Chapter Twenty-One--PART TWO

Early Afternoon 
Jackson Manor 
Rainelle Parish, Louisiana 

By half past noon, most everyone inhabiting that rambling, grandiose structure that had once belonged to the Dauphine clan, were stretched out, recharging and benefiting from the rest that only the slumber of an undisturbed nap could bring.
Each of the four bedrooms, taking up the greater part of the second floor, hosted several bodies, some laying in the thick, welcoming plush beds or across comfortably springy divans and chaise lounges.
Dresses, and suits alike had been hung in expansive walk-ins to avoid mussing and wrinkling, leaving all of the clothing’s owners unbound and refreshingly cool with only undergarments on at the most--and nothing at all at the very least.
While nearly everyone was frolicking merrily, without a care through the Land of Nod, one inhabitant was wide awake, and the complete opposite of those around him: busy.
Michael Jackson had not had the luxury of lying down, or even sitting down for that matter; as soon as he’d gotten home, and spent a good fifteen minutes showing his brother and nieces and nephews around the grounds, he’d been on feet ever since.
He’d started in the Solarium, personally moving a large, bamboo sideboard into the room to serve as a buffet to hold the appetizers for the flock of females expect that afternoon. Not to mention hooking up a small radio to play classical music in the background.
Then he’d personally tasted each of the hors d’oeuvres, putting away so many Deviled Eggs and Ginger Ale Punch, he’d been belching it off and on for the next half-hour, and that wasn’t before he’d selected china and stemware, not just for the shopping gathering, but also for the dinner to be served that night.
Next he was in the kitchen doing an inventory, ensuring there was enough to prepare his brother, Jermaine’s favorite meal, in order to feed such a crowd.
Then there was the discovery that there was only one pint of vanilla ice cream in the icebox, and when Michael could obliterate that paltry amount by himself, a call had gone out to Mumfree’s for many more.
But, to Michael’s utter dismay, when little Winston Pelant, his unofficial errand boy came with a wagon full, it had all melted into nothing more than a cream sauce.
It was an unfortunate instance, which led Michael to have to drive into town, whilst deflecting questions by the dozens from nosy neighbors who had seen Jermaine Jackson drive his elegant Rolls Royce down the main thoroughfare earlier.
“No, I haven’t bought a new car.” “It belongs to my big brother, Jermaine.” “He’s visiting a few days with my nieces and nephews.” “Yes, they come from New York, same as me…”
Michael had made the same statements so many times, to so many people, who had followed from his car, into Mumfree’s and back, he felt like a parrot.
With the pints secured in the icebox, Michael then ventured out to his garden to cut a few roses to place on the sideboard in the Solarium to make it seem prettier.
The young man’s intentions were in the right place--making a beautiful reception for his beautiful woman.
What he hadn’t counted on was the temperatures ending up as some of the highest since he had arrived in Rainelle Parish, topping out somewhere in the mid-nineties and by the time Michael returned to the cool dimness of the Manor, he was drenched from head to toe in perspiration, his slim form reeking of unpleasant body odor.
Michael had made the dire mistake of raising his arm to get a whiff of himself…
When he awoke, he was sprawled on the floor of the front hall, with a frightened Adelaide dabbing at his face with a damp cloth, asking if he wanted her to send for Dr. Meraux, fearing he was having another Anemic spell.
It took quite a bit of time for Michael to assure her that he was fine and it was his own funk, and not a lack of nutrients that had knocked him out like being on the wrong side of a fist.
He had been helped to his feet by the large, older woman, who stayed behind him until he had disappeared behind the doors of his bedroom.
From there, Michael helped himself to a nice hot shower, where he scrubbed himself clean with the thick lather of Lifebuoy soap and washed his hair, before drying off and dousing himself with handfuls of Midnight in Tunisia, his favorite cologne.
And now, in a more dainty state, Michael, dressed in his usual uniform of a lightweight sweater vest, oxford, bowtie and slacks, Michael was still busy as a little brown bumblebee, moving around his room, being extremely careful not to disturb the two lumps, one slightly larger than the other, tucked just underneath the comforter in his bed.
Gingerly, across the back of the couch near the foot of the bed, Michael laid out two ensembles.
One was a near floor length dress of airy, translucent lavender Battenberg lace, underpinned by a silk slip of the palest, barely discernable blush pink.
The other was a smaller frock, of grey and white plaid with a white Peter Pan collar, accented by a large royal blue sateen bow.
Over the lace dress, Michael put a pair of pale pink stockings with matching garters and placed pink kid pumps.
Over the plaid one, simple white socks were lain, and blue patent T-strap shoes.
As a final touch, on top of the lace frock, a small, rectangular box of red velvet was opened, revealing a beautiful, breath-taking tapering bracelet, boasting princess, baguette, round and trilliant cut diamonds.
Satisfied, Michael paused to pluck his pocket watch out and glance at its mother-of-pearl face.
Seeing the time, a small gasp left him and instantly, he crossed the room towards the largest lump in his bed.
Slowly, Michael pulled the covers back, revealing a head overwhelmed with black waves, most of which covered the peaceful heart shaped face, eyes shut, mouth showing a faint smile.
Heart thudding in his chest, Michael eased the covers down a bit more, far enough to show the snowy white, pink lace rimmed brassiere dutifully containing the full matured bosom of the eighteen-year-old belonging to him.
His Vylette was so beautiful, smelling faintly of that vanilla-infused, Scandalous perfume.
He did love her so much.
“Oh…hmmm…” Humming in her sleep, Vylette rolled onto her back, her chest sticking straight up, rising and falling with each breath.
Beckoning and taunting Michael Jackson.
The impression of her nipples were plain to see beneath the silk and unable to control himself, Michael started to pull down one of the cups to expose a mammary.
And that’s when Michael Jackson discovered he was being watched.
Beside Vylette’s sleeping form, head resting on the pillow next to hers, the sharp, grey eyes of Vinnie Meraux were wide open and staring plainly at Michael.
Seeing the glittering eyes, peeking through the mass of disheveled black tendrils, he laughed nervously, stating the obvious.
“You’re awake.”
Face remaining placid, the ten-year-old informed him softly,
“If you were trying to look at her booby, I won’t tell. You’re going to be married anyway. Don’t you have to look at each other if you’re married?” 
Flabbergasted, all Michael could do was sputter as such a pointed and outright inquiry.
Sitting up, with the covers falling from her white chemise, adorned with a tiny green bow on the non-existent bosom, Vinnie stretched before shoving her sister’s shoulder, roughly.
“Hey Vy, get your fanny up!” 
The pretty face turned with a frown and an arm came up hugging the large pillow to her, light dancing off of the massive rock on her left hand.
“Aw, lay off will you… Lavinia let me sleep!” She mumbled, and her brows shot upwards when she heard the cool masculine voice in her ear.
“But if you don’t get up now, how will you see all the nice things I’ve put out for you?”
Below the barely visible brows, as Vylette had washed off her makeup before laying down to avoid staining Michael’s pillowcases, her light eyes fluttered open and focused upwards at the visage grinning down at her.
“You put out something for me?” Vylette started and was drowned out by her sister plunging from the bed and exclaiming.
“Zowie, Vy, look! Diamonds!” 
At the mention of the precious gems Vylette shot up so quickly, her forehead smacked Michael’s.
“Ouch!” 
“Damn it!” 
“I’m sorry…” Vylette cooed holding his face and pecking at his forehead, showing a light mark.
“Great minds bonk alike!” 
Slipping from the bed, Vylette, in only her brassiere and panties crossed the room to where her sister stood, delicately holding expensive bauble in her hands.
“This is for me?” She questioned, breathless as diamonds always could do to a girl, snatching it away and admiring it.
“Yes…” Michael sauntered over, hands in his pockets. “…if you want it.”
“If she doesn’t want it, I’ll take it!” Vinnie snorted as Vylette threw her arms around Michael, kissing him hard on the mouth, treasuring the taste of his lips.
“Thank you, Darling…I love you.” She crooned, eyes flashing with passion and Michael’s cheeks tinged scarlet.
“I…I love you too…” 
Swiftly, the bracelet was on her wrist, placed below the tennis bracelet Vylette wore constantly.
“Um…you and Vinnie can get dressed in here…I’m going to go wake up the others…” Michael stammered, as the eyes stayed on him.
“I…I put your make up and things out in the bathroom…”
Slowly, Michael disappeared into the bathroom and shortly thereafter, the whining of his nieces was audible as he tried to raise them from a near-comatose state in the adjoining bedroom.
“Aww, Uncle Michael!” 
“I don’t want to get up!” 
“I’m feeling positively sklonklish!” 
“Give us five more minutes, please!” 
“I’m so desperately tired, Uncle!”
“Father would give us five more minutes!” 
As the fretting continued, with Michael starting to do what sounded like cursing in German, Vylette patted at her sister’s shoulder,
“What say we get you dressed and you can go keep a lookout for Hildegard and them?”
At the mention of her best friend, Vinnie’s eyes lit with excitement, her thick black brows wiggling and she jumped to the side, arms over her head.
“Dress me--please!” 
Giggling, as she picked up the little plaid dress, and draped it over the tiny frame of her sister it was unknown to either of them just what sort of an afternoon they would have, or just what sort of a catalyst it would provide to fuel an already, unwelcome and burning flame.

A short while later, Vylette Meraux possessed all of the peace and quiet any woman could want.
Standing in front of the lighted vanity of her fiancé’s bathroom, she was giving herself a final once over, making sure she looked just so, before debuting her skills formally as hostess and Lady of the Manor.
Turning back and forth before the large mirror, Vylette knew it was on par with being sinful, but she couldn’t help being proud of her appearance, how pretty she looked.
The lavender lace frock had been cut on the bias, and provided for the optimum hugging of her figure, at the same time, bringing out the purple tones in her eyes while the pink slip beneath expertly exploited the subtle pink hues in her engagement ring, whilst the flawless diamonds on her wrist twinkled and reflected light beautifully.
Her makeup had gone on bit more heavily than normal, giving her a dramatic, exotic effect, particularly in the way she’d combined purple, blue and grey shadows until she had a shade that came close to that of her dress, slightly darker to tie everything together.
Now, with every hair in place and her mouth a delightful shade of sheer scarlet, Vylette felt she was ready to go on down and wait for her guests to arrive.
(She had yet to hear the high-pitched shriek of glee from her sister, that only the sight of Hildegard Povah could stir.)
“Oh, My Dear!”
At the accented, panicked expression, Vylette whirled and came close to stumbling in her pumps.
Passing through the door, from Michael’s bedroom, was a troubled-looking Lorraine.
The door flew shut with a slam and rattled the few framed paintings on the wall.
Holding the hem of her white, halter-topped dress out of the way of moss-green pumped that coordinated with the large dots printing the fabric, her flame-haired cousin was rushing towards her. In the completely backless garment, Lorraine wore no brassiere as evidence by the free-wheeling way her bosom swung, out of tandem with the rest of her body.
In her own sleeveless dress, Vylette also wore no means of support on her upper half, but she was taking great care not to move too quickly and draw attention to that fact, whereas her cousin seemed not to care.
“Vylette, you’ve got to help me, Dear, I’m having an emergency!” Lorraine declared, and collapsed onto the cushioned seat in front of the vanity.
Placing a hand on the powdered back that concealed a multitude of freckles, Vylette’s voice dropped to that of a whisper,
“Is…is it that ‘trying time’ of the month?”
Green eyes blinked wildly in disbeleif.
“Trying--you mean my menstrual cycle? Hell no! I’ve already suffered with that two weeks ago! And I don’t worry about that. I have Kotex on hand here, and at home!” Lorraine declared. pouting and Vylette was taken aback.
While she had many personal items kept for her in the Jackson home, clothing, undergarments, cosmetics, it had never crossed her mind to trouble Michael with keeping, or even seeing her with feminine care items.
She’d actually suffered twice since being courted by Michael and he’d never known. And she preferred to keep it that way.
“Well, you said there’s an emergency--what is it?” Vylette picked up a powder puff and tapped at her nose with it.
“Darling, wouldn’t you know it,  I’ve run out of lipstick!” Lorraine snapped her fingers. “And I can’t just wear any shade because of my hair…oh if only Daddy would let me bleach my hair--”
“Pigs will take flight first!” Vylette chuckled knowing that Marlon Jackson would have sooner shaved his own head bald than let Lorraine poison her scalp with a lightening solution.
Reaching over, Vylette picked up the five coral and black metal tubes of Ferocious lip colors and asked,
“What shade do you need?”
“Sunset Tawny.”  Lorraine replied and the tube containing the decidedly coral shade was selected.
“Thank you! Oh, I’m so used to lipstick now, I feel naked without it!” She snickered, dotting after her mouth with it.
“You know something, Vy, this really is pitiful!” Lorraine said suddenly, a grimace coming to her face.
“What is?” Vylette, unstopping her nude-flanked bottle of Scandalous and inhaling it, wondered.
“All of this trouble we’re going to for the damned Povahs!” Lorraine picked up a Kleenex, blotted her lips on it, and was applying more color.
“Now, I don’t mind dressing up fancy, for Jermaine and those kids; they’re family and we’re having a nice dinner for them later tonight. Daddy says we’ll have Prime Rib--but this matter of buying clothes for those five gals makes my blood boil!”
Closing the tube, Lorraine replaced it with the others.
“I mean, think of it Vy: Our men, Marlon and Michael, are buying dresses and things for the Spawn of Satan! Oh, I don’t know why the hell they want to be nice to them! Considering the way that mother of theirs has treated all four of us like trash for the longest!” Lorraine huffed angrily and thinking it best to keep quiet, Vylette picked up a crystal bottle in the shape of a colorful parrot and popped the head off, smelling Michael’s signature cologne, Midnight in Tunisia.
“…Mary Povah has done nothing but try to spread lies and turn this entire Podunk town against the Jacksons. Saying they were bootleggers or gangsters on the lam, just because they have money. It’s sickening! And all that trouble just because their Papa dropped her skinny, anemic, emaciated,  gargoyle-looking ass over thirty years ago!”
Lorraine stood and pressed her hands to her plump hips, turning to her relative.
“It’s ridiculous! When Joseph Jackson dumped her, people were still riding around in horse-drawn buggies, and girls like us were in corsets! It’s been thirty years! Joseph has gotten his life together! A beautiful wife, ten beautiful kids, a bunch of beautiful grandkids--the only girl I’ve prettier than Jermaine’s daughters is Vinnie! Wealth! They parlayed their money from vaudeville into twenty theatres and two more open this weekend! The Jacksons have this house here, ones in New York and I know their brother Randy has a summer home in Rhode Island! That’s where he and Katherine Jackson are right now!  And look at Jermaine! He drives that Rolls Royce! If he can afford one, you know Michael and Daddy can, too!”
Lorraine tossed her head with scorn and her eyes darkened evilly.
“What has Mary done? Married an old maid in britches, who’s hardly ever around, because he’s always on the damn road, probably to get away from her nagging him. She popped out a pack of colorless, mealy-mouth children without an ounce of gumption and keeps them henpecked to death. And look at her now: can’t even get them decent dresses for the theatre openings! Have to rely on our men! Sure they’ve got more than enough, but still! Daddy says there’s a reason behind them being nice to the Povah litter, but what it is, is beyond me!”
Her hand, heavy with her emerald band, touched at her forehead.
“Vylette, you and me, we’re on the upgrade! In just two days’ time, we’re going to go to our first, real luncheon in the City with that Zelda Cormier. And aside from Uncle Almanzo, he’s one of the best doctors, Colored or White, in Louisiana. We’re moving to be with the Country Club crowd--Lady Tabitha, Eliza, Barbara, Zelda. Those women are going to be our friends and I look forward to teas and luncheons, and bridge parties and dinner parties! Not being chained to the damned Ladies’ Christian League. They can keep that hen session! Hell, we met Charlie Chaplin! A movie star! A real, live movie star, Vylette! Shook his hand! Hugged him! The closest any of the Povahs have come to him is seeing The Gold Rush at the movie house!”
“Well, they’re going to meet him at the City Lights premiere!’ Vylette pointed out stubbornly and Lorraine frowned herself ugly.
“I can only imagine what kind of asses they’ll act in front of him, too! They aren’t sophisticated enough--”
“To faint? Like you did?” Vylette teased and Lorraine growled.
“Shut up, Vylette! I was just surprised--no one is prepared to meet a man like Charlie! He’s so revered and renowned! He was much shorter than I expected though…”
Tap! Tap! Tap!
Laughing so hard, she almost didn’t hear the timid knocking on the door, it took Vylette several seconds before she could call out,
“Come in!”
The laughing stopped abruptly when the door cracked and a tall, gangly figure entered meekly.
Clutching a tattered straw hat to the front of a mustard-colored calico dress, was Hannah Povah.
While Lorraine looked to have come down with a sudden stomach ailment, her face twisted so, Vylette leapt into her role of actress like a fish into the ocean.
“Good afternoon, Hannah! Who sent you up, Vinnie?” She asked, going over and taking the girl, gawking at the interior of the bathroom towards the bench where Lorraine sat.
“No…Michael did…golly, I’ve never seen a bathroom like this. Looks like one of the ads for linoleum in Photoplay.”
Hannah stammered, taking a seat beside Lorraine, never seeming to notice the daggers being shot at her.
“You’ll have to excuse us…” Vylette shot her cousin a warning look that said to be pleasant. “…we were getting ready up here.”
Taking another tissue, Lorraine, silent, blotted her mouth again, and picked up the coral lipstick, starting to slick it on some more, while Vylette picked up her Scandalous bottle, taking the dauber and applying the fragrance to her pulse points.
Hannah watched quietly, before speaking up cheerfully,
“Gosh, you girls look just like movie stars! I wish Mama would let me wear makeup and perfume…”
Reaching onto the vanity, she picked up a different tube of lipstick, reading the fine script printed on the side.
“Ferocious…hmmm, I never heard of this brand.” Hannah admitted, her cornflower eyes growing.
Lorraine finally opened her mouth and when she did, it was hard to hear her, perched on top of her high-horse.
“Few people have, Hannah. It’s a very exclusive European brand. As far as I know, Vy and I are the only ladies in the state with access to it.”
“Oh really? Goodness!” Hannah, wearing her being impressed like her old dress, cooed, only fanning the flame that was Lorraine’s ego. “It must be real expensive, huh?”
“Of course. But then again, the best of anything, doesn’t come cheaply. It comes from Randolph’s in New York, don’t you know? Daddy’s--ahem--Marlon and Michael’s sister Latoya is dating one of the Randolph heirs.”
“You don't say!” Hannah set the tube back down, white lashes fluttering.
“Yes…” Lorraine nodded emphatically.
“Gosh Vy…” Hannah stated dreamily, missing she was being lightly snubbed, gasped as she leaned between the two setting her bottle back down.
“Your perfume smells wonderful! What’s it called?”
“Scandalous.” Vylette replied, and seeing the longing expression on the pointed face of her friend, who had likely never even held a bottle of perfume, much less worn any, pulled the dauber out again.
“Here, try some. You can wash it off before you go home.”
“Oh…thank you! Thank you, Vylette!” Hannah was leaning in and applying the scent to her throat and wrists. “It’s called Scandalous, you say? Golly, look at the bottle!”
Gingerly it was lifted and admired. “That’s so pretty!”
Vylette knew her perfume was thirty-two dollars an ounce, an obscene figure for something so frivolous, and she kept the fact to herself.
Rising, and smoothing the front of her dress, she suggested kindly,
“We should go down--before the kids eat up all the hors d’oeuvres.”
“Alrighty.” Lorraine sighed, as the girls fell in behind Vylette, passing back through Michael’s bedroom.
As they emerged back into the quiet, dim hallway, Hannah questioned humbly,
“What’s it like, y’all? You know, being able to wear such fancy clothes and makeup and things?”
“It’s nice--” Vylette was unceremoniously drowned out by her cousin.
“It’s rather wonderful Hannah. Nothing makes a girl feel like a lady, like slipping into a gorgeous new frock and making herself look her very best with the purest, finest makeup money can buy.”
Vylette’s temper was waning.
But before she could open her mouth, Hannah was throwing more kerosene onto that flame.
Starting down the stairs to the first floor, she wondered,
“I…Is…is that really a Rolls Royce I saw outside? A real Rolls Royce?”
“Why certainly,” Lorraine tittered, the devil in her eyes, “They don’t make counterfeit cars, Han!”
Going crimson, Hannah’s head lowered and trying to be nicer than her slimy cousin, Vylette told her,
“That car belongs to Jermaine; Michael and Marlon’s brother. He’s visiting us for a few days and going to the openings this weekend…”
“Yeah…I was in town earlier, running some errands for Mama, and I heard some talk about him. I didn’t really believe it, until we walked up a little while ago. I’ve never seen a car with gold on it. Jermaine Jackson must be really rich!”
“Why, of course--”
“Lorraine, Darling…” Vylette looked back at her cousin so coldly, the temperature surrounding them dropped.
“If you continue talking so much, you’ll smear your lipstick.”
Thin brows furrowed, but compliantly, Lorraine shut her mouth, pursing it.
Lorraine blissfully held her tongue, until the three of them entered the sunny, warm and noisy Solarium, filled with the Meraux, Jackson and Povah girls, the younger set gathered in front of the sideboard, nibbling at treats and chattering to one another.
“Hello, little piggies!” Vylette greeted them with laugh, and was almost thrown off her feet as the four younger Povahs--Hildegard, ten, Helen, eight, Harriet, seven, and the baby of the bunch, Hattie, four--grouped in hugging her and exclaiming about how beautiful she looked.
Vinnie, along with Jana and Jessie, who had changed into crisp black and white plaid frocks, trimmed in red rickrack and a bow on the chest, helped themselves to green crystal cups of Ginger Ale Punch.
Picking up a small, china platter, painted over with green vine work, mimicking the interior of the Solarium, Vylette was occupied filling her plate with a couple helpings of Honeyed Ham and Brie on Rye Toast and Shrimp Cocktails on Cucumber Slices.
“What do you want Lorraine, Hannah?” She questioned, elbowing her way over to a platter of candied fruits.
When she garnered no response, she looked for her companions.
She spied Hannah near the door, staring upwards at the oversized portrait of herself and Michael Jackson, mouth gaping.
Lorraine was crossing the room towards her, something in each hand.
“Vy…does this belong to Michael? It isn’t Daddy’s.” She questioned, holding them out.
In one hand was an elegant cigarette case made of gold lattice over dark red enamel with royal blue accents on the sides, and in the other was a gold lighter, the head shaped like an eagle’s head, a red dot of enamel for the eye.
“Zowie…no…Michael’s is different than that. But it is lovely.” Vylette bit into a sandwich, chewing thoughtfully.
“That’s Father’s cigarette case.” Jana pointed out, dipping the ladle in the huge punch bowl and refreshing her cup. “He set it down when he and Uncle Michael and Uncle Marlon passed through here to go look at the grounds some more.”
“Does he smoke Gold Crown cigarettes?” Lorraine asked, starting to open the case, revealing about twenty cancer sticks lined up inside.
“Yes, Ma’am!” Both girls chimed in. and Lorraine plucked one, placing it in her mouth.
When she lit up, an audible gasp escaped the smaller Povahs with Hildegard inquiring,
“You smoke, Lorraine?”
“No, I just like setting paper tubes on fire.” She scoffed haughtily, handing the case and lighter to Jessie. “Put this back, please.”
Taking a plate for herself and loading it exclusively with Shrimp Cocktails, she glanced around the room.
“Weren’t there some little boys here too?”
“Our cousins.” Jana spoke up, as her sister returned to her side. “The boys are upstairs playing Cowboys and Indians--they didn’t want to be in a room full of girls.”
“They took some fruit and ran back upstairs.” Vinnie interjected, taking a Rye point and biting into it.
“Figures, hey Hannah, come get some food, before it’s all gone!” Lorraine called casually, around her cigarette to the girl still gazing at the portrait.
“Oh!” At the mention of sustenance, Hannah was there immediately, filling a plate with sandwiches and fruit.
“I’m sorry, I was looking at those pictures of y’all. You make such good-looking couples…”
“Thank you!” Vylette smiled, and the three older girls retired to the couch while the younger girls spread themselves around a few wicker armchairs and faintly, she could hear Jana telling everyone about the train ride in from New York.
“I wish I had a beau to go take pictures with.” Hannah lamented and Lorraine choked on a shrimp trying to control herself.
Vylette regarded Hannah Povah for a long moment. The slim, almost-starved looking figure, the worn, utilitarian clothes, the plain face without a hint of color or charm to it, the flaxen locks, without a single curl or wave, held back by a beige ribbon.
Not wanting to be mean, she did try so hard to find something, anything about Hannah that could possibly turn a man’s head in her favor.
Perhaps, her only saving attribute was her personality. She was very sweet and kind and maybe that could help overcome the other things she lacked.
It was luck for any girl to be pretty, as no one could choose their parents and each birth was a gamble in itself when it came to a person’s looks.
“Do…do you have anyone in mind, Hannah? There’s plenty of nice boys we graduated with…the Roscoe boy, the Hardy twins, Samuel…oh his name escapes me--”Vylette offered and was rebuffed by Hannah shaking her head.
“No…most of the boys we left school with have girlfriends, or are engaged, or like that William Peppier, went and joined the Merchant Marines.”
She sighed and shoved a Cocktail, whole in her mouth and chewed on it in angst.
“I don’t like for it to get me down, because, you know, so many girls have beaus. Y’all with the Jacksons, the Pringles are already talking about going down to Shreveport to see their cousins, and you know they always marry their cousins. I’d just like to know what it’s like. Have someone to worry about you and sweep you off your feet. A nice handsome man…”
Another Cocktail disappeared.
Vylette glanced over at her cousin, and while Lorraine had once been smug at Hannah, she seemed saddened by the intimate conversation, her cigarette held in midair.
“I mean, I’m sixteen now. I’m old enough to go courting. I just…well, I wish someone would show some interest…”
Reaching over, Vylette patted at her bony knee.
“Well, there’s going to be tons of eligible young men crawling all over the theatres in New Orleans. Hundreds and hundreds!”
Watery blue eyes widened at the idea of many men at her disposal.
“God, I completely forgot about the openings this weekend. Oh Vy--” She clutched at her hands desperately. “You will help me pick out some nice dresses, won’t you? I…I want to look my best while we’re in New Orleans. I’ve never been there, you know, casually. I…know y’all run with a different crowd now: people who belong to the country club. I want to fit in, if I can.”
“Sure I’ll help--Lorraine, too.” Vylette stated when she saw her cousin trying to sidle away, not wanting to lift a finger for the offspring of Mary Povah.
“Thank you, Vylette! You’re a true friend!” Hannah had thrown herself on the teen and was squeezing her tightly.
“I haven’t had anything new since graduation. I’m really indebted to Michael and Marlon for being so nice about everything and inviting us along. I know it‘ll be fancy--”
Hannah, pushing herself off of Vylette, fell silent mid-sentence.
Still holding onto the girl, felt her go clammy all over at the same time her arms became covered with goose pimples.
“Hannah?” She asked, staring into the face, going ghostly, milky white, the pink lips parting in something of a daze.
“Hannah, are you alright? Hannah, speak to me!”
Lightly, Vylette shook her friend, trying to remember where Marlon Jackson kept his bottle of smelling salts handy for whenever Lorraine decided to swoon.
“Who…” The girl was breathless and hoarse. “Who is that?” 
A hand, with the palm perspiring wildly, a few droplets falling off onto the glass top of the coffee table, was pointing.
Twisting on the couch, Vylette peered through the glass wall.
A few yards away, by the pool, the men of the house, Michael, Marlon, and newcomer, Jermaine Jackson had gathered, conversing and audibly laughing.
And by the way the men were standing, only Jermaine was facing the house.
Like his younger brothers, Jermaine wore a variant of the causal uniform of a sweater vest, tie, and slacks, his in varying shades of beige and tan, a far cry from the electric blue suit he’d worn earlier, and far more subdued than the red argyle Michael wore, and the forest green on Marlon. (Echoing Lorraine’s dress.)
Michael, hands up said something, leaving the men doubling over and screeching in amusement.
“Oh…”Vylette murmured quietly, eyes seeking out her future brother-in-law. “That’s Jermaine--”
“That’s Jermaine?” Hannah cried, causing the other little girls to turn and stare at her. “Oh…oh my…” 
And Lorraine was gone, out onto the porch.
Hands cupping around her coral mouth, Vylette could only sit and watch as her cousin called to the men.
“Hey, Fellas! Why don’t y’all come in out of the heat before all three of y’all scotch! There’s plenty of punch and edibles in here!”
Marlon called something in reply and grinning, all three men started up the cobblestone walk towards the back porch.
“Sweet Fancy Moses!” Hannah gasped and was up on her feet, drying her hands on the sides of her dress, growing so white she was now grey and a roadmap of blue veins were visible.
“See Man…did I lie?” Marlon cackled, entering first and putting an arm around Lorraine’s hips, tugged her against him, kissing at her cheek.
“I told you, right under this here roof, you have some of the most beautiful girls on this side of the Mason-Dixon Line--”
“Wait till you see me on the other side.” Lorraine shot in sultrily, with a wink, and Marlon guffawed.
“See--witty too!”
“Oooh, it is so much cooler in here than outside. It’s downright boiling out there. Last time I felt heat like that, was when I was in Saint Tropez in nineteen twenty-eight…”
Jermaine zeroed in on Hannah, her knees knocking so loudly, they were clapping.
“Well, hello there…” Jermaine breezed across the room his hand out to her.
“And who might you be, Dear?”
Hannah Povah was so clearly and wholly smitten by Jermaine Jackson she was tied-tongued.
“I…I…I am…I…Ooooooh….” 
“Jermaine…” Michael, seeing the girl floundering, came up behind his sibling, “I’d like you to meet a friend of ours, Miss Hannah Povah.”
“Hannah?” Jermaine teased, with his white teeth bared in friendliness, “Could have fooled me--by all that blonde hair, I thought I was meeting Miss Jean Harlow!”
“What?” Lorraine’s entire body turned as red as her hair at the comparison of the girl she could have cared less, and the woman she lived to emulate, taking it as the most vile insult she’d ever heard.
“Why of all underhanded…Harlow….why I should knock them both into next month! The very idea!”
If Marlon Jackson hadn’t had a very tight grip on his fiancée’s bicep, all hell would have surely broken loose.
“Jean Harlow! Yeah, and I look like Wallace Beery! Goddamn--” 
Lorraine, doing a slow burn and steadily muttering a stream of swear words and insults.
“He’s teasing! He’s funning her! Stop it! Come on don’t cut up my brother’s first day here, Cherry!” Marlon begged, yanking her back. “Not today, Satan, not today!” 
“Oh, Mr. Jackson!” Hannah, obviously believing the hype, gushed, cheeks aglow as Jermaine brought her hand to his lips, kissing the top of it.
“I should claw them to death!” Lorraine and Marlon were still struggling with each other.
“Please…call me Jermaine…” His dark eyes were up at her. “I do want us to be friends.”
Letting go of her hand, Jermaine turned and started towards the punchbowl, leaving Hannah to collapse down onto the divan.
“My Lord…” She whimpered, picking up one of the clothing catalogues stacked on the end of the table and fanned herself with it.
Worried with the way Hannah was taking on so hard about Jermaine, Vylette stood and politely excused herself, as Jermaine returned and made a beeline to the couch, having a seat beside her.
Vylette sought out Michael who stood at the sideboard, pouring himself some punch.
With the flick of a finger, the middle Jackson was following her out towards the porch.
And even outside, Lorraine and Marlon were still heard, quietly.
“Damn it, it’s blasphemy is what it is, Daddy! Hannah, looking like Jean! The hell she does!” 
“He was joking!” 
“Oh he’s funny, a regular Charley Chase!” 
“Cherry, if you shut the hell up and be sweet right now, I promised I’ll buy you something sparkly! Diamonds--” 
“Emeralds!” 
“Shit!” 
Taking hold of his free hand, Vylette led Michael a few feet down to where the door to the kitchen stood open, the sound of gospel hymns playing lightly and Adelaide sat at the table in the center of the kitchen, doing what looked like cutting biscuit dough to go with dinner that night.
“Michael…” Vylette started, leaned against the wall just outside the door and staring up into his face as he had a sip,
“Jermaine is only joking with Hannah, isn’t he?”
There was a gurgling noise as Michael laughed into the cup.
“Hee-hee! Of course he is, Vy!” He snorted, and reaching over, set his cup on the banister.
“I mean my brother is divorced, but he’s not that hard-up for women. He’s a big flirt--always been like that. Don’t you worry one bit Vy…”
Michael’s eyes narrowed and he inhaled deeply.
“He knows who she is.”
“You mean as far as being Mary’s--”
“Yes, and he wouldn’t touch that gal with a ten-foot pole. He’s just being cordial. He wanted badly to snub her, considering how that mother of hers has been so crooked to me and Marlon but we talked him out of it. We don’t need any extra trouble in this town. Especially with the damn Povah matriarch. Gives me the bubble guts just thinking of it.”
Vylette’s cheek was pinched.
“Now come on, buck up, Mein Leibling. We’re going to go back to the Solarium and you and Lorraine will help Hannah pick out dresses and have a nice, pleasant visit and then we’ll all eat dinner tonight--Adelaide, when will dinner be ready?” 
“About seven-thirty, Mr. Michael!” Came the reply, Adelaide never turning, or stopping her biscuit cutting, some flour spilling to the floor.
“Thank you!”
Arm around Vylette’s shoulders, Michael started to lead her back to the glassed in room.
“Damn a Jean Harlow, Lori!” 
Through the French doors, a perturbed Marlon walked, carrying a struggling Lorraine!
“Daddy! Daddy! You put me down this instant! He’s gone mad! Help! Help! Marlon David Jackson, I command you to put me down! Help me! Someone! Anyone! Vylette! Michael! Jermaine! Oh my God!” 
A mob of little girls, followed by Hannah and Jermaine, poured out onto the porch and were chasing after to watch as Marlon, undeterred by all the curse words being shouted into his ears and the slaps to his cheeks, proceeded out to the pool.
“Daddy don’t do it! Don’t do it! Please! This dress is silk! It cost forty-five dollars! DADDY--NO!”
(Author’s Note: The equivalent of ten times as much now.)
“You forget Lorraine…” Marlon announced loudly, swaying her like an infant.
“I PAID FOR IT!”
And with that, Lorraine was thrown into forward, with a shriek into the pool.
Laughter rang out from everyone, as Lorraine surfaced, yelling in French at him.
“Vous damné imbécile stupide!”
(Translation: You damned stupid idiot!)
Vylette should have been laughing along with everyone else, Michael sure was hooting enough for the both of them, but all Vylette could focus on, was the rear of the crowd.
And on Hannah Povah.
Hannah, who, although she was enjoying her seven chuckles, was staring up, directly at Jermaine, going unnoticed as he was wiping joyous tears from his eyes.
As Marlon helped pull Lorraine’s soaking form from the pool--and was angrily kicked in himself as revenge--Vylette’s chest ached with apprehension.
She didn’t want Hannah to fall for Jermaine Jackson.
Of all the men in the world, with the exception of Michael, she didn’t want that girl to fall for that man.
Not with so much bitterness between their two families.
Jermaine was going to be gone in a matter of days…
She didn’t want him to unwittingly leave a broken heart in his wake.
Not Hannah Povah. Not her first broken heart.
Because when a cub was hurt or endangered, the mother bear always came out in defense, claws bared ready to destroy all in her path.
And the last thing anybody needed, nor wanted was more trouble from Mary Povah.
But before he bid Rainelle Parish adieu, Jermaine Jackson would have turned the entire town on it’s ear in a way no one could have possibly imagined.

Chapter Twenty-One--PART ONE

The Next Morning
Jackson Manor
Rainelle Parish, Louisiana


Vylette Meraux feared she was going mad.
She hadn’t slept a single wink the night before and as distressed and overwrought as the young teen felt, she was certain she’d never have another decent night’s sleep again.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt fear of this degree, burning, searing, aching to the point her entire body shook and her hands trembled as if caught in an earthquake, though the ground beneath her feet stayed perfectly still.
Sleep was something dear and precious that was hard to come by.
But then again how could a girl sleep, when the very night of the announcement of her engagement, what was supposed to be one of the most joyous occasions to any young woman had turned to utter disaster and tragedy.
Oh how Vylette’s chest ached. How her eyes misted and stung with the salt water of tears!
Again, for what was the umpteenth time, her mind turned to the thoughts that had been plaguing her since the night before.
The night before.
Everything had been so pleasant. Wearing that beautiful, new water-colored, floral frock and being in the genteel, gentlemanly company of Michael Jackson for the greater portion of the evening.
His eyes never left her, those deep, dark orbs of affection glittering and sparkling at her. The soft, knowing smile touch his lips each time their gazes crossed.
The warm, sensuous feel of his hand on her thin, cool arm.
How proud Vylette had been. How very proud she had been, knowing that this man loved her above all else.
So much so, he’d wanted to make it official, by way of a twelve-carat rock, selected and carved, especially for her.
Only for her.
How delighted she had been with the company that evening, watching her own cousin, engaged to Michael’s brother, never looking from him, as deeply in love with Marlon as she with Michael. Listening to the peals of laughter ringing from both her kid sister and her father as the conversation was politely lobbied back and forth.
Her father, who had only encouraged her relationship with Michael Jackson. Who had taken a shine to the twenty-something and got on with him like he was already his son.
The one who had always liked and doted on and shown nothing but the utmost respect to the Jackson brothers.
Not like her mother.
At the thought of her mother, those smooth, pale hands clenched at her sides in a quiet fury, the usually placid, heart-shaped face going whiter than snow at the thought of her mother.
Her mother! Her mother! Her mother!
Thinking back to the events, still very fresh and painful to her, Vylette’s mouth flattened into an angered line and her light eyes began to well.
Her perfect evening had been completely undone by her mother!
When Kathleen Meraux had fainted upon reading the banner that declared not only her daughter, but also her niece were engaged to the Jacksons, it had been the start of a situation that had rapidly spiraled out of control.
Although it took Doctor Meraux less than ten minutes to revive his startled wife, everyone present soon learned it would have been best to leave her out cold and to have resumed the festivities in her absence.
The moment the matriarch came back to consciousness, the waterworks had started.
Not delicate, feminine, slow paced, tears, but a full-on torrent, the likes of which Vylette hadn’t seen since her grandmother had died after ingesting Pork Tartare.
But there her mother had been, sobbing wildly, with the only words any one could have made any sense out of being,
“My babies! My babies! Jesus Christ--my babies!”
Vylette’s mother had been the very definition of the word ‘inconsolable’.
The evening had gone to pot from there.
Kathleen cried, with out a single break, all through dinner, so much so, any pleasant conversation was but a wish and did not occur for being drowned out by the blubbering.
(Also, all of Vylette’s, Vinnie’s and Lorraine’s slaving in the kitchen were not appreciated; Kathleen didn’t take a single bite of food, or sip of iced tea.)
And when the Doctor had proposed a toast to the couples, Kathleen had shrieked as if being knifed and raped.
The final straw had come following the meal.
Michael Jackson had gone through the trouble of setting up a projector and screen in the Solarium, for the purpose of showing a variety of Harold Lloyd comedy shorts.
And Harold Lloyd had been chosen solely because he was Kathleen’s favorite screen comedian.
But halfway through Lloyd’s most famous film, Safety Last, even before the big scene where he hangs precariously off the face of a clock, dangling within death’s reach over the busy city below, the movie had to be stopped.
Kathleen was carrying on so, no one could even enjoy it.
And the evening had come to an end right there.
Vylette would never forget the glaring, harshness of disappointment in Michael Jackson’s face as he had shown her to the door, while her father half-carried, half-dragged her mother out of the house.
The pain, his pain was evident and it hurt Vylette ten times worse.
Never had she imagined something like this could happen to her. She’d always figured that even though her mother hadn’t been too keen on certain aspects of the Jacksons or how they lived, that the news that her elder daughter was to be a bride would have overridden that with sheer happiness.
How wrong she had been. How naive, how stupid.
Why should her mother be pleased with the pairing of her daughter with the son of a Dauphine?
Her mother had been full of distaste at them ever since they set foot into town. Speculating that they had no morals and were bootleggers on the lam.
She didn’t want to believe that both were exquisite gentlemen, who made their fortune with wholesome, family-oriented theatres.
She wanted to believe that they were showy and flashy, not kind and charitable as shown in the selfless funding of the Soup Kitchen.
They were Yankees, not born of the Parish, although their mother’s people had been in the Parish as long as Vylette’s own.
The Dauphines were as old as the De la Croixs!
But no…
Somehow, some way, Vylette knew in her heart, that her mother had believed in her own heart that Vylette would still marry that stubborn goat Steven Wilkes and that Lorraine would marry that wet blanket, Ulrich Povah!
And Vylette refused it! She simply refused it!
She loved Michael Jackson.
All she wanted in the entire world was Michael Jackson.
A kind, gentle, sweet man, who’d never raise his voice or hand to harm her.
She wanted to be his bride, honeymoon in Vienna and live in that mansion and raise their children there.
Yes, Jackson Manor.
Out of the darkness, on the tree-lined lane, still hung with the glowing Chinese lanterns, Vylette emerged.
A bit wild, a bit crazed.
Her long black waves cascading down her back, as her feet, encased in the pale pink shoes, now crusted with sooty Louisiana soil carried her rapidly down the lane and towards the lit front porch.
She still wore her floral dress from the night before; in her haste to get to the Manor, it was the first thing she put her hands on.
She had to see Michael, had to apologize to him, beg his forgiveness.
In the very back of her mindm crept a sobering, terrifying thought, that Michael, seeing he went unwanted by Kathleen--even though Katherine welcomed Vylette with open arms--would demand his ring back and break their engagement
And Vylette was in such a state, she’d have likely followed Olivier Dauphine’s example and taken a flying leap from the roof of the mansion.
She’d have to, lest she spend the rest of her days listening to the gleeful, self-righteous leering of one Steven Wilkes, who still clung to the hope like a man to the edge of a mountain he’s falling off of, that her relationship with Michael Jackson was a fling at best and he was making a fool of her.
Vylette was no fool and she wasn’t about to become one now!
Getting to the stone steps of the porch, Vylette bypassed a sleeping Baron at the top of the steps, taking great care to step up and over the Red Husky and started to make her way to the door.
But as she did, something caught her eye.
Off to the side, the French doors leading into the formal living room had been left wide open.
Straightening, Vylette tucked her hair behind her ears, and began marching towards the doors.
It wasn’t really breaking and entering, if the door was left setting wide open.
Besides, this was going to be her house…if she were lucky and still had the love of her fiancé.
Stealthily, Vylette crossed through the blue room, emerging in the front foyer.
Advancing over to the staircase, she paused, clinging to the banister, ears perking for any sort of sounds to alert her that someone was coming.
After several tense moments, which allowed a pool of sweat to collect at the base of her spine, Vylette was creeping up the stairs.
Soon she emerged on the second level, swiftly moving towards the door of Michael Jackson’s bedroom, where the door stood cracked.
Judging by the shaft falling on the floor, she could tell the light was on in the room.
Hands starting to wring, registering her anxiety, Vylette slipped through the crack, which was coincidentally just large enough to accommodate her.
Inside the room, all was peaceful, a soft, harp-heavy waltz playing from the bedside radio.
But the bed was vacant, its red sheets rumpled and thrown back, a simple stuffed lion laying on its side on one of the pillows.
Michael wasn’t in bed, he wasn’t asleep!
Quickly, Vylette’s eyes darted to the bathroom.
The door stood completely open, but the bathroom, just like the bedroom was vacant of the young master.
Where was Michael? Where could he be?
Was he so defeated that he left Louisiana to return back to the North?
Vylette’s heart fluttered uncontrollably in her bosom, hand pressing it, eyes darting here and there trying to find him.
A sharp, small gasp popped from her lips when she finally discovered him.
The French doors leading onto the wraparound balcony were opened and just beyond them, was Michael Jackson.
Still in his sleep clothes, Michael stood, looking out over his darkened property, his body wrapped in a black satin robe, printed all over with interlocking white circles.
In one hand he held a half-gone cigarette, flicking ashes down onto the ground below.
For a brief moment, in essence, Michael resembled a living cover of The New Yorker magazine.
He was so delicate, so beautiful as he took another deep drag and blew a perfect smoke ring in the air.
Vylette would never know how she got across that bedroom, whether she walked, ran or flew, she didn’t know.
She only knew she had to touch him, hug him, kiss him.
Tell him how much she loved him.
And suddenly she was on him, her arms thrown around his trim waist with such force he was nearly thrown to the polished wood floor.
“Vy?” He exclaimed, stunned she was even there, staggering and trying to remain upright as she continued jostling him. “Vylette? It’s three in the morning…what the devil are you doing here? How’d you get here? Don‘t tell me you walked! It‘s the middle of the damn night!”
Vylette mashed to him, pressed her cheek against his chest, listened to his heart beating against her ear.
“I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you!” She cried, squeezing him tighter.
“You shouldn’t walk alone at night! That’s dangerous! A pretty girl, all alone--what if someone had snatched you?” Michael was stammering and struggling draw a full breath.
“I’m sorry, Michael! Truly sorry about everything!” Vylette interrupted, his scolding falling on deaf ears.
“About Mama, and the way she acted and ruin the dinner and films. I’m sorry she’s not happy with our being engaged, but I don’t care! Do you hear me, I don’t care!”
Hot, salty tears began streaming from her eyes and mucus from her nose.
“I want to marry you! I want to be your wife! We can be married right now, there’s Father Lachey, or we can go to New Orleans and find a Justice of the Peace there--”
“Hey…hey…hey!” Michael finally loosened her grasp and leaned back from her, examining the reddened and damp face. “Mein Liebling…calm down. Calm down, Sweetness or you’ll faint…calm down…”
Patting at her head, he wrapped his arms around her.
It was the warmest, most entrusting feeling.
“Calm down…I know you love me. I love you too, with all my heart. Now stop with this eloping foolishness. We’ll do nothing of the sort. We’re going to get married properly, at the church by Father Lachey. You deserve a real wedding, not some rushed vows in the middle of the night. I won’t have us sneaking around in the dark like bandits on a jailbreak! Now stop that crying, please Darling…”
Thumbs, large and soft were caressing her cheeks, and rubbing the tears away.
“Now, yes, perhaps your mother did take the news of our engagement rather hard, but I’m not offended…” He murmured, smooching at her forehead and sniffling, Vylette choked,
“You’re not?”
He looked sourer than a lemon earlier, but he wasn’t angry? He wasn’t offended?
“No, because I thought of it from your mother’s standpoint. You’re her first child. And Lorraine was left to her, when her parents died unfortunately. All Mrs. Meraux has known for the last eighteen years is you and Lorraine. You two were raised like sisters. Hell, you even act like sisters when you’re together!” Michael chuckled and slowly a smile came to Vylette’s face.
“All your mother hollered the whole evening was ‘My Babies!’ She probably thinks she’s losing you--she’s not, and in time she will come to realize that. You’ll live right here, in this house which is barely a drive back to your parent’s house. And I know Marlon and Lorraine will eventually move to New Orleans, but that’s also a short drive. We can still get together for Sunday dinners, church. All sorts of nice events. They can come into the City to see films and spend the day--we won’t just up and disappear, Vylette.”
His lips bumped her gingerly.
“My poor, sweet little bride. Look at you, positively exhausted, and with so much to do today: going to the train station to meet my relatives, and then coming back here to host your friends and help them pick clothing to buy. Such a busy woman needs plenty of rest…”
Stooping slightly and grunting with minimal effort Michael lifted Vylette and was cradling her to his bosom like an infant.
“I’m going to put you to bed, and let you sleep for a few hours, before we have to get on the road…I’ll phone your father, and let him know you’re here, so your folks don’t worry…”
Michael trailed off and a wide grin came to his face, when he realized, slumped against him, Vylette was already asleep.
She never knew that Michael had tucked her in with his stuffed lion, nor kissed her forehead, whispering in German at her.
She only knew that her crisis was averted, banished, and that Michael Jackson, as always, had taken a bad situation, turned it around and fixed it for the better.
Things always did turn out better, once Michael Jackson was involved.
* * *


A Few Hours Later
New Orleans Louisiana


“…Hello?…Is this the Dupuis Transcontinental Train Station? Yes?--I’d like to inquire about one of your arrivals--”
The dark, polished wood of the booth enclosing that lone payphone on the corners of St. Marie Street and Laveaux Boulevard made for a beautiful compliment to all of the earthy tones making up Michael Jackson that morning.
From the chocolate of his complexion, to the smoky darkness that were his glistening, flickering, partially sleep-deprived eyes, to the rich, chic suit hanging about his trim, svelte frame.
It was a three-piece wonder that gave Michael the appearance of having just walked clean off the pages of a gentleman’s fashion magazine. Constructed of lightweight, single-breasted worsted wool in a russet color that gently offset the reddish undertones to his complexion, the fabric was a tone on tone wide windowpane check, worn over an off white silk shirt and striped tie.
“…what time does the Starlight Limited from New York City arrive? I’m expecting relatives…”
Rocking back and forth, his feet gleamed in patent wingtips, with such a high-gloss polish, they were like mirrors.
On his head, a brown felt fedora had been pulled down over one eye. He was always so dapper when going town.
“…It’s my brother, Jermaine Jackson…his two little girls, Jessie and Jana and three of our nephews, Taj, Taryll and TJ…all from New York, all Jacksons…!”
A few away by the curb, sitting in the parked two-toned Caddy, Vylette was applying a thin veil of white powder to her nose, watching over the top of her compact, as Michael continued to bicker with the receptionist.
“…Look, I’m starting to lose my temper! All I’ve got in my gut right now is a glass of tomato juice and a hothouse pear! I just need to know when the Starlight Limited is due, so I can see if I have enough time to stop for breakfast--Eleven-seventeen? Did that kill you? Did you physically die from sharing that information?”
His voice took on a bitingly shrill edge.
Even from so far away, she could see the nostrils on his sculpted nose flaring.
“I didn’t think so--good morning!”
The receiver was slammed down so hard, it echoed.
Stepping from the booth, Michael unhooked the thee buttons cinching his jacket closed and grasped at his reed-thin waist.
“Jiminy Crickets, it can burn me up something fierce how some of those mush-for-brains dames try to get all high and mighty just because they’ve got a desk job. Damn it, I just wanted to see when the train got in…”
Still looking over the top of the compact at him, Vylette offered a sympathetic nod.
Michael had long since forgotten what time his brother’s train arrived and the only scrap of paper it had been jotted down on was thrown away by mistake one afternoon as Adelaide had cleaned his office.
Rounding the car, he slipped behind the wheel, slamming the door after him.
From around the lowered brim of his hat, the dark eyes focused in on Vylette, riding shotgun, still attentively powdering at her nose, which had gone shiny in the Louisiana humidity.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”
Voice growing soft, Michael reached over and patted at smooth thigh peeking out from beneath the silk skirt.
Grinning in spite of herself, Vylette appreciated the compliment.
She was the portrait of stylistic perfection that morning.
Wanting to look her best for meeting Michael’s kin, she wore a sleek, short sleeved suit of pale, cornflower blue over a short, puffed sleeved blouse of light blue and teal plaid, tying at the throat with an enormous bow. It was accented with teal buttons down the front and a matching belt.
On her feet, dull leather teal pumps were comfortable.
“Not in the last fifteen minutes…” Vylette teased, shutting her crystal covered compact and slipping it into her plaid hand bag, replacing her teal gloves.
Across from her Michael squinched his nose playfully, and turned the key in the ignition.
As they merged into traffic, he suggested,
“We have a few hours until my brother and them arrive, would you like to stop somewhere for breakfast? It‘s my dumb fault, I thought the train was due at seven-eleven, not eleven-seventeen! The least I can do is give you a decent meal.”
“It’s alright…” Lavender-blue eyes were loving as she patted the hand squeezing her leg.
She didn’t mind any of the trouble, she was so thankful he was still hers and that she belonged to him. That they would still be married in the near future.
She didn’t care that he’d bungled the train arrival times.
She was with him now and such mistakes could happen.
Such mistakes were quickly forgotten when men were as sweet and attractive and…sexy…as Michael Jackson.
“Anything in particular you’d like, My Violette Blanche?”
“I don’t know why…” Vylette picked at the long feather trailing from her small, woven beret. “…but I’ve got a taste for some Shrimp and Grits…”
“Shrimp? For breakfast?” Michael declared, glancing at her skeptically. “I know you said we’re on the Gulf, but shrimp? I‘ve heard of fish for breakfast--kippers--but never shrimp!”
“Don’t look now, your Yankee is showing!” Vylette teased and both laughed merrily. “It’s a traditional dish around these parts.”
“Well, I’ll try some. If its anything like the hominy grits Adelaide and you make, I’ll enjoy it…here’s a place…”
“It’s better!” Vylette snickered and Michael’s eyes widened.
Rising far above the road and noisy city, was a strange figure.
A huge, imposing, colored to life rendition of a proud rooster was strutting on top of the name of the restaurant, The Cock-A-Doodle-Doo Diner.
It was a cute, homey, no-frills sort of place and as Michael pulled a park in front of a long, streamlined building of sparkling chrome,, through the window Vylette could see several booths and the entire counter occupied.
As the couple, arm in arm approached the door, they stopped long enough to read the morning specials scribbled on a blackboard in colored chalk.
And at the top was Shrimp and Grits for thirty cents a bowl. (Advertised as ‘so delicious, you’ll slap your Mama!’)
By the time they got in, though, all of the booths were taken and Michael had to physically lift Vylette up onto a stool at the counter to avoid wrinkling her dress.
Once seated--and giving the stink eye to several men staring at his beautiful fiancée--Michael ordered the grits, with coffee and buttermilk biscuits.
Coffee came immediately and as the short-order cook went to work at the griddle and stovetop, Michael gazed at Vylette a few moments, as she busied herself sweetening and creaming her java.
“Mein Leibling?”
“Ja?” Vylette was still spooning sugar from a bowl.
“I…I wanted to talk to you about Jermaine…before we met him at the station.” Michael started and at the serious tone seeping into his voice, Vylette gazed at him curiously.
“Does…does he not like me?” She wondered thoughtfully and horror crossed her lover’s face.
“Jesus Christ--no!” He exclaimed. “Nothing like that Baby…”
He was holding her hand tightly in his to the point it was turning red.
“…it’s just…I hope you like him--”
Penciled brows raised and Vylette’s mouth came open with incredulity.
“Why wouldn’t I like Jermaine? He’s your brother, isn’t he? I get on nicely with Marlon--he‘s your brother, too!”
There was a pause as the bowls of steaming grits topped with a half-dozen plump crustaceans and gravy were set before them with biscuits alongside.
“I know…just…” Michael took a bite of food. “This is delicious, but I won‘t slap Mother…just, well, Jermaine has a way about him that can be, rather off-putting.”
Enjoying her meal, Vylette’s eyes went up with her brows in questioning.
Off-putting? How could a Jackson be off-putting? They were so jovial and engaging!
Michael, Marlon, Latoya…even Katherine had sent words of welcoming to her! They were loving, nice and joys to be around.
It seemed silly--off-putting!
The very idea!
“You know how Marlon likes to do his bragging?” Michael tilted his coffee cup to his mouth.
“Well, yeah…?” Vylette shrugged, chewing on a spicy shrimp.
Marlon was a proud sort, that came naturally.
But he did have the looks, money and charisma to do so.
It was half of what drew her cousin Lorraine to him in the first place.
Michael grunted and munched another spoonful.
“Well, Jermaine is that times ten, Vy! He’s kind of egotistical. You know, thinks money is the be-all, end-all. I’m already trying to prepare myself for when he stays with us a few days…”
Absently he was tapping his spoon against the side of his bowl.
“…because it was a three day ride on the train to get here. He can’t just turn around and go right back to New York. He has to recuperate and recharge a bit. Plus he’ll be attending the theatre openings. But he’s never seen anything like the Parish, before. He’s used to places like Paris, London, Biarritz, all those sorts of locales for a layover… for Christ Sakes, his car is at the train station now--a Rolls Royce Phantom!”
“Rolls Royce?” Vylette echoed and could just imagine how tongues would wag once Jermaine set foot into her modest hometown.
Why, a Rolls was even more expensive and extravagant than a Cadillac. That was the type of vehicles the film stars drove!
Not people who resided in Rainelle Parish! Most of them just had a buggy and mule at best. He was sure to draw stares at the least and cause the rumor mills to explode-- ie, that conniving, black-hearted Mary Povah, as she hated all the Jacksons, pack and parcel--at the most.
Michael continued, with his infernal tapping of the spoon.
“I’m surprised he’s letting Jessie and Jana stay in the Parish. It was one thing to have them in for the summer in New York--we only lived a few streets away from each other on Park Avenue--but I think it would be good for them to be around nice, normal folks--I just hope they get along with the children…”
The tapping ceased and he motioned for a refill of coffee.
“But we belong to the Country Club, won’t they play with children there?” Vylette interrupted, wondering if the wealthy children would be happier among their own!
The culture clash may have been too much. The scions of wealthy, theatre owners and those of sharecroppers?
How on Earth could youngsters from such vastly different backgrounds manage to find common ground? Was there any common ground to be found?
“We don’t LIVE at the Club, Vylette! They’ll be at home with us, going to Mass with us, playing with kids like Vinnie and the Povahs and the Pringles…” Michael shook his head derisively.
“My nephews are okay, Tito and Delores keeps them down-to-earth, but Jermaine and Hazel only indulge and spoil their girls. They don’t know what the word ‘no’ means unless they‘re hollering it themselves. I love my nieces, really I do, but they’ve got to learn they can’t have everything. This economy has turned and anything can happen--I pray it doesn’t. Jermaine would kill himself--don’t look at me crooked. He’d jump and splatter his Colored ass all over Park Avenue. I know him, he’s my blood.”
(Olivier Dauphine was his blood too, and Vylette didn’t even want to think of one of his descendants taking a plunge like he had in 1929. Although she‘d come very close to it herself, but she was no relation to him.)
Another spoonful went into Michael’s mouth and he grimaced.
Vylette stared downwards, not sure of what to say, if money was truly so important to his brother that he’d kill himself and leave behind two little girls who needed him.
“I…I can provide. I can provide well…” Michael commented, starting to take his tortoise shell cigarette case from his jacket.
“She’s wearing Scandalous by Lafar! It retails for thirty-two dollars an ounce! Get your goddamn nose out my fiancée’s hair, before I shatter it for you!” He snarled suddenly and startled Vylette spun around to see a man, close in age to Michael, jerking away from her.
“I’m…I’m sorry--Sorry Ma‘am!” He was humble, tilting his own hat and quickly moved down three stools.
Smartly, he kept his head turned away from them, avoiding eye contact at all costs. There was no need to further enrage that wiry fighter.
“I don‘t feel like getting my new shoes shitty, kicking ass, Pardon me…damn mashers.” He grumbled, placing a cancer stick in his mouth and setting it on fire, before returning to his original topic.
“I can provide, but I won’t have selfish, bratty children. I’d be a failure as a father if that happened. They don’t want to be Catholic, fine. If our girl likes girls or our boy likes boys, I can handle that, too. But thinking they’re better than someone else just for having a few extra dimes…I’ll go ape like I was Tarzan! What we have is a blessing, not an entitlement.”
Vylette gazed on Michael Jackson, wanting to cry tears of pride.
The man had values. Real, solid values, and wanted to instill such sentiment in their offspring.
He was the best man for her, truly the best.
And he was going to be a wonderful father to hopefully, their many children.
Hugging his arm, she whispered,
“You’re a blessing to me….”


* * *


Sometime Later
Dupuis Transcontinental Railway Station
Outskirts of New Orleans, Louisiana


“…Jesus Christmas! This sticks out like a huge, honking, sore-ass thumb! I don’t believe this! Damn it! We’re in New Orleans! This ain’t New York! This ain’t Palm Beach! This ain’t Hollywood! Who does he think he is? Bill Powell? Chaplin? Valentino? Good God in Heaven! Great Googly Moogly!…”
For the last twenty minutes, Michael Jackson had been ranting and raving so hard, he’d come out of his jacket!
“My Lord…this is ridiculous! Even for him! Lord have mercy on my soul! When I get my hands on Jermaine….!”
To the side, Vylette and the slack-jawed porter who’d helped them navigate the expansive parking lot behind the station to retrieve Jermaine Jackson’s Rolls Royce, stood silently and tensely watching what looked to be all of the hallmarks of a nervous breakdown.
But Michael had something of a right to do all the performing and noise-making he was currently doing.
If there was ever a vehicle to stop traffic and demand attention with a bullhorn, Jermaine Jackson’s was the vehicle to do it.
It could probably be seen coming from five miles away.
A huge, touring car it was, painted a deep, bloody maroon, setting up on wide, whitewall tires, every thing gleaming with golden brass.
The interior was a mix of golden, crushed velvet and red leather.
Even the vanity plate, stating only JJ-#1 was brass.
On the hood, stood a regal ornament in the shape of an eagle’s head, made of frosted glass.
It was such an eye-catching statement of vehicular majesty, that even a blind man could have noticed it.
“I told that damned fool, when you come to town, come in something discreet. I live in a small rural town now, I said. Nice, church-going, hardworking folks. Here he comes rolling in like the circus is here! All he needs is a parade of elephants and clowns and a few acrobats. Damn it to Hell!”
Michael stomped, and kicked the back tire.
“Ouch!”
He bounced in a circle, clutching his left foot in agony.
“Son of a bitch!”
“Y’all’s need any-thang else, Lady?” The porter wondered scratching at his kinked head, as Michael began rave in German.
“Dumbkof! Dumbkof!”
“No…what time is it?” Vylette asked, still holding Michael’s jacket as he continued to leap and perform heatedly.
“I should kick him in the chest! Jesus Christmas!”
A cheap pocket watch was produced.
“’Leven-’ifteen…”
“Thank you!”
As the porter ambled away, Vylette called,
“Michael! Michael! The train is due any minute! Mike--”
“You go meet it!” Storming over, Michael snatched the jacket away, and started to slip it on.
“Go over to the platform. I need a moment to smoke and get my head together. You won’t be able to miss my brother--trust me! Helen Keller could spot that walking dunce cap!”
Leaning, Vylette pecked his warm cheek and started away.
A moment later, Michael had caught up to her, his arm hooking hers.
“It’d be just my damn luck I let you go alone and someone molests you, then I gotta commit murder! I almost slapped out that sap sniffing your hair!” He growled, keeping step with her as a voice on a loud speaker called as a train’s horn blared,
“Now arriving! The eleven-seventeen Starlight Limited from New York City, Trenton, New Jersey and Boston, Massachusetts!”
Vylette smiled. Even seething as he was, he still made the effort to protect her body and her honor.
He was firstly a gentleman, always.
By the time they reached the platform, several dozen people milled in front of the engine and adjoining cars of the train, painted a bold yellow and black, resembling a steel bumblebee, still smoking.
Everywhere she looked, were people running here and yonder, embracing and kissing, shaking hands and gathering up luggage.
Vylette tried to stop at one of the passenger cars to ask about the Jacksons, to see which car they had been on, but was tugged along, almost yanked off her feet by the force.
Michael offered no explanation, as to why they weren’t inquiring about his family, but she soon saw why.
At the very end of about twenty cars, a one stood apart from the rest alarmingly.
Stretching for twice the length of a standard car, it was painted a lacquered navy and on the side in white script were the words Jackson: Established 1901.
(Author’s Note: for the setting of 1931, a not-yet-30-year-old Jermaine would have been born in December 1901.)
Vylette’s jaw dropped and was sagging somewhere near her dimpled knees.
A private car.
Michael’s brother had traveled in a private train car!
Vylette was spinning.
Until that very moment she thought she’d had a fair grasping of the extent of wealth afforded the Jacksons, but now, seeing that Jermaine traveled in such…luxury, the girl was spellbound.
Just what kind of a man was he?
How rich were the Jacksons? Vylette had never asked exactly how much they were worth--that was poor manners--but she couldn’t help wondering now.
“I told you, you couldn’t miss him.” Michael sighed with disdain. “Never can miss that goon…”
As Michael shook his head with regret, the silky blue curtains covering the windows parted and a bunch of small faces appeared.
There was a dull roar as someone shouted,
“IT’S UNCLE MICHAEL! LOOK, ITS HIM! UNCLE MICHAEL!”
There was a clang as the door on the side of the car came open, and three little boys, with no care in the world at all for the set of steps for them to use in order to reach the platform, leap over it easily and came stampeding at top speed.
Each wore matching navy suits with an argyle sweater vest, and red bow ties.
Letting go of Vylette, Michael dropped to one knee, arms outstretched for a hug.
“UNCLE MICHAEL!”
The smallest of the bunch reached him first and was squeezing him tightly as the other two got to his side grinning happily.
And right before her very eyes, all of the disgust and animosity seeping from Michael Jackson just seconds before, seemed to evaporate as he went through the children, laughing as gaily as ever, embracing them and kissing the tops of their heads.
“My goodness! Look at you--it’s amazing what a single year will do for you! You’ve all gotten so big! My gosh!” Michael was hooting, and patting them on the back, he climbed back up to his feet.
As the boys all began to chatter and compete to be heard over one another, each appearing to try to tell Michael his own experience on the train, he held his hands up as a signal for order.
“…I didn’t like it! My bed was too soft! The beds are always too darn soft!”
“Mine was too hard!”
“Taryll snored!”
“You liar--you snored, Taj!”
“The devil I did! But TJ got motion sickness!”
“I threw up--”
“Hey! HEY!” Michael cried, hooking his pinkies in his mouth and unleashing a shrill TOOT that not only silenced the children, but about half a dozen other people passing by.
As the three gazed up at him peacefully, mouths delightfully shut, Michael extended a hand to Vylette, pulling her closer.
“Boys…I have someone special for you to meet…”
He was trying so hard to control himself.
Much as he had the night before, when their engagement had been announced to her mother, Michael was caressing her shoulders tenderly from behind.
“This is Vylette…I want you all to take a good look at her, and get to know her very, very well this summer …because….” He broke into a nervous giggle.
“Hee-hee! Hee-hee! Because…in a few months, she’s going to be your Auntie!”
Tiny mouths dropped, before breaking into smiles and the boys were coming forward with arms outstretched to hug her.
The tallest, and presumably oldest spoke first.
“Hi Auntie Vy! I’m Taj--I’m ten years old!”
Taj Jackson was an adorable little guy, with a caramel complexion and beady, sneaky-like dark eyes. His hair was a deep brown and arranged in a large, naturally curled puff, with his teacup-handle like ears sticking out on the sides.
“Hello Taj, nice to meet you, Sweetie.” Vylette was hugging him to her.
Taj, echoing his uncle in how he was so well-mannered, was nudging the second tallest boy towards her.
“This is my brother, Taryll. He’s eight.”
Taryll was a shade or so lighter than his elder brother, his hair, just as wild and puffy, but in a shade of sandy blond as opposed to darker brown.
Hazel eyes sparkled as he came forward, embracing her.
“Hi…gee you smell nice.” Taryll stammered peering up at her as Vylette patted his cheek.
At least Michael wouldn’t lay him out for appreciating her perfume.
“You do too!” She laughed and behind her, Michael was guffawing.
The smallest approached.
“And this is--”
“I can talk!” The little boy growled defensively, showing his two front teeth were missing.
“I’m TJ! I’m five whole years old! Hi Auntie!” He was leaping against her lovingly.
TJ was a bit darker than his older brothers, his hair black with reddish highlights, and the same wide ears like Taj.
Deep, shimmering eyes looked upwards with adoration at her.
“Now…” Michael huffed, glancing towards the open door of the blue car, his hands pressing into his hips again. “…where is your Uncle Jermaine?”
Shuffling his feet and kicking at the wooden platform beneath them, Taryll chuckled,
“He’s fussing with Jessie and Jana, Uncle Michael--he’s trying to comb their hair and they’re tender-headed and they keep whining and crying and all.”
Michael’s mouth formed an “O” and his brow folded up.
He hesitated a moment, before his eyes fell upon the female at his side.
“Vy…” He began tentatively. “Do you believe…”
“…that I could maybe comb your niece’s hair for you?” She finished for him with a smirk.
“Mmm-hmm!” Michael hummed with one strict bob of his head.
“Oh, I suppose so…we can’t spend the rest of the day loitering on this here platform!” She snickered as Michael smooched her cheek.
“You’re a doll, Shamone!”
With the three little boys following closely behind, Vylette held her breath, she had never set foot on a train before, and certainly not a private car.
The same breath whooshed out as she was ushered inside.
The entire compartment smelled strongly of an expensive cologne, heavy on sandalwood and spices.
For such a small vehicle, as the car was, comprising of only a few dozen cubic feet, it was decorated just as lavishly as though it were a home such as Jackson Manor.
The walls were draped in thick, luxurious, cobalt blue velvet with a stark white quilted ceiling overhead. Scattered around the living area was a plush couch and several armchairs marked by heavy wood and along one wall was a small desk with a gold and white shaded lamp.
Beneath her feet was a muted carpet which she sank into by half an inch with each step.
On the far end of the berth, was an oak door, slightly ajar.
Vylette heard Michael draw a breath, preparing to call out a greeting.
But he stopped short when a pair of high-pitched, cultured voices were heard conversing back and forth.
“…my head is simply pounding, isn’t yours, Dear?”
“Yes! I wish I had an aspirin!”
“Father cannot comb hair to save his life, bless him!”
“But what are we going to do? We can’t go into public looking like…like wild women!…
“Yoo-hoo!” Michael hooted. “Jana? Jessie? It’s Uncle Michael! Would you come here please?”
“No, Sir!” A voice insisted. “We look just dreadful!”
Vylette snickered into the palm of her hand.
“I’m very sure you don’t. I know you’re having a bit of trouble with your hair…” Michael replied, eyes rolling. “…well, I have someone here who can fix your hair just perfectly for you--”
The door opened and midway down, two little, oval faces, both topped with long, coarse masses of naturally wild, curly black hair peeked out timidly.
Waving a gloved hand, Vylette tried to keep her voice as delicate as possible.
“Hello…I’m your Auntie Vy…do you think you could trust me with your hair?”
And in unison, both girls exclaimed, indignantly,
“You’re White, you can‘t comb Colored hair!”
“She is not White!” Michael nearly bellowed causing everyone to jump. “She’s Colored, and she can comb Colored hair! Now comb on--come on out of there, and bring her your bows and things!”
As the girls disappeared from sight and scuffling was heard, Michael turned to Vylette.
“I’m sorry for that--”
She’d been taken for just about every race under the skies, Colored, White, Some Kind of Spanish, at one time or another. And a child making the wrong assumption didn’t bother her at all.
“It’s alright. It’s not the first time I was mistaken for being White, probably won’t be last.” Vylette chortled, as the door opened wider and two girls, one a few inches shorter than the other exited.
Both were beautiful little creatures, a bit on the thin side, with sparkling dark eyes, downcast in their shame, with their hair all over their heads, and falling down their backs.
The girls resembled well-dressed dust mops.
Both girls wore crisply starched cream and red sailor dresses, with matching tights embroidered with little anchors echoing the ones on their collars, and red Mary Janes.
Each held a large red grosgrain ribbon, combs, brushes and a jar of pomade.
“That’s Jana, she’s nine.” Michael pointed to the taller of the two dust mops. “And Jessie, short for Jessilynn, she’s seven.”
“Nice to meet y’all.” Vylette was smiling and the girls looked nervous.
Were they really that concerned about their appearances, so young? Other than the worry of being seen in the nude, Vinnie would run all over here and yonder with her hair everyplace if Vylette didn’t get her to sit long enough to style it.
Taking the items from the girls, Vylette informed them,
“Don’t be so worried. We’re family--I’m going to be your aunt.”
Just like the boys, both girls looked up in awe.
Nodding Vylette added, feeling her face flush hotly.
“I’m going to marry your Uncle Michael.”
It still sounded so wonderfully strange to make such a statement. To hear it in open air and realize that yes, she truly was betrothed to this man. He’d chosen to spend the rest of his life with her.
Pleased, excited smiles came to the faces of the girls.
And that quickly, Vylette had gained their trust.
If she was good enough to marry their favorite uncle, then she was certainly good enough to tackle a few kinks.
Taking a seat on the couch and sinking into it, she tossed a tasseled cushion onto the floor.
“Whomever wants to go first, can kneel on this, so you don’t wrinkle your pretty dresses--” Vylette started, and Michael latched onto her hand.
Swiftly, the massive diamond was removed, as it would have easily tangled in the wild, free-flowing tresses and caused much screaming.
“Where’s your Daddy at?” Michael wondered absently, as Jana dropped to her knees in front of Vylette.
“He went out the back door to go check on his car…” Jessie answered, grabbing on his hand to examine the pink diamond. “Gee that’s pretty! Father says if its damaged, he’s going to sue the Starlight line, since they were responsible for the transport.”
“…But thankfully for the bankroll of the railroad company, my car looks exactly as it did the day I bought it! Thank God I had the presence of mind to send our belongings ahead of time…”
A voice, sounding very much like Michael’s soft masculine one, but bearing an affected, Mid-Atlantic accent announced.
(Author’s Note: A Mid-Atlantic accent is the way most of the old movie actors sounded, it was a manner of speaking that died out around the 1970s, and mimics that of an English accent. It was very popular with wealthy for a time. Think of how Cary Grant sounded…)
Brushing gingerly at Jana’s hair, taming it, Vylette glanced over and had to do a double take at the man who had entered the vessel.
She had never seen anyone who quite looked like him before!
He was a Colored gentleman, tall and trim, with rugged good looks and black, processed hair that hung to his shoulders in curls, very much like Michael’s.
There was a slight sheen to his face and throat, brought on by his unfamiliarity to the humid climate of the South and he shimmered much like one of the fried, glazed donuts from Mumfrees.
By comparison to Michael, in shades of modest brown, this man was very loud and ostentatious in an bright, ocean blue suit, paired with a mustard yellow tie and pocket square.
As he came closer, Vylette saw he wore shoes that were made of a strange, blue and white marbled leather, with gold accents on the upper.
There was a man who wasn’t afraid to stand out in a crowd!
His matching bowler was clutched in his left hand as the right one was extended to Michael.
“Michael, it’s so good to see you! You look well!”
“So do you!” Michael standing, pulled his brother against him, the two embracing tightly. “I see you didn’t wilt too much after three days on riding the rails!”
Dark eyes beneath wiggling scraggly brows widened ,
“I damn near did--oh!”
He gave a short gasp, when he noticed Vylette sitting a few feet away, expertly tying a large bow into his daughter’s hair.
“Pardon me.” He nodded and beaming with more pride than had ever been contained in one human being before, Michael could barely speak.
“J-J-Jermaine, I’d like you to meet my…my…my f-f-f- fiancée, Vylette. Vylette this is my brother Jermaine.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” Vylette held out her hand, which was turned over, the back being kissed gallantly by moist lips.
“Goodness Michael. I know you said Vylette was beautiful, but she’s even lovelier than I expected. You certainly can pick them!” Jermaine had an odd way of smiling, in which he more bared his white teeth like a wild animal than anything else.
Seeing her tending to Jana, he pointed, mouth falling agape.
“You’re…you’re combing her hair, and she isn’t crying!”
“I know.” Vylette couldn’t help being smug as she patted Jana’s shoulder. “All done, Sweetie.”
“That didn’t hurt at all! Oh, thank you!” The child hugged her harder and bounced over to her father.
“She didn’t hurt me!”
“How?” Jermaine wondered hand on hip. “Is that some voodoo or something--”
“Jermaine, goddamn!” Michael swore under his breath turning all shades of purple in embarrassment.
“It’s not voodoo…it’s know-how! I have a sister about Jana’s age with the same problem. And it took me years to learn how to manage her without tears…Also…”
Lashes fluttered as she started in on Jessie’s locks.
“Don’t upset me, I know an ancient curse to make you run on your ears!”
She warned ominously, waving her hand dramatically, causing a look of intense fright to take Jermaine Jackson’s face.
Amused by the ribbing, Michael doubled cackling.
“Oh my God! Your face! Jermaine! Your face! Woo!”
Seeing he was the butt of a joke, he grimaced.
“Hmmm…well, whenever she gets done with Jessilynn, we can go, because I swear, as soon as we get to your house, I have to take a nap. I need to be in a bed that doesn’t rock all hours of the night.”
“You’ll have everything you need once we get back, and then we’ll have a nice big dinner this evening. I‘ve got Adelaide making all your favorites.”
“That’s splendid!”
“We can go…” Vylette started, looping another huge bow. “…now!”
“Goodie!” Michael clapped his hands as the children went running and leaping from the car. “In just a little while, we’ll all be back in Rainelle Parish.”
Vylette taking each of the arms offered her by Michael and Jermaine, wondered just how the town would react to the six new visitors coming to town.
A part of her loathed the reaction and yet, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder as people always did gawk at those different from them.
That was just human nature…and soon, very soon, they would all be the most popular spectator sport in town.




PART TWO COMING SHORTLY! THANK YOU FOR READING!