Le Diable Roulette (The Short Story)

         Author’s Note: I wrote this short story after visiting New Orleans in July 2023. After I wrote the story, I sent it to Kurt Boucher so he could create an audio theater version of it. He cast Nicole Boucher as narrator. Amanda Yount and Tiffy McKay as the conventioneers, and Paul Starybrat as the diabolic bartender. Since Le Diable Roulette aired, I discovered this story has received considerable interest. More visitors to the website have selected the audio theater version of Le Diable Roulette than any other story in recent memory, bar none. I decided to share the short story version here so that folks interested in it can read it in that format and then, if they are so inclined, revisit it in the audio theater version (and vice versa). This is a NON Barnaby Druthers story. The characters, locations and events are all fictional and not based on anyone or anything. It was simply inspired by the remarkable city. Requests to republish this short story should be sent to the attention of the author via the Contact form on this Barnaby Druthers website. Comments welcome about this story. Please consider sharing your thoughts below.

The following is a work of fiction. Any similarities between any parties or situations are completely coincidental.

Le Diable Roulette By J. Timothy Quirk ©2023

They were referred to as “the twins” during the conference.  Julia and Jill shared a sophisticated, avant garde aesthetic and a devil-may-care spirit which made New Orleans the perfect destination to explore once the formal presentations were concluded. There were keepsakes to purchase, culinary treats to savor, drinks to imbibe and attractions to capture for social media.  After taking the streetcar to Iberville for a selfie at the famous cemetery, Julia and Jill began a long trek across the French Quarter from Rampart to St Peters, Iberville to Esplanade in a dizzying pattern, one right, two lefts, two rights, another left and straight for two blocks, all while laughing with voices rising above the sound of jazz in the night.

The red brick façade of “Le Diable Roulette” shone brightly in the moonlight as they peered through the large picture window. A warm light shone in a fireplace and the black leather seats at the oak bar had backs to them, making the seating arrangement more comfortable than the stools or standing-room-only venues to which they were accustomed.   

“Looks cozy.”

“Last one before back to the hotel.”

Jill swung open the rustic wooden door and they entered, following along a hallway whose walls were covered by rows upon rows of golden framed photographs of smiling faces. Turning the corner, they were welcomed by a lush burgundy carpet, a fire burning in the fireplace, and a deceptive grandfather clock that displayed no hands on its face, for the world inside these walls were timeless.  The man behind the bar wore a dark tie above his crimson shirt which were both covered by a black paisley vest. His full head of jet-black hair and van dyke beard were impeccably groomed, and Julia could not help but say, “I love it!” as they sat down.

“Make yourselves at home,” he said.

“What’s good here?” Jill asked.

He smiled, “The drinks have no names. Each glass is crafted exclusively for our guests.  Tell me what you thirst for, and I will create and pour.”

“A mixologist! I love it. Ok. Ok. So…I’m thinking something sweet...but not too sweet,” Julia flirted.

“Something sweet but with a hint of danger?”
They both laughed. “Absolutely! Are you kidding me? That is a must!”

He pushed and twisted a carved muddler over berries in a large glass to release the flavors before pouring from two unmarked bottles. He covered the glass and shook it before placing a two-pronged coiled Hawthorne strainer over the glass and poured two drinks into clear flute glasses. They instinctively lifted the concoctions to examine the liquid in the firelight. A luminescent golden glow seemed to rise from the bottom of a blood red cocktail and float to the top of the glass.

“I love it. What is it?”  

“Something sweet with a hint of danger.  Something meant for you.”

“Are you going to try it?” Jill asked.

Julia nodded and cautiously took a sip and her eyes lit up in wonder. “Oh, that’s good!”

Jill accepted her friend’s recommendation and put the glass to her lips. As soon as the mixture reached her tongue, an explosion of flavor and memories electrified her mind.  It tasted like excitement but somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she imagined there was a hint of sadness in the back of the throat, as if every experience she underwent never filled a void she believed existed in her heart.  The bartender smiled and moved to the other end of the bar, busying himself by cleaning the already clean glasses and wiping the immaculate bar top.

Julia and Jill talked excitedly about their adventures, about the wonderful artists whose work hung on the fence surrounding Jackson Park, about the one club on the second floor on Bourbon Street with the real authentic jazz flavor, as far as they could tell. Neither listened to jazz back home, Julia in Waukegan, Jill in Schenectady, but after three nights in the Crescent City, they believed they were experts in the genre. Undoubtedly, they were experts in everything about New Orleans, at least all that happened after 4pm in the popular tourist spots. Museums weren’t open much later than 4pm and they skipped them and the cathedrals. They wondered if they were missing something they’d regret later.

“Do you like the cathedral at Jackson Park?” Jill asked the bartender.

“It’s not for me,” he replied.

“I thought I wasn’t missing much. I was right.” She turned to Julia, “I grew up in the church. I mean I used to go, like, when I was younger. I still consider myself a spiritual person, you know?”

“Oh, sure. Important for kids. You know, to learn values. I didn’t need it.”

“Maybe you don’t need religion to learn values, but it like, gives a structure. That helps. At least at first.”

“Until high school.”

“Middle school.” They laughed.

“Wait, wasn’t the window to the left of us?”

Julia turned to see that the window that had once been to their left was now on their right. She realized all through the conversation that the bar, including the seats and the table was slowly turning counterclockwise.

“Oh, I think I heard of this place! This isn’t the carousel bar, though, is it?”

“It is not,” he replied.

“Where are we?”

“Le Diable Roulette.”

“Oh, I like how that sounds. Very New Orleans,” she said, like an expert.

                “Fun! Let’s take a photo. Can you take a photo of us?”

                He replied. “Your drinks are empty. Would you care for another drink first?”

                “Please!”

                He repeated the process of mixing the special glass filled with sweetness and a hint of danger. While muddling the berries, he said, “Some believe taking a photo steals a part of one’s soul.”

                “Then you have a lot of souls in the hallway!” laughed Jill. “Who are they? Are they famous? I didn’t recognize any of them, but I don’t watch old movies. Or are they local politicians or something?”

                “Guests who played Roulette,” he answered. “Would you like to play Roulette?”

                They noticed that each seat had a number in front of them and a color alternating between red and black.

                “Ooh…sounds dangerous!” Julia giggled nervously. “Look at the numbers. Everyone has a number.  Can we have your number?” She asked the bartender.

                “You honor me,” he answered as he poured two new flute glasses.

                “My husband knows I kid a lot. That’s what he likes about me. Well, not the only thing! Martin likes that I have my girl-time! What about you and…what’s his name…Brent?”

                “We’re not serious,” she lied.

                “Oh, so then you’re available,” Julia replied in a sing song voice as she looked up at the bartender which indicated a slight twinge of jealousy.

                The bartender smiled as his eyes glowed to match the fireplace.

“Red or Black. Black or Red.

                 One soul living. One soul dead.

Your heart’s desires may come true,

                Or may forever be lost to you

                 Black or Red. Red or Black.

                 Wheel once spun can not spin back”

                “What do we win?” asked Julia.

                “Whisper your desires to me,” was all he said.

                Julia looked at Jill with a devilish smile. Turning to the man, she whispered in his ear. He stood back and placed his entire focus on her. “That’s not your desire, Julia.” Saying her name shocked her as she fell into his dark cavernous eyes. He nodded and so did she. He leaned forward once more, and she whispered something in his ears.  He remained for the moment until she had concluded her thoughts. He stood back and nodded.

                “Which chair?” he asked.

                “This one,” she said, pointing to her own. “This is a lucky chair.”

                “Twenty red,” he confirmed. Turning to Jill, he said, “Whisper your desires to me.”

                She looked at him and then Julia again. Julia’s gaze seemed distant, as if dreaming of her winnings to come. Jill looked at her drink and then, as if to sip courage or at least to purchase more time, she drank from the flute glass slowly.

                “It’s just fun,” Julia said.

                Jill sipped slowly. Explosions of experience filled her thoughts. She recalled the smell of gumbo filtering from the kitchens onto Chartres Street and of the sweet taste of ice cream during the noon break near the park. She tasted the crawfish in butter sauce she wanted for dinner but had settled for a burger. She could sense the scent of baked cookie dough on Sunday mornings that her mother would make for the gathering after church; she could smell incense from a memory long ago and in that moment remembered what it felt like after the sacrament of her first reconciliation when she felt truly happy and renewed. With her own voice but with words she had never spoken before, she whispered in his ear, “Nothing from you. All I require has been prepared for me already.”

                If he was angry, he didn’t show it. He leaned back and stared at her, but she stared back without changing her mind.  Then from under the bar in front of Julia, he removed an intricately decorated spinning wheel inside a larger dark circular casing. A pure white ball sat in the red twenty pocket.  He lifted the ball from the pocket and placed it in Julia’s hands and every nerve tingled with excitement, Jill shivered. He spun the wheel, and the room began to shake as if the room itself were waking from a dream. With a thunderous roar, she yelled, “Red or Black! Black or Red!” and spun the white ball counterclockwise around the circumference of the spinning wheel.

                Faster and faster, the ball circled the wheel as Jill felt the room begin to spin to match it.  Her eyes could not adjust to the bright white ball circling the dark wheel. She felt light-headed and dizzy, and she yelled for Julia to stop, but she couldn’t hear her own voice as if there was already an overpowering sound permeating the room.  Julia was fixated upon the spinning white ball and didn’t notice Jill screaming, mouthing the words, eyes wide open. Jill was reaching for Julia’s arm but despite her seat being next to her, Julia was far, far away. Faster and faster, the bar turned until Jill’s chair lurched back and at the crescendo of the spin, Jill was flung from her chair toward the window.

She closed her eyes and braced for an impact, expecting the shattering of glass or the shattering of her bones depending on which was stronger, but when her eyes were open, Jill found herself standing on the street, dazed and bewildered. She looked forward and back, turning in every direction, but she did not see the red brick building that housed the diabolical bar. How far had she gone? She didn’t recognize the streets. She texted Julia. She did not respond. She called but Julia did not answer. Jill left a cautiously optimistic message and asked for a call back. None was received. She tried texting and calling again but received no reply.  She could not find a website or any information about the macabre brick building and the app on her phone which used satellite service to map locations was not connecting. Without any other recourse, Jill began to walk. She turned left and right and left and left and right again and suddenly she was back on familiar ground in the French Quarter.  

Desperately, she tried to retrace her steps, but she could not locate her friend or “Le Diable Roulette”.   Resigned to the prospect of returning to the hotel alone, she tracked down a pedicab and fell into the carriage. The pedicab crossed busy streets, past revelers, musicians, conmen, artists, tourists and adventurers until, at last, Jill was back at the hotel. There was one more day of the conference left.  She would ask Julia when she saw her there.

But Julia did not attend the conference.  Many of her fellow conference goers mentioned “No twins today?” and Jill had no answer to give them. She texted and called Julia again but there was no reply. She was not there at checkout.  Jill’s flight back to Schenectady was tinged with sadness and she could not let the thought of Julia go.

As time passed, Brent would tell her that summer friendships, even for adults, don’t always last and to let the memory of the “twins” remain a memory, but “unsolicited helpful advice” didn’t help her at all. The sadness did not abate. Finally, on a Thursday afternoon, Jill located Julia’s employer and from there found an address listing in Chicago and a general 800 number. Using the employee directory, she was able to find “Getty, Julia”. Gathering her courage, Jill called the number and the extension from her own workplace phone.

A monotone voice spoke succinctly into the receiver. “Promodore Chemicals, Julia Getty speaking. Your call can be monitored or recorded for quality assurance purposes; how many I help you?”

 “Julia, it’s me. It’s Jill…from the conference.”

“How may I help you?” There was no change in the monotone delivery, no indication that her call elicited any emotion at all. It was Julia’s voice, but without her usual exuberance.

“I wanted to see…how you were? I didn’t see you after the, uh,…”

“This call may be monitored or recorded for quality assurance purposes,” Julia said more firmly.

 “Right, so, like, I was, I just wanted to know you were doing ok.”

“I’m fine. Thank you for calling Promodore Chemicals. Have a good day.” And she terminated the call.

There was no request or solicitation to contact her privately or to keep in touch.  The multitude of text Jill had sent now seemed foolish and unwelcome.  She deleted the messages and then, upon reflection, she deleted the contact. The twins were no more.

Jill closed her eyes and fought to keep them from welling up in sadness. In her mind’s eye, she saw the hallway of “Le Diable Roulette” and in a golden frame somewhere on the wall was a smiling photograph of Julia Getty. Jill thought about her often, especially on Sundays after church service, while eating the cookies she had begun to bake and bring like her mother had done so many years ago, when the world was safe and her heart was pure.

-Fin