At 1:01AM Monday night, there was a rap-tap-tap-a-tappety-tap-tap-tapping at my front door. It's a good thing I was awake to hear it. It was in code. The code meant: "We're going to have a New Orleans Naked Dance soon."
I knew what to do. I rolled over and went back to sleep. I dreamed sweet New Orleans dreams.
The next morning I went to the mailbox and found a crumpled-up piece of paper with a note written on it. Just for the record: It is illegal for anyone but U.S. Postal Service employees to put anything in designated mailboxes. That said, if you get up early enough, no one will ever know.
I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one could see what I was going to read. The street was empty.
The note said, "There will be a naked dance in City Park on Wednesday."
WILL THIS BE A REAL NEW ORLEANS NAKED DANCE?
I get notes like this all the time and it usually turns out to be nothing.
Pranksters and malcontents like to tease people into thinking there is a secret "naked" something-or-other at a specific location at a specific time, and, when the recipient shows up it's nothing while they're all ready to get all naked. The joke is on them.
I like to ration out my nudity for specific activities. It seems, though, that there is a vast market of people who like to let it all hang out all the time. More power to them, I suppose.
Here are a few of the invitations I've received this month: Some of them have been engraved invitations, someone actually spent money on them to make them look more official. Some of them are written in calligraphy, or, at least, with genuine handwriting. Some of them are just printed off a computer and cut into strips like streamers. Some of them are written in cut out letters from the New Orleans Advocate/Times-Picayune. I don't even bother to read those.
Because I had gotten the secret knock on the door before this message was delivered, I knew it was legit. Good old Jerry. He always knows what's going on in the naturist scene.
It was because of Jerry that the small boutique hotel on Esplanade Avenue in New Orleans, La Belle Esplanade, kept showing up as "Best Nudist New Orleans Hotel" on Google, Bing, and Duck-Duck-Go searches.
I kept wondering why I was getting calls every month to ask if La Belle Esplanade is really a nudist (or, naturist, if you prefer), clothing-optional hotel. I'd ask the callers how they found us and they'd always say, "You show up first on Google but I don't see any mention of it on your website." For good reason.
La Belle Esplanade is not a nudist (or, naturist, if you prefer), clothing-optional hotel. La Belle doesn't have anything against nudity, but some of our other guests might. La Belle strives to give the people what they want, and, in our experience, that doesn't include breakfast in the buff.
Jerry pranked us. He wrote glowing online reviews about how La Belle was a nudist paradise. Those reviews got all over the internet. Yelp finally took them down after I complained enough. That's how I tracked down Jerry. I found him through Yelp. It turned out he only lives a block away, on North Tonti Street.
Keep your friends close and keep your enemies closer. I have come to consider Jerry a friend. He's not all bad. We hang out together, fully clothed. He has a birthmark that looks just like a staple. I'm not going to tell you where it is.
I knew this crumpled note was for real because I knew Jerry had delivered it via pre-arranged signal. Tappety-tap-tap. I had to wait for Wednesday night, which is tonight.....
HOW THE NEW ORLEANS NAKED DANCE TURNED OUT:
I just got home from the naked dance in City Park. Hoo-boy!
It was in a part of the park that most people don't go to. There are good reasons for that. That part of the park is full of ticks.
There was a bonfire and all the naked people were dancing around the fire. There were all kinds of people. Men, women, Black, White, Asian, Hispanic, fat, tall, skinny, thin, short, bodybuilders, everybody. There were about twenty of them. Don't worry, they were all wearing masks and keeping social distancing during the COVID-19 pandemic.
They were dancing around in a circle naked except for their masks. There was a DJ.
I took one look and decided I should head home. Since it was outdoors, I hadn't thought to bring a mask. Shame on me.
Jerry saw me and ran over. I saw his birthmark in the light of the bonfire. Everyone could if they looked.
"Hey, you should join us," Jerry said through his mask. "That's why I left you the invitation."
I apologized and I shook his hand. "Sorry, buddy, I forgot to bring a mask." I wasn't really sorry but I acted like I was.
I walked, alone, back to the road where my ride was parked. This looked like the lamest New Orleans naked dance I had ever seen, not that I've seen too many.
I can still hear the song the DJ was playing when I left. It was an earworm by ABBA. The naked people were dancing around the fire, all jiggly, to "Fernando."
It's a good thing they hold these naked dances far out in City Park away from the tourists. Then again, I'm sure some people would pay good money to buy tickets to see this. Not me. I walked away.
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