Griffen settled back in the booth. "I've heard a little about them. Are they like a parade?"
"They pretty much predate parades," Jerome said. "No floats. A few bands and other units go with us, but everyone is on foot. By the way, Marcel's in my group. A few of the others, too. They'll all need that day off. Might as well shut down the operation for the day."
"We may have to shut down on a few other days during the parade weeks," Griffen said. "You're not the only one to tell me you need the day off. I can't believe how many of the people who work with us are involved in a krewe or a marching society. Or bands. Kitty said she is supposed to play saxophone in five parades. Five. I feel out of breath just thinking about it."
"Oh, yeah, boss-man," Jerome said, holding up his cup for the waitress. She poured coffee for him and Griffen. "We really get into it here. History of celebratin' Fat Tuesday goes all the way back to the very beginning of the colony of New Orleans. For me, I started up with the marching society after Mose made me into a functional being all those years ago. I still go out with 'em. You ought to come out and hang with us. It's a lot of fun. Plenty of drinking, bawdy songs. It's a great time. May not get back until after midnight."
"Sounds good to me," Griffen said. "A day off wouldn't do me any harm. I hate to ask this, but how much?"
"Bring your own costume and your own throws and booze, and you're in," Jerome said.
"I love this city," Griffen said, with a laugh. "Hey, I could use your advice. I have to plan this king's party."
"Fancy parties are beyond me," Jerome said. "I'd end up reading Emily Post and Miss Manners to cram for the exam, but I never made one up myself."
"The girls are coming to help me plan. Trouble is, every time I come up with a good idea, it seems to cost a fortune. I've tried calling Mose to see how he handled all the expenses thrown at him, back in the old days, but he's still avoiding me. I hope he's okay."
Jerome waved his coffee cup. "He's fine. I'll tell you what he told me when I didn't know to trust my own judgment. Say no first, then think about it. If you still love an idea later, do it. If you decide against it, someone else had better come up with a damned solid reason why you need to cover it. I'll help in any way I can, you know that, but the final word still has to come from you."
"And that's the big problem," Griffen said. "I have a tough time saying no to myself."
"So show me your plans," Jerome said. "I'll be happy to stick my two cents in."
"Wait until the girls get here. Val has to start work at four, and Lisa gets off at two, so I told them to meet me here."
The three women arrived in a group, giggling together over the contents of a paper bag. Mai sat down beside Griffen before Fox Lisa could get into the long seat. Instead, the redhead slid in beside Jerome.
"Shove over," Val told Mai.
"Pull up a chair," Mai said. Val shook her head. She sat down on the bench seat and pushed in until the smaller woman was jammed between her and Griffen.
"That's better," Val said.
"Thanks for coming," Griffen said.
"We could have done this at the Irish pub later on," Mai said. "In much less discomfort."
"I don't need everyone weighing in with their ideas," Griffen said. "I need some help, but not that much."
"So, what do you have so far?"
"I have a location and a few ideas." Griffen showed them the catering sheets from the restaurant.
"Nice place," Fox Lisa said. "I used to bus tables there a few summers ago while I was in school. Good people. The kitchen's clean as a whistle. Elegant but not stuffy."
"What are you serving?" Val asked.
"That's what I need some help deciding," Griffen said. "Don't go too crazy on me. Take a look at what they want per person for banquets."
"Hokey smoke, Bullwinkle!" Val exclaimed. "I thought they were expensive in the regular dining room!"
"What about sole stuffed with shrimp?" Mai asked. "That sounds delicious."
Griffen winced. It was the most expensive thing on the menu. Trust Mai to go straight for that. "Try to keep the cost reasonable, okay?"
"Forget the expenses, this is your party! When are you ever going to be king again?"
"Always," Griffen said, with a straight face. "That's what I want to be called from now on. Griffen Rex."
"Y'can't be called 'Rex' in this town, pal," Fox Lisa said. "Not unless you actually are. That's taken."
He laughed. "Okay, King Griffen."
"Very well, Your Majesty," Mai said. "What price range are you hoping for?"
Griffen went down the options. The five of them hashed over the set menus and glanced at the a la carte lists. With an eye on Jerome, Griffen said no to everything that sounded too costly until the others justified it as reasonable. In the end, they picked out four entrees: fish, meat, fowl, and vegetarian, plus a soup, salad, and dessert that played to the strengths of the chef.
"That's great," Griffen said, putting the papers in a heap. "Now all I have to work on is the theme."
"Well, what about the parade theme?" Mai asked. "Why don't you use that? It's ready-made for the krewe. Could that work into your dinner?"
Griffen opened his mouth, then closed it again. "You almost got me," he said, as Val laughed uproariously. "I nearly told you."
"But what is it?" Fox Lisa asked. "We've been trying on those costumes, but none of us can guess from the design."
Griffen shook his head. "I'm sworn to secrecy," he said, mysteriously. "Look, I have my own idea for the party." He flipped open his small notebook and showed them a series of crude sketches. "I'm not much of an artist, but here's what I thought: I want to line the walls of the room with movie posters on easels, only all the titles will have dragon themes." He eyed them speculatively. "Like Gone With the Wing."
"Ohhhhh," moaned Fox Lisa. "Not puns!"
"Why not?" Jerome asked, laughing. "How about Goldbusters? Who y'gonna call?"
"I thought of The Wyvern of Oz," Griffen said.
"Two Gremlins of Verona," Val threw out. "Wait, those aren't dragons."
"Hatching Can Wait," suggested Jerome.
The others laughed at each new suggestion. Griffen wrote them down as fast as he could. When they finished, he had over twenty that he thought were funny.
"These are going to be great. I'll choose about six or eight of these," he said.
"Who's doing it for you?"
"One of Steamboat's cousins is an artist," Griffen said, naming a fellow barfly in the Irish pub. "He'll draw them up for me and get them printed. Everyone's going to get a miniature poster as a favor, an eight-by-ten print at their place setting."
"That's really clever," Fox Lisa said. "It won't be too expensive, and it's unique. I thought you were going to give everyone a picture of you in your regalia."