripke, and it didn’t take long to find what they needed.

Solo’s choice included a wide brim Panamanian style hat, a jacket, a white polo shirt and pleated white pants. On his feet he wore a pair of white canvas sneakers that lresembled deck shoes. It was his plan to put the purchase on the expense account, and given the clothing was reasonably price he figured it would be approved.

After all they were staying here longer than anticipated and only brought so much clothing with them.

Napoleon selected a dress and wide brimmed hat for April, Mark, a simple pair of pleated trousers and a jacket. He already had a white shirt.

Illya chose a pair of white chinos that fit him like a second skin. He wore a black tee shirt and a white jacket to go over it. He pushed up the sleeves and finishing the look, he put on a pair of dark sunglasses. Like Solo, he wore a pair of canvas slip on sneakers  He opted to go without a hat.

They arrived at the Monteleone carrying the boxes and bags containing the clothing.

“Ahhh, I see gentlemen someone clued you in on our white nights here,” Mister Bedlowe greeted them. “You fared well during the storm I take it.”

“We managed. Thank you again for accommodating my people,” Napoleon said.

“Please sir, it was my pleasure. Shall I ring Miss Dancer and Mister Slate that you have returned?”

“Yes by all means, please. Could you also send up room service for breakfast.”

“But of course. We can make for you Eggs Sardou...poached eggs, artichoke bottoms, creamed spinach and Hollandaise sauce, with sausage, and Calas umplings, Of course a selection of pastries, beignets, fresh fruit, coffee and tea.”

“Could you add some raisin rye toast as well?”Solo asked.

“Yes sir, anything else?”

“No thank you. Make that enough for five please?” Napoleon looked Illya straight in the eye when he said that, and Illya merely smiled back at him.

Together they ate breakfast with April and Mark, and afterwards they both changed into their clothing.  April adored what Napoleon had selected for her. It was a simple short sleeveless dress, the hemline just above the knee; it clung to her in all the right places. With the addition of the hat and sunglasses she looked positively smashing.

Mark whistled as she did a little spin,”Luv, you look like you’re ready for a day at the races.”

She eyed him as well as Napoleon and Illya.” You don’t look so bad yourselves boys.”

It was a new day, clean and bright now that the storm had passed and though Illya said nothing, he still had a bad feeling there was still a storm on the horizon...maybe a THRUSH storm that is. He wasn't sure...yet.

Comments

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

The storm was well thought and well written. As well, it's full of good touched such as April's poncho and That was going to make Accounting very happy back at headquarters in New York.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thank you! The people in the bar while it was storming came to mind when I recalled seeing 'hurricane parties' in New Orleans, during an actual hurricane.