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8 -- Gumbo Ya-Ya A bevy of short-skirted black girls invited him down just then, but no dice. 'Ain't no funny crap today. Remember last year?' Last year King Zulu left his float to follow a woman and held up the parade for two hours. So these girls, whom the boys call the 'zig-a-boos,' disappointedly went their way. Strange things happen even to a king. It suddenly went down the line, 'The King had done wet himself.' Didn't make much difference, though. He had spilled so much whiskey on his costume, nobody could tell what was what. Everybody was a little drunk now. The grass hula skirts all Zulus wear over long white drawers swished faster and faster as the maskers on the floats 'put it on,' and the nappy black skull caps adorning their heads were set at dashing angles. The parade moved swifter now toward the Geddes and Moss Undertaking Parlors, where the Queen and her court awaited them on a balcony over the street. A thunderous ovation greeted King Zulu at South Rampart and Erato Streets. A high yellow gall fanned her hips by him and he temporarily deserted his float. 'Mayor' Fisher hauled him back to the dignity and comparative safety of his high perch atop the float. 'I never thought this could happen to a king.' His Majesty sighed. Pretty girls like that wouldn't want the King when he was 'jest a man.' 'It's damn funny, Fisher sniffed, 'how womens is. Now that woman knows the King is busy, still she wants him. Every time I think how much trouble Zulus give me I get mad.' All over South Rampart Street women were jumping up and down and feeling hot for the King. The musicians
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Kings, Baby Dolls, Zulus, and Queens -- 9 dusky chins. False curls framed faces that were heavily powdered and rouged over black and chocolate skins. The costumes were of every color in the rainbow and some that are not. They joined the crowd, dancing and shaking themselves. Sure, they call me Baby Doll, 'said one of them, who was over six feet tall and weighed more than two hundred pounds. 'That's my name. 'I'm a Baby Doll today and every day. I bin a Baby Doll for twenty yeras. Since I always dressed like a Baby Doll on Mardi Gras the other girls said they would dress like me; they would wear tight skirts and bloomers and a rimmed hat. They always say you get more business on Mardi Gras than any other day, so I had a hard time making them gals close up and hit the streets. See, mens have fun on Carnival. They come into the houses masked and want everything and will do anything. They say, "I'm a masker, fix me up." Well, them gals had a time on Mardi Gras, havin' their kicks. 'The way we used to kick 'em up that day was a damn shame. Some of the gals didn't wear much clothes and used to show themselves outloud. Fellows used to run 'em down with dollar bills in their hands, and you didn't catch none o them gals refusing dollar bills. That's why all the women back Perdido Street wanted to be Baby Dolls. We sure did shine. We used to sing, clap our hands, and you know what "raddy" is? Well, that's the way we used to walk down the street. People used to say, "Here comes the babies, but where's the dolls?" "I'm the oldest livin' Baby Doll, and I'm one bitch who is glad she knows right from wrong. But I do a lot of wrong, because I figures wrong makes you as happy as right. Don't it? 'Sure, I tried religion, but religion don't give you no kicks. Just trouble and worry. 'Say what you like, it's my business. I'll tell anybody I sells myself enough on Mardi Gras to do myself some good the whole year around. There ain't no sense in being a Baby Doll for one day only. Me, I'm a Baby Doll all the time. 'Just follow a Baby Doll on Mardi Gras and see where you
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