The Following Morning
Rainelle Parish, Louisiana
Late morning in the Parish was a most beautiful time of day. All was bright, warm and balmy, but not quite to the outrageously blistering heat that would come along with high noon. It was a day marked by a sapphire blue sky, with nary a single cloud to it. Just a bold, empty vastness overhead.
It was a sky that Vylette Meraux couldn’t help but admire that morning as she made her way into town.
For a day meant to be spent leaping in and out of the latest styles of European couture, in an effort to devastate the other members of the Fleur-de-lis Country Club, she had dressed simply, yet chicly, in a cool, sleeveless dress of baby pink cotton, dotted all over with small, embroidered white flowers.
With each step, the exaggerated, rounded collar, constructed of gauzy organza, flounced like an angel’s wings.
She wore no gloves on tender white hands, no hat on her immaculately arranged hair, and modest, pink shoes were on her feet.
Skipping alongside her, Vinnie matched her big sister in a pink, eyelet trimmed jumper and sheer, short, puffed sleeve white blouse. She was carefully lifting and setting down each foot, in pink, patent Mary Janes, so that the loose, Louisiana soil on that unpaved road would not mar them.
Turning sideways a bit, and looking over the large bow fixed in her sibling’s hair, Vylette spied her cousin, lagging a few yards behind.
It was remarkable how someone so pretty could look so ugly as Lorraine Devereaux did that morning.
Her becoming figure was draped in a rich, navy plaid dress, the butterfly wing sleeves fluttering in the breeze, the color bringing out every coppery highlight in her auburn mane and making her eyes appear darker.
But as she trudged along, in plaid satin pumps, her face was unavoidable.
The lusty, annoyed fire in her eyes, the protruding, pouted red lips, the furrowed, drawn-in brows.
The audible way her breathing was heard, so far away and how her delicate nostrils flared with each intake of breath.
And she had looked that way for about the last fifteen minutes.
Ever since young Winston Pelant had knocked on the door as the girls reclined in the living room and recited a message.
“Mr. Jackson wonders if you ladies will meet him at the five and dime in town, please. He’s low on petrol and is afraid if he drives all the way out here, he won’t be able to drive back.”
Lorraine had been in a stew ever since.
Vylette only shook her head at her. She knew Lorraine loved being driven around in the fancy Cadillacs and attracting the stares of anyone they passed. Lorraine was a vain little creature and craved to be the center of attention.
To her cousin, having to walk like a commoner was something of a demotion.
And an insult the fiery redhead was taking to heart.
“Don’t look so down in the mouth, Darling…we’re almost to town.” Vylette called back and pace quickening, Lorraine caught up to her cousins.
“Well, I still don’t like it, Vy! I was with Daddy all day yesterday at the house, and before he left he told me…” Her voice drop several octaves to mimic Marlon Jackson, in a rather comical way, as his voice was as light and mild as Michael’s.
“‘Lori, you dress pretty for me tomorrow, and I’ll come pick you and the girls up in Big Blue and we’ll go out to the house’--that’s what he told me, Vy!”
Hands pressed hips and that dimpled chin pressed into her throat as she nodded deeply with conviction.
“And I was a fool to believe him, humph!”
“Stuff happens Lorraine.” Vylette sighed, stopping and gazing at her. “There are no petrol stations in town. He’d likely have to go to New Orleans for it. If he couldn’t make it to the house, he surely can’t make it fifty miles further. And we can’t all fit in Michael’s car! It’s a two-seater. Three of us would have to jog behind! We’re almost there. Now, come along!”
Vylette started to turn, when Vinnie, for the first time all the morning, ceased humming abruptly.
“Vylette…” She whispered, poking at the white flesh of her sister’s arm. There was a look of strange distress in her grey eyes that worried her and following the gaze, Vylette soon saw why.
“God damn it.” Lorraine muttered below her breath, hand covering her face in angst.
Slowly creeping up from the way they’d come, was a car.
And it wasn’t a bright blue luxury vehicle either.
Instead, it was a glistening, jet black Ford.
And settled behind the wheel, grinning, was that goon, Steven Wilkes.
Steven! What the devil did he want? Vylette wondered to herself, lips starting to droop into a frown.
All that boy ever brought with him was unwarranted trouble!
Vylette didn’t want trouble; not today. She was supposed to be picking out her gown for the gala!
The engine chugged lightly as the car pulled even with them, and Steven’s teeth showed brighter in his tanned, pirate-like face.
“Good morning!” He greeted them with false cheer, his eyes pinpointing Vylette.
She shivered; it was as though his gaze could cut clean through her dress and underwear to her naked flesh.
Eyes sweeping over her, the grin on his lips faltered a bit, when he spied her ever-present diamond tennis bracelet and moonstone ring.
When the three stood, regarding his frostily, with no reply, his smile faltered even more, and his true nasty personality came bubbling past the surface.
“Still think y’all too damn good to talk to me? I notice you’re the ones walking when I’m driving! What happened, your dandies get their cars repossessed? Lose their fortune in this Depression?”
It was eating that bastard alive that the Jacksons were so wealthy and he coveted their wealth, ignoring his own good fortune anyway. He was never satisfied, a sadly jealous cretin.
Knowing him, he probably prayed to God for something bad to happen to the Jacksons. But prayer didn’t work that way.
Gripping her sister’s hand tightly, with no need for his foolishness that morning, Vylette stated curtly,
“It’s none of your concern Steven, good day.”
Turning on her heel, she started away, tugging her sister behind her.
The car remained slow, enabling Steven to keep up with them to further his harassment.
“Now don’t be that way--I could give you a lift to town in about a minute. It’s supposed to be well up over a hundred degrees this afternoon. I’d hate to see y’all sweat and ruin your dresses…”
Staring ahead, the three girls remained silent and Steven wouldn’t leave them alone.
“…I bet those dresses cost a lot of money--”
“They surely did!” Lorraine hissed and Vylette advised,
“Don’t encourage him!”
Leaning out the driver’s side window, Steven chuckled wryly and demanded,
“Where are your rich N(bad word)s? Why they ain’t driving you now? They dump you? Found some other women to wine and dine, eh? HA! Or have they gotten a limousine and the driver will get y‘all! HA! HA-HA-HA!”
Vylette winced as Lorraine grabbed and was crushing her wrist in an effort to maintain her composure. Any sort of ill-speaking done about her “Daddy” usually warranted a fierce rebuttal, maybe even a slap to the jaw, no matter how unmatched she and her opponent may have been. (And Steven could have very easily run her over if he was rubbed the wrong way. Vylette wouldn’t put that stunt past that jerk.)
Seeing that Lorraine was starting to bristle up like an angry feline, Steven continued to pick at her, all for his own sick amusement.
Though his true grievance was with Michael Jackson, and not Marlon, he wanted to stick it to them anyway he could.
“N(bad word)s like them don’t stick around for the long haul. Y’all just a novelty--looking like White gals for them Black asses. Bet they been with any and every thing! Colored, White, Oriental….Probably crawling with all kinds of venereal disease ya never even heard of--”
Lorraine broke.
Whipping around, she nearly threw Vylette and Vinnie into the side of the Ford, and wailed,
“You shut up Steven Wilkes! You think you know so much, when you don’t know a damned thing! Not one blessed thing about Marlon and Michael you big, ignorant Johnny Reb wannabe!”
“Lorraine!” The Meraux sisters exclaimed, exasperated.
Ladies didn’t swear in public and talking back would only egg that swarthy gorilla on more.
Blue-green eyes danced in hilarity and his mouth curled harder with a smile of nastiness.
“You always did have a big mouth attached to you Lorraine…you learn that kind of trash talk from your Yankee? That how they talk up the country?”
Hands on hips, Lorraine was gearing up for a shouting match and her voice was escalating in decibels.
“And what’s it to you, how I speak? I’m not seeking your approval, you louse, you swine! As long as Daddy doesn’t mind, I’m not changing a thing. I take my marching orders from him!”
Steven fell quiet, and eyed Lorraine for a long moment.
Looked over her scowling face, tinged with red in the cheeks, down her figure on off to her feet.
For a moment, Vylette thought he was going to relent and go on about his business.
But when had Steven Wilkes ever left a conversation without having the benefit of the last word?
And what a last word it was going to be!
Laughing heartily, he questioned as he slapped the steering wheel.
“Daddy? What--you’re fucking your father too?”
Every ounce of color in Lorraine’s face drained away as her cousins gasped in horror.
“Steven!” Was all Vylette could think to say.
How could he say that? How could be so cruel as to fix his mouth to say such a thing? Why, he’d even been at the funeral! He knew full well that Lorraine’s father was deceased and had only said that for the pure thrill of getting her goat and upsetting her.
All of the buildup, bravado and arrogance in Lorraine trickled away at the insult.
Blinking several times, as tears came to her eyes, her voice dropped to a whisper and cracked.
“You…you know my father’s…dead!”
And she was gone, half-stumbling, half-running away.
“Lorraine!” Vylette called and without so much as another word to that truly hateful creature, she was tugging Vinnie along as the two tried to catch up with her.
If only Vylette could have been a man for five minutes, she’d have given Steven Wilkes just exactly what he had coming to him.
“Go ahead on and cry!” Steven called from behind them.
“Maybe next time you’ll know not to mess with me! You’re just a silly girl!”
Vylette was trying her best to catch Lorraine, in order to calm her and soothe her in some form of way.
She was suddenly frightened. Very frightened.
Eyes on the wobbling blue figure ahead of her, she knew she had to reach Lorraine first.
Because of Lorraine got into town and reached Marlon Jackson first, in the terrible, horrendous state she was in, who knew what would have happened.
Marlon was cut from the same mold as his woman. Flaming, salty, short-tempered and tempestuous.
If he saw Lorraine upset…
The wooded lane finally opened up to Main Street and the rows of businesses came in to view.
Vylette noticed about a dozen people milling around, including a few more children.
“Come on Vinnie, faster--faster, please!” Vylette ordered dragging her sister along as they made it onto the wooden sidewalk.
“Hey Vylette, hey Vinnie…” Elizabeth Pelant, Wallis’ little half-sister, called as the two went racing past the grocery store and leapt from the sidewalk to cross the dirt road to the five-and-dime.
And midway across the street, Vylette screeched to a halt, having spotted Marlon Jackson.
He had been idling against the passenger side of his car, smoking a cigarette and chatting with Old Man Goebbels, but as Lorraine made a direct beeline to him, he dropped the cancer stick.
Sobbing wildly, she threw herself against him, hugging him tightly and wailing,
“…my father! My father…oh Daddy!”
Lorraine was gurgling and weeping, her makeup coming off on his chest dirtying his white shirt as she pressed her face against it.
“Baby! What is it? What’s wrong? What about your father? Lori? Cherry--what is it?” Panic-stricken, as he’d never seen her so hysterical, all Marlon could do was pat at her head and hold her.
“You’re shaking!”
“My father! Oh, Marlon--my father!”
Timidly, Vylette and Vinnie eased over as even Mr. Goebbels, alarmed, was trying to calm her.
“Get her some water or something, please!” Marlon begged and the elderly gentleman was ambling away.
Amber eyes were going murky brown with concern as he started over Lorraine’s head at Vylette.
“What in the hell happened? What’s got her like this? What’s this she’s babbling about her father--?” He wondered and Lorraine pounded a fist in his chest.
“My Papa…my Papa! My father!”
Vylette nibbled her bottom lip, her mind burning and racing, trying to come up with just how to phrase such an offensive statement. And to keep Marlon from flying off the handle.
And Vinnie…Vinnie just stared down at the tops of her shoes.
In the meantime, Mr. Goebbels returned with a glass, filled with a clear liquid, faintly tinted brown.
“Here’s some water…” The man remarked, holding out the glass, and added covertly, “I put a few drops of my New Year’s rum in it. It should calm her.”
“Thank you…” Marlon took it and was pressing it to her mouth. “Come on Baby, drink this. Please. Calm down, you’ll faint! Drink!”
As Lorraine obediently took a few gulps, Marlon repeated,
“Somebody kindly tell me--what happened?”
Head coming up, Vinnie spoke before her sister.
“Steven Wilkes in…in…insinuated that Lorraine had an ‘unnatural relationship’ with her Papa.”
“Steven said that about Luc Devereaux?” Mr. Goebbels was breathless, eyes wide, as he had been friends with Lorraine’s father before his death.
Although she had been very young at the time of her uncle’s death, all Vylette had ever known of the brick-haired man was that everyone who’d known him, held him in as high esteem as her own father.
For a moment, Marlon Jackson was dumbstruck and could only stare down at the redhead pressed against his bosom.
Mouth opening in disbelief his eyes were huge with incredulity.
Realization hit him like a freight train.
“WHAT?” Marlon Jackson turned purple with rage. “That son of a bitch said that to her? That she and her father--”
“I didn’t!” Lorraine wailed, struggling against him suddenly. The empty glass fell to their feet.
“He never! I was five years old! My Papa was a saint! He‘d never hurt me! My Papa loved me!”
“I’ll be rightly damned!” Marlon sneered, and with Lorraine still hugged to him, hobbled to open the door of his car.
His eyes fell on Vylette and her sister.
“Get in! All of y’all get in! I’m gonna take y’all home. This is some bullshit for the chickens…”
Marlon Jackson trailed off, and it was then Vylette noticed his gaze wasn’t directly on her anymore.
His face hardened, eyes dark, all laughter in them extinguished his thick lips pursed.
Blood cooling in her veins, she somehow forced herself to turn around.
Across the street, pulling to a halt in front of Mumfree’s restaurant, was a black Ford Model-A.
The door opened and from it, Steven Wilkes emerged, a cigarette glowing in his mouth.
In the doorway of Mumfree‘s, Ulrich Povah, sandwich in hand, appeared, calling a greeting to his friend.
Lorraine was all but thrown into her cousin’s arms.
“I’ll murder that motherfucker!” Marlon’s voice was low and lethal, as he started to unbutton and roll up his sleeves to the elbow.
Readying for action.
Lorraine sniffled appreciatively, a sardonic smile coming to her wet face.
“Oh no, Marlon…” Vylette begged, reaching for his wrist only to have it yanked away.
“Gonna talk to my girl…”
Entire body going erect, Marlon Jackson started to slowly advance towards Steven, with his back turned, talking back and forth with Ulrich, still in the doorway.
It was at that moment, Vylette remembered something Lorraine had told her about Marlon.
On their graduating day, when Steven Wilkes had first upset the Jacksons.
Marlon had learned to box from professionals.
Fight. The man could punch, bob and weave like it was a match at Madison Square Garden.
Marlon Jackson was going to fight Steven Wilkes.
And if Marlon was anything like Michael had been not too long ago, Steven was in for a bad time.
Heart racing, Vylette propped Lorraine, starting to seep back to consciousness against the car and turned to Mr. Goebbels.
“Where’s Michael?” She questioned, vainly hoping he was still in the store piddling around.
“He didn’t come to town.” The old man stated nervously. “Marlon said he stayed at home. He was gardening.”
Clutching his shoulders, Vylette ordered,
“Go! Go please! Call him--Broadlane-7653! Use your telephone! Call him and tell him to get here! Hurry! Don’t you see what’s about to happen! Go, please!”
If those two got into it in the center of town…it was going to be a disaster!
With him scurrying away like vermin, Vylette’s attention went back to Marlon.
He was now standing directly behind Steven Wilkes, glaring at the back of his head.
“Is Marlon going to fight Steven?” Vinnie questioned and Vylette shook her head.
“If Marlon can fight like I think he can fight, he’s going to massacre Steven!”
The child smiled openly; she loathed the Wilkes boy just as much as the elder girls.
“I hope he does kill him. Saying such things tome! I‘m a lady!” Lorraine spoke up and pushed herself to standing.
Vylette wasn’t sure what she wanted.
Sure Steven deserved to have his jaw broken, but in front of the bulk of the town?
Lorraine took off running, eager to be closer to Ground Zero and wind leaving her, Vylette gave chase with Vinnie close behind.
Getting nearer, she could hear Steven speaking without any knowledge that he had company.
“…I figure we can try fishing tomorrow. If the pond ain’t overrun with little pickaninnies trying to swim…” Steven put his cigarette to his mouth and inhaled deeply.
“That’s all they do…stream out the ‘Bottoms’ to swim.”
Marlon Jackson remained motionless and Vylette’s hands wrung, wondering what he was doing. What he was thinking.
What was going on in his curled head, behind that deep, harsh scowl curling his features.
“Mama wants me to try to catch some trout or gar…” Blowing a cloud of smoke, Steven removed his cigarette, flicking ashes, and held it down by his side.
And Marlon Jackson made his move.
Snatching the cigarette with one hand, Marlon gripped onto Steven’s left wrist with the other.
Before anyone could stop him, Marlon mashed the lit cigarette into Steven’s bulging arm.
“AHHHHHH!” The bigger boy, who had about a foot in height and a good hundred or so pounds in weight on, just like with Michael, screamed shrilly, yanking free and clapping a hand over his wound as Marlon tossed the butt to the ground.
“Christ Alive! Did y’all see that?” Lorraine gasped, hands mashed to her chest.
“Oh my God!” Vylette had a hand to her mouth, as people, attracted by the noise, came into doorways and flooded the sidewalk. All vying for a peek.
“You fucking N(bad word)! That‘s my fucking arm you son of a bitch!” Steven screeched, face going scarlet with rage, and fists the size of Marlon’s head were curling. “You must have a death wish! Well, I’m about to grant it fo’ yo’ ass right quick!”
Running.
Vylette was running.
Fleeing in the direction of the brick building at the end oh the row.
Reaching the steps of her father’s medical practice, she heard a collective “Ooooooh!”
Looking back, she could see Steven staggering, his mouth gushing blood down onto the front of his pale green striped polo shirt, his car rocking, as he’d been knocked into it by Marlon.
“Come on you fat fucker! I want you. Me and you, right here, right NOW!” Marlon was goading, his fists balled, stepping lively in the dirt as the crowd was beginning to ring around them. “You ain’t got no business even opening your mouth to my woman, and I’m gonna shut it for you! Gonna learn today!”
A punch was thrown and connected with Marlon’s shoulder, he wavered, but did not hit the ground.
“Ooooooh!”
“That’s it Steven!”
“Don’t let him knock you down, Daddy! Whip his ass!”-- That was Lorraine.
“Beat his ass!”
“Put the old pepper on it!”
“FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!”
A child proclaimed the final comment and like frightened jackrabbits, from the surrounding woods, people of all ages, mostly male, came streaming.
Pulling the doors to the office open, Vylette flung herself inside, finding his waiting room vacant.
“Papa! Papa! Papa!”
She called, rushing up to the closed door of his office, throwing it open to find him seated at his desk, smoking his pipe and reading the paper.
“Vy--” He started, eyes widening as his daughter rushed to him, clutching his arm and pulling at him.
“Papa! Come quick--something terrible is happening. Marlon and Steven are fighting!”
“What--damn!” The good doctor was on his feet, following his elder child, and the two came storming from the building, in time to see a massive crowd of nearly a hundred circled around cheering.
Women shrieked, men hooted and small children were punching air in encouragement. Some even rode on the shoulders of their fathers and older brothers to have a better view.
Getting to the outer rim of the audience, Vylette could see, from out the woods, a man running.
A tall, thickly built, man of about fifty, with a deep, dark tan, and graying black hair slicked back.
Working in the warm out of door had left him perspiring, his face damp and his butternut colored polo sticking to his muscular frame.
A hard frown twisted what would have been handsome features and the wide handlebar mustache above his top lip wagged with every stride. A lip snarling over white teeth.
Making a run for the crowd, as the sound of a punch resulted in cheers, was Josiah Wilkes.
Steven’s father.
With no regard for the more delicate spectators, Josiah was grabbing people and pushing them aside, making his way to the front. Parting them like the Red Sea.
And in the divide he was leaving behind him, Vylette and Dr. Meraux followed.
In such a short span of time, much beating had been done on both sides.
Steven’s face bore several bruises, and his clothing was torn and crusted with dirt, his hair all over his head.
In the melee, Marlon Jackson had come completely out of his shirt--Lorraine holding it to her bosom as she shouted, her arm around a clapping Vinnie.
On the other side of Vylette, Wallis had her arms around Elizabeth, watching with keen interest and a smug smile growing ever larger with each lick landing on Steven.
Though Marlon had a few bruises gracing the trunk of his body, and an oozing scrape on his tight back, his face hadn’t been touched.
(Author’s Note: Are you kidding me? Marlon’s too beautiful for me to damage his mug! Even if this is fiction!)
And the crowd was split with supporters calling for their favorite to win.
“Get him!”
“Kill him!”
“Come on Steven!”
“Marlon use the left! The left!”
“Holy shit!”
The men were circling again and getting to the front, Dr. Meraux called,
“Alright that’s enough, boys! You’ve proved your point! That’s enough--”
He was promptly drowned out by Mr. Wilkes thundering,
“Steven--You better damn well win tying up the town like this you dumb monkey!”
“I plan to Pa!” Steven sputtered and spit a blob of blood out onto the ground.
“Like hell you are!” Marlon’s fist found Steven’s jaw and an arc of blood flew.
“Ooooooh!”
“Goddamn--pardon me ladies!”
“Wow!”
“Yay, Marlon!”
“Whoopee!”
“I’m gonna be sick!” Elizabeth, standing next to her whooping sister, joyous that her annoying cousin was getting his comeuppance, whimpered, putting a hand over her eyes.
“Kick his ass, Marlon! Wooo!” Wallis shrieked, as Marlon ducked a punch and landed an uppercut, knocking Steven against the Ford again with a thud.
The Pelant boys were all rooting for Marlon Jackson, as they had lived their lives being bullied by him.
In the middle of the crowd, Steven’s few lackeys were calling his name.
“Stop this! You’re grown men!” Dr. Meraux begged, the only voice of reason and was going unheard. “What kind of example is this?”
“Steven, get your fat ass up right now!” Mr. Wilkes was screaming at his son as he was pushing himself off the car. “You fight to win! Boy, get your ass up now!”
Marlon was a great opponent and his smaller size helped him. While larger Steven was showing signs of fatigue, staggering, stumbling and missing punches, Marlon looked alert and full of zest.
“Damn it Steven, with all the pointers I gave your ass over the years, you’re losing to this little skinny N(bad word)?“ Mr. Wilkes bellowed in dismay.
The men circled again, fists up, bodies tight, tensed and ready for the first move of the other.
A blow found Steven’s shoulder and while he jerked, he remained on his feet.
If one fell, they’d surely never get back up.
“Come on you ape, that all you got?” He smiled, his entire mouth red with gushing blood. Had he a tooth knocked out?
His fist found Marlon’s belly and when he doubled over, Steven attacked grabbing him and both men fell to the dirt clawing, growling, cursing, flailing for dominance.
“Fuck you, you Coon! Your ass is mine!”
“I’m down, not out, cocksucker!”
“You think so, huh?”
“Bitch, I know so!”
“Get him! Come on Marlon!” Lorraine shrieked as they rolled. “Come on, Daddy!”
Steven was getting the better of Marlon and sitting on him, was trying to hold his head to punch him in the face.
Vylette held her breath. Not his face. Not Marlon’s face.
He was so very handsome!
Squatting down behind his son, to be eye level to what was sure to be a complete knock out, Mr. Wilkes started to shout.
“Knock him out, so we can end this, Steven Sherman! Knock him the fuck out, boy!”
Large hands clapped as Marlon continued wiggling.
“Get off me you big ox!”
Struggling and flailing, Marlon began kicking like a caged animal.
“Knock him--”
A foot struck Josiah Wilkes directly in the jaw and sent him reeling tumbling over into the crowd, before he hit the ground, out cold. A few of bystanders dragged him up onto the sidewalk.
Steven never even saw that his father had been dropped like the worst habit.
Getting his feet up and around Steven’s middle, miraculously, Marlon, using sheer leg strength, managed to pull Steven off him and throw him in the dust.
Marlon was back on his feet, and a fist pounded the top of Steven’s head.
WHAP!
“Gonna make my girl cry? You ain’t got no business talking to her in the first motherfucking place!”
Marlon repeated as Steven, weakened and disoriented, crawled on the ground.
Several children, mocking him, were on their hands and knees too.
“Get up Steven! Get up!”
“Atta-boy Marlon! Atta-boy!”
“Sweet Jesus!”
“He’s going to kill him!”
“Damn it, Marlon!”
Cheers rang along the street as Marlon stood over the crumpled heap on the ground.
“Motherfucking…” Marlon drew his foot back and kicked Steven solidly in the gut, felling him to the ground.
“Oooooh!”
“Damn!”
“Oh my God!”
“…asshole….”
Another kick.
“….don’t talk…”
Kick.
“…to my woman ever again!”
Steven Wilkes laid murmuring in the dirt and the crowd slowly grew silent, all eyes on him, waiting to see what he would do next. If anything. When he showed no signs of trying to retaliate, Marlon drew his foot back again, aiming for Steven’s head
“That’s enough, Marlon! Please!” Dr. Meraux begged hoarsely, mopping his own brow with a handkerchief.
“Oh no!” Vylette mashed her hands to her face, certain that Marlon was about to commit homicide.
A hand appeared on his bulging, sweaty and bruised bicep.
“I said that’s enough, Son.”
Dr. Meraux was gripping his arm tightly, eyes pleading.
Seeming to notice that there were people leering at him, Marlon looked around at all of them, his eyes wide.
Had he been oblivious to them this entire time?
He then looked down at Steven, a pile of flesh at his feet.
He nodded, sucking in his bottom lip.
“Yes, Sir…”
That quickly, it was over.
Heaving, Marlon turned around, and started for the doctor’s office.
“Daddy--Baby, wait!” Lorraine called running after, him, trailed by about a dozen congratulatory others, as the crowd started to disperse.
On the sidewalk, Josiah was still out cold and Steven was grunting in pain.
“Someone, anyone, help get those two to my office!” Dr. Meraux, shaking his head with disgust, started back to the low brick building at the end of the street. Vinnie skipped along beside him.
“That was amazing! Sensational! It’s about damn time someone dusted Steven’s broom!” Wallis tossed her head evilly and hugged Vylette as her brothers Winston and Edward were imitating the fight.
“Child, I didn’t know he had it in him! I didn’t know rich fellas like him could box it out like that! Jesus Christ! That made my year! I should have bet money”
Wallis started back for her store, the excitement over, and Vylette went to walk to her father’s office when she noticed Ulrich still standing in the door of Mumfree’s.
That sandwich was still in his hand.
“I’m…I’m sorry Vylette.” He whimpered his head lowering.
Vylette stared at him curiously,
“Why are you sorry, you didn’t make Steven make an ass out of himself. I know you’re his friend, but you didn’t force him to insult Lorraine. He did it to himself.”
Those pale, watery eyes met hers.
“It’s my fault, because I knew Steven was going to do that this morning.” He confessed and Vylette’s eyes widened and her chest expanded as she inhaled deeply.
“He heard Winston get that message from Marlon this morning and had the intent on bothering with y‘all ever since--”
“Because he hates the Jacksons, I know.” Vylette finished for him shaking her head derisively.
“Well, Steven got what he wanted: a fight. He also got what he didn’t want: to lose in front of God and everybody.”
Together the two mounted the steps and Ulrich held the door for her.
This was all a mess. A bloody, cursed mess.
Sometime Later
Jackson Manor
Rainelle Parish, Louisiana
“…Fetch, Baron, fetch! Get the ball! Come on Baron!”
Vylette reclined on the wicker sofa, enjoying the gentle, cool breeze that had begun to blow, and caused the canopy of tree branches crisscrossing the long driveway to sway.
From the front porch of the rambling mansion, Vylette could see her sister, weaving in and around the trees, chasing after Michael’s large dog, a bright red rubber ball held in his mouth.
Vylette squinted.
Her surroundings were so quiet, so peaceful, so calm.
It hardly made sense that only an hour before she had been witness to what was to become one of the most talked about fights for generations to come.
The rich New York Yankee, Marlon Jackson, versus one of the Good Old Boys, Steven Wilkes.
And Marlon had clearly been the victor in the situation, as he had been the only one to walk away once was all said and done.
Marlon Jackson had emerged with only a few contusions, mostly to the trunk of his body from the blows Steven had managed to land on him, and a three inch, superficial laceration to his back, from the one time he’d been thrown against Steven’s Ford. The wound didn’t even require stitches, though Marlon had cursed up a storm when antiseptic was applied to it.
And while it wasn’t truly necessary, Marlon was upstairs in his room, with Lorraine, the two doing what they claimed was “taking a nap.”
Steven…
Vylette shook her head derisively as she thought of that big lumbering fool.
Steven had been beaten so badly, at the swift, experienced hands of the smaller Marlon, he’d both had to be carried into her father’s office to be examined and carried on home afterwards by several of his friends.
According to Dr. Meraux, Steven was going to be goofy for a couple of days, as he’d sustained a minor concussion--Marlon had aimed for his head and never really tried to let up--and sore for a few weeks, due to bruising of several of his ribs. (He’d been body slammed into the Ford, too.) This was in addition to the busted lip he received, that had taken three stitches on the inside of his mouth to fix.
Plus, he was spotted all over with more bruises than anyone dare count on the outside.
Steven’s father, Josiah, walked away with an injury. All the good jawing and shouting he’d done, led him to have his two front teeth chipped from the kick in the chin Marlon had given him while struggling with Steven.
Sitting up straighter as her sister wrestled the ball from the dog and threw it further, Vylette folded her arms across her bosom.
Steven had gotten his just desserts.
Marlon had been right to try to skin his ass alive; he had no right to speak as he did to any of them, especially to Lorraine and trying to besmirch the name of her poor, dead father.
Why, it was something of a sin to speak ill of the dead.
Luc Devereaux had done nothing evil to be spoken of.
He’d merely run a dental practice in New Orleans, where Lorraine had lived the first five years of her life, before the Flu epidemic claimed both her mother and father.
But Steven was an old windbag and Marlon had summarily deflated him.
“Here we go, some ice cold Coca-Colas…”
Slipping out onto the porch, from one of the wide open windows allowing the air to circulate in the formal living room, was Michael Jackson.
Holding the two bottles, caps removed, he was a casual dream in a red polo and black tweed slacks.
“Here, Baby.”
She was handed a soda, and as he sat, she thanked him.
“Danke Shoen.”
“And in German…” Michael winked, an arm draping her shoulders.
The bottle tilted to his lips a moment, before he spoke in apology,
“I’m sorry that your entire day was disarranged, Honey. I thought we’d just select dresses for the gala, and have a nice visit. Then…well…”
He looked off into the distance and grimaced, his mind on the obvious. Though he’d missed the actual brawl, arriving about five minutes too late, half a dozen eager spectators enlightened him to the event.
“It’s all right.” Vylette leaned and kissed his dangling hand.
“Before we leave for the City tomorrow, you and Lorraine can choose a dress. But its important we know what dresses you want before we go.”
“Why?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow, Darling.” Michael winked and indicated the empty driveway where Vinnie was petting Baron.
“Do you notice that all the trucks are gone?”
“Yes.” Vylette waved to her sister. “Do they have the day off?”
“Nope. The solarium and pool are complete--sit.”
Vylette’s wrist was grabbed and she was returned to the seat.
“But its not ready to be seen, yet. I have to receive the furniture, and decorate the room. By Wednesday you can see it. Wednesday, the four of us can have a little christening party. How’s that?” Michael was beaming and Vylette chuckled.
“I’d like that a lot.”
While Vylette wasn’t exactly to sure as to just what solarium was, she had seen plenty of privates pools in her movie star magazines and felt the zing of excitement go up and down her spine. Her own pool, that she could go swimming in, anytime she felt the notion. She wanted to pinch herself, but there were too many goosebumps in the way!
Michael’s empty bottle was set on the coffee table, and he sighed,
“Have you been writing, Baby?”
“A bit…” Vylette’s hands started to wring. “I’ve handwritten four more stories, I just need to type them up.”
“And what is keeping you from typing?”
Michael’s eyes were on her and she felt guilty for not utilizing her graduation gift better.
Beautiful violet-colored eyes fluttered and lowered with grief.
“I can only write at night, because I have chores. And the typewriter is noisy when I type. I’d have the whole house awake if I typed at night. Pencil and paper are silent--”
“But you cannot submit a story in pencil, to publishers.” Her chin was pinched. “Do you do everything at home? Cooking, cleaning, laundry?”
“Yes--”
“Would you like me to hire a housekeeper like Adelaide?”
She stared at Michael in wonder. He was speaking; she could see his lips flapping and there was noise coming from him.
Vylette wasn’t quite sure she’d heard correctly. Michael had offered a housekeeper, like offering another soda to her. He’d done it so easily and naturally.
“Uh…” She didn’t know what to say. A housekeeper would have been a blessing, but she knew her mother would shout from the roof it was an extravagance serving to spoil the girls.
“You’re going to be my wife. My wife does not work.” Michael gripped her hands in his.
“My wife will be a published authoress, attend country club functions and play tennis and croquet. None of the other ladies at the club has to do menial chores. Its needless. I will provide all you need. That‘s what a husband does…”
He assured her, and Vylette stared ahead where her sister was running away down the path.
She didn’t want to cry and spoil her makeup.
“You are a wonderful little cook, Vy, but if don’t feel like it, you shouldn’t have to. And you can make all the noise you want typing during the day. You can use my office if you like.”
Vylette leaned against him heart swelling.
“I love you so much.”
“I love you more.”
Arms wrapped her, pulling her into Michael’s lap and his cool tender lips mashed hers.
“…Don’t be scared…he’s says any friend of mine is welcomed here…you chicken!”
Somewhere in the lust-filled darkness, Vylette became aware of her sister speaking.
“Mike…” She pulled free from him, leaving his mouth smooching air.
Looking up, both were surprised to see Vinnie, a few feet away, physically pushing another little girl up the steps.
A pale faced, light eyed blonde, Hildegard Povah.
And the look of fright in her eyes was like that of a deer on the wrong side of a double-barreled shotgun.
“Ahem!” Quickly, Michael and Vylette righted themselves.
“Hello Hildegard!” Michael was up and taking her hand kissing the top of it. “Welcome to Jackson Manor.”
“Gosh.” She was turning red all over.
Seeing she was indeed welcomed, a relieved smile creased her face.
“Hi Michael, hi Vylette.” She giggled, and looked around at the veranda. “Zowie.”
Pointing out one of the extra armchairs, Michael asked as Hildegard sat and Vinnie propped on the arm,
“What brings you by?”
“I…I…I wanted to play with Vinnie and Mrs. Meraux said she was here…”
Blue eyes drifted around and without thought, Hildegard wondered,
“Do you really live here, Michael?”
“Yes…” Michael nodded and Hildegard gasped.
“This is my ancestral home.”
“Michael…” Vinnie slipped from the chair and threw her arms around his neck. “Can Hildegard come with us to New Orleans, tomorrow? Please?” Her bottom lips poked out and wobbled.
“Oooh!” Hildegard, hearing about the big City was now squishing between him and Vylette to hug Michael.
“Please, I’ve never been to New Orleans!”
Michael pretended to be deep in thought a long moment and charmed, Vylette was smiling. As if there were anything to contemplate.
“I see no problem with it, as long as your father says its okay.”
Michael Jackson was a smart one. He knew Mary Povah had it out for him and instead was going to appeal to the rarely seen, henpecked Bob Povah. A traveling salesman, he was often on the road for stretches at a time, but was home for about a week.
Just long enough to earn Hildegard time away from her overbearing mother.
“Yes, Sir!” Both girls chorused, and Hildegard was squeezing him harder.
“Vinnie, why don’t you show Hildegard the Library and you can each select two books. One Nancy Drew, and something educational. I want you two to learn as you read. Books aren’t just for entertainment, they’re for expanding your minds.”
“Okay Michael.” Vinnie stood and started away.
Hildegard remained seated, mashed against Michael, eyes closed blissfully as she rested her head against his chest.
“Hildegard!” She called from the French doors.
The child remained motionless and Vylette tried to hide her giggles.
“Sweetie…” Michael lightly tugged one of the long blonde braids trailing down her back. “…go get your books.”
Seeming to return to reality, Hildegard finally released him and started away.
Turning back her face went scarlet as Michael’s shirt.
“I think you’re more debonair than William Powell!”
She blurted and went running to Vinnie, both of them scampering away.
Vylette doubled over.
“Ha! William Powell! Lord!” She snorted as Michael smirked. “You seem to have a little admirer, Mr. Jackson. Should I be worried?”
“No…I never have liked blondes.” Michael tossed his head. “I prefer curvaceous brunettes with wicked jaws.”
Squinching her nose, Vylette leaned forward and kissed him with a smack.
“And I prefer wiry gentlemen with big…”
“Vylette!”
“Match made in Heaven.”
