Chapter Nine--PART TWO

“…Contrast! Contrast! Contrast! That’s the word being uttered by every esteemed fashion house and only the smartest dressed debutantes this summer! Clothing contrasting in every color of the rainbow is what’s being asked for and outright demanded! Black and white, green and yellow, red and purple, orange and brown…”

Unaware of it, Vylette was reclining against Michael Jackson, so relaxed, she failed to notice she was mashing her lover against the quilted walls inside of the car.

And Michael, knee-deep in his own article about what swimming costumes men were wearing on the beaches in Europe, didn’t seem to mind.

The ride into New Orleans had been markedly silent, as Marlon, a very careful driver, had concentrated on the road, barely speaking.

The only conversation, had come in unmeasured bursts from Lorraine, who commented on different dresses and shoes that caught her fancy.

Passing a battered wooden sign that read New Orleans--10 Miles, Marlon’s thick mouth opened.

“Cherry, light me up a cigarette, will you, Baby?”

There was no immediate reply, only the ruffling of pages.


“…Norma Shearer’s blue dress is so cute…”
“Lorraine!” Marlon called sharply, and Lorraine, head dipped, came up, hat waving.

“What, Daddy?” Green eyes were huge.

(Lorraine Devereaux never did notice the irony in how she referred to Marlon compared to her wanting to smote Wallis Pelant earlier about the same term!)

“I asked for a cigarette.” Marlon repeated and quickly, his silver and black enameled, Deco-inspired case was in Lorraine’s hands being opened.

Placing the cigarette in her little mouth, a match was struck and it flamed to life.

“Here, Darling…” It was passed to Marlon’s mouth.

“May I have one?”

At the inquiry, Vylette’s head came up in time to hear Marlon mumble, “Go ahead.”

Vylette watched as her cousin, with no trouble was lighting a second cigarette, smoking as easily as breathing, flicking ashes out the window.

Vylette didn’t even know her cousin smoked!

“You want one, Vylette?” Marlon flicked his own ashes.

“Oh! No thank you--I don’t smoke.” Vylette declined and started to flip her page. Smoking was just something that never appealed to her, and so she chose not to do it.

“Aw, Vy…give it a try!” Lorraine encouraged, glancing back at her. “I coughed horribly the first time I tried, but once you’re used to, it’s fine.”

(Author’s Note: I tried smoking one of my mother’s cigarettes when I was eight years old. And twenty years later, I’ve never tried another one!)

“Some other time…” Vylette refused and Michael’s arm slipped around her.

“If you ever do pick up the habit, I’ll get you one of those fancy holders--I saw Gloria Swanson use one in a picture once. I think it looks so good when women use those…”

“Daddy--”

It seemed all Lorraine had to do was cry that pet name and Marlon folded.

“You’ll have one too.” Marlon assured Lorraine and delighted she leaned up and kissed his cheek.

Automatically the car swerved and Marlon shrieked, as he fought with the steering wheel, everyone being jostled.

“Baby, please!” He begged hoarsely, righting the car.

“Do you want to have your picture taken all bruised and battered up?”

Michael’s magazine flew and bounced off the back of Marlon’s curled head.

“Goddamn you, Man!” Michael cried, hands in the air, “That was supposed to be a surprise! You’ve spoiled it now with your big, fat mouth!”

“Pictures? We’re having pictures taken?” Vylette inquired as Lorraine whooped, hugging Marlon and they swerved again.

“Cherry!”

Michael’s hair bounced as he nodded.

“Yes, it was fun taking your pictures at the commencement, but I wanted something professional for my desk and my bedside table.”

Vylette had chills.

He wanted to look at her and display her.

“Same for me--no!” Marlon was pushing a loving Lorraine away before she caused the wreck to kill them all.

“What time is the appointment?”

“Ten-thirty.” Michael pecked the Vylette’s forehead.

“Well, what time is it now?”

Shifting, Michael produced a different pocket watch, made of satin finished gold and studded with what appeared to be emeralds.

It opened, showing a black opal face, the numbers marked by gold dots.

“It’s about five after eight…”

“Mike, damn…we all just ate breakfast, and our lunch reservation ain’t till two--what we gonna do till then?”

The beautiful, interesting, and bustling French and Spanish inspired landscape of New Orleans started to unfold with Michael replying seriously,

“I want you to swing by the Palace. I want to see what Antoine’s goofy self is up to. He’s not expecting me till next Friday. But I want to see if those lights are up and electrified.”

Vylette felt herself expanding. She was going to finally, finally see the theatre Michael Jackson was constructing to enlarge his already expanse empire.

“N(bad word) if I’m burning gas on you to do an inspection, I want to go to the Paragon and check up on Laurent then!”

A look of aggravation crossed Michael’s face and his eyes rolled.

“Alright…as we are in your car…but Laurent does what you tell him. Antoine been a pain in my ass--pardon me Vylette, Lorraine-- since construction started. I can’t be wasting my money on his mistakes. I have a house to take care of and a lady too…”

A large hand patted at Vylette’s knee through her skirt and she nearly went through the top of the car.

Michael was thinking of her constantly!


A lady to take care of--her!!!
“Aw quit bellyaching… look at the French Quarter, you tit-baby!” Marlon waved his arm as they glided past the fabled buildings, made of brick and rimmed with lacy, curled white ironwork.

“Ooooh….how pretty, Vylette--look!.” Lorraine commented grinning, as a woman, dressed in an Antebellum-era costume was crossing the street, waddling like a penguin trying to manage all the yards of fabric stretched over her massive hoop skirts.

“I swear, I don’t know how dames used to wear that stuff…” Lorraine, used to only the short flapper skirts and now body-skinning trends in clothing of recent years had no grasping of more modest clothing.

The closer to the city’s center they advanced the more congested the roads became, with a mix of motor vehicles, pedestrians, and different street vendors peddling food and other odds and ends.

Vylette looked into the faces of the rushing people, men and women, Colored and White, young and old, going about their lives in the metropolis.

It was nothing like the quiet, calm, slow-moving Rainelle Parish.

There was so much activity.

Things to see, passing ancient churches and mansions, things smell as delicious southern delicacies were being prepared.

Things to hear as people spoke freely in English, French and Creole back and forth, with a smattering of Spanish and Mandarin thrown in for good measure.

Vylette, unused to so much stimulation at once, felt dizzy.

How did this place hold so many? Were there really places for all of them? It seemed impossible.

Continuing through the heart of New Orleans, past a large public park, the blue Caddy glided by the waterfront, the scent of fresh-caught fish choking all in the car.

It was a wonderful, senses-provoking ride.

Eventually, on a sparsely occupied road, a very large structure began to appear as they topped a hill.

An immense structure of limestone masonry it was, looking something akin to a castle, soared on for three stories and bore all the hallmarks of old world French architecture, from the clean, sweeping lines, and symmetrical arches above the second story windows, to impressive relief molding surrounding the three sets of shut double wooden doors.

Perched at the very top of the building, ten gargoyles surveyed the street below.

“What a beautiful church.” Vylette remarked as Marlon pulled up to the curb.

“Vylette…”

Michael’s hand gripped her own. “That’s not a church, Sweetness…that’s my theatre.”

Going ignorant, Vylette stared down at the hand on hers and then into his face, trying to make sure she’d heard correctly.

“Oh my God!” Lorraine whirled around to stare at her cousin and Michael. “Is it really?”

“Yes,” Michael chuckled.

“Zowie!” Vylette exclaimed, hand clapping her cheek, before leaning over and poking her head out the window to stare upwards.

This…this majestic place was her boyfriend’s theatre?

He owned this? He was building this?

Why…why it was more marvelous than she thought possible!

And it was miles away from the dim dinky movie house in the Parish. It wasn’t even a comparison. It was like comparing apples to giraffes!

Comparing a shack to a castle!

“Oh Michael…” She was fighting off tears, bursting with pride, as Michael opened the door to the car and slid out, helping her along.

He was so established, so…so decadent.

“Come on, Cherry…” Marlon helped Lorraine out.

“Coming, Daddy.”

As the foursome idled on the sidewalk, staring upwards, from inside, they could hear the sounds of many hammers banging, rich bass voices singing Negro Spirituals and hearty laughing.

Michael pinched at Vylette’s cheeks, causing her to shy away from him.

He was so playful, the tease.

But it was a side of Michael that wasn’t to last for long.


Creak!
One of the doors, in the set closest to them opened, and from it, a squat, fat young man, not much older than Vylette, with kinked hair all over his head, exited.

In one hand, he held a huge glazed donut.

Stepping out, he took a bite, smacking loudly on the pastry.

When his eyes fell on Michael, he began choking.

“Lawd ‘Mighty! Mr. Jackson!” He coughed, clutching at his chest. “We wasn’ ‘spectin’ you till next Friday, Suh!”

“I see that…” Michael’s demeanor turned icy cold as it had the day he’d yelled at Antoine in his office.

“You know you’re not supposed to eat while working! You have appointed mealtimes.”


“Yais Suh, tha’s why I’s outside, Suh!”
“Go fetch Antoine for me, please.”


“Yais Suh! Feets don’t fails me nah!”
With that the man went tearing back into the building.

“See, I told you…these shiftless…if he got donut grease on my velvet curtains, I swear to God…”

Michael growled, head shaking, and spun in a circle, trying to contain his temper.

“This is why I have to be on top of shit all the time--pardon me!”

“Don’t have a stroke…” Marlon urged, holding onto Lorraine. “This is why I didn’t want to bring you here--you get so emotional. Calm down, your woman is here!”

“Of course I’m emotional. This is the culmination of my vision. I’ve invested a lot of time and money in this venture! This is my personal project. All the rest of the brothers and sisters built their own theatres--this is mine.”

Michael poked himself in the chest, entire body radiating.

“It’s alright…” Vylette patted at his shoulder, trying to figure out if she still liked Michael when he morphed from Genteel Boyfriend to Bloodthirsty Businessman.

After several moments, from the building, a tall, relatively skinny, and older White man, wearing only a white oxford shirt with tweed slacks, a red scarf at his throat, disbanded with two other young White boys, in their mid-teens, perhaps, wearing only worn overalls.

All three were pale, sickly-looking creatures, who gazed on with watery eyes at the boss and his entourage.

“Well, Bonjour, Monsieur Jackson! This is a delightful surprise!” Antoine spoke, voice laced with a French accent greeted a tight -faced Michael. “We weren’t expecting--”

“I know.” Michael replied flatly and Antoine, maybe twice the boss’s age, chuckled nervously, and scratched at his graying, light brown hair, combed back and glittering with pomade.

“What brings you today?”

“I wanted to check the progress--have you electrified those new lights yet--”

“Yes Suh…” One of the overalls wearing boys spoke up.

“We got then lit yesterday--”

“Is your name Antoine, also?” Michael’s gaze drifted and the man stopped mid-sentence.

“No Suh-”

“Oswald, be quiet!” Antoine hissed and the boy apologized,

“Sorry, Pa…”

Reaching and fiddling with the four-pointed square in his breast pocket, Michael declared,

“I’d like to see how the lights look, take a peek at the screening room, and the Ladies’ Lounge.”

Worry crossed Antoine’s face.

“Uh…okay, Monsieur Jackson…”

“As you can see…” Michael motioned to Vylette and Lorraine, “…I want to make sure the Lounge is something my and my brother’s ladies will enjoy touching up their hair and things in, as I do think once we’re open for business, they’ll be here--frequently.”

Antoine forced a grin.

“And such beautiful ladies…”

“Well, we ain’t gonna date ugly ladies…” Marlon scoffed under his breath and Lorraine snorted.

“Let’s go--”Michael began to walk, when he noticed Vylette was at his side.

“No…Baby…” A warm hand pressed into her bosom stopping her. “You stay here with Marlon and Lorraine. I don’t want you to see the inside before it’s complete. It’ll take away from the magic of seeing it when it opens--”

Disappointed, Vylette blurted,

“But that’s not until July!”

She had wanted to see what was happening behind those closed doors.

“I know--quit pouting, you’re too pretty to pout--just think of the big gala you have about two months to prepare for.” Michael’s eyes danced and bending, he kissed the soft cheek of his girlfriend, before turning and entering the theatre, with Antoine and the two boys following him.

“Oh…” Vylette grumbled, chin poking out.

With Michael gone, the street was quiet, and Vylette, her cousin and his brother leaned against the side of the Caddy.

Casually, playing with the lace on one of her gloves, Lorraine inquired,

“Daddy…is your theatre big like this one too?”

Marlon, producing his case and extracting a cigarette nodded.

“Yes…the same dimensions, because Michael didn’t want mine larger than his. Old turkey.”

Vylette continued to pout in silence.

“Is…is it very expensive to build up something like this?” Normally Vylette would have reprimanded Lorraine for such an indecent and probing question, but she was too upset to be godly then.

Smoke came from Marlon’s nose.

“I guess so, Lorraine. Michael’s spent a bit more, because Antoine’s bungled a couple of things, but for both of us, we’ve each sunk about a million or so into our theatres.”

Vylette’s mouth, once jutted out, was sucked in as she and her cousin stared at Marlon in wonder.

A million dollars? Per theatre? That was an astronomical sum! Who had money like that? Who spent like that?

Just how rich were these Jacksons? Had they put this much into all of their twenty other theatres?

Again, an indecent inquiry came from Lorraine.

“How much money do you have, Marlon?”

The spent butt was thrown down and mashed.

“Enough for you to never have to hear the word ‘No’.”

A bright beaming face was shown to Vylette.

Lorraine’s greedy mind was probably already turning, trying to formulate the most outlandish things to ask for.

Probably an exclusively black and white wardrobe to mimic Jean Harlow’s!


Creak!
The door to the theatre opened, and Michael Jackson exited alone.

“Well?” Marlon was lighting up another cancer stick.

“It’s alright…they hung my curtain in the screening room a bit crooked, but I had it corrected. I don’t have to murder any Frenchmen tonight. Come on…”

Michael was opening the car door for Vylette.

“I don’t even want to go to my theatre.” Marlon commented, putting Lorraine in the front seat.

“Laurent knows not to fuck--mess--up…”

“Yeah, well Antoine is an idiot, and once the Palace is done, he’ll be fired.” Michael stated solemnly as the car purred to life and began rolling.

Vylette, feeling a bit sad, questioned,

“Do you really have to fire him, Michael?”

There was a Depression on and so many people had lost jobs already.

“Yes, if you want to get more dresses like the one you’re wearing, keep coming to that big house on the hill and riding in a car like this one.”

Michael, tortoise shell cage in hand, was pulling out a cigarette of his own, and lighting it.

Watching as he smoked, all Vylette could think of was how strange it was.

How strange it was to have so much money, and still be trying to make more, and hang on to what you already had…

Rich folks were strange.

* * *


Downtown New Orleans, Louisiana

Three Hours Later

“…I didn’t like that guy. I don’t care if he IS supposed to be the best photographer in Louisiana. I wanted to knock his ‘high-yella’ ass out!”

Marlon Jackson sneered, teeth tightening and almost biting the cigarette in his mouth in half.

“But Marlon--” Lorraine, hugging his arm as he started to back the car from the curb outside of the small, unassuming photography studio and merge back in with the traffic, was patting at his cheek and smoothing his hair in an attempt to settle his flaming nerves.

“But nothing, Lori!” Marlon argued, flicking ashes. “Bastard kept mumbling shit in Creole, the whole time you posed for him. It was about you--”

“You don’t know that for sure, Daddy!”

Figuring it was best to stay to out of that butting of heads, both Michael and Vylette tried to read their magazines, like they had never seen magazines before.

“Lorraine, a man knows! As it wasn’t traditional French, I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but what I DO know, is every time you sat, the pervert had his big eyes all on your legs!”

Marlon switched lanes crudely, and all in the car were flung against the right side of it.

“No need to overturn the car!” Michael cried, pushing himself and Vylette back up.

“He had to be at least sixty years old--ogling a seventeen year old! Nasty ass!”

“I’ll be eighteen in nine days, Marlon!” Lorraine simpered, hating she was still being cast in a childlike light because of her not-yet-mature age.

Vylette had noticed the leering at her cousin also, but held her mouth firmly shut.

“I should have punched that fossil in the eye, is what I should have done! Then he’d have something to look at. Hell’s afire!”

“Oh, Marlon, you rogue!”

“Uh…” Michael interrupted, reaching over the seat and tapping his brother square in the back of the head. “Isn’t it time we go for lunch? It’s almost two.”

Vylette was relieved to hear that.

The large meal she had consumed for breakfast was long gone, and in it’s place, a cavern remained, that, for the last hour, she had been concealing its growling.

“I’m heading there now…it’s across from that big park in the center of town! You want me to run over people? Be patient!” Marlon, still agitated threw his cigarette butt out the window.

“Cherry, light up another one!”

“That’s the fourth one in a row, Marlon--”

“I don’t give a damn if it’s the four-hundredth one--light it!”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Conceding to her man, Lorraine was fumbling for the cigarettes and stared out the window as they continued rolling.

A short time later, they turned onto an avenue, crowded with more people, smelling strongly of hickory smoke and cooking meats.

It was a scent that mingled freely with the flowers dotting the park across the street, filled with strolling lazily and children running about.

Park de la Bellevue, Vylette noted the name of the park, peering at the tall, brick columns that flanked the entrance.

If they didn’t already have a standing date at the zoo following lunch, she’d have asked to walk along in that park. It seemed so peaceful and romantic, with a huge, soaring statue of an angel in the very center of it.

The perfect place for couples to sneak hugs and smooches.

The blue Cadillac coasted by the east end of the park towards a large, old brick building, full of character, and covered in ivy.

Hanging from the roof, a sign denoted : The Gilded Lily Restaurant, Established 1879.

The car came to a halt, and as a valet appeared to take the car, Marlon held up a hand.

“Just a minute…”

Both girls were looked at.

“Lori, you and Vy go on in. Mike and I have to make one brief run before we eat. Just ask the host at the front for the table reserved for Jackson, party of four.

You two order an appetizer and something to drink--anything you like. If we’re not back by the time you’re done--we should be though--order us the prime rib with a lobster tail, and loaded baked potato. I want mine rare--I want to hear that cow mooing--Mike’s medium. Alright, can you remember all that?”

“Yes…” Lorraine nodded and with a wave of his wrist, the valet was running around and opening doors for them.

“We’ll be right back--”

“I love you!” Michael called gaily, and several people milling around turned to stare.

“I love you, too!” Vylette called back as the car started to take off and Michael, head poking out the window shouted back,

“I love you most!”

A public declaration, Vylette was red as her cousin’s hair.

“Those men are something else.” Lorraine snickered, running her arm through Vylette’s.

Both girls stared upwards at the imposing building.

A restaurant. A real live restaurant.

They were going to dine in a real, honest, French-trained-chef-in the kitchen, restaurant!

Not a hole in the wall like Mumfree’s, so far away.

Eat tender steaks and lobster and potatoes…

Like Queens.

Heads held high and bodies trying to hide the trembling of excitement, the two started up for the gilded and glass framed doors, the doorman holding it open for them.

They were entering a new world.

The world of the Wealthy.

* * *

“…this has to be the most charming place I ever set eyes on--aside from Jackson Manor. I bet this is the kind of place Jean Harlow eats at, at night. You know when she’s not on a diet for a picture…”

Lorraine was chattering like a merry magpie.

“Mmm-hmm!” Vylette nodded, so happy, she felt high.

The table that had been reserved by the Jacksons, was near the back of the eatery, in the Solarium.

Fashioned in an Art Nouveau manner, it was a wonderland of stained glass, in light greens, golds, ambers and pale blues, with lacy metal works and frescoes of stylized flowers, semi-nude nymphs, and swirling bronze pillars. Outside the windows, trees sprouted and it felt more as though they were dining in the forest, than in the middle of an industrialized city.

About a dozen tables, filled with what appeared to be the glitterati of New Orleans society were all around them.

Women draped in silks, organdies, and chiffons, some wearing fur, even in eighty plus degree weather, distinguished looking men in a variety of shapes, sizes and colors, with said women decorating their sides.

A few children sat, nibbling food and whispering at one another.

Everyone looked so well-tended, well-fed, and like the Jacksons, didn’t act as though a Depression were on.

They all seemed aloof to it, ignored it.

Vylette glanced down at the plate, bearing her appetizer--wedges of crisp, cold romaine with Stilton blue cheese crumbles and crunchy bacon bits.

Lorraine’s plate was half-empty, she was eating so quickly.

“This is simply divine, My Dear! This is a delicious salad.” Lorraine mumbled through a full mouth, as a waiter refilled her empty goblet with Coca-Cola.

“I like it too--Lorraine, what do you suppose the fellows are doing? They’ve been so extravagant so far, I don’t want them to buy something else!”

Vylette wasn’t really like these people and it bothered her that the men were spending so freely on them.

She felt a bit guilty having so much, when she knew so many, right in the Parish, were with so little.

“Aw, don‘t feed me that line, Vy!” Lorraine sprinkled pepper on her food.

“I’m enjoying it. And I feel I deserve everything I get. You should too. I mean look at us. We blend right in here, look like we belong, and that table of men behind us keep staring at us. Why? Because we do belong! Because we’re pretty. And like it or not, if you’re pretty, good things come to you. I’m so glad you nearly got hit by that truck, or we’d never have met Marlon and Michael.”

Romaine crunched as she chewed.

“Best thing ever happened to me, meeting Marlon. I like this. I like this way of life. All I have to do is smile, look appealing, say ‘Yes Daddy’, a few dozen times and I’m a princess. I’ve gotten more in this one day, than I have in all my life. And I’m keeping it. Marlon loves me and I love him. He tells me I can have anything--you heard him, I’ll never have to hear the word ‘no’! You should be happy--or do you want to be Mrs. Wilkes of Rainelle--”

“Shut up Lorraine, just shut up.” Vylette said dryly, cutting her lettuce and eating it.

“You shut up, Cousin!” Lorraine’s eyes glowed. “I don’t know about you, but one day I want to call that mansion home. Or get my own built up. To live comfortably with a man who loves me, and only enjoying the fun of life…”

A hand grasped hers.

“I’m tired of being poor. Tired of recycling dresse for years and eating cheap food, and sharing a bedroom with two other people. Oh, I love you and Vinnie like sisters, but we’re on top of each other at home! We deserve our own places. Marlon will provide for me. And I want the same for you Vylette from Michael. You’re my best friend. I want you with Michael. I want us to always be, right as we are now.”

Vylette started to smile and stopped, when she noticed a man hovering behind her cousin.

A somewhat fat, dark-skinned gentleman, thirty-ish-with a monocle, stood with his thumbs hooked in the pockets of the vest of his tan suit.

A chunky hand went out to grip Lorraine’s freckled shoulder.

“You touch my lady, and I’ll break your hand off at the shoulder!”

A stern voice warned, and all three looked up.

Removing their fedoras, were the Jacksons. And Marlon was giving the stranger a look of death.

“Oh, pardon me!” The man stammered, clutching his tie.

“I thought the lady was alone…“

“Well, she ain’t! Beat it, Mac…beat it….“

The man was making a hasty retreat.

Marlon glowered after him, then took his seat beside Lorraine as Michael slipped in next to Vylette.

“You gotta watch out for these mashers, even in high society…” Marlon commented taking the knife and fork from Lorraine and cutting a piece of lettuce, held it out to her. “…they’ll try to touch you, and I’ll have to turn them inside-out.”

Grinning at Vylette, Michael was doing the same.

Taking the offered bite, Vylette wondered,

“Where did you go?”

“Over to the zoo, I wanted to make sure we could still get in after the meal--we can. They don’t close up until ten tonight.”

“I’ve never been to a zoo, I wonder if Vinnie would have liked it.” Vylette poked a bacon bit into Michael’s mouth.

“Well, there’s nothing stopping us from coming back, Baby. We’ll bring Vinnie and maybe some of her little friends at a later date.”

Vylette smiled warmly at him. Michael was so accepting and inclusive of her sister…it was amazing.

Quietly, the waiter appeared, to clear away the first course dishes as a second arrived with a rolling tray, starting to place the steaming main course before them.

“Who has ze rare prime rib?” The thickest of French accents came out of that pursed, tight mouth.

“That’s me.” Marlon waved his hand. “And could we order some drinks, please? My brother and I would like a couple of orange juices with sparkling water.”

“Right away, Monsieur.”

The waiters departed and while the Jacksons took to their meals, Michael sprinkling salt on his potato bursting with sour crème and sliced green onions, Marlon cutting into his bloody meat, Lorraine and Vylette sat, gazing on the offerings on the fine white china plates.

Lying before them, under a thin gravy was the prime rib, a huge, almost primitive cut of meat, showing the faintest hint of pink in the center. Beside it, peeking from a fire engine red shell was the fluffy flesh of the lobster tail, white and streaked with globs of melted yellow butter. More butter mixed with the sour cream and chives on the potato.

It was a manly, generous portion of food.

More than other people saw in a month, represented on one plate.

Vylette was almost afraid to eat.

“What’s wrong, don’t you like your food, Honey?” Michael questioned, seeing the plate before his lover going untouched.

Deftly, his hands were cutting the rib into cubes and removing the lobster meat from its shell.

A piece of the firm white lobster meat was on the end of the silver fork, and being gently bumped against pink lips, as Michael again tried to feed her.

After a moment, she allowed the bite to pass and was surprised to find the lobster tasted exactly like shrimp, perhaps a note sweeter.

And she did like shrimp.

Across the table, Marlon was feeding Lorraine some steak.

As meat was chewed, Vylette tittered,

“Do you intend to feed me the entire meal, Michael?”

Dark eyes fluttered,

“Yes…if you shall allow me to do so…Pretty Young Things need caring. I adore taking care of you. ”

“I adore being cared for by you…” Vylette clutched his hand in her own and brought it to her mouth, kissing it the top of it.

Michael winked and took the soft flesh of her cheek between his fingers.

“Yes…you eat Baby…keep that plump, enticing figure for me…” Marlon was barely heard, leaning closely to Lorraine.

Eventually their heads collided and both were sharing a smoldering kiss in full view of the entire room.

Stealing a small peck, Michael bounced and produced a dull thud below the table, kicking his brother in the shin.

“We’re in public, not the boudoir.” Was all Michael said and forked some potato into his mouth.

“You need to be doing some of this to Vylette, Bro.” Marlon advised, sitting upright.

“I will--” Michael reached for a roll from the basket in the center of the table. “--when it’s not a spectator sport.”

Vylette buried her face in her hands, warm all over.

Lips pursed and Marlon went back to eating his meal in silence for a few minutes.

“Oh, Michael…” He piped back up, buttering a roll for Lorraine. “While we were dressing this morning, I got an interesting phone call.”

“Yeah--who from?” Michael was taking the offering of lobster from his girlfriend and smacking.


“Sir Reginald Cavendish.”
Something about Michael Jackson tensed and he stared down at his plate.

“…and what did he want?”

Marlon Jackson seemed the opposite of his brother, in that his mouth parted in a huge grin.

“He says we’re being considered for membership to the Fleur-De-Lis Country Club!”

The eating both of the girls were doing paused and questionable glances were exchanged.

A country club? The meeting ground for top-tier folks were wanting the Jacksons? How exciting!

Fist to cheek in his coy way, Michael asked, not of Marlon, but Vylette,

“Do you think I should join up with a country club, Violette Blanche?”

“Ah…”

“I’d like to, Mike!” Marlon interjected, leaning over, eyes filled with an abrupt passion. “It’d be nice to have somewhere to go, and something to do other than sit around that small town. I moved to the country for your health, but I never wanted to be stuck in it permanently. I’m a city man. Things happen in cities! Life moves, it pops! I like being around different kinds of people. New Orleans and the Fleur-De-Lis offers that. Meet some new friends! Those hicks--”

“I don’t need all that, Marlon.” Michael calmly took Vylette’s hand and squeezed it in his own.

“I don’t need a stuffy, affected, snobby jet-set crowd to make me happy. I have Vylette. She’s ALL I need. Isn‘t Lorraine enough for you?”

Marlon’s napkin flew.

“Hell yes, she is! But I know she’d like to go out and dance and wear evening dresses and meet people who she ain’t seen everyday since she was born! We can’t hide from the world, Michael! We’re in it and I ain’t hiding on a plantation when an hour’s drive will put me in the world! You always have liked the simple things. Don’t you want to get in with the right people. This isn’t just for leisure, this is from a business standpoint. We’re opening two knew theatres. We’ve spent quite a lot. And we need to attract good, worthy people. The right kind of people. And with Sir Reginald’s backing, we’d be set for life!”

Michael’s mouth dipped at the corners and his hand began flipping as he lamented sourly,

“This is not the ‘real world’ Marlon. The ‘real world’ is what’s busy cleaning these people’s houses, tending their lawns and feeding their horses. Not a bunch of idle men and painted women. People who probably don’t even know their servant’s names! The right kind of people. Money doesn’t replace morals! A bunch of ninnies--”

Vylette was astounded. Michael…was so in tune, so full of heart. He cared about the working man!

“Look Michael…” Marlon cracked his knuckles. “Every so often, you get philanthropy in your blood. So, donate your money or buy toys for an orphanage like you always do. Whatever you like. I’m not apologetic for what I’ve done to get where I am. We all worked and danced our asses off. You, me and especially Brandon. Took him longer to learn, Daddy wore him out--”

Marlon stopped short, eyes looking moist.


“I like Sir Reginald and you should too!”
Michael’s napkin flew.

“Sir Reginald! Sir Reginald! That’s all I’ve heard the last six days outta you! Sir Reginald--”

“I say, is someone paging Sir Reginald ?”

A cultured, clipped British voice inquired and Michael’s eyes bugged in his slim face.


“Awww, shit.”
Approaching the table, was a gentleman.

Soaring well over six feet, the man, dressed spankingly in a tweed suit with a plaid ascot tied at his throat, leaned against a cane made of solid elephant tusk ivory.

(Author’s Note: Calm down, ivory harvesting was common back then. It wasn’t outlawed as it is now. And this is a fantasy story. No elephants were actually harmed!)

In his younger days, he may have been quite a handsome man, long of face, with sharp features, high cheek bones, a long proud nose and glimmering, blue eyes so clear they were barely discernible.

He was dark haired in younger days, evidenced by his thick, bushed brows.

But now, appearing to be in mid-fifties, his hair, parted on the side in a mild pompadour, was silvery white, accenting his pale, tanned skin.

A small, stern mouth parted in a friendly smile and a hand bearing a gold and ruby ring on the pinky, was extended.

“You were the last so-and-so’s I expected to run into today! How do you do, Michael, Marlon?” He was shaking hands with the men.

“How do you do?” Michael seemed a bit leery of the Englishman. “We were just speaking of you…”

“So I heard.” Boldly, white teeth flashed harder as the clear eyes swept the cousins.

“My goodness…who are these saucy little belles with you today? Such enchanting creatures.”

“These creatures are our girlfriends.” Michael put special stress on the last word, illustrating possession to Sir Reginald.

“Miss Vylette Meraux, and her cousin, Miss Lorraine Devereaux.”

Sir Reginald bowed deeply. “Enchanted to meet you, ladies.”

“Charmed.” Lorraine’s eyes did that spotlight thing, taking him in before looking over to Marlon.

Vylette smiled in response, feeling privileged to meet a nobleman. This certainly was a step up from sharecroppers and tenant farmers.

“You two certainly did pick them young!” The older man laughed and while Marlon joined in the laugh, Michael returned to his eating.

“No different than you!” Marlon cackled. “How is Tabitha, by the way?”

“Oh, masterly…I left her having her tennis lesson at the club--speaking of the club, I do hope you chaps join up. I think you’d have a great time there. We could use the new blood. And seeing your ladies, I believe my wife would love to know them. They seem just her type…”

Vylette and Lorraine puffed up at the compliment.

They were just the type…to be friends with someone in the country club crowd. While Vylette couldn’t seem to figure why Michael Jackson appeared so troubled by the presence of this man she was nonetheless elated at the idea.

Her, as part of a country club! Steven Wilkes had certainly never offered her that prospect!

“Well, if you decide…” Sir Reginald had a hand on his hip.

“I would be so inclined to throw a welcoming celebration for you all. Formal, black-tie of course--”

“Ooooh!” Lorraine, unable to hide her ambitions, took hold of Marlon’s hand. “Please Marlon…”

Her clefted chin lifted and her bottom lip quivered.

She craved a better station in life so terribly.

And a country club outweighed the Ladies Christian League any day.

“This one could talk you into buying the Sahara for a sandbox!” Sir Reginald chortled, and smacked Marlon in the back.

“I’d like to join, really…ahem, Michael.” The elder sought out the younger, and Lorraine pouted harder.

Taking his own sweet time, and leaving the other four in suffocating suspense, Michael Jackson swallowed his bite of meat and chased it with juice, burping into his napkin before inquiring,

“Vylette, would you like to befriend Lady Tabitha, and stick around at the club with her and Lorraine?”

Lavender eyes widened. Her opinion? He was weighing his answer on her opinion?

“I’d be happy anywhere, Michael…” She began delicately. “As long as you want to be there. But Sir Reginald seems so kind, and I’m sure his wife is, also.”

“Hmmm….” Michael hummed, then stated,

“Well, looks like the Fleur-De-Lis has two new members--four if you count the ladies.”

Marlon exhaled so hard, the salt shaker overturned.

“Well, I’ll be damned! Let me be the first to welcome you!!! All of you!” Sir Reginald went around the table shaking hands.

“This is splendid! Marvelous! I must dash now! I have to tell the rest of the board members of this new development! Welcome!”

Sir Reginald was on the move, hobbling away swiftly.

“I don’t believe it, Vy! We’re in a country club! A real country club! My Lord!” Lorraine exclaimed, and burst into tears.

“Oh, Cherry!” Marlon shocked at her reaction, put his arms around her.

“I’m so happy…”

Vylette looked to Michael and saw he seemed unhappy.

“You don’t like Sir Reginald.” She pointed out. “Why? I think he’s fantastic. And he’s a member of the British Royal Family.”

“An exiled member of the British Royal Family.” Michael corrected her, and his arms folded over his chest.

“I don’t know exactly what he’s done to have gotten exiled, but I think it has something to do with his wife. She is not English. She puts on that ritzy accent and acts hoity-toity, but she ain’t--”

“Who the hell cares? She can be from Tibet for all I care! Just be happy. We’ll make friends and have a social life.” Marlon reasoned, removing Lorraine’s hat and patting at her head as she continued weeping.

“Stop that and I’ll buy you a big slice of chocolate cake, Lori…stop it…”


“I like cake…”
“Yeah…a social life.” Michael echoed and began tapping his fork against his plate.

She didn’t understand, but Vylette, in an attempt to appease Michael, held his hand.

She hoped, whatever it was, that holding his hand would fix it.

Sir Reginald Cavendish couldn’t be too bad.

Michael would warm up to him--he had to.

She wanted to meet Lady Tabitha Cavendish!

* * *


A Few Hours Later

New Orleans Zoo

New Orleans, Louisiana


“…I’d like a large bag of popcorn, please…”
“That’ll be twenty-five cents, Mister.”

Digging around in his pocket, Michael Jackson came up with a quarter and dropped it into the outstretched hand of the little boy running the popcorn stand.

“Thank you.”

Picking up a bag, the boy quickly filled it with scoops of hot, freshly popped white kernels and gave it a generous dash of salt.

“Here you are Mister, enjoy!”

It was held out to Michael who gamely took it and patted the child’s head.

Quietly and contentedly, Vylette fell in step beside the willowy figure, and started down the cobblestone path between the animal cages, and habitats, weaving in and out of crowds of noisy gawkers.

So far, the last few hours of her life had been blissful, and again, any thought of the outside world was far from her mind.

All Vylette had done that evening, was walk along with Michael--Marlon and Lorraine had gone their own way as soon as the admission fare had been paid--and observe the exotic creatures.

She had seen animals she had only read about in books and seen in black and white news reels.

Statuesque, soaring giraffes, fat hippopotamuses flopping in the mud, screeching dung-flinging chimpanzees and roaring stalking lions.

Too many animals to keep track of them all.

It was a wondrous, fun feeling to have this trip in the city.

When the last time she’d seen New Orleans it had been with tears of grief in her young eyes.

She wanted to cry again, but tears of happiness, thankfulness, pride.

“Why don’t we sit down for a spell, rest our feet…?” Michael wondered, pointing out a small, empty, wooden and wrought iron bench, near a habitat with owls sleeping on trees within a cage.

“Alright.”

Vylette’s feet did have a dull ache to them.

The two sat, and Michael draped an arm around Vylette, snuggling her close as a pack of children ran by.

“Have you enjoyed your birthday today, Sweetness?” He plucked at the brim of her hat, crunching on popcorn.

“It’s been one of the best days of my life, Michael…” Her chest hurt suddenly, her heart beating rapidly.

“I’ve never had a day like this. Never been pampered so. From the clothes to the food to…to just being with you, Angel Face….” Vylette trailed off as two of his fingers tilted her chin, and their eyes met, with a spark.

He was an angel. A living, breathing angel.

“You need pampering Vylette. I sensed it from the moment I met you…a girl like you…”

His mouth was on hers, and the two hugged tightly.

“Vylette, I love you, My Darling…you’re so sweet and…and so lovely…”

Vylette’s head ducked and was forced back up.

“You are lovely. And people look at you because of it. People have been looking at you all day, I’ve noticed. I thought I was going to have to stab Sir Reginald earlier over staring at you.”

“Michael, you do go on!” Vylette snickered resting her head on his shoulders.

He and Marlon were so protective of her and Lorraine.

“…but you do draw attention, it’s just natural…”

Michael sighed deeply, his chest rising and falling.

“And yesterday, during graduation, I couldn’t help noticing that boy who was rude to Marlon, and called us dandies, kept staring at you. A Steven Wilkes?”

Vylette went cold and stiff, in the balmy weather.

No! Not now! Not today, when life had been so perfect!

Why did Michael have to bring up the bane of her existence, when she hadn’t given him a second of her thoughts all day?

“I overheard that boy saying he was your fiancé, Vylette.”

Vylette wanted to vomit. Was…was Michael going to break up with her? Was he going to get up, and walk away, because of that overgrown child in Rainelle Parish?

She’d kill Steven if her drove Michael away!

“You’re not anyone’s to-be bride Vylette. Yet.”

He took hold of her left hand and stared at it. “I don’t see any engagement rings on your fingers. Engaged women have rings.”

Vylette tried to point out that she had been in “agreement” with Steven Wilkes for three years, but couldn’t articulate it into speech.

No sound left her mouth and worriedly, her eyes grew.

Michael was gazing ahead at the toucans a few yards away, flapping and spreading colorful wings.

“Tomorrow, after we attend Mass, I’m going to drive you to that man’s house and whatever there was, will be over. It has to be, Vylette. You’re with ME now. And I’m selfish that way. I do not share with other men. Do you understand me?”

A stern, scathing gaze fell upon Vylette, and weakened, she was speaking at a whisper.


“Yes, Michael, of course.”
Break up with Steven Wilkes. She was going to break up with Steven.

Finally.

“Now…” Michael’s cheeks puffed as he exhaled and he set the popcorn aside. “We’ve cleared up about your past. You have a right to know about mine.”

His past?

He took both her hands in his and looked at her a long moment, a tender smile on his face.

“I mentioned to you, I had a woman before you. And that is true, there was a woman. But she was not my girlfriend. She was my wife.”

Wife? Michael had been…he’d been married?

Vylette’s jaw dropped and Michael closed it for her.

“I know, Sweetie--I’m divorced now. I know you may not approve, being Catholic and all.” He chuckled sadly.

“Her name was Helen. She was a sweet girl, the same age as me. She was in vaudeville too, part of an all girl tapping troupe with her sisters. We married at seventeen. And I thought we would be together, forever, Vy. I didn’t know forever would end for us at twenty…”

Michael stood and shoved his hands in his pockets, squinting into the distance. Squinting past time itself.

“I come from a large, noisy family. And all I ever wanted was to marry one day, and have my wife give birth to children. I want to be a father--my life will be incomplete until I can hold a child and they say ‘Daddy’ to me. Or ‘Papa’ like you do to your father…”

Children, children with Michael would have been a dream come true.

He shifted from one foot for to the other.

“A few months before my twentieth birthday, I got the news I was so desperate for--Helen was expecting. She was six months along! She didn’t show much, as she was very slim though. I did back flips, I was so excited, so elated. I was going to be a father! I called everyone, wrote my mother and father…everything…I built and furnished a nursery. Bought toys, baby clothes. If it were a boy, I‘d name him Prince, after my grandfather.”

He stopped long enough to light a cigarette.

“I’ll never forget, October 31, 1926. Halloween. Helen went into labor. She was in labor for seventeen and a half hours, before the baby came. A little girl. All the work and worry and money I spent went to hell when I saw that child! I didn‘t want it!”

“Michael--why?” It made no sense. Had Michael wanted a boy so badly, he’d reject a little girl?

Michael spun around.

“Because…because…Helen was fair like you, Vylette. Think about it. You have me, darker, with naturally kinky hair under all this mess I put in it. And Helen, who could pass for White, with grey eyes. And her hair was naturally curly and she kept hitting it with the hot comb, cause she wanted to wear the Louise Brooks bob. Any dampness and it’d kink up like steel-wool! My ‘child’ came out bright yellow, with slanted dark eyes and bone-straight black hair. Now tell me, Vylette, how in the hell do two Colored people with nappy hair make an Oriental-looking child?”

Speechless, Vylette could only shrug.

“I’m Colored, with Indian down the line. Helen was part Welsh somewhere. No Oriental at all! Two Colored people do NOT make an Oriental-looking child. But when one Colored woman fools around with one of the Chinese plate spinners on the vaudeville circuit, strange things come to light. So, right that night, I left Helen, and that child, packed my bag and moved in with Marlon in New York. I filed for divorce the next morning. I lived peacefully in New York until I got sick, and had to come to Louisiana.”

Vylette’s hands wrung in her lap. This poor man. How he had been hurt. She couldn’t even fathom that kind of pain. To expect a family and lose everything.

Michael stepped a few feet away and mashed the cigarette under his shoe.

“When I’m with a woman, she’s the ONLY woman I see. I don’t mess around and cheat. I can’t stand lies--it turns my stomach. I won’t stand for infidelity.”

Michael returned to the bench beside Vylette.

“Vylette, you’re everything Helen wasn’t. You’re good, kind, pure, and Christian. You weren’t jostled all over here and yonder; you were raised up in one place. A good place with values. You go to church every week. You’re friends with the priest! You live where people have values. And respect things like vows.”

Vylette, breath slowing, wondered if Michael were indeed thinking of marriage. Did he want to marry her?

Was he asking? She was dizzy! Her vision was fading!

“I…I have something for you, Vylette.” Michael was reaching into his jacket.

“Oh my God…” Vylette was breathless, expecting a ring.

He was proposing! Michael Jackson was proposing!

Instead, she came back down to Earth, when he came out with a long, slender, red velvet box.

Far too large to contain an engagement ring.

“Vylette…at the moment, the thought of what I’ve been through has soured me on the prospect of marriage. But…”

With a small click, the box opened and Vylette’s jaw dropped.

Inside was a tennis bracelet comprised of larger, oval cut diamond stations, connected by rows of smaller, princess cut diamonds, all set in platinum.

“…but time heals all wounds, I’ve learned, and in the future, perhaps I can add a ring to go along with this bracelet. I love you dearly, Vylette…”

A ring to go along with it--why he was considering marriage!

Michael wanted to marry her!

The bracelet was lifted from its setting and taking her hand was fastening it around her wrist.


“I’ll never take it off. I swear!”
Blinking through hot tears of joy, Vylette whispered,


“I love you Michael…I love you so much!”
Throwing her arms around his slim neck, Vylette mashed herself against him, lips pressing him with more vigor than thought possible.

Love.

This was what love felt like.

This was what love was.

And love was all Vylette Meraux could feel for Michael Jackson.

Love.

* * *


Late The Following Morning

Saint Ignatius Cathedral

Rainelle Parish, Louisiana


“…Please God, help me…Please God give me the courage…Please God, give strength….Please God, protect me…”
Vylette Meraux, pleaded with her Savior, lips moving rapidly around gritted teeth, hands clasped into her heaving, breathless bosom, eyes shut tightly, as she rested on her knees, before the dozens of blazing white candles that marked the altar of the church.

“Violette Blanche…”

A mild voice called, and concentration breaking, Vylette glanced over her shoulder.

Walking towards her, removing the fedora from his head, was Michael Jackson.

“Baby, you’ve been in here a solid hour praying. Can you even feel your legs past the knees? Everyone else has gone home…come on. Get up.”

“But Michael--” He was behind her, hands under her arms lifting her off and helping dust off the front of her pink and blue dress.

“Vylette.” Hands pressed her shoulders and Michael stared at her in a way that stopped her protests.

“You’re going outside, get in the car and we’re going to the Wilkes’ house. You’re cutting off Steven, and then we’ll spend the afternoon at your house. Your father has some medical journals I’d like to peek at.”

“I’m frightened Michael--Steven has such a horrible temper--”Vylette started, belly doing flips.

“Vylette, Michael?” From the rear of the church, Father Lachey appeared, a whisk broom in his hand.

“Goodness, I didn’t think anyone was still here but me and God.” He chuckled good-naturedly getting closer, hand raised to dust around the altar.

Seeing the look of distress on Vylette’s pale face, he glanced first at her, then to Michael.

“What’s wrong my child?” The broom was cast aside and the kindly old man took hold of her hands.

“Father…I…I…” Vylette could not lie to the Holy Man she held such reverence and respect for.

“Father, when I leave here, I’m going to Wilkes’ homestead. I’m ending things with Steven, Sir. I don’t want to be his girlfriend. I’m happy being Michael’s girlfriend.” She smiled at him and his lips curled at her.

“He treats me better than Steven.”

“Yes, the Wilkes boy does have such a disproportionate temper.”

Father Lachey’s eyes closed and his hand lifted.

Very softly, he began reciting a prayer in Latin, making the sign of the cross over Vylette.

He prayed on for several moments, before embracing Vylette against him.

“Vylette, you do what you think is best, My Child. I’ve known you all your life, christened you as a baby, and handed you your diploma only two days ago. Your father is my best friend. If there is one thing I know about you, it’s that you are a capable young woman, and I trust your judgment. You’ve a good head on your shoulders. Be brave and you will get through this.”

That was exactly what the frazzled teen needed to hear.

Cool, rough lips touched her cheek.


“God be with you.”
He turned to Michael and did the same.


“God be with you.”
“Thank you, Father.”

Taking Michael’s hand, Vylette started for the door, ready to close that sordid, three-year-long chapter of her life.

She only prayed she’d walk away from it, and not be carried away on a gurney.

* * *

For the last twenty minutes, that sleek, shiny red and black Cadillac sports car had sat in the middle of the dirt road, just outside the white picket fence that circled the property the Wilkes’ family called home.

And for twenty minutes, Vylette had been gripping the side of the passenger door so hard, she should have left dents in it.

“Honey…” A hand patted at her thigh. “…do you want me to go up and tell this man it’s over for you? You’re shaking you’re so scared right now!”

Michael’s voice was filled with alarm, and Vylette’s head snapped around ,eyes taking up her face.

Had Michael Jackson gone stone cold crazy? Didn’t he know how Steven Wilkes hated him? How he wanted any excuse to try to kill him? Didn’t he realize his life may very well have been in mortal danger right then?

“No…I have to do it. He was my beau. I have to do this.” Vylette whimpered as Michael reached over her and slowly peeled her fingers from the door, jerked the handle, opening it.

“Do you at least want me to go with you?” Michael offered, concerned.

“No, stay here. I won’t be long.” Vylette stammered.

It didn’t take that long to lose consciousness once punched in the face anyway. Especially if your nose got shoved into your brain.


“Alright, Baby.”
Slowly, and apprehensively, Vylette started up the paved walk towards the country house.

The house that was supposed to be her own, if she had married Steven. The prison she’d have probably suffered countless busted lips, and blackened eyes, among other atrocities inside of.

Halfway there, briefly losing her nerve, Vylette, looked back to the car.

Michael was outside the car, his door open, shrugging out of the brown blazer of his suit and was draping it over the drivers seat, before lighting a cigarette.

Seeing Vylette still standing there, he pointed ahead towards the house.

No, unless she ran away on foot, she wasn’t going to get away from this.

Somehow, she mustered something like courage and made her way up the front door of the house.

Through the lace curtains on the front door window, she could see Steven, stretched on the floral couch, reading the newspaper.


Tap! Tap! Tap!
With her fingernail, she timidly knocked on the glass.

Swarthy face coming up, the look of surprise was clear as the nose on it, at seeing Vylette at the door.

The paper was discarded and he leapt to his feet.

As he smoothed as his hair and adjusted the waistband of his dungarees, straightening his shirt, it dawned on Vylette.

Steven was happy to see her!

He was happy.

Steven was happy and this would make the situation a hundred times worse.

Getting to the door, Steven opened it with a smile glowing in his deeply tanned face. His blue eyes sparkled attractively.

He almost looked kind.

“Hey Vylette. Would you like some cool lemonade? What brings you by Sugar?”

“Well, I--”


Boom!
Vylette was struck with rigor mortis and her eyes popped at the sound.

Behind her, Michael Jackson had slammed the door of his car.

Vylette focused on Steven, praying rapidly that he hadn’t heard it.

Oh, no! God no!

He wasn’t looking at her.

His gaze was past her…at Michael.

“Vylette Evangeline!” He exclaimed sharply and her blood froze up in her veins.

“What in the fucking hell is that wannabe somebody N(bad word) doing parked outside my house?”

“I--I--” Vylette wasn’t allowed to speak.

Face and throat going a deep red, Steven cried,

“Is that why you’re dressed up so fancy? Like a dime store mannequin? You got that son of a bitch buying shit for you now? You letting him dress you now? What are you, a paper doll--”

“Steven Sherman Wilkes!” Vylette, starting to boil at the slander being flung at the man she loved raised her voice to Steven for the first time since they had known each other.

By the grace of God, she blurted,


“Steven--we’re through!”
Cold blue eyes narrowed, as Steven staggered like he’d been punched in the gut.


“What? What did you say?”
Head raising in spite, lavender eyes went catty. She wanted to sting him. Burn his fat ass!


“I prefer Michael Jackson’s company to yours! I don’t want to be your girlfriend. I…I never wanted it. I only dated you, because Mama told me to! I wasn’t in love, I was being obedient! I’ve never wanted to be with you, nor have I ever wanted to marry you. And I’m not going to marry you!”
For a second, every bit of the disaster of hopes, dreams and expectations lost appeared on Steven’s face, as his world crumbled about his ears.

Breath heaved, pupils dilated and whiteness flooded his face.

Just as quickly, it was erased, and replaced with belligerency.

“Vylette!” His hands clutched the sides of his head in agony.

“What about the three years we had? The three years we were together girl? Goddamn! We were supposed to be married, build a house, have kids and run one of the stores!” He pointed to his black vehicle parked on side of the house.


“I bought that fucking Ford for you!”
“I never wanted or asked for anything from you, Steven. You demanded that car for graduation. Your parents spoil you--”

“No!” Steven growled through gritted teeth. “You wanted that Black ape’s dressed up fancy-ass car instead!”

“I don’t care about cars! I don’t care if he were poor!” Vylette threw her hands up.

And light hit the diamond bracelet circling her wrist.

Steven latched on to her arm, just as he had that day in the schoolhouse.

“You don’t care if he were poor, is that right?” Steven breathed sour breath down into her face. “You don’t care if he were poor, but you’re riding in his Caddy, running around in a brand new dress and sparklers like these!”

“Steven! Let go!” Vylette gasped, quietly, not wanting to attract Michael’s attention.

“What did you do get that bracelet, Vylette? What did you do? Did you fuck him? You fucked that rich prick to get that? He buy you off to get him off? You know who else fucks to get things and money? Whores! That’s who does it--whores!”

At such an insult to her reputation, Vylette ached all over. But rather than let it destroy her, she used it to destroy him.

Hardening her face she hissed evilly,


“I’d rather be Michael’s Jackson’s whore than your wife, Steven Wilkes!”
And Steven Wilkes broke.


“YOU GODDAMNED BITCH!”
Grabbing her by both shoulders, Steven lifted Vylette and threw her completely off the porch.

Vylette didn’t even get to scream.

She lay in a crumpled heap in the grass.

“Fucking trash! That’s all you are! Fucking trash! Don’t know I ever saw in your ass! Running round with Black--” Steven shouted over her, ass he cried in pain into the dirt.

As she struggled to get up, she saw a brown blur whizzing over.

“Have you lost your ever-loving mind, you Swamp Rat?” Michael demanded loosening his tie and throwing it aside.


“You don’t put your hands on a woman!”
Steven, tensing, eyed Michael Jackson spitefully.

“I know you ain’t talking to me, motherfucker.” Steven began rolling his sleeves up.

“I don’t see any other wannabe White imitators standing around!” Michael shot back, and Steven went blue.

“I’m Whiter than you!” Steven tossed his head.

“You don’t tell me how to handle MY woman, asshole, alright? We was doing just fine before you and that brother of yours came into town showing y’all’s asses off--”

“She ain’t YOUR woman. Not anymore.” Michael cut him off as Vylette tried to sit up.

Steven bellowed running off the porch.


“FUCK YOU!”
“Michael--NO!” Vylette certain these were the last few minutes of his life, could only scream as Steven went charging at him, fists curled and poised to knock Michael’s face clean out the back of his head.

Steven easily had a hundred pounds on the wiry Michael.

“You slick-haired bastard--OOOF!”

If Vylette hadn’t been looking, she’d have missed it completely.

As Steven had neared Michael, Michael’s lips puckered into a sneer and eyes snapped shut, his right foot coming up swiftly and in one liquid movement connected with the center of Steven’s chest.

His entire, massive body seemed to cave around that one, patent leather penny loafer, chest going concave.

Like a bird, the mammoth Steven had taken flight, huge form leaving the Earth, soaring in an arc through the air and only stopping when he collided with side of the house, with such force, the entire structure rattled.


WHAM!
Out as a blown light bulb, Steven sank to the ground, his head flopping forward, eyes closed and snoring loudly as a buzz saw.

Michael Jackson had put Steven Wilkes to sleep!

Michael stood, keyed up, fists rattling at his sides, in case his opponent should rise again for Round Two.

Not likely.

Seeing Steven was down for the count, and going to stay down, he ran to Vylette’s aid.

“Vy…are you alright?” He questioned, helping her to her feet. “Baby, I didn’t think that fool would hit you!”

“I tried to tell you--” Vylette murmured and a finger was pressed to her lips.

“Let me get you out of here…”

Quickly, he had her in his arms cradled to him like an infant, making for the car.

“I may be thin…” Michael opened placed her over the door and into the seat. “But I can scrap with the best of them. I grew up with six brothers and I learned to box from Jack Johnson. I can hold my own. And trust me, I WILL protect you.”

The door was closed and Michael came around and started the car.

“Now, we’re going to your house. We’ll stop at the five and dime so you can use the facilities to clean up, and then we can go rest until dinner.”

He was taking charge and taking care of her as a man should.

Michael was protecting her.

Vylette leaned against him, feeling safe for the first time in an extremely long time.


Sometime Later

“…I didn’t realize there had been so many advancements made in the field of radiology. This write-up about the X-ray is absolutely fascinating--Gosh!”
Michael declared from where he sat on the couch between Vylette and Vinnie, a thick medical journal in his hands.

Across from him, Dr. Meraux was lighting his pipe.

“Yes, Son, you see--”


BANG! BANG! BANG!
He was interrupted by a frantic rapid knocking falling on the door.

Before the doctor could rise, Kathleen, followed by Lorraine and Marlon, who had been keeping her company in the kitchen came rushing to the living room.

“Who on Earth can that be?” The matriarch gasped, wiping her hands on her apron and opened the door.

Through, it, young Winston Pelant came running and made a direct beeline to the doctor.

“Dr. Meraux! Dr. Meraux! Come quick, something terrible done happened!” He exclaimed grabbing the elder’s arm and yanking on it so hard the man bounced.

Winston screeched a line of gibberish and all in the room stared at him crooked.

“What is it, boy? What’s wrong? Calm down! And speak slowly so I can understand you!”

“Sir! My Uncle Josiah and Aunt Bea is at your office right now! Something is wrong with Steven! He say he come home and found Steven laying on the ground outside the house, and he got this big funny-style bruise in the middle of his chest! He ain’t waking up! He needs yo’ help!”

“Jesus Christ!” Dr. Meraux, slapped a hand to his head before telling his wife,

“Kat, just leave a plate for me in the oven! I don’t know what this could be!”

And he was gone the screen slamming behind him.

“God help us.” Kathleen whispered staring after him. “I hope this isn’t the start of some new epidemic.”

She started back for the kitchen.

“It won’t be an epidemic…” Michael flipped his page loudly. “So long as certain self-hating Negros keep their hands off my lady.”

Vylette’s face hurt she smiled so hard.

“Vinnie…” Michael addressed her little sister, tapping her shoulder. “Would you be a Dear and get me a pencil and paper, I want to jot something down quick.”

“Sure!” The child paused and kissed the photograph of William Powell on the cover of her magazine.

“He’s so debonair!”

As she skipped away, Marlon and Lorraine sank into the arm chairs.

“She’s batty about that William Powell.” Lorraine shook her head. “But I was the same way about Rudolph Valentino. I stayed in my room a week when he died….”

“Then you found Ramon Navarro--” Vylette teased as her sister returned and Michael began scribbling.

Tearing the page, Michael held it out to Vylette.

“Ramon was great in Ben-Hur, though. That chariot scene was sensational…” Vylette grew quiet as she read Michael’s handwriting.

“Vy…” Lorraine questioned rising and standing along her cousin.

Reading the note a hand pressed her mouth.







“What is it?” Vinnie reached for the note and Michael snatched it, crumpling it in his hand.

“Nothing for children.” He and his brother replied in unison.

“Awww!” Vinnie’s mouth tightened and she opened the magazine again. “I bet if I were older, I could do the same things y’all do--even date one of the other Jacksons!”

“Lavinia--shut up!”

The older girls chorused harshly, hands intertwining.

The lessons…the lessons were going to start.

In less than twenty-four hours…Vylette and Lorraine were going to learn the art…of sex.