The Getaway Girls: A New Orleans Tale of Monsters, Mayhem and Moms

By Deirdre Gage

A weekend getaway to New Orleans takes a dangerous turn when four women attract the hungry attention of scavengers, creatures once lured to the Big Easy to feed on the dead - but who have now moved onto the living.

The women must run for their lives, seeking refuge from the Garden District to the Ninth Ward as the scavengers hunt them down. A cocky Irish movie star with a mysterious curse offers to help - but his assistance quickly turns into trouble.

Sneaky vampires join the chase, eager to exploit the women in an attempt to bring down the scavengers, their sworn enemy and chief competition for pretty human flesh.

Relying on their wits, humor, and a few hidden talents, the four friends battle to stay alive during one wild night in New Orleans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deirdre Gage
• Release date: Dec 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301205677

Deirdre Gage

Deirdre H. Gage is a Texas writer who has claimed half a dozen other places as home, including Kentucky and Chicago - but her heart belongs to the Big Easy. She has been published in Cosmopolitan Magazine and Appalachian Heritage literary journal. The Getaway Girls: A New Orleans Tale of Monsters, Mayhem and Moms is her first novel, and book one in The Getaway Girls series.

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The Getaway Girls: A New Orleans Tale of Monsters, Mayhem, and Moms

By Deirdre H. Gage

The Getaway Girls: A New Orleans Tale of Monsters, Mayhem and Moms

Deirdre H. Gage

Copyright: Deirdre H. Gage 2012

Published at Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Artwork created by Graham Allen and Ann Helmuth-Allen of anagram studio and design

Thanks to my family and friends for your constant support. Thanks especially to Angela Anderson for her killer editing skills and creativity, to Erin Dunigan for your input and a big thanks to Graham Allen and Ann Helmuth-Allen for a kickass cover.

And of course, thanks to the original Getaway Girls of New Orleans, who never hesitate to bring wigs to a party. 

For Getaway Girls everywhere – you know who you are…

Chapter One

The clock struck midnight at the Columns Hotel in New Orleans, Louisiana. A mild, damp breeze stirred old Mardi Gras beads dangling from the heavy branches of the live oak trees shadowing the porch.  Aging white columns framed a massive wooden keyhole door and laughter spilled out from an open window where patrons sipped Pimm’s cups in the dusty velvet-upholstered booths of what used to be a grand dining room. A streetcar rattled quickly past on St. Charles Avenue, leaving a flash of old trolley and the faint buzz of electricity lingering in the air.

Half a dozen tables sat vacant on the porch, chairs long since pushed back and the tops stripped bare of crumpled white table cloths.  One lone table remained occupied by four women, laughing a little too loudly as they sat back in tipsy satisfaction, a cluster of empty glasses and a dirty crystal ashtray evidence of their evening’s entertainment.

Somewhere in the Garden District, a church bell tolled the late hour, causing the women to jump a little at the sound. A dark-haired woman in purple nodded toward the direction of the echoing bell and quipped, Sounds like God wants a cocktail.

The woman on her left, a short curvy blonde in a tight black dress, snorted; spewing the remains of a dirty martini all over her friend. 

Damn, said the brunette as she patted a tiny cocktail napkin uselessly around the table cloth, and then looked down the deep v-neck of purple jersey covering her breasts, now damp.  My dress is getting drunk.

A third woman, slender and graceful with silky straight black hair drawled, Audrey, stop bringing up God when you’re intoxicated, it’s tacky.  She eyed the blonde, adding, And Beth, honey, don’t order martinis if you’re going to slop them all over the table. Sloppy girls don’t get asked to the prom, if you know what I mean.

The fourth woman was tall and busty with skin the color of milky coffee. She wore a glossy candy apple red wig, a sparkly silver sheath, and fake python boots that gave an extra six inches to her already statuesque frame. She drained her glass before declaring, "Evie, we all passed prom more than twenty years ago, so drop the Junior League shit.  Besides, sloppy women do get laid."

Evie pursed her lips in disapproval. Syd, do you always have to be so crude?

Fuck yeah, the redhead snapped. I’m on vacation. 

Evie winced.

Oh, calm down, Syd said with a wink, You just need another drink. She wiggled her fingers in the air and a young waitress seemed to magically appear from inside.

The waitress sighed as she surveyed the dirty table.  Ladies, you ready for another round?

Syd beamed, Honey, you read my mind. She looked around at the otherwise empty porch, adding, hope we haven’t chased away your customers. 

The waitress gave a tired smile and said, No, you ladies are just fine.  She gathered up glasses and asked, Y’all celebrating somethin’ tonight?

Audrey looked up from the futile task of patting her dress dry. Yeah.  I just got a divorce and Syd here turned forty. She pointed to the redhead and gave a low, vodka-loosened laugh, "Now we’re all over the fucking hill."

Syd gave her an evil eye.  "And that’s why we’ve had to buy our own drinks all weekend." 

 Sorry, Audrey replied as she tossed the napkin on the table and resigned herself to wet cleavage.

 Hey girls, the blonde yawned. "Weren’t we talking about something naughty before I made such a mess?"

 Ooh, thank you, Beth, Syd replied with a nasty gleam in her eye. The list!

Ah, the list, Beth’s lips twisted in a wry smile as she pointed at Evie. Your turn.  Five celebrities you’d sleep with if you weren’t married.

Evie rolled her eyes, The list? Really, Syd. Aren’t we too old for this?

Syd gave her a stern glance and answered, "Evie, we’re forty. The only thing we’re too old for is American Idol.  The day I can’t get drunk and fantasize about hot guys I’m not married to, you can plan my funeral."

Evie rolled her eyes, Quit being so dramatic.  She thought for a minute and said, OK, that guy in that English movie?

What English movie? Syd asked.

Evie shrugged.  You know, the one where the guy wants to marry the girl but she’s too poor and they have to skulk around miserable for two hours before they finally get together . . . that one?

Great, Syd snapped, "You just described every movie based on Jane Austen.  Boring."

 Well, I can’t think of anybody right now, Evie protested, I’m too tired.

 Oh please, you can’t think of five guys you’d do if you had the chance? Syd snorted. Gimme a break.  Throw out a name.

"Who has time to think of strange men to have sex with? Someone give me a suggestion, at least."

Beth fanned herself with a napkin and asked, Did anybody pick Declan Byrne?

Syd piped up, I bet he’s hung like a horse.

Yeah, but who needs a horse?  Audrey asked as Beth snickered.  Sure he’s hot, but he looks like trouble.

Syd licked her full, glossy lips. I like trouble.

Evie crossed her arms over her chest and didn’t say a word.

 "What about Twilight? Audrey suggested, Team Edward or Team Jacob?"

Syd interrupted, What are you – twelve?  No!  Come on, actual men here, please!

Audrey muttered to Beth, He’s half my age, but Team Jacob.  Just sayin.’

Evie sighed. "Honestly.  I can come up with someone better than that. Who’s that guy from Lord of the Rings?"

Oh, please don’t say you want to fuck a hobbit, Syd said just as the waitress arrived with fresh drinks. 

Audrey and Beth cackled as the waitress dumped their glasses on the table and hustled back inside, slamming the door heavily behind her.

Syd retorted, Seriously – we left husbands and kids at home to talk about hobbits?

Evie shook her head, her shiny black hair swinging from side to side. "No, no, no – not a hobbit.  That one guy, Viggo something or other."

Viggo Mortensen? Beth asked. He’s cute, but he always looks so serious. And I bet he’s the kind of guy who quotes obscure poetry you have to pretend to understand. That used to sound sexy, but I just don’t have the patience for poetry anymore.

Audrey nodded, Yeah, he’d be quoting haikus about the moonlight in Darfur and you’d be thinking, ‘can’t you just shut up and fuck me?’

At this, everyone broke out in loud guffaws and Beth declared, And I think that makes the quote of the weekend, ladies.

Syd banged her glass on the table before lifting the thick tumbler in the air. A toast!  To the end of another fabulous girls’ trip!  And to hot guys, she winked at Audrey, Who should just shut up and fuck us!

Audrey downed her drink and then stood up saying, On that note, I’ve got to pee.  She smoothed down the back of her dress, wary of unwittingly flashing the bar and yanked open the enormous front door. 

The walls of the cavernous hallway were hung with old paintings, but Audrey barely noticed them as she walked down a threadbare carpet runner toward the back.  She passed the old dining room and then the long, wooden bar where two college boys in button-down shirts and khaki shorts were tossing back whiskey.

Hey, darlin’, the tall one with floppy dark blonde hair said, as he approached Audrey.  He had a deep voice, the kind of Southern accent that suggested lots of money and bourbon, and a cocky grin that reeked of frat parties and date rape.  Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?

Audrey smiled and said, Thanks, but I’ve already got a drink and I’m with my friends.

The boy smiled and reached out a hand to place on Audrey’s elbow.  Aw, sugar, you’re too pretty to hang out with the girls all night.  You haven’t visited New Orleans till you’ve had a Tulane man buy you a cocktail.

Audrey laughed. You’re cute, but I’m probably old enough to be your mom.  Thanks anyway, sport!  She darted into the ladies’ room, leaving Tulane Boy panting and angry on the other side of the door.

Come on, man, his friend said, tugging on his arm. Plenty other bitches out here, let’s get another round.

Yeah, sure.  Tulane Boy jerked away from his buddy, saying, You go order, I gotta take a leak.

You come right back, though, y’hear? The friend asked, looking Tulane Boy as directly in the eye as his drunken state would allow. We don’t want any trouble, do we?

No, man. No trouble.

Tulane Boy ducked into the men’s room for about sixty seconds, and then he eased the door quietly back open.  He stood in front of the ladies’ room door and looked to the right and to the left. He put one large hand on the frosted glass panel of the door, and carefully began to turn the knob with the other hand.

Leave her alone.  The cultured English voice startled Tulane Boy and he jerked around.  A tall, dark-haired man sat in the parlor across the hall from the bar.  His face was hidden in the shadowy light of the empty room, but his muscular arm stretched the fabric of his suit coat as he casually turned his highball glass round and round in his hand.

Tulane Boy was certain he hadn’t noticed anyone when he’d slipped into the hall, but maybe he had made a mistake in the murky light.

He smiled his practiced good ol’ boy grin and said, Leave who alone? I’m just tryin’ to take a piss, brother.  He then pretended to notice that he had the wrong bathroom door and slapped his hand across his forehead. Oh man, look at that – I almost went into the ladies’ room.  Thanks for the heads up.  He nodded to the man who, Tulane Boy could clearly tell did not believe him, and he turned around and headed back to the bar. 

The man sat without moving in the dark parlor until Tulane Boy disappeared from sight.  He stared directly ahead with black eyes and inhaled deeply of the stale, dusty air. His full lips curved up only slightly as if he’d just thought of something funny. Then he stood up and placed his empty glass on a table without a sound and with a few quiet steps, approached the ladies’ room door.

Audrey was washing her hands when she heard the sound of the door opening.  Instinctively, she moved back into the corner, anticipating the entry of another woman in the slightly cramped space. She tossed her used paper towel into the trash and turned toward the door and jumped at the sight of a tall, handsome man in his early forties standing less than two feet away.

Whoa, you scared me!  She exclaimed and then smiled awkwardly. I think you got the wrong bathroom.  Men’s is next door.

The man did not speak.  He moved even closer and Audrey could smell earthy, musky cologne.

Um, can I help you with something?  Audrey asked, trying to keep the hint of panic from permeating her voice.

The stranger leaned down so his face was inches from Audrey’s.  She could see the faint stubble of hair on his flushed olive skin and the reflection of her nervous green eyes in his large, round, black orbs.

The musky scent was almost suffocating as he whispered in a rich, delicious British accent straight out of a Merchant Ivory film, Shut up and fuck me.

Audrey’s heart began to beat a wild, erratic dance and she could feel sweat breaking out all over.

What . . . what did you say?

He whispered again, slightly louder, Shut up. And fuck me.

How did you hear me say that?  Audrey asked, her voice shaking.  You weren’t anywhere near our table.  I never even saw you.

The stranger stared at Audrey with his deep, black eyes. I saw you.  And now I want you.  Do I have to repeat myself?

Audrey’s eyes darted around the bathroom.  He had her trapped and he knew it.  The bathroom was tiny and she had no room to hide.  And while he was undeniably gorgeous, even after six drinks in three hours, she knew that the evening had taken a sudden turn from sexy to Scary. 

So she pasted on a big fake smile and said, Not tonight, I got a headache.  She tried to move as if she expected him to bow gracefully out of the way and announce that he had been kidding. 

That didn’t happen.

Instead, he lunged at her.  Audrey swung her purse, a heavy black leather saddle bag, at his head.  He ducked and she tried to slip under his arm, but he pinned her to the wall.  She kicked at his knee and opened her mouth to scream, but he covered it with his hand, saying Don’t scream. They won’t help you.

She bit his hand, and he let go long enough to look at the blood trickling down between his fingers. He grabbed both of her shoulders and slammed her against the wall.  She felt a horrible sharp pain in her head and she moaned. His face came closer to hers again and she kept her eyes shut, pretending to have fainted.  As he moved close enough that she could feel his breath, she opened her eyes and bit one of his ears. 

He howled and let go, and she darted between his legs.  He bent down and grabbed her by the waist, hurling her around so that her cheekbone smacked straight into the bottom of the sink.  She screamed from the pain and he didn’t seem to notice. He jerked her body upright like she was an old doll and she felt nauseated by the movement.

He jerked her neck to the side and her head hurt horribly. She could feel that her purse strap still dangled from her right hand and suddenly she remembered the lighter she’d picked up in one of those cheap tourist shops off Bourbon. 

She rarely smoked anymore, but after polishing off a bottle of Cabernet at Galatoire’s the night before, she’d craved one, and if she could remember anything at all right now it was that the lighter might be in the small inside pocket at the top of her purse.  She reached into the purse and felt desperately until she found it.  She pulled it out with terribly shaking fingers and fumbled with the catch.

She flung the flaming lighter into the stranger’s face.  He howled and grabbed at his nose and eyes. She swung her purse one more time into his arm and yanked the door open, falling out into the hall in one clumsy movement. 

As she picked herself up off the carpet, she looked up and saw Tulane Boy standing at the bar.  She wanted to call out for help, but before she could make a single noise, he turned and saw her.  He looked down at her, bruised and bleeding.  His nostrils flared and he licked his lips.

Audrey shuddered and ran down the hall and out onto the porch.

Oh my God, what happened? Beth demanded, but Audrey shook her head.

Get up, we gotta get outta here.

Evie looked at her friend, wild eyed and battered.  Did someone hit you?  Should we call the police?

No time, just go!  Audrey pointed to the street.  Look, the streetcar’s coming. If we run we can make it.  I’ll explain later. 

Syd stood up and took one last swig of her drink, saying, Like my Mama says, a lady always knows when to leave a party!

They ran down the steps, Evie protesting, But we didn’t even pay for our drinks. 

Audrey darted into the street, narrowly avoiding an oncoming car, and the other three followed her, shouting, Watch out! and Slow down!

They made it onto the grassy median just as the streetcar screeched to a quick stop.  Audrey jumped aboard, shoving a handful of crumpled bills into the meter.  The driver’s narrowed eyes flitted over the women for just a second as they headed for the back of the car. 

OK, now what the hell happened to you?  Syd demanded as they sat down.

Before Audrey could say a word, however, a vaguely familiar Irish voice came from the very back corner of the streetcar.  "Leave her be, ladies, she’s had a rough night.  And ‘tis about to