Chapter Seventeen

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.