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.