This is a snippet from my current work-in-progress, Bayou Fire. Enjoy!
“Where y’at, baby?” Miss Julie had been greeting her customers the same way for more than 50 years when they entered the Bayou Café on Decatur Street. With her white hair snugged neatly into a bun, white nylon stockings with matching Nurse-Mates shoes, and a clean handkerchief pinned to her spotless pink dress, Miss Julie was a throwback to another time.
“I’m too old to change my ways, and too young to quit working,” she would say when asked why she didn’t wear slacks to work. “This is how I dress for my job.”
No one knew how old Miss Julie was, only that she’d been waiting tables at the Bayou Café for as long as anyone could remember. She could have been anywhere from 75 to 105 years old … and she wasn’t talking, at least not about that.
“Chèr, a woman who tells her age will tell you anything,” she would reply, and then let forth a raucous, cackling laugh.