Chapter Seven

Friday Afternoon

Rainelle Parish, Louisiana





Work.
In the last few days, Vylette had come to know the true, backbreaking, intense and hellacious meaning of this so short, briefly spelled word.


It was remarkable how something so small could mean so much.


But it did.


Vylette’s days had been filled from start to finish, with both lengthy written and oral exit exams. Exams she had sat up, long into the night, by the glow of the lamp in the living room reviewing for. Exams she had to pass, in order to graduate and keep herself and her family from the shame of failure.


Facts, there were so many facts to recall.


Definitions of words--‘work’ included--facts not only of recent history, but ancient history, the recalling of Bible scriptures and events, knowing the deeds of the last twenty men to be called Pope (in chronological order, no less), deciphering and translating passages not only into Latin, but also French, and solving so many arithmetic problems, a skilled mathematician would have sooner drank a vial of Strychnine and perished.


In spite of the fact that for the first time in years, Steven Wilkes had left Vylette alone--he was also one of the top contenders for receiving the Valedictorian title and delivering the farewell address that went with it, and was bound and determined to get it, as he felt only a MALE could lead the class--Vylette’s work did not cease once she left school.


Every free moment she had, was devoted to the most important dinner of her life, that coming Saturday night.


Over and over, Vylette had written and re-written every single thing needed to prepare the meal. She had even gone so far as to ask Adelaide for the recipe for the Goose Liver Pate, so she could offer it as an appetizer.


With Lorraine’s help, she had scrutinized her ingredients down, and the two had calculated tirelessly the cost of the food and after seven tries and muffled swear words to one another, the cousins found that even after everything was bought and paid for, the food only amounted to about six dollars.


With the four extra dollars, an amount not seen since the twenties, the cousins had come to the decision that they would spend it on new dresses for the dinner.


Why, there was even enough for little Vinnie to get a new one too!


The girls wanted to turn out to the best of their abilities and be sweet and pretty for their men.


It had been quite a bit of work, but finally, things were indeed coming together.


Glancing up from the neatly written note, Vylette squinted at a fast moving speck a few yards ahead of her.


Lorraine, armed with pages ripped from the Sears and Roebuck Catalogue, was starting up the steps to Dr. Meraux’s office.


Stopping on the sidewalk, just outside the open doors of Pelant’s Grocery, Vylette put a quivering hand to her bosom as she thought of her father, her heart beating faster and swelling with admiration for the bespectacled gentleman.


Her father had really and truly been an ally to her and Lorraine and the Jacksons throughout this whole ordeal.


No one had ever been more loyal.


Sunday night, he had, quite cleverly dropped the proverbial bomb about the invitation to the Jacksons on his wife at the most inopportune time.


Right in the presence Father Lachey, as he consumed his third fried drumstick .


Vylette would never forget how her mother had gone so alarmingly white, whiter than her own fair-complexioned daughters and niece, she feared she would faint.


There had been the dull gleam of rage, death and dismembered bodies in Kathleen Meraux’s greenish-hazel eyes as she had first glared at her husband, then the two elder girls, only commenting a strained, tense,




“Oh.”
It was anyone’s guess the amount of shouting, screaming and dish throwing that would have commenced, had they not been in the company of the exalted Father Lachey.


It also didn’t help matters that the priest didn’t seem to have any unkind words for the Jacksons, encouraging,


“Those boys seem to keep only to themselves in that large house alone. Perhaps they can get started with a nice group of people here.”


Even the Holy Man was endorsing him!


And all Kathleen Meraux could do was stab angrily at her chicken and roasted veggies and draw her pinkish lips into a flatter line of hatred.


That very night all three girls had sat up, listening as within the walls of the small cottage, the shouting match that ensued plain to them as a regular conversation.


Kathleen had cried everything from demanding to know if her spouse had gone mad, to insinuating that the Jacksons had bribed him to come over.


And as loud and ear-shattering Kathleen had been, Almanzo had matched her by being reserved, sedate and collected.


When Kathleen had wailed that this could possibly ruin the matches she’d forged for the girls with Steven and Ulrich, Almanzo made it no secret his daughter and niece hadn’t a particle of romantic interest in either. And that at nearly eighteen, they had the rights to choose whom they wanted to courted by.


Kathleen tried to wave the banner Michael and Marlon were “from that queer Dauphine family--”


Which was deflected by,


“I have no prejudice against any of those people because they were rich, and judging by the Jacksons, it seems they’ve recovered quite well.”


What would she say to Mary and Beatrice about the girls?


That they won’t be married… and to suggest two other girls.


Escalating, at her highest, Kathleen threatened to beat the Hell out of the girls and her husband said they weren’t to be beaten again. Vinnie either.


He’d seen the bruises left on Vylette and Lorraine, and that it was ungodly what she had done to them.


They were young women, not pack mules!


(The girls had rejoiced silently to this, hugging and kissing one another.)


At her lowest, Kathleen wept she’d be pushed out as President of the League, to which a truth was flung at her.


“Kathleen, if those women have the nerve to boot you out, you should have never been involved with them to start with!”


Kathleen was a rock…and seemed to be completely immobile.


Daily off and on, Kathleen made no attempts to hide her distaste of the Jacksons and the abrupt loss of control of her household.


She offered her daughter and niece no help as far as piecing together a menu, and had sworn not to give them a dime towards purchase price of the ingredients.


The array of colors she had turned when Vylette displayed the crisp, ten dollar bill, stating,




“You don’t have to, Mama.”
Even then she didn’t relent and mumbled something, saying they might have been gangsters, working for Al Capone.


Vylette kept it to herself that Al Capone’s gang was exclusively Italian, with no use for a pair of Colored men.


But her mother could be sour. She could transform into a lemon for all Vylette cared. She was going to cook a dinner for the man she loved and watch him eat it.


Turning, she entered the store.


Behind the dim counter, she found, not Wallis, but her younger sister, Elizabeth.


Elizabeth, a brown-skinned child of about twelve, her thick unruly black hair a mass of curls about her rounded fat shoulders, grinned. Her mother was the same as Black Winston’s.


“Hiya Vylette.” She continued to smile, the same sassiness in her half-sister alive in her low voice.


“Hey Elizabeth.” Vylette returned the smile as she shouted,




“Wallis!!! Customer for groceries!”
(Due to sticky fingers, only Wallis was allowed to handle the cash register.)


Out of the back, Wallis, her little--a bit too tight-- pink rayon shift dress rumpled, came sailing out, patting at her bobbed hair, slightly mussed.


As she neared Vylette, the door again opened, a tall, yellow man with a shining bald head, watched after Wallis, satisfied grin on his long face.


Vylette didn’t know him, but who knew where Wallis found these guys from? They just came and went like a spring breeze.


Getting to the counter and shoving her sister away, Wallis started to address Vylette.


Noticing her beau of the hour, she waved at him,


“Peter, I’ll be right back. Let me tend to this girl here!”


“I wanna tend to you, Baby!” Peter winked and retreated.


“That bald fool!” Wallis tittered, sleepy eyes squinching, before she asked,


“Hey Vy, what can I do for you, Honey?”


Presenting the list, Vylette pointed out,


“Just some groceries.”


No need in calling attention where it wasn’t need.


Reading over the list, Wallis whistled.


“Golly! Ham, goose liver, bacon--y’all expecting the King of England or something?”


(Author’s Note: Although she’s been Queen damn near forever, Queen Elizabeth didn’t take the throne until 1953, when her father, King George VI died. She was little more than a toddler in 1931.)


“No…Papa just was in a ham mood…” Vylette shrugged as Wallis started to fill the order, collecting items and placing them on the counter.


“Wish I could be in a ham mood…” Wallis grumbled casually. “Lenore killing us with black eyed peas. No bacon, no ham hocks, no shit--pardon me.”


It was then, Vylette realized just how privileged she truly was in her associations with Michael and Marlon Jackson.


Here the Pelant brood was struggling to eat a decent meal, and she was eating a Christmas dinner in the middle of May.


She truly was so very blessed and lucky.


“Vylette!” In the doorway, Lorraine was flagging after her cousin.


Excusing herself, Vylette rushed to her, seeing the panic in her eyes.


“What’s the matter?” She questioned once they were out of earshot.


Dear God, don’t tell her that her father had changed his mind about Michael and Marlon!


What came out her mouth, hit Vylette like a baseball bat.


“Uncle Almanzo is going to buy us shoes to go with our dresses for tomorrow--Vinnie too! I…I chose some perforated ones for us…made of white Spuntex! They’re so pretty--with tassels. They weren‘t much, only eighty-nine cents!”


Vylette was speechless. Her…her father was kicking in for shoes? This was too good to be true!


“He’s gonna take Mr. Goebbels’s truck and drive to New Orleans later for the clothes. Oh, I’m gonna look so pretty for Marlon--” Lorraine gushed, and spun in a circle.




“Hey Vylette.”
The good times crashed to an end as the girls saw, lumbering towards them, the huge and hated, Steven Wilkes.


“Christ…” Vylette said to herself and bristling, regarded him coldly, “Steven.”


Coming closer, she noticed a strange look to his face.


He seemed haunted and bewildered.


His tan face seemed paler as he approached Vylette and Lorraine.


Imagine, tall, healthy, tan and robust Steven--pale!


Hands shoved off into the pockets of his khaki slacks, his eyes were huge and watery-like.


Steven, who usually strutted around like a proud lion through the jungle, erect and arrogant, was slumping and seemed half-dead.


Was he ill?


Guard dropping, Vylette reached and touched hi swollen bicep, so big beneath his blue shirt sleeve, the first time they’d touched in weeks.


“Steven, what is it?” She questioned as her cousin hummed with contempt. Had something happened to his parents?


His eyes, looking but seeming to see nothing, gazed on her and he spoke, hushed,


“I’m…I’m not Class Valedictorian….they…they just posted it over at the schoolhouse…I‘m not…”


“You aren’t?” Both girls stared at him in wonder. He wasn’t? But all that damn boy had bragged about was how long and incredible his farewell address would be!


“Well, who is Valedictorian?” Vylette had that fluttering in her chest. Oh, this was so juicy she could have sopped it up with a loaf of bread! She didn’t usually bask in others misfortunes, but after how he behaved with her, Vylette couldn’t help but enjoy it just a bit.


And it was going to get much, much better.


Defeated, Steven eyed her a few moments.


His lips barely parted.




“You are.”
Vylette, losing the art of speech, had her mouth fall open and her hands pressed to it.


No…


No, it couldn’t be true!


Not her!


Beside her, Lorraine shrieked and laughed, before grabbing Vylette’s shoulders.




“Oh my God! Vy! You’re the Valedictorian!”
Gazing at Steven, green eyes narrowed to a feline-like slant and she added as cruelly as she could manage,




“The first GIRL Valedictorian ever to graduate from Saint Ignatius! Why I could just faint!”
Vylette stood in a daze as Lorraine continued to whoop and danced around her.


She…she was head of the class?


The smartest girl in the school?


The smartest student, period?


She had beat out Steven Wilkes???


Steven’s head lowered--it was obvious he didn’t know what to say in light of the situation.


It was his complete misogynist mantra in life that women were second-class under men and with his world rocked, he couldn’t link a sentence.


Vylette almost felt sorry for the big lummox.


Trying to maintain herself and keep from appearing self-righteous, she asked,


“Are…are you Salutatorian?”


Second in line wasn’t so terrible.




“That’s Ulrich…”
That simple-minded, blathering oaf was second?


He couldn’t hold a decent conversation--perhaps all that silence had benefited him in the long run!


Lorraine relishing this information like Washington had defeating the British, asked with pure acid in her tone,




“And where did you place, Stevie?”
His mouth didn’t move.


“Fourth.”


His head lowered further and his chin was mashing his chest.


“I… I don’t muchly care…” He said more as a ruse to convince himself than them. “My daddy’s still getting me my car, I get it for graduating regardless, and I’ll work for him in the hardware store. And we get some profit from the grocery store--Wallis and them are my cousins…”


“Vylette, I need--oh hey Lorraine, hey Steven…” Wallis appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame in her easy, careless manner, the cheap bangles on her arms clinking.


“Hey, hey Wallis!” Lorraine, near busting at Steven’s woe, she didn’t even snub the town tramp.


Steven said nothing, just grunted.


“Vylette…” A hand, tipped with dark red nails, clashing with her pink ensemble, patted Vylette’s arm. “You didn’t pay me, Sweetie. It comes to six dollars and ten cents.”


At the astronomical amount, Steven’s head came up and he stared at her quizzically.


Without thinking, Vylette reached into her pocket and handed Wallis the ten dollar bill.


“Been a while since I’ve seen one of these!” Wallis snickered, ducking back into the store, calling shrilly,


“Winston! Get up boy! Get your wagon! I have some groceries I need you to carry for a girl! Boy, the Katzenjammer Kids will still be there when you get back! Move you lazy N(bad word)!”


(Author’s Note: The Katzenjammer Kids are a real comic that was created in 1897. It still runs to this day in some publications, making it one of the oldest comic strips still in syndication. Look at me, showing trivia skills! Ha-ha!)


Wallis returned to the door, change in hand.


“Three dollars, ninety cents.” Wallis counted it out and Vylette, in turn handed it to Lorraine to give to her father for the dresses.


Leaning in the door, Wallis shouted,


“Come on Winston! Move your skinny self now! Vylette is waiting! Do I have to go get a switch for you?”


“NO!” At once, the boy, pulling a battered little red wagon, overloaded with bags of groceries, after him, emerged.


He was barefoot and only wore a pair of overalls.


Seeing the food, with the large, raw ham on top, Steven shifted on his feet.


“You’re cooking a ham, Vy?” He asked, and those cold blue eyes were up on her.


Diverting her gaze from his and onto the dark boy patiently waiting to walk her and the groceries back home, Vylette mumbled,


“Yeah…Papa was in a ham mood.”


“Really?” Bushy brows raised and a large hand stroked Steven’s mustache. “Your daddy is in a ‘ham’ mood. When I haven’t seen him eat ham since Christmas…all of a sudden he wants ham.”


“We ain’t Jewish! We can have ham!” Lorraine chimed in defensively, putting a hand on her hip, and tossing her head.


Turning to Wallis, Steven wondered,


“Did I see her give you a ten-dollar bill?”


Wallis running a hand through her bob, shrugged,


“Yeah--”


Fire lit up in Steven Wilkes’ eyes.


“That’s funny. I ain’t never seen you with a ten-dollar bill before Vylette. As long as I’ve known you. And suddenly you have more money than most folks see in a year!”


Brazenly Vylette stared up in the baked, swarthy face and replied.


“I believe YOU see more than that in a year. Or are you buying that new Ford of yours solely on your good looks?”


Steven undaunted, went straight for the jugular.




“Did you get that money from that rich N(bad word) you been hanging around?”
Ignoring the question, as she knew any mention of the Jacksons would result in the both of them shouting in public like they were out in the jungle somewhere, Vylette instead looked to her cousin, who was scowling at the huge man.


“Lorraine, you’ll take that change to Papa, won’t you?”


“Yes--”


“Fine…” Vylette took hold of Winston Pelant’s little rough hand. “Come on Winston, you’ve waited enough. We have to get this home before it spoils.”


“Okay…”


Turning from Steven, and really wanting to flee, Vylette willed herself to walk.


Jogging, Steven caught up with her and blocked her path.


“You got that money from that Jackson bastard, didn’t you? You cooking for him now? You cooking for that son of a bitch?”


He sneered, wearing his hatred as easily as his shirt.


She didn’t want to do this. Not now, not here.


Vylette didn’t have time for a public spat right in the center of town.


She already had so much on her mind. So much still to do.


Vylette was aware of Winston gripping her hand tighter as he feared Steven more than Wallis with a switch any day of the week.


So many people feared Steven Wilkes.




“You feeding that monkey-looking ass--”
Throwing her head back, by some miracle, Vylette found her voice and used it against this oppressor she had once called ‘beau’.


“It’s more than you’ve ever given me, Steven Wilkes. Other than headaches. And I didn’t even ask for it. He wanted me to have it. He gave it to me, out of kindness.”


“I’ll bet.” Steven leered and huffing, Vylette stepped around him, tugging the young boy after her.


He could insinuate and speculate all he wanted.


The wagon of food rattled.


From behind her Steven yelled,


“You better remember who your man is, Vylette Evangeline! You belong to me! You’re gonna marry me damn it! Ain’t no baboon--”


Well, he scared everyone but the careless Wallis.


“Steven stop shouting and cussing in front of my store!” Wallis reprimanded him, and Steven shrieked,




“GAL SHUT UP!”
“Don’t you yell at me Steven Wilkes! I’ll knock your fat ass flat!”


“The hell you will!”
As the second cousins continued sparring on the sidewalk, Vylette held her head up higher and her spine straighter.


Yes, she was doing the right thing. She was getting away from Steven and he could stew as he liked.


The day would come, when he wouldn’t speak to her again, nor she him.


And what a blessed event that would be.


　


* * *


The early evening, was perhaps, Vylette Meraux’s favorite time of the day. The day itself was reaching it’s end, and the sun was starting it’s descent past the horizon in favor of allowing the moon to take it’s rightful place for the night.


The sky, no longer a brilliant azure, was going a deep burnt orange, and at it’s very furthest reaches, a dark aubergine, that as time progressed would go a stark black to be dotted with pinpoints of white in the stars and the orb of a full moon.


The heat of the day was dissipating, and the breeze of what was hopefully a cool and pleasant night was blowing gently, through each and every open window of that small cottage on Renaud Lane.


For the greater part of the night before, and all that day, the Meraux household had been filled with the unrelenting warmth of a screaming stove that hadn’t been shut off in nearly eighteen hours, and the smells of food that had been cooked, from scratch, by the hands of two excited and nervous teens for the men they loved.


Already, Vylette had taken three baths just that afternoon, in order to rid her body of the perspiration the kitchen had managed to draw from her, and to make quite certain no sneaky odor was there to offend.


The last thing she wanted on this Earth was to offend Michael Jackson. She yearned to be close to him, not drive him away.


With the cool night air setting in, she had felt confident enough to finally--finally!-- take off her robe, and slip into her outfit for the evening.


She and Lorraine had thought it quaint and cute to buy identical dresses in different colors for the dinner that night.


Vylette loitered, quietly, and patiently setting the table with her parents’ wedding china and silverware, in a pinkish-coral and white fanciful plaid, sleeveless shift, with an exaggerated, white, wide gauzy collar, trimmed with contrasting piping, and cinching at the waist with a self tying belt.


Her legs shimmered slightly in imitation silk stockings and the moderate heels of her white, perforated oxfords tapped as she moved back and forth across the floor.


Her hair, long and shiny with pomade, waved around her shoulders and down her back, parted on the right, and held back with a coral ribbon, tied in a small bow atop her head.


Lavender-blue eyes looked from the table, covered in an antique lace tablecloth, across the kitchen.


Lorraine, in a pale blue incantation of the same dress, stood carefully smoothing butter crème frosting onto the double layer, vanilla-almond cake destined to be dessert. Lorraine’s normally stick-straight, flaming locks bore a hint of a wave, as Lorraine had pilfered some of her aunt’s wave-setting lotion and slept with no less than seventy braids in her hair.


Off and on all the day, as she was forbidden cosmetics, Lorraine had pinched and slapped her pale freckled cheeks and nibbled on her lips to the point she was nearly purple.


Leaving the table and going up behind her cousin, Vylette spoke for the first time in hours,


“Cake coming along alright?”


“Yeah…” Lorraine dipped her spatula into the bowl of faintly yellow frosting. “I added a bit more vanilla to the frosting…does the cake look pretty?”


“Yes--you didn’t put too much between the layers?” Vylette would have been calmer cooking for President Hoover than the Jacksons.


“No, you want to taste the cake, with a hint of frosting.”


“Exactly.” Moving over, Vylette took a towel and opened the oven peeking at the ham.


The ham, covered in a thin, golden honey glaze, sparkled as light hit it, smelling rich, sweet and porky.


It was heavenly to be eating ham for no other reason than wanting it.


Closing the oven back, Vylette picked up a small container of ground black pepper, and sprinkled it over the bowls keeping warm on the stove top.


One was filled with sautéed cabbage, with bacon and onions, the other with creamy mashed potatoes.


On the counter, buttermilk, buttered biscuits were steaming.


Out of sight, in the icebox, sweet tea was cooling.


“How long till the ham is done?” Lorraine, taking the frosting bowl to the dishpan began washing it.


“About thirty more minutes…”


Joining her cousin at the sink, Vylette wondered more to herself than Lorraine,


“Cabbage has iron in it, doesn’t it? I want to make sure Michael has enough iron…”


She did worry for his anemia so. Michael was quite slim.


“Between the liver pate and the cabbage, Michael Jackson could start his own foundry!” Lorraine tittered and Vylette cracked a smile.


It felt so good to smile--she had been so tense lately. If this kept up, she’d have wrinkles before she turned eighteen.




“It certainly does smell good in here, girls!”
Coming through the swinging door, buttoning up the jacket of his black, “Sunday best” suit was the towering Dr. Meraux.


“Hi Papa! Hi Uncle Almanzo!” The girls grinned broader as he waved them over,


“Let me have a look at you, these new dresses and shoes…”


Gracefully both girls turned letting the doctor see them from all angles.


“Those young men are in for a treat: two lovely girls, good food--its smells just splendid!”


“Thank you!” The cousins gushed, hugging his dense body and pecking at his reddish cheeks.


“Hey Vy…” The door cracked and Vinnie came sauntering in, her thin body bearing a new dress of pale beige, blue and brown floral cotton with short puffed sleeves and box pleats, with a pointed blue collar. A large blue bow topped her head as she wanted to have her hair like the older girls.


Noticeably, the child’s pretty face was squinched up as she appeared to be chewing on something.


“Vy…” She smacked louder. “What’s that crazy brown goo you got out there on the crackers? It tastes horrid!”


Vylette’s eyes deepened to a pure amethyst in rage.


“You’ve been eating my hors d‘oeuvres, you little toad! That’s for Michael and Marlon! I told you not to touch it! I spent four hours making that ‘brown goo’ as you called it!” She hissed wanting to smother her kid sister in her sleep that night.




“Touch it again, and I’ll uproot a tree for you!”
Vylette didn’t usually punish her sister, but in a world where she wanted only perfection, she’d have murdered that child.


“Papa! She’s gonna kill me!” Vinnie was instantly mashed against her father, cowering. “I only ate one…”


Pinching at her freckled nose, the doctor told her,


“Your sister’s just upset because it took her so long to make it…that’s a rare and special delicacy in there, and we’re very privileged to try it.”


“I won’t try it again, it’s awful--”


“I’m gonna slug her in the eye!” Vylette had to be physically held back. What did a child know about fine foods? She was happy with a greasy sack of potato chips and a bottle of Coca-Cola!


Quietly, playing with the buttons on her father’s suit, Vinnie questioned,


“What is it anyway?”


“It’s Pate de Foie Gras.” Dr. Meraux replied and confused, as she had a limited grasping of French, Vinnie stared up at her father, grey eyes showing her loss.


The grey eyes behind the silver spectacles twinkled as he translated,


“Goose liver.”


“Goose liver?” Vinnie repeated, gagging. “No wonder its terrible--I hate liver! Yuck! Rich folks will eat anything!”


Hands up, Vinnie made her exit, saying something about gargling with Listerine.


(Author’s Note: Yes, Listerine is that old and has been burning the insides of people’s mouths for over ninety years!)


Her feathers ruffled, Vylette stared up into the wise face of Almanzo Meraux, and fretted,


“You liked the liver, didn’t you, Papa? Oh, I want it perfect, I followed the recipe…”


Cool hands clamped her shoulders.


“Yes, Vylette, it’s wonderful, Dear. I tried some as you were making it earlier, remember? I couldn’t have gotten better, had I ordered it in a restaurant. You’re a very good and capable cook, Vylette--you, too Lorraine.” He smiled at his niece. “Don’t worry. The meal will be perfect.”


Still partially skeptical, Vylette nodded, her mind trying to process and kill all her stresses and woes grating on her, and whimpered,


“Well, the food is done, we’re dressed…there’s only one thing to worry about--”


As if on cue, the door opened and Kathleen Meraux entered, her face more sour than a sack of rotting lemons.


She had been offered the option of a brand-new, store bought dress by her husband, the same as the girls, but the offer was refused with her touting, that she wasn’t going to put on any airs in front of “those rich, amoral Yankees!”


And in a room of best dresses and suits, the matriarch wore, on purpose, her “Second best” dress.


A long sleeved dress of camel colored muslin, trimmed about the bosom and elongated cuffs with off-white eyelet.


Darker brown shoes clacked as she came closer, looking over the speechless teens, her spouse and started around the room.


Critically she eyed the elaborately set table, the steaming food and even peeked at the ham, all the while silent, thin lips puckered in distaste.


Her head, piled high with her black waved hair, that single white strand on display, lifted and she stared down her Patrician nose at the girls.


“Such needless extravagance! Eating a glazed ham off the wedding china on a Saturday evening! We must be sinning in some way.” She boomed in her haughty way and both girls, so very proud of the meal began to deflate.


She was still against this from start to finish.


Then in a rare move, Dr. Meraux spoke up.


In defense.


“The only sin is we don’t eat like this more often.” He retorted and fists clenching, Kathleen growled,






“Oh!”
Unphased, the doctor added sharply, thick brow raising in contempt,


“Frankly, I’m indebted to the Jacksons for being so kind as to purchase this meal for us, not to mention we had enough left over to dress our three girls! Vylette didn’t solicit it--it was given to her.”


Head raising higher to the point her sharp nostrils were visible, Kathleen sniffed with smugness.


“At least they had the common decency to pay for all these…these extras! Ham, goose liver, cake…in times like these.”




“Damn it, Kathleen--”
Sensing a storm brewing, Vylette took her cousin’s hand and the two fled to the quietness of the living room.


Vylette began rearranging the platter of pate crackers on the coffee table to hide the fact her sister had eaten one.




“--and you’re just encouraging deviant behavior!”


“--I’ve done no such thing! You’re being prejudiced!”


“--don’t you care about our girls wrecking their chances with Steven and Ulrich!”


“I flat refuse to watch you try to impose a barbaric form of arranged marriage on those girls!”
Vylette and Lorraine seated on the couch listened in intently, as did Vinnie, a Nancy Drew mystery spread on her lap.




“Barbaric-- Almanzo, why I never!”


“It is barbaric, Kathleen! I won’t have you spoiling our girls’ lives! They will not be happy with those boys! They do not love them! They don’t want them. I won’t have any child of mine miserable the rest of her life! You don’t think I stood there and lied to Lorraine’s poor mother--your sister!-- as she and her husband laid taking their last breaths when I said I’d raise her like our own! And Lorraine and Vylette have been raised the same!”


“Oh Almanzo--”
“Almanzo, nothing, Woman!” there was a bang and all three held their breaths. “I’ve spoken to these here Jacksons! They saw the beating you cut loose on them, for speaking to them at church! They came to my office spoke to me. They were concerned. Michael wanted to go to the police and report you for abuse! They told me how they cared for our girls! The Povah and Wilkes boys have never done that, and I hand delivered them to their mothers!”

The girls exchanged awed glances.


“I--”




“You be quiet, Kathleen! I’ve listened to you this last week do nothing but degrade our daughter and niece. Insinuating not only about the Jacksons reputations, but the girls. You wouldn’t talk like to gutter trash living in the “Bottoms”, but you’ll fix your mouth to light up our own flesh and blood! Why?”
“Well, I--”




“WHY, Kathleen?”
“Um--”




“I’ll tell you why: Those Jacksons are wealthy and they‘re half-Dauphine! You never have liked the Dauphines. They may have been different and live in a way we don’t know, but the world is made of different people. You know that, Kathleen. Somehow, those men are quite rich, richer than those two other boys could dream. They were kind about sharing it with us. Offered it. Were kind without a trace of arrogance. Kind to our girls. Showed concern and passion for them. And you…I’m ashamed of you, Kathleen. Being so very petty! Because you hate these men for a God-given blessing! And for their lineage. No one picks to whom they’re born. And you hate them for God’s own work! You, the Head of the Ladies’ Christian League!”
Vylette was turning blue, and Lorraine wiped at tears of glee crossing herself.


Dr. Meraux was doing it! By Golly, Sweet Jesus, he was saying everything the girls had yearned to say but never did , for fear of being beaten to death.


The doctor was flying on a high and bellowed,




“Now unless the word ‘Christian’ has changed its meaning, you aren’t acting like it! Who am I to forbid the girls the blessing of men who genuinely seem to care? I married you for love--Vylette and Lorraine deserve the same! They may not be to a marrying stage now, but they are welcome to court and perhaps somewhere down the line reach that milestone!”
Marry the Jacksons and live in that fine mansion up on the hill…why it was only a dream…




“And I never have liked that big, self-loving, smug Steven Wilkes anyway! ”
With that debilitating statement, the door to the kitchen flung open and Dr. Meraux, very dark, all the blood seeming rushed to his face and thick neck came storming out with the force of a hurricane.


“My damn wife…” He lamented, and suddenly went erect, stormy eyes focusing across the room, where the front door stood open, but the screen door remained latched.


“Oh!” He gave a sharp intake and asked, his voice still a bit gruff


“How do you do?”


As a gut reaction, Vylette and Lorraine shot up, along with Vinnie, her book falling to the floor.




Christ Alive!
Smoothing at his hair, Dr. Meraux, crossed the room, the girls staring as he approached the door and was unhooking it.


“How do you, Dr, Meraux?” Came the sweet, almost timid and harmonious reply, as through the door, removing fedoras, were the Jacksons.


“Just dandy--welcome to our home. I hope you found the place all right?”


“Yes, Sir…” If the men had heard any of the tongue-lashing, they gave no indication.


“Zowie!” Vinnie gasped, so close to the refinement of the Jacksons, as the came closer speaking hellos.


Vylette believed she heard Michael introducing Marlon to little Vinnie.


Vylette had been struck deaf, and could only stare as Michael took her hand, kissing the top of it, one of his big eyes winking.


Michael was clothed impeccably in a charcoal grey and white, small print, Glenn plaid suit, over a grey shirt with deep grey and white wing-tips.


The look was offset by a Kelly green tie, in a Windsor knot, and a green pocket square with four points.


On his lapel, a long, emerald and diamond pendant glittered.


Beside him, kissing Lorraine’s hand, Marlon was just as arresting in a light grey suit, interwoven pale yellow and pale blue stripes, a look captured with a yellow shirt, tie and pocket square at a single peak. A dark yellow rose was in his lapel.


“You…you look beautiful, Vylette…” Michael whispered, holding her hand in his lap, the two couples being seated and Vinnie taking their hats, placing them in the front closet.


“You look…” Words failed her and she stared lovingly at the creature next to her, smelling of amber, jasmine and vanilla cigarette smoke.




“I’m so happy to be here…”
“Please, have some liver pate…” Dr. Meraux encouraged sitting in another arm chair, and helping himself to a cracker.


One cracker disappeared and Vylette was anxious, watching as it was brought to Michael’s mouth.


It was bitten and being chewed.


Dark eyes surrounded by slick curls widened as he turned to her.


“You sly devil!” Lorraine was tittering to Marlon, the two sedately whispering.


“Vy, did you make this pate?” Michael wondered and she wanted to cry.


“Yes--”


“It tastes different--better--what did you to it?”


Dr. Meraux grinned and easing Vylette admitted,


“I added a bit more garlic to it…”


“Hmmm, I’ll remember that. It’s splendid! Marlon eat some of this!” He held out a cracker to his brother who sampled half of it, feeding the rest to Lorraine. (At least they behaving.)


“Lord!” Marlon cackled, honey-colored eyes blinking. “That’s great! I love garlic!”


“I helped…” Lorraine wanting his attention started and Marlon pinched her cheek,


“Of course you did!”


Michael reached for a second cracker and noticed the book on the floor.


“Nancy Drew: The Mystery at Lilac Inn.” He read out loud, and his eyes drifted to Vinnie who had been staring, wordless since they had sat.


Shaking the paperback, he announced,


“This is a good one, you’ll be surprised at who stole Emily’s aunt’s heirloom jewels.”


Eyes became enormous in Vinnie’s face.


“You read Nancy Drew, Michael?” She couldn’t hide her amazement over sharing an interest with a person like him, who to such a youngster was so odd and exciting.


“Oh yes…” Michael returned the book to her, and she pressed it to her chest. “I have all the books so far. I have plenty of nieces and nephews around your age, that usually visit in the summer. I keep them in the library at home to occupy them, they like her too.”


A long slim leg was crossed and casually Michael offered,


“You are quite welcome to come and read them, borrow them if you like--your little friends too. I like children.”


Vinnie could have glowed in the dark she was so white.


Dr. Meraux, a silent spectator at the joy in the bugging eyes of his child, advised,


“Tell Michael, ‘thank you‘, Dear.”


“Thank you, Sir!” Vinnie seemed near tears as Michael beamed.


“Ah…Dr. Meraux?” Marlon, completely comfortable, had his legs crossed an arm around Lorraine, holding her near him addressed the elephant in the room.


“Yes?”


“Will Mrs. Meraux be gracing us with her presence this evening, Sir?”


Silence filled the room as looks of astonishment took the girls pretty faces at the direct request.


An evil grin crossed the doctor’s face.


Was…was he taking joy in his wife’s discomfort?


It appeared so.


“She’ll be out directly--Kathleen, we have company!”


Again the room was soundless a few moments and hands were gripped tighter.


The door cracked and through it, Kathleen shuffled, a hanky to her scarlet face, dabbing at her damp eyes and running nose.


“Please excuse Mrs. Meraux, she’s been suffering with allergies today.” The doctor lied so easily, Vylette would have believed him, had she not been looking right at him!


Yes, allergies…she was down with Jackson-itis and choking on a slab of Humble Pie.


“H-hello…how do you do?” Kathleen spoke shakily, her world having crumbled around her ears, as both Jacksons stood and were pecking her free hand.


“Hello, Ma’am, don‘t you look pretty!”

“Thank you for having us over tonight, your home is lovely.”


Vinnie moved out of the armchair and allowed her mother to sit, placing herself on the arm of it.


Kathleen appeared quite desolate, seeing how the two young couples were displayed in front of her, and reached in, eating a pate cracker.


The room lulled a long moment, and in the silence, Vylette could audibly hear Michael’s heart beating very quickly.


Looking at him, his face was serene, but his eyes were on Kathleen. Turning, she found Marlon also staring at the woman, nibbling the appetizer.


They had been cordial, but their eyes told no lies--they couldn’t stand the woman who had beat their girls so viciously.


Vylette’s eyes found the grandfather clock in the far corner of the room. It was just then six’o clock and a full ten minutes stood before the ham would be done cooking.


“Do you mind if I smoke?” Michael questioned softly, and nodding Dr. Meraux said,


“Of course not, son, feel free.”


“Thank you, Sir…” Michael reached into his jacket pocket, and came up with a small, slim cigarette case.


From all around the room, with the exception of Marlon, stares were drawn.


In his hand, the case was made of a light, mottled brown material and painted in gold, with a peacock.


Michael opened the case, filled with about ten cigarettes, and a pack of matches and lit one up.


Michael laid it on the tabletop, and inching over, Vinnie picked it up.


“Lavinia, ask first!” Kathleen hissed and Michael giggled,


“I don’t mind, she can look at it.”


“This is pretty…” Vinnie held the case gingerly, running her fingertips over it. “What’s it made of?”


“The brown is tortoise shell, and it’s painted with eighteen-carat gold. I picked that up when I was in Vienna a few years ago.”


“You’ve been to Austria?” Vinnie stared, as the farthest anyone she knew had traveled was Baton Rouge.


“I’ve been everywhere…” Michael smiled, as she returned the case to him.


“Perhaps you’d like to go to the kitchen next…” Vylette spoke up, patting his large hand, and seeing the time as ten past six. “I do believe dinner is ready.”


Michael half-smoked cigarette was mashed out in the clear glass ashtray.


“That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear since I got here!” Marlon cackled, as the three couples--and Vinnie--rose, and started for the kitchen, to partake of one of the best meals eaten in recent memory.




Forty-Five Minutes Later


Dinner that night, had been a very delicious, albeit quiet affair.


The seven had sat around the table, the doctor and wife at either end, the two Jacksons side by side to the left and the three girls, with Vinnie in the middle, on the right.


Grace had been delivered by the doctor, a prayer in which he thanked God for newly formed friendships he hoped would last an eternity and had happily carved the ham for all to enjoy.


Lorraine and Vylette had been peppered with compliments from the Jacksons, astounded by how wonderfully the food had been cooked…


But other than that, the table had laid dormant. Vinnie’s little round face showed her interest in the men, but as she continued glancing at her mother, it was clear she was wary of speaking up, still. (Though she was no longer in danger of a beating, she could still be scolded within an inch of her young life. )


Vylette and Lorraine were content to gaze at their lovers, no speech needing be made.


And that was when the good doctor took the helm and in the process was going to set his wife on fire.


"Just what is it that brought you gentlemen to Rainelle Parish, of all places , I might ask?" He inquired, his voice smooth as cream and so cool the cream would not spoil if set in his mouth.  

Marlon Jackson, sprinkling salt onto his potatoes volleyed that question,


“Prior to moving here, Michael and I lived in New York City for about five years. Abroad before that. But just last winter, Michael came down with a nasty case of pneumonia. For a while, we didn’t know if he’d make it or not, it was just that bad, Sir…”


His eyes were a shade of light gold as glanced at his brother.


His eyes met with Vylette’s lavender ones, and the two shared a knowing nod--she knew this story very well, as it was one of the first things she had learned about the Jacksons.


Michael, looking down, fingered the edge of his plate.


“He was bedridden for a very long time…I helped care for him. Sure I could buy a nurse…but he’s my brother. I’m going take care of my brother.”


Sipping her iced tea, Vylette watched her mother like a hawk, and saw the look of confusion of her youthful face.


Did her mother still consider so worldly and selfish, when one brother took time from his own life to nurse his own flesh and blood back to health over the course of several months? Was her outlook on them still so bleak?


“When the doctor suggested we move South, as the warmer climate would benefit him, we looked everywhere. At South America and Mexico first, but Michael wanted to stay in the United States. When I suggested New Orleans, Michael again hollered ‘No’ because he wanted to be in the country. I preferred the city, but took to the country for him. We…we chose Rainelle Parish, because this is where our mother’s family came from--the Dauphines.”


Kathleen’s eyes narrowed and Vinnie, a piece of ham hanging from her mouth was a rapt listener.


Lorraine pulled the meat from her cousin’s mouth.


“I’m sure you know of the Dauphines…especially since Olivier lost everything and leapt from the roof in 1929.”


Everyone thought they knew the Dauphines.


Marlon forked cabbage into his mouth.


Vinnie, forgetting herself asked mildly,




“You’re kin to Olivier Dauphine?”
All she knew of the man was that her father had scraped his remains from the pavement.


“Yes…” Michael’s eyes came up and he looked at her, then around the table at the others. “Olivier was our mother’s second cousin. They’d grown up together. His father and my grandfather were brothers…”


“But I thought--” Vinnie began and both Jacksons, along with Vylette and Lorraine, replied in unison,


“The Dauphines were NOT White.”


“Mother’s as dark as I am.” Michael stated and Marlon nodded.


“Olivier lost his money in the Stock Market, the poor man. But he’d been fragile all his life, Mother says, since he’d been ill as a child with typhus. Delicate in manner and all. This sort of broke him. When you get used to a certain way of living, change is frightening and foreign. Lost the house and the property…the rest of the family left. That wasn’t Mother’s line exactly though.” Marlon tossed his head.


“Mother had been up the country for almost thirty years by then. The Jacksons, whom she married into in 1896.…were a different line and source of income altogether.”


Lorraine smiling like a Cheshire cat, asked the right question,




“What sort of business are you gentlemen in…where you were in a place to regain your ancestral home?”
She had been practicing that snooty Pan-Atlantic accent all week, for the purpose of that question.


Vylette, Lorraine, and even the doctor knew what the Jacksons did to remain rich, but all three wanted to see how the prejudiced Kathleen would react.


Michael and Marlon, eager to bury that hatchet, spoke up over each other at the same time.


Michael, reaching, removed a biscuit from the center of the table and shoved it in Marlon’s mouth, gagging him.




“I hate you…”
Turning, he looked unwaveringly at the mother of his girlfriend.


“I won’t conceal it. I come from a family of ten children. All ten of us from the time I was very small until I was twenty, were performers in vaudeville…”


Kathleen whitened and her lips moved, forming the words “Show people?” and she stared across at her husband.


Dr. Meraux, chomping loudly on ham nodded in earnest.


Perhaps he was enjoying this a bit too much.


“…Marlon, his twin, Brandon, and I were tap dancers. Our four other brothers sang, as did our three sisters, operatic though…our mother and father were our managers. As you know, vaudeville died out with the film industry taking its place…”


Michael paused and helped himself to another slice of juicy pink meat.


“And our oldest brother Jackie got the idea to go into the theatre business. So we all began investing in and building up theatres…the Jacksons own twenty theatres up North.”


“Twenty theatres? Zowie!” Vinnie, impressed, held her head in her hands.


“Twenty theatres?” Kathleen echoed face draining and eyes widening.


“And…” Marlon finally spitting out the bread, raised his glass. “On Four of July Weekend, nineteen hundred and thirty-one, the Jacksons’ Paragon and Palace theatres will open to the public, upon completion, in downtown New Orleans, Louisiana!”


“Wow!” Vinnie, hands clutching her head, was surely envisioning seeing each and every Our Gang short--free---for life.


Lorraine and Vylette beamed at each other over the child, who was babbling something about Spanky and Buckwheat.


Kathleen Meraux’s silence was broken.


“You mean to tell me…you…you men own movie houses?” Her incredulous tone was a testament to her disbelief.


“Oh, nay-nay!” Michael shook his head, silky curls coming up from their immaculately arranged spots and tumbling into his eyes. “Not movie houses Ma’am--movie palaces.”


He corrected her, eyes glinting with pleasure as he elaborated on the difference.


“Like Grauman’s Chinese and Egyptian theatres in California, and the Uptown in Chicago.”


“Wow!” Vinnie repeated, starting to blush and leaned on her sister for support.


Wrapping an arm around the little girl, Vylette was close to busting over the Jackson’s achievements. this far exceeded Steven Wilkes’ hardware store.


“Almanzo!” Kathleen, flustered cried, seeking his help and debunking this strange myth. They were lying!


She didn’t know anyone who had a business like that!!!


Ignoring her, the Doctor questioned,


“And when these theatres open…who will attend?”


Both men looked at the teens who were flushing in anticipation, even young Vinnie was crimson.


“…that is…if we will be permitted to court Vylette and Lorraine properly.”


The teens held their breath and their eyes shut against the worst and hearts prayed for the best.


Dark and amber eyes swept over to Kathleen.


Kathleen, unwilling to surrender without a fight, like the Confederacy in the final throes of the Civil War, she was Southerner versus Northerner.


Green eyes closing in her escalating woe of her losing her grip, she demanded,


“Why…why my girls? Why did you choose them? Of all the girls in the Parish, why my two?”


The cousins stiffened; it had never occurred to either that the Jacksons would have noticed the other girls in town.


Marlon, buttering a biscuit, left the floor open to his brother.


Michael, curls masking the greater part of his face, clasped his hands together on the tabletop.


“Vylette…” He was at a whisper. “…may I tell your mother, how we really met?”


Vylette avoiding the strict gaze falling on her, nodded, hugging Vinnie tighter.


Michael head lowered spoke softly, so softly folks had to lean in to understand him.


“I did not meet your daughter on a Sunday in Mumfree’s. I met her the day before…I noticed her as I went into Mumfree’s for a drink, as I did to kill time while my house was being decorated. Three girls chatting on the sidewalk--them.” He pointed across at the girls.


“Two went in the store, one across to the five and dime. I went in and had a few sodas. I had so many, I ran out of change and went back to my car for more money. I saw the same beautiful, raven-haired girl crossing the street with a bag. She dropped loose change I believe, and stooped to get it…”


Michael inhaled deeply and Marlon patted his back.


“A big milk truck was coming and the way it was going, she’d have been run over…so I jumped up and ran and grabbed her out the way. The truck never did stop. Busted her bag, but she was safe. She didn’t even care she’d nearly been killed.”


Michael’s head was tossed and he focused on Kathleen harshly.


“She was so afraid of you, Mrs. Meraux, all she kept repeating was “the eggs…the eggs are for my mother…”


Kathleen had a hand to her mouth, silent and looking at her child sorrowfully.


“I went back and bought her a fresh dozen and a candy bar…to make her feel better. It was only twenty cents. She looked and me and smiled, and I wanted to tap all over the place. I sat in Mumfree’s everyday looking for her. Hoping to see her again.”


Michael took a sip of his tea and continued.


“You asked why, my brother and I took to your girls. Marlon and I are strangers in a strange land here. We’ve never lived in the South, certainly not in a small town like this. Wherever we go, people stare because of how we dress and speak and the cars we drive. Folks treat us like animals in a zoo. Stare, talk about us, not to us. Yes, we are wealthy, in a Depression when so many have so little. But we needn‘t be penalized for wise investments.”


“Yes” Marlon echoed, large lips pursing and being pressed out. He eyed Lorraine, who blew a kiss openly at him.


“Vylette and Lorraine…when I’m with Vy…I forget all that. She likes me…loves me, as I am. She doesn’t care about my money like other folks. She never asks for anything…just cares for me…and I love her.”


Unaware of it, Vylette was weeping, warm tears on her cheeks.


Twiddling his fork, Marlon’s eyes were bronze on Kathleen, as he was more practical…than emotional.


“We would like very much to court Lorraine and Vylette, that‘s our point in being here tonight…he loves Vylette and I love Lorraine, deeply.”


“Oh, I shall faint!” Lorraine, scarlet, buried her head on the table.


“I know we may not be as favorable as some of the homegrown Bubbas around here…” Marlon continued idly,


“Be we are more than well equipped to provide Lorraine and Vylette with every conceivable want and need to keep them content. We own almost two dozen theatres, Ma’am with a massive profit from each. Everything is lumped and divided among the siblings. I’m quite certain you’re hinting at marriage.”


Eyes cut at Lorraine’s red head, just pressed into the table.


“Given time, and freedom, I’m certain that if Vylette and Lorraine get to know my brother and me well enough, matrimony is a serious and likely definite option. If they should want us in that manner.”


Had Vylette been standing, she’d have collapsed.


Matrimony?


Married…to Michael? And perhaps living in that mansion on the hill, with a bunch of tiny, brown-eyed babies?


That would be a dream come true!


Oh, she was simply breathless at the thought!


How free her life would be. The places she may travel!!!


Leaning back in his chair, Marlon’s gaze fell to his twiddling hands.


“I’m twenty-six years old, my brother is twenty-five. We’re aware that the both Lorraine and Vylette are just below the age of consent, at seventeen. But we are willing to wait until they make their birthdays to court. Michael tells me its in about a week or so…”


“That is correct, Marlon.” If Dr. Meraux smiled any harder, he’d have swallowed his own head.


The fork dropped to the table.




“Do we have your blessing, Mrs. Meraux?”
Everyone’s attention burned on the matriarch.


Vylette bit on her lips so hard, she tasted blood and Lorraine’s flaming head came up, eyes glistening--she was also crying.


Vinnie, watching, sucked in her lips in earnest.


Dr. Meraux huffed and the Jacksons were human incarnates of hope.


Chests heaved, breathing was shallow and pulses raced.


Kathleen Meraux stiffened, and for a scant second, looked to the Doctor, perhaps for a late in the game decision reversal.


The Doctor though, remained firm, and tilting his head, raised a bushy brow above the rim of his eye glasses, indicating the speak.


And say the right thing.


A linen napkin began to twirl in her grasp.


Her bristly lashes flapped and trembling her lips parted,




“You…you gentlemen…may--”
The rest of her emotionless statement was drowned out by the sounds of whooping, screaming and crying, as the young foursome leapt to their feet, lover seeking out lover and embracing in the middle of the floor.


Vinnie, just happy to see her sister and cousin happy, jumped up and down with glee, before Michael stretch his arm to her and pulled her into their hug.


Kathleen slumped, half-dead at the scene and Dr. Meraux cackled heartily and asked for cake.

End of chapter! Zowie! Vylette and Lorraine have finally had the wish they wanted for so long granted--their parents’ blessings to date Michael and Marlon Jackson! But where two men swoop in to take the girls, two others are being set aside and replaced. And one hardly even knows it. This can be nothing but a recipe for disaster. Find out just how bad the fall out will be in Chapter EIGHT, being written, NOW!