The Following Morning
Meraux Residence
Rainelle Parish, Louisiana
“…Oooooooh!”
“You will come spend the entire day with me, won’t you, Mein Leibling?”
“Oh! Stop, stop you despicable cad, you!”
Vylette Meraux whimpered, her breathing rather labored and strained, as she fought vainly in an effort to keep her wits about herself and her emotions contained.
But it was a losing battle, right from the start.
Glimmering, golden sunlight fell in a shaft through the drawn, worn curtains covering the only window of her small bedroom, and highlighted a rather out of place, albeit tawdry scene unfolding.
Until just a few moments before, Vylette had been dozing peacefully, the warmth of the morning keeping her drowsy and lulled.
Drowsy and lulled that is, until she had become aware of someone easing the ice blue satin of her thin and skimpy nightgown from her bosom, exposing her pert, whitened flesh globes plainly.
And for the last ten minutes, a pair of large, spindly, brown hands had caressed, squeezed and playfully slapped at the young breasts, turning them a deeper shade of pink, so much so, that the fleshier tone of the small nipples showed no variance by comparison.
“Will you stop--please?”
She begged hoarsely, her heart thudding rapidly against her ribcage and causing the teen to feel goofy, lightheaded and faint.
“No…not until you agree to spend the day with me!”
Michael Jackson insisted, a coy, and sly grin creasing his features, as he continued to politely ‘violate’ his fiancée. His thick, glossy curls swayed as he shook his head, accenting his point and bending, pressed his cool, moist lips to the searing strip of flesh between the rounded buds of womanhood.
“Michael--please!” Vylette gasped, trying to push at his shoulder, proving weak against him and what was being done to her. “What if Mama or Papa should come in and find you? You’d be shot!”
This was unheard of, an unmarried girl--even if she were betrothed--entertaining a gentleman in her very own bedroom in her parents’ home!
Why, who knew what would have happened should one of the heads of her family discover such an act being performed.
“I’m quite sure I won’t…” Michael stated, matter-of-factly, fingertips twisting after both her ripened nipples and causing her to bounce against the old spring mattress. “I saw your father walking with your mother in town this morning as I drove by. I even honked the horn and they waved to me. I’m sure your father is off to work at his office, and your mother to be slave driver--I mean, overseer--at the Soup Kitchen, Violette Blanche…”
Vylette’s bosom wagged as Michael carelessly wiggled the mounds.
“…and your sister and cousin are in the living room, dancing to some music. Now…”
Michael paused and leaned back, observing the scarlet-tinged, wide-eyed, harrowed face, framed by ebony waves cloaking her so attractively.
Dark eyes flicked and thin, arched brows raised in curiosity.
“You will come up to the house, and spend the day with me, won’t you?”
He more stated than questioned, in a tone a few octaves deeper than his natural speaking voice, sending ripples and waves through his young lover.
Defeated, as if there were any other choice, but the one so broadly being hinted at, Vylette reclined against the down pillows, and ever so gently, her head bobbed in the affirmative.
Satisfied, the grin on Michael’s face grew even wider, and slowly, he raised himself from where he had been seated on the edge of the bed.
He hovered briefly, and Vylette was treated to an exquisite glimpse of the majesty that was Michael Jackson.
He was dressed very smartly, in a rich navy, tone-on-tone striped suit. On any other man, the suit would have been plain and utilitarian, but on Michael’s reed-like frame, and with his expert eye for creating a ‘look’, the basic piece of clothing had been transformed with extras.
With the suit, he wore a lighter blue shirt, with a starched white collar, and offset the blues with a vibrant, and somewhat “tacky” tie that combined various blues, white, and bright orange to form an eye-catching plaid.
The orange was repeated in the silk hanky tucked into Michael’s front breast pocket, and the plaid itself was mimicked by the large, round brooch affixed to his lapel, filled with princess-cut citrines and crisscrossed by baguette shaped sapphires.
He was so dashing and Vylette knew it was useless to try to be angry at him for such a lewd awakening.
How could she, when he was smiling so happily at her?
As she pulled herself up into a seated position and tried to cover the exposed portions of her body, Michael ran a hand along her inflamed cheek,
“Take all the time you need, Darling…Adelaide isn’t expecting us back until lunchtime anyway. Plus, I have to make a couple of stops in town, if you don’t mind…”
Masking a yawn with the back of her hand, and forgetting there was clock on her bedside table, Vylette wondered,
“What time is it?”
A small, golden pocket watch, with an ‘M’ inscribed in fancy script, was produced and opened.
Squinting at the mother-of-pearl face, he replied,
“About five after ten--”
Vylette stiffened.
“Is it really that late? My goodness--”
“I came about two hours ago, but you looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb you.” Michael replaced his watch and started for the door.
Head lowered, Vylette was smiling in spite of herself.
Any other woman would have slapped a man for daring to be so bold and reckless, but she was enchanted, which had likely been Michael Jackson’s intent from the start.
“I’ll be in the living room, whenever you’re ready, Vy…”
He paused as she slipped from the bed and began putting on her marabou-trimmed slippers, watching closely.
“What?” Vylette chuckled, approaching the door.
“I was just thinking how…” Michael stroked after his chin thoughtfully. “…one day, you’ll be getting out of my bed, just like that…when we’re married.”
With that final comment, Michael turned and exited out into the hallway, where, from the living room, driving saxophones played and girlish laughter was heard.
Vylette slumped against the doorway, beaming proudly.
That man belonged to her, and soon…very soon…she would be getting up from the red silken bedding in Jackson Manor.
And all her dreams, would become reality.
But first, she would have to contend with a relative nightmare, that she would be blindsided by…
A While Later
“…do you know something, Sweetness?”
“Yes?”
“From time to time, I feel an immense pity for all the men of the world…”
As the fine and sleek, red-accented, black Cadillac coasted smoothly down the tree-edged, dirt road, headed towards the main thoroughfare of the Parish, Vylette’s head came up and she stared up at the handsome gentleman seated beside her, and asked thoughtfully,
“Why, Darling, because of the effect the Great Depression is having on so many?”
Instantly, the carefree, lackadaisical smile that had be on Michael’s face vanish, and loudly he cleared his throat, as his intention had been so clearly lost on the woman he loved.
“Well, ahem, that too, Vy…” He admitted as the two, low rows of mismatched buildings came into view. “…but what I meant, was…I feel sorry for so many of them, that they don’t have a woman as wonderfully ravishing as you are. I…I wasn’t trying to be so very deep as all that, but you are correct, Vy…”
“Oh!” Embarrassed, Vylette’s already delicately rouged cheeks darkened, as she covered her face, starting to show more of that shamed redness all over.
Michael had simply tried to pay her a loving compliment and she had gone and turned into a political opinion.
Indeed, Vylette Meraux had supplied Michael Jackson with plenty to admire and comment upon, that morning.
Her attractive figure was draped in a dark ivory, sleeveless dress of crepe de chine, featuring a high, bateau neckline, that although the frock was brand new, created that very year, in fact, gave a small hint of the dying flapper fashions of the decade before, by way of its slightly boxy cut, dropped waistline and pleated skirt, which swayed becomingly with each step Vylette had taken as she had walked out to and been helped up into her fiancé’s vehicle.
Fixed on her head, covering most of her jet waves, she wore a beige cloche, with a decidedly wide brim, shielding her face from the sun’s harmful rays, and adorned with satin rosettes of varying shades of pink, brown, champagne and ivory, on a bed of stark white lace appliqué.
Shapley legs had been covered with sheer pink stockings and on her small, delicate feet were beige, high-heeled pumps.
Streaming sunlight from overhead, danced off of her engagement ring and the two tennis bracelets on her slim wrist.
“I didn’t mean to--”
“You have nothing to apologize for, Violette Blanche…” Michael interrupted kindly, turning the wide steering wheel, and bringing his rolling bit of luxury to a halt in front of the grocery store. “…frankly, I’m glad my lady is aware of the world around her and what’s happening in it, as opposed to what the new fashions from Chanel and Lanvin look like. I’m attracted to more than just your good looks and lavender eyes, you know that.”
He winked and reaching, flicked the brim of her chapeau.
“I’m in love with the mind under all that froufrou.”
“Michael!…” Face burning, Vylette tried to look away.
The velvet seat bounced, as Michael disbanded and exited the car, coming around and opening the door for her.
“Baby, I have to run down and see your father for a minute. He claims he’s got a stronger iron pill he wants me to try out to help me with my Anemia.”
Pausing, Michael reached into his pocket and produced a sheet of paper covered in scribbles.
“Will you be an angel and take this in to the store? It’s a list of things Adelaide needs for dinner tonight.”
“Of course.” Vylette agreed, turning her cheek to Michael to peck as a kiss to the mouth was seen as taboo in public, unless one was married and even then, such a display encouraged whispers.
Plus, it didn’t help matters any that nearly everyone on Main Street, whether bartering, or lazing, were blatantly staring at the refined young couple.
But Vylette had grown used to the stares. How could one not stare when two people were wearing the best of the best, and those around them were in mended hand-me-downs, barefoot in the hot weather, and those lucky enough to possess a pair of shoes had worn them through so thoroughly, they were a few steps from falling apart.
Vylette and Michael had ridden into town, whilst others had to walk, if they didn’t own an old grey mare or swaybacked mule.
Yes, Vylette was aware of the common man.
Of his struggle, of his pains and worries.
How could she not, when she lived right among hundreds like him?
Vylette stood in the road, watching as Michael sauntered away, tilting his hat to all he passed, on his way to the low brick building that served as her father’s medical office at the very end.
“Is that there a grocery list?”
A new, drawling voice questioned.
Shifting her gaze from the blue speck in the distance, Vylette saw, that silently, Winston Pelant had appeared at her side, peeking anxiously at the slip of paper, the sun glinting off his greased scalp.
“Yes…it’s some things that need to go to the Jackson home--”
The young boy took and squinted at it.
“Mr. Michael must have written this, I know his chicken scratch anywhere!” He chuckled and gently tugged at Vylette’s hand.
“Come on in out of this heat. It’s cooler in the store.”
Following the child, Vylette tried to ignore all of the eyes boring away her, and entered the store.
“Hi, Vylette!” Elizabeth, stocking a shelf with canned goods, from the top of a ladder, paused and waved.
“Hello, Elizabeth.” Vylette started and was drowned out by her calling,
“WALLIS! CUSTOMER!”
There was some scuffling and groaning from behind the door in rear of the store.
The door cracked, and although she was still out of sight, Wallis’ heavy voice was heard as clearly as a ringing bell, scolding.
“I want this entire room organized and cleaned by the time I get back! Everything needs to be stocked the right way! And if it ain’t, you ain’t gotta worry about me telling Papa or Loretta! I’ll take a switch to all y’all Black asses myself! I’ll tear it down for you! Tired of y’all shiftless N(bad words)! Do it!”
A moment later, she slipped from the back pantry, patting at her curled bob, held in place by a thick red imitation silk scarf, matching her snug gingham shift dress.
“Get on my last damn nerve…” She grumbled to herself, before her large brown eyes spied Vylette and widened in surprise.
“Hey, Vylette!” She smiled in her sultry way, slinking up to the counter and leaning against it, while Vylette remained upright. “What can I help you with today, Sweetie?”
“Just some groceries…” Vylette trailed off as Winston, arms overloaded with goods hobbled over and spilled them onto the counter, before turning in search of more.
“Yeah, I figured…” Wallis snickered as her little brother returned with more. “Liz, get yo’ ass off that ladder and help Winston! Vylette doesn’t have all day to wait for this stuff!”
“Alright, alright!” The younger girl carefully picked her way down in her bare feet, and joined her brother across the room, digging through a bin of red and green apples.
“It’s quite alright, take your time…” Vylette trailed off as a soft, cool hand patted her arm.
Looking up, she found Wallis peering at her across the counter, but there was something strange to her round, plump face.
It looked the same as always with the too-light powder, and heavy-handed use of shadow, rouge and lipstick, but there was something odd about her eyes.
A second earlier they had contained the smug, carefree glow of wanton womanhood that was always present in Wallis Pelant.
But now, there was a look of fright, and desperation in her eyes that Vylette had never seen before. Not in this bold little harlot.
“Um…Vylette….” Wallis stammered, withdrawing her hand. “If…if you’re not to busy this afternoon…can I come see you? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about, that’s kind of important…”
Every hair on Vylette’s body stood up in alarm.
Wallis Pelant, the town knob with whom just about everyone on legs had had a turn, wanted to call upon her?
Visit with her?
Was she out of her mind? Wallis was scarcely welcomed in her own home, much less the homes of anyone with any type of a good name.
And most certainly the daughter of the most respected family in town couldn’t be seen with her…socially.
It would be fodder for decades to come!
Her mother would have skinned her alive for even thinking to consort with her.
“People judge you by the company you keep!” Kathleen had boomed time and again.
But not wanting to hurt the tramp’s feelings, Vylette, stared down at her gloved hands, playing with the pink rosette affixed to the back of one.
“Well, I would, Wallis, it’s just…well, right now I’m on my way out to have lunch at Michael’s house. And we’re already overloaded with so many of his family members settling in--”
“I’m the only one at home today, Mein Leibling.”
Vylette grew cold as ice when the gentlemanly voice of Michael Jackson chimed in.
“Jermaine took the children into town to find an instructor to continue their piano lessons while they’re in Louisiana, and Marlon went with him, to look at his theatre…I’m to myself.”
Vylette didn’t even turn to look at him.
Instead, she saw how Wallis’ sullen face lit up.
“I, I get off in a few hours, when my Pa comes from our house to take over for me. Could I come see you then, Vylette?”
She was so eager, so happy, so helpless in a way, all Vylette could do was nod.
“Sure, come on up to the house--”
“Your house?” Wallis’ eyes came up in shock.
Wallis Pelant wasn’t allowed in most homes in The Bottoms and here she was with a word-of-mouth invite directly from the owner of Jackson Manor, the most exclusive home in town!
Vylette prayed no one would see that thing walking in or the entire town would talk!
“Yes…its too hot for young ladies to stand outside and have a visit.” Michael patted Vylette’s back and chuckled.
“This is the last of it.” Winston and Elizabeth, arm loaded were pushing items onto the counter.
Finally, Wallis finished tallying up what was owed,
“That’ll be fifteen dollars and twenty cents…”
A twenty dollar bill was extended and the younger of the Pelants were gape-mouthed at it.
It was rare to see such a sum of money, especially during those times.
“Four-eighty is your change.” Wallis returned the rest to Michael adding, “I’ll see you in a while, Vylette!”
“Yes…” Vylette nodded wanting to vomit all over her new outfit.
“Come along, Dear.” Michael was gripping her hand, leading her away, while Winston ran to get his wagon to transport the food to the mansion on the hill.
Settling back into the car, Vylette was aware of Michael speaking to her, saying something about the iron pills he’d gotten from her father being five times more potent than the ones he was currently taking, but she didn’t hear him.
All she could think of, was What in God’s Name Wallis Pelant could want to speak with her about?
And as she would soon learn, she and Wallis were not so different after all…
* * *
“…it took a lot of bullying and threatening and uttering of naughty words, but my theatre came out ahead of time. I suppose I put the fear of God and a broken neck into Antoine…”
Michael Jackson snorted at his own joke, tilting a goblet of ice-filled tomato juice to his lips and enjoying a sip.
In front of him, a plate that had one held two baked catfish fillets, red potatoes and cabbage had been devoured, leaving only a smattering of homemade tartar sauce behind.
Across from him, Vylette’s plate had hardly been touched, with one potato missing.
She was too deep in turmoil to think of putting anything into her belly.
She just could not believe that in a few hours’ time, Wallis Pelant was going to darken the doors of Jackson Manor and have every dead ancestor twirling like tops in their graves.
Vylette glanced at Michael, drinking and chattering away happily, unaware of his blunder.
He didn’t know about Wallis and her shredded reputation. He didn’t know what kind of girl she was, not really.
Michael in his sweet ignorance, probably saw Wallis as a girlfriend on par with Hannah Povah to Vylette.
He didn’t know that the girl was…a slut.
“Of course, there was the business of the separate banquets for each of the openings, because, well, five hundred people have to eat, don’t you know? But I left that all to Marlon anyway. He wanted to have all that chichi French cuisine…”
Noticing he no longer possessed her attention, Michael set his glass down, wondering,
“Are you alright, Vy? You’re looking a bit queerly…are you ill?”
Scooting a piece of cabbage around with her fork, Vylette sighed deeply and her eyes fell from the concerned brown face.
“No, Michael…” She started and his chair creaked as he leaned closer, indication she finish her thought.
“I don’t feel particularly comfortable receiving Wallis Pelant here, this afternoon…”
“And why not?” Michael inquired as Adelaide appeared with a jug, refilling his glass.
“Wallis is…” Vylette struggled to express herself without resorting to tawdry language. “Wallis is a fast girl. Very fast. Her reputation is scandalous Michael. She’s not welcome in any of the decent homes in town--certainly not my own! She would be flat refused at the gate…”
And likely have Bibles and Holy Water chucked at her as her mother screamed Hail Marys and Novenas after her.
Vylette’s head shook, the brim of her hat wobbling.
“Mama would faint dead away if she even knew I had consented to host that girl anywhere, especially here. This is going to be my home. I’m going to live here with you. I’m not supposed to bring people like Wallis here! People already talk funny about us because they think you and Marlon are so strange. And don’t get me started on Jermaine parading around in that car of his--”
The fork was thrown down with a clatter.
“I mean, Wallis is trash, Michael! Common gutter trash. The kind of people she’s run around with. All the men she’s run around with! And this isn’t recent. She’s been a loose cannon, since her Mama died years ago. Her Papa just let her run wild and do whatever and no one really guided her. Respectable girls don’t act like that, or associate with wild gals like her--”
It took Vylette more than a full ten minutes to completely air her grievances and prejudices towards Wallis Pelant, and throughout the entire tirade, Michael Jackson was quiet, eyes fixed on her, nodding here and there in understanding.
A hand was raised, silencing Vylette.
“I’ve seen Wallis, in and out of the store a few times…” He admitted, frowning in thought. “And she does seem to favor the company of men from what I can tell.”
“From what anyone can tell!” Vylette simpered and a finger wagged at her in reproach.
“I’ve never once seen her with a woman. And I think all women need at least one girlfriend. Like you have Hannah. Perhaps that’s all she needs, a nice young woman to be her friend, and perhaps kind of steer her the right way.”
Scandalized at such a daunting idea, as to being friends with the likes of Wallis Pelant, Vylette sputtered, going maroon in rage.
“I can hardly imagine such a thing Michael Jackson! What shall we do? Discuss which back alley is best to have an illegal ’procedure’ performed!”
“Vylette Evangeline Meraux!” Michael exclaimed and the heat Vylette was feeling cooled immediately, at the sour, disappointed tone in his voice.
“You’re the last person I ever expected to be so close-minded!”
Pain shot all through Vylette.
For the very first time…she’d let Michael down.
And it was an aching raw feeling that suddenly permeated her and the room.
“So the girl has made some mistakes. Plenty people make mistakes. Lord knows I did when I got hooked by Helen…” A hand raked through black curls and he scowled at the thought of the first Mrs. Jackson.
“All I’m asking is that you just hear the girl out. I saw how she looked at you in the store. Looked like a lost puppy. I just ask that you be a good little hostess when that girl arrives. Be polite and hear whatever it is she wanted to speak with you about. She did look so…fraught in the store earlier.”
Pouting, Vylette said no more, but was still very uneasy on the topic.
Thankfully, though, Michael changed the topic.
“Moving on…” He drank more juice and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin as Vylette slowly resumed eating her cold fish. “Tomorrow, you’re going to be joining Zelda Cormier for luncheon…I’ve set out some very smart suits and dresses for you to look over and choose to wear, if you like. They’re upstairs. You can go take a gander at them once you finish eating, Dear…”
He received no response, with Vylette sprinkling salt onto her food and chewed in disdain.
Trailing off, Michael exhaled loudly, and pushed his plate aside, folding his hands on the lacy tablecloth.
“Vylette…I did have a reason for asking you hear today, and it was more than simply taking lunch with me…”
Penciled brows went up in curiosity, but Vylette remained stoic as she looked over at him, seeing a seriousness come to his face, furrowing his brow.
“Now, you know, before we ring in nineteen thirty-two, you and I will be married?”
“Yes.”
“And well…” Michael’s eyes dropped to his hands where his thumbs were being twiddled. “…as my wife you’ll be entitled to certain things.”
The fork, speared with a potato was held in midair as Vylette ceased eating in the middle of it.
“Even though I was married once before, I do not pay alimony or child support to Helen, as I told you, the daughter she had was for a Chinese acrobat. I have no responsibility for the child, and I sued for divorce, so I owe her nothing…”
Michael drank more juice and appeared green at the thought of how he’d been doubly destroyed by both the lost of a wife and child.
“As my wife, Vylette, you are entitled to half of everything I own. And God forbid, in the event anything was to happen to me, everything would go to you.” Another sigh left Michael and he shifted in his seat.
“The house, the property, my car and my theatre would all belong to you. Also, I receive a percentage of the total intake of all the theatres my family owns which would be forwarded to you and any children we’d have. You will be taken care of, Mein Leibling. Your mother and father, and even Vinnie will be taken care of. They could live here, should anything happen….this is your home. This house is in my name. I own it, alone. Marlon lives here, but I know as soon as he marries Lorraine, they’ll move to New Orleans.”
A quivering hand went to Vylette’s mouth at the prospect of the sudden windfall. Half of everything?
She was being granted half of the estate?
Michael rose from his chair and rounded the table, dropping to one knee beside her and patting her knee.
“I don’t like to discuss money. you know I feel it’s ill-bred, but I have to discuss it now because we’re talking about yours and our family’s future. I only ask you don’t cause a row, alright?”
“A-a-alright…” Vylette spoke into her palm, feeling dizzy.
“Should anything happen to me, Darling, you will come into a sum of about… twenty million dollars.”
(Author’s Note: That’s the equivalent of two hundred and sixty million in today’s money!)
Numb.
That’s what Vylette was: numb.
Absolutely and completely numb.
While she had always known that Michael and his family were extremely wealthy, she couldn’t have fathomed that he was this wealthy.
No wonder Jermaine drove a Rolls Royce! They could all afford one!
“I…I didn’t know your family was worth that much Michael…” Vylette whispered hoarsely, feeling her heart slamming against her breastbone.
“No, Vy…” Her hand was squeezed. “The twenty million is MY cut. My family is worth about a quarter of a billion…”
“A BILL--”
Michael’s hand mashed her mouth.
“Shhhh, I asked you not to cause a row.”
“But Michael--how?” Vylette gasped, feeling oxygen deprived. “You only own theatres!”
It was an amazing thought. A fortune so grand from a room showing flickering pictures!
“We own movie palaces.” Michael corrected her. “We charge more per ticket for an experience. You aren’t just seeing a film, you’re having an experience. Whether it’s my Palace or Marlon’s Paragon or Jermaine’s Egyptian, we’re offering an experience. We’ve held premieres at theatres with movie stars flocking in. All of our theatres are high-profile places, Baby. Now think of that. A dozen theatres with millions in profit each year. It does add up. It’s yours. And don’t fret about running the theatres if I go away. Marlon will handle it for you. The family looks after the family…”
Leaning back, Michael pulled an object from inside his jacket.
It was thin and rectangular, covered in a strange black pebbled leather, a bold white “V” on the front in the same material.
“This is for you, Vylette.”
She took it and ran her fingers over the roughened leather-like substance.
“Thank you…what is it?”
“That’s genuine stingray skin…” Michael pointed out and reaching in opening it, revealing a checkbook for the First National Bank of New Orleans.
“You should have your own spending money, Vy. This belongs to you. It’s just a starting sum, which I’ll add to each month, so you don’t run out. See the balance…”
Vylette followed the smooth tip of his finger and had to blink as tears began falling.
The starting balance read as one hundred thousand dollars!
“Michael! Michael-no what am I going to spend all that on! It’s too much! It’s too much! No--”
Her mouth was covered again.
This was insanity. This was sheer insanity. She didn’t need so much!
“Don’t you dare refuse it. It’s yours. You’re entitled. You deserve ‘walking-around’ money. You’ll be in the City tomorrow with Zelda. And I know how those things go. You eat lunch and wander over to a store and buy things. And I want you to be able to get nice things with your friend. This is yours to spend as you like. I hardly believe you‘d spend it all in one go!”
“But its so frivolous!” Vylette whimpered and Michael fell back on his heels.
“I…I’d feel better spending it on something useful! Not just another pretty frock!”
“Well, I do suppose…it’d be nice if your father didn’t have to ‘walk’ to work all the time.” Michael shrugged nonchalantly, standing again. “He could treat his patients so much better if he could reach them quicker--”
“You want me to buy my Papa a car?”
Vylette was incredulous. Why, she couldn’t’ even remember a time her father had owned a car. He’d simply walked everywhere.
Ignoring the question Michael added,
“And I notice your mother wears the same black dress to church each Sunday. Perhaps she could use some new ones. Not ten truckloads, but you know, a few….”
Thumbs brushed at the steadily falling tears.
“If you come up stairs, there’s some catalogs and if you decide today, I guarantee everything will be ready and waiting by the time we get to New Orleans this weekend.
Laughing through her tears, Vylette fretted,
“I can pick a dress for Mama, but I don’t know anything about cars!”
“That’s what I’m here for!” Michael was laughing.
“Your family, is my family--”
Vylette was up and hugging him tightly.
She was so thankful. So very thankful.
And about to be upset, so very upset.
A Few Hours Later
Before that balmy Tuesday afternoon, on the last day of June, Vylette Meraux had never seen a check, much less written one.
But by three p.m., Vylette had gotten into the swing of things and with Michael’s much needed assistance had penned her very first two checks.
The first, made out to Goldie’s Department store in the sum of five hundred and eighty-nine dollars, covering the expenses that were incurred from Vylette’s having purchased ten dresses, with coordinating hats, shoes and handbags for her mother.
The second, rang it at a far more extravagant price of sixty-eight hundred dollars, made out to the Jerreaux Cadillac Dealership of New Orleans for a spank, brand-new Cadillac V8 355-A Town Car in Raven Black. (The car would have been four hundred dollars cheaper, but Michael made her spring for the crushed black velvet interior over leather.)
“Everything is so beautiful Michael…” Vylette declared dreamily, feeling as though she were in a fog, watching as Michael tore the two checks loose from her book. “I…I can’t thank you enough. I know Mama will say the dresses are ‘extras’, but I know Papa will truly appreciate his new car!”
“No need to, Vylette. I told you, I’m going to take care of you…” Michael managed to get out, before a pair of scarlet painted lips collided with his, Vylette falling into the his lap, the leather of Michael’s office chair squeaking beneath them.
“I know, but I’m so, so happy. For everything! I love you!” Vylette gushed childishly, grasping him tighter and covering his face with reddened lip prints, making him snicker.
“Stop! You’re supposed to wear the lipstick, not me!” Michael was cackling and cut off shortly, holding Vylette against him and ducking to avoid the brim of her hat.
“Yes, Adelaide?”
Twisting , Vylette saw that the door leading from the hallway had been opened and the rotund maid was entering.
Her broad black face was keen with impudence, by the way her thick lips were pressing out nearly a foot from her head. The gold hoops in her ears swung as she shook her head with disapproval.
“That Pelant gal is downstairs, asking to see you, Miss Vylette.”
There was no hiding her dismay on having such a deplorable sort of person within the walls of such a majestic and elite home.
Helping Vylette to her feet, Michael pointed out sternly,
“You are to address her as Miss Wallis. She is a guest in this home--”
“Mr. Michael!” A hand went to the low-slung bosom on Adelaide as she forgot herself and started to argue.
“Sir, I care about this family and what people says about it! And welcoming common gutter trash like that fast piece downstairs is, is just asking for trouble, Sir! I don’t mean to talk out of turn, but you don’t see what I’ve seen, Sir. People talk something awful about that Pelant gal! That child coming home at all hours of the night, with a different man each time! A different man! Dark-skinned, red-bone, high-yella, even a few White ones! Some were married! And then there’s that business about the ‘procedure‘--”
“That’ll be all, Adelaide!” Michael cried, slapping the desktop, causing both women to jump. “Now that girl wants to see Vylette. She must have some reason of her own to be here. That’s between her and Vylette. You go down and find some refreshments for Vylette and her guest--”
“Mr. Michael!”
“I like you Adelaide, but I won’t tolerate insubordination. Do as I tell you!”
Vylette had never seen Michael have to be sharp with Adelaide and a glimmer of the man she’d had seen dogging Antoine appeared.
“Yes, Sir.” Woeful eyes lowered, lashes fluttering in remorse. “Miss Vylette…I put…Miss Wallis over in the Dark Blue Room. I’ll have some lemonade and sandwiches to you right away.”
“Thank you, Adelaide.” Vylette’s hands were ringing, as Adelaide eased from the room.
Turning as she got to the door, Vylette looked to Michael who was firing up a cancer stick.
She had something to say, and wanted Michael to listen.
“You always speak of how we have to live in this town and how you want to stay on folks’ good sides…that’s all fine and dandy, but you have to remember: just like with high society, like in New Orleans, small towns like this one have a certain pecking order and you have to be in with the ‘right’ folks. Folks like me and you and most of the church folks are the ‘right’ folks. No matter how polite or diplomatic you try to be, you can’t make someone like Wallis Pelant be the ‘right’ folks. She isn’t. She runs around with any and everyone. She’s slept with other women’s husbands. A few years ago, she had a knock down drag-out with a woman about her husband seeing her. I know because my Papa was the one who stitched up Wallis’ busted lip after, and re-set her broken nose! People say she had an abortion--when she was fourteen! And if she makes a play for you, I’ll kill her.”
Michael, whom had been staring straight ahead, turned abruptly, startled, but the doorway was vacant.
By the time he made it out to the hallway, he was just in time to see Vylette disappear from sight, going down the steps.
Entering the front hall, Vylette was overcome by the scent of cheap perfume. And if she was smelling correctly, it was that six-cent concoction she and Lorraine had rubbed on themselves the first time they had visited the Manor.
God, had Wallis bathed in it?
Approaching the open doors to the Dark Blue Room, Vylette could plainly hear jaunty jazz playing from the radio and as she entered, she found Wallis over by one of the shut French windows, fingering the velvet drapes.
Poor Wallis, she did look so out of place in her ill-fitting dress, no stockings and plain black high-heeled shoes.
“Wallis?” Vylette questioned and the young woman twirled around.
Hands on rounded hips, Wallis cracked a crooked grin and chortled,
“I’ll tell you what. I had heard all kinds of tall tales about what the inside of this place looked like, but I never believed it when that skinny ass Hannah was talking. But now I see it…she wasn’t lying! Them Jacksons are living it up! This is…this place is something else, eh?”
“I suppose so.” Vylette was going to have to be studied and conscientious to remain courteous as her temper was waning already.
Vylette took a seat on the quilted divan and patted the spot beside her for Wallis.
While Vylette sat upright, in a ladylike fashion, Wallis sat, slouched and showed much of her bare legs.
“What is it you wanted--” Vylette began but was cut off by Wallis picking up a blue and gold enameled oval shaped object atop a pedestal.
“Is this one of them Faberge eggs I heard about?” Wallis questioned, twisting the object in her hand, giving Vylette palpitations for fear it would be dropped.
“Yes--”
There was a loud click and in her hands, the two halves of the egg sprang open, revealing a tiny, gilded model of a castle.
“Wow, what a gag! Would you look at that! Is that supposed to be made after something real?” Wallis wondered as Vylette took it and snapped it back closed.
“Kreuzenstein Castle, in Austria.”
It was set back down, as Adelaide waddled in a silver tray loaded with glasses of icy lemonade and cucumber sandwiches cut into triangles.
She said nothing and was gone as quickly as she had come.
“This is some classy living you’re doing Vy--” Wallis was biting into a sandwich. “Cucumbers in a sandwich! Makes me happy to see Colored folks making it!”
Wanting to get this show on the road, Vylette tapped at Wallis’ knee as she went for a second sandwich.
“What is it you wanted to talk about?”
Swallowing loudly, Wallis beamed at Vylette, and began patting at her hair in her usual way.
Her dark eyes rolled and with more vanity than even vainglorious Lorraine could muster, Wallis announced, in a purr,
“I finally got ‘acquainted’ with that fine, sweet as wine, Jermaine Jackson!”
Vylette physically choked on her lemonade and hacked into her palm with Wallis slapping her back.
“You…you….you met Jermaine?” Vylette managed, the room spinning.
Wallis….Wallis, that trick, had met Jermaine? How? When? Where?
“Honey Child, yes!” Wallis nodded eagerly. “Why, you could have knocked my ass over with a feather when that big, pretty, fancy Rolls Royce pulled up in front of the store and that tall, sexy drink of water got out. What a man! He came in wanting to buy some candy for a bunch of kids he was riding to New Orleans with--”
“Two of them are his daughters.” Vylette hacked louder, her throat hurting.
Wallis tittered, and crossed one leg over the other and if Vylette was looking right, she wasn’t wearing undergarments as a flash of black curls had caught her eye.
Now Vylette was going to have burn the couch! How could someone walk around and go visiting without panties on!
Maybe to a girl like Wallis, they just got in the way.
“Anyhoo, I saw Jermaine, he saw me, and I guess he liked what he saw--what can I sat, most folks do--” Her hair was puffed smugly again. “--because he stood there giving me an earful of honey for so long, a little boy came in complaining about what the holdup was. Cute little thing, light-skinned, pretty eyes…”
Jermaine had been attracted to Wallis? Had he really? Didn’t they have women in New York?
Vylette’s speculation came to a halt when soft, cold hands grasped hers.
And a bomb proceeded to fall out of Wallis’ mouth.
“Jermaine was a lamb, he invited me to New Orleans for some kind of parties over the Fourth of July--”
“He invited you to the theatre openings?”
Mortified, Vylette went rigid. This was ridiculous. This was a joke, a prank, someone unfunny trying to get over on her.
Was Jermaine insane? Had all of the curling dressing he used seeped off into his brain and affected his train of thought?
Jermaine…had invited, the town knob, Wallis Pelant to the ritzy, upscale affair that was the openings for the Palace and the Paragon? Wallis was going to be hob-knobbing and rubbing elbows with the Elite of New Orleans--and MEETING CHARLIE CHAPLIN!
An international film star!
Jermaine wanted to bring this wanton tramp along?
Jesus Christ, what would her mother say if she looked up and saw Wallis tagging along with them? What wouldn’t Mary Povah say if she knew her five girls had been exposed to Wallis?
This was a nightmare, an absolute nightmare.
Still holding onto her hands, Wallis’ features softened,
“I know I’m going to be around a bunch of ritzy, high-falooting folks and I don’t want to make an ass out of myself. Oh, I want to go more than I’ve wanted to go anywhere in my life--Jermaine is so fine--but I don’t know how to act in that crowd. I never thought I‘d be a part of it, if even for a few hours.” She confided and her eyes sparkled with worry.
Seeing Wallis was truly shaken up, took some of the edge off of Vylette and melted the ice coating her heart. Wallis did look so helpless.
“I know I’m just a little country bumpkin from the middle of nowhere, compared to you, Vylette…”
The dark eyes stared directly into violet-blue ones.
“You know, I’ve always kind of admired you.”
Vylette was stunned, as she never once thought she even made any kind of impression on Wallis and she could only repeat,
“You admire me?”
Wallis nodded emphatically, the bow tied below her ear bobbing.
“Yeah! You come from a good family. Your Papa is a doctor, and your Mama is real big in the church…your people found this town, and you’re a real respectable girl, Vy. Your whole family is respectable. Look, you hooked one of the richest men in town, and he’s in love with you. Really in love. I’ve never seen Michael Jackson even look at another girl!”
Like true friends the two girls laughed.
“You’ll probably marry him one day.” Wallis declared with a grin and Vylette glanced at her pink diamond, wondering when she and Michael would officially announce their engagement.
“And I heard talk you’re already in a country club in New Orleans…”
Wallis looked down at her hands and admitted honestly,
“Plenty people do talk about you and Lorraine, and I just kind of listens in, because no one really talks to me. Not socially….“
Vylette did feel bad for having snubbed the poor girl and realized that Michael was right. Perhaps all she did need was a friend.
“All I‘ve heard is good stuff.” Wallis continued, and sipped her drink. “How y’all look so pretty and like y’all just walked out of Vogue or something. The only badmouthing I ever heard came from that Mary Povah but who listens to that old wet blanket anyway? She’s just crooked ‘cause Lorraine threw Ulrich over for Marlon, but she’d have to be a damn fool to think anyone would stay with Ulrich when someone like the Jacksons are around. And well, Steven…Steven was a bastard from start to finish and I’m glad you got away from him!” Wallis laughed evilly
“…and I’m so happy he got the shit knocked out of him! Ha!”
The smile fell away and Wallis’ brows went up,
“You will help me won’t you, Vylette? I don’t want to fuck up anything. This is big! I don’t want to embarrass myself or none of y’all.”
“Yes…of course, Wallis…” Vylette knew somewhere there was an etiquette book in the library.
“Oh, I knew you was on the level!” Wallis crumpled in relief.
Vylette was thoughtful, hoping she hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew when a realization hit her.
“What are you planning to wear, Dear?”
Wallis certainly couldn’t turn up to a black-tie affair in cheap rayon and mismatched makeup! And she’d have to wear panties! No one wanted to risk her flashing Charlie Chaplin!
“I dunno…” Wallis was packing away another sandwich. “Jermaine said he’d get me some stuff in the City today. Drop it off at my place when he got back. I‘d have went with him, but I was working.”
Though her face couldn’t show it for her own expertly applied cosmetics, Vylette went ashen grey at the statement and stood abruptly.
“You’ll excuse me, won’t you.”
“Sure. Have that Zeppelin in a dress bring some more of these sandwiches. They are good!” Wallis called as Vylette made a speedy exit.
In the hallway, Vylette spotted Michael sitting on the stairs, scratching Baron’s belly.
“Michael. Solarium. Now.”
Was all she said as she passed him and went off down the hall.
There was the sound of scampering footfalls and Michael caught up to her as she reached the shut glass doors.
“Mein Leibling what’s the matter?” He asked as she opened the doors and they entered.
No sooner had the door closed than Vylette exploded.
“Do you know Jermaine has invited that girl to the theatre openings?”
“My brother did WHAT?” Michael, flabbergasted staggered as though punched in the guts.
“You heard me!” Vylette snapped, hands on her hips. “And she says Jermaine’s out buying her clothes for the events! Michael, she just met him today! It took weeks for me to accept anything from you besides a candy bar and she got your brother out buying evening gowns and jewelry! Michael! Do you know what people will say? How they will talk! How will I hold my head up in this damn town! Michael--”
“That damn weasel! He knows I asked him to escort Hannah! Now that’s rude if Hannah doesn’t have an escort! Jesus Christmas!”
A hand pressing to his forehead, Michael lamented,
“Jermaine always has been impulsive like that! I should have known he’d come and screw something up! He has always liked those fast types--”
“Any faster and Wallis would break land speed records!” Vylette simpered tossing her head.
“What can we do? She’s already got him buying things for her! Folks down here don’t do that! Michael This isn’t New York! I told you! I told you!”
“Calm down! Calm down! I’ll fix it! I’ll fix it!” Michael declared and was embracing Vylette. “I’ll talk to Jermaine as soon as he gets home. Things will be straight by in the morning, I promise you.”
His hand patted her back through the thin silk.
“I honestly didn’t think anyone would turn Jermaine’s head in this town. He likes fast ones…but…but ones who are…who…”
When he started to search for the word, Vylette supplied it bluntly,
“Rich.”
Wincing, Michael concurred,
“Yes, rich. Lord, I just hope Jermaine doesn’t do anything to leave a scandal behind him. I’ve tried to keep the Jackson name clean in this town. I intend to keep it that way--”
Pushing away from him, Vylette’s face was dark as she warned,
“I hope you do.”
Because it could have proved to be their unraveling if he didn’t.
No comments:
Post a Comment