Chapter Six

The Next Evening

Meraux Residence

There were one thousand, four hundred and eighty-one little pits in the ceiling of the living room.

This was a fact that had always hung over Vylette Meraux’s head, but had just been realized that Sunday, following Mass.

Only now, as she reclined on the sofa, resting in one of her few all-purpose dresses, feet bare and legs crossed at the ankle, a pillow propping her head up she had noticed the little pits.

Stretched out on the rug below Vylette, Vinnie laid, silently reading and softly giggling at the funny pages of the newspaper.

“…Oh, Little Orphan Annie, what won’t you do?” Vinnie whispered with bemusement, snickering, hands gliding over the brightly colored comics.

Noticeably missing, was Lorraine.

Though she was out of sight, Vylette knew exactly where her cousin was. She had finally saved up a nickel to purchase another trashy novel, A Lone Maiden in Morocco, and had been holed up in the bedroom devouring it since they’d returned home.

And since she had been home, Vylette had been devoured by something, but it wasn’t a romance between a young girl from Montana and a North African prince.

First and foremost in the teen’s mind were a pair of princes--the Princes of Rainelle Parish, Michael and Marlon Jackson.

And how it seemed the Jacksons were the one and only topic coming out everyone’s mouth at church, just shy of Father Lachey and the Sisters.

Most of the higher-standing League Members and a few lower-rung ones pretending to be important had besieged Kathleen Meraux, the moment the stout woman had passed the gates of the churchyard.

The Jacksons had been absent from the services that morning, and she could hear it being whispered back and forth, in not so many hushed tones, the speculation as to why the men were absent.

The general consensus was that the Jacksons, embarrassed and having allegedly failed at getting near Vylette and Lorraine the previous Sunday, had run off with “their tails between their legs, like dogs they were.”

Emaciated Mary Povah had delivered that zinger and Vylette had to hug Lorraine to keep her from punching that woman in the face like a man.

For Lorraine, any talk against her Marlon was on par with blasphemy and she continually wanted to silence any and all of it with a swing of her curled white fist.

(She had seen Jean Harlow deck a man in a film once, and figured she could do it too, just like her idol.)

Vylette and her cousin had stood and eavesdropped on the gossiping, both before and after service.

Counting the pits overhead again, a smug smile crept onto the base of that pretty, heart-shaped face.

She and her cousin had been privy to the true reason the Jacksons were away from church that day: They had gone into New Orleans to do a surprise inspection and check the progress on their two theatres--and Michael was finally having his watch chain repaired.

But those old biddies wouldn’t know anything about that.

They wouldn’t know anything about the construction of the Jackson’s Palace and Paragon theatres.

Also in church, the Sunday before, the Jacksons had gotten such a cold reception, they had not only sat in the far back--near the Pelant brood--but had eased out before the sermon was over and left.

Vylette wouldn’t blame them if they never returned to Saint Ignatius Cathedral.

Soon the topic of the Jacksons had been abandoned and the women began to bicker about ideas of how to raise funds for the now-closed-until-further-notice soup kitchen.

Several ideas had been lobbied back and forth from a pay-to-enter cotillion, to a bake sale, with no notion being agreed upon.

Vylette wasn’t the type to get truly haughty or feel she was better than others, but the girl was quite sure of one thing.

If the Jacksons had been treated in a more humane fashion, instead of like they had dead lice falling off of them, they surely would have donated enough money to keep the kitchen open round the clock with more food than it knew what to do with. But considering that the popular school of thought seemed to be with the majority leaning towards the idea that the Jacksons--even if they were half-Dauphine, a fact she never heard her mother verbally disclose while yapping--most everyone thought they were bootleggers on the hideout from the law.

In reality, the Jacksons, their whole family as far as Vylette knew, were in the theatre business. Twenty theatres in operation and two in the works.

It gave Vylette a wondrous happy thrill to imagine the looks on everyone’s faces. How they’d react.

Oh, payback was something special!

One day she and Lorraine would arrive at church, not on foot, but being driven in one of those ostentatious Cadillacs. Draped in finery like silks and furs and diamonds. Looking grander than any two women ever dared look.

What would they say then? What would those crows do?

She could scarcely wait! One day…one day….

“Vinnie, would you be a Darling, and excuse your sister and me so we could talk?” A new, too-sweet voice questioned, and startled, Vylette saw that Lorraine had come into the room, and was standing over the still reading child.

“Lavinia, I know you hear me--”

Flipping the page, Vinnie, grey eyes going over the comic strips, pointed out stubbornly,

“Name’s Vinnie…this is MY house too, you know.”

Poking the little girl in the side with her bare foot, Lorraine’s temper was waning,

“Gal, move! Come on, I know somewhere in that flat chest of yours is a heart! Please!”

Closing the funny pages, Vinnie rolled and propped her head up with one hand,

“I’ll go…if you let me read your new Film Stars Monthly. They have a write up about Spanky from Our Gang I want to read--”

(Author’s Note: Our Gang which ran in theatres from the 1920s to the 1940s was what is known as The Little Rascals, now.)

Green eyes rolling, Lorraine snapped,

“Alright! Beat it!”

As the child, triumphant ran off, she shouted after her,

“Don’t you dare crease it, Vinnie! Douglas Fairbanks is on the cover!”

“Senior or Junior?”

“Swear to God, I’m going to slug her one day.” Lorraine grumbled, taking a pillow from a nearby armchair and tossing it to the floor, sitting on it.

Rolling onto her belly Vylette asked,

“What’s up? You almost picked her up and threw her!”

Starting to flush, the girl pulled at a long lock of red hair and began twirling it.

“I…I’ve been in something of a state since yesterday. You know, with the way the fellas treated us.” Lorraine dropped her voice and both cautiously looked to door.

Dr. Meraux was taking his afternoon nap before dinner and his wife was out in kitchen tending to the fried chicken for dinner.

“I have been too,” Vylette nodded, both girls smiling in shared understanding.

Sighing happily, Lorraine fell against the couch.

“Vy, I never felt so special and important in all my life as I did with Marlon yesterday. He held me the whole time I was crying, dabbing my tears with his handkerchief. I have it--I’ll always keep it in my bosom, close to my heart. Its monogrammed with his initials…MDJ. The ‘D’ is for David. Marlon David Jackson. If that’s not a decent, respectable name I don’t know what is.” She grinned, much in the way Ulrich Povah did when looking at her.

She truly was falling for this man, for more than his bank account.

Twirling some more, she continued,

“He told me, “Lori, I’m going to protect you. I’m gonna protect you, Baby, and if you need to, you can come stay here”--My Dear, I about died when he said that!” she giggled goofily and Vylette just as silly said,

“Michael told me the very same.”

It was a wonderful sentiment, but both girls knew they couldn’t just run off and live with the Jacksons. It was a sin for men and women to live together and not be married. “Living in Sin”.

Kathleen would have dragged both girls by their hair if they tried to spend the night…

“We really are so very blessed!” Lorraine confessed, “Marlon took me to his room, why, it was like something a hotel! Navy blue and ivory…silk on the bed, paintings and things. Pretty lamps. Big closet--he has more suits than a store! His own bathroom! I loved it. I slept so well too. I didn’t know a bed could be so soft. And Marlon was so gentle with me, putting that salve on my back…”

Lorraine fell over onto the floor with a squeal.

“His hands…he warmed his hands before touching me! I didn’t know a man could be so…so tender with a girl Vy! And tucked me in like a baby! It was a dream.”

Sitting abruptly, Lorraine looked to the doorway again.

There was no sound, other than that of Kathleen’s rich alto voice singing Nearer My God to Thee out in the kitchen.

Leaning in, she was hardly heard,

“At first, I was kind of scared, you know, to let him see me in my step-ins and slip. No man ever has, not like that. Uncle Almanzo, sure when I get vaccines and things, but not a REAL man! But Marlon was so nice and patient. I was at ease…I can’t be scared of Marlon.”

Red lashes fluttered and she looked downward.

“Vylette, can you keep a secret, Darling?”

“Haven’t I kept your ten billion other secrets?” Vylette laughed, reaching and patting her best friend’s shoulder.

She expected to hear Lorraine state was in love with Marlon. She certainly acted it.

A devilish, broad smile came to the redhead’s face and she began speaking slowly.

“Do you know…after Marlon put the salve on my back…he…he asked if he could see…if he could see my breasts?”

Instantly Vylette was up in alarm. This man … Marlon ….he’d asked to see parts of her cousin, naked?

“Oh no, Lorraine! Lorraine--you didn’t!”

She was aghast!

“You know you aren’t supposed to do that! That’s how girls get in trouble! And need ‘procedures’ like Wallis Pelant had! You know better--”

Shaking her head, eyes full of fire, Lorraine spoke up insisting,

“I wanted to do it, Vy. I genuinely did. He didn’t take advantage of me. Marlon’s not like that!”

She grabbed Vylette’s arm, “I don’t know about you, or how Michael affects you, but Marlon…” Her eyes closed and she grew redder,

“…just thinking of him does things to me. Makes me think thoughts I never had before. Makes me want to do things I never considered before! I…I get hot all over…”

Worried, Vylette warned,

“Lorraine, you know you’re supposed to wait until you’re married for that sort of thing! You know you are! You’re not ‘fast‘! Do you want to end up like Walls--”

“I am NOT like Wallis!” Offended, Lorraine recoiled with resentment. “Don’t you dare compare me to that…that swamp slut! How can you say that to me, your own cousin! Wallis is with anyone and everyone! I’m with ONE man and only ONE man!”

Feeling regret, Vylette mumbled in apology.

The flame going out as swiftly as it sparked, Lorraine’s voice turned sweet once more.

“Anyway…” Getting up, she sat beside Vylette and squeezed her hand. “Marlon was so very happy to see my breasts! He told me they were pretty, and he liked how big they were…and…and he touched them a little. Played with them, bounced and squeezed on them. I let him. Oh, his touch gave me goose bumps!”

Vylette was silent, clearly mulling this situation over and Lorraine called her out,

“You’re wondering what it would be like for Michael to touch you like that, aren’t you?”

Nodding Vylette was too ashamed to speak up.

“Vy, Michael is a man--not a boy but a real man, and men have needs. Eventually, no matter how good, how nice and slow-moving Michael Jackson is, he’ll eventually have to give in to his needs…and well, you’re a woman, Vy…you have to keep him interested and happy, you know … Just … tease him a little. Be playful, flirt a bit.”

She patted at the cold white, lifeless hand in her own.

“That’s what I do. And you see how Marlon and I are. I like how he treats me. All the time he offers to buy me things and I kindly tell him no…that way he knows I‘m not simply after his money--although the money does help.”

Vaguely confused by all this unfamiliar adult material, Vylette nodded again and wondered what she would do when Michael wanted to see more than just her face.

“Have you and Michael discussed this? Dear, he is your sweetheart.” Lorraine wondered and both girls fell quiet as a graveyard, as Dr. Meraux came around the corner, donning his suit jacket.

Goodness Gracious, had heard this clandestine conversation?

“Vylette, Lorraine, are you girls busy at the moment?” He asked in his serious way.

“No Papa.” Vylette replied, Lorraine crushing her hand.

Heading for the door her father said,

“Good…I need the two of you girls to come with me down to the office. I need your help with something. Go put your shoes on.”

Automatically, the cousins were on the high-alert.

Dr. Meraux’s office was always closed on Sundays, unless it was an emergency, like someone going into labor and needing his attention. Even then, he’d run and make a house call.

Vylette began sweating; she was wholly convinced that somehow, someway, her father had found out that she and Lorraine spent the afternoon at Jackson Manor.

And he was going to lambaste them personally before turning them back over to her leather-wielding mother.

Vylette, again wanted to die.

She figured she was going to be slaughtered either way it went, anyhow.

If only she could have run and kept running until she reached the safety of Jackson Manor!

Fifteen Minutes Later

It had been a silent, tense and perspiration-soaked walk into town and over to the squat, brick building that served as the medical outlet for the Parish.

Once inside, deep in the back of the building where Dr. Meraux’s austere, wood paneled consultation room laid, the two girls were seated on a hard, cold, wooden bench, as the doctor took his rightful place behind his old desk, painstakingly shined with wax.

Sitting there, the doctor took his own sweet time to remove his “at-work” pipe, fill it with tobacco and light it with a struck match.

(Author’s Note: Back in the 1930s before the detrimental effects of smoking were documented, it was common for doctors and patients to not only smoke in offices and hospitals, but while having their checkups done.)

Helping himself to a few puffs, bearing a faintly orange, citrus scent, Dr. Meraux finally addressed the girls, looking like a pair of anxious jackrabbits.

“In a little over a month, both of you girls will surpass not one but two very important milestones … One, graduating from high school, the other, making eighteen years old.”

“Yes, Sir.” The girls were hesitant. Just where was this leading, what was the man hinting at?

Removing his spectacles and buffing the lenses with the hanky from his pocket, he continued, no note to his voice of what he truly wanted to have this covert conference about.

“Now, last time I checked, eighteen years old was the age of consent--you girls will legally be adult women. And adult women generally start making decisions for themselves. They’re considered mature enough to do so.”

He replaced his glasses and looked at each girl a long moment.

The girls shrank and in both heads a million and one worries and prayers for mercy burned.

“Now, as we were leaving church, this morning, I saw Steven Wilkes and Ulrich Povah. The boys that have been your beaus for the past three years…”

At the mention of those names, both Vylette and Lorraine shifted uncomfortably. They had been so happy basking in the glow brought by the Jacksons, they had completely forgotten about their ‘beaus’.

Blowing another puff of smoke into the air, the old doctor observed,

“It’s been quite a while since I’ve heard mention of those boys from either of you, nor have I seen them, else for dinner or taking y’all out to the movie house … and yet …and yet, Kathleen still talks of them as though you both have one foot down the aisle with them.”

Again the girls shifted, speechless, both paling in horror as the realization hit them: both were still on deck to become Mrs. Wilkes and Mrs. Povah, as the adults had no idea of the girls’ involvement with the Jacksons.

Not that it was a banner that need be waved and invite another beating.

“Now…” Dr. Meraux reclined in seat and clasped his hands together on his slightly protruding belly. “…the oddest thing happened yesterday…”

Vylette and Lorraine lagged a moment, then both sat bolt upright, mouths popping open and light colored eyes widening and going glassy and froggy.

No…no, way….they couldn’t possibly have!

“I was in here, tending to a nosebleed Alfred Pelant was suffering from, when the door to my office suddenly flew open and two young men came barging in here like they were on their way to a five-alarm fire!”

Hands were held and lungs were emptying of all air.

“These young men seemed to be quite upset--the shorter one with the mustache grumbling words I haven’t heard since I was in the foxhole in Germany during the Great War--and said they needed to speak to me immediately.”

Dr. Meraux cleared his throat.

“I finished patching up Alfred, and one of the men…the one in the white sweater, gave Alfred a dime to buy some candy…”

Vylette couldn’t help smiling at Michael Jackson’s generosity. In the midst of blowing his stack, he’d stopped to help a child.

“…I offered the men the seats you’re sitting in, and we sat for about two hours, having a long, drawn out discussion. And from what I can gather, these men were quite disturbed that the two of you had been whipped for speaking with them last Sunday. Perhaps Kathleen was a bit heavy-handed in that punishment …the exact phrase the man in the white sweater used was “beaten like slaves. I found it peculiar he‘d use that particular wording, as he lives on an old plantation!”

Lorraine stiffened, staring down her nose at her uncle and Vylette looked down at the floor. If he only knew how they’d been whipped rather than hiding out in this place like a frightened little boy.

They also felt proud that the Jacksons had cared and been worried for their welfare enough to come and voice concern over their treatment.

They cared! They truly cared!

Picking up his pipe and drawing in another puff, Dr. Meraux informed them,

“I will speak to Kathleen about that tonight…I believe you’re getting too old to be whipped like children.”

That was a relief. Not getting beatings anymore would have made life so much easier.

And then the old doctor said something that nearly took the hair off the girls’ heads.

“I also am aware that they are extremely interested in courting you two girls. They flat refused any other answer aside from a yes.”

Thunderstruck, without a thought, both girls were on their feet, and mouths opened, voices coming together in frightened, elated unison,

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

Those men! Those sly, sweet, beautiful men! They had asked for them! They had made their intentions known!

Vylette wanted to fly around the room and Lorraine was bouncing awaiting the answer.

“Well…” Dr. Meraux hesitated and fiddled with his pipe absently. “…Michael and Marlon did come across as rather clean and polite, once they settled down, and explained themselves. They do appear to be quite wealthy, and are very respectful. Not at all what I expected. I, personally, would not be opposed to you girls being courted by them--”

The doctor was being hugged and covered in kisses from his overjoyed daughter and niece.

“Oh thank you, Papa! Thank you, Uncle Almanzo!” They cried, the thought that they had his blessing to be with the Jacksons. To…to forget the other boys!

“Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” He ordered and giggly, the girls tried to contain themselves.

“I’m alright with this, I just want you girls happy. But the one you girls know you have to turn around on this, is Kathleen! You know how she is about names and background and lineage. That sort of thing.”

“Oh please, put in the good word for them, Uncle Almanzo!” Lorraine begged, dropping to her knees and clutching his big tan hand. “Aunt Kathleen will listen to you. You’re her husband!”

“I’ll try.” He vowed with a nod, mouth tightening. “I can’t make any promises though.”

“Just an effort Papa, that’s all we ask!” Vylette encourage knowing that if there was any hope to be had at all it was with her father talking up the Jacksons to his wife. She’s listen; she’d have to! She respected the doctor’s opinion over anyone else’s!

Just as the girls were getting used to the idea that they had an ally in Dr. Almanzo Meraux, another bomb was yet dropped on the girls when they least expected it.

From seemingly nowhere, he announced,

“The Jacksons will be joining us for dinner Saturday night; I invited them.”

The girls were flabbergasted. The Jacksons were coming to THEIR house? Sit at the same table with Kathleen? Eat and look at her, and most likely be interrogated by her!

Shakily the two hugged each other, more for support to remain upright than anything to do with their unbridled joy.

Seeing the panic and woe in the once dancing eyes, Dr. Meraux advised,

“You two go along on home, I’ll be there in time for dinner. I have to prepare to speak with Kathleen about this, the same as you do. Go on home. Oh, and don‘t forget to set out the box of cigars for Father Lachey. He‘ll be dropping in tonight, too.”

“Yes…Sir…” The two girls, dazed and in a strange fog, ambled toward the door.

As they passed through it, the doctor called after them, almost teasingly,

“It’s our secret you girls were at the Jackson’s house yesterday!”

Scampering away, the girls stopped to dance in the middle of the sidewalk not caring who saw.

The Jacksons were coming! The Jacksons were coming!

And if all went well, there was nothing the matriarch, Kathleen De La Croix Meraux could do to stop it.

They were getting closer and closer to claiming the men so dear to them. To having it made public and plain for all to see.

God truly did answer prayers!

The Following Afternoon

A few feet past the open, black iron and bronze gates of Jackson Manor, Vylette loitered, her eyes taking in the handwritten note for what had to be about the fiftieth time, in the few hours since she had received it that day.

The note, crinkled and rumpled from having been concealed in the pocket of her sleeveless, striped shift dress, had been quite crisp and spotless, with only two folds in it when delivered to her during the lunch break at school.

As the bell for lunch had sounded, and the class began filing away, destined to form a line of hungry students at the kitchen in the rear of the building (soup kitchen food had been separate from school goer’s food) Sister Roberta called Vylette to her desk.

A bit nervously, as Sister Roberta calling for you to stay behind typically had only negative connotations, Vylette had stood opposite that old, raisin of a woman, and inquired what it was she had wanted.

The nun had stared up at Vylette for a moment, a somewhat coy smile on her lips.

She then informed the star-crossed teen that the young man who had left a note for her before, had once again been found on the front steps with another note for her as the school was opened that morning.

Smile growing bigger and almost too mischievous for a Woman of the Cloth, Sister Roberta said that after the outburst the first note had caused from Steven Wilkes--as it was a widely known mistake the two were still an ‘item’, most mistaken by Steven Wilkes himself--she felt that to maintain the sanctity and peace of her classroom she would pass it along when she could get Vylette alone.

Vylette had come as close to hugging that battle-axe as she ever had in her life, and she took the note, stopped to read it, deposited it in her pocket, and ran out to share the news with Lorraine.

That had been something of a feat as Ulrich was hanging around her and had to be shooed like the stray puppy he was.

Sure, Lorraine was extremely distressed about not being able to see Marlon, when her cousin could see Michael, she nearly choked on her ham sandwich.

But, Marlon Jackson had his work, and when his work called for his attention, he had to go. It was the work that kept Marlon and his brother Michael living so high on the hog in the first place.

Lorraine could just stew all she liked and have her selfishness to keep her warm. As much as Lorraine tried pass herself off as an adult, when she wasn’t allowed to have her way she became a child all over again.

And she didn’t even notice the business end Marlon was seeing to…she only saw the results.

But Vylette couldn’t worry about that now.

She was five feet inside the gate and had dropped every worry from herself as she had passed into it.

Starting up that tree-lined walk, Vylette marveled at how beautiful everything seemed. How colorful, how bright, how fragrant.

She had seen this all before, only two days ago.

Had it been this beautiful before? Had she missed it somehow?

It still barely made sense that not only did such a Heaven-like place exist in little Rainelle Parish, but that Vylette had access to it.

That she was a guest, a welcomed guest!

And that the man she felt so strongly for owned half of it!

It was almost too much to bear.

Getting closer to the Main House, Vylette had to stop and stare.

And if staring were rude, she was simply going to be the rudest girl in Louisiana for a moment. She couldn’t help it.

A few yards away, standing on the east end of the front porch, was Michael Jackson.

Vylette had to pause to admire him. She felt compelled in a way.

Michael was dressed in a casually preppy fashion, wearing a lilac button-down, with dark grey slacks, and a plaid bowtie.

He was so attractive, Vylette’s chest ached.

How could one man be so gorgeous?

She did love him so, so very much.

He belonged to her, and to have a man belong to a girl was one of the warmest, safest, and most cherished feelings.

And then he did something that amused her.

Michael Jackson began tap-dancing.

As he had on grey loafers, instead of tap-shoes, his steps made no noise.

But he was time-stepping and shuffling along merrily, curled hair bouncing and swaying in the breeze.

Vylette had never witnessed Michael’s dancing before and watching him, it was clear he was a born dancer.

A damned spectacular dancer!

There was an ease, finesse and fluidity to his motions, she hadn’t seen before in any other dancers, even on the silver screen.

Swinging his arms, Michael was shuffling sideways towards the front steps and much to Vylette’s amazement, his feet weren’t actually leaving the floor.

In a way, he was almost floating to the side!

Just as easily, Michael floated back, mouth puckering, entire lean, taut body rippling.

Reaching the spot where he started, Michael came out of it, and stood exactly as he had before he began. Casually looking off into the distance, where Baron was rolling in the grass.

Almost as if the spontaneous dance had never happened.

Vylette was captivated and even more intrigued with this man. There was so much she didn’t know and desired to know of him.

Michael turned and bent over a small wicker table, standing again with a crystal goblet in his hand, filled halfway with a deep red liquid.

He went to his mouth with it, and finally noticed Vylette starting up the steps.

“Vy! Hi Sweetness!” He cried and in a flash he was over her, hugging her against him.

Those tender lips, tasting faintly sweet and fruity pressing hers.

He was hugging and kissing her; the most blessed feeling in the world to Vylette Meraux.

Taking her hand in his own warm one, Michael led her over to a small cushioned wicker couch in front the table he had bent over earlier.

On it was a round crystal pitcher of a red liquid, two crystal goblets, and a platter with more crackers spread with the pate de foie gras.

“How was school, Vylette?” Michael was handing her a cracker then helping himself to one.

“Alright…the term is almost over. We just spent today reviewing for our exit exams next Monday.” Vylette didn’t know why she told Michael that, it just came out.

Would he even care about school? Had ever attended one, as he had been in vaudeville as a child?

“Oh, that’s swell. I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully. You‘re so bright and intelligent.” Michael commented between bites. “Punch, Darling?”

Nodding and watching as he poured a glass for her, Vylette kept it to herself, that she was in the running for graduating Valedictorian of her class. If she were bestowed the honor, she wanted it to be a surprise to him.

Putting the glass to her mouth, Vylette enjoyed the sweet taste of the punch and saw that Michael was packing away another large cracker with pate.

“You really like that goose liver, don’t you?” She teased pinching at the top of his hand, a lesson she had learned from watching Lorraine with Marlon. It was also an expensive treat--goose was one of the priciest meats at the grocer.

Michael’s response stunned her.

“I hate liver, to be honest.” This being said as he bit into a third cracker.

For a man who hated it, he was certainly consuming it like it was going out of style the very next afternoon!

“Then why--”

“Because…” Michael sighed deeply and looked into the distance over her head. “Ever since I was a little boy, I’ve suffered from Chronic Anemia. You know what Anemia is--”

“Yes.” Vylette nodded. “Your body doesn’t produce enough red blood cells.”

“I keep forgetting your daddy is a doctor.” Michael chuckled. “So, I have to eat iron-rich foods regularly. I tried supplements for a while, they made me sick. Liver is really good for iron. I eat some every day to help keep me well. Otherwise I get very weak.”

Vylette stared at Michael with concern. This poor sweet young man. Not only had pneumonia nearly killed him, but he was Anemic on top of that?

“If you ever need to be looked after for it, Papa will take care of you. He’s the best doctor for miles and miles.” Vylette bragged and Michael snorted.

“Speaking of your father, I assume he told you that he got a little visit from a couple of fellows--” He started but was absolutely drowned out by a deep voice somewhere above them bellowing,

“MICHAEL!!! MICHAEL!!! WHERE YO’ SCRAWNY ASS AT? MIKE! MIKE, I KNOW YOU HEAR ME, MAN!!!!”

“Oh no!” Michael, large hands covering his face lamented, before standing abruptly and going over left the porch and jogged a few yards out onto the walk.

Turning, and cupping his mouth, he called overhead,

“What, Marlon?”

Marlon? Vylette squinted at him. Marlon was there? He was home? Why on earth didn’t Michael invite Lorraine along to see him?

That child was lying forlorn at home missing him!

Marlon, from somewhere on the second floor balcony yelled,

“WHERE THE HELL IS ADELAIDE? I RANG MY BELL TILL IT FUCKING BROKE! I’M HUNGRY AS HELL UP HERE MAN! WHERE IS SHE?”

“She…she…” Michael stammered as Marlon began shrieking at the top of his lungs.

“ADELAIDE! ADELAIDE! WHERE YO BIG BLACK SELF AT? COME HERE! I NEEDS FOOD! C’MERE WOMAN! THIS HERE N(bad word) STARVING TO DEATH, GODDAMN! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? I‘M MARLON JACKSON! ALL THIS SHIT IS MINE! I THINK I AT LEAST RANK SOME COLD ROAST LAMB AND MINT JELLY! ADELAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDE!”

“Stop carrying on so, I’ll get her…” Michael was waving, when Marlon made what sounded like an extremely loud belch.

Michael , eyes popping a foot from his head in terror, came flying up onto the porch as a strange, pink liquid rained down from overhead and splashed the sidewalk.

“Son of a…” Michael grumbled under his breath, going to the front door opening it and calling,

“Adelaide! Please bring Marlon some lamb, and please…he just got sick all on the sidewalk! Take him a big glass of tomato juice with a half dozen shakes of Worcestershire sauce in it! Move! Go!”

(Author’s Note: I saw this remedy in the film ‘My Man Godfrey’ [1936] with William Powell administering this to a hung over woman.)

“Yes, Sir, Mr. Michael!” Vylette heard Adelaide reply and heavy footfalls resounded as the round woman set into motion.

Returning to the table, Michael picked up the platter of crackers with one hand and his glass with the other.

“Come on Vy…we’ll talk in the living room.”

“Okay…” Unsure as to what she had just been a spectator to, Vylette followed along behind Michael and waited until they were seated on the blue quilted brocade of the sofa in the dark formal living room, before she opened her mouth.

“I thought Marlon was still in New Orleans…”

Picking up another cracker, Michael groaned with annoyance.

“He left his common sense in New Orleans! I’m sorry you had to see that Vylette. That was why I didn’t want Lorraine here. You see…Marlon is drunk.”

“Drunk!?!” Vylette went straight, searching his face. “We have Prohibition!”

Oh, what wouldn’t her mother say? Her mother, who had been President of the Temperance Association in the years before the banning of all liquor! Her parents had never touched liquor as far as she knew. And they certainly didn’t condone the drinking of it or being in the company of folks that did!

And here she was, in house, with a man soused to the bones.

Michael slumping in his seat, shrugged and spoke through a full mouth.

“Marlon’s been hitting that bootleg liquor since Prohibition began. He got to drinking as a kid in vaudeville. Our daddy liked currant wine, and Marlon liked to dip into it. And our liquor’s not exactly bootleg, per se, it’s from Canada. He has a supplier up there, liquor is legal over the border, and every few months a delivery comes. Well, a delivery arrived last night when we got back from the city and Marlon drank himself into a stupor.”

Rising Michael went over and opened one of French windows that led out onto the veranda.

“I…kept Lorraine away because she shouldn’t see him like that. She’s his woman. No woman should see her man intoxicated. Nobody should. I think it’s improper. You’re here Vylette, because, honestly, in my heart didn’t think you’d see him. You’re here to see ME. But I knew Lorraine would make a beeline to him. He’s been asleep all day today. I didn’t think he’d wake up and act an ass like he did. I never can judge what he‘ll do under the influence sometime‘s he acts silly, other times he wants to fight. The worst is when he sits and cries…”

Vylette struggled to come up with something to say to put Michael Jackson at ease. She didn’t like the way his handsome face was drooping.

“Well…” She sighed mind churning. “He’s a man, and drinking is a men’s pastime.”

“Yeah, but I never drink to excess.” Michael huffed, patting at his hair. “I like wine and whiskey too, but I can hold my liquor like a gentleman.”

A gentleman. Michael Jackson was a gentleman.

“WHOOPEE! WHOOPEE! MERRY CHRISTMAS! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Flying past the open doors in the hallway, wearing a pair of green polka dotted pajamas, arms out and flapping as if to fly, Marlon Jackson was a spectacle.

“WHOOPEE! WHOOPEE!” He shouted, jumping off the porch and running in a circle before collapsing in the front yard. Baron came over and laid beside his master.

Even so far away, he was audibly snoring.

“Mr. Michael!” Adelaide, alarmed, appeared in the doorway, a plate of food in her fat hands.

Staring out at his brother, Michael simpered,

“Leave him where he lays. He’ll sleep it off some more. He won’t leave the property. Damned fool.”

“No, Mr. Michael…” Adelaide insisted shaking her head.

“Sir, there’s a telephone call for you in your office. Fellow says he’s your decorating man--”

“That’s Antoine!” Michael spun from the window excitedly. “I’ve been expecting to hear from him!”

He hurried towards the door and stopped, hand out, indicating Vylette come with him.

Getting up and putting the image of an inebriated Marlon from her mind, Vylette went over, took her love’s hand and was led out to the grand staircase.

As they began mounting the stairs, Michael commented, pecking her cheek,

“Me and Marlon’s offices and the library were completed yesterday…I’d like to know what you think of mine…”

He wanted her opinion…oh!

Taking the right side of the stairs, Vylette was led down to the end of the hall, where an oak door stood cracked. Affixed to the door, bearing Michael’s name, was an engraved bronze plate.

Inside, Michael moved directly to his desk.

Vylette stood, a bit in awe taking in the room.

As large as Michael’s bedroom, his office was framed on one side by those long French doors decorated with deep wine and gold curtains, the other three walls of the dark, wood paneled room, filled with dozens of gilt-flanked paintings.

Each and every painting was of a child. Colored, White, Oriental…in various costumes and poses.

It seemed odd he would want that in his working space, but one never could tell about Michael. He did the oddest things and it was natural.

The center point of the room was Michael’s desk, made of mahogany, the front engraved with a beautiful peacock, plumage spread.

On top of the desk were a few papers neatly arranged, a colored crystal peacock weight on them, and a golden and glass French telephone, its receiver off the hook.

Behind the desk was a quilted burgundy leather arm chair, and in front of it, matching quilted guest chairs.

A model of a schooner sat on a chest of drawers behind the desk, taking up most of the back wall with a pair of Tiffany lamps with a dragonfly motif stood unlit.

Between two of the windows, a bookcase sat and was filled with volumes, that looked to be records for the Jackson-owned theatres.

“Hello…Antoine? Michael…” Michael cradling the receiver in the crook of his neck, a small, porcelain box, that was burgundy, in keeping with the room’s scheme and painted with a bird and floral motif, the lid rimmed with ivory scalloping, and dug around in it, producing a cigarette.

Poking it in his mouth, he lit it with an enameled lighter, shaped like a small , colorful dragon.

Even smoking a cigarette was an event.

On the far end of the room was a leather chaise lounge, the latest Film Stars Monthly spread on it--with Douglas Fairbanks, Senior on the cover.

Another door, marked with a plate was the Library.

“…you getting the lights up?” Michael was consumed with his conversation, back turned to his girlfriend as she opened the door and let herself in.

“…no, you get that pack of shiftless bastards up and working, because I could have hired out of New York! I know plenty fellas up there would sell their mommies to work for me! No, Antoine, you told me to hire locals and this is what I get…”

If the Library of Jackson Manor had been a bathroom before, it showed no hints of it now.

More of that dark wood encased the room, and every wall, not taken by the window or massive, marble decorated fireplace, was devoted to a bookshelf, filled to bursting with thick leather-bound tomes.

All over were smooth, brown leather chairs and couches on beautiful Persian and Prussian carpets.

Above the fireplace was a hunting scene, of a hound sitting with a dead duck in it’s mouth.

A low coffee table boasted several animal figurines, most of dogs, with one elephant, and Vylette wondered if Marlon had decorated this room.

Also on the table was a curious book--Secrets of the Female Form. (She was afraid to find out what was in that book and left it untouched.)

Going around the room, Vylette glanced over the titles of the books, and found that the Jacksons were very well-read men.

Books covered every topic imaginable from jokes, to Freudian and Marxist philosophy, to books on human anatomy, that rivaled the ones her doctor father had in his medical practice.

In the far corner of the room, near a window that was open to the balcony, a floor to ceiling shelf was vacant, a small folded card with writing scribbled on it, the only thing there.

Picking up, Vylette smiled, heart going soft.

In Michael’s handwriting had been scribbled, “Reserved for Violet and Lorraine.”

Again he’d misspelled her name, but she had appreciated the gesture. He had taken the time to truly make a place for her in his house. And Vylette couldn’t help but wonder if somewhere in the future she would be calling this magnificent manse “home”.

Until that moment, Michael had been chattering on intermittently as Vylette had looked around, and placing the card back on the shelf, she jumped as Michael’s voice, clear and gruff exclaimed,

“What in the blue hell do you mean the lights come out to sixty-five thousand? When I left you yesterday, it came to fifty-five thousand! Where the devil did that extra TEN thousand come from?”

Running across the room, Vylette got to the door and found Michael sitting in his huge chair, cigarette half smoked, in one hand, the other holding the phone in front of his face, shouting off into it.

“No…no! I told you--Antoine, shut up before I come through the wire after you!--I specifically wanted the DeVoe light fixtures for the walls of the screening room. NO, damn it! I said nothing about Felding! Who the hell mentioned Felding? It wasn’t ME! You unscrew every last one of those fixtures, take them down, get the DeVoe lights, or I’ll hang you in the lobby and electrify your ass! You hear me? Change it! I’ll be driving in tomorrow and I better see one-hundred and seventy-five DeVoe fixtures in my Palace, or else! The Palace is my theatre! Is your money in this? This is MY vision. Laurent ain’t fucking up like this with Marlon. You fix it! Good-bye!”

With a slam the phone was hung up.

Vylette lingered in the doorway--she hadn’t heard Michael get belligerent before and while it scared her a bit, it did also excite her to hear Michael, normally so shy and reserved, taking charge of his project.

Taking a deep drag off his cigarette, Michael blew smoke and lifted the receiver, tapping the hook.

“Hello, Operator?” He questioned his voice in a more reserved tone. “I…I’m sorry if you heard any of that…Ladies shouldn’t hear coarse language like that. You’re only doing your job, Miss. I apologize.”

Vylette gripped the doorframe. Michael was apologizing to the switchboard operator!

(Author’s Note: Please Wiki/Google a telephone switchboard. I’d be all night trying to explain it properly!)

“Yes…I’m sorry.” The phone was hung up and Michael mashed his butt into the red glass ashtray.

He clutched at his forehead a moment and looked for Vylette.

Waving her over, and helping her sit on the desktop, he informed,

“I’m sorry if you overheard me, Sweetness.” He was nice again. “But if you aren’t stern and commanding with these contractors, they’ll bleed you dry. Marlon and I are decorating the theatres separately and it looks like all the people I chose to work with are blasted idiots.”

“Yes…” Vylette knew nothing of building, but tried to soothe him, rubbing at his shoulder.

“Your office and Library are spectacular.”

“Thank you, Baby.” Michael rocked in his chair.

For the first time, Vylette noticed a lone nude figure on the desk.

It was made of pristine translucent white marble--clashing with all the rich shades in the room.

It was a woman of course, with a full, curvaceous body, her hands up and in her long, loose hair. Strangely, at the base near her legs, a pair of large white hands cradled her from her feet to her knees.

“Before Marlon got to cutting up…” Michael removed a second cigarette and offered it to Vylette.

Vylette who had never taken a puff in her life refused it. Michael begged,

“Kiss it for me.”

Vylette thought him crazy, but allowed him to place the cigarette in her mouth, where he lit it, and pulled it out and stuck it in his own mouth.

“…I wanted to ask you about the dinner on Saturday. And trust me, Marlon will be sober as I am, even if I have to take a hammer to every last bottle in the basement!” Michael vowed, blowing vanilla-scented smoke upwards.

As Baron, who had somehow gotten up on the balcony trotted just inside the room and laid down on the rug, Vylette wondered,

“What did you want to know?”

Setting his ciggie in the ashtray, Michael ran his hand over Vylette’s bare arm.

“I wanted to know…what should my brother and I wear? And for the love of all things Holy, don’t tell me BLACK!

I own ninety-two suits and only two are black! The one I wore to church, and a pinstriped one.” He pointed out and Vylette momentarily reeled. He owned almost a hundred dress suits? In addition to his more casual extras? Goodness!

“Well…nothing too flamboyant. Something blue or brown or tan, perhaps…” Vylette, completely ignorant to what made for fashion advised.

She just knew the less the Jacksons stuck out the better. But they seemed to have a innate knack for it regardless.

Nodding with understanding Michael said,

“I’ll be all week coming up with something…and a I’ll find a pin for my lapel. I’ll make you proud.” He added with a wink and Vylette feeling warm confided,

“I’m always proud of you--”

“WHOOPEE! I’M THE ARCHDUKE FRANZ FERDINAND! WHOOPEE!”

From the front lawn, Marlon was screaming again.

“Damn it to hell!” Michael cursed under his breath, and stood, going over to the open door his dog had trotted through, and shut it, muffling Marlon’s drunken noisemaking.

Trying to change the subject, Vylette pointed out,

“Do you always wear a pin on your lapel?”

Giggling sheepishly, Michael returned to her and confirmed, “Yeah…that’s kind of my fashion signature. Marlon’s got the market cornered on flowers in the lapel. So I buy pins and brooches and things.”

Tucking a loose hair behind her ear, Vylette remembered the fancy, flittering pin he had worn to church and asked if it were real.

“I never wear fake gems--it‘s gauche.” Michael flicked ashes and brought his cigarette to his mouth. Vylette trembled imagining how much his diamond and ruby pin had cost.

And Michael was so laidback about it.

A large hand came up and patted her rounded cheek.

“When I get a chance, once Antoine is out my hair, I want to get you something special, that sparkles … and blinds folks.”

Ducking her head, Vylette whined, “Oh you don’t have to--”

It meant certain things when a man gave expensive gifts to a girl.

“You’re my lady, Vylette. If I want to spoil you, it’s my business.” Michael was stubborn.

Seeing stars Vylette wondered just what all Michael Jackson had intentions of doing. This was so exciting, dating a rich man.

Speaking around the cigarette dangling from his pursed lips, Michael questioned,

“Say, what’s on the menu for this big dinner anyway?”

This was something Vylette had not considered and the last thing she wanted was her mother to present a platter of simmered beef livers and kidneys with onions to the Jacksons.

“What…what would you like to eat?” Vylette countered, praying he didn’t want anything too extravagant. “We eat simply…not in courses…”

“You should…” Michael commented matter-of-factly. “Young girls need plenty of nourishing food--ahh, I’d like some ham, if that’s not too much trouble. Baked Honey-Glazed Ham.”

(Author’s Note: I actually hate Honey Ham. Too sweet. Plain is fine!)

Honey ham was much too costly for her mother to ever condone purchasing for the Pariahs of the Parish, and as something she only tasted at Christmas, Vylette said,

“Ham is for special occasions…”

“This is a special occasion. Meeting my lady’s family, properly.” Michael insisted and his hand disappeared in his pocket.

A ten-dollar bill was extended to her.

“Is this enough to buy the ham, something for sides and a dessert?”

Michael Jackson had to have lost his natural mind. Ten dollars? To feed only seven people? Was he expecting the rest of the Jackson family to appear also?

“That’s too much--” Her cheek was pinched and the money pressed into her palm.

“What’s mine is yours, Baby. I keep telling you, you’ll want for nothing.” Michael closed her fist. “Take whatever is left over and buy some books or magazines.”

Feeling truly thankful, Vylette slipped off the desk and hugged Michael tightly a few minutes, his hands rubbing her back.

Their mouths connected briefly and Vylette was taken to a wonderland in that kiss.

Being released, and the money going in her pocket with his note, Michael whistled musically and declared,

“You kiss like a little dream, Vy…”

Cheeks reddening, Vylette turned her back and fingered the scalloped edge of the desk.

“I…I’ve never kissed a man, before you.”

“You’re born to it, and I pity every poor sap that wanted to but never could.” Michael cackled, and extinguished his second butt.

For some off reason, Vylette was suddenly captivated by the nude figure on the desk and turning back to Michael, inquired,

“Why is that the only statue you have in here, Michael? There’s no others in the room.”

Dark eyes gazed up at her, then drifted to the statue and leaning forward in his chair, Michael ran his hand over the bosom of the figure before answering luridly, voice deepening,

“It reminds me of you, Vylette.”

Taken aback and woolgathered, Vylette sputtered as she crashed back into his desk.

“Michael Jackson! You’ve never seen me naked! Sure, you looked at my back the other day…but just my back!”

Michael, unperturbed, took his time to fire up a third cancer stick.

Placing it in the ashtray, he indicated her body with a finger.

“In that little, ill-fitting dress you’re wearing, and the others I’ve seen you prancing backwards and forwards in… I can tell a lot. Like this thing…”

Michael stood and his eyes had that strange cast Vylette was used to in Steven as they ran up and down her.

“I can tell it was bought, probably a few years ago, by the cut of it, perhaps before the Crash and before people had to get tighter with their monies. Two, three years ago, it’s safe to say you were smaller and much less voluptuous than you are now.”

And the description of her being “voluptuous” Vylette turned her head, chest heaving.

Michael…he…had been conscious of her figure…

“It’s easy for anyone with a particle of sight to see your curves beneath your clothes, Vylette…”

His hand gripped her chin and she was forced back into looking up at him. Her knees weakened at his gaze.

“Honey, you have the lovely, full-grown body of a woman, and keep trying to stuff it into clothing made for a child. You aren’t a child…you’re a woman, Vylette.” His lips brushed hers again and she broke out in chill bumps.

“I can’t help it…it’s all I have.” Vylette didn’t know if she wanted to cry or scream. “I’ll…get a new dress for graduation in a couple weeks. It’s already been ordered.”

“Mmm-hmmm” Michael hummed having another drag and putting the cigarette away. “We’ll take care of that at a later date.”

Curious, Vylette ventured,

“Why haven’t you tried to touch me or anything--you know, how Marlon touches Lorraine?”

Reaching over and tapping off ashes but not smoking, Michael’s eyes were downcast.

“Are you not still seventeen-years-old?”

“Well, yes--”

“That’s why…” Pulling back Michael returned to the closed window and started to open it.

“WHOOPEE--”

He closed it again.

“You’re still below the age of consent at seventeen. And at twenty-five, I don’t want to do anything that will have that mother of yours running my black ass into to the police crying foul.”

He stated, touching at the curtains, and Vylette’s head lowered in shame. Her mother would be backhanded enough to do something like that. It was true.

Her head came up and she squinted at Michael again.

He was twenty-five? She hadn’t realized he was that old. As boyish as he looked, she had figured him no older than twenty. But considering how he said he had spent five years in New York…it did make sense now.

“I want to wait until you make eighteen before I try anything…I tried to tell Marlon to wait, but he‘s hardheaded. He touches Lorraine a bit too much. But he’s a Pisces…Pisces are like that. We probably shouldn‘t even be kissing you and your cousin, but we can‘t help it. Women need kissing.”

Michael sauntered back over, one hand in his pocket, fingers popping quite loudly on the other.

“I…I make eighteen the day after graduation, and Lorraine nine days after that--we were born closely together!” Vylette whispered, blood pounding in her ears. Standing over her Michael nodded, considering this.

“Two weeks won’t kill me.”

His eyebrows flexed sexily and swept, Vylette couldn’t break her gaze from him.

“I’ll be counting the days until your birthday, Vylette. I’ve yearned to touch you since I’ve met you…but when you told me at Mumfree’s you were still seventeen, I figured it best to wait. Waiting makes the end result so much more…“ His eyes bulged nastily

“…delicious in the long run.”

Vylette was going to faint if she didn’t control herself. But it was growing harder and harder the more time she spent with this man.

Under his sensuous spell.

Glowing red all over, Vylette was speechless, as she had never had so frank a conversation, not even with the bawdy Mr. Wilkes. He only asked for kisses and was rebuffed with a pinch or a slap.

Seeing her shying away, Michael asked,

“Have you ‘known’ a man, before?”

Jumbled as to his meaning, Vylette mumbled,

“I don’t know!”

This was getting uncomfortable and into territory she was unfamiliar with.

“Intimately.” Michael held onto her shoulders, and realizing he meant intercourse, Vylette shook her head so violently, both were struck by her swaying ponytail.

“Are you…are you still ‘pure’, Vylette?”

Anyone questioning her virginity would have been spitting up loose teeth, but Vylette could only bob her head.

Intensely shy, she whimpered,

“You’ve probably been with plenty of girls…in vaudeville.”

Show people were so different from normal folks. Who knew how they lived.

“If you must know, I’ve only been with one woman before you.” Michael spoke up curtly and Vylette quivered. “She doesn’t matter now though--she’s in the past.”

Getting closer, Michael’s body pressed Vylette’s and a hotness she had never known began to throb down in her nether regions.

Was…was she becoming aroused for the very first time?

Seriously, Michael spoke over the top of her head,

“We WILL be intimate in the future--do things lovers are supposed to do, alone, behind closed doors.”

He wanted to make love…be intimate!

Panicking, Vylette blurted,

“But I don’t know what to do!!!”

Even Lorraine, with all her fantasy stories, didn’t know what to do!

Still gazing over her head, Michael offered,

“We’ll go slowly. I can teach…I WILL teach you. When you’re eighteen…you’ll begin Love Lessons…”

Pressing her face into Michael’s chest, heart pounding against her ear, Vylette vowed,

“I’ll be an apt pupil…” She wanted only to please him.

“I know you will…only…” Michael paused and his body seemed to cave a bit.

“Only, I wish, for just a few minutes, I was seventeen again.”

A cross between a sigh and sob left Vylette,

“Why?”

Michael Jackson leaned back, his eyes full of hellfire, and in an easy swoop picked Vylette up, sitting her on his desktop again.

Her plump legs were parted and before she could stop him, Michael had them on either side of his trim waist, his mouth smothering hers.

In such a provocative pose, Vylette frightened, had her hands up in Michael’s slick curled, and greasy tresses, trying her best to yank him away from her.

No matter how she tugged, he continued bearing down on her mouth, and after a moments, his tongue was inside her mouth, swabbing its interior.

“Ugh! No! No!” Vylette cried into his mouth as Michael’s arms hugged her tightly to the point she could barely breathe.

“Michael!”

Her skirt was pulled up in the back, uncovering her white legs and thighs and Vylette’s head flew back, just long enough for her scream shrilly, as his large hands, warm and soft, invaded the back of her step ins, each hand gripping onto one of her naked buttocks, and squeezing them.

He was touching her flesh! Touching her body!

Pulling her closer Michael’s groin collided with Vylette’s private bits and through the clothing, he began rubbing and humping against her.

And flames were all over Vylette.

Vainly, she pushed and shoved at his shoulders, Michael’s grip too strong on her for her to get away from him as he continued moving against her, holding her tighter.

She actually fought against him so hard, her entire ponytail came loose, the ribbon floating away.

Head bobbing, Michael’s mouth silenced her screams and he was kissing her so fiercely he was sucking the life from her. His hands kneading her buttocks so hard it was hurting. It was a happy pain.

At once, Michael pulled away from her and the poor girl was on the verge of collapse.

“That’s why I wish I was seventeen again!”

Michael breathless panted and started to smooth at his hair.

Vylette turning a hundred shades of crimson, slid off the desk, trying to breathe a solid breath, staring down at Michael‘s perfect leather shoes.

A million thoughts and emotions coursed through her.

What had she done? What had he done to her? He’d touched her--they weren’t married! Was that sex? Had she been soiled?

Like an eruption from a volcano, her head snapped up.

“Damn you, you conniving--”

Her hand came up to strike the face she had promised never to slap.

Her wrist was caught in midair and her hand brought to Michael’s mouth.

With her free hand, she raked her hair out of her eyes.

“I should knock you from here to Shreveport!”

“Don’t…I love you, Vylette.” He spoke into the palm of it.

“I love you.”

Above her hand his eyes were huge with affection.

Allowing herself to be hugged, Vylette drained and a bit confused let herself to be held.

He wouldn’t hurt her.

He said the three words she longed to hear!

He loved her. He only loved her the way a man could love a woman.

Not only with his heart, but with his body…