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.
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