Chapter Twelve

 

Early Thursday Morning

On the Outskirts of New Orleans, Louisiana

“…how many are left?”

“Four.”

“And how many did we start out with?”

“An even dozen.”

“Damn it, you mean to tell me I’ve eaten eight donuts all by myself?”

The gasp of astonishment left Michael Jackson’s thin and sugar-crusted lips, his long hands gripping the wide steering wheel of his brother’s prized blue coupe.

Reclining lazily in the front seat beside her lover, Vylette only smiled up at him, a small giggle being muffled by her gloved hand.

It was just past dawn, the sun starting to creep on up over the horizon and flooding the simple, unpaved and rural lane with the first rays of daylight.

Daylight that illuminated all with in the luxurious interior of the car.

Light that was making Michael Jackson more visible, and causing Vylette’s heart to tremble at how truly dashing he was, without seeming to try.

Sitting behind the wheel of that steel behemoth, Michael’s wisp of a body was draped in a bright navy, double-breasted, light wool suit. Paired with it was a white shirt, pale blue and white dotted tie, and a matching square, folded to make those four points.

On the lapel, a sleek sapphire and aquamarine pin shimmered. Perched on his head, the brim over one eye, was a blue fedora.

Seated on the other side of the grease stained box containing what was left of the glazed donuts, purchased from Mumfree’s before the journey had began, Vylette, herself was a coordinating vision to her man.

Vylette’s curvaceous form was clad in a brand new, royal and cream walking suit, featuring a pleated and pointed exaggerated collar.

On her head, over her carefully arranged bun, was a small blue cloche, and matching gloves.

On her own lapel, a circlet of diamonds on a brooch glimmered--and had been loaned from Michael‘s extensive jewelry collection as they had dressed that morning.

It competed so attractively with her tennis bracelet.

Looking over her shoulder, she spied the three other occupants of the car.

Marlon, directly behind Michael, snored lightly, his dark green fedora placed over his face, arms crossed over the green suit and pale yellow shirt he wore.

The yellow rose that had been in his lapel lay in his lap.

Head resting on his shoulder, Lorraine wore a yellow dress with light green blouse--echoing Marlon--a green capelet, and a small yellow hat with green plumes jutting from it.

(Marlon was quite intent on keeping Lorraine in colors that made her eyes the first thing anyone noticed on her face.)

Curled against the opposite side of the car, Vinnie slept, adorable in a deep pink silk dress, accented with delicate, white florets down the front and dotting the short sleeves.

Her curled mane, somewhat tamed, was tied with a pink silk ribbon.

Yes…everyone in the car looked just marvelous for a day in the City, Vylette decided, facing the front and discovered Michael was steadily mumbling to himself.

“…making a pig of myself. After all the bacon and eggs I packed away this morning. Soon Dr. Meraux will have to put me on a diet to reduce. Can’t turn into a Zeppelin…”

Crossing her legs, the skirt falling back and exposing a fine leg, draped in a beige stocking and held with a blue garter, Michael’s name embroidered on it, Vylette questioned innocently.

“Shall I roll down the window and throw the rest of the donuts away?”

“…fat…No, don’t do that.”

Driving with one hand, the freed brown one, gripped the exposed white knee.

“One more, and that’s it!” Michael concluded, head nodding and removing her gloves, Vylette broke a donut and held the piece up to Michael, who gamely ate, smacking.

“Oink, oink!” Vylette snickered and hand going up, Michael squeezed at her thigh.

“You be quiet.” He warned, not really angry.

As the familiar outline of New Orleans appeared on the horizon, Vylette nibbled on some of the sweet pastry, a bit nervously.

Only then was it dawning on her, she was to meet a new member of the Jackson family. And from the way Michael had spoken over breakfast, he and his sister appeared to be quite close, calling each other weekly and writing letters when either one was out of the country.

Latoya was as cultured, traveled, and worldly as her brothers it seemed.

“Michael…do…do you think Latoya will like me?” Vylette wondered softly. What if Latoya was as opposed to her and Lorraine as her mother had been to Michael and Marlon?

“Sure she will! What‘s not to like about you, Baby?” Michael cackled, as more donut was popped into his mouth. “I just hope you like Latoya!”

“Why do you say that?” Vylette squinted at him as they sailed through the French Quarter.

“Well…you see…” Michael stopped to allow a group of children to cross the street. “Latoya has always been a bit eccentric.”

“Eccentric?” Vylette repeated as they took off again.

“Yeah, my sister has always had a flair for the dramatic.” Michael explained, going by his theatre where men, carrying paint pots and brushes were filing in.

“I guess it comes from being on the stage all the time. She can’t turn it off. How she dresses and speaks sometimes. She’s harmless though.”

They stopped again for a man fighting with his mule that had stubbornly sat in the middle of traffic.

“Vy…” Michael turned to her as the man slapped the animal on the hind end. “I want you to speak up. Sure Latoya is here on my and Marlon’s asking, but if she suggests anything you’re not comfortable with, you tell her. You understand? I don‘t want you to just follow her blindly. You speak up.”

“Yes…” Vylette was thoughtful as the mule reared and knocked its owner to the ground. “But it’s very sweet and kind of her to help anyway--”

“Don’t be her lapdog though.”

“I’ll make glue of you, goddamned, a-cursed beast!!!” The man screamed, red-faced, as finally, the mule moved.

Rolling along, Michael wisely changed the topic.

“Have you been writing, Darling? I’m still waiting to read Four Days to San Francisco.”

Gazing out the window at the sea of blurred faces, Vylette was regretful.

“I haven’t had a chance. Between the emergency meetings of the Ladies Christian League Mama’s dragged me to, and the chores at home…I couldn’t find the time.”

She hoped Michael wouldn’t feel he’d wasted money on her lilac typewriter.

Vylette kept it herself the utter misery the meetings had been for her, with Ulrich’s mother, Mary Povah constantly giving Vylette and Lorraine dirty looks, as her son and his best friend had been so quickly thrown over in favor of the Jacksons.

They were still only seen as immoral Yankees to Mrs. Povah and she couldn’t understand how her own best friend, Kathleen Meraux, could endorse them and condone her two girls to consort with them.

But she was in the minority, because as more times passed and the Jacksons became more permanent fixtures around town and at Mass, more and more people were greeting them, being kind to them and trying to get along.

“And do you like the League?” Michael produced a hanky at a stoplight, wiping his mouth.

Shoulders bounced.

“It’s alright. There’s only a few girls my age in it--me, Lorraine, a few of the Pringle cousins, and the oldest Povah girl.”

While Mary was being evil, sixteen-year-old Hannah, was as sweet-natured and goofy as her brother.

“It’s rather boring. Lately all they’ve been doing is bickering about how to raise funds for the soup kitchen, to reopen it.”

Going as the light turned green, Michael sniffled.

“How long has the kitchen been closed? I haven’t heard mention for quite some time.”

“I…I don’t know. It closed the day before you and Marlon…saw…” Vylette stammered and didn’t need to complete her statement, Michael’s hand gripping hers.

It had shut down the day before the men had gone ape over the girls being beaten so badly.

“Who benefits from the kitchen? Who is fed?” The car sailed up the street near the Park De La Bellevue Vylette liked.

“Oh…Daddy…your hands are so cold…” Lorraine whimpered in her sleep, shifting.

“Uh, mostly people in the ‘Bottoms’. The poorest families in the Parish--tenant farmers, sharecroppers…”

“Are children going hungry?”

Yawning Vylette concurred. “I suppose so, if the mothers and fathers can’t provide or afford to feed them.”

Before Michael, appearing quite distressed, could voice his concern, Vylette’s eyes fell to her lap.

“I know it helped people--the kitchen. But it was miserable working in the kitchen. It was terribly hard work. Peeling, chopping vegetables. Plucking and de-boning chickens. Sweating to death over stoves. Burning myself on biscuit pans and coffee pots…the scent of unwashed bodies--”

“You should never have been punished that way!” Michael spoke up sharply. “Being forced into that. It’s unhealthy. It sours you on volunteering and the helping of the less fortunate. Makes you resent others with less. Hardens and blackens hearts!”

Unphased by Michael’s prophetic concern and worry, Vylette dismissed him simply,

“The kitchen is closed, now.

She should have felt more, more empathy, but all she knew was sweat, burns, cuts, and nausea at the thought of the soup kitchen. A part of her was even relieved it was closed.

Next to her, Michael’s handsome face registered its grief at Vylette’s indifference, and the hand on her thigh raised, pointing.

“There’s the Landmark.”

Before them, behind rolling green lawns and immaculate hedges, a skyscraper of beige masonry stretched on for thirty stories above them.

“Wow…” Vylette’s mouth hung as Michael joined the line of luxury vehicles near the door, where men in gay suits and beautiful women in a variety of sumptuous fabrics and jewelry were alighting and dismounting.

As they pulled closer, with four cars still ahead of them, a team of teenaged boys, dressed spankingly in maroon epaulet jackets gleaming with gold braid and brass buttons down the front came flying.

And one appeared on the running board at Michael’s side.

“Good morning, Sir!” He grinned broadly as Michael rolled the window down. “Would you and your party care to get down here, and a valet park your car?”

The boy was addressing Michael, but his dark eyes were on Vylette’s thigh and covertly, Michael covered her leg.

“Yes--”

“Shall I take your bags, Sir?”

“We aren’t staying, only visiting, thank you.”

Turning in his seat, Michael slapped the fedora from his brother’s face.

“Hey, wake up! Beauty sleep didn’t do you any good--still ugly as spoiled milk!”

“Man, fuck you!” Marlon hissed sleepily, golden eyes narrowed, before noticing the bellhop, going around opening doors.

“Oh!”

He was shaking Lorraine and Vinnie.

“Cherry! Lil’ Bit! We’re here, come on!”

“Oh, hmmm…gosh!” Lorraine’s eyes lit up as Marlon helped her out.

“Gee Whiz--I wish Hildegard could see this!” Vinnie cooed, being helped out by the bellhop, leaning back and staring skywards.

“This is the tallest building I ever saw! I bet you can see into Heaven on the top floor!”

“Welcome to the Landmark, Ma‘am.” The bellhop was grinning at Vylette, as she stepped down onto the bricked sidewalk.

“Thank you…” Vylette started and Michael’s hand clutched hers, showing possession.

“Lavinia.” His free hand was extended to the child who took it.

“You…you have a nice family, Sir…” The hop stammered, teeth showing, but fear in his eyes at Michael’s glare.

“Thanks, I know.”

A dollar was tossed to the boy, and Michael, tugging the Merauxs, led them towards Marlon and Lorraine standing a few feet away.

“Michael…” Vylette tittered, surprised at his behavior.

Was he getting jealous over a nobody?

“It’s best little perverts like him believe you’re my wife and Vinnie, my daughter…they’ll live longer.”

Grinning brightly, Marlon slipped his arm around Lorraine and they continued up to the glittering gold and glass doors, where it was opened by the doorman.

“Welcome to the Landmark Hotel!” He hooted and was nodded at as the five passed off into the lobby.

“Zowie!”

On the three females, pink mouths opened, showing small, even white teeth, and eyes, green, grey and lavender-blue tripled in size, sweeping the grandiose spectacle into which they had stepped.

Xanadu.

That’s what it was--sheer Xanadu past the doors.

The lobby of the Landmark Hotel, a building as old as New Orleans itself, looked something pulled straight from the Palace of Versailles.

Under their feet, the floor was a bold, graphic, black and white marble, arranged in a checkerboard fashion, leading from the marbled archway.

Off to the side, where many of the debutantes, rested and chatted, was a grand, curling staircase, leading to the second level.

Several turned and observed this motley crew of Northern Yankees and Southern Bumpkins.

People who seemed to have walked right off the pages of the latest fashion magazines.

The best suits, fanciest dresses and largest gems were on display for all to see.

And judging by the smiles they were receiving, this five some blended just as well as if they belonged there.

Softly, The Blue Danube Waltz played.

This was a different game, and they were fooling the players.

Could no one really, really tell that these people weren’t natural to the habitat?

It’s didn’t appear so, as another suit-wearing gentleman tilted his hat and the icy blonde on his arm found her coral lips curling in welcome.

Feeling proud and satisfied, Vylette was standing taller and ahead of her she saw Lorraine doing the same.

They were no different than the debutantes around them. They were just as beautiful, mannered, and cultured when on Michael’s and Marlon’s arms.

They joined a line of people waiting to speak with the concierge.

“Would you care to sit, Dear?” Michael started to question, when a light, childish voice, heavy with a flat drawl announced,

“I like your dress.”

Next to Vinnie, a young girl had materialized.

She seemed about her age and was quite fashionable for a child so young.

Her hair, black and shiny, had been bobbed to her chin and finger waved, decorated with a red scarf that matched her satin dress, that wrapped her high forehead, and made her dark brown complexion glow.

Pushing at Vinnie, Michael bent and whispered,

“Say thank you.”

Vylette couldn’t recall if her sister had ever been complimented on her clothing before.

“Thank you! I like yours!” Vinnie spit out an the girl put out her hand,

“ How do you do? My name’s Esther Vale, what’s yours?”

“My name’s Vinnie Meraux…”

Vylette was proud of her sister, they hadn’t been there five minutes and already her sister was making a friend.

“That’s so cute!” Michael commented, letting go of Vinnie, leaving her to chat.

“…I’m from Louisville, Kentucky…how about you?”

“Rainelle Parish, Louisiana…”

“She’s got the right idea…” Marlon nodded with approval as they reached the front desk, squeezing Lorraine.

“Told you it was easy Lori, when look right.”

“May I help you, Sir?” The concierge, a balding fellow with a nose a mile long, wondered.

“Yes, what room is Miss Latoya Jackson in? She’s expecting us.”

“Jackson…” The man turned his attention to the ledger, perusing the handwritten names of those visiting.

(Author’s Note: No computer search engines here gang!)

“Ah yes, here it is--Miss Jackson is in Room 1267. Please, take the elevators just through there…”

He was pointing off past the grand stair case, where a pair of boys in sailor suits sat on the floor, playing Jacks.

“Much obliged.” Marlon smiled and Michael called,

“Sweetie!” to Vinnie, still chatting with little Esther.

It warmed Vylette to see the two girls embrace, with Esther waving.

“Nice girl?” Michael asked and Vinnie nodded, face glowing and fell into step with him.

“Yes, Sir! Esther says she’s here to stay with her grandmother…she just moved from Kentucky.”

“Aww, that’s nice. Staying permanently or for the summer?” Michael’s large hand swallowed up Vinnie’s as they proceeded past steps where the boys played.

The large hall before the open door of the elevator was empty, encased in pure white marble, a few oversized potted palms here and there.

The elevator man had been cracking his knuckles, but broadened into attention as the group reached them.

“Going up?” He called out with authority, and the fashionable five entered the mirrored cubicle where Lorraine began preening before her own reflection, removing her hat and smoothing at her straight flaming, locks.

“Twelfth floor, please.” Michael instructed as Lorraine was pinching her cheeks, flooding them with pink.

“Right away, Sir!” The man nodded and with the pressing of a gleaming, polished brass lever, the doors shut and the box was slowly making it’s ascent.

For the most part, it was a silent ride, lasting a few minutes, but in those few minutes, Vylette had been afforded time to think.

Standing there, gazing at the reflections of those that mattered most to her, she wondered just what Latoya Jackson would have in mind for herself and Lorraine.

What would happen to her? Would her hair be bobbed short? How short? Would it be permed?

If makeup came into play, how would it be applied? Would she still be able to recognize herself.

And most importantly, what would her mother say?

“Ooooh…” Lorraine tittered and Vylette’s eye drifted to her cousin, still fussing over her appearance.

Lorraine.

For ages, Lorraine had wanted to emulate that sexpot Jean Harlow. Would come out of this white-blonde with finger waves? How would she look? Would it become her? Would she be happy finally?

She was so nervous!

Vylette clutched Michael’s hand and looked to him, only to see he was bent, having a quiet conversation with Vinnie.

“…I liked her scarf. It looked pretty…”

“If you want a scarf, I’ll get you one.”

“Gee!”

“Twelfth floor!”

Vylette jumped slightly as the elevator jerked to a halt and the doors slid open, revealing a hallway.

“Thank you.” Five voices mumbled as they, led in the front by Marlon, nearly dragging Lorraine from her reflection, stepped out.

The floor was silent, save for that gentle classical music being pumped through speakers from somewhere.

Upstairs, for the most part, the hall was white, the only color coming from the golden, circular wall hangings and the gold and white benches set here and there between more of those potted palms. Overhead, dozens of crystal chandeliers sparkled.

It was a bit understated but quite posh and modish in setting.

Vinnie staggered along, trying to see all at one, head whipping back and forth.

“This place is astounding…” Lorraine was whispering, leaning upwards to Marlon.

“I wonder if anyone famous has stayed here. It’s so lovely…”

“It should be… at least Toy is getting my money’s worth out of this place…” Marlon grumbled head wagging.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Lorraine asked in a hushed whisper…

“Is…it very expensive for a room here?”

“Nah…a hundred and fifteen dollars a night is cheap!” Marlon quipped sarcastically, and both Lorraine and Vylette fell silent.

The price of a stay there was more astronomical and costly than either had envisioned.

Especially when the price of room and board at the only rooming house in the Parish was about a dollar a week!

The Landmark was crafted to cater to a certain breed of people.

“What did that fella with the beak say? Twelve sixty-seven?” Marlon spoke aloud, squinting at the brass number plates next to the shut doors of the dozen or so rooms lining the halls.

“Yeah--that’s it.” Michael pointed out a closed door to their left and they clustered around it.

Large fist up, Marlon knocked loudly several times.

And to his chagrin, there was no reply.

“Goddamn!” He swore under his breath and grabbed at the glass knob, twisting it and easily, the door opened.

“Come on!” Marlon groaned, head shaking and they advanced forward into an elegant room.

There was a large sitting area, outfitted in shades of lilac, cream and white, and spread around on the purple carpet were plump armchairs and couches. On the relieved walls, were simple, gilt-framed paintings of larger than life white and purple flowers in vases.

Simple standing lamps in that royal color dotted the room, and in an ashtray, the butt of a Crown cigarette, much like the male Jacksons enjoyed, smoked after having been snuffed out.

Taking a few steps inside, Marlon questioned,

“Latoya? You here?”

Across from them the ,door to what was presumably the bedroom cracked, and a very high-pitched, affected voice called back,

“Marlon, Michael, is that you, My Darlings?”

Latoya even sounded regal and rich.

“Nope! It’s Honest Abe and that Booth Character. We decided to skip the play!” Marlon cackled and the room shook with laughter.

“I shall be out in un moment!” Came the reply as something thudded behind the door. “Please have a seat and make yourselves comfortable!”

(Author’s Note: I so rarely actually listen to what Latoya Jackson has to say, I had to go find a video of her speaking to hear her voice!)

Around the room, the Jacksons and the Merauxs decorated the couches.

“I really like this place, don’t you?” Lorraine announced as Marlon draped his arm around her, hand patting at one of the lumps her breasts made in her blouse.

“It’s beautiful.” Vylette concurred, slapping at Michael’s hand as he clutched her thigh.

Vinnie, sitting in an armchair, ankles crossed, was devouring the room with her eyes.

“Now what is this…” Marlon huffed, picking up a sizable silver frame and looking at the photograph contained in it.

“Love Claude--this must be the boyfriend.” Marlon turned the picture for all to see, showing off a very handsome man. He appeared White, but with a bit of an exotic flare to him in the form of light eyes, waved dark hair, thick, heavy brows and a smattering of a mustache above a thin mouth in a strong, angular face.

He was looking off to the right, the light accentuating his colorless eyes.

“Boyfriend for now, anyways…” Michael chuckled and Marlon grinned.

After a few moments of idleness, the door to the bedroom opened and from it emerged a spot of blinding brightness.

A rather petite woman, was swathed in exceptionally bright, and unseasonably warm, tangerine velvet.

As Vylette’s eyes focused, she found Michael had not been kidding about his sister.

Latoya Jackson, two years Michael’s senior at twenty-seven years old, appeared as youthful as Vylette herself, was a very slim and short woman, barely appearing to stand past five feet tall.

She was quite beautiful and in a way looked as though she could have passed for being Michael’s female twin. She bore the same taut features and slender nose.

Her hair, thick and black, fell to her shoulders,, parted in the middle, was worn in deep finger waves, playing off a complexion that was in the light fawn range, bearing powder of a slightly lighter shade.

Her features were enhanced by makeup--eyes rimmed with black liner, lids darkened with a deep matte brown, lashes false and fluttering.

Her cheeks glowed with a deep pink blusher and her lips coordinated with her dress, echoing in coral.

Her flair for the dramatic was obvious, as her dress itself was plain tangerine, cinched with a turquoise chain-link belt, but on her thin arms were long, floor sweeping gauntlets that started mid forearm, and widened out like butterfly wings, the velvet in a swirling orange and turquoise print.

Greedily, the girls, even Vinnie, were staring, taking in her fineness.

She did seem the type of woman that afforded and needed the best things in life.

She was so fashionable, refined, expensive.

From her ears, gold and turquoise chandeliers swung.

Hands, tipped with long, almond shaped nails, painted coral as her lips were outstretched as she came running forward.

“Baby brothers!!! Come here and give me a great big hug!!!” She exclaimed and was jumping against Michael and Marlon, hugging them tightly and leaving coral lip prints upon their cheeks.

“Goodness, I haven’t seen you since Christmas at Maureen’s in Albany! You look wonderful!” Latoya was beaming, teeth glowing.

“You look great too!” Michael had his arm slung around her tiny waist. “The Infamous Claude has been looking after you?”

“You know it!” Latoya pinched his cheek.

“Toy…I’d like you to meet some very special women.” Michael pulled his sister closer and on her opposite side, Marlon had a huge grin plastered on his face as the three rose.

“Latoya, this is my girlfriend, Vylette Meraux, her cousin and Marlon’s girlfriend, Lorraine Devereaux, and Vylette’s little sister, Lavinia--”

“Vinnie!”

“--Vinnie Meraux.”

“How do you do? So pleased to meet you all!” Latoya, instead of shaking hands was embracing each girl, and smelled sweetly of lemon verbena perfume.

Turning, she reached and squeezed each of their brother’s chins talking through her teeth,

“You two certainly know how to pick your snow bunnies!”

As her brothers laughed bashfully, heads drooping, Latoya faced the girls again.

“Lavinia…” She addressed Vinnie by her formal name and pointed out her chair. “You have a seat. I’d like to focus on your sister and cousin first.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Vinnie, pouting, returned to her seat as the Jacksons plopped onto the couch.

“She’s so polite.” Latoya grinned broadly after the child. “That Southern Charm I’ve heard so much about is alive and well. So you girls want to be made over? Change your looks and reach your full beauty potentials?”

Hands pressed into that small midsection and Latoya’s brow furrowed.

“Yes…please…” Between them, a white and freckled hand grasped, as the girls, realizing just what was falling onto them, hung on for dearest life.

“You girls are very fortunate.” Those soft, painted hands were clasped in front of Latoya. “I am the first and last word in fashion back home. Really, half the women from the best of the best families in New York, New Jersey and Rhode Island take heed of my instruction and heed my knowledge. Fashion is my life, and I’ve studied the ins and out of it as a hobby since I was younger than Lavinia. As a performer, image is everything and that is also true in real life.”

She mussed at her waves.

“Everyday, you girls go outside the doors of your house, you’re on display. People are looking at you. And in every instance, people are judging you. It may seem utterly superficial, but you are judged on your appearance, no matter how briefly you’re observed. You are in the company of Jacksons and we’ve built our fortunes on our talent and looks…I will help you achieve your greatest beauty. And beautiful women deserve admiration.”

“They have it.” Michael pointed out and the two older girls smiled.

They were admired.

Stepping so close, that she was invading their personal space, Latoya Jackson’s dark eyes were darting back and forth over the older girls, scrutinizing them.

Reaching up, she removed their hats and tossed them to her brothers, who were removing their own.

“I understand you two just made eighteen?” She questioned still looking back and forth.

“Yes…”

“What’s your backgrounds? Are you White or Colored?”

“C-Colored…” Vylette stammered hands beginning to wring, as Latoya’s gaze lit on her with a burning intensity. She hoped Latoya’s changes to her wouldn’t be too drastic.

“I’m Colored with a little French and Irish, and Lorraine is Colored and French--”

“My Papa had a little Welsh in him.” Lorraine added and Vylette nodded.

“I see.” Latoya’s head bobbed and those talon-clad hands gripped a white and freckled wrist and she was pulling the girls over to one of the open windows of the room, allowing fresh air in. “I need to see you in natural light, so I can asses your coloring…”

Timidly, the girls were brought to the window, and Latoya, put her attentions on Lorraine first.

Bringing her to the large window, the light falling on her, illuminating her features, hands grasped her shoulders and Latoya was eyeing her the way an art lover did a Matisse or a Monet.

“I so rarely get to work with natural redheads. They fascinate me…” Latoya remarked, hand making Lorraine’s head turn back and forth.

“Thank you!” Lorraine started to smile, but it left her face as Latoya continued to stare at her.

“You’re a true auburn, with coppery highlights…you eyes are grey with a green tinge to them…your brows are too thick and need some type of arching to open up your eyes. Your red lashes need to be darkened. You do have a good complexion, no blemishes or blackheads, but the freckles should go…you can bleach them out with diluted lemon juice once a week. Your skin is pale, but a bit on the sallow side--yellow isn’t helping it--”

“Shit!” Marlon, whom had picked out the green and yellow dress cursed, as he felt the dress did Lorraine justice.

“--but, a beige powder, and a rosy-pink blusher will help correct it. You have a fine skin and good bone structure. Your face is quite symmetrical….”

Behind Latoya, Vylette could see Michael mocking his sister, mouthing her statements and crossing his eyes, causing Vinnie to giggle.

Lorraine was put a few steps away, and Vylette pulled forward.

Again, Latoya was scanning her face, and Vylette wanted to shy away from the examination.

“Vylette, My Dear…” Warm fingers gripped her chin and tilted her face upwards. “…what powder are you wearing?”

“I-I’m not wearing any makeup.” Vylette was astounded and Latoya’s eyes bugged.

“You are one of the fairest women I’ve ever seen. You usually don’t see skin like this outside of England!” Latoya nodded and Vylette was speechless.

“You are very beautiful…” Latoya was tilting Vylette’s face, observing her eyes. “What a positively queer eye color. They’re almost purple! How enchanting with your skin and black hair. Your lashes don’t need darkening, they’re black as it is…your brows could be thinned. Such a lovely nose and well-shaped mouth. As fair as you are, I’d suggest only the palest of powders and rouge…but with your black hair, you can wear red lipsticks.”

“Alright…” Vylette knew as much about choosing lipsticks as Latoya probably did about scrubbing a pot.

The older girls were led back to seating area, where Michael and Marlon were calmly smoking cigarettes, and Latoya pointed at Vinnie.

“Come here, child--”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Instantly, Vinnie was on her feet.

“All three of you, take your hair down, so I can see how it behaves…” Latoya instructed.

Vinnie’s bow was off in a second, but the older girls took longer, removing the forty-odd bobby pins holding their coifs in place.

Hair tumbled down backs and reached to waists.

Latoya leapt on Lorraine first.

“My God…your hair is so straight! You need a permanent wave, immediately. A Marcel will do you justice!”

Smiling at the prospect of a permanent like she had been craving in her near future, Lorraine’s mouth came open.

“Would you suggest my bobbing it?”

“NO!” The cigarette in Marlon’s mouth fell to the floor--Michael picked it up quickly--”Hell no, Lorraine, you ain’t cutting your hair! I love your hair long! You ain’t cutting shit!”

A grimace bent those delicate, freckled features, and Vylette knew the hair would remain long. Lorraine was practically Marlon’s lackey, and did all he asked. And she wouldn’t allow her vanity to put him out with her.

Hell, if he said jump out the window, twelve stories up, she’d have been a blood splat on the street below.

Those pink lips puckered a moment, and then Lorraine posed another questioned that knocked the curl clear out Marlon Jackson’s hair.

“How do you think I would look, blonde as Jean Harlow?”

“What in the goddamned hell?”

Marlon was up and pushing his sister aside to face Lorraine.

“Blonde? What the hell do you mean blonde? Lorraine, I like you red! I call you CHERRY for crying out loud! Blonde? Holy shit--”

“Marlon! There’s females here--” Michael started to warn.

“I’ll make a female outta you--shut up!” Marlon shrieked and Latoya tossed her head.

“Getting that blonde, is possible…” Latoya commented and Marlon went stony. “…but it requires touchups weekly. Also, it’s quite a harsh process.”

Latoya’s hand came up to touch at Lorraine’s hair, and Marlon coarsely shoved it away.

“Have both of you gone daffy and deaf? Do you NOT hear me: She ain’t going blonde!”

“I can ask, Daddy…” Lorraine’s bottom lip quivered and it was clear she was near tears at his opposition. Before then, everything she had asked for had gotten a “Yes” and money flung at it.

“NO!” Marlon stamped his foot like an impatient child on the verge of a tantrum.

“Waving is fine! Everyone waves, even my momma, but you ain’t bobbing or bleaching your hair. Damn that, hell no! You’re beautiful as is. NO! You‘re getting makeup, you‘re getting clothes. Leave the frame as it is. Gimme my cigarette!”

Marlon stormed over to Michael, snatching his cancer stick and sucking deeply on it.

Smoke flew from his flaring nostrils.

Lorraine ran her hands through her hair, but said no more, frowning sadly.

So much for emulating Miss Harlow.

Vylette felt for her and would have offered some kind word, but Latoya was hovering near her.

“Before you get started…” Michael held a hand up.

“Vylette isn’t cutting her hair, either. If it’s cut, you’ll be going back to Manhattan bald as a cue ball, Sis. And it’s staying black. She’s a raven-haired woman and she’s staying that way.” He stamped out his cigarette with conviction.

“Well, damn, don’t these girls have a say in anything?”

Latoya’s hands pressed her hips and she lamented.

Both men held their hands out to their women who quickly declared,

“We’ll keep our hair long.”

“Christ.” Latoya paused long enough to take the cigarette Marlon had just lit and started to puff on it.

“…I could understand if you were married…”

Latoya started towards Vinnie, who hugged her sister.

“I can’t cut my hair, Mama will be angry!” She whimpered, and Latoya’s eyes rolled.

“We won’t cut your hair, Lavinia. And you’re far too young for a wave. I’d suggest a wet-set pin curl to help enhance the natural curl.”

A sigh of relief left Vylette and her sister grinned up at her.

“Vinnie is a pretty child…” Latoya handed the stub of a cancer stick back to her brother, and Michael had to grab him to keep him from throwing it on Latoya and setting her ablaze.

“Now to assess figures. Please remove your clothing down to your undergarments.” Latoya sat in an armchair and crossed her legs, an orange velvet shoe peeking out.

“What?” The Meraux girls hugged each other aghast.

“But…there’s men here!” Vinnie hid her face in her sister’s arm.

“Many of the greatest designers are men…”Latoya stated matter-of-factly, foot wagging “And if you can’t overcome this modesty, you’ll never have custom garments made. Now, off…”

That was the difference in the people.

In a flash, Lorraine was nearly nude, standing in her yellow lace teddy, with green garters and stockings.

She had no care that Michael could see her.

Her eyes landed on her cousins and with an urgency, and hunger to learn what would benefit her, they widened.

“Come on Vinnie…” Vylette encouraged. “This is just like when Papa gives us checkups…it’s alright.”

Eventually, Vylette stood in a cream lace teddy and her garters and stockings Vinnie in a chemise, drawers and socks all in a light pink.

Embarrassed Vinnie glanced at Michael and Marlon, but found them staring at the older girls.

“What are your height, weight and measurements?” Latoya questioned, recessing her legs.

“I’m five-foot-four, one hundred and twenty-six pounds. Bust: Thirty-eight, Waist: Twenty-seven, Hips: Thirty-five.”

“Hmmm…” Latoya thought a moment. “You’re a good size, well, proportioned, a bit busty. Most everything will look good on you, just stay away from yellow-based colored and reds that will clash with your hair color.”

“You?” She peered down her nose at Vylette.

“Five-foot-seven, one hundred, twenty-nine pounds. Thirty-nine and a half, twenty-eight, thirty-six.”

Vylette was a bit bashful letting Marlon hear her measurements, but she stated it nonetheless.

“You are taller, and a bit busty too…I assume it runs in your family?” Latoya wondered and all three girls nodded.

“You have a good body Vylette, but you seem a bit too plump…you could stand to lose a good five pounds--”

“HELL NO!!!!”

The inhuman, guttural cry was emitted from Michael Jackson as he launched himself out of the couch, scaring all within in earshot.

His hands gripped Vylette’s upper arms hard as he stood behind her, speaking over her head at his sister.

“Don’t you dare fix your mouth to tell Vylette to reduce, Latoya Yvonne! This ain’t funny anymore! You’re not going to talk Vylette into reducing and have her die like that Barbara Lamarr woman--”

Heads snapped and eyes were on in Michael.

Had…had Latoya talked that tragic actress into the diet that caused her untimely death?

“You little shit!” Latoya gasped losing color. “I don’t know Barbara Lamarr! How dare you insinuate--”

“What I mean is: Vylette’s father is a doctor and I’ve never heard mention of her figure from him. Don’t you give my girlfriend a complex about her body, because she is gorgeous! You hear me? Gorgeous! Not everyone has to weigh ninety-five pounds like you!”

Latoya’s mouth opened and her eyes showed murder.

“Vylette, put on your dress, I’ll take you home right now.”

Michael instructed letting go of her and starting to collect her clothes from a nearby chair.

Was it all over? Was the makeover, over before it had truly begun?

“Wait a minute! Wait a damn minute!” Latoya’s hands were in the air. “Calm down Michael. Don’t give yourself a stroke!”

Swiftly, she was running damage control.

Latoya’s hands clasped Vylette’s.

“I’m sorry. If I insulted you, I apologize, Vylette. Really.”

Latoya was remorseful and her wavy head lowered.

“It’s quite alright. You’re just being helpful.”

A relieved smile came to Latoya’s face and she looked to Vinnie.

“I expect your sister will look something like you as she grows and develops…” Latoya giggled and gangly Vinnie, who had coveted her sisters curves for years, glowed.

“Now…have a seat, please…”

The girls returned to the couch, Lorraine in Marlon’s lap, and Latoya put her hands on her hips.

“There are some perks to my dabbling in makeovers…in my boudoir, are two large boxes, each filled with an exciting new cosmetics line called Ferocious. It’s been sweeping Europe the past two years and just now, Randolph’s in New York has begun to sell it. It’s all the rage with the smartest women…” Latoya lit up another cigarette.

“I’m one of the first people to have it, and probably the only one in Louisiana with it now. There are a lot of perks to dating Mr. Claude Randolph.”

Vylette tried to contain herself. Latoya was dating a department store mogul!

“Oh my God!” Lorraine was up and bouncing, Marlon watching happily as her womanly bits jiggled.

“Makeup, I get to wear makeup! Vylette, did you hear?”

Arms wrapped her and the two jumped together.

Vylette put her hands to her mouth, stunned. She was receiving makeup? Really? To keep and take home with her?

She only hoped her mother wouldn’t be too upset about it, as she sorely opposed “painted” women. But Vylette would wear it--if Michael had purchased it for her.

Sauntering to her brothers, Latoya told them plainly, with no sort of cushion for the blow,

“Your girls will need some money--”

“What in the hell for?” Marlon squinted up at her.

It could only be speculated as to how much money Marlon and Michael had shelled out between the transport and put up of their sister.

But considering the surroundings and how Latoya Jackson appeared to be ‘first class’ in ever facet, it could be assumed they had paid dearly for her so far.

But at the mention that they would need money, all three girls looked at Latoya earnestly.

Money?

What would they need money for? Would…would they have to pay for these beauty treatments?

All Vylette possessed was a dollar bill, hidden in her bosom and her relatives had nothing at all. Vinnie was a child and Lorraine already was relying on Marlon heavily.

Vylette glanced at Michael, who was lazily reclined, long legs crossed and watching her solemnly. She felt a bit guilty, thinking of what must have been spent on them already.

Oh, so very much.

Becoming a new woman was an expensive business.

She started to open her mouth to object to anymore coming out of pocket when Latoya spoke first.

False lashes fluttering, a hand went to her waist and she sighed,

“I have a table reserved for us down in Tropics Room for dinner at seven tonight. I know you fellows have been down in the South a while, but I’m sure people still dress for dinner in a place like this. So they’ll need--”

Marlon stood suddenly.

“So they’ll need evening dresses and shoes and bags and things…? And Michael and I will need tuxes?” It was Marlon’s turn to sigh.

“In a nutshell…” Latoya was brushed past and Marlon approached Lorraine.

“Cherry, would you like to go out to dinner with my sister tonight?” He asked softly, eyes roving over that freckled body.

“Yes--yes, Daddy…” Lorraine reached up and tugged on his mustache eyes flicking in that spotlight way and winning him over.

From the couch, Michael rose slowly and approached Vylette.

Vylette felt a chill in her bosom, at the way Michael was staring at her in that intoxicating way.

Thin brows were raised and his eyes widened beneath them, a fire in them.

There was a hint of the naughty, just below the surface.

His cologne tickled her nostrils as he leaned closely to her.

“You…will need to eat…later on. Won’t you?”

He whispered, and cheeks flaming hot, Vylette nodded.

“Then…” Those dark saucers met hers and Vylette felt weak.

“…I shall get dresses for you and Vinnie.”

His lips brushed her cheek and she quivered.

That simply, that easily, Vylette was going to receive her first evening gown.

“Thank you…” She stammered pressing her lips to his, and Vinnie squished between them, hugging him.

This…this kind of fortune was almost too much to bear.

This ease, this lax with money and being afforded things on a whim.

This world…it was so strange.

So spoil some.

“I’ll get you something pretty, and not YELLOW, since it seems to be a demon color.” Marlon was telling Lorraine, arms wrapped around her middle and pecking at her neck.

“I’d wear a gunnysack if you liked it.”

“Any particular color you’d like?” Michael was pinching Vylette’s cheek.

“Whatever you like.” Vylette was breathless, and Vinnie smiled peacefully up at him.

A large hand came down and was on top of the child’s head, turning her gaze away.

A hand grasped the back of Vylette’s neck and she was forced into a much stronger, fiercer kiss, Michael lips hard on hers.

Vylette saw white lights, staggered and threw her arms around Michael, just as her knees gave out.

She was toted/dragged to the closest chair and helped into it.

“I’ll see you tonight, my Pretty Young Thing.” Michael took her hand and his lips bumped the top of it.

He tapped Vinnie’s chin.

“You too, Tiny.” and the child giggled.

“Shamone…” Michael crossed back to Marlon, who had his hands full of freckled flesh, kissing wickedly at Lorraine.

Vinnie hid her face against the sight.

Latoya was off to the side, making a cigarette disappear.

“Marlon! Leave the woman some lips to put lipstick on! Gosh!” Michael smacked at the back of his brother’s bobbing head.

The kissing became more fevered, and finally, Marlon managed to jerk his head away.

“Daddy-no!” Lorraine protested, hands on her hips and lunged at him.

She never could seem to get enough of that man. And the more she had, the more she wanted.

“Lorraine!” Vylette rushed over grabbing her cousin by the arm and whispering rapidly at her, trying to remind her of her actions.

Did Lorraine want Latoya to think she was a wanton tramp with no self control?

“Fine!” Lorraine hid her face with a sheet of red hair, and beaming at the all the attention being poured upon him, Marlon was yanked away by Michael.

Who knew what would have happened had those two been allowed to carry on in such a lewd manner?

If only Kathleen could have seen them cutting up.

“We’ll meet you all tonight in the Tropics Room.” Michael called as he shoved his brother through the door.

Vylette watched that tall, regal, curly haired creature go, her heart thudding against her ribcage.

So desperately she wanted to appeal to him, have him treasure how she turned out. She sought his approval like a bee seeking the bud of a flower.

Before the night went down, Vylette was going make her first real, honest-to-goodness foray into the world.

The strange, storied and scary world of The Wealthy.

* * *

Several Hours Later

The Landmark Hotel

New Orleans, Louisiana

At precisely ten minutes to seven, all was quiet on the twelfth floor of one of the oldest establishments in the Crescent City.

The immaculate and stretching marble hallways laid without movement, empty and devoid of life.

The only true sound to be heard, came in the form of that classical music, pumped through the hotel nonstop between the hours of ten a.m. and ten p.m.

Whatever was being done behind the many closed doors of that floor, was being done covertly, without a sound.

And then…there was a sound.

Ping!

On the west wing of the hotel, a small bell chimed, and a moment later, the gilded, polished doors of one of the elevators popped open.

Slumping languidly against the mirrored façade, the operator, a boy in his early teens, dug into the pocket of his maroon uniform jacket, and produced a small caramel, wrapped in wax paper.

No sooner had the boy put the treat in his mouth, just long enough for it to tangle with his teeth, he heard a stirring.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

Heels clacked on the marble, and it as if sounded several people was making their way to the elevator.

Struggling to swallow the entire cube of burnt sugar--as eating on the job could cause termination--the boy nearly choked and coughed loudly.

Onto the elevator stepped four females, three women, and one little girl.

And whilst the boy, employed as the elevator operator for nearly a year, had grown quite accustomed to the glitterati wafting back and forth in a general day, he found himself staring at these females.

These very beautiful women.

He didn’t so much mind the child, a girl of about ten, whom stepped in first. An adorable, thin girl ,her body covered in a sky-blue satin dress, trimmed with rosettes and bows, and gauzy with white lace yoke, and short puffed sleeves.

Her hair, arranged in black ringlets, grazed her shoulders, contrasting her pale face.

The blue satin ribbon tied into her hair, made her decidedly grey eyes have a bluish tint to them.

The boy’s attention was attracted to the woman who’s hand the girl was holding.

A hand tipped by almond shaped nails, painted crimson, with the tips and moons left bare.

The tall, hauntingly beautiful, raven haired lady.

She was dressed simply, yet sophisticatedly, in a deep, rich navy, sleeveless dress, which reached the floor, and concealed her small, blue shoes, bearing golden heels. The only adornment to the dress was a golden printed belt, cinching the waist and showing off her womanly curves to perfection, and small, golden beads ran the length of each seam on the side.

The woman, her skin exceptionally milky, was offset by her hair, parted on the side of her heart-shaped face, and featuring glistening, wide waves were pulled back into a fashionable chignon at the nape of her long, graceful neck. Faint spit curls framed her face and from her scarcely visible earlobes, a pair of earrings, made of yellow gold, and dangling with a large, triangular deep blue sapphire swung and competed with the two bracelets on her right wrist--a plain diamond tennis bracelet and a thicker piece with more triangular cut sapphires.

The woman’s face, verging on the exotic, with strange violet-colored eyes were enhanced by very dark blue eye shadow, liner and the natural lashes blackened with mascara. The cheeks showed the barest hint of color, while her mouth, had been delicately painted with a bright red.

Brows, plucked pencil-thin and arched expertly, bounced as she held onto the child and pulled her closer to her, allowing another woman onto the elevator.

This woman, a bit shorter, but just as curvy as her predecessor came slinking in.

A breathtaking, pale redhead, she was.

Her plump form was clad in a silvery-grey, tone on tone floral chiffon gown, cut a bit low in the front, to offer a hint of budding cleavage accentuated by a three-dimensional flowers on the left strap.

As she turned, standing alongside the brunette, the redhead’s entire back was out, as the dress dipped to the very base of her spine. All of her smooth flesh exposed for the eye to see.

Her hair, a brilliant, auburn red, had been tamed, and arranged in deep waves, each wave broken up with a row of pin curls, leading to low bun at the base of her neck.

Several diamond bracelets sparkled on her right wrist, and a pair of chandeliers dangled out her ears.

Her beautiful face, her entire body was powdered all over to mask a million freckles and she was ghostly white as a result.

Her eyes seemed grey, with a green tinge, accented by a heavy dose of grey shadow, liner and thick with spidery false lashes. Her real eyebrows were gone, completely shaved away, with only a stark black curve penciled above each eye.

Her cheeks were colorless and her lips a deep, shrimpy, pink, painted in the perfect cupids bow.

Nails painted pink, in the same bare tip-and-moon style of the brunette, flicked as a hand grasped her waist idly.

Lifting her skirt, she examined her silver, strappy satin pumps.

The last woman, a small, petite and charming thing breezed onto the elevator.

She wore a dark yellow, long-sleeved dress of crepe de chine, with a dipping ‘V’ in both the front and back showing off her bronzed skin.

Around her head, showing black, shoulder-length waves, was a yellow piece, fashioned into an open flower about her left ear. Both ears bore large citrine studs.

On each wrist a matching bracelet glimmered.

Dark eyes, shadowed in brown, fluttered with lashes,

In her hand, she toted three satin bags, each in a coordinating shade to the older women’s dresses.

“Go--Going down?” The young boy squeaked, unable to conceal his stares.

The woman in yellow grinned, coral lips parting.

“The second floor, we’re meeting the rest of our party for dinner.”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

Turning to the brunette sisters and redhead, the woman in yellow questioned, watching as they all sedately shifted from side to side admiring their appearances,

“And do you all like how you turned out?”

“YES!” The reply was so loud the boy jumped.

“Oh Latoya, I don’t know how to thank you!”

Lorraine was embracing her warmly. “I feel like Jean Harlow! This is sensational! Marlon will have a conniption when he sees me!”

“Me too! I can‘t wait for Michael to get a load of me!” Vylette snickered and smiled at the reflection shining back at her. “You are a gem, Latoya.”

Who was this refined, stunning woman, wearing the finest garments, as hand-selected by her loving boyfriend?

The others she was working so tirelessly to be like.

A lady. Vylette truly felt like a lady.

“I feel like a princess…” Vinnie was whispering, staring at herself.

Indeed they had all been pampered like royalty that afternoon.

In between the massages, facials, hairstyling, manicures and makeup application (performed personally by Latoya herself) the evening gowns, jewelry and accoutrement arrived.

Nothing was on loan, everything was to keep, as described in an attached not from Michael.

“Beautiful things for my beautiful woman.”

Vylette had nearly swooned.

The finest clothes, the finest jewelry. All hers to keep. All hers to own and cherish. Thousands worth, all procured to sit and eat an overpriced meal in the company of so many others…like her.

“Do…you really think we’ll fit in?” Lorraine fretted, patting carefully at her hair.

That question had been on the older girl’s minds as they had been picked, prodded, poked and painted all the day.

“Of course, Darling.” Latoya stated matter-of-factly. “I spent half the day to produce you as you are. You look just as good as any woman walking on Fifth Avenue. Better--because you‘ll be on the arms of my brothers, and they are the best! ”

If Latoya had any modesty as to whom she was and what she stood for, it was never shown. She was straightforward and unapologetic and at times even cocky about her name.

But the name Jackson did stand for something.

All Vylette could hear was Marlon’s voice and how he said the Jacksons set the trend.

Set the trend. Were the ones other women wanted to be like. Emulated and imitated.

If Vylette weren’t careful, she was going to get a swollen head, because she felt she would be envied that night.

Who wouldn’t envy, a young, startling brunette in the best dress direct from Paris in a Franco-named boutique. and sapphires chipped from the Earth in Africa to be sold in a jewelry shop near the French Quarter.

But that didn’t really matter to her. Vylette only cared that Michael took to and liked what she had become.

Her ambition was to please him, make him smile, to enchant and charm him.

She wanted him to hold her and kiss her and admire her. Beautiful women deserved to be admired--

“Second Floor!”

At the calling her train of thought was broken, and she looked on as the doors were opened, the boy standing at attention and smiling.

The other three filed off, but Vylette remained and approached him.

They turned and gazed curiously at her.

What was she up to?

But Vylette had other ideas, and had noticed the way the boy’s sleepy olive-colored eyes had stayed on her the entire ride.

“Young man…”

“Yes, Ma’am?” The boy smiled stupidly at her acknowledgement, and was almost an imitation of the poor Povah boy.

“Do YOU think I look pretty?” Vylette questioned and he paled.

“Doy….Why yes! Very pretty, Ma’am! You look like that film actress!” He gulped and a thin brow raised.

A film actress? Vylette had never been told she resembled anyone famous that she could recall.

“An actress, which one?” She questioned and the answer nearly floored her.

“You…you look just like that actress in ’Body and Soul’-- Myrna Loy! Are you Myrna Loy?”

Vylette stared at the young, blathering creature and a smile touched her lips.

She was familiar with Myrna, an actress who was quite popular and known for vampish roles on the screen.

And from what she knew, Myrna was the opposite of Lorraine’s idol, Jean. She was darker, more sultry, and as the boy had said, quite beautiful.

To be compared to an actual film star, when film stars were the coup de grace of beauty and femininity, Vylette wanted to do backflips up and down the corridor.

Instead, she contained herself.

Reaching up, Vylette patted his greasy, pockmarked cheek with a delicate hand, giving no definitive answer and stepped from the elevator.

“May…may I tell my friends I met you?” The boy gasped after her and angelically, Vylette smiled and nodded.

“Sweet Jesus!” The boy gasped as Lorraine took her arm, with them following behind Latoya.

“You devilish fiend you! Making him believe you were Myrna Loy!” Her cousin snickered as they floated through the white and checked marble hall.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t have made believe you were Glorious Jean if you’d been allowed to bleach the hair off your head!” Vylette shot back and both smiled, feeling looser and happy.

“I wish I did look like her!”

It was official:

Tonight was their night. Their night to show up and show out.

And as they moved past others in the hallway, those approving smiles appeared again. Gentlemen nodded and Ladies said hello and how do you do?

Children waved at Vinnie like they had know her since birth.

It was wonderful.

This openness, this friendliness.

And all it took was the right hairdo, perm, and baubles.

Following Latoya, the girls proceeded, the sound of a brass band playing jazz merrily wafting from the open doors of a room flanked by two huge palms.

The Tropics Room.

Through gilded filigree doors, there were round tables as far as the eye could see, dressed in white and surrounded by red and green alternating chairs.

Crystal and china laid, waiting to be used.

Some tables were rounded by lavish folks, laughing and talking and toasting for any reason.

Cigarette and cigar smoke mingled with the scents of a variety of dishes from Pressed Duck, to Baked Fillet of Sole to Grilled Steaks.

A few yards away, in the center of the room, a dance floor was packed with couples, swaying to the beat being produced by the twenty-something piece orchestra playing.

“Ahhh, Miss Jackson!” A squat man in a black suit appeared, his bucked teeth scarcely contained by his large lips. “A pleasure to see you again!”

He declared taking her hand and pecking it.

“Hello Christopher!” Latoya tittered. “Is my table ready?”

She had been at the Landmark ONE night and already Latoya had established connections.

“But of course!” Popped eyes danced with happiness. “Right near the dance floor as you asked! Follow me!”

“Hello!”

“Hi Latoya, Baby!”

“Who’s your friends?”

“How do you do Darling!”

“I haven’t seen you since Buffy’s wedding in Saint Moritz last year!”

“As I live and breathe, Latoya Jackson!”

Every few steps, someone was calling to and stopping Latoya.

How did one come to meet so many, know so many?

Be remembered by so many?

And as they proceeded along, Vylette and Lorraine came to be acquainted with the many, as Latoya took her time to introduce the three with her.

Compliments were abundant and flowing like water.

Vinnie was “the cutest little thing.” and women DID envy Lorraine for her hair color and Vylette for her flawless complexion.

There were all sorts of types represented.

Colored, White, Oriental and Spanish, and every mixture of the sort in-between.

No one was the wiser to the Bumpkins as hands shook, teeth showed and laughs exchanged.

They were accepted, complimented, liked!

Each time, the brief intros were ended with,

“You must pardon us, we’re dining with my brothers!”

With a mere three steps taken before another acquaintance called Latoya’s name, waved her down or grabbed at her hand.

It was nearly half an hour getting from the door to the table for interruptions.

Feeling full of herself and starting to bust with pride Vylette was weaving nearer the dance floor when all in her field of vision became hazy.

From a table, two men were standing, but she could only see one clearly.

An alarmingly handsome man, wearing a pristine, brand-new black tuxedo, a deep blue bowtie and cummerbund matching her dress on display.

On his lapel, as always, was a diamond pin, in the shape of a “V”--for Vylette.

His hair, fanning around like a black halo, a single curl across the forehead, Michael Jackson was walking to her.

Floating like a formalwear angel.

“Vylette…” His voice was barely heard over the music and chatter.

“Do you like--” Vylette began and arms wrapped her waist, pulling her to him, lips mashing hers.

A few feet away, Marlon was kissing Lorraine.

No one seeming to mind who saw.

(And several men, with eyes for the new cuties, were throwing napkins and cursing in dismay.)

Lips disconnecting, Michael eyed Vylette, looking her over, eyes brimming with emotion, still gripping her tightly against him.

His chest was bumping hers as his breathing had increased ten-fold, as a hand laid on his cheek, patting it ever so gently.

He was so warm, so alive to the touch!

“My Pretty Baby…you’re perfect!”

Michael whispered into her ear, giving chills.

A chair was pulled out and Vylette helped into it. On the other side of Vylette, a chair was designated for Vinnie.

“Thank you, Michael!” The child eagerly sat, trying to remain erect like the adults around her, imitating them. Dropping beside his Lady, Michael’s hand clasped Vylette’s and he told her.

“I didn’t know how long you’d be…I ordered a mint soda for you, to go with your salad course. Is that alright?”

“Everything’s alright…” Vylette intertwined her fingers with his. “…I’m with you now.”

Vinnie’s mouth bounced as she ate one of the steaming rolls in the center of the table.

“Thank you Michael!” She tugged at his sleeve and Michael poked at her cheek, winking.

“You look beautiful too!”

“Daddy, I feel like Jean Harlow!” Lorraine was tittering, Marlon whispering nothings at her, pushing her seat up and pulling his so close he was nearly in her lap.

Latoya sipped water, from where she was seated on Marlon’s other side and waved to another friend.

After a few moments, a waiter appeared, balancing a large tray, and salads of cold lettuce wedges, drizzled with blue cheese dressing and crumbled bacon were set before everyone. Drinks soon followed.

“I like salad…” Vinnie said to no one in particular as Michael took the time to cut up the wedge for her, for easier eating.

Vylette nibbled daintily, holding Michael’s hand underneath the table in her lap.

“Is there anything you’d like in particular for dinner?” Michael questioned between bites.

“Whatever you have, I’ll have.” Vylette was all teeth. Across the table, Lorraine and Latoya were engrossed in a conversation and Marlon chewing on bacon, had eyes only for Lorraine, staring at her in a somewhat drunken manner.

He hadn’t looked that lit since he’d declared he was the Archduke Franz Ferdinand. (Whoopee!)

Michael, leaning in so that his forehead touched Vylette’s declared,

“Latoya needs to get that prize they’re always handing out in Sweden for this. I didn’t think she could improve upon perfection!”

An arm draped her shoulder and she was pulled closer.

Lovingly, a piece of buttered roll was pressed past her crimson lips, followed by a peck.

Vylette chewed on it, feeling the love radiating.

“Would you care to order?” The waiter reappeared, notepad in hand, and until then, the menus on the table hadn’t been cracked.

But Marlon took the helm, ordering for all present,

“Yes, we’ll all have the fillet mingnon, medium-well, asparagus in in the balsamic reduction, and the haricots-verts with red potatoes.”

“Fillet Mingnon! Why Marlon!” Lorraine snickered and reaching across the table slapped at Vylette’s hand, who slapped back.

They were to dine on one of the finest cuts of meat available.

Every tooth in Vinnie’s head was catching air as she smiled, thinking of the meal to come.

This beat smothered chicken and rice any day!

“Only the best!” Marlon tilted his glass of cherry soda to his mouth. “This is an occasion!”

“Every day is a damn occasion for you!” Michael laughed and Marlon pointed him.

“You got that right!”

And the table rocked.

“How can I say no, when my Baby looks like one of those models from Chanel?” Marlon guffawed, and Lorraine covered her reddened face with her hands.

“Marlon--you fool!”

Oh, it was going to be a good night.

“Good evening, Vinnie!”

Came the airy, greeting and again, out of thin air, little Esther stood at Vinnie’s side.

(This was New Orleans…perhaps she was practicing some type of voodoo!)

Again the child was outfitted better than an adult in a short purple georgette frock, matching scarf around her head.

Grey eyes lit up.

“Hello Esther!”

“How do you do?” As mannered as a woman twice her age, she greeted those around the table, gloved hand shaking everyone’s in turn.

Those dark eyes fell back on Vinnie.

“I told Grand-Mama all about you and she’d like to meet you, please.” Esther told her and automatically Vinnie whipped around to see her sister and get permission.

“May I be excused, Vylette, please?”

A content nod was all she needed and hand in hand with her friend, Vinnie was gone.

Vinnie was establishing connections and she wasn’t even out of grade school yet.

“I’m telling you, Vinnie is going over like gangbusters!” Marlon cackled and hugged his sister.

“Toy, thank you, for everything you‘ve done! And making the girls so happy!”

“Don’t mention it! I enjoyed it!” Latoya winked. “Beats the heck out of tending those theatres with Janet!”

“I am so happy…” Vylette began to gush dreamily and stopped seeing an odd expression on Michael’s face.

For once, he wasn’t looking at her.

His eyes were widened and his mouth was parted in something of a daze.

Following his gaze, Vylette saw he was staring across the room at the orchestra, starting to fill the dining area with the sounds of a smooth waltz.

“Are you ill?” Vylette was alarmed as Michael stood abruptly.

Shoulders back, and standing straight as a rod, Michael’s eyes closed and he swayed a bit.

He’d never acted so strangely, and frightened he was in need of iron, she exclaimed,

“Marlon!”

Vylette turned to his brother whom raised a hand to calm her.

“He’s alright, Vy…the music playing…it must be something by Strauss. He’s loony about those Strauss waltzes! That’s all they played at those balls in Austria. Crazy ass. Eh, but I cut up about Count Basie like a fool, too, with my jazz!”

Is that what this was about? Michael having a Vienna flashback?

Just what kind of hold did that town have over this man. What had happened there to make him so fond of it?

“Vylette Evangeline.”

Michael’s voice, so deep, it was unrecognizable called her name, and a hand was extended to her.

“Please…may I have this dance?”

There was a haunted, wild glint to his eyes as he stared down at her.

Something in his eyes told her to get up right then. Right there.

“Pardon me.” Vylette excused herself, standing and taking that hand.

As they stepped onto the floor, Vylette stopped him.

“Michael…I…I can’t dance.” She admitted, shame needling and burning her, as she had never waltzed in her life.

It didn’t’ help matters that Michael Jackson had danced since he was born and had amassed half his fortune doing so.

The best was going onto the floor, with possibly the worst.

“One does not ‘dance‘ a waltz, Violette Blanche…” One hand clasped hers and the other was placed in the center of her back.

“…with me leading, you will FLOAT!”

A couple in green swept by and suddenly, there they were.

In the thick of it, twirling gracefully pressed to Michael’s body, with him moving effortlessly, easily.

As if born to it, Vylette was waltzing.

One, two, three, turn. One, two, three, turn.

Smile, wave to our table, turn. One, two three, turn.

“See…it’s easy, Baby…” Michael pointed out, swishing her along. “This is all we do at the balls in Vienna. All night long, until dawn.”

Vienna. Ball season, was it really as magical and foreign as Michael made it out to be.

Head resting on his shoulder, Vylette questioned,

“And have you attended many of these Viennese balls?”

“The whole family gets invited. Some go, some don’t. I make sure I DO. I’ve kept count over the years…” Michael giggled in spite of himself.

“I’ve danced at about three hundred and seventeen separate balls…”

“Oh!” Vylette stiffened and nearly tripped.

Over three hundred? Michael had been to so many! No wonder he was obsessed with Austria!

“You would love it Vy…each one starts with a procession--and I’ve attended a few royal balls in my day--and it’s like leaving the modern world. Many of them require Victorian or Edwardian dress, and everyone is dressed the best. All look like princes and princesses…so regal and royal. There’s jewels and rich fabrics and crowns and tiaras.”

Again they were by the table and waved.

And Michael confided something, Vylette didn’t expect.

“You remember, when Marlon got goofy on his liquor he kept hollering he was the Archduke Franz Ferdinand?”

“Yes…” Who could forget his display of drunkenness, flapping around and screaming.

“Well, we met the Archduke in 1914...we had danced for the first time in Vienna with Brandon, the Archduke saw us and wanted to meet us. The twins were nine, I was eight. I don’t know, I suppose Marlon was star struck. All he spoke of for weeks was the Archduke. First time he’d met royalty. And then, well you know what happened…” Michael gulped as they whirled past the bandstand.

Vylette did know.

In June of 1914, the Archduke and his wife were shot and assassinated and what proved to be the catalyst for the start of the Great War.

Michael switched back to what he liked best,

“It would be closer to a thousand, about four hundred balls are thrown each year, and trust me, I get invites to ALL of them. The mailman hates me for a while.” Michael chortled, as Marlon, up and hugged to Lorraine, joined in on the dancing, leaving Latoya chatting with a blonde haired gentleman at the table.

“It’s easy for a man to attend the balls--all you need is a good tuxedo. I have ten, no one can tell the difference. For women, it’s different. You can’t repeat a dress. So if you attend, say, thirty balls, you need thirty different gowns.”

Invites to each and every of four hundred balls a year! So many invites, scores had to be turned away.

Being clutched tighter, ribs aching, Vylette asked the obvious question,

“How do you know so many people, Michael?”

More people were clustering around Latoya and laughing. And as they swirled, nearly colliding with Marlon, she heard someone call Marlon’s name.

Where did the Jacksons find the time to meet them all?

“I don’t know…I suppose some are fans from my vaudeville days. People know people…and the invites come.” Michael made light of it as he had no clue how the idea of being around so many different walks of people after a life in the Parish was both so scary and exciting to young Vylette.

“My family is just naturally sociable. Good for business--to know a lot of folks. Latoya, Marlon, all the rest of them. I guess I’m guilty by association. You see the difference in my brother and myself. He loves the City, the fast pace of it all. I just want to grow my garden, play with Baron, read books and talk with you, Honey…I’m happy right in comatose Rainelle Parish.”

Vylette stared up at Michael, oddly, amazed he seemed to prefer the slow-paced of the Parish to a metropolitan hub like New Orleans.

“Do you really?” Vylette was unable to hide her bewilderment.

“Yes, Vylette. I prefer to be to myself. In quiet and calm. I don’t mind visiting New Orleans, but the Parish is where I want to be--”

“But why? The City is so much more exciting! There’s the museums, and your theatres, and shopping and--”

She was silenced with a kiss.

“Before the year is out, we will be married…I want my children to be raised in the house my mother grew up in. The house I heard tell about all my life. The house…the family nearly lost. I want my children to be around decent, God-fearing, Church-going folks. Good people, honest people. If it was good enough for my mother, it’s good enough for my children!”

Vylette lost the ability to breathe at the mention of marriage and nay, having children with Michael Jackson.

And…and the way he put it, they were to live in the grand white mansion on the hill behind the gates and with the rose patch off to the side.

And one day, their children will run among the roses.

Cute little brown boys, taking after their father, little pale girls with lavender eyes like their mother…all happy, healthy and beautiful.

It would be a dream come true.

“I can’t wait…” Vylette declared, fighting off tears so as not to ruin her makeup.

The music changed and a livelier piece began to play, and quickening his steps, Michael continued to twirl Vylette along.

“I’m enjoying this, Vy.” He commented with a as they went by their table again. “If I close my eyes, I can pretend we’re attending a ball and everyone is looking at you, wondering whom the charming American lady is.”

His fingers were mashing into her warm flesh and without thinking, Vylette mumbled,

“I wish I could stay here forever. I didn’t know dancing was so divine. I could dance all night…with you.”

She truly felt at home and comfortable in Michael’s arms. She dreaded the idea of having to go back to the Parish and her normal life, after such a spellbinding evening--even if it did appeal so much to Michael.

“The Tropics Room doesn’t close until one. After we eat, we can dance until then…” Michael informed sweetly, and was jerked when Vylette stopped moving on the spot.

“Michael, I can’t stay here until that late! I have to go home, Sweetie. It’d be nearly four in the morning before we got back. Mama would kill me and Papa would shoot you.”

That was unheard of, an unmarried girl being out all night. Only Swamp Trash like Wallis Pelant did that.

“Um…ahem.” A coy smile came to Michael’s face and he rubbed at his chin thoughtfully.

Vylette instantly sensed something was amiss.

“What?”

“Well, you see…don’t get upset, alright?” Michael started and every arranged hair on Vylette’s head stood.

“Michael Jackson--”

“Marlon’s car won’t run. Something happened to the engine and we can’t get a hold of a mechanic till morning. We have to stay the night here, Vy.”

Stay the night? In a hotel? An unmarried couple?

Vylette turned frantic.

“Michael--we can’t! My parents! Papa really will shoot you, and then pull the slug out you! Mike--”

Did Michael want to be killed?

A long finger mashed her lips.

“Shhh.”

His eyes danced merrily in his head.

“I’ve already phoned your father earlier this evening. Told him of everything. And he doesn’t mind your staying here, as long as you and Lorraine are together. So, Marlon and I have already booked two double suites. It’s much too far to walk home, and Latoya’s pink eyesore only seats two…”

Michael shrugged and Vylette could have passed on out.

She was going to be staying the night…in that palace?

Sleep in a real hotel?

Away from her parents?

And her father condoned it?

Had Hell frozen over?

That’s when a thought dawned on her.

“I haven’t brought anything--”

Vylette had expected to go home that night.

She was kissed.

“The shopping district is only three blocks from here. I walked and picked up things for you and your sister.”

A hand gripped hers as Latoya stood, waving, indicating that dinner was being served.

“I don’t know why Papa likes you so much…” Vylette laughed and covered her face with a hand.

“…but I’m thankful to God, he does!”

And with that, Vylette went to enjoy her surf and turf meal, feeling an even deeper and new respect for Dr. Almanzo Meraux.

He was granting Vylette and her cousin freedom.

Freedom to be with the men they loved.

Not only did he trust them, he trusted the Jacksons!

* * *

Ping!

“Sixteenth floor, Sir!”

“Shhh!”

“Sorry, Sir.”

In the wee hours of Sunday morning, somewhere close to two a.m., the doors of a lone elevator opened and from it, three individuals disbanded.

Out in front, a young gentle man, his once crisply starched tuxedo a bit of a rumpled mess. His navy bowtie is loosened, as the collar of his shirt, revealing a peek of long brown throat.

He staggers along on tender feet, having danced half the night away.

In his arms, he holds a small sleeping child, her gauzy party dress but a ball around her. Her pink face is pressed against his shoulder, framed by disheveled ringlets.

A few feet behind the man, is a woman.

She is limping harder than the man, wincing with each step of her bare feet on the cold marble.

She had been dancing in three inch heels all the night.

From one hand, her satin evening shoes dangle along with her purse.

Rounding a corner they come to a shut door.

“This is it--Room Sixteen-Nineteen.” Michael announced softly, so as not to wake the dozing Vinnie in his arms.

“I see that…” Vylette came around him, and digging in her bag came up with the key.

Starting to unlock the door, her eyes drifted to the ground as Michael apologized meekly,

“I…I’m sorry, Vylette…that the two rooms are on different floors. I know you wanted to be closer to Lorraine.”

Slowly removing the key, Vylette sighed nervously.

Closer to Lorraine. That was a joke.

This was not how she envisioned spending her night in the Landmark Hotel at all.

She was supposed to be in the same double suite with Vinnie and Lorraine.

But just a few moments prior, the room intended for the Jacksons, two floors lower, had been commandeered by Marlon to share with Lorraine, and Michael had been ejected altogether, his clothing left in a neat, folded pile outside the door.

God only knew what Lorraine was doing with Marlon--she was certain one of the two beds in that room would remain empty. (She had already gone so far with Marlon to start with)

And here Vylette was, unmarried, taking a room with Michael. Her parents would have murdered them all if they knew they were being so reckless.

Reluctantly, she turned the knob, allowing them into the suite, much larger than Latoya’s had been on the twelfth, but that was a single as the Jackson sister had come from up the country alone.

On tender tootsies, Vylette hobbled into the room.

Like Latoya’s suite, everything was white with lilac and purple accents.

On opposite ends of the room, doors to the bedrooms stood closed.

“This is the room for you and Vinnie…” Michael was limping towards the room to the left, and again, Vylette opened the door, revealing a posh inner sanctum swathed in deeper purple with gold and crystal accents.

In the center, a large bed, dressed in plum satin stood waiting to be slept in with a mint on the pillow.

And waiting to be worn were two sets of sleep clothes.

A small, blue and white floral long-sleeved nightgown, and a pair of larger pajamas, made of peach and teal silk, looking something like a kimono with wide sleeves and a thick belt.

“This, this is all so pretty, thank you Michael…It just seems like thank you isn‘t enough for all that you‘ve done. Not just for me, but Vinnie too. ” Vylette spoke in a whisper, only used to her too small, cotton gown to sleep in. (All that had been ordered from abroad was still on its way to being delivered.)

“It’s no problem.” Michael laid Vinnie down and carefully, Vylette balanced her sister against her, starting to undress her.

Watching as Vylette was unbuttoning the dress, Michael questioned,

“Won’t that wake her?”

“No…” The dress came off easily.

“Vinnie sleeps like the dead. She napped through a cyclone once.” Vylette snickered, handing the dress to Michael who laid it on a nearby chair.

With the way Vinnie slept the entire place could have collapsed right then, with rubble around her head and she wouldn’t have stirred in the slighted

“Aww…goodness!” Michael laughed into his palm.

Taking the gown, Vylette held Vinnie again, slipping onto the girl, and pulling it over her chemise and drawers.

Deftly the ribbon was removed from her hair.

Blue socks and shoes came off and Michael placed them with the dress.

Michael questioned as Vylette put the socks inside the shoes.

“You just know to do all that?” Michael questioned as Vylette put the shoes on the floor.

“Yes.” Vylette masked a yawn.

She had been taking care of Vinnie since birth.

Dark eyes sparkled,

“I bet one day, you’ll make a fantastic mother.” Michael spoke in an awed hush and Vylette’s cheeks went scarlet.

The mother…of Michael Jackson’s children.

“Where--where is the bathroom?” Vylette, flustered, tried not to think of what it would be like to have his children--or what went into creating them.

“Here--” Michael took her wrist in his warm hand.

Couldn’t he feel how her pulse was racing?

She allowed him to lead her to the all white bathroom, where on the counter, all of her Ferocious cosmetics had been laid out, in shiny, coral, black and gold Deco-styled boxes. A clear glass bottle Exotique was off to the side.

“Thank you…this is so sweet.”

Thinking only of how Latoya had preached the importance of cleansing one’s skin before bed, to prevent blemishes, Vylette moved to the basin, and removed the black glass jar of cold cream from its box.

She opened it, and went to loosen the belt of her dress to remove it.

“Goodness!” She jumped, when the reflection in the mirror revealed Michael still standing in the doorway.

“Michael!--”

He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, face plain, his eyes coasting up and down her in the clingy dress.

A dress now she realized, had been displaying and accentuating her curves the whole night.

Flaunting them before her red-blooded man.

Hands on her belt, Vylette avoided his eyes, stammering,

“You should rest…we waltzed for hours…”

“I’m not very sleepy.” Michael replied quickly, voice creamy.

“You saw me at dessert--I drank five cups of coffee.”

“I’m quite tired…” Vylette began to which he answered with doubt dripping from his voice,

“You drank four cups, Vylette. I put the sugar in them as you ate your apple pie, ala mode.”

Her heart pounded suddenly, as Michael came closer, slipping the belt from her.

“Your sister is asleep…leave her to herself. Come…come to bed with me.” He urged, fingers gliding over the embroidered fabric.

“I can’t go to bed with you!” Vylette declared, trying to keep her voice low. “We…we aren’t…”

She couldn’t go to bed with him. Not like that.

Not like Marlon and Lorraine!

Michaels hand covered her mouth and above it he pecked her nose.

“You’re leaping like a frog to conclusions. You didn’t hear the words naked, sex, or fuck come out my mouth. I’m not a deviant fiend. I’m the man in love with you. I simply want to hold you a while and talk.”

He scolded, and released Vylette’s mouth.

“Forgive me…” She ached thinking, she had hurt his feelings with accusations. After he’d done so much.

“I’m not angry…just know, not every man is a threat to womanhood. Come to my room once you’re ready.”

He tweaked her nose and was gone.

Vylette watched him go, blood rushing in her ears.

Michael…he truly was a gentleman.

A half-hour later, Vylette stood outside the door, slightly ajar, leading to Michael’s room.

She shifted nervously from one foot to next.

She was going to share a bed with Michael Jackson.

And while wasn’t too worried about Michael’s actions, she prayed she could control herself in such an intimate setting.

Michael…he was just….everything.

She felt so weak.

Timidly, she knocked.

“Entrez-vous.” Came the gentle familiar voice, and hesitantly, Vylette pushed the door open.

Automatically, Vylette’s eyes went to the bed, half-expecting to see Michael naked on the sheets, with the lights dimmed.

It wasn’t so.

Instead, Michael relaxed in a nearby armchair, body draped in red and black striped pajamas.

His large brown feet were bare.

In his lap a book was spread.

“Hi, Baby.” He greeted her, shutting the tome, standing and meeting her halfway.

Arms wrapped her, and he kissed her mouth gently, his curls tangling with her waves.

Trying to make conversation, and ignore the parts of her body starting to throb at how becoming Michael Jackson was in his jammies, Vylette inquired,

“What are you reading?”

“This Side of Paradise, by Mr. F. Scott Fitzgerald.”
Michael nodded and recognizing the name, Vylette asked,

“The one who wrote The Great Gatsby?”

“Yes.”

Setting the book down, on the bedside table, he began peeling the plush, thick lighter purple sheets bedcovers back.

“Have you read it?”

A large hand indicated Vylette get in the bed.

When she hesitated, Michael threw his head back and spoke at the ceiling.

“You’re afraid of me, Vylette. After I’ve put my fingers so far inside of--”

A manicured hand clapped over Michael’s mouth as he started to remind her of the very first “Love Lesson” they had shared, less than a week ago.

She couldn’t be reminded of that…not here. Not now.

It was too dangerous.

“I--I’ll get in the bed. Just don’t say it…” She conceded removing her hand. “Please.”

Why did those big eyes have to sparkle?

Why did his scent have to be so enchanting?

Why did his hair have to be so poofy?

“Go on.” Her backside was popped lightly and biting his bottom lip boyishly, Michael watched as she slipped beneath the covers of the cool room.

The bed was much more comfortable than the Vylette’s bed at home had ever been.

“Now, as I asked, have you read The Great Gatsby?” Michael repeated, walking back across the room to the door.

The deadbolt lock clicked.

“No…We saw the film adaptation a few years ago. William Powell was in it, Vinnie had to see him…” Vylette trailed off and she lost her train of thought, as Michael, with his back still turned, reached and flicked the light switch, throwing the room into darkness.

“…he was…George Wilson…”

From the darkness, Michael’s voice was getting louder as he advanced to the bed.

“Films are nice…its my business, but reading is much better. You can get lost in a book…”

His voice was bedside and faintly, Vylette could make out his outline thanks to moonlight from a window a few feet away.

“I’ve always loved reading. I wish I could be a storyteller. That’s why I encourage your writing. You’re so intelligent. Valedictorian. Your mind amazes me, as well as your body…”

The mattress squeaked as Michael’s thin body started to join Vylette’s.

“So many girls are discouraged from being smart, and it’s a shame. I want a woman to talk to, not just look at…”

The covers moved, and he was tucking himself in.

“I love being around you Vy, looking after you…”

His hand touched the pillow Vylette’s head was on, and without thinking she pulled away.

And Michael felt the shift of her drawing from him.

There was a long moment of silence.

When Michael spoke, there was a thorough sadness that pierced Vylette’s soul like a knife.

“You won’t let me near you…I’m going to be your husband…and you won’t let me near you! We’re to be married…and…and I want to be with you. Be close to you and love you how I’m supposed to. Be intimate….”

He inhaled deeply.

“…I want children, Vylette. So many of my siblings are married with their own families. I want children. I want children to hold and hug and kiss and love. Have big eyes look at me, and hear a tiny voice call me ‘Daddy‘. I’m not trying to hurt you or take advantage…”

“Michael--” Vylette started and was ignored.

“You shouldn’t be scared of me, or what we’re supposed to do. I…I thought the “Love Lesson” would help acclimate you. We don’t have to run wild like my brother and your cousin, but I…I can’t have you be the iceberg that sank the damn RMS Titanic! Vylette, please!”

Feeling she was losing him, afraid he was already lost, Vylette sprang across the bed and threw her arms around his middle.

“Michael, please. I’m, I’m sorry. Don’t be angry. Don’t be cross with me. It’s how I was raised. You said it yourself, while we danced. You liked the Parish for good God-fearing folks. People with values. That’s…that’s me. I’ve been taught so hard and so long what and what not to do. It’s hard sometimes just to cast it off at once. I love you Michael. I love you.”

She buried her head in his chest.

“I want to marry you. Be intimate. Have your children. Just….just give me time, please.”

Unconscious of it, she was crying and a warm hand pressed her damp face.

“It’s alright, Baby. Stop. Stop it, Violette Blanche. I know …we’ll just have another ‘Love Lesson’…I can’t bear you crying. Please…”

There was a smack as he kissed the top of her head and tears slowly ceasing, Vylette hiccupped.

“When?”

“Sometime this upcoming week. I can’t tell you exactly when. Monday. the construction starts on the pool and solarium. But the Parish is small…we’ll run into each other, of course.”

Michael laughed, stroking at that thick hair, causing Vylette to giggle in relief.

Yes….

Yes, they would have another Lesson to help loosen her up and broaden her mind.

“Now, at least let me hold my bride-to-be.” Michael snickered, arms wrapping Vylette and bringing her close to him.

Head tilting up, they kissed, and the last thing Vylette remembered, before sleep took hold of her, was Michael whispering,

“Ich liebe dich Liebling.”

Vylette later discovered that Michael had spoken in German, the language of his beloved Austria, and had said,

“I love you, Darling.”