Chapter Three

The Following Morning

Rainelle Parish, Louisiana



Monday morning dawned bright, cloudless and hot.

It was another one of those days with the indeterminate heat that seemed to come down in rays from the sun overhead and rise from very ground under the feet of all trudging along.

It was day starting off so hot, that anyone caught out in it for longer than five minutes began to sweat, in a soft, light sheen about the forehead and misting droplets down one’s back.

It was the sort of heat, that on a typical day, would have had Vylette Meraux constantly pressing a cotton handkerchief to her face, mopping the wetness from her hairline. (Any sort of moisture in combination with humidity caused her naturally wavy hair to become a tangled mess, starting at the roots.)

Alas, this was not a typical day.

Although it had all the hallmarks of a regular Monday morning--Vylette, in the company of Lorraine and Vinnie, all three on the way to school at the Catholic church--nothing seemed quite as it had been before.

So pleasantly happy was Vylette, everything she had seen time and again her entire life, appeared new and strange and beautiful to her newly opened eyes.

The trees seemed greener and more graceful swaying over head as squirrels leapt from branch to branch.

The heat went unnoticed and her hanky remained concealed in her bosom.

The sky was much bluer and the dirt path had a coppery tinge that had gone unnoticed until right then.

Even the thin, threadbare yellow calico dress felt as wonderfully to Vylette as it had three years ago when brand-new.

Nor did she pay the slightest attention to the fact her little brown oxfords were a size too small and pinching her feet.

None of it mattered. Not a single thing mattered to her because she wasn’t thinking of it.

No, ever since those large, blue-violet eyes popped open that morning, the only thought coursing through her young mind was: Michael Jackson.

Never before could Vylette ever recall any man having true and complete command of her thoughts and attention the way Michael had.

There was something about that man. Something special, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the heft of his wallet. (Even if that was where Lorraine’s attraction to Michael’s brother, Marlon began and ended.)

Vylette felt little shocks of electricity jumping up and down her spine and delicious prickles of gooseflesh on her arms whenever she allowed herself to think back to the just the afternoon before, at Mumfree’s.

Had it been real? Had it truly been real?

Had she really sat in the company of such an attractive man, one who seemed as consumed by her as she by him.

His eyes scarcely left her.

He didn’t seem a man too big on speech--Marlon could prattle away happily for hours without end it seemed--but Michael was quiet.

He hadn’t needed to speak; his deep, dark eyes were an open book to his soul.

He need only cast his gaze towards her and she was his little fool, she felt.

It was a shocking and stunning feeling to Vylette, this sudden depth of passion to someone she barely knew.

Why, she didn’t know where he lived, what sort of business he was in, even how old he was.

What kind of people were the Jacksons? Who were their people? What business was his father in?

And yet…and yet…Vylette came to a sudden stop in the middle of the road, causing her sister and cousin to stare at her queerly. Her eyes widened and her chest ached and she felt faint.


Did it really matter?
It did not, because every time her mind went to his eyes, his gleaming smile, his tender fingertips on her skin, all Vylette cared about was Michael.

Only Michael Jackson, and everything else unassociated with him be damned.

“Good morning, girls!”

Vylette came back down to Earth and was thrust into reality with the speed of a fired bullet at the calling of a pair of male voices.

From a feeder path leading to the main road, were Steven and Ulrich, jogging towards them, passing up Vinnie and patting her head.

Vylette dropped her gaze as the boys got to her and her cousin, taking their cloth strap bound schoolbooks from them to carry the rest of the way in.

“Good morning, how are y’all today?” Steven repeated, grinning broadly and Vylette could feel his eyes on her.

A gaze so different from Michael’s. Michael seemed only to look to enjoy, to admire, while Steven always seemed to be guessing what curves went hidden under her garments. She hated the way Steven looked at her but could never seem to muster the courage to call him out about it.

“We’re fine, thank you.” Lorraine had her little ski-jump nose in the air as Ulrich gazed on her in his sweet, silly, loving way.

“I…I like that plaid on you Lorraine…” He stammered, weak as dishwater, trying to touch her hand.

“I hate brown.” Lorraine’s eyes snapped at Ulrich with such fire, he drew back. She truly did hate that brown and beige dress, but it was all she had.

“Makes me look like a field mouse.”

“You could….could never look bad…” Ulrich whimpered, but fell silent, staring at his shuffling feet.

There was silence, the only sound of a single bird tweeting, unseen, in the treetops.

“Oh, later this week, me and Ulrich’s daddies are taking us into New Orleans to see about our cars! Brand-new Fords!”

Steven bragged and Ulrich was looking to Lorraine for approval.

Vylette grabbed after her long ponytail and stroked it thoughtfully.

Steven was going on about a Ford!

Ha! When just yesterday, she had been offered a ride in a Cadillac! A fine black Cadillac with a blood red velvet interior! Vylette laughed inwardly to herself, thinking of how Steven’s car was nothing inciting to her, now that she had gotten a teensy glimpse onto the greener side of the fence.

Out loud though, she remembered her manners,

“That’s wonderful Steven. I’m happy for you!” Vylette feigned some form of the appropriate response, while Lorraine remained wordless, surely thinking of what type of car Marlon Jackson perched behind the wheel of.

Marlon Jackson was all that had been on Lorraine’s mind, Vylette was certain, just as Michael had taken up all the space in hers.

Just a look at the child, her green eyes distant and faraway, every so often, were a testament to that fact.

“Once…ahem.” Ulrich cleared his throat, trying to will speech from his weakened mouth. “Once I have my car, may I drive you around sometime, Lorraine? I know it isn’t proper to drive girls around unless you’re serious … but … we’re serious, aren’t we? Lorraine?”

Lorraine never uttered a word, her body there, her mind on vacation, and Ulrich was hardly audible,

“I shouldn’t ask such shocking questions. I’m sorry… Dear.” With that his head drooped.

“I don’t even have to ask…now do I, Vylette?” Steven boasted, blue-green eyes down on Vylette and he nudged her with his huge elbow.

He was so very sure of himself and his “relationship” with Vylette, he was talking like they were already man and too-young wife.

And that gave Vylette the fidgets.

A lukewarm smile was his reply and enough for Steven to grow haughty, tossing his head, shimmering with that pomade he was so fond of.

For a flash of an instant, Vylette gave a thought to Michael’s hair. She had never seen any other Colored men in those parts with a dressing like the Jacksons wore. Such tight, thick and glossy curls. (One or two little strays falling into Michael’s eyes as he looked.)

Curls that moved freely as they moved and weren’t cemented down to their heads the way Steven and Ulrich kept theirs.

Perhaps it was the newest thing; they had come from New York, and New York was the epicenter of all the newest styles and trends.

Who knew, maybe in a year or so, all the men would wear their hair like that--and the Jacksons would debut the next big thing.

To think…the Jacksons…trendsetters!

Pride was a sin, but Vylette was starting to feel it, on the fringes. She was proud of the Jacksons.

And proud she was off to a good start with them.

With the church/school appearing in the distance, the bell in the tower began to chime, signifying the start of classes.

Proceeding onwards to the massive brick building where the three hundred or so children of school age took their lessons each day, a pair of nuns held the heavy wooden doors open for the influx.

Through the open doors, most of the younger children, including Vinnie who met up with Hildegard Povah, and Hildegard’s younger sister Harriet, disappeared past the closed doors to the sanctuary and around a corner to their classrooms, while the older children made the climb up creaking wooden stairs to the third floor.

Most of the classes were small, wood-paneled, with a bronze crucifix mounted above the blackboard, with twenty black iron desks fixed in five neat rows.

Simple, plain, unobtrusive rooms with few distractions to help foster maximum learning.

Up front, writing the date on the board in white chalk, was Sister Roberta.

A petite, elderly woman, no one knew this little hardy battle-axe’s true age. Only that she had been born into Slavery and set free in her early teens.

She was a particularly stern no-nonsense woman, who was unafraid to wield the large pine ruler she kept tucked into the waistband of her heavy black habit covering her from throat to floor, a veil concealing her head, so only her deep brown, lined face was visible.

Steven and Ulrich set their girl’s books on their desks, as the two sat one behind the other in the second row, the boys directly across in the first row.

No sooner had they all been seated, than Sister Roberta piped up, her voice dry as autumn leaves.

“Vylette Meraux, Lorraine Devereaux, come here.”

Heads came up quickly and eyes swelled as nerve impulses increased.

Sister Roberta never called on anyone, before class, unless she was preparing to lay them out with that ruler.

Both girls rose shakily--no one in their right mind wanted to make her have to repeat a command!--and eased over to her large oak desk, bearing a framed photo of Pope Pius XI.

“Yes, Sister?” The two whispered, palms of their hands already tingling out of fear of some misstep that called for punishment.

They could practically hear each other’s heartbeats, they were so fearful of this small Holy Woman.

For a long moment, the old woman eyed them with her small, beady, yellowed eyes, before replying, as the class settled.

“This morning, as the Sisters and I were opening the building, we discovered a young man sitting on the front steps.”

Turning so deathly white the cousins could only hold hands.

Automatically, they knew else Michael or Marlon had logged a cameo appearance. And that frightened them down to the bone marrow.

One of the Jacksons had been there? At the church? There, waiting for them? Looking for them? WHY?

“He was a very polite, well-spoken young man and he asked me to pass something along to you two girls.” Sister Roberta was opening a drawer on the desk.

Leaning forward, Vylette and Lorraine were stunned to see the bright red and white wrapper synonymous with the Gigantic candy bar--two of them--bound by a handwritten note on high-grade beige paper.

Even the stationery the Jacksons used was first-rate.

Picking up the bundle, the old nun held it out to them.

“Th-thank you Sister.” Vylette whispered, mind spinning and leaving burnt rubber tracks within her skull.

Quickly, the note was unraveled, and the two were consuming its contents.







“He spelled my name wrong…” Vylette snickered, flattered and warm at his kindness.

“You can correct him when you see him again.” Lorraine was snatching her candy.

See him again…oh! Vylette’s heart was going to burst.

Michael…he…he was trying to come after her…

Her eyes shimmered as she stared upwards, a prayer of thanks to God on her lips.

The two thanked Sister Roberta a second time and started back to their seats.

Vylette was happy, so very happy. She wanted to sprout wings and fly around the classroom.

That is until she met Steven’s gaze.


Steven!!!!!!
That quickly, Vylette had forgotten about him, seduced by a hunk of chocolate--and a chocolate bar.

Steven, his face collapsed in a million wrinkles he was scowling so, he barely let Vylette be seated before hissing,

“Who’s the candy from, Vylette Evangeline?”

She never did like being addressed by her first and middle names, and the utter anger contained in his voice…

Looking away, at the back of Lorraine’s red head--she was openly biting and eating her candy--her answer was only,

“A friend.”

“A friend? What kind of friend? Every bastard here knows what we’re about! Who gave it to you?” Steven demanded, giving a swooping glare of death to any and every other boy happening to be looking on.

Every boy in the room managed to find something to look at, to avoid Steven and the receiving end of his temper.

Quite possibly, he was ready to break the nose of anyone he suspected of trying to mash in on Vylette.

And he was capable of breaking a nose. Vylette had seen it herself when he tried to punch Tom Anderson’s nose clear out the back of his head during a disagreement over a game of dominoes. Dr. Meraux had been the one to correct the break.

Eyes were averted and a few whispered as Sister Roberta launched into a lesson on the Ancient Egyptians.

“Who gave it you?” Steven asked again, starting to lean towards Vylette and blood pressure rising, she tried to focus ahead, rather than on the swarthy face coming closer to hers.

“Who gave it to us?” Lorraine, mouth full of chocolate winked over her shoulder saucily at Steven. If his wild disposition bothered her at all, she wasn’t letting on.

“Now wouldn’t you like to know?”


“HELL YEAH, I’D LIKE TO KNOW!”
Steven bellowed so loudly he turned blue and the entire class whirled around, the room coming to a standstill.

Eyes jutted from skulls and jaws were flapping in the breeze.

The chalk in Sister Roberta’s hand fell to the floor and bounced, rolling away.

“Foul language in the Lord’s House!” Sister Roberta took a few moments to recover as no one had ever dared speak in such a way in her class before. “Come here, Steven Wilkes!”

Grimacing, Steven did as told and approached the tiny woman. It was like watching an elephant approach a mouse.

“Steven, you know you aren’t speak like that in here! Its disrespectful not only to God himself, but to every God-fearing person on here. Put you hand out--twenty lashes.”

There was a gasp to be heard from around the room.

Vylette put her hands to her mouth and Lorraine stopped eating mid-chew.

Sister Roberta had never hit Steven before. Thrown him in a corner or banished him to clapping erasers, but never a real spanking.

Would…would he allow it? His own father never raised a hand to him, and now this nun was trying?

Spine going erect, a hand was extended.

No one made a sound, as twenty times, the thick ruler was administered, each lick echoing.

If Steven were hurt, no one could tell, as he remained stone-like throughout the entire beating.

If only he had made some kind of noise, a cry, a gurgle, and cough, anything, Vylette would have felt better.

His unmoving façade was scaring her.

“You are a member of one of the most upstanding families in the Parish, Steven Wilkes. I expect you to set an example.” Sister Roberta scolded. “I’m surprised at you--”

“It will not happen again, Sister, I can assure you that.”

“Well I would hope not! God is watching you!”

Steven turned and slowly made his way back to his seat.

His face showed no emotion, only the void thereof.

Sitting and folding his hands, boring holes in the back of Ulrich’s head with his eyes.

Even more slowly, his head turned to Vylette.

Eyes leering, hard and evil.

Shrinking under his piercing glare, as he continued reddening with rage, she glanced at Ulrich.

Sadly, his mouth was poked out, as he watched Lorraine.

But Ulrich was too lily-livered to cause a row like Steven.

He only watched her nibbling at her chocolate and licking the residue from her fingertips.

Pushing her unopened bar of chocolate aside, Vylette had lost all taste for sweets.

The day had gone sour.


A Few Hours Later

The noontime hour found the grounds surrounding Saint Ignatius full of children and young people.

Many sat beneath trees, munching on and enjoying the sack lunches the nuns prepared and handed out daily, to ensure that each child present had a meal to tide them over until dinnertime. (Or longer, depending on their financial situation.)

Children who had sped through their meals, were walking and running about, playing, whooping it up noisily and enjoying the hour of freedom before classes reconvened.

Everyone was so happy and absorbed with themselves and their youthful exploits, hardly any mind was paid to the lone figure, perched at the top of the steps to the building.

A pale, solemn creature with her knees tucked into her chest, eyes open and looking but not seeing anything before her.

Vylette sat there, at the top of the stairs, taking part in none of the gaiety surrounding her.

She was too downtrodden.

Ever since Steven Wilkes’ outburst in the class, that resulted in his being punished before twenty-two of his peers, a small cloud had been following her around.

For the next three and a half hours, whenever Vylette looked up from her work, even for a mere second, she found that Steven’s eyes were on her.

Leering, searing, and burning with the flame of an angry (almost) lover.

It was incredible how a three ounce rectangle of chocolate had caused the evil beast in Steven to rise.

Something that should have made Vylette happy and be a part of a tale she would recant to her grandchildren in her twilight years. A nice, somewhat public show of affection and kindness on the part of Michael Jackson.

Instead, it was forever tainted and besmirched by that looked of uncut anger that seemed to be Steven’s face now.

Vylette never wanted to upset Steven Wilkes. That was dangerous. Steven came from stock that were hot-blooded and quick-tempered. She had seen him punch out boys and men over the most mundane things.

He was alright, so long as a person remained on Steven’s good side.

Vylette hadn’t seen Steven since he, Ulrich and a few other senior boys had taken off to eat lunch at the back of the building. But he was going to come around.

He always did.

This wasn’t over.

“Sister Mary Claire has got to be the stingiest nun God ever put breath in!”

Stomping up towards Vylette, a brown paper sack in each hand, was Lorraine.

Her pretty features twisted in a hateful frown.

Standing two steps down from her cousin, she held out one bag which Vylette took.

“Now that darn fossil knows you and I are together every day. We walk to school together, we sit in class together. Gracious, we live in the same house together!”

Throwing herself down on the steps and opening her bag, Lorraine simpered,

“And that old fat thing had the gall to not want to give me a sack for you. When she knows full well, we always get lunches for each other. For crying out loud--she’s Vinnie’s teacher! Can you beat that?”

Reaching in the sack, Lorraine came up with an egg salad sandwich on wheat, a large red apple, a peanut butter cookie and a small glass bottle of milk, spreading it around her.

“You’d think this was a steak dinner and all the trimmings with the way she was carrying on…” Lorraine, tearing her sandwich in half, went to her mouth with it.

Seeing that Vylette’s sack sat undisturbed by her feet, she wagged her food at her,

“You’re still all in a tizzy about what happened with Stevie this morning, aren’t you?”

Hugging her knees still closer, Vylette spoke from around them, eyes huge.

“What do you think, Lorraine? Of course I’m thinking about that. I just know he and Ulrich are upset and jealous about the candy… oh…”

Her eyes shut tightly and her cheeks glowed.

“Michael didn’t mean any harm when he sent us the candy. He was just trying to be nice. And he doesn’t know about Steven or Ulrich--”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t go shooting off at the mouth about it!” Lorraine spoke over her, minty eyes going emerald as she looked first at Vylette, then, stretching out on the step below her, spotted legs in the air, gazed out to the east, at the path leading towards town.

“But you saw how upset Steven got--” Vylette whimpered, partially angry that her cousin seemed not to care in the least for the torrent that masqueraded as her “boyfriend”.

There was a loud pop as Lorraine took a bite of her crisp apple.

“Yeah, roaring like the MGM lion! What, big bad Steven Wilkes can’t take a bit of competition?” Lorraine snorted shaking her head. “That boy has gotten used to being the big wheel of Rainelle Parish. He’s been one big titty-baby since Day One, with the way his folks coddle him and kiss his backside left and right. Everything he wants he gets. And now he’s working himself into a lather because for the first time in his life, someone is after the girl he thinks he owns.”

Lorraine smacked on another bite.

“If only that fool knew that the devil he was up against. Ulrich too. Although Ulrich won’t perform like your Dear Stevie did, Vy.”

Red lashes fluttered. “Ulrich isn’t man enough to yell and carry on, or get Sister Roberta’s goat by doing it in front of God and everybody--HA! I still can’t believe she really hit him with the ruler!” Lorraine cackled, throwing her head back and kicking her legs, white underwear visible beneath her skirt.

“But don’t you think its disloyal?” Vylette questioned, unsure of herself.

“Disloyal? To whom? Vylette, we aren’t in any real kind of relationship with those dunder-heads! Lovers are supposed to hug and kiss and hold hands and be all lovey-dovey. We’ve never had any of that. We’ve been “going” with Steven and Ulrich for over three years. We’ve never received flowers or candy or anything. Never kissed them. We spend ONE afternoon with Marlon and Michael and the man came here to hand-deliver the candy. I reckon he’d have given it to you personally, if he could have. The Jacksons know how to start off the correct way.”

Confused, and mind swirling with guilt, Vylette inquired,

“Don’t you think we’re moving too fast? We only spent one afternoon with them, and that was cut short by Mama--”

“Yeah, and those men did everything I only read about in my books! Stuff I didn’t men were supposed to do. They treated us to lunch, got us whatever we liked. Complimented us the whole time and were patting and taking care of us. Showed us a swell time. They were real gentlemen. So Marlon pulled my hair, he can pull it clear out the scalp if he likes!”

Lorraine’s braid flew as she suddenly whipped around to look up at Vylette.

“I haven’t stopped thinking of Marlon since he took off to take that phone call. And the more I think of him, the better I like him. He’s everything Ulrich isn’t. He’s dashing, exciting, handsome. Got a sense of humor to put you under the table in hysterics. He holds my hand and plays in my hair and I don’t care. He kept smiling. He can link an intelligent sentence together with out st-st-stuttering like a blathering idiot! Ulrich has never made me laugh. He’s not clever enough to think of a joke or a witty comeback.”

Letting go of her legs, Ulrich’s saddened face, at Lorraine eating her candy in class earlier came to Vylette and without thinking, she stated,

“I…I…Lorraine, I think Ulrich is in love with you. As bumbling or silly as he may be, the boy loves you. I can see it every time he looks at you or tries to talk to you. He really thinks he’s going to marry you! This way you‘re talking about Marlon--it‘s like you‘re going to throw the boy over for him!”

Lorraine scoffed, occupying herself with opening her milk bottle.

“Do…do you really want to break that boy’s heart, Lorraine?”

She couldn’t have been that heartless, could she? No matter how rich Marlon Jackson was. Lorraine seemed to be all Ulrich lived for.

Head dropping down, Lorraine picked at the row of brown buttons on the front of her dress, avoiding all eye contact.

Her cousin’s answer threatened to take the wave out her hair.

“I’ve never heard of anyone dying of a broken heart. I’ve read every last one of Uncle Alamanzo’s medical journals--never saw any mention of it.”

Unable to mask her true disappointment in her cousin, all Vylette could utter was,

“Oh Lorraine…”

Was she really letting herself be so swiftly wooed by Marlon Jackson to the point she was ready to drop poor Ulrich Povah like a rotten egg?

“He only bought you a fifteen cent ham sandwich…”

Michael Jackson was pulling on her heartstrings a bit, but not to where she was making any earth-shattering decisions just yet. Not that quickly.

“Lorraine, you’ve always been impulsive…”

“Aw shut up, Vy…”

The sun evaporated from view and a black shadow stretched over the cousins.

Reaching out, Vylette laid a clammy hand on her cousin’s freckled shoulder.

Standing on the step next to the one Lorraine laid on, and still managing to tower like a skyscraper over them, was Steven Wilkes.

Eyes the color of the ocean with the ferocity of a tsunami sought out Vylette and fists shoved into the pockets of his creased trousers, he asked in a low, serious tone,

“May I have a word with you Vylette--” He peered at Lorraine briefly, before adding, “--privately?”

“Hmmm.” Lorraine smirked but said nothing more.

There was a touch of the flame that had prompted that morning’s outburst, still smoldering in his eyes and with the utmost reluctance, Vylette stood.

Stepping over Lorraine, Steven led Vylette just inside the doors of the church/school and shut them.

Through the window, she saw Lorraine stand, hands on her hips. Her mouth was moving, cussing at him.

“Vylette, what the hell is going on?” Steven, with no care for the sanctity of the building in which he was standing began, hands out of his pockets and one mashed to his wide waist. “What’s happening, girl? I heard Sister Roberta say a man left those candy bars for you and your cousin. What man? It sure as hell wasn’t me! I was still asleep in my bed when the nuns opened school this morning!”

Vylette turned from Steven. What could she say? How could she fix her mouth to tell Steven about Michael Jackson?

With the way Steven was, he’d go tearing out of there straightaway, to go pull Michael’s heart out his chest and kick it up his ass!

Knowing about Michael now would have only made matters worse, especially when it wasn’t certain just where she and Michael were going in their friendship at the moment.

It was just a ham sandwich!!!

“I don’t know who would have the nerve to try to take you from me Vylette…” Steven started lowly and the rumble of his voice was like thunder in the distance, with a storm on the horizon.

“…or why you’d even look at someone else. You know everything’s coming together for me--for us. I’m getting my car, I’m gonna start working for my father at the store and save until I can buy us a house. My folks will help me. And when I get the house…then…then we can…we can get married. We‘ll be set for life.”

Vylette broke into a cold sweat and the few contents of her stomach threatened to come out in a tidal wave of refuse at the mention of matrimony.

Large hand gripping her small bicep, Vylette was turned to face Steven, and he searched her face intently for a long, heart-rendering moment.


“I want to marry you, Vylette…I always have…”
Hands beginning to wring in front of her, her nerves wearing thin, Vylette never knew why she chose that exact moment, but some force within her compelled her to ask,

“Do you want to marry me, really, or is that what your folks have been pounding away at you for so long, Steven? Do you want to marry me because you love me, or because it‘s what your parents have been telling you to do--just like mine?”

A startled, shallow gasp, popped from Steven’s mouth and he went milky all over.

“What do you mean? How can you say that to me?” His voice became strained, his trunk of neck and face darkened beneath his tan as he tried vainly to keep his temper in check.

Chin jerking, Vylette turned her face up to the bulging, muscular behemoth and whispered, tears of years of pain, strife and half-truths brimming in her eyes. It wouldn’t take much for them to spill down her peachy cheeks.

“Steven, all I’ve known, since I was Vinnie’s age…” Her voice was ragged and crackly, “…was that Mama and Papa kept telling me ‘Vylette, you’re going to marry the Wilkes boy’ ‘Vylette, one day, you’ll be Mrs. Steven Wilkes’. Always told--never asked me--always told!”

Chest rising and falling Steven started towards Vylette and instinctively, she backed up until she collided with the wall behind her.

Stooping so that his face was so close to hers, his mustache brushed her upper lip, Steven growled,

“That’s because it’s expected Vylette! You and me, Ulrich and Lorraine. Ulrich’s applying to medical school to be a doctor to work with your father, just for Lorraine. It’s good matches both ways about it. Our families are good families and meant to be united this way!”

Uniting the families! Like armies or foreign nations.

And Steven never said the one thing she wanted to hear.

He never said, “I love you.”

“Oh Steven!” Vylette cried in indignation and tried to push him away. “I’m only seventeen and you’re eighteen; we have our whole lives ahead of us--do we have to rush so? D you even love me?”



WHACK!
Vylette jumped and covered her face, as Steven punched the wall, only inches from her head.

“Who the hell is this other man, Vylette?” He sneered through clenched teeth, veins popping from his throat.

“Huh? Who’s the N(bad word) that’s got you? You never asked me all these sorts of things before? Why now? Don’t you want to marry me? With all I can offer you? Who is this other bastard--”

He stopped abruptly, and ran a hand over his slick hair.

Waving a hand at her, he ordered,

“Drop him! Whomever he is drop him and get him out your mind, right the hell now!”

Eyes huge with defiance and feeling a surge through her, Vylette Meraux tossed her head, poking her bosom outwards in a show of courage,

“You are not my Papa, Steven! You can’t tell me what to do! And you certainly can‘t make me just abandon someone because you yell. I‘m a girl--not a servant!”

It was a moment of triumph and Lorraine would have cheered.

Vylette was a crumpled heap on the floor, Steven crouching at her side, her white arm going purple in the iron-clad clutch of his huge fist.

“Steven--Steven, you’re hurting me!” In so much pain, Vylette was, that she could barely utter the sentence.

The first time, the very first time Steven had touched her, he was hurting her!

Getting closer to her, to where she could smell the sickly sweet odor of his hair pomade, and the hard-boiled eggs on his breath, Steven spoke directly into her ear, his breaths hotter than the soaring temperatures outside.


“You’re MY girl, Vylette, and eventually, you’re going to be MY wife and the mother of MY children, do you understand? We‘re going to marry and have children and generations of future Wilkes will start with us!”
“NO--!”

“Vylette!” Without warning, Lorraine was there, shoving Steven away and throwing her arms around her protectively. “Steven, you get away from my cousin right now or I’ll go and get Father Lachey for you! Do not try me, I will go get him. You beat it, you ruffian!”

Just like that, like a switch had been clicked, Steven’s voice went satiny and he said,

“Gosh, I’m sorry Vylette. You know, I don’t know my own strength sometimes.”

He went to pat after her and Lorraine punched the top of his hand.

“You don’t know anything you fool! Get out or I‘m going to start screaming!” Lorraine opened her mouth to unleash a shriek to bring the rafters down, and turning, Steven lumbered away.

As soon as he passed the doors and was out of sight, Vylette sobbed. She hadn’t wanted him to see her cry or knew he had gotten to her. But as soon as he was gone and she was left with Lorraine, all bets were off.

“He grabbed me…he hurt me…” She wailed into Lorraine’s shoulder as her cousin tried her best to calm her.

“Do you want me to go get Sister Roberta, or Father Lachey? Do you want Uncle Almanzo? I can run and get him!”

Laying against her cousin, her hot cheek pressed to her cool one, Vylette sniffled and rubbed at her eyes with the backs of her hands.

“I can’t marry Steven, Lorraine. I just can’t. He…he may beat me!”

“Honey you don’t have to marry anyone if you don’t want to. This is America. A girl has the right to choose.” Lorraine shushed her, patting and stroking at her head.

Suddenly the hallway seemed very small and dark, and Vylette shrieked,

“I want to go home! I have to go home now! Lorraine take me home--take me home please!”

She had to get out of there, she had to get away. She wanted to run and keep on running.

“I’ll take you home.” Lorraine vowed and stiffly, helped Vylette to her feet.

As the two shuffled towards the door, it opened and Ulrich, eyes consuming his face with concern stood there.

Holding Vylette tightly, her head lowered, Lorraine commanded,

“Ulrich, tell Sister Roberta I’m taking Vylette home…” Her voice broke. “She’s…she’s taken ill and has to go home immediately.”

“Ill?“ Ulrich trembled, that poor boy, so sweet and simple. “Shall I run and fetch Dr. Meraux?”

“No!” Lorraine insisted curtly. “It’s a girl problem, and there’s no need to trouble my uncle. I just have to walk Vylette home. I‘ll come back, just tell Sister Roberta where I went!”

“A-a-alright…” Ulrich patted at her shoulder as Lorraine and she went by. “Feel better soon, Vylette…”

Feel better? Vylette thought miserably as she and Lorraine limped down the steps.

There was no way that would come to pass; not with the way Steven had manhandled her.

The was no way to come back from that.

* * *


Two Days Later

“Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer starlet, Joan Crawford, has once again been spotted nibbling on one of her infamous salads to help keep her figure camera-ready. She was seen dining on one of her favorites of prunes stuffed with cottage cheese on a bed of crisp lettuce…”

With a loud sigh of malcontent, Vylette closed the latest issue of Silver Screen Digest and held it in her lap.

She had been trying for the last half-hour to focus on the article that detailed what several of Hollywood’s leading ladies ate--and didn’t eat--to maintain their slim silhouettes.

Not that Vylette needed to reduce in the least; she stood at five-feet-seven-inches and weighed a perfectly healthy one hundred and twenty-nine pounds.

Nor did Vylette want to reduce; she was simply reading her cousin’s magazine for the distraction.

That was all Vylette Meraux had sought to occupy her time--a distraction.

Any distraction.

For the last forty-eight hours, Vylette had laid in bed, languishing underneath what was being called a “girl’s problem”.

To her modest, conservative parents, Vylette’s ailment was taken at face value and considered more than a particularly difficult bout with her menstrual cycle. Thus, she had been allowed to remain at home and in bed, with her mother peeking in on her every few hours.

Left to herself, Vylette had tried to read everything from movie magazines to the family Bible, to one of her father’s detective books.

Just anything to keep her thoughts from what was truly bothering her--Steven Wilkes.

Every time her mind reverted back to that day in the vestibule, her eyes would become moist with tears of hurt and betrayal and the wound in her heart would be opened once more.

All she could see was the anger and rage in Steven’s scarlet face, hear the coarseness of his voice and feel his hand mashing her arm. And as pale as Vylette was, her delicate skin did show a faint discoloration from his aggressive manner with her.

She had spent the last two days, hiding away in bed and being babysat by her mother, simply because she didn’t want to see Steven in school.

She simply couldn’t bring herself to face him. What would he say? What would he do?

There was no way that she could see him making things better. Not when he couldn’t control his temper.

It wasn’t spoken about, but Vylette knew several women with horrendous tempers attached to their husbands . Women who were absent from church and the Christian League’s functions because of a blackened eye or ruptured lip. And so many claimed it was a woman’s lot in life to live this way; the punching bag of her spouse.

Vylette couldn’t imagine that life for herself. Being punched or slapped just because she burned the roast or the coffee she brewed may not have turned out just so.

She didn’t live with Steven Wilkes, but if she married him and took a home with him, just what on earth would happen to her when alone with him behind closed doors?

She and Lorraine had read so many stories, both in books and as serials in magazines of women with abusive, evil husbands. Some managed to flee with their lives; others only escaped by the way of a pine box.

Either way, Vylette didn’t want this, and truly feared Steven. Oh, she didn’t want to see him…

But she knew she would have to return to school. There were four weeks left to the term, and she had to take exit examinations in order to graduate.

Why?

Vylette had long beat herself up mentally over this. Why graduate? Why do all that studying and learning and it amounted to nothing. Just a slip of paper and a woman hunting a husband? No women went to college--there were colleges for women, but no one ever went.

Her mother didn’t even know that Vylette desired to be a writer, with stories published by the likes of Photoplay, just like Adela Rogers St. John.

Women in the Parish just didn’t behave like that--try to carve out careers, unless it was with a tiny, wrinkled human wriggling in their arms screaming “Mommy!”.

Vylette glanced down at the yellowish brown bruise circling her bicep. Just what kind of a life was she doomed for?

Reaching underneath her pillow, she came up with the note penned by Michael Jackson.

She had looked at it no less than twenty times.

Michael and his brother had footed the bill for their lunch and he was writing, thanking her for the afternoon.

A smile came to her face as she thought of Michael.

He’d probably never raise a hand to do her harm. He’d respect a lady and even in the midst of a squabble probably keep his head.

A gentleman did that; maintained his temper.

Steven Wilkes was NO gentleman.

“Vylette! Vylette, come here, please! Vy-lette!”

From elsewhere in the cottage, Kathleen Meraux’s voice boomed.

Quickly, the note was stashed underneath the pillow.

“Vylette Evangeline--now!”

Pushing herself up and out of her bed, Vylette knew not to keep her mother waiting and made a hasty scramble towards the sound of shouting, coming from the rear of the house, in the kitchen.

There, she found her mother, streaked with flour, and forming biscuits and placing them on a baking sheet.

“Yes, Mama?” Vylette ventured to the opposite end of the kitchen table.

“How are you feeling?” Mrs. Meraux dug in a large bowl filled with dough and was molding another biscuit.

“A little better--”

“You’ve missed school two days in a row, Vylette.” Her mother stated matter-of-factly. “And you’ve been in the house for two days.”

“I know Mama--”

“You can’t continued to be in here. You need to get out and get some fresh air in your lungs, child.”

Another biscuit plopped onto the pan.

“Now, tonight, I’m hosting the Ladies’ Christian League meeting, and I expect you to be right there, with Lorraine and Vinnie passing out refreshments.”

“Yes Ma’am.” That was expected. Only an act of God himself would have prevented her from being in the League.

“And I need you to run an errand for me this afternoon.”

What next came from her mother’s pursed mouth was the last thing Vylette ever wanted to hear.

“I want you to meet Lorraine after school today and I need you girls to go over to see Mrs. Wilkes.”

Vylette’s heart dropped.

“You need to get the clothing catalogue from her so I can order your white dresses for graduation. And the walk outside will do you good.”

Vylette gripped the edge of the old table so hard, her knuckles popped.

The Wilkes’ house? Her mother was sending her to the Wilkes’ house? After she had tried so hard to avoid Steven, her mother was sending her directly to him? Of course her mother had no clue of what Steven had done to Vylette, but the last place on earth she wanted to be was his house, looking at him--

Seeing her daughter remained, Kathleen Meraux ordered,

“Don’t tarry, child! Go on! School lets out soon. Go get dressed and get down there!”

“Yes-yes Mama…”

Head so low her chin pressed her chest, Vylette turned and exited the kitchen.

Before she passed the door to her bedroom, hot fresh tears were meeting under her chin.

* * *



BONG! BONG! BONG!
Vylette reached the church/school just as the bell signifying the end of classes started to chime.

BONG! BONG! BONG!

Standing off to the side of the long staircase, Vylette was wringing her hands into a reddened, bone-crunching mess, as she watched a pair of nuns open the doors, allowing a flood of chattering children to rush out.

A few girls, the daughters of lower-ranking Christian League members, waved at and called to Vylette as they went by, and somehow, despite her nerves, she managed a cordial reply.

“Hi Vylette! Hi Vy!” Vinnie, hand in hand with Hildegard, went rushing by, both giggling happily. “I’m going to Hildegard’s house! Mama said I could! I’ll be home for dinner!”

Watching the doors, Vylette searched for her cousin.

Where the devil was Lorraine? The longer she took, the more of a chance Vylette had of running into Steven, and the idea gave her stomachache.

“Hello, Vylette…are…are you feeling better this afternoon?” An humble voice wondered.

Ambling up to her, hands in the pockets of his trousers was Ulrich Povah. A thin book was tucked under his arm.

“Yes, I’m better--thank you for your concern, Ulrich.” Vylette’s eyes returned to the door, where the crowd was now thinning, as the boy stood alongside her.

“I…I noticed you weren’t around the last couple of days, and I was a little worried…” He admitted haltingly. “But…I know your daddy is a great doctor, and whatever’s ailing you would be taken care of. Dr. Meraux is the best-skilled physician I know of.”

Not really paying attention, Vylette assured him,

“I’ll tell Papa of your kind words--”

“Aww shucks…” Ulrich was all teeth and goofy laughter.

“Do you know where Lorraine is? She and I have to do something this afternoon.” Vylette was inwardly swearing. It would be today that her cousin would lollygag half the day away! Vylette made a mental note to strangle her later.

“Last I saw of her, she was with Sister Roberta.” Ulrich cleared his throat. “I think she was collecting the lessons you’d missed.”

The two fell silent, as the last of the children exited the building, chatting with Father Lachey as they walked along.

“Um…Vylette…” Ulrich cleared his throat again and pulled at the thin tie at the base of his long throat. “Who…who sent you and your cousin those candy bars?”

Eyes never leaving the door, Vylette gave him the same answer she had given the Grabby Steven.

“A friend.”

“If…if Lorraine wants candy bars, I can get them for her. I can get her anything she needs…” There was a raw, possessive edge to Ulrich’s voice that had been lacking before, and Vylette turned to him wonder in her face.

He stared up at the stairs, his jaw set, muscles clenching.

That boy really wanted Lorraine for his own and was envious!

If only he knew what he was up against. If only he knew, that poor stupid fool!


“Oh, let me alone, you bothersome wretch you!”
At the distressed squeal, Vylette’s attention was called to the doors of the building, where finally, after what seemed like an eon, Lorraine came rushing out, her books pressed to her chest.

Any happiness Vylette felt at seeing her cousin were quickly extinguished as running out behind her, was Steven Wilkes.

“Aw, come on, Lorraine! You can’t tell her I want to see her? You live with her! Just tell her!” Steven cried following her down the steps, jumping two at a time to keep up with her.

“No I won’t--” Lorraine stopped short when she bumped into her cousin and Ulrich. “Jesus Christ!”

Steven’s eyes widened at Vylette.

“Vy--”

Grabbing onto Lorraine’s hand, Vylette purposefully ignored him and spoke directly to her cousin,

“Mama says she wants us to go see Mrs. Wilkes and get the catalogue for our graduation clothes from her.”

“Fine by me!” Lorraine tossed her long braid and the two started off, leaving both Steven and Ulrich to run after them down the dirt road.

“Aw, come on Vylette!” Steven groaned after they had trotted a few yards. “I know you’re cross with me about what I did, and I’m sorry I did it! Really I am!”

Those were empty words, since she was still wearing his calling card on her arm.

Holding her head high, Vylette tried to control her wiggling chin and keep the saltwater from flowing from her tear ducts.

“You’re doing fine! You’re brave!” Lorraine encouraged mutedly as they continued on, quickening their steps to put more space between them and Steven Wilkes.

“Vylette! You’re going to my house! You’re not gonna talk to me in my own damn house?” Steven shouted and garnered no reply but a chastising from his buddy,

“Don’t swear in front of girls!”

“SHUT UP, ULRICH!”

“Sorry, man.” Those was the last words Ulrich would speak the rest of the afternoon.

There was the sound of thudding as Steven threw his large feet, running and catching up to the girls as they, with Ulrich lagging behind, turned up the fork in the road leading to the Wilkes’ homestead.

“Come on Vylette! You know I’m sorry, Sugar! Please forgive me!” He panted leaning to look at her face and being rebuffed as she turned her head. “I’d never hurt you on purpose--you know that! I misjudge my strength sometimes. You’re my girl! I love you, Vy!”

Vylette stopped so quickly, she almost threw Lorraine to the ground.

Letting go of her cousin’s hand, she faced Steven, who was huffing from his exertion, swear starting to collect on his brow.

Had he really said that? Had he really said those words to her?

Words that up until three days ago would have meant every bit of the world to her?

“I’m your girl?” She challenged, cocking her head to one side and squinting at him. “I’m your girl, and you love me?”

“Yeah!” Steven nodded, running his forearm across his head.

Hands found their place on Vylette’s hips as she looked him from head to toe and chuckled dryly.

“Really? Because listening to you talk the other day while you were trying to pull my arm from the socket, it sounded like I was your property--not your girl.”

Steven’s mouth fell open and nonsensical sounds came from it.

“Wha--what--the--I--you…”

Leaving him to pick himself up, Vylette, followed by Lorraine continued up to the short, white picket fence circling the clapboard cottage the Wilkes family called home.

Finally discovering his tongue, Steven rushed over just as Vylette was getting the gate open,

“Sugar…you know that ain’t true!” He declared, grabbing the gate and keeping it closed, stopping her from walking any further. “I love you, you love me. We’re going to be married after we graduate sometime…”

He reached out to grab her arm and instantly the top of his hand glowed, as both Vylette and Lorraine slapped it away. He wasn’t going to touch her again. Not like that!

“Absolutely uh-uh!” Lorraine wagged a finger at him.

Hands pressed to his head, Steven, face going from red to blue to purple in his aggravation howled,

“GOD DAMN IT!”

“Oh Steven Darling, you know you mustn’t swear in front of girls. It isn‘t proper…” A sweet, timid, high-pitched voice called.

Fairly waddling towards the four teens was a kindly, fat woman.

Steven’s mother, Beatrice Wilkes.

Mrs. Wilkes, close in age to Vylette’s father, was an older parent. While most women whose oldest were in their teens were only themselves in their thirties, Mrs. Wilkes was a decade older.

Steven was the last of five children born to Mrs. Wilkes and her husband, Jonah.

And Steven was the only one to live to see adulthood; his two “older” brothers and two sisters had all died in childhood from various illnesses, and were now buried in the cemetery on the outskirts of town.

Being the only child to survive was the greatest part of the reason Steven was an exceptionally spoiled young man. How could his parents say no to their lone son and namesake?

Thus, the boy got away with damn near murder. (Or roughing up young girls.)

Mrs. Wilkes was a tall, fat woman with a piggy-like, round face. Her hair, a stark white, and piled on top of her head in a bun, was a contrast to her bushy light brown brows above eyes the same color as her son’s.

In her stubby hands was a thick tome--a Sears and Roebuck catalogue-- packed with clothing

“Excuse me, Mother.” Steven sniffed as the woman, in a modest navy blue shift reached the gate and greeted everyone.

Steven and Vylette eyed each other like opponents on opposite sides of a boxing ring.

“Son, why don’t you invite your company in? There’s cool lemonade in the icebox.” Mrs. Wilkes, a mild-natured woman by comparison to her offspring, was always inviting folks in.

Some people said the laughter and noise helped her forget the four ones she had lost.

It was a notion that particular afternoon that Vylette found insufferable.

Was it truly necessary when only three hours from then, Mrs. Wilkes would be sitting in her living room as part of the Christian League meeting?

And Vylette desperately wanted to get away; she didn’t think she could stand Steven’s presence any longer without taking her fingernails and raking all the flesh from his face.

Steven was pulling the gate open for them.

How could she leave without being rude to Mrs. Wilkes, it was her fault her son was a brat, though. Mrs. Wilkes would surely tell on Vylette to her mother and her mother would wear her out.

“Vylette! Lorraine! Vylette, Lorraine!”

And fate intervened in the form of little Vinnie Meraux running up the road to them.

Reaching them, the child grasped the gate and bent over for air before stating.


“Hi Mrs. Wilkes!”
“Hello Vinnie, Dear--”

“Vylette!” The little girl’s grey eyes were huge as she looked up at her sister.

“Papa sent me. He needs you to go to the five-and-dime on the way home and pick up some pipe tobacco for him. He’d have gone and gotten it himself, but he’s going out to Les Barker’s farm. Les’ horse kicked him, again. Here!”

Holding out her hand, Vylette had four nickels dropped into it.

“But I don’t know what brand Papa smokes.” Vylette started--she knew full well, he father had smoked the same brand since the teens!.

“Yeah you do!” Vinnie, her young mind without a clue, started, and grabbing her by the shoulders, Vylette began pushing her away down the road.

“Good, you can point it out to me at the store. Come along Lorraine. Some other time Mrs. Wilkes. Y’all have a pleasant afternoon!”

At the last moment, Lorraine snatched the book and was running to catch up.

Goodbyes were called after them, but the three girls were out of sight by the time they were audible.

Vylette was just happy to be away from Steven Wilkes.

And soon, she was to have another, more astounding reason to be happy.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Vylette, Lorraine and Vinnie entered the five-and-dime. If the store had an official name, no one remembered it, as the store was as old as Rainelle Parish itself.

A dim, catchall for everything from tobacco products to make up to artificial silk stockings to books, it was a vast maze of overflowing aisles with counters rimming the inner perimeter.

As soon as the trio hit the door, Lorraine was gone, headed for the magazine rack to see if Jean Harlow had been up to anything ink-worthy. (and to scrounge up the pennies to buy it).

Vylette, holding Vinnie by the hand, navigated their way to the back counter of the building, stuffed full of various brands of tobacco products

Seeing the purveyor, a Mr. Goebbels--and a distant relative of the Povahs--was nowhere to be seen, and lazily, the sisters leaned against the glass topped counter, displaying cigars.

Idly growing bored, Vylette pushed her ponytail off her shoulder and began to whistle a shrill version of Amazing Grace.

“Polite girls don’t whistle, Sis…” Pious Vinnie chastised, patting her arm.

“Aw, dry up!” Vylette shook her arm off and whistled some more.

Christ, they were the only ones there. Who cared?

Turning around, leaning back and staring at the floor, she started to whistle the opening bars of Dixie.

“Stop whistling Vylette!”

“Don’t make me whip you!”

“You’re not supposed to!”

“I’ll tell Mama if you try to whip me!”

“Toot…”

A note, so sour and off-key came from Vylette’s lips, and mid-sentence, her little sister grew quiet to peer up at her.

Still gazing downward, Vylette’s eyes were swelling.

Facing her beat up brown oxfords, a pair of shoes had appeared.

A pair of gleaming, polished patent black loafers.

So shiny she saw her reflection in them.

Eyes traveling slowly upward, another note left her.

Staring down at her, was a gentleman, dressed sharply in a black and white pinstriped suit with a contrasting white and black dotted tie. A small diamond pin, in the shape of a swirl, glittered in his lapel.

Those eyes, one partially hidden by a black fedora cocked jauntily to one side blinked in the handsome face.

“Michael…” Vylette stammered and at the mention of a male name, Vinnie spun around.

“Zowie.” The child gasped.

The hat came off in one long hand and the other patted at his hair.

He was removing his hat in the presence of a lady!

Did he always look that beautiful? Didn’t he have an off day?

“This must really be a small town.” There was that thousand watt smile and Vylette felt weak. “We keep bumping into each other in the most unusual of places!”

Beaming, Vylette nodded.

“We most certainly do.”

The eyes drifted to Vinnie and hand on his hip he teased,

“Who are you little lady? You’re too old to be Vylette’s daughter!”

Chuckling bashfully, Vinnie told him,

“She’s my sister!”

“Michael Jackson,” Vylette pulled the child between her and him. “This is my little sister Lavinia--”

“Gee whiz Vy! My name is Vinnie!”

Michael’s hand eclipsed her tiny one.

“Well, Darling, if you want to be called Vinnie, I’ll call you Vinnie. You can call me Michael.”

Eyes huge--even that youngster could grasp the refinement.

“Yes, Sir.”

Straightening up, he questioned,

“Lavi--Vinnie--do you like candy?”

“Yes, Sir!” Vinnie gasped as Michael reached into a pocket, change jingling.

He came up with two quarters.

“This is fifty cents. I’ll let you have it, but only if you buy your sister and cousin each a Gigantic bar. The rest you can have for yourself.”

Vinnie turned white with excitement.

Even after the bars, she had thirty cents left over.

Eyes taking her face, she looked up to Vinnie for advice, tiny chest heaving.

“Go on, he’s a friend.” Vylette nodded, pleased her sister was so happy.

“Thank you, Michael! God Bless You!”

With that Vinnie was cutting a path out of there for Pelant’s.

Watching her go, Vylette snickered, “She’s going to spend it all on penny-candy.”

A light musical laugh came from Michael.

“Children deserve candy…especially in hard times such as these.” He set his hat on the counter.

Vylette was quiet. Michael Jackson seemed like the type to have never known a hard time in his life, but instead, she wondered,

“What bring you to the five-and-dime?”

“Picking up the cigarettes Marlon ordered the other day.”

“And where is Marlon?” Vylette knew he’d be the only thing to pry Lorraine from the grip of Hollywood.

“In New Orleans, packing--”

Finally, Mr. Goebbels, a thin, pale, tense looking man of about fifty, came from the back of the store, a crate of cigarettes in his hand.

“Oh…I’m sorry--how may I help you?” He questioned, his voice barely understandable for his German accent.

Michael flipped his hand indicating she go first.

“Two pouches of Regal pipe tobacco, please?”

The red paper pouches appeared and the four nickels were placed on the counter.

Before Mr. Goebbels could take them, Michael’s hand was sliding them away.

“Please, add the cost of the tobacco to my cigarettes. I have two cartons of Gold Crowns.”

“Oh, you’re one of them Jackson fellows.” Mr. Goebbels nodded, eyeing him and ducked behind the counter.

“You don’t have to do that.” Vylette hissed warm all over as his kindness.

“You shouldn’t pay for what you don’t use. Ladies don’t smoke pipes.” Michael winked.

“It’s…for my…Papa.”

Vylette turned as Mr. Goebbels rose with a pair of cartons, white with Gold Crown and a drawing of the insignia on the box.

Reaching for her tobacco, Vylette dropped them back to the counter, feeling a slight tug on her head.

Looking down, she saw Michael’s hand gripping her ponytail, running the length of it.

Gooseflesh was everywhere.

It slapped her back as he let go of it. Giving no reason why he had wanted to touch it. Any one else would have been slapped crooked.

Michael Jackson remained untouched.

“That’ll be six dollars and twenty cents, Mr. Jackson.”

Vylette managed to gasp through her little nose.

Michael was spending six dollars, alone on cigarettes?

(When a dollar fed her family of five for an entire week!)

Good Lord! Those stars were on parade in front of her face again.

Taking his cartons and holding them, Michael informed her out the clear blue sky,

“Marlon and I will be out of town for a few days. Apparently, the idiot driving Marlon’s car down from New York got stopped for speeding in Alabama, turned belligerent and now they have to go to Alabama to retrieve the car.” He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Randy had one job, and managed to fuc--foul--it up.”

Light came to his face as he added,

“We’ll be back by Friday. And we’d really like it if you and Lorraine could visit us at our home. It’ll be ready for guests by the end of the week.”

His voice dropped and he leaned closer to Vylette whispering.


“You’re the only friends we have here in Rainelle Parish.”
His breath, warm and mint-smelling left Vylette drowsy.

She had to under some kind of influence.

Unmarried girls never went calling on men, in their homes, without some form of chaperone present.

It was unheard of.

But…Michael was grinning harder at her suddenly, replacing his hat and telling her,

“Saturday, at twelve-thirty. We can have a nice lunch. Better than sandwiches.”

Had…had she told him yes? So taken by the idea of being invited anywhere on the face of the planet with Michael Jackson, she’d thrown tradition away?

Pleased and happy, Michael started away and Vylette frowned after him.

“I don’t know where you stay!” She called after him feebly.

Coming back, he replied,

“A big old house. I think folks around here call it The Dauphine Place.”

Tilting his head he apologized,

“I’m sorry, Vylette, I have to go now. I have to meet up with Marlon now if we want to make good time between here and Alabama. Don’t forget--twelve-thirty, Saturday!”

With that he was gone.

“I’d never forget…” Vylette started and a realization hit her like a speeding locomotive.

The pouches of pipe tobacco landed at her feet.


“The Dauphine Place?!!?”


End of Chapter Three! My goodness, isn't this scandalous! First Steven bats poor Vylette around like a rag doll and now she has an invite to spend a day with Michael and his brother Marlon. ALONE. in thier own estate. Things can only become more juicy from here. And I have a feeling old ill-tempered Steven will be calm none too soon! MORE COMING IN CHAPTER FOUR!!!