The Following Morning
Meraux Residence
Rainelle Parish, Louisiana
“…to say you graduated as Valedictorian of our class, I think you’re being awfully gullible, My Dear…”
At the softly spoken and half-laughed declaration, the fork, loaded with ketchup-covered scrambled eggs, was held in midair.
Above the fork, a pair of lavender-blue eyes widened and sparkled with curiosity as they focused on the grayish-green ones staring back boldly.
“Gullible?” Vylette repeated the word with the utmost incredulity, her bosom starting to heave beneath the thin cotton of her floral print nightgown. “You think I’m being gullible?”
With one definitive nod, Lorraine, scantily dressed in a mint green satin negligee that left her as more legs than anything else, crossed over to the small white stove.
Almost magically, out of her flowing red tresses, she produced a Gold Crown cigarette.
Vylette stared as her cousin took her own sweet time to light the cancer stick and get a good puff off of it.
Flicking ashes, she finally elaborated,
“Yes, Vy, I think you’re being gullible. Actually believing that cock-and-bull story Hannah Povah fed you yesterday--”
Spine going erect, Vylette gasped as her cousin leaned against the sink, and shook in more ashes,
“You mean, you don’t believe it?”
Why, that was incredible to Vylette’s mind, that her cousin could doubt such a tale! How could she, when it involved the woman they loathed the most and the men they loved the best?
“Hell no, I don’t.” Lorraine replied flatly, eyes rolling.
“But, why, Lorrai--”
“Why? I’ll tell you why!” Lorraine drew another drag and blew a perfect smoke ring into the air. (Marlon had been teaching her that trick.)
“Think about it Vy. Really think about it. You’ve seen the painting the fellas have in the Light Blue Room, of all of them as kids. You saw their father in it. Joe Jackson was a really handsome man! Look at Daddy and Michael--the best-looking men to walk on two legs I ever saw. And there’s seven boys in that family. There’s five more just like them! Best looking family I ever saw! You’ve seen that painting of Katherine Dauphine hanging on the stairs a million times, Vylette. Beautiful, elegant, feminine…the only woman I’ve seen prettier than her was my own Mama!”
Lorraine tossed her head scornfully and her hair was a waved, red arc in the air.
“And then there’s Mary Povah…” She spit the name out the way others would the word manure. “…the ugliest woman God ever put breath in, Vy!”
Stamping out the butt of her cigarette in the sink, Lorraine discarded it, before returning back to the table.
Her delicate cheeks glowed red without the use of rouge.
“You’ve seen that creature, Vylette. All skin and bones, no kind of body to speak of, even after having a litter of kids! A woman is supposed to round out after a baby or two. And Hannah is her mother all over again. No color, pale as can be. I mean the two of us look White, sure, but there’s color to our cheeks, our eyes sparkle and enchant--oh you should hear how Daddy talks about my eyes when we’re alone, he’s plain nutty for them--but there’s nothing to Hannah. And there’s damn sure nothing to Mary! Like mother, like daughter…”
Head shaking Lorraine tittered.
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! What the hell could someone like Mary Povah have to offer someone like Joe Jackson? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! I mean, Joe was this hotshot lawyer and here comes Mary who was a bigger virgin than most of the nuns haunting the church house. What did she know about men? How to keep a man? How to flirt? How to tease and stroke a guy’s ego? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Tickled, Lorraine slapped the tabletop.
“Please, Darling! What could she talk about other than scriptures of the Bible? Men like smoking and drinking and dancing and necking. Mary’s a one woman temperance movement! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! But Joe wanted to go for that, according to Hannah. Like Hell. The only person I could see for him was Katherine. Came from a good family, was independently wealthy, land of her own…and Mary had nothing but a bunch of skinny-ass siblings on a quarter acre plot of land they farmed the life out of. The only reason Mary snagged Mr. Povah is because I reckon he was an Old Maid in Britches! He’s over fifty already and I guess Mary was his last out at having a home and family. And he’s hardly there anyway, what with being a traveling salesman. If he’d stuck around more, his kids might have some gumption to them, other than cowering clear down to their drawers about that Mama of theirs!”
Lorraine shook her head.
“Open your eyes and wake up, Vy! You gotta be hip to those tramps. Those women are jealous of us. We’re pretty and about to marry into money! I know Mary hates me for dropping Ulrich like a hot potato and bad habit rolled into one. But what kind of fool would I be to turn Marlon Jackson down? We’ve only been together about three months…and I’m living like a Queen. I got the best clothes, some jewelry, Marlon says I can have more if I like but I won’t ask because I won’t have him calling me a gold-digger--”
Vylette almost laughed, because her cousin was an undercover opportunist. Her interest in Marlon had first been driven by his money, then his good looks.
“Marlon drives that swell car, is smart and funny and dresses better than the movie stars on the screen. But no, I’m supposed to be a dumbass and marry Ulrich just so I can lose my figure and pop out White-looking babies for his damn Ma. Crazy backwards ass bitch! I’d have a hundred of those ‘procedures’ like Wallis Pelant before I’d bear Ulrich Povah a child--I‘d rather ‘go‘ with another woman first--”
“Lorraine! Shhhh!” Putting a hand across the table, Vylette covered the pouted lips of her cousin, trying to swiftly bring silence.
Across from them, in the open back door, Wallis’ little brother Winston had appeared and was peering through the screen at them.
The last thing Vylette wanted was for that poor child to hear her cousin badmouthing his sister and her less than desirable reputation.
“Yes, Winston? You can come in, the screen’s unhooked.” She called and a moment later, the boy, barefoot and in overalls shuffled in.
“Hi Vy, hi Lorraine.” He greeted them in his timid, polite way. If he had heard the remarks, he gave no hint of it. “Um…Dr. Meraux wants you to come down to his office as quick as possible. He wants to talk to you.”
“Oh, alright. Thank you.” Vylette nodded and she and Lorraine both started to get up.
“Just you, Vy.” Winston interrupted, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Sorry, Lorraine.”
“Well!” Lorraine plopped back down and picked at her eggs.
Surprised her father was only calling for her, Vylette came around the table and patted the boy’s shoulder.
“There’s some Coca-Cola in the icebox. Take one. I know it’s hot today. I’ll be down to see Papa, directly.”
“Thanks, Vy!”
As the child rushed to the fridge, and glass began tinkling, Vylette’s mind was in her closet, trying to think of what to slip into quickly and rush to see what her father wanted.
It was a rare occurrence for her to be summoned during her father’s work day, and she only hoped there wasn’t any sort of outbreak of disease anywhere.
Once there had been a minor outbreak of Cholera and Vylette had been stuck at the church, turned into a makeshift quarantine ward for over a week…she didn’t feel like being vomited on again.
The true reason would be revealed in time to the girl, now hastily digging for stockings, garters and an outfit.
A While Later
Main Street
Rainelle Parish, Louisiana
While it usually happened without intent, Vylette Meraux was turning heads so fiercely on the moderately packed lane, people should have been rushing to her father’s office for treatment of whiplash.
Vylette was keenly aware of it, but tried her best to ignore it, as she stepped up onto the wooden sidewalk.
Conversations that had rang loud and merry before her appearance became hushed and whispered, eyes stared, some lustily, some hungrily, some enviously at her.
She wasn’t deaf to the whispers, most of which referenced her as being,
“That Jackson guy’s dame.”
Vylette was no longer Dr. Meraux and Mrs. Meraux’s daughter or Vinnie’s big sister. She was Michael’s Woman.
And it was vastly apparent to anyone pausing to look at her.
While most moved around in their mended hand-me-downs, and flour sack garments, Vylette was a rose among weeds.
Trying to be inconspicuous, she walked along in another, spank-new frock, and it was whispered she had dozens more between her home and Jackson Manor.
A gorgeous frock of the very palest blue silk faille, boasting wide, bell-shaped sleeves, trimmed in a whimsical dark blue and turquoise print that was repeated around the softly square neckline.
A wide brimmed, pale blue hat bounced with each step, matching the small shoes on her feet and even smaller beaded bag in her hand, containing only a tube of lipstick.
From just beneath her right sleeve, the light managed to catch and dance across her diamond tennis bracelet and the large moonstone of her ring.
Walking along, she fought not to pay attention to those around her and instead, focused on the low brick building looming in the distance.
Hanging sultrily in the doorway of the grocery store, cheap Wallis looked on as she went by, before the hairy arm of an unseen man jerked her back.
Nearing her father’s medical office, Vylette stopped abruptly and her eyes widened in wonder and worry.
Parked in front of Dr. Meraux’s office was Michael Jackson’s two-tone car!
Heart thudding rapidly from the fright of a woman scared to death her lover may be in peril, Vylette was running.
Running as fast as her feet in those cumbersome three-inch heels could carry her.
She mounted the steps two at a time and flung open the door to the lobby.
It was completely empty, and silent and Vylette streaked across to the closed door of the examination room, banging on it.
Her head was spinning and blood pulsed in her ears.
Was Michael alright? Was he hurt? Was he hanging on to life for one more glimpse of her?
Her mind raced with all sorts of preconceived horrors.
“Papa? Michael! Papa--Papa!” She called as a nervous sweat started to dampen her back.
“Vylette? Come in, Dear--”
The call was hardly uttered before Vylette had shoved it open and thrown herself into the austere, white office.
“Oh!”
Vylette gasped, her hands coming to her mouth as a scene she was unprepared for revealed itself to her.
Perched atop the padded exam table, was a topless Michael Jackson, with his legs, covered in light brown slacks were crossed at the ankles.
He looked so small and vulnerable up there, body sagging slightly, his skin showing a sheen in the stuffy room.
And a few feet away, her father was filling a syringe with a faintly green liquid from a small glass container.
“Oh Michael! Michael, Darling, what’s wrong?” Vylette was instantly against him squeezing him tightly, resting her cheek against his warm, damp chest, his heart beating rapidly and wildly in her ear.
“Are you sick? Are you dying? I’ll nurse you back to health! I’ll never leave your side. What is it? Typhoid Fever? Cholera? Typhus? Lupus? Is it Lupus?”
She was on the verge of being hysterical.
Nothing should happen to Michael Jackson. He was too kind, too sweet, the most wonderful man in the world to her and right on the spot she vowed to see him through and fight whatever ailed.
“He isn’t ill, Vylette…” Her father assured her, soothingly, walking over with the needle in hand. “…just in for his monthly supplement shot. Would you get me a cotton ball and the rubbing alcohol?”
“Y-yes, Sir…” Vylette stammered, still shaken and retrieved the items from a nearby counter.
Quietly, she watched as her father dunked the ball, saturating it, and rubbed at a patch near Michael’s bicep, disinfecting it.
“You’re going to feel a pinch, Son…” Dr. Meraux cautioned and Michael was crushing Vylette’s hand with his.
Michael’s eyes squinched closed and he turned away, his chest rising as he held his breath.
Vylette squinted, grimacing, but continued to watch as the sharp needle tip, about two inches in length, pierced the delicate flesh of Michael’s arm and he jerked as a reaction.
“Ugh!”
“Michael, I’ve told you, you can’t move like that…” Dr. Meraux spoke nicely, yet firmly as his other hand gripped Michael’s arm to keep it still. “Last month you broke the needle and we nearly came to blows when I had to fish it out. I don’t want to have to do it again.”
“I’m sorry Sir…” Michael whimpered through gritted teeth. “It’s not the greatest feeling!”
“I know…” The needle was pulled back a bit and pushed in completely.
“Ow!” The yelp shook the room.
“Papa, hurry! You’re hurting him!” Vylette urged, wanting to lie down and cry at Michael’s discomfort.
“Be calm, both of you! I have to inject the solution slowly or he’ll have a bruise the size of his car. Just a couple of minutes.” Dr. Meraux was peering through his glasses at the thin arm. His eyes were stern, and studied, as a doctor who had seen unspeakable illnesses and cured the bulk of them needed to be.
“It stings like a bitch--Pardon my language, Vy!” Michael grunted, his teeth grinding.
Even in pain, he was being a gentleman.
Leaning upwards, Vylette kissed his cheek, flaming beneath her lips.
The solution was halfway gone.
“Papa, please!” Vylette begged as another grunt left Michael and round glassy beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead.
“Almost…almost…” Dr. Meraux intoned as the last bits of fluid were injected.
Suddenly, the syringe was empty.
“It’s all over now, Michael. You did well…”
Michael Jackson’s entire body seem to crumple with relief.
The cotton ball was placed over the wound as the needle was quickly removed and helping, Vylette held it. It turned light pink with some blood that escaped.
“Thank you Doc…I don’t like it, but I know it’s necessary.” Michael nodded, his breathing still a bit labored and his bare back was patted firmly.
“Are you alright, Honey? Do you need anything?” Vylette wondered, pulling at the ball and seeing another drop of blood, applied more pressure to it.
“I’ll be fine in a minute; you’re here with me now. Everything will be alright. You look so lovely, Mein Leibling.” Michael gave a gracious smile.
Slipping from the table he pinched her cheek. “You’ll excuse me…I have to go get decent.”
“Yes.” Vylette grasped his hand, kissing the top of it and watched as he walked away and disappeared into the washroom, shutting the door behind him.
“Vylette?”
Her attention shifted to her father, sitting at his desk, and lighting his pipe.
“Yes, Sir?”
She hesitated a moment, before crossing over and sitting on one of the hard, wooden guest chairs.
“I suspect the Pelant boy got you to come, eh?”
“Yes, Sir--”
“Do you know why you’ve been asked here?”
“No, Sir.” Vylette’s hat bobbed as she shook her head.
Her thought was Michael hadn’t wanted to suffer the injection alone and wanted her support to endure it.
Indicating the shut door with a flick of his fingers, Dr. Meraux puffed thoughtfully.
“When Michael came in, before I could even get a ‘hello’ out my mouth, he was commenting that he’d been rude.”
“Rude?” Vylette’s brows went up. How on Earth had Michael been rude? He was one of the most well-mannered men she knew.
“Yes, Dear.” Her father nodded. “He said that the two of you had been going together for months and not once had he extended an invite to me or your mother to come to his house. Even though he and Marlon eat with us at least once a week. So before we even started his exam, Michael invited all of us to dinner tomorrow night, up at the Manor.”
Vylette’s heart picked up pace again and her mouth was dry.
A dinner? Michael had invited them all to dinner?
Dinner at Jackson Manor. What an event!!!
A pleased, pleasant smile came to the doctor’s face and his grey eyes widened.
“I never thought I’d ever see the inside of that place, not in my lifetime. And now I’m a guest to dinner. Michael said to dress up--I’m looking forward to it. This is where you come in, Vylette…”
Opening a drawer, Dr. Meraux produced two five-dollar bills.
“I…I want you to go into New Orleans with Michael today. I want you to find a nice dress for your mother. I think she deserves it. You do know her size--a 42, stout…”
(Author’s Note: That’s a size 16/18 in today’s clothing.)
“Yes, Papa…” Vylette slowly took the money and stared down at the bills.
She could hardly fathom it. Her mother in Jackson Manor.
Sitting at Michael’s table and eating his food and being waited on by Adelaide.
How she’d hate it. How she’d claim the Jacksons were showing off and slopping over with “extras”.
Crossing herself, Vylette prayed that her mother wouldn’t do anything to unravel her evening.
She didn’t want a kind gesture to be rebuffed.
Plus she wanted to see just what a dinner, with all the stops pulled out were like at the Manor.
A candlelit meal, holding Michael’s hand in between bites.
Lorraine’s trashy novels couldn’t do any better than that!
From the washroom, Michael emerged, resplendent in his light brown suit and white shirt with dotted tie. His fedora was in his hand out of respect.
“Did…your father tell you about our plans?” He questioned meekly, easing over and standing beside her.
He smelled so wonderfully of his musky cologne.
“Yes!” Vylette was hugging him. “ I can’t wait!”
An impromptu trip to New Orleans in the middle of the week!
As he beamed down at her, Vylette hoped vainly that it would make for a pleasant night, and not one she’d regret until her last living day.
* * *
Three Hours Later
Goldie’s Department Store
New Orleans, Louisiana
According to Michael Jackson, Goldie’s was one of the finest clothing stores in all of New Orleans.
And certainly, from the moment Vylette had set foot through the polished, gilt-framed revolving doors fashioned to look like tree branches, she had been dazzled.
Made in an Art Nouveau style, Goldie’s Department Store stretched upwards for six stories, each floor specializing in different sorts of clothing.
It was made quite clear the moment they hit the floral mosaic tiled floors, that everything within that brick building soared far above and beyond Vylette’s ten-dollar budget.
Everywhere she looked couples wafted back and forth, dressed in the very best day wear, and she hadn’t known precious gems so large existed until she saw a woman wearing them with her suit.
Beautiful children, outfitted in lavish clothing, some throwing tantrums with tired looking nannies ran here and yonder.
Different counters were manned by women in crisp black dresses, each looking like she rolled from a page in Vogue, and the few men were affected and a tad on the effeminate side.
As they started from the ground up, Michael Jackson quickly made it clear everything for Kathleen Meraux was to be a gift from him. And as thus, any financial barriers were broken down.
Vylette had been instructed to purchase a dress.
So far, Michael had managed to wander onto each of the first four floors, with his wallet flopping open on all of them.
On the first floor, a large, flower-shaped bottle of perfume, called White Gardenia had been purchased and smelled so wonderfully, Vylette had nearly swooned.
On the second floor a silk, lace-edged handkerchief appeared with a large ‘K’ embroidered in pink satin thread, along with silk stockings, in a light brown, close to Mrs. Meraux’s complexion.
On the third floor, a dress was then actually selected after much arguing.
Michael had wanted the most opulent dress on the floor, a barely there garment in gold sequins, baring much back and cleavage and Vylette almost pulled his hair out, remaking her mother would look like a brothel madam in such a garment. It did come in a 42 stout and had been shown on a woman shaped like her mother…but the attractive, heavyset model was no older than Vylette--the dress was much too young for a woman of Kathleen Meraux thirty-five years.
Her mother was far too modest and would have died as opposed to going out in public in such a dress.
It took much pleading, soft swearing in French and multiple kisses but Vylette persuaded Michael down into a much more sedate dress of black floral lace, with short sleeves.
And now on the fourth floor, she stood by her man, at the gift-wrapping booth in the very back of the floor, watching as the young male attendant was displaying different types of pink paper.
“Zis has zee little hearts on it, oooh-la-la look at ze shine!” He spoke in a lisping, Creole-tinged voice. “C’est magnifique, no?”
“I like that…” Michael agreed, eyes dancing as scissors were wielded, and lengths of paper were being cut. “Put some red bows on it to match the hearts please”
“ Mais oui!” Deft hands were expertly wrapping the gold and black cardboard boxes containing all that had bene purchased.
“Are you hungry Violette Blanche?” Michael wondered, large hand clasping her shoulder.
“A little--” She admitted and the wrapper spoke up.
“Monsieur, on ze fifth floor is a restaurant…they serve excellent food, if your wife is interested…”
The young couple grinned at his mistake.
‘Your wife’…they looked like a married couple already and neither made moves to correct him.
“She is…” Michael was smiling so, his teeth should have cracked as he looked over his ‘spouse‘. “Will you hold our packages until we’re done eating… for Michael Jackson…”
“Oui, Monsieur!” Cutting ribbon the man assured him and arm around her, Michael pulled Vylette close.
“I like when they do that…think you’re my wife…” He commented with pride. “Lets me know we belong together…”
“Me too…” Vylette whispered feeling warm all over.
She stepped onto the elevator, with Michael instructing the operator he wanted to go up.
Vylette, clutching his hand, hungered for more than food at that moment…she hungered to be Mrs. Michael Jackson.
The restaurant on the fifth floor was something akin to a glorified lunch counter.
It was a vast, sweeping eatery, taking up the entire floor and bustling with life in the hours between lunch and dinner.
It was quite beautiful, decorated in shades of robin’s egg blue, pale pink and mint green rimmed with golden brass.
Taking up one long, far wall was the actual counter, crowded with people, chattering, eating, drinking and enjoying themselves.
Behind the counter a dozen cooks in starched white uniforms took orders and prepared food swiftly.
The air was heavy with the scent of fried foods, multiple perfumes, and pungent coffee.
Over speakers, light ragtime music played.
“Is a booth okay, Baby? We’d need a crowbar to wedge in at the counter!” Michael snickered and was pulling her along.
A few yards away, a pink booth was vacant.
“I don’t mind, Mike!”
As she neared it, someone gripped her hand.
“Hey there, Beautiful…” A drunken voice sputtered and looking down, she saw an older gentleman, with bloodshot eyes was smiling crookedly at her.
“On…oh the level…strictly confidential…I can get you into p-p-p-p-pictures, Doll…”
The man grinned brightly with teeth looking like baked beans.
Instantly a huge brown hand was crushing the wrist.
“And I’ll knock your soused ass level and sober if you don’t let go of my girl right now!”
Michael hissed, eyes huge with flaming hatred and tugged Vylette loose.
“Touch her again, and I break your arm off at the socket and beat you with it!”
“Hey now Brother--” The guy mumbled and hiccupped.
“You ain’t my Brother!” Michael tossed his head and proceeded towards the pink booth.
“Are you alright?” Michael asked and continued in inflamed German.
“Yes…don’t….don’t get worked up!” Vylette was alarmed as he frowned, glaring at the man who was now accosting another passing woman.
“I can’t stand fellas like that. You don’t just grab a lady! I’d have popped him one if we weren’t in a crowded place. Plus I know you’re hungry…I won’t shame you, sinking to his level…”
A menu was put in front of her.
“Get what you like. I think I have to go up to the counter to order…” His eyes were cruising back and forth along the page.
Covertly, Vylette watched Michael, feeling even hotter and special at how Michael jumped in to protect her.
He did look after her so well. He was such a gentleman!
“This baked ham is talking to me. I wonder if they can slice up the pickle on my potato salad…” Michael wondered thoughtfully.
“Sounds good, I’ll have it too.” Vylette winked and he replied,
“Ginger Ale?”
She nodded and Michael rose.
“Anyone else molest you, you scream and I’ll send them to the hospital…”
He advised and started away.
“Of course!”
A part of Vylette wanted to see Michael lay someone out to dry again.
Michael made a point of passing the drunkard and knocking his hat off the table.
“Uppity-ass N (bad word)!” The man bellowed after him and was quickly escorted out by a pair of cooks for shouting an obscenity.
Giggling to herself, Vylette settled and started to people watch.
It was so interesting seeing so many people in oneplace. Business men with briefcases taking a late lunch.
Ladies in fine chiffon dresses, large hats and gloves giggling merrily with one another. (Vylette wondered if any of them would be at the gala on Saturday, and if by next week, she’d be a part of the snickering pack)
Children eating sandwiches and chattering loudly, being shushed by their nannies.
A few couples kissed back and forth enjoying the company love brought.
Several moments passed, before Vylette noticed she was being watched.
Sitting alone, at a table close to hers, a very large boy was gazing at her. He appeared Vinnie’s age and was quite fat, with a happy looking, round, freckled face.
Dark blue eyes crinkled at the corners and he was smiling so happily at her.
In front of him a large sundae was melting.
As the child continued to smile, Vylette felt compelled to smile back.
He seemed surprised, eyes widening and mouth opening, and was scrambling to his feet.
He was so large the jacket of his dark suit was straining the buttons to near popping off over his massive gut.
As quickly as his oversized feet could carry him, he got to the tableside.
“H-hi Miss!” He gasped, the sudden movement leaving him breathless.
“Hello.” Vylette was amused and chuckled, as the boy stared over her in wonder. “How do you--”
And then the child asked something that nearly straightened her hair.
“May…may I have your autograph?”
Thin brows went up.
“My autograph?” She repeated and snorted, and the boy begin feeling all over himself, producing a slip of paper and a pen.
“Yes, Ma’am!” The boy gasped again eyes wide with admiration.
“I’ve seen all your pictures, Miss Loy!”
Loy? Vylette cocked her head to the side in curiosity and had to ask.
“You think I’m Myrna Loy--?”
“I loved all the pictures! Under a Texas Moon, Body and Soul…I’ve seen Arrowsmith six times!”
As the boy continued rambling excitedly and trying to push the pen into her hand, Michael returned carrying a large tray.
“What the--?” Michael started, setting the tray down, confused by the scene.
“You must be her agent!” The boy was shaking Michael’s hand so hard he was leaping. “Funny, you looked White as me in Photoplay and Screen Digest! But you’re Colored, how neat--”
“Agent?” Michael’s eyes shone his wonder and he looked to Vylette for help.
She only shrugged and continued to beam at the poor boy’s gaff.
“All my friends will drop dead on go to Hell--um, Heaven, when I tell them I met Myrna Loy!”
“You met WHO?” Michael recoiled, eyes bugging in disbelief and Vylette wanted to double over.
“Myrna Loy!” The boy repeated and pushed at Vylette’s hand.
“Sign please, Ma’am! I wanna remember this for the rest of my natural life! ”
Vylette paused a moment and smiled, and then wrote on the paper as prettily as she could.
“Vy--!”
“Oh thank ya!” The boy grinned snatching it up.
It fell off when he read the signature.
“Vylette Meraux?” He stared up at her, tears sparkling in his eyes. “You mean…you ain’t Myrna Loy?”
“No…I’m sorry…” Vylette patted at his heaving shoulder. “Don’t cry Sweetie.”
“Aww gee whiz…you look just like her…” Tears rolled down his plump cheeks and he sniffled.
“What’s your name, Son?” Michael handed him a paper napkin to wipe his face.
“My name’s Robbie…all my friends call me Chubby.” The boy whimpered and Michael patted his back.
“Well, I’m Michael and you know she’s Vylette. Stop crying…want some more ice cream?”
“No, Sir…I’m sorry I bothered you. You really look like her, Vylette…”
“No bother…and that‘s a great compliment to pay a lady…” Vylette winked at him and leaning pecked his cheek. “Now you can tell all your pals a Loy look-alike kissed you. Then they can die and go to Hell--Heaven.”
The boy puffed up so, Vylette thought he was going to bust all over the walls.
“Thank you! Thank you! Oh boy! Thank you!” Gleefully, Chubby was waddling away.
“Myrna Loy…I’ll be damned…the most off the wall stuff happens when I step away from you...Myrna Loy…” Michael chortled putting a plate of food in front of Vylette and smirking.
“Only seems fitting…” Vylette winked at him. “…that a theatre man’s girl look one of the stars on his screen!”
Potato salad squirted out Michael’s nose he laughed so hard.
* * *
The late lunch passed as a rather pleasant affair--once Michael had blown all the potato and egg chunks from his nostrils. He spent the entire time staring at her, trying to decide for himself, if Vylette really did resemble her movie star doppelganger.
After the meal had been consumed, Vylette had expected them to collect the parcels and start back home before the sun had set.
But now, with the sun starting to sink beyond the horizon… and the sky overhead turning from blue to shades of purple and pink, the twosome weren’t any closer to home than they had been following lunch.
Starting to leave town, Michael had driven past the Park de la Bellevue and suggested they walk off the ham they‘d consumed.
That had been two hours ago.
The two sat off to themselves, beneath a huge, soaring oak and had been perched there ever since.
“It’ll be night soon…” Vylette commented with a sigh of discontent, picking at the gold and smoky quartz brooch on Michael’s lapel. “…shouldn’t we start for home? Mama will be worried…”
“The car has headlights and I’ll protect you…” Michael whispered, tilting her head back and smooching her rosy lips.
His hand dropped down and in the dimness he was groping at her bosom.
“Say…” Vylette slapped his hand away when he mashed on her nipple with a giggle. “What is the big idea with this dinner? All the trouble you’ve gone through for Mama?” Vylette inquired, leaning out the way as he tried to kiss her again. “Buying up the store, paying God knows how much…”
An invite hadn’t come before and in general Michael tried to avoid much contact with Kathleen and how she would scathingly glare at him.
Fingers pinched her lips.
“That wasn’t my money--that was Marlon’s…” Michael’s eyes sparkled in the darkness.
“Why would he do that? Marlon doesn’t care for Ma--”
It took a few minutes for Vylette to get him.
And she almost knocked him over she jumped so hard when the idea connected.
“You…you mean he’s gonna ask Lorraine--?” Vylette stammered feeling faint herself.
Marlon was going to propose to Lorraine!!!
Oh, how Lorraine had prayed and yearned for the moment she’d hear that blessed question! She loved Marlon so much and spoke so much of being engaged.
It was all her cousin dreamed about.
“Yes…shhh….shhh….shhh…” Michael smiled.
“He received her ring just yesterday afternoon…shhh, Baby…” He cooed.
“Marlon wants to do it right, with her family around. He only wishes her parents were alive to see it. That’s why the dinner is happening. He wants to do it with her loved ones there…”
Vylette was kissed again.
“You can’t breathe a word of this to Lorraine. You can’t hint at it. It’ll spoil the whole dinner, and Marlon wants her surprised. He’ll ask right after dessert.”
“I…I can’t believe it…Oh Mike!” She was hugging him so tightly. “Oh my goodness, she’ll be so very happy…”
“I know…” Michael hugged her closely.
“Where’s my ring?” Vylette mumbled through tears and Michael snorted,
“Not done yet…you must be patient, Mein Leibling. I want perfection on the hand of my perfect woman. Now stop that…if you go home all red-eyed, Lorraine will weasel it out of you. Come on…”
Helped to her feet, Vylette sagged against Michael drained from the excitement for her cousin.
And wanting to strangle Michael’s jeweler for putting her own dream come true on hold.
Hey Y’all!
Now I know you’re probably looking at my blog right now and can see this is titled as “Chapter SIXTEEN Visuals and Inspirations” and are wondering where the V&I is for chapter FIFTEEN.
Well, to be perfectly honest, there isn't one. And I’ll tell you why. The bulk of the chapter centered around Marlon Jackson kicking Steven Wilkes’ smug ass up and down Main Street, for daring to be crude and evil to Lorraine. Fashion wasn't so much important, as in previous chapters. I just needed clothes on people and to get fists flying through the air. The outfits are my own imagination’s creation and therefore, have no photographic reference points other than a chart from 1929 stating what colors were becoming on brunettes and redheads. The fight boiled down with Marlon leaving Steven with a concussion and his father rather goofy from being kicked in the chin.
And both learned the hard, painful lesson of not to mess with Miss Lorraine Devereaux.
But it is an harsh embarrassment that will come back later in the story, to haunt Marlon. But then again, Marlon will pick up just as many enemies as friends along the way…
Let’s move on to the chapter at hand, chapter SIXTEEN.
Life in general, had become somewhat disarranged, thanks to the brawl in the street. Vylette and Lorraine were gypped out of being allowed to select their gala ball gowns, and also, heartbreaking in this chapter, the trip to New Orleans has been cancelled as Marlon is too stiff to run around the City.
So instead, a day indoors is taken.
The chapter starts with Vylette getting dressed and being visited by Michael.
And she's seen in a cute lace teddy.
Vylette’s dress is based on one her character form, Myrna Loy wore in a film called Stamboul Quest but I could not seem to locate a picture of it.
This picture of her is close to the dress I wanted and just imagined flowers on it. Michael is surprised and treated to the thrill of having five, stories written by his Violette Blanche presented to him, and is sure she’ll be the next Anita Loos.
Anita as a young woman.
For those of you that don’t know, Anita Loos is the woman that wrote the book Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, that was a hit in the 1920s as a book and stage play before Marilyn Monroe made it into celluloid history in the 1950s film version.
And Michael has the belief Vylette can surpass her. (Just think of her sort of, as the JK Rowling of the 1930s.)
The story picks back up with Michael so engrossed in one of Vylette’s stories, he doesn’t hear Adelaide telling him about lunch, leaving it to be handled by Vylette. And you know I’m anal about the food, so feast your eyes…
Creamy Cucumber Salad
Honey Glazed Carrots
Green Beans Topped with a Poached Egg. (I hate poached eggs.)
Roast Beef, because I'm a Texan and I love BEEF.
A surprise occurs when Hildegard is dropped off to play with Vinnie: Her older sister Hannah is invited along.
In creating Hannah, I really wanted to make a statement. Hannah is a waif-thin, skinny blonde white girl. Which, by 2014 standards, is the “look” of the world. Skinny, without an extra ounce of flesh.
By 1931 standards, Hannah figure is undesirable and I’ve made a point of repeating that Lorraine and Vylette had fuller figures.
In the earlier part of the last century, along with weight reducing ads, there were ads for weight gaining ads. Hannah needs this.
Advertisement for Ironized Yeast to Gain Weight.
While Hannah and her mother are about a size 0/2, Vylette and Lorraine are both about a size 6/8 or 8/10 in my mind. Not overweight, but with enough body to have breasts and hips. (Kathleen is a stout size 16!)
Hannah, in my head is loosely based on a combination of the Hilton sisters. Hannah had Nicky’s face, as she got the short end of the stick when God was handing out beauty, and Paris’ stick-like figure.
Paris and Nicky Hilton. Nice to know Paris shaved before putting on that skirt!
Michael makes a speedy exit to continue reading stories after Hannah is invited to stick around and it’s while Vylette and Hannah are chatting, that a strange revelation is revealed.
In the 1890s, when they were young, Joseph Jackson had dated Mary Povah before it seemed a brick landed on his head and he had the sense knocked into him, and instead was attracted to Katherine Dauphine.
Now I’m sure everyone reading this has seen Katherine Jackson as a young woman and can all agree with me when I say Joe did the right thing, in leaving that pinched buzzard looking Mary behind.
But it is incredible to think of how closely the Povahs came to being the wealthiest citizens in town instead of just the family of a much-absent traveling salesman.
And perhaps, its because of this dumping that Mary has become so cold, callous and especially evil to to Vylette and Lorraine and Michael and Marlon…I don’t blame her, I’d be a bitch too if I saw the ladle with my gravy pouring over someone else.
And for the heck of it, I found photo references of the dresses Mary and Katherine wore on that fated night at the cotillion.
Mary's simple and respectable white dress with the baby blue sash. Rather saccharine and sweet and what would be expected to be worn by a rural farmer's daughter...
...and Katherine's ballgown. Joseph didn't stand a chance when she wafted in. I looked at two dozen dresses before selecting this. Katherine almost had this dress:
The chapter ends with everyone, with the exception of the sidelined Marlon and Lorraine, taking lunch in the formal dining room with simple Hannah awed at the offerings of food. In a twist, Michael very kindly invites all the Povahs to the opening of the Palace, a little over a week away. Which will probably give Mary Povah a stroke--notice, he did NOT invite Mary along. Only her children.
(shots fired)
There’s a conversation I added purely for comic relief to lighten the mood after the heavy story of love lost--Michael recounting sound of the movie stars he’d seen and met.
Charlie Chaplin, The Little Tramp had been invited to attend the premiere of his film City Lights (my personal favorite Chaplin silent film) And I do credit Michael Jackson with my interest in Chaplin. Since he liked him, I looked into him. Thanks Mike.
Chaplin trying to evade the cops.
Michael bore an uncanny resemblance to Chaplin in later years with the help of makeup.
Stars Michael had seen in person/met were Richard “Dick” Barthelmess, Ramon Navarro, Clara Bow (whom town trash Wallis Pelant is based on) and Norma Shearer.
Dick did really look that miserable in EVERY picture he made.
Ramon in the silent version of Ben-Hur. He was supposed to be the new Valentino.
Clara in Gif form because I refuse to post her being still.
Norma being cute.
Jean Harlow in 1929. It's amazing what hair and makeup can do for a girl.
A sighting of a young Jean Harlow brings a half-dressed Lorraine running, shocking all in attendance.
Obviously from doing something untoward with the bedridden ’Daddy’.
She has spidey-senses that way.
And of course, in time tongues will start to wag.
They’ll get to wagging even harder in chapter SEVENTEEN being written now. More is on the way!!!
THANK YOU FOR READING!!!
The Following Morning
Meraux Residence
Rainelle Parish, Louisiana
“…garters…garters…garters…”
Vylette Meraux mumbled to herself, as she idled, somewhat lazily in front of the large chifferobe in her bedroom.
The third drawer from the top hung open; one side contained dozens of fine, lace, satin and silk undergarments, while the other contained dozens more frilly, fancy bands of elastic with which to hold stockings up.
Vylette was in an intimate state of undress, her pert, healthy body only concealed by a delicate, fairly see-through teddy of peach colored lace.
Glancing sideways into the mirror, she frowned.
Barely perceptible, she could see the thin veil of blackness starting to appear on her forbidden triangle. When she had more time on her hands, she would ‘eradicate’ that little problem again.
Giggling to herself, Vylette’s hand fell upon a pair of garters. She wasn’t sure if they were for her, or Lorraine, as they were simply embroidered with “MJ” in sage green thread on a peachy background.
Liking the feel of the ruched silk in her hands, she selected it and held it up, inspecting it.
For a moment, she wondered just what such finery cost, but would never know. Michael Jackson so disliked discussing the price of things, and would never trouble her with such matters.
Vylette smiled at his thoughtfulness; a man looking after his woman in such a fashion was quite flattering. And she knew she was more fortunate than most, as his wealth afforded her, her dreams.
Her dreams.
Vylette’s eyes drifted over to the purple typewriter on the small desk, and the dark brown accordion folder beside it.
It had taken a bi of work--and bribing her cousin and sister into doing her chores for her, but Vylette had managed to complete five whole stories.
Stories she hoped would please Michael, and hopefully, appear in a periodical somewhere.
With Michael’s help, she dared dream of being a writer…have her name in print and maybe even cause a stir in the literary world.
“I wasn’t aware that lace came in such beautiful, startling hues…such a modern and advanced age we live in. ”
Back still turned, Vylette could feel her lips curling at the sound of the voice that was so dear to her.
“And what else would you expect the smartest, most modern woman to slip into…” She glanced over her shoulder in a sultry way. “…and out of?”
“Only the finest, as far as I’m concerned.” Michael chuckled. “Now turn around so I can see the front, please.”
Vylette had been grinning as she turned.
The smile left her face as she laid eyes on Michael Jackson.
For such a big day, as what laid before them, walking around among the top-tier of New Orleans society, he was quite underdressed.
She had been expecting him to be turned out in a well-appointed three-piece suit, with a hat and wing-tip shoes.
Instead, Michael was dressed comfortably in a navy and yellow argyle print sweater vest over a white shirt and tie, with navy, pleated slacks.
“Michael…” Lavender-blue eyes widened in question. “What…what are you wearing? Surely you’re not going to the City, so…so casual!”
Why it would be social suicide for a man of his stature to be in town like that.
“Listen at you…” Michael tried to stifle a laugh. “…already sounding like a Belle…Mein Liebling…”
Coming closer, warm hands pressed her shoulders.
“Vy…” His eyes washed over her and instantly, Vylette knew something was wrong. “Oh, you look so pretty this morning. With your hair coiled that way and your make-up…you take such time to look so perfect, for me.”
Vylette patted his cheek with concern.
“What’s wrong--what’s the matter?”
Those lovely dark eyes fell.
“I hope you won’t be too upset, Dear, but our plans have to be cancelled.”
In spite of her best efforts, Vylette did crumple a bit, the garters falling from her hand.
“W-why?”
She had been looking forward to her very first trip to a real salon.
All of her selfishness left her as Michael explained,
“Marlon is ill.”
“Oh-oh no!” Vylette gasped hand to her mouth. “Ill? How? Why just yesterday--”
Just yesterday, Marlon had been the picture of health following his brawl with Steven Wilkes.
He’d come home, danced half the evening to jazz records with Lorraine, gorged on a large meal of roast chicken and trimmings and drank enough wine-spiked punch to fill the bayou.
He’d laughed and joked and even sang in a merry, pretty tenor.
How could he be ill?
“I know Darling, but Marlon did take one hell of a licking from that big baboon. And he’s feeling it today. He’s sore, and stiff and would just be miserable in the City if we went. Oh, he wanted to, he’d never want to disappoint Lorraine, but its impossible, Baby…”
He sighed deeply,
“But we do want to invite all of you out to the house. I’ll drive you over and I sent Winston to go tell Hildegard to come to the house.”
Stooping, he retrieved the garters and handed them to her.
“You get your clothes on.” He advised as Vylette had a seat on the end of her bed, and began putting on her flesh-toned stockings.
Michael watched her a moment, as she covered her plump, shapely legs.
“Where’s your dress?”
“Back of the closet door…”
Immediately, the garment was in his hands.
It was a simple frock, of silk faille, an odd color that was a light red with only a tinge of orange to it. It featured long, fluttery sleeves and dipped a tad low in the front.
Pinned to the front were three large, beige velvet rosettes.
“This is lovely, Violette Blanche…” Michael declared holding it open and helping her into it.
“Button me, will you?” Vylette questioned and Michael grunted, seeing the two dozen buttons lining the back.
“Damn it, it’d be easier to crush your ribs cinching a corset!”
“I haven’t a need for one!” Vylette quipped, as Michael took a full five minutes to loop the buttons.
Again Vylette sat, slipping on red-orange and cream, two-toned pumps.
“Are you about ready…” Michael trailed off as he crossed to the desk and typewriter. “Have you been writing, Vy?”
“Yes, plenty.” Vylette stood and admired herself in the mirror.
“That little brown case is for you.”
“Me?”
She looked on smugly as he crossed and picked it up.
It was opened and Michael stamped a foot.
“Vy! You little sneak! Five stories!”
Flipping through the pages, each story separated by a pocket he called the titles,
“Four Days to San Francisco, The Widow’s Blues, The Merry Mistake, War-Torn and Unfortunate…Jesus Christmas, I can’t wait to read this!”
Rushing over, Michael had his arm around her squeezing tightly.
“I’m so proud of you! My heart wants to burst! I’ll starting reading as soon as we get home. My own little writer--Adela Rogers St. John and Anita Loos better watch out!”
Arm draped around her, as he led her from the room boasting, Vylette had no idea what the day held for her, but had no idea it would cause more tongues to wag than Marlon Jackson’s fistfight ever could.
An Hour Later
Jackson Manor
Rainelle Parish, Louisiana
“…the roast beef should be done in about thirty minutes, Sir…”
Adelaide declared from where she stood, taking up a broad space in the open door to the informal sitting room, wiping her hands a small towel.
She gazed expectantly at Michael, seated on the pale blue divan, a hand mashed to his face. He wasn’t paying her any mind, because, as promised, he’d been reading Vylette’s work, since they’d arrived.
He was nearly done with War-Torn, and had a war broken out on his front lawn, he wouldn’t have noticed.
Seeing Michael’s mind was nowhere near his stomach, Vylette beamed and took the helm--somewhere in the future that would be her duty as his wife.
“That’s fine Adelaide, what all are you serving for lunch?”
Adelaide’s eyes danced as she counted off,
“Roast beef au jus, steamed asparagus with hollandaise, and glazed carrots--oh, and cucumbers with dill and cream for starters, Miss Vylette.”
Vylette’s gut was applauding.
“And to drink?”
“Lemonade, Ma’am, and tomato juice for Mr. Michael.”
“Sounds delish--” Vylette started with approval and was interrupted.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
“That must be Hildegard.” Vylette declared as Adelaide made a swift retreat to answer the door.
“Michael…” She patted at his shoulder.
To no avail, he was still reading intently.
“Baby!” She pinched him as she heard Hildegard sprightly declare hello to Adelaide.
Still silent, his eyes huge, they grew larger as Vylette pried the manuscript from his hand.
“Hey…there’s someone at the door. This will be here when you get back.”
“It’s so thrilling, simply thrilling. God, I just have to find out if they discover the pilot in the wreckage before he dies! Vylette--”
She was tugging his hand, leading him away out into the hall.
“You mustn’t be rude!”
“Does the pilot live? Jesus--tell me!”
“And spoil the ending? Not for the world!” Vylette snickered, as they entered the front foyer, and two figures rose.
It made her so proud that Michael was enjoying her writing so well.
“Dang!”
Naturally, Vylette had been expecting Ulrich to hand deliver his little sister to the house.
So she was quite surprised, to see, standing alongside Hildegard, was a saucer-eyed Hannah.
“Good morning, Hildegard--oof!” The breath was knocked from Michael as the child raced forward, embracing him.
There was the look of faraway adulation on her face again.
“Hi, Michael!” The child grinned, raising up on tiptoe, squeezing him happily.
Staggering with her, he extended a hand to Hannah, who stood crushing her small straw hat in her own hands.
“Hello Hannah, welcome to Jackson Manor.”
“Th-thank you, Michael…” Her eyes were still consuming the grandeur of the front hall. “…your home is beautiful.”
“Thank you, I decorated it myself.”
Seeing the way Hannah, who had probably never seen such splendor in all her life, was drinking in the home, Michael Jackson made an offer Hannah could not refuse.
“Hannah, would you care to stay and visit a while with Vylette? Lorraine is indisposed at the moment, looking after my brother, and I have some reading to attend to.”
Those colorless blue eyes swelled as Michael tried to pull Hildegard from his hips.
“Oh no…I couldn’t impose, Michael!” As she spoke, her face said otherwise, gaze practically pleading with Vylette.
She didn’t want to laugh, but a part of Vylette wanted to have Hannah around. Oh, how would Mary Povah react to having not one, but two of her daughters stay the afternoon at the Manor, with the Jacksons she so hated?
“Of course you could, Dear…” Vylette spoke up sweetly, “We so seldom have visitors, and we’d love to have you for luncheon--”
It was coming more and more naturally for her to think of Jackson Manor as not Michael’s home, but hers too!
“Well, I--”
“Don’t you dare refuse! Come along…” Vylette took Hannah’s clammy hand in her own.
Finally, Michael loosened Hildegard from his body.
“Sweetie, don’t you want to go up to the Library? Vinnie’s been expecting you.” He questioned and seeming to remember her friend, Hildegard smiled and trotted off, up the stairs, pausing to run her hands under the glass prisms surrounding the unlit lamps at the base of the banisters.
The prisms tinkled softly.
“Be quiet, Marlon’s trying to sleep!”
“Yes, Sir!”
As the running continued overhead, Michael smiled at the young women.
“I’m going to retire to my office and stay out the way, Mein Liebling. Why don’t you give Hannah here a tour of the grounds? Stay away from the solarium and pool, they‘re not done being decorated yet.”
He suggested and leaning over, smooched her mouth.
“Alright, you’ll have lunch with us?” Vylette wondered, eyes sweeping over him, long lashes fluttering.
He pinched her chin lovingly.
“Of course!”
As Michael returned to the informal lounge, and paper rattled, Vylette turned to her friend.
Hannah was gazing up at the mooning nude in wonder.
“Golly…” She whispered, flaxen head shaking. “…When Hildy told us about all the fine things the Jacksons have, we thought she was joshing us. Vylette, this place really is like a palace!”
The hand gripped hers harder.
“Michael and Marlon must be richer than I ever thought--you and Lorraine really are so lucky Vy!”
It wasn’t luck, it was a blessing to have the Jacksons in their lives.
Speechless, Vylette tried to change the topic,
“What would you care to see first, the house or the gardens?”
Hannah was on a different planet.
“Who’s that?” She pointed to the portrait at the break in the stairs.
“Katherine Dauphine Jackson--Michael and Marlon’s mother.” Vylette declared and Hannah gasped softly.
“That’s Katherine?”
“Yes…in her younger days…” Vylette squinted at the pale, freckled girl. “What’s your interest in Mrs. Jackson?”
“Mama told me about her…that’s all.” Hannah admitted and now Vylette’s interest was peaked.
“What did she…?” She trailed off as Michael appeared, brown valise in hand and skipped up the stairs.
“What did she say, come here!” Pulling Hannah along the two sat on the bench near the door.
Mary Povah had no business blathering about the Jackson family. It was that sort of trash that got Steven Wilkes maimed just the day before.
“Oh Vy--Mama would kill me if she knew I mentioned it!” Hannah whimpered, and started to nibble on her nails.
“I’ll kill you myself and kick your corpse if you don’t tell me! What’s your mother saying about my family?”
“Your family--?”
“Yes, my family!” Violet-colored eyes sparked with a flaring anger. “I intend to marry Michael Jackson, one day, soon!”
“Marry?--ouch, Vylette you’re hurting me!” Hannah grimaced as that manicured hand squeezed her thin bicep.
“You tell me, or you’ll need my Papa by the time I’m through with you, Hannah Povah!”
She ripped her hand from the white flesh, a print glaring red at her.
“Alright! Alright! Gosh you’re strong!” Hannah simpered and clutched at her arm.
“I’ll tell you, but you gotta take it to the grave, Mama will skin me!”
“I will skin you!” Vylette threatened and Hannah heaved a sigh.
“Well…I know you know Katherine Dauphine was rich because of her family and the plantation this used to be and all. Everyone knows the family was rich, but what do you know about Joseph Jackson, Michael’s father?”
“I don’t know…” Vylette admitted slowly, as Michael hadn‘t divulged much about his father, and she hadn‘t asked. “Only he was from New York, an upstart lawyer…started courting Katherine when they were about seventeen or eighteen, why?”
What Hannah disclosed, nearly took the snap out of Vylette’s garters.
“Before Joseph got married to Katherine, he was courting my Mama!”
Vylette Meraux could have been knocked over with a feather when she heard that.
Joseph Jackson…at one time, had been a sweetheart to Mary Povah?
Vylette sat a moment, staring into space, doing her best to process this new bit of information.
What on Earth had Joseph seen in Mary? How could she have compared to Katherine?
Evil, pinched-looking Mary. A woman Vylette could scarcely recall ever having seen smile. A woman who, when God was passing good looks, elegance and charm, seemed to have looked the other way and avoided her completely.
Vylette glanced at the anxious girl at her side. Poor Hannah, she was her mother all over again. The pale, washed out skin, without a hint of pink to the cheeks. The blue eyes that lacked sparkle. The dull, dishwater blonde hair that had no sheen to it.
And that tall, lanky body with no womanly bust or hips to it, despite Hannah’s only being two years younger than she.
And Mary had looked exactly the same, some thirty years earlier. What had Joseph even seen in that?
Vylette looked again to the portrait of Katherine.
The proud, beautiful, delicate vision of femininity she presented.
A fierce looking woman, but one Michael had described with nothing but compliments. How she sounded as if singing when she spoke, how quietly and kind her manners and movements were.
How Michael had held Vylette closely and whispered she seemed to have the same attributes and it made him love her all the more.
Vylette’s eyes fell on Hannah again and her hands wrung in her lap. She had to know…Christ Alive, she had to know!
Choosing her words with caution she questioned,
“H-how, Hannah? How…did this happen?”
Biting her bottom lip, Hannah managed to grow even paler.
Inhaling and exhaling deeply, she began to recant the tale.
“Mama says it happened when she was near our age--back in the last few year of the last century--the Gay Nineties. It all happened one summer. Mama had just graduated high school, and one day she went to town to buy some seeds for her Papa to start planting. Before Mama married my Papa, she was a farmer with her people…”
The straw of Hannah’s hat squeaked as she clutched it tighter.
“…Mama says when she got to town, there was a horse and buggy in the middle of the road--one of the wheels had come off and there was this man yelling at Mr. Goebbels--he was much younger of course--to fix it. He was very much like Michael and Marlon, Vy…you know, dressed up in a fancy suit, looked like he came from money, which he did. Mama said he was so tall, well over six feet, and broad shouldered. Handsome with brown skin and odd, light colored eyes, hair conked out…”
“…as they were arguing, Mr. Goebbels told Joseph to go inside his store. Mama aligned herself to bump into him as they went inside…”
Vylette had to use all of her willpower not to laugh. The idea of Mary Povah, using a ploy to flirt with a man was almost too comical for words and her insides ached from holding in the laughter.
“They bumped, and even though it was Mama’s fault, Joseph apologized. Well, they got to talking, and somehow made a date to go to Mumfrees for an ice cream sundae…my grandmother wasn’t too fond of Joseph from the start…”
Hannah head lowered and for the first time her cheeks showed color as she flushed with embarrassment.
“You know, most of my family looks White, even though we’re Colored. Mama’s already kind of yellow. And Grandmother wanted to keep the family lighter skinned. I know it’s wrong and backwards, but she was that way. You see how dark Michael and Marlon and them are. Grandmother didn’t want that. Plus, Joseph wasn’t from the Parish. And you know how some people only want girls like us to be with men from the Parish…”
Vylette nodded in understanding; that was how she almost for chained to Steven Wilkes.
“But Mama was head-strong…defiant. She kept seeing Joseph. Mama though she’d marry him…” Hannah turned and stared at the portrait. “And then he met Katherine.”
“Yeah…” Vylette echoed, goose flesh taking her at the tale.
“Now usually, from what Mama’s told me, the Dauphines kept to themselves in this house. They were home schooled with the girls going to finishing school in New Orleans, the boys sometimes going to a military school before going off to college. They didn’t really come to town, except to go to Mass with the rest of us. They weren’t ever rude…they just didn’t really blend in.”
Hannah began absently twirling a strand of her straight hair.
“Katherine had come to visit her family here And for some reason, she wanted to attend the cotillion like all the other girls. She talked her cousin Olivier--you know the one that took a flying leap off the roof--into escorting her. Mama says she’ll never forget it as long as she lives…”
Hannah’s jaw tightened and Vylette could see a mother’s pain repeating through her child.
“Mama said she had saved for weeks to special order and buy her dress, white lace with a baby blue sash…most all the girls there were in some kind of white. Because unmarried girls are supposed to wear white. Mama said she’d had a grand time, dancing with Joseph, and everyone in town was there…then Katherine walked in…”
“Katherine and Olivier came about an hour after the cotillion started--’fashionably late’. And instead of white, Katherine wore this pink floral ball gown. Had the big, puffy sleeves with beige lace that was all the rage back then. All the men kind of drifted towards her, including Joseph…”
Hannah sniffed,
“They were practically an item that night. And two weeks later they announced their engagement. Mama was upset, but how could she compete with someone like…like Katherine Dauphine? Someone beautiful, from a wealthy family, when my Mama was a farmer’s daughter who could barely scrape by and feed his own young’uns?”
Hannah looked up and around the foyer again.
“Just think…all of this could have been mine…but it wasn’t meant to be.”
Vylette sagged against the bench winded.
No wonder Mary Povah hated Michael and Marlon!
Their father had dumped her for Katherine Dauphine!
(It was a step up, but still, it had to hurt to be thrown over like that!)
All of the splendor, ease of life and wealth could have been the Mary’s and her children would have never known what it was like to do without and sacrifice.
A stunning realization hit Vylette: she had always known that Mary Povah had a hot, burning dislike of her cousin, Lorraine, even more than her, and now she knew why--Lorraine had basically done poor Ulrich the way Joseph had done Mary.
Dropped them for a better suitor.
It all made sense. It all made sense now.
Reaching Vylette patted Hannah’s bony knee.
“I…I know your mother harbors ill-will towards the Jacksons…do you?” She wondered and Hannah shook her head until her head flew.
“No Vy…I don’t I really don’t. That was over thirty years ago. And if Joseph hadn’t dumped Mama, she’d have never married my Papa. And I love my Papa. Mama may be angry, but I’m not. I like you and Michael and everyone.” Hannah smiled in her aloof sweet way and Vylette returned it.
Mary Povah may have been a holy rolling terror, but her daughter was nice and Vylette was happy to call her a friend.
Throwing an arm around her shoulders, Vylette asked as the mood lightened,
“Hannah, would you like to see the house and grounds?”
“Sure, Vy.” The two stood. “All this may not be mine, but if I could visit every so often, I think it’d be alright.”
“Of course, it’s alright!”
And hugged together, the two young women started towards the living room, one having been bumped out of the opportunity of a lifetime and the other trying her best to hold onto it.
* * *
An Hour Later
“…Darling? Darling? Mein Liebling?”
Seated at the head of the ornately carved and lavishly decorated oak table of the formal dining room, Michael Jackson was using pet names, in alternating English and German, to gain the attention of his young lover.
And receiving no response, as now, it was Vylette’s turn to be consumed with something other than the company surrounding her.
Scooping a gold plated spoon absently, Vylette was more idly moving, rather than eating the creamy cucumber salad that had been heaped into the small china bowl in front of her.
“…Violette Blanche? Darling? Vy!”
Now Michael had shifted into French.
Seated to Michael’s immediate right, Vylette, even though she knew it was quite rude, was staring.
The very table at which was seated, seemed to be a divide in the worlds she knew.
At Vylette’s side, was her sister, eating happily without a care in the world, buttering her third croissant greedily. Her bowl of cucumbers had long been scraped clean.
And across the table, Vylette looked at the Povahs.
Directly across from herself was Hannah, who was occupied examining all off the fine china decorating the table. Today it was a delightful pink and gilt pattern--since the house was overrun with females that day--and tiny scenes of ladies in eighteenth century garb, powdered wigs and all.
Lemonade had been served in beautiful goblets that started clear at the top and by the base had transformed into a deep blush pink.
And in the center of the table, picked by Michael’s own hand, were a huge arrangement of his prized roses.
Seated beside Hannah and eating just as greedily, refilling her bowl, was Hildegard.
The Povahs were a sharp contrast to all of the displays of wealth and opulence.
While Vylette, Vinnie and Michael sat wearing new, fashionable garments, the Povahs sat in clean, but well mended and reused calico cotton dresses.
Vylette was still halfway stunned at the story Hannah had confided. It was remarkable to think to her how closely Hannah and the rest of her washed out, mealy-mouthed siblings had come to being born into wealth.
Why, the girls may have even had some color to them, and been pretty. It was a shame they took after their mother.
Vylette thought of Michael’s sister Latoya. How beautiful she had been. How robust and full of life. During the entire makeover she’d orchestrated, she’d been all smiles, laughs, and happiness.
She was the type of woman, had she lived closer by, Vylette would want to stay in the company of.
Hannah was sweet, but no excitement found her.
Vylette only wished that Lorraine was there. She wanted to pull her cousin into a secluded corner and relay the tale. She didn’t see it as breaking her confidence with Hannah; the story concerned Marlon too. It concerned his parents.
And most importantly, it explained why in the hell Mary Povah always looked down her long ass nose at them. Why she couldn’t be still and glared at them no matter where she saw them, in town or even in the holy, sacred confines of Mass.
But, Lorraine had never left Marlon’s side that morning, and the last anyone had heard from her was about twenty minutes earlier, when she had yelled for Adelaide to bring fresh towels, as she was rubbing Marlon’s sore frame all over with Absorbine, Jr., liniment to ease him.
“Vylette Evangeline…”
She jumped as a large brown hand gripped her own and squeezed.
Looking up curiously, she found Michael staring at her affectionately.
“Yes?”
“Sweetness, I was trying to ask, would you like me to turn on the radio, so we may have some music to enjoy our meal with?” Michael picked up the extra goblet at his setting containing his spiced tomato juice and had a sip.
“Oh…oh yes.” Vylette nodded and Michael rose, heading to the small radio on the sideboard.
Clicking it on, the sound of soft classical music began to play.
“Oh…this is Stravinsky.” Michael paused and his eyes closed a moment, body swaying to the soft tune, transporting him to one of the Viennese balls of his past. “I love this…”
After several moments, Michael returned to Earth and his seat.
Smiling, he questioned,
“Hannah, how are you enjoying your salad, Dear?”
Sprinkling pepper on her spoonful, that pointed face broke into a smile.
“Yes. It’s delicious! I’ve never had a salad like this before. I feel like a movie star, eating a salad for lunch.” Hannah started and Michael chuckled.
“This isn’t the entire meal, Hannah, just the first course. The appetizer.”
Michael went to his mouth again and the spoon in Hannah’s hand fell to the bowl.
“You mean…there’s more?” She gasped and onside of her Hildegard exclaimed indignantly,
“I told you! They always have a big meal like in a restaurant.”
“Leaping Lizards!” Hannah shook her head. “We never have lunch like this at home.”
“And what do you have?” Michael drank more tomato juice, setting his glass down.
Curious to see what it tasted it like, as she’d never sampled tomato juice, Vylette picked the glass up.
And set her mouth afire as she had forgotten how liberally the hot sauce was mixed in.
“Just sandwiches. With milk or Coca-Cola.” Hannah replied softly.
“Oh…well, we don’t have just sandwiches.” Michael stated solemnly. “My brother hates them for one thing. He prefers a sit-down meal, and I have to because of my health--”
“Your health?” Hildegard broke in, appearing frightened.
“Yes, don’t worry. I just have Chronic Anemia. So long as I have enough to eat and plenty of vitamins, I’m alright.”
“I’m sorry Michael.” Hannah apologized and glanced at Vylette.
“It’s quite alright…if everyone is done with the cucumbers, I’ll have Adelaide bring in the main course.” Michael deflected his medical history amidst the four feminine voices telling him to go ahead.
The small, china bell rang and immediately, Adelaide was there, clearing dishes.
Vylette watched Hannah and took in the look of sheer joy as large platters of steaming roast beef, asparagus topped with coddled eggs and hollandaise, and sugary, honey glazed carrots were placed on the table.
“Help yourselves, don’t be shy.” Michael encouraged and soon everyone was digging in and parking of large portions.
Nibbling at some of the carrots, Michael Jackson turned his attention to Vylette, and started to speak of matters that were far beyond Hannah’s reach.
“Vy, Honey…do you want a black or a white limousine?” He wondered suddenly and two sets of eyes stared at him.
One set lavender, the other, pale blue.
“…but I tell you, he’s going to marry that blonde-haired dame, Carole Lombard!”
“He won’t either! William Powell is going to stay a bachelor for life! Why, he said it to Silver Screen Digest just last month!”
“Oh Vinnie!”
“Oh, shut up, Hildegard!”
Absorbed in an argument about Mr. Powell, the younger girls heard nothing being said.
Breathless, Vylette stammered,
“A…a limousine?”
“Yes, for the gala on Saturday. I wanted to ask, so I can go ahead and rent one. If there’s any left to be rented in New Orleans. The people who don’t own one already, will rent one.”
Pink-centered meat was cut and Michael poked it in his mouth.
“I’d have bought one, but its so close, I’d have never been able to get the car here or hire a chauffer in time.”
Before Vylette could reply, Hannah butted in.
“You’re going to a gala, Vy?”
In spite of herself, Vylette could feel herself starting to swell with a bit of pride.
“Yes…” She cut an asparagus spear and ate it. “Michael and Marlon were recently accepted to the Fleur-De-Lis Country Club in the City and a welcome party is being held for them by Sir Reginald and Lady Tabitha Cavendish. They’re escorting Lorriane and me--”
“Sir Reginald and Lady Tabitha? Nobility?” Hannah was clearly impressed.
“Exiled nobility.” Michael corrected her, spooning up more carrots.
“Oh how exciting! You’re really moving up in the world!” Hannah remarked and the thin note of envy didn’t go unnoticed.
“Um…” Vylette glanced back at the handsome man eating. “My gown, has it been selected?” Vylette asked, not exactly sure if she wanted to know or was just showing off for the thrill of it.
The closest Hannah came to a gala was the mid-summer cotillion at the church.
“Yes, Mein--”
“Is it purple?”
Thin brows wiggled in jest.
“No, my little hard-headed Darling, it’s not. I selected a gown of icy, pale blue for you.” A hand gripped her chin and tilted her head.
“Your eyes are such a unique, queer color, I wanted to exploit the blue tones in them. I’ve been doing so much lately…”
The bell was rung a second time, drawing Adelaide from the bowels of the kitchen.
“Yes, Sir, Mr. Michael?”
“May I have another glass of tomato juice, please?” He held up the goblet and it was taken.
“Yes, Sir!”
As Adelaide left, he continued,
“I’ve been handling getting things together for the gala, and then tying up loose ends for the opening of the Palace on the third and then--thank you Adelaide.”
He drank a deep sip of juice.
“Ugh, spicy! And then my brother Jermaine called just this morning. He’s riding along on the train with my nieces and nephews to make sure they get here safely for their stay until school starts in September. So, I’ve had to find furniture and get the two bedrooms set up for five children. I don’t know if Jermaine will bunk here or in the City. Not to mention getting the solarium and pool ready for use--”
“Are you sure you aren’t doing too much?” Vylette was alarmed by how much activity Michael Jackson was taking in and worried he wasn’t doing too much on his own.
“No Vylette, it has to be done…oh, I’ve also consulted Latoya about the gala. She’s speeding along some of the newest shades of nail varnish for you and Lorraine to choose from for your manicures. I think for the gala, we’ll stay over in the City, at the Landmark again. I’ve already arranged for the hairstylists and manicurists for you. You won’t go to the salon, they’ll come to you again. Permanent, manicure, styling…”
Michael stopped long enough to yawn.
“Pardon me.”
“Wow, Vylette…” Hannah shook her head. “That sounds like grand fun.”
Michael seemed to have forgotten she was there and he smiled,
“Hannah, how many of you are there? Six?”
“Yes, five girls, and Ulrich.” Hannah’s head bobbed as she partook of more beef.
“I can’t invite you to the gala, that’s closed invitations, but I do want to extend an invite to the opening of my theatre, the Palace, and Marlon’s, the Paragon for Fourth of July weekend…”
Hannah’s jaw dropped and she sputtered.
“…I’ll be screening the new Charlie Chaplin picture City Lights and Marlon’s screening Bela Lugosi in Dracula.”
“A…a real theatre?” Hannah finally choked. “Not the little dingy room of the movie house. Oh, Michael! Michael thank you!”
“It’s no problem. There more the merrier.” Michael grinned nonchalantly.
Vylette beamed, that was really going to get Mary Povah’s goat.
“I can’t believe it!” Hannah pressed her hands to her face growing paler. “A real movie premiere--will Charlie Chaplin be there?”
Vylette nearly fell off her chair at the reply,
“I extended an invite, as I’d love to meet him, he’s a genius, but unfortunately, he’ll be in London promoting the film at the time.”
Michael…Michael had tried to contact Charlie Chaplin, one of the largest, most beloved film stars of their age?
“Michael…” Hannah started, picking at the lace tablecloth. “I’ve heard tell you own theatres and things…can…can you really meet film stars?”
As calmly as if he were talking of something else, like the weather, Michael recalled,
“I’ve met a few. Mostly during my time living in New York. Silent stars mostly. Dick Barthlemess, Ramon Navarro, Clara Bow--her Brooklyn accent killed me, and Norma Shearer. I met them when I had lunch with my sisters at the Four Seasons once. I’ve seen one, but didn’t meet her directly…”
Michael trailed off and glanced around.
Even Vinnie and Hildegard were rapt listeners.
“Once, right before I left New York for here, I saw Jean Harlow--”
“Jean Harlow?”
Storming through the doorway, like a general charging a fort, Lorraine was stomping in.
She came directly to the Michael’s side and was gripping his shoulder.
“Lorraine…you’re indecent!” Vylette hissed, her eyes swelling.
Which, her cousin was. Lorraine’s body was only concealed by a scant pale pink brassiere and tap-pants panties, with matching stockings and garters.
Hannah stared and Vylette couldn’t tell if she was envying Lorraine’s curves or her expensive, imported drawers.
“Calm yourself, Vy. I got liniment on my dress and Adelaide had to wash it!”
She gave no explanation as to why her fiery hair was loose and falling to her waist.
A strap fell off her freckled shoulder.
“Now you said you saw Jean Harlow, Michael! Where?”
Her green eyes were huge and wild in her head about a sighting of her idol.
“What did she look like? What’d she have on? Is she really as petite as they say? Did you speak to her?”
“You calm down!” Michael pulled her hand from his shoulder.
“I’d like to have some skin left, thank you! I was at a restaurant, eating dinner with Marlon. She was in one of the VIP rooms in the back, and came walking out. Black silk gown…it was 1929, she was just starting out. And she had on a robe de style, which has since gone out of style. She was blonde but not as white as it is now. She was nice, and said hello as she went by. Then she was gone. Now please, go put on a dress or something! We’ve got company!”
Michael motioned to Hannah and Hildegard still staring, shocked by Lorraine.
Seeing Hannah, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and put a hand to dimpled hip.
“What’s the matter Hannah, ain’t you never seen a girl in Italian lace before? ” She quipped haughtily, and was gone, leaving Hannah to stare after her mouth agape at such flagrant behavior.
“Excuse her…she forgets herself at times…” Vylette spoke through gritted teeth.
Yeah, that was exactly what they needed.
Vylette wasn’t ignorant to the whispers that had been going around since they’d stayed over with Marlon and Michael in New Orleans. The whispers about “adult” things that had likely happened between the four of them, some so sordid, she dare not think of them.
And it didn’t help matters any, that Lorraine, came down in her skivvies, after being alone in Marlon Jackson’s bedroom all the day, and then standing, undressed in front of Michael with no qualms about it.
Because while the Jacksons were making advancements into Parish society, there was the driving force looking for any reason at all to try to shun them.
Hannah’s hellacious mother. And her jealousy of an event that changed the course of quite a few lives more than thirty years ago.
And Vylette was scared.
Very, very scared of Mary Povah’s influence.
Trying to eat, Vylette glanced at Michael, sipping his juice.
He wasn’t scared. He wouldn’t be scared.
Jackson Manor was his home, and he wasn’t going to be run.
Not without a fight.
