Jovetta earned degrees in medicine and languages, and at 20 years old she returned to Louisiana and rented an apartment in the heart of Storyville. When she wasn’t cooking and singing at Jazz joints, she gave the call girls medical attention treating scabies, getting care for the girls with herpes or gonorrhea or syphilis and she tended to their broken bones and bruises inflicted by the rougher trade. Spanish Flu was sweeping the nation but, somehow, the Red-Light District had been spared. A little grace that was welcome in that nowhere land.
She had been around for four years and had earned her street credentials and the respect of every musician, hustler, bartender, doorman, and everyone else who made their living after the citizens went to bed. And then she fell into Tom Anderson’s nightmare and everything turned to shit.

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