Chapter Eight

Five Days Later
Jackson Manor
Rainelle Parish, Louisiana

There was something so mystical, strange and beautiful in the way Michael Jackson stared.



Lounging comfortably, on the far end of one of the brown, kid-leather couches of the Library, as he had been for most of the late morning and afternoon, his gaze had never parted from Vylette Meraux.

Never once had he looked away, in the nearly three hours in which she had been in his company that day.

Not whilst he was shooing Baron from the room and out onto the wraparound balcony of the second level; not even when he rang for Adelaide to bring up refreshments for the two of them to partake of.

Staring was supposed to be a rude gesture; something badly trained and uncouth people did, because they knew no better.

Plus ,the object of the stares, in this case, young Vylette, should have been offended.

Yet, she wasn’t.

For, in Michael’s silent, solemn stare, she could find no traces of leering or perversion, as she once had in the stares of ‘another’ man.

There was a light of admiration in his eyes…those, deep, dark orbs of smoky brown, under expertly arched brows and framed by those long, black lashes.

Michael stared upon Vylette, observing her, as he would any one of the dozens of marble figures in his possession,

Vylette was also just as guilty as he, of this staring ‘offense’.

How could she not stare at Michael Jackson, sitting there, dressed so well in his leisure clothes that so complimented his fine chocolate complexion?

The light pink, crisply starched oxford, that had been paired with his pale grey and pink, windowpane check trousers. Even his footwear was lazy: his long feet covered in pink socks and black, suede slippers with his initials embossed in silver threading.

But Michael Jackson was not Michael Jackson without some type of sparkle, and this came in the form of his bowtie, pink as his shirt, but embroidered all over with sequins that threw and reflected light with his every breath.

It had been nearly an hour since the last word had been spoken betwixt the two and the only movement, outside of the blinking of eyelids, was that every so often, one would pick up a small, round cracker and dip it into the china bowl overflowing with chunky, sweet crab salad.

Though the longer Vylette met Michael’s gaze, the more clammy her little hands became, the paler her cheeks, and the faster her heart pumped beneath her bosom. She wanted to stay in that gaze.

Wanted to cherish how he looked at her…

Suddenly, there was a bit of a smile on Michael’s face, creasing his features and making the tiny mustache above his lips more visible.

Meeting his grin, Vylette spoke the first word,

“What?”

Reaching up and twirling the single curl that fell across his forehead, Michael responded in his gentle way,

“Sitting here…admiring you so, Vylette, has made me feel inspired--creative, My Darling…”

One of her small hands disappeared as his larger ones wrapped it and, he cleared his throat.

“Ahem.”

With that, Michael commenced reciting a poem,

“I Guess I’ll Always Be A Dreamer


Dreaming My Life Away

Dreaming My Life Away

A Romantic Fool, That's What I Am
I Think About You, All Day Long
Though It's Impossible, For Us Together
Oh It's Not Real, a Love I Can't Feel…”

Vylette was unaware of it, but as Michael spoke, his eyes closing midway through the recitation, her own head was tilting off to the side, chest heaving with an unknown amount of affection. More affection than she had ever felt for anyone before.

This was love, in it’s rawest, most joyous form.

Had she not been holding his hand, she wouldn’t have been able to comprehend that this creature speaking was real, belonged to her and she to him!


“…I Just Can't Wait, Till I Go To Sleep
I'll Be With You, All Night Long
Circumstances Held Me In a Terrible Place
It's Fantasy, I Just Like To Share These Moments Together…”

And this poem, this splendid piece of free verse literature, being recited with light, mild passion, was just enough to make the hairs on her bare arms stand!


“I Guess I’ll Always Be A Dreamer


Dreaming My Life Away

Dreaming My Life Away.”

As the poem reached its zenith, the dark eyes opened once more and were focused on the pale, heart-shaped face with the queerly-colored eyes.

“And…did you like that?” Michael wondered, brows raising in question.

“Yes…” Vylette could barely speak intelligently, “I’ve never heard anything like it! I adore it…who, who wrote it?”

The grin on Michael’s face grew larger, and that slick, curly head ducked.

“Me.”

“You?” Vylette was so impressed she wanted to float up off the couch. “Oh, Michael! You should be publishing your poems, writing like that…Honey!”

It felt so good to her soul to call him by a pet name.

Why, Michael Jackson was a natural-born poet. It pumped through his veins intermingled with his blood!

“Writing like that…If you have any more, may I hear them, please? I‘d like to hear them all--everything you‘ve ever written, Michael.”

Brown cheeks darkening as he blushed, he slowly scooted closer to her.

“I haven’t written prose in a very long time, Vy…” Michael admitted, an arm wrapping her shoulders and holding her against him.

As an automatic reaction, her head was resting on his shoulder, his entire frame aromatic with his cologne. It was a warm, intoxicating fragrance that lingered in her nostrils.

“…I think in time, I’ll get my inspiration back…” There was a teeny smack as he kissed the top of her head. “…but I don’t want to publish my poems. I only want to recite them for your enjoyment. Watching you as I recite, its far better than having a million volumes sell. I only care what you think, Vylette. Not critics. My work is theatres, my pleasure is everything else. Lover… ”

Vylette was pulled back, and down into Michael’s lap, with him clutching her to him.

Without a word, his mouth, hot, moist and still tasting of the crab salad, came down and pressed hers.

His lips, so smooth and tender, worked against her with a power that seemed to emanate from within his slight body.

It was a draining power that left Vylette a trembling, weakened mass in his arms.

Those eyes swept her face, not seeming to notice the childlike gleam in the stare returned upon him and Michael, asked, hugging tighter,

“Have you been writing, Vylette? I remember you mentioned an interest in it. May I see what you’ve written?” He inquired, and smooched her forehead.

Pinking up all over, Vylette was helped into a seated position as she responded, feeling a tinge of shame,

“I’ve only written one serious story so far. It’s about a girl named Fern, who meets and falls in love with a gentleman on a transcontinental train ride.”

“What’s the title?”

“Four Days to San Francisco.”

Shifting and pressing a fist into his cheek, Michael beamed,

“That sounds very interesting--you’ll have to let me read it sometime, Sweetness. I can’t wait! I want you to write, and plenty. The more you have written, the better chance you have at being published. While I don’t personally want to be published, I want it for you. Nothing would make me prouder than to see your works in a magazine or a book somewhere and be able to tell me people, ‘That’s my Sweetheart’s name right there, in black and white’! I don‘t care about success like that for myself, but nothing would make me happier than to see you achieve a dream. In times like these, so few people can.”

Shyly, Vylette glanced away, heart fluttering. She wasn’t used to being encouraged like this, and wasn’t quite sure how to act when Michael was so obvious in how he was rooting for her. (Steven had never done that; he was too busy rooting for himself.)

“I usually write in my free time, Michael…”

There was a chuckle and her cheek pinched with him teasing,

“So much for writing! All of your free time has been spent with me! And rightly so!”

It was so very true!

In fact, every day, since that miraculous dinner in which she and her cousin had been given the green light to pursue and cultivate relationships with the Jacksons, they had been present at the Manor. Sometimes so early as to eat breakfast, and staying so late as to eat dinner.

Once the cousins were cut loose from the rushed rehearsals for the graduation ceremony, now a scant two days away, they would practically run to that mansion on the hill.

(Once in her haste, Lorraine had completely knocked a stuttering Ulrich Povah over!)

Each day had been more blissful than the previous. Rarely had the two couples been together, a foursome, as the men departed with their girls for secluded rooms and hours idled away doing nothing, but what lovers did best.

Curled up with one another, whispering and speaking about things which didn’t really matter much, with practice done in search of the perfect kiss.

Life had dissolved into a fantastic dream in which Vylette dare not awaken.

Smiling--Vylette seemed to be smiling so much these days--her heart near busting in her ribcage, she put a hand up and patted at Michael’s soft cheek, dragging her thumb over the few hairs making up the ‘mustache’ on his upper lip.

In return, Michael’s thumb dragged her bottom lip and the two embraced for the umpteenth time, mouths connecting with a flame.

Dark eyes, overflowing with emotion, Michael whispered, biting his bottom lip, voice heavy and an octave deeper,

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Something of a knee-jerk reaction took Vylette and instead of basking in his praise, she leaned back a bit, shying from him, head turning and staring out at Baron, sleeping in the sunlight.

“Vylette, I’ve noticed something the last few days about you, that I’m growing to dislike the more and more it happens…” Michael announced and when met with sheer silence, completed his statement.

“It always seems to trouble you when I compliment your appearance--why?”

Rounded shoulders shrugged and Vylette rose from the divan.

“I don’t know…” Hands in the pocket of her plaid skirt, she moved towards the open French doors. “I don’t know…just…”

Still seated, it was called after her,

“Just what?”

Arriving at the window, Vylette clung to it and breathed in the floral scent of the rose garden being carried on the wind.

“I’ve never put much thought into myself that way, Michael…I, I was brought up to believe it was vanity. Vanity is a sin.”

Still seated, Michael, who had been going to his mouth with another loaded cracker paused, a frown taking his features and twisting them, and placed his snack back on the platter.

“Vylette…” He spoke in a soothing, but firm tone of voice. “…it is not a sin to be happy and thankful for the way God has made you. God doesn’t make mistakes, Baby. So many people dislike themselves for this reason or that, but really, Vy, you have no reason at all…”

Pushing himself up, Michael walked over and stood behind Vylette, fists shoved in his pockets.

“This is something I don’t understand. I know, in this place, everyone is religious, and are Catholic and abide by those teachings. I respect that. Everyone should be able to worship as they choose. In my life, I’ve known Catholics, Hindus, Moslems and even a couple atheists…but this is what I don’t understand.”

Michael’s hands, so tender and warm, grasped Vylette’s upper arms.

“I told you, I don’t really follow an organized religion, but I do thank God for beautiful things. I thank him for sunrises and sunsets, how beautiful the property here is, for having a home and food to eat and having Marlon here with me…and you and Lorraine…”

Vylette was squeezed.

“I thank God for blessing me with a sweet, affectionate and kind woman who is also beautiful--don’t--don’t pull from me!” Michael tugged the young girl back against him.

“Now what point does it make, to be thankful for all that, and not be thankful for yourself? God made you, and you are breathtaking Vylette! And it kind of breaks my heart when you behave this way. I’ve seen girls who look like outright hogs have more esteem for themselves than you!”

Finally getting free of Michael’s grasp, Vylette stepped over Baron and across the polished wood floor of the balcony to whitewashed banister and leaned against it.

“When I look at you, I see smooth, clear, creamy luminescent skin, the most haunting, enchanting eyes I’ve ever seen in life, eyes a color like no one else has and wave after wave of long glistening black hair…a most beautiful woman…I see the woman I love--you.” Michael whispered, and hiccupped.

She stared out over the vast, rolling green that was the back of the property, dotted with oaks swinging Spanish moss and a few yards away, the barren, black patch of land where the old slaves’ quarters had once stood.

Vylette yearned to tell Michael Jackson the truth, but was reluctant to do so, for fear he wouldn’t believe her.

Michael was the first man to ever tell her that she was pretty…the first to ever see beauty in her and compliment her on it. In the three years she had ‘been’ with Steven Wilkes, she had failed to hear it. But then, Steven was so focused on himself, worried about how handsome he was, she wondered if he really noticed anything about her, other than what he perceived as the wifely duties he still mistakenly expected of her.

“What kind of place is this?” Michael, leaned backwards against the railing beside her his eyes penetrating. “I, I can only ask what kind of life you lead here--where you don’t know what you are. How alarmingly arresting you truly are!”

A loud sigh escaped Michael and he cracked his knuckles.

“You aren’t like your cousin, Vylette. I’ve seen that little flame-haired thing act and heard her speak. She’s conceited and vain about her looks; she thinks she’s every bit the temptress Jean Harlow is, without the bleach! But…”

Vylette spoke over him.

“Lorraine has always been headstrong like that! Mama just couldn’t get it out of her. But Aunt Christine was the same way, a bit on the vain side. Lorraine just took after her own mother--”

Michael took one of the small hands,

“My point is, Lorraine does know she is pretty, and is unapologetic about it. You don’t seem to. Vylette…” He pecked the top of her hand. “I could write sonnets about you, Darling, and it worries me, that you don’t see what I do.”

Vylette glanced up at the concerned face looming over her.

“I wish I could too, Michael.” She confided feeling terribly.

She had always been taught different, had it preached at her and beaten into her. She couldn’t just turn her entire thought process around in one moment, could she?

“You should. Why, I came up in a house with a mother and three sisters. My baby sister, Janet, is the same age as you. Mother always instilled in them, in all ten of us, that looks were important and caring for yourself was proper. Not just for the stage, but in life. Now, you don’t have to be like Janet, wearing make up and bobbing your hair, but be happy as you are. I just want you to be happy! If you don‘t build yourself up first, who will?”

Vylette nodded, that did make sense to her.

Only eight years separated them, but Michael Jackson was so very wise for his youth.

All Michael ever tried to do, that she could see thus far, was to make her happy and keep her in good spirits.

Putting a hand up, Vylette ran her fingers through his slick, glossy curls. Whatever dressing he used, smelled faintly of coconuts.

“I promise to make sure you see your beauty, if it’s the last thing I ever do…” Michael vowed and his mouth was on hers again and Vylette was putty in his arms.

Holding her close as he removed his mouth, smooching her bottom lip, Michael exhaled and grinned.

“Now…let’s talk about something else. You have your graduation coming up, very soon, don’t you?” Hugging her, he led her back into the library. His arms felt so good against her plump body.

“Yes, in two days.” Vylette was doing somersaults inside, thinking of her being Valedictorian.

“Two days…” Michael echoed as they slipped back onto the couch. “And the big potluck party afterwards. Adelaide has already started baking cakes. Nothing fancy, banana walnut spice cake with a cream cheese glaze.” (Only Michael would call that ‘nothing fancy’)

That was news to Vylette--the Jacksons were making an attempt to mesh with the community by contributing to the potluck.

“Mama’s making pecan pies.” Vylette chuckled as he patted her knee.

“Sounds good. I‘ll be sure to get a slice.” Michael nibbled at another cracker. “And the day after, is your birthday, is it not?”

A chill ran from Vylette’s toes to the top of her head. The memory of the day when Michael’s control had waned and he had been so lewd with her in his office came flooding back to her consciousness.

How…how long would it be before the subject of the Love Lessons came up? When he would be the sexual teacher, and she, the very apt little pupil? When? Did he want to begin on her birthday?

He looked so innocent, so timid and sweet.

An all-American boy if there ever was one. But really? What was he like when doors closed, lights dimmed and his clothes fell off?

But rather than mentioning anything to do with sexual dalliances, Michael questioned,

“Are you doing anything special for your birthday? A party, perhaps?”

“Oh no…” Vylette shook her head. “There’s the graduation party the day before. I haven’t done anything special like that in years. There’s a Depression going on--”


“The Depression does not exist in this house.”
Michael Jackson spoke up stubbornly and Vylette fell silent. No…he and his kind were untouched by the strife gripping the world.

What it really must have been like not to worry for food and clothes and things…

“And that’s a general mass party--its not specifically for YOU. A person only turns eighteen once. It’s an occasion. Even though I was still tapping when I made eighteen, I was in Vienna. That’s where I got the cigarette case your sister seemed to like so much. I got the case, had a party with my family and some of the other vaudeville folks and went to a ball afterwards…”

Michael trailed off a moment.

“I cannot get you to Austria in three days time. Hell, I can’t get you to New York in three days, but you are my lady. Yours and Lorraine’s birthdays run extremely close, a little over a week apart. Marlon and I wanted to take you out to New Orleans. There’s a zoo I’d like to visit and Marlon’s found this steakhouse he’s crazy about…he‘s gotten gout twice from all the steak….”

Michael Jackson was speaking. His lips were flapping and noise coming out, but Vylette heard none of it.

He…he wanted to take her to New Orleans? For a day of fun? No work, no trouble? Just for the fun of it?

The last time Vylette had seen the Crescent City, she had been five years old, and at the bedside of Lorraine’s parents, giving her tear-stained goodbye as they succumbed to Influenza. She hadn’t seen the city in thirteen years!

“…I hear the zoo has nice animals. Pandas from China; zebras, giraffes and gazelles from Africa….”

Michael was nearly thrown to the floor as Vylette leapt into his arms.

“Hee-hee!” Tickled, he pecked her mouth, the two of them a jumble together.

“What time should we be here?” Vylette wondered, hugging him tighter and smelling the warm cologne on his throat.

“Very early, about five--”

“I’ll be here at four, dragging Lorraine if I have to.”

More fevered pecks and Michael’s hands pressed into her plush waist.

“Drag her…” He instructed and merrily the pair gnawed at each other. “Do you want one of us to come pick you up?”

“No…the walk in fresh air will wake us!” Vylette laughed, and ran her fingers through those curls.

Yes, a day in New Orleans.

Vylette was a touch relieved, he hadn’t mentioned the Love Lessons, just yet.

Maddeningly and wildly, Vylette wrapped her arms around Michael and felt desire and saw Heaven as he hugged her back.

Yes…she would be an obeying and observant student and excel at these Love Lessons…

And Michael Jackson would be her excellent instructor.


* * *


Two Days Later

“…and, so, this is not an ending. Rather, it is a beginning. The beginning of an adult life, that the last twelve years, has been so carefully crafted by the Sisters and Father Lachey, and God himself to ensure that fifty-two men and women, the entire Class of Nineteen Hundred and Thirty-One are sent out into the world. I am so proud, humbled and honored to lead this Class and only pray for the best for all of my classmates in each and every endeavor they shall pursue. Thank you, and May God Bless you all.”

Contemplative and a bit unsure, Vylette Meraux was quiet, squinting at the piece of paper held in her gloved hands. It had taken long days and even longer nights to write out her Farewell Address.

It had been rewritten over a dozen times and read out, recited and memorized to the point she nearly hated it.

Still eyeing the paper, covered with her delicate penmanship in pencil, Vylette wondered aloud,

“Does it sound alright? It isn’t too long is it?”

The only other occupant of the bedroom, Lorraine, whom sat on the edge of her bed, slipping her perforated white shoes on, shook her head, her red mane gathered in a ponytail, fixed with a large white, grosgrain bow.

“No, Vy…it sounds wonderful. Perfectly wonderful. And no it isn’t too long. Don’t you remember last year’s address where that Pickett boy rattled on for over an hour?” She snickered, rising and starting towards her cousin.

Both girls were dressed exactly the same, in flowing, short sleeved dresses made of white eyelet, the only color allowed on graduating girls.

(It was seen as something of a reminder to the males that the females were now of marrying age.)

“Old Donnelly Pickett always was a long-winded so-and-so, wasn’t he?” Vylette laughed, tucking her speech into one of her lace gloves.

She hoped to deliver the speech solely from memory, but just in case her mind failed her, she would have the written copy, literally on hand.


“Yes, and that mouth is what got him shot in the back down in Vicksburg, Mississippi, last January, popping off to the wrong person! Of course he lived, but he‘ll limp on the left side till his dying day.”
Both girls gave each other knowing and emphatic nods.

“Do you know something?” Lorraine questioned, green eyes dancing as she slapped at her cheeks, bringing redness to them.

“What?” Vylette pinched at her own cheeks.

“I’m not so much excited about graduation, as I am about going to New Orleans tomorrow!” Lorraine confided, lips parting in a Cheshire-cat like grin.

“The other day, Marlon was raving about this steakhouse they have there, and…” She was beaming harder. “I wonder if he would let me have a steak for myself! I’ve never had a steak before.”

“I don’t see why not. Why it’s practically your birthday, too.” Vylette tittered and thought about ordering a steak for herself.

A real, nice, thick steak, pink in the middle and cooked in butter. Just like the stars ate--when not on diets.

Delighted, Lorraine took hold of her cousin’s hand and spoke in a hushed, happy tone,

“Darling, I think we’re going to experience a whole lot of new things with Marlon and Michael…and I can’t wait!”

Vylette’s head, bearing a large bow also, bounced as she nodded and started to reply, but Lorraine spoke over her.

Lorraine’s minty eyes dropped and voice lowering to being barely audible, she asked,


“Has…has Michael mentioned anything to you about something called ‘Love Lessons’, Vy?”
Struck dumb, Vylette stammered nothingness for a moment.

Love Lessons? Was Marlon planning to start teaching her cousin as Michael had planned to do with her? Were they both to be virgin pupils--


Creak!
Both girls stiffened, as the door suddenly cracked and Kathleen was letting herself into the bedroom.

The matriarch of the family, looking quite severe in her church-best, black floral dress, was doing something neither Vylette nor Lorraine had seen in a long time--she was smiling!

Hazel eyes, dipped at the corners switched back and forth between the girls as she moved closer, and Vylette noticed a sad tinge to the smile on her mother’s golden brown face.

“Oh look at you two…” She whispered, hands clasping and being pressed into her large bosom.


“Oh…it seems like only yesterday, Christine and I were holding you two as babes in our arms, and now look at you, graduating high school…first and seventh in your class, at that!”
Kathleen, lowered her head, and overcome, choked up a moment.

“Mama--” Vylette, touched, started and a soft hand rubbed her cheek.

“I’m so proud of you…as proud as a mother can be…” She whimpered, staring first at her daughter, then over to her niece.

“Lorraine, I know Christine and Luc are looking down from Heaven and are so proud of you, Dear. I only wish they were here to share this day with you.”

“Yes…Auntie…” Lorraine, starting to well at the idea of her parents missing this milestone in her life, reached out as Kathleen came forward, and embraced the girls holding them against her stout body. And said something they didn’t expect.

“Vylette…Lorraine…” She sighed, squeezing them tighter.. “You’re both ladies now, and once graduation is over, you’ll be considered as such by the entire community. I want you to remember who you are and just where you come from. Everything I‘ve tried to teach and instill in you. You‘ll be applying it to your lives now.”
“Yes Ma’am…” The girls chorused, hugging her, as children, for the very last time.

It was a bit bittersweet; they were women, but oh, so quickly.

“Remember, you’re descendants of Gerald De La Croix, who founded our Rainelle Parish. You’re both pillars of society here, and any and all decisions you make will not only affect you, but ripple down through the Parish also.”

Both girls nodded, they had only heard this sermon every other day of their lives.

But there was something new and fresh to it--today, Kathleen Meraux meant her words.

Eyes drifting down a moment, the matriarch continued,

“I…know that Michael and Marlon Jackson will be joining us today, for the commencement ceremony and the celebration afterwards…”

Tense glances were exchanged, as the Jacksons still weren’t Kathleen’s favorite people to be around.

But she was warming to them…slowly.

“I am still getting used to your preferring them over Steven and Ulrich, but I will try to use my influence to sway some of the other members of the Christian League towards a more favorable opinion of them.”

Stunned.

The girls were simply stunned by this admission.

Kathleen Meraux, was…going to put in the good word for the Jacksons?

Unaware of it, each girl pinched the white flesh of their arms, to make sure they were indeed wide awake and not dreaming.

If…if Kathleen endorsed them, the Jacksons were as good as in with the top-tier of the Parish elite.

And as half-Dauphines, Michael and Marlon deserved to be in the top-tier to start with.

While Lorraine smiled at her aunt, Vylette wasn’t so quick to show her teeth.

The top-tier did include her family, the Wilkes, the Povahs, and the inbred Pringles among a few others.

Just how would Beatrice Wilkes and Mary Povah react when they learned the two girls who were practically their daughters-in-law were not to be?

Oh, Vylette didn’t want to think of it. Today was a good day.

A happy day.

The first day of the rest of her life.

“Almanzo was right…” Her mother was saying, regret and woe written all over her ageless face. “…I wasn’t being very Christian, being so mean to those young men with no true cause. And I have to set an example.”

The girls were hugged again.


“I love you two so much! And just like Almanzo, I want you two happy! If Marlon and Michael make you happy, then I‘m happy for you all!”
Kathleen began to weep and as the teens clutched at her, they were crying too.

“We love you, too!”

A battle had been won, but the war was just beginning.

And Vylette knew the opposing army would be led by none other than that brute, Steven Wilkes.

* * *


A Few Hours Later

For a small, sedate and sleepy community such as Rainelle Parish, there were very few events that brought the entire town together, as did the annual high school graduation.

It was an endeavor that undertook several days of preparation and lots and lots of work.

From having a team of little boys set out the hundreds of chairs on the front lawn, once they were dragged up from the basement in the deepest bowels of the church, to the influx of merry relatives from all over the state and far reaches of the South joining in the festivities.

For days, kitchens in every house in the community--that could afford it--had been burning round the clock, as ladies everywhere were preparing scores and scores of dishes and desserts for the smorgasbord of delights to be offered for the celebration afterwards.

Kathleen Meraux had personally baked some twenty-odd pecan pies, herself!

(The Meraux house smelled of Black Strap Molasses for weeks after the ceremony!)

The lawn of Saint Ignatius was alive with movement that bright, clear sunny morning.

Relatives chattered and hugged and shouted congratulations to one another, parents shouted after small children running wild, girls, wafting visions in white from head to toe, boys in stiff new suits, and Father Lachey was instructing the brass band made of Great War Veterans on just where to congregate alongside the stage to play Pomp and Circumstance.

A few hundred yards away, long tables had been set up, displaying the offerings for the afternoon. Everything from overflowing platters of crisp, fried chicken and catfish fillets, to Louisiana delicacies like ettouffee, seafood gumbo, and boiled crawfish with corn and potatoes.

Bowls of punch and tea were out and there were more sweets than a person could dare count.

Even pudgy Adelaide, the Jackson’s housekeeper, was there, setting out her many glazed spice cakes. (And drawing stares as the cakes were being served from fine, red Wedgwood china.)

She had come early, as the Jacksons wouldn’t make their appearance until closer to the actual start of the graduation.

The excitement in the air was catching, and everyone was walking on air.

Everyone, that it, except Vylette Meraux.

While others swirled around and socialized freely, Vylette sat off to herself, in one of the many chairs, perusing her speech again.

She was stressed; she wanted to recite perfectly and impress Michael Jackson.

She had been gunning for his approval all the morning, wanted him prideful and to see that gorgeous smile on his face.

“Is that your Farewell Address?”

A cool voice questioned, and for a moment the writing on the page went blurry.

Trying to focus, Vylette managed to be icy, in eighty degree weather,

“Why, yes, it is--Steven.”

Lavender eyes coming up, they glanced over the hulking man in a spank brand new black suit and plaid tie, white rose in the lapel. And met with the cold blue eyes on her.

“You look great in all that white…” Steven commented, nasty grin spreading his lips. “You almost look like a bride…”

He would say that.

“Yes, well…” Vylette folded her speech and returned it to her glove. “This dress is cotton; I intend to be married in silk or satin.”

“Of course.” Steven nodded and Vylette nearly laughed into his tanned, bronzed face.

If only he knew how he was being thrown over, being abandoned. Not that he didn’t deserve it, for how he had tossed her around. The fool!

She could have told him right then that she was now Michael Jackson’s girl. But no…this was far too delicious to her. To string Steven along, and let him believe that he was the one.

Perhaps seeing her in Michael’s company would pound the message home for him.

She was going to drag this out however long she saw fit before crashing the world around his ears.

She didn’t care how he reacted; she had Michael now to help protect her, whatever came.

Playing with the ruffled edge of her glove, Vylette repeated a statement that wasn’t her own, but one her greedy cousin had made once while they discussed possible marriage to the Brothers Jackson.

“I always did see myself in dangling diamond earrings and bracelets with emeralds in them…” She sighed, as if such a request were natural for a country girl, during The Depression.

The smile on Steven’s face lessened.

“That’s…a bit extravagant, don’t you think Vylette? Diamonds and emeralds…” He wondered worriedly and Vylette replied,

“Well…it is a husband’s duty to provide everything his wife could desire. And on my special day, I really would like to look like a princess or a czarina.”

And princess and czarinas were wed in the very finest--out of Steven Wilkes’ reach!

Clearing his throat he tried to shift the topic,

“I got my new Ford from Mother and Father this morning--Ulrich, too. Ford Model-A Roadsters. Look!”

A thick finger pointed and twisting in her chair, Vylette obliged, looking to the far corner of the yard, where the few cars owned within the Parish sat. Among them, indeed, were two, new, gleaming black Fords, with white canvas tops.

A delighted grin coming to her face, Vylette stood.

“You like that don’t you--”

Steven suddenly shot up beside her.

“I’ll be goddamned!”

Gliding to a halt beside the Fords, was a sleek, blue on blue Cadillac coupe.

Vylette’s eyes sparkled with glee!

How perfectly fitting for the Jacksons to park their exquisite mode of transportation right beside Steven’s little piece of nothing.

The cars set side by side for anyone to look and compare. And really, who would prefer a Ford over a Cadillac?

The doors opened and the Jacksons, in what appeared to be white suits, and shoes, with wide, Panama hats on their heads, disbanded.

In one hand, Michael carried a large black box.

Her bosom swelling, Vylette watched as Dr. Meraux, Father Lachey and several of the band playing Veterans, who had been clustered together smoking, moved towards them and started shaking hands.

Yes…yes, they were being brought into the fold.

Lorraine was a white blur, galloping over to the group and embracing Marlon, first, then pointing in Vylette’s direction for Michael.

“Who the hell invited those N(bad word)?” Steven grunted, perturbed. “They don’t know anyone here.”

So, he was apparently blind to Lorraine’s hugging Marlon.

“They know Dr. and Mrs. Meraux, their two daughters and their niece.” Vylette grinned, stepping around Steven. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Wha--Vylette! Vylette Evangeline!” Steven called after her. “Why did I promise Mother I’d stay out of trouble today? Shit!”

Steven was forgotten as soon as he was out of sight.

He always was, when Michael was around.

Coming towards her, Michael Jackson, upon closer inspection, was dressed down expertly, in a white, seersucker sucker suit, with a lavender shirt and tie.

On his lapel, a small amethyst and pink sapphire pin, in the shape of a sunburst was affixed.

“Gosh…” His voice was hushed with awe, his hat coming off in respect. “You look just marvelous, Vy. Marvelous!”

“You look fabulous too.” Vylette chuckled as he leaned in giving her a squeeze.
(It had been decided that they would refrain from kissing, as such displays were frowned upon, on the Holy grounds. It was shock enough to the town that the Jacksons were there in the first place!)

And strangely, Michael remarked,


“You look just like a bride, in all that white.”
While the observation had offended her with Steven, it livened Vylette up with joy to hear it from Michael.

Was he…was he considering marriage so soon?

Oh, to be Mrs. Michael Jackson!

“Although, I would rather see you in silk or satin…My sister Maureen wore white velvet, if you can believe that, but her wedding was in November….”

He spoke so easily of it. So naturally of marriage.

“Um…“ Flustered, Vylette looked to the box in his hand. “What’s that?”

“My camera.” Michael grinned, turning and depositing it on a chair.

“A camera--really?” Vylette had never known any one whom owned a camera. It was a very precious and expensive luxury.

“Why, yes…my Sweetie and her cousin aren’t going to graduate without something to remember it by!” Michael chuckled and again, Vylette felt supremely blessed at knowing him.

He was going to photograph her graduation; the biggest day in her life so far.

“Hi Michael!” Vinnie called, a cookie in her hand running over and hugging his waist.

“Hello, Vinnie!” Michael chortled patting her back. “What are you eating?”

“Shortbread. Mrs. Pringle made them--here!” She was shoving the entire cookie into his mouth.

“Thanks!” Michael winked struggling to eat.

“Zowie! A camera!” Vinnie gasped, before cupping her hands around her mouth and calling,

“Hildegard, Anna-Lynne, Marie--come look! A camera, y‘all! What kind is it Michael?”

“A Lubitsch, I bought it last time I was in Berlin.”


“Wow, that’s in Germany!”
As three little girls came running from the tables, a hand laid itself on Vylette’s shoulder.

“Time to start lining up…” Sister Roberta was saying, that sly smile on her wrinkled face as she regarded Michael, now being besieged by small girls, more calling to others to see the camera, and he nodded in greeting.

That old nun knew how she had helped--she never cared much for Steven Wilkes’ either!

“Jenna! Alexia! Sarah! Mary-Rose!” Little girls and some boys were flocking to be near Michael Jackson.

A week ago, the children had been held by judgmental mothers, now thanks to Kathleen’s tireless praise and word of mouth at the food tables all the morning, Michael was a celebrity.

Grinning, Vylette blew a kiss to Michael, whom returned it, and started towards the back of the seating area, where the fifty-two graduates were lining up by sex.

And just her dumb luck, Vylette was lined up beside none other than Steven Wilkes.

That damn boy had no disregards as to whom heard his grievances.

“Those suited up fancy-ass dandies may be winning popularity contests with everyone else here, but I’ll be damned if you catch me kissing their Black asses to make friends!”

He was probably jealous no one was kissing his ass!

Vylette started to roll her eyes when someone else interjected.

“I’m not a dandy, I don’t need my Black ass kissed and I’ll kindly thank you to keep any and all references about me and my brother out your crooked mouth!”

All of whom in earshot straightened and a gloved hand flew to Vylette’s mouth.

Standing behind her, helping Lorraine take her place in line, was Marlon Jackson.

His handsome face was set, tight along the jaw, amber eyes unwaveringly on Steven.


Sweet Fancy Moses--he’d heard Steven!
It was clear, Marlon had no cares that Steven had roughly seventy pounds or six inches on him.

Steven, used to nothing but fear and obedience when he spoke tossed his head and squinted down at Marlon.


“You talking to me?”
“No, I’m just blowing hot air!” Marlon retorted and several people chuckled.

Blue eyes widened, and Steven demanded,


“Do you know who in the hell I am?”
“Yeah…” Marlon gave him a long glance as Lorraine patted his arm, and whispered at him, trying to soothe him.

“You’re that motherfucker who’s working my last good nerve!”

“OH!”

Several girls gasped, as such language was rough to their delicate ears. One even sagged, starting to swoon.

“Marlon…no…please!” Lorraine begged and behind Steven, Ulrich was crumpling at the sight.

“You Black bastard!” Steven blustered, growing red, and fists started to curl.

He was going to knock Marlon Jackson clean on back to New York!

Frightened, Vylette looked for Michael, and saw him, yards away, speaking to a small audience of nearly two dozen children about his camera.

His back was turned; he was missing the entire disaster behind him!

Turning back, Vylette found Marlon Jackson grinning happily up at Steven Wilkes and heard him coo.

“I’m a Black bastard?” His curly head was thrown back, his hat falling to the ground, and Lorraine stooped, picking it up.

Marlon stuck a finger out, just short of tapping Steven in his barrel chest; any kind of physical contact was sure to have exploded in a bare knuckle brawl.

Pouty lips snarled over his pearly teeth,


“I’m a Black bastard? HA!--Well, you ain’t so lily-White your damn self!”


“OH!”
In utter shock, Steven’s jaw dropped and a gasp from the fifty-two around him bent the trees it was so strong. No one had dared speak to Steven in such a manner! No one had dared call him on his lineage or how he thought it made him superior…

Speak that way and walk away with all their teeth intact.

“Now…I would tangle with you right now…” Marlon spoke calmly, and cracked his knuckles, taking his hat from Lorraine and placing it on his head at a jaunty angle.

“But this is a graduation I was invited to, to see my friends graduate. And I won’t be ruining their day, cutting up at a church house and acting like I haven’t got any sense.”

Pure gold eyes ran up and down Steven a moment.

“I have far better breeding than that. Besides, this suit is custom made, and cost more than you’ve probably seen in the last five years…Son.”



“OH!”
If Lorraine smiled any harder her teeth would have cracked at how Marlon was needling Steven where it hurt, with no mercy at all.

Marlon did have the name, the money and the looks to be arrogant.

Steven could pretend, but Marlon really did have all the advantages.

Steven, unable to voice a comeback, only growled as Marlon tipped his hat and started away, to where people were streaming to find a seat.

The boys side of the line flamed with chatter.


“Steve, you gonna take that?”

“I thought you was gonna break his nose!”

“Damn man, in front of all the girls too!”

“Steven, ain’t you gonna punch him? I’d have!”

“Old stuck-up ass! All rich folks is like that!”

“I’d just kill myself, shamed like that!”

“Goddamn, man!”
Steven said nothing more, only trembled as he tried to control himself.

And Vylette knew full-well if he hadn’t made that promise to his mother, he and Marlon Jackson would have been rolling over the yard, slugging it out for all to see.

From behind, Lorraine hugged Vylette and the two shook, knowing just what kind of tragedy had been averted.

Marlon was still very new and if he sparred with one of the old names in town, he would be an outsider forever, no matter what Kathleen could say in his defense, and Steven was banking on that.

Vylette wanted to kill Steven for that kind of treachery…

Mud had a better name to her than he did at the moment.


An Hour Later


“…we are all so very proud and thankful, for these here fifty-two young men and women. For these people are the future, not only of Rainelle Parish, but also, the World. Yes…yes…”
Father Lachey had been rendering a long, and robust sermon from where he stood behind the small wooden podium, officiating the ceremony.

Any other time, Vylette would have been riveted to her seat, as she was with all his sermons, but at the moment, she couldn’t be bothered.

Her attention, the entire time she had sat onstage, was at the very first row of the crowd.

Near her end of the stage, she could see her parents and sister smiling sweetly, but on side of Vinnie, Michael and Marlon had whispered back and forth, nonstop.

And very clearly, she made out Marlon’s lips saying,

“He called us dandies!”

Michael’s lips flew forward,

“Who?”

A brown finger pointed.

A double glare was directed across the stage, right at Steven.

Yes, he had two enemies in the Jacksons now.

But Steven’s eyes weren’t on them; they were on Vylette. And had been since they had marched up and mounted the stage.

A cool, frantic, unbending glare that annoyed her and seemed to peek beneath her dress and shimmy.

Poor Ulrich, seated next to his friend, just slumped, looking at Lorraine in defeat.

He was the only one Vylette felt any sorrow for.

Ulrich Povah was a nice boy, who had always been nice.

But…he was just no match for Marlon Jackson.

To Lorraine Devereaux, no one could match Marlon, unless Rudolph Valentino suddenly rose from the dead to take her in his arms.

“If they do fight, I hope Marlon beats Steven’s face to a ragged pulp.” Lorraine declared sedately out the side of her mouth, and before Vylette could tell her to hush, she added,

“Marlon can box like a pro--he said he knows Tempestuous Tim Lawson and Jack Johnson! They taught him to fight.”

Head whipping around, Vylette gazed on her cousin in wonder. Marlon knew professional boxers? The best in the world? He took pointers from them?

He’d kill Steven if they fought!


Sweet Jesus!
Vylette stared back at Marlon, calmly poking a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it.

He…he could kill a man with his bare hands.

Hands that had only shaken hers and patted her back and tugged her ponytail in joking.

It was remarkable.

She peeked at Michael, looking so calm and holding his hat in his lap, legs crossed.

Was he capable of it too? Could he box like the best in the world?

“…I am so very proud to announce that for the first time in the ninety-four year history of the Saint Ignatius Catholic School, we have a Female Valedictorian! Please, join me in standing and saluting the Valedictorian, of the Class of Nineteen Hundred and Thirty-One, Miss Vylette Meraux!!!”

At the mention of her name, Vylette was brought back to the present, her head whipping around and staring at the kindly old minister.

Time appeared to slow, and Vylette, overwhelmed with nerves rose to her feet.

Standing a moment, she could see the entire crowd on the lawn giving her a standing ovation. Hundreds and hundreds of people.

Beside her, Lorraine was patting her back and saying she was so proud of her!

There was her mother, crying, lace hanky to her face, her father applauding. Little Vinnie jumping up and down, skinny arms in the air.

Marlon hooked his fingers in his mouth and unleashed a loud toot, while Michael…

Michael stood, hands clasped together and pressed to his chest, gazing at her. There was a peaceful serenity to his face. Eyes warm, brows raised, a bit of a contented smirk to his lips. He was silent and motionless, but he didn’t have to make any noise.

He was happy. Truly happy with her.

And she with him.

Michael was pride personified.

And if it were sinful, he’d just have to burn.

Somehow, Vylette got over to the podium. Did she walk, did she sprout wings and fly, she had no clue.

But as she stood there, looking over all whom had gathered, a sense of calm took her, as she grasped the polished edges of the podium where so many Valedictorians had stood before her.

So many men had come and gone before her…and she was the first woman. A trailblazer.

She glanced at her Vinnie. Perhaps, sometime eight years from now, her own sister would be leading the Class of 1939 into a new decade…and it would have started with her.

The calm started at the very crown of her head and spread down to her feet.

And an assured smile came to her face.


BOP!
There was a bright flash of light, and it took Vylette a moment to realize it had been the exploding flashbulb from Michael Jackson’s camera.

As he scrambled to remove the used bulb and put in another one, Vylette’s pink mouth opened and from her lips, came the opening lines of her address.

“First given honor to God, Father Lachey, The Sisters and all of whom are in attendance today. If someone had told me, four years ago, that today, I would be standing before you in this highest of regards of educational accolades, I would have laughed….”

* * *

“Class Valedictorian…My Vylette is Class Valedictorian…My goodness…and such a talented orator.”

(Author’s note: An orator is a public speaker…it has no sexual connotations. I, myself, do pretty well at public speaking…)

Michael Jackson had been repeating that simple, whispered phrase in the last half-hour, since the ceremony had ended. He’d mumbled it as Vylette came off stage, posed with Lorraine, both holding their diplomas, and all through the line to have a crack at the food being served.

And now he, Marlon and Lorraine sat clustered together, as did everyone in their own small cliques to chat and eat. The rows for the spectators had been broken up and now varying numbers were bunched together for friends and families to enjoy each other.

Vylette, biting into a piece of hot, fried catfish, smiled, cheeks on fire at his praise.

“Hey…” Marlon, in better spirits, brushed a few crumbs from the pale green shirt he wore and placed an arm around Lorraine who was nibbling at a fried chicken drumstick.

It was then, Vylette noticed that both men had worn shirts and ties that matched their girlfriends’ eye color. They weren’t pulling any punches!

“Don’t forget, my girl came in seventh. They’re both in the top ten of the entire class. Gorgeous and smart as whips! Damn!”

“I couldn’t be happier.” Michael was all teeth, forking potato salad into his mouth.

Taking the small, white rose from Marlon’s lapel, Lorraine sniffed at it and said with a grin,

“I can’t wait to go to New Orleans tomorrow…it’ll be the best birthday--”

“Oh, that reminds me.” A golden eye winked. “Mike, didn’t we leave something in the car for two women who were graduating today?”

Cutlery fell to plates noisily and both girls began grinning and looking back and forth eagerly. They had gifts for them? They brought them something!

“Oh, what is it?” Lorraine wondered, grabbing after Marlon’s hand as he and his brother stood.

“You’ll see, Baby.” Was all Marlon replied as the two excused themselves.

“I swear before God and Jesus, if that man isn’t careful, I’m gonna get spoiled.” Lorraine sighed lustily as they watched the men starting towards their car on the far end of the lot.

“You could be right, Dear…” Vylette snickered, mind swirling. “You could be right.”

The smile lighting Lorraine’s face fell.

“Oh shit! Here comes trouble!”

Looking up, Vylette’s entire being fell.

Walking towards her accompanied by his cousin Wallis Pelant and a tall, light-skinned boy with conked red hair she didn’t know, was Steven Wilkes.

Before he reached her his mouth was open.

Starting up again…


“So…you keeping company with that rich N(bad word), I see. Ain’t got time for me--”
Setting her plate down, Vylette leered at him and tried to sound as cruel as possible. Her eyes flashed, wanting to hurt him as badly as he did her.

“Yeah, I went from one rich N(bad word) to another one, Steven Wilkes! Just because you’re lighter than him does not make you better you big lummox! You’re not White! You’re still Colored, and you always will be, just like Marlon said! I’m Colored and I know it. God made me this way, and I‘m just fine with it. Proud of it!”

“I know that’s right!” Lorraine chimed in, zealous smirk on her freckled face.

“Oh!” Wallis had a hand to her round cheek and her boyfriend shook his head.

“Wow…”

Stunned by her outright insolence, Steven turned blue.

“You stay away from damn Yankee! You’re my fiancée, Vylette!”

Behind him the red-haired boy asked of Wallis,

“Fiancée, where’s her ring, Honey-Child?”

Hearing the inquiry, Steven turned, hatred in his face.

“Elliot, shut the hell up!”

Grey eyes steadied on Steven, and coolly the man replied.

“Man, fuck you! Can’t control your girl! You ain’t talking to me like that! I’m from Baton Rouge, I’ll cut yo’ ass wide open here today! Just cause we at a church, don’t let that fool you! I’ll send yo’ glow in the dark ass on to Glory! Pardon my language!” With that Elliot turned and stomped off.

Wallis punched Steven in his beefy arm.

“Now look what you’ve done, you goon! Elliot, Baby wait! He didn’t mean it!”

Wallis raced after the man back across towards the church.

Steven’s eyes bulged out his head as Vinnie came over and took the empty chair beside her sister.

“You back talking me about them damn Yankees, in front of company too--” He huffed and Vylette eyed him, wondering how she had ever come to want to marry him!


“Better a Yankee than a wannabe Confederate! Next thing I know, you’ll want to have a good old fashioned lynching and use him to decorate a tree…green is a horrendous color on you Steven.”
“Looks great on Marlon!” Lorraine laughed spitefully.

A finger wagged in Vylette’s face.

“Girl, if I didn’t have half my family here right now, who came over five hundred miles to see me, I’d punch that son of a bitch right square in the nose!”

Steven declared in a bellow.

“Ha-ha! A-ha-ha-ha!”

She laughed.

Vylette laughed right off into Steven’s crimson, sweaty, swarthy face.

“Ha-ha! A-ha-ha-ha!”

Steven, fist curling for a moment waved it at her, and brushed past her.

“Ha-ha! A-ha-ha-ha!”

“I don’t like him…” Vinnie announced as Vylette sat down.

“No one likes him.” Vylette shot her sister a grim look.

“If I hadn’t seen it, I’d never have believed it…that was sensational! Wish I had used Michael‘s camera to take a photograph of his ugly mug!” Lorraine tittered.

“We’re back…” Michael Jackson almost sang as he and his brother returned.

Michael held a large square box, wrapped in pink paper and fastened with a white bow. Marlon held two--a smaller, flat rectangle gift box, and a taller wider one.

Michael doled them out.

Vylette got the square, Lorraine the flat one, and the large rectangle was extended to Vinnie.

Grey eyes swelled.

“For…for me?” She whispered and looked to Vylette for confirmation.

Her sister nodded and Michael patted the child’s back.

“You were promoted too, weren’t you?”

“Yes, Sir!” Vinnie’s face lit. “I was third in my class!”

“Must be something in the water, breeding genius women around here!” Marlon guffawed.

“Well then!” Michael clapped large hands. “You deserve something too!”

Vylette touched Lorraine’s arm.

“Let her open hers first…”

It warmed Vylette to know Michael hadn’t forgotten her sister.

There was frantic tearing of the wrapping and the short lid was lifted.

“Let me…” Michael offered and Marlon stood behind Lorraine grinning.

Large hands reached into the box.

There was a clink of something and from the box, Michael pulled a stunning sight.

“Ta-da!”

A large doll, made of porcelain, with long dark blonde hair, sparkling green eyes and a pouted little mouth was produced. Her fat body covered in a frothy white dress with pink bows and gauzy rosettes. A matching rosette was in her hair.

Vinnie’s reaction was priceless.

Taking the doll from Michael, she hugged it to her, eyes closing and squinching.

“I…I love her…thank you! Thank you!”

Slowly, tears began to flow down her face.

“Aw…she’s crying!” Marlon pointed out and automatically, Michael was dabbing her face with his hanky.

Vylette laughed, touched at the scene, and Lorraine was wiping at her eyes.

“She’s all yours. She needs a name…”

“I’ll call her Minerva!” Vinnie hiccupped, setting the doll aside and was hugging Michael.

“Thank you!”

She ran over to Marlon, pressing against him.

“Thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome, Sweetie, Mike picked it out for you.” Marlon informed her and Vinnie cried harder.

“MAMA!” She shouted, taking off for the food tables as fast as she could run.

“That was sweet of you…” Vylette pointed out as Michael sat, holding the toy in his lap like a real child.

“It’s her day too.” Michael grinned and indicated the box in her lap.


“Open it.”
Vylette was so happy for her sister she almost forgot her own gift.

Tearing at the package, she got the feeling she was being watched.

Sure enough, a few yards away, Steven stood, with Wallis and Elliot, all three smoking.

He was so red, he was a tomato with eyes.

She gave him a blistering smile and put her attention back where it belonged.

“Mine is heavy…” Vylette giggled, ripping the paper away.

“Should be,” Michael was grinning, lifting the lid off.

“Ah!” Vylette’s hand came to her face, and her eyes popped.

No words came to her as she stared off into the box.

“Well, what is it?” Lorraine chuckled, knocking Marlon‘s roving hand from her bosom.

“A…a typewriter…” Came the hushed reply.

Inside the box lay a beautiful typewriter, one like Vylette never though could exist.

Rather than being black as most typewriters were, hers was a stunning, glazed shade of lilac.

And on the very top, her name had been subscribed in silver script,

“Miss Vylette Evangeline Meraux”.

Her slim fingers brushed against the writing and a realization hit her:

Her name…Michael had spelled her name correctly!

She stared up at him.


“Your father, pointed out…your name’s not spelled like the flower, when I asked him, to be sure.”
Michael was pinching her chin, eyes dancing.

“Maybe now you can give Adela Rogers St. John a run for her money!”

He truly did want her to write!

“I love you! Thank you!” Vylette leaned and pecked his lips. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten! I’ll write…I’ll write everything!”

Behind her, Steven screamed at the sight, but no one paid it any mind.


“…Michael gave me a doll, she’s so pretty, look, Mama! I named her Minerva!”
Vinnie was fairly dragging her mother behind her.

Taking the toy from Michael she held it up to Kathleen.

“My goodness,” Kathleen stared, as the doll was probably very costly. (More than she could justify paying for a toy for her youngest.

“Its very nice.”

Kathleen smiled at Michael and placed a hand upon his shoulder.

“I can’t stand the suspense!” Lorraine stated hoarsely, opening her gift, finally.

The lid flew off.


“My Lord!”
Clutching it, Lorraine leapt to her feet with a yelp.

The look of happy coolness on Marlon’s face was replaced with one of total alarm, as Lorraine, eyes rolling, passed smooth on out, with him catching her right before she hit the ground.


“Oh my God!”

“She’s fainted!”

“Lorraine!”
“Damn!--excuse me, Mrs. Meraux!” Marlon apologized, placing Lorraine’s limp body in the chair and patting at her cheek.

“What the devil did you give her?” Michael demanded, pulling the box from her hand and all around peeked in.

“Well for Heaven’s sake!” Kathleen couldn’t help laughing.

And as it was passed around, everyone got their seven chuckles in.

Lying in the box, in a thin golden frame, was a portrait of Jean Harlow.





And inscribed in fine, loopy writing was a message,


“Lorraine,

Congratulations and Best Wishes!

Jean Harlow.”

“Zowie! Hey, Hildegard--come here! You‘ve got to see this! ” Vinnie cried, before rushing to Marlon.

“Can you get me William Powell’s autograph? I love him!”

“Girl, go fetch your father for your cousin!” Kathleen gave Vinnie a push and she was gone to retrieve the doctor.



“PAPA!!!”
“All this over a picture! The very like!” Kathleen was shaking her head and pinching at Lorraine’s arms.

“Hey, do you know how many times I had to call United Artists before I got a picture? Michael near about punched me in the kidney when the long-distance bill came!”

Marlon laughed as Dr. Meraux arrived with Vinnie.

“A portrait did this?” He roared with laughter and produced a vial containing small yellow crystals from his pocket.

“This is sulfur, smells like rotten eggs, should do the trick.”

Uncorking it, he held it beneath Lorraine’s nose a moment.

The nostrils flared and coughing she finally was revived.

“Oh my God, what smells like rancid death?” She groaned weakly as Marlon hugged her. “What happened?”

All her loved ones began busting up.

“You---HA!--you saw a picture of Jean Harlow and damn near died!” Marlon snorted and kissed her forehead. “Baby, don’t scare me like that!”

“Don’t shock me like that!” Lightly she slapped Marlon, then kissed his plump mouth.


“Thank you, so much, Honey! Jean Harlow wrote my name--she knows who I am!”
She whimpered kissing him harder.

The kissing intensified, and Kathleen, startled as they drew stares, commanded,

“Lorraine! Everyone can see you!”

“Aw, let them be!” Dr. Meraux smiled. ”They’re young and in love.”

Bending down, Michael’s eyes glimmered mischievously as he kissed Vylette boldly.

Her arms wrapped his long neck and she smooched him deeply, not caring whom saw.

Not even the dastardly Steven Wilkes!

There was another guttural cry, that went ignored.

Yes, Steven was going to be ignored. He no longer mattered.