Chapter Sixteen Visuals and Inspirations

Hey Y’all!

Now I know you’re probably looking at my blog right now and can see this is titled as “Chapter SIXTEEN Visuals and Inspirations” and are wondering where the V&I is for chapter FIFTEEN.
Well, to be perfectly honest, there isn't one. And I’ll tell you why. The bulk of the chapter centered around Marlon Jackson kicking Steven Wilkes’ smug ass up and down Main Street, for daring to be crude and evil to Lorraine. Fashion wasn't so much important, as in previous chapters. I just needed clothes on people and to get fists flying through the air. The outfits are my own imagination’s creation and therefore, have no photographic reference points other than a chart from 1929 stating what colors were becoming on brunettes and redheads. The fight boiled down with Marlon leaving Steven with a concussion and his father rather goofy from being kicked in the chin.
And both learned the hard, painful lesson of not to mess with Miss Lorraine Devereaux.
But it is an harsh embarrassment that will come back later in the story, to haunt Marlon. But then again, Marlon will pick up just as many enemies as friends along the way…

Let’s move on to the chapter at hand, chapter SIXTEEN. 

Life in general, had become somewhat disarranged, thanks to the brawl in the street. Vylette and Lorraine were gypped out of being allowed to select their gala ball gowns, and also, heartbreaking in this chapter, the trip to New Orleans has been cancelled as Marlon is too stiff to run around the City.
So instead, a day indoors is taken.
The chapter starts with Vylette getting dressed and being visited by Michael. 
And she's seen in a cute lace teddy. 

　
Vylette’s dress is based on one her character form, Myrna Loy wore in a film called Stamboul Quest but I could not seem to locate a picture of it. 

This picture of her is close to the dress I wanted and just imagined flowers on it. Michael is surprised and treated to the thrill of having five, stories written by his Violette Blanche presented to him, and is sure she’ll be the next Anita Loos. 

Anita as a young woman. 
For those of you that don’t know, Anita Loos is the woman that wrote the book Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, that was a hit in the 1920s as a book and stage play before Marilyn Monroe made it into celluloid history in the 1950s film version.
And Michael has the belief Vylette can surpass her. (Just think of her sort of, as the JK Rowling of the 1930s.) 

The story picks back up with Michael so engrossed in one of Vylette’s stories, he doesn’t hear Adelaide telling him about lunch, leaving it to be handled by Vylette. And you know I’m anal about the food, so feast your eyes…

Creamy Cucumber Salad 

Honey Glazed Carrots 

Green Beans Topped with a Poached Egg. (I hate poached eggs.) 

Roast Beef, because I'm a Texan and I love BEEF. 

A surprise occurs when Hildegard is dropped off to play with Vinnie: Her older sister Hannah is invited along.
In creating Hannah, I really wanted to make a statement. Hannah is a waif-thin, skinny blonde white girl. Which, by 2014 standards, is the “look” of the world. Skinny, without an extra ounce of flesh.
By 1931 standards, Hannah figure is undesirable and I’ve made a point of repeating that Lorraine and Vylette had fuller figures.
In the earlier part of the last century, along with weight reducing ads, there were ads for weight gaining ads. Hannah needs this. 

Advertisement for Ironized Yeast to Gain Weight. 

While Hannah and her mother are about a size 0/2, Vylette and Lorraine are both about a size 6/8 or 8/10 in my mind. Not overweight, but with enough body to have breasts and hips. (Kathleen is a stout size 16!)
Hannah, in my head is loosely based on a combination of the Hilton sisters. Hannah had Nicky’s face, as she got the short end of the stick when God was handing out beauty, and Paris’ stick-like figure.

Paris and Nicky Hilton. Nice to know Paris shaved before putting on that skirt!

Michael makes a speedy exit to continue reading stories after Hannah is invited to stick around and it’s while Vylette and Hannah are chatting, that a strange revelation is revealed.
In the 1890s, when they were young, Joseph Jackson had dated Mary Povah before it seemed a brick landed on his head and he had the sense knocked into him, and instead was attracted to Katherine Dauphine.
Now I’m sure everyone reading this has seen Katherine Jackson as a young woman and can all agree with me when I say Joe did the right thing, in leaving that pinched buzzard looking Mary behind.
But it is incredible to think of how closely the Povahs came to being the wealthiest citizens in town instead of just the family of a much-absent traveling salesman.
And perhaps, its because of this dumping that Mary has become so cold, callous and especially evil to to Vylette and Lorraine and Michael and Marlon…I don’t blame her, I’d be a bitch too if I saw the ladle with my gravy pouring over someone else.
And for the heck of it, I found photo references of the dresses Mary and Katherine wore on that fated night at the cotillion. 

Mary's simple and respectable white dress with the baby blue sash. Rather saccharine and sweet and what would be expected to be worn by a rural farmer's daughter... 


...and Katherine's ballgown. Joseph didn't stand a chance when she wafted in. I looked at two dozen dresses before selecting this. Katherine almost had this dress:


The chapter ends with everyone, with the exception of the sidelined Marlon and Lorraine, taking lunch in the formal dining room with simple Hannah awed at the offerings of food. In a twist, Michael very kindly invites all the Povahs to the opening of the Palace, a little over a week away. Which will probably give Mary Povah a stroke--notice, he did NOT invite Mary along. Only her children.
(shots fired)
There’s a conversation I added purely for comic relief to lighten the mood after the heavy story of love lost--Michael recounting sound of the movie stars he’d seen and met.
Charlie Chaplin, The Little Tramp had been invited to attend the premiere of his film City Lights (my personal favorite Chaplin silent film) And I do credit Michael Jackson with my interest in Chaplin. Since he liked him, I looked into him. Thanks Mike. 

Chaplin trying to evade the cops. 

Michael bore an uncanny resemblance to Chaplin in later years with the help of makeup.

Stars Michael had seen in person/met were Richard “Dick” Barthelmess, Ramon Navarro, Clara Bow (whom town trash Wallis Pelant is based on) and Norma Shearer. 



Dick did really look that miserable in EVERY picture he made. 

Ramon in the silent version of Ben-Hur. He was supposed to be the new Valentino. 

Clara in Gif form because I refuse to post her being still. 

Norma being cute. 

Jean Harlow in 1929. It's amazing what hair and makeup can do for a girl. 

A sighting of a young Jean Harlow brings a half-dressed Lorraine running, shocking all in attendance.
Obviously from doing something untoward with the bedridden ’Daddy’.
She has spidey-senses that way.
And of course, in time tongues will start to wag.
They’ll get to wagging even harder in chapter SEVENTEEN being written now. More is on the way!!!

THANK YOU FOR READING!!!
　

Chapter Sixteen

The Following Morning
Meraux Residence
Rainelle Parish, Louisiana



“…garters…garters…garters…”
Vylette Meraux mumbled to herself, as she idled, somewhat lazily in front of the large chifferobe in her bedroom.

The third drawer from the top hung open; one side contained dozens of fine, lace, satin and silk undergarments, while the other contained dozens more frilly, fancy bands of elastic with which to hold stockings up.

Vylette was in an intimate state of undress, her pert, healthy body only concealed by a delicate, fairly see-through teddy of peach colored lace.

Glancing sideways into the mirror, she frowned.

Barely perceptible, she could see the thin veil of blackness starting to appear on her forbidden triangle. When she had more time on her hands, she would ‘eradicate’ that little problem again.

Giggling to herself, Vylette’s hand fell upon a pair of garters. She wasn’t sure if they were for her, or Lorraine, as they were simply embroidered with “MJ” in sage green thread on a peachy background.

Liking the feel of the ruched silk in her hands, she selected it and held it up, inspecting it.

For a moment, she wondered just what such finery cost, but would never know. Michael Jackson so disliked discussing the price of things, and would never trouble her with such matters.

Vylette smiled at his thoughtfulness; a man looking after his woman in such a fashion was quite flattering. And she knew she was more fortunate than most, as his wealth afforded her, her dreams.

Her dreams.

Vylette’s eyes drifted over to the purple typewriter on the small desk, and the dark brown accordion folder beside it.

It had taken a bi of work--and bribing her cousin and sister into doing her chores for her, but Vylette had managed to complete five whole stories.

Stories she hoped would please Michael, and hopefully, appear in a periodical somewhere.

With Michael’s help, she dared dream of being a writer…have her name in print and maybe even cause a stir in the literary world.

“I wasn’t aware that lace came in such beautiful, startling hues…such a modern and advanced age we live in. ”

Back still turned, Vylette could feel her lips curling at the sound of the voice that was so dear to her.

“And what else would you expect the smartest, most modern woman to slip into…” She glanced over her shoulder in a sultry way. “…and out of?”

“Only the finest, as far as I’m concerned.” Michael chuckled. “Now turn around so I can see the front, please.”

Vylette had been grinning as she turned.

The smile left her face as she laid eyes on Michael Jackson.

For such a big day, as what laid before them, walking around among the top-tier of New Orleans society, he was quite underdressed.

She had been expecting him to be turned out in a well-appointed three-piece suit, with a hat and wing-tip shoes.

Instead, Michael was dressed comfortably in a navy and yellow argyle print sweater vest over a white shirt and tie, with navy, pleated slacks.

“Michael…” Lavender-blue eyes widened in question. “What…what are you wearing? Surely you’re not going to the City, so…so casual!”

Why it would be social suicide for a man of his stature to be in town like that.

“Listen at you…” Michael tried to stifle a laugh. “…already sounding like a Belle…Mein Liebling…”

Coming closer, warm hands pressed her shoulders.

“Vy…” His eyes washed over her and instantly, Vylette knew something was wrong. “Oh, you look so pretty this morning. With your hair coiled that way and your make-up…you take such time to look so perfect, for me.”

Vylette patted his cheek with concern.

“What’s wrong--what’s the matter?”

Those lovely dark eyes fell.

“I hope you won’t be too upset, Dear, but our plans have to be cancelled.”

In spite of her best efforts, Vylette did crumple a bit, the garters falling from her hand.


“W-why?”
She had been looking forward to her very first trip to a real salon.

All of her selfishness left her as Michael explained,

“Marlon is ill.”

“Oh-oh no!” Vylette gasped hand to her mouth. “Ill? How? Why just yesterday--”

Just yesterday, Marlon had been the picture of health following his brawl with Steven Wilkes.

He’d come home, danced half the evening to jazz records with Lorraine, gorged on a large meal of roast chicken and trimmings and drank enough wine-spiked punch to fill the bayou.

He’d laughed and joked and even sang in a merry, pretty tenor.

How could he be ill?

“I know Darling, but Marlon did take one hell of a licking from that big baboon. And he’s feeling it today. He’s sore, and stiff and would just be miserable in the City if we went. Oh, he wanted to, he’d never want to disappoint Lorraine, but its impossible, Baby…”

He sighed deeply,

“But we do want to invite all of you out to the house. I’ll drive you over and I sent Winston to go tell Hildegard to come to the house.”

Stooping, he retrieved the garters and handed them to her.

“You get your clothes on.” He advised as Vylette had a seat on the end of her bed, and began putting on her flesh-toned stockings.

Michael watched her a moment, as she covered her plump, shapely legs.

“Where’s your dress?”

“Back of the closet door…”

Immediately, the garment was in his hands.

It was a simple frock, of silk faille, an odd color that was a light red with only a tinge of orange to it. It featured long, fluttery sleeves and dipped a tad low in the front.

Pinned to the front were three large, beige velvet rosettes.

“This is lovely, Violette Blanche…” Michael declared holding it open and helping her into it.

“Button me, will you?” Vylette questioned and Michael grunted, seeing the two dozen buttons lining the back.

“Damn it, it’d be easier to crush your ribs cinching a corset!”

“I haven’t a need for one!” Vylette quipped, as Michael took a full five minutes to loop the buttons.

Again Vylette sat, slipping on red-orange and cream, two-toned pumps.

“Are you about ready…” Michael trailed off as he crossed to the desk and typewriter. “Have you been writing, Vy?”

“Yes, plenty.” Vylette stood and admired herself in the mirror.

“That little brown case is for you.”

“Me?”

She looked on smugly as he crossed and picked it up.

It was opened and Michael stamped a foot.

“Vy! You little sneak! Five stories!”

Flipping through the pages, each story separated by a pocket he called the titles,

“Four Days to San Francisco, The Widow’s Blues, The Merry Mistake, War-Torn and Unfortunate…Jesus Christmas, I can’t wait to read this!”

Rushing over, Michael had his arm around her squeezing tightly.

“I’m so proud of you! My heart wants to burst! I’ll starting reading as soon as we get home. My own little writer--Adela Rogers St. John and Anita Loos better watch out!”

Arm draped around her, as he led her from the room boasting, Vylette had no idea what the day held for her, but had no idea it would cause more tongues to wag than Marlon Jackson’s fistfight ever could.


An Hour Later

Jackson Manor

Rainelle Parish, Louisiana


“…the roast beef should be done in about thirty minutes, Sir…”
Adelaide declared from where she stood, taking up a broad space in the open door to the informal sitting room, wiping her hands a small towel.

She gazed expectantly at Michael, seated on the pale blue divan, a hand mashed to his face. He wasn’t paying her any mind, because, as promised, he’d been reading Vylette’s work, since they’d arrived.

He was nearly done with War-Torn, and had a war broken out on his front lawn, he wouldn’t have noticed.

Seeing Michael’s mind was nowhere near his stomach, Vylette beamed and took the helm--somewhere in the future that would be her duty as his wife.

“That’s fine Adelaide, what all are you serving for lunch?”

Adelaide’s eyes danced as she counted off,

“Roast beef au jus, steamed asparagus with hollandaise, and glazed carrots--oh, and cucumbers with dill and cream for starters, Miss Vylette.”

Vylette’s gut was applauding.

“And to drink?”

“Lemonade, Ma’am, and tomato juice for Mr. Michael.”

“Sounds delish--” Vylette started with approval and was interrupted.


Thump! Thump! Thump!
“That must be Hildegard.” Vylette declared as Adelaide made a swift retreat to answer the door.

“Michael…” She patted at his shoulder.

To no avail, he was still reading intently.

“Baby!” She pinched him as she heard Hildegard sprightly declare hello to Adelaide.

Still silent, his eyes huge, they grew larger as Vylette pried the manuscript from his hand.

“Hey…there’s someone at the door. This will be here when you get back.”

“It’s so thrilling, simply thrilling. God, I just have to find out if they discover the pilot in the wreckage before he dies! Vylette--”

She was tugging his hand, leading him away out into the hall.

“You mustn’t be rude!”

“Does the pilot live? Jesus--tell me!”

“And spoil the ending? Not for the world!” Vylette snickered, as they entered the front foyer, and two figures rose.

It made her so proud that Michael was enjoying her writing so well.


“Dang!”
Naturally, Vylette had been expecting Ulrich to hand deliver his little sister to the house.

So she was quite surprised, to see, standing alongside Hildegard, was a saucer-eyed Hannah.

“Good morning, Hildegard--oof!” The breath was knocked from Michael as the child raced forward, embracing him.

There was the look of faraway adulation on her face again.

“Hi, Michael!” The child grinned, raising up on tiptoe, squeezing him happily.

Staggering with her, he extended a hand to Hannah, who stood crushing her small straw hat in her own hands.

“Hello Hannah, welcome to Jackson Manor.”

“Th-thank you, Michael…” Her eyes were still consuming the grandeur of the front hall. “…your home is beautiful.”

“Thank you, I decorated it myself.”

Seeing the way Hannah, who had probably never seen such splendor in all her life, was drinking in the home, Michael Jackson made an offer Hannah could not refuse.

“Hannah, would you care to stay and visit a while with Vylette? Lorraine is indisposed at the moment, looking after my brother, and I have some reading to attend to.”

Those colorless blue eyes swelled as Michael tried to pull Hildegard from his hips.

“Oh no…I couldn’t impose, Michael!” As she spoke, her face said otherwise, gaze practically pleading with Vylette.

She didn’t want to laugh, but a part of Vylette wanted to have Hannah around. Oh, how would Mary Povah react to having not one, but two of her daughters stay the afternoon at the Manor, with the Jacksons she so hated?

“Of course you could, Dear…” Vylette spoke up sweetly, “We so seldom have visitors, and we’d love to have you for luncheon--”

It was coming more and more naturally for her to think of Jackson Manor as not Michael’s home, but hers too!

“Well, I--”

“Don’t you dare refuse! Come along…” Vylette took Hannah’s clammy hand in her own.

Finally, Michael loosened Hildegard from his body.

“Sweetie, don’t you want to go up to the Library? Vinnie’s been expecting you.” He questioned and seeming to remember her friend, Hildegard smiled and trotted off, up the stairs, pausing to run her hands under the glass prisms surrounding the unlit lamps at the base of the banisters.

The prisms tinkled softly.

“Be quiet, Marlon’s trying to sleep!”


“Yes, Sir!”
As the running continued overhead, Michael smiled at the young women.

“I’m going to retire to my office and stay out the way, Mein Liebling. Why don’t you give Hannah here a tour of the grounds? Stay away from the solarium and pool, they‘re not done being decorated yet.”

He suggested and leaning over, smooched her mouth.

“Alright, you’ll have lunch with us?” Vylette wondered, eyes sweeping over him, long lashes fluttering.

He pinched her chin lovingly.

“Of course!”

As Michael returned to the informal lounge, and paper rattled, Vylette turned to her friend.

Hannah was gazing up at the mooning nude in wonder.

“Golly…” She whispered, flaxen head shaking. “…When Hildy told us about all the fine things the Jacksons have, we thought she was joshing us. Vylette, this place really is like a palace!”

The hand gripped hers harder.

“Michael and Marlon must be richer than I ever thought--you and Lorraine really are so lucky Vy!”

It wasn’t luck, it was a blessing to have the Jacksons in their lives.

Speechless, Vylette tried to change the topic,

“What would you care to see first, the house or the gardens?”

Hannah was on a different planet.

“Who’s that?” She pointed to the portrait at the break in the stairs.

“Katherine Dauphine Jackson--Michael and Marlon’s mother.” Vylette declared and Hannah gasped softly.


“That’s Katherine?”
“Yes…in her younger days…” Vylette squinted at the pale, freckled girl. “What’s your interest in Mrs. Jackson?”

“Mama told me about her…that’s all.” Hannah admitted and now Vylette’s interest was peaked.

“What did she…?” She trailed off as Michael appeared, brown valise in hand and skipped up the stairs.

“What did she say, come here!” Pulling Hannah along the two sat on the bench near the door.

Mary Povah had no business blathering about the Jackson family. It was that sort of trash that got Steven Wilkes maimed just the day before.

“Oh Vy--Mama would kill me if she knew I mentioned it!” Hannah whimpered, and started to nibble on her nails.

“I’ll kill you myself and kick your corpse if you don’t tell me! What’s your mother saying about my family?”

“Your family--?”

“Yes, my family!” Violet-colored eyes sparked with a flaring anger. “I intend to marry Michael Jackson, one day, soon!”

“Marry?--ouch, Vylette you’re hurting me!” Hannah grimaced as that manicured hand squeezed her thin bicep.

“You tell me, or you’ll need my Papa by the time I’m through with you, Hannah Povah!”

She ripped her hand from the white flesh, a print glaring red at her.

“Alright! Alright! Gosh you’re strong!” Hannah simpered and clutched at her arm.

“I’ll tell you, but you gotta take it to the grave, Mama will skin me!”

“I will skin you!” Vylette threatened and Hannah heaved a sigh.

“Well…I know you know Katherine Dauphine was rich because of her family and the plantation this used to be and all. Everyone knows the family was rich, but what do you know about Joseph Jackson, Michael’s father?”

“I don’t know…” Vylette admitted slowly, as Michael hadn‘t divulged much about his father, and she hadn‘t asked. “Only he was from New York, an upstart lawyer…started courting Katherine when they were about seventeen or eighteen, why?”

What Hannah disclosed, nearly took the snap out of Vylette’s garters.

“Before Joseph got married to Katherine, he was courting my Mama!”

Vylette Meraux could have been knocked over with a feather when she heard that.

Joseph Jackson…at one time, had been a sweetheart to Mary Povah?

Vylette sat a moment, staring into space, doing her best to process this new bit of information.

What on Earth had Joseph seen in Mary? How could she have compared to Katherine?

Evil, pinched-looking Mary. A woman Vylette could scarcely recall ever having seen smile. A woman who, when God was passing good looks, elegance and charm, seemed to have looked the other way and avoided her completely.

Vylette glanced at the anxious girl at her side. Poor Hannah, she was her mother all over again. The pale, washed out skin, without a hint of pink to the cheeks. The blue eyes that lacked sparkle. The dull, dishwater blonde hair that had no sheen to it.

And that tall, lanky body with no womanly bust or hips to it, despite Hannah’s only being two years younger than she.

And Mary had looked exactly the same, some thirty years earlier. What had Joseph even seen in that?

Vylette looked again to the portrait of Katherine.

The proud, beautiful, delicate vision of femininity she presented.

A fierce looking woman, but one Michael had described with nothing but compliments. How she sounded as if singing when she spoke, how quietly and kind her manners and movements were.

How Michael had held Vylette closely and whispered she seemed to have the same attributes and it made him love her all the more.

Vylette’s eyes fell on Hannah again and her hands wrung in her lap. She had to know…Christ Alive, she had to know!

Choosing her words with caution she questioned,

“H-how, Hannah? How…did this happen?”

Biting her bottom lip, Hannah managed to grow even paler.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, she began to recant the tale.

“Mama says it happened when she was near our age--back in the last few year of the last century--the Gay Nineties. It all happened one summer. Mama had just graduated high school, and one day she went to town to buy some seeds for her Papa to start planting. Before Mama married my Papa, she was a farmer with her people…”

The straw of Hannah’s hat squeaked as she clutched it tighter.

“…Mama says when she got to town, there was a horse and buggy in the middle of the road--one of the wheels had come off and there was this man yelling at Mr. Goebbels--he was much younger of course--to fix it. He was very much like Michael and Marlon, Vy…you know, dressed up in a fancy suit, looked like he came from money, which he did. Mama said he was so tall, well over six feet, and broad shouldered. Handsome with brown skin and odd, light colored eyes, hair conked out…”

“…as they were arguing, Mr. Goebbels told Joseph to go inside his store. Mama aligned herself to bump into him as they went inside…”

Vylette had to use all of her willpower not to laugh. The idea of Mary Povah, using a ploy to flirt with a man was almost too comical for words and her insides ached from holding in the laughter.

“They bumped, and even though it was Mama’s fault, Joseph apologized. Well, they got to talking, and somehow made a date to go to Mumfrees for an ice cream sundae…my grandmother wasn’t too fond of Joseph from the start…”

Hannah head lowered and for the first time her cheeks showed color as she flushed with embarrassment.

“You know, most of my family looks White, even though we’re Colored. Mama’s already kind of yellow. And Grandmother wanted to keep the family lighter skinned. I know it’s wrong and backwards, but she was that way. You see how dark Michael and Marlon and them are. Grandmother didn’t want that. Plus, Joseph wasn’t from the Parish. And you know how some people only want girls like us to be with men from the Parish…”

Vylette nodded in understanding; that was how she almost for chained to Steven Wilkes.

“But Mama was head-strong…defiant. She kept seeing Joseph. Mama though she’d marry him…” Hannah turned and stared at the portrait. “And then he met Katherine.”

“Yeah…” Vylette echoed, goose flesh taking her at the tale.

“Now usually, from what Mama’s told me, the Dauphines kept to themselves in this house. They were home schooled with the girls going to finishing school in New Orleans, the boys sometimes going to a military school before going off to college. They didn’t really come to town, except to go to Mass with the rest of us. They weren’t ever rude…they just didn’t really blend in.”

Hannah began absently twirling a strand of her straight hair.

“Katherine had come to visit her family here And for some reason, she wanted to attend the cotillion like all the other girls. She talked her cousin Olivier--you know the one that took a flying leap off the roof--into escorting her. Mama says she’ll never forget it as long as she lives…”

Hannah’s jaw tightened and Vylette could see a mother’s pain repeating through her child.

“Mama said she had saved for weeks to special order and buy her dress, white lace with a baby blue sash…most all the girls there were in some kind of white. Because unmarried girls are supposed to wear white. Mama said she’d had a grand time, dancing with Joseph, and everyone in town was there…then Katherine walked in…”

“Katherine and Olivier came about an hour after the cotillion started--’fashionably late’. And instead of white, Katherine wore this pink floral ball gown. Had the big, puffy sleeves with beige lace that was all the rage back then. All the men kind of drifted towards her, including Joseph…”

Hannah sniffed,

“They were practically an item that night. And two weeks later they announced their engagement. Mama was upset, but how could she compete with someone like…like Katherine Dauphine? Someone beautiful, from a wealthy family, when my Mama was a farmer’s daughter who could barely scrape by and feed his own young’uns?”

Hannah looked up and around the foyer again.

“Just think…all of this could have been mine…but it wasn’t meant to be.”

Vylette sagged against the bench winded.

No wonder Mary Povah hated Michael and Marlon!

Their father had dumped her for Katherine Dauphine!

(It was a step up, but still, it had to hurt to be thrown over like that!)

All of the splendor, ease of life and wealth could have been the Mary’s and her children would have never known what it was like to do without and sacrifice.

A stunning realization hit Vylette: she had always known that Mary Povah had a hot, burning dislike of her cousin, Lorraine, even more than her, and now she knew why--Lorraine had basically done poor Ulrich the way Joseph had done Mary.

Dropped them for a better suitor.

It all made sense. It all made sense now.

Reaching Vylette patted Hannah’s bony knee.

“I…I know your mother harbors ill-will towards the Jacksons…do you?” She wondered and Hannah shook her head until her head flew.

“No Vy…I don’t I really don’t. That was over thirty years ago. And if Joseph hadn’t dumped Mama, she’d have never married my Papa. And I love my Papa. Mama may be angry, but I’m not. I like you and Michael and everyone.” Hannah smiled in her aloof sweet way and Vylette returned it.

Mary Povah may have been a holy rolling terror, but her daughter was nice and Vylette was happy to call her a friend.

Throwing an arm around her shoulders, Vylette asked as the mood lightened,

“Hannah, would you like to see the house and grounds?”

“Sure, Vy.” The two stood. “All this may not be mine, but if I could visit every so often, I think it’d be alright.”

“Of course, it’s alright!”

And hugged together, the two young women started towards the living room, one having been bumped out of the opportunity of a lifetime and the other trying her best to hold onto it.

* * *


An Hour Later


“…Darling? Darling? Mein Liebling?”
Seated at the head of the ornately carved and lavishly decorated oak table of the formal dining room, Michael Jackson was using pet names, in alternating English and German, to gain the attention of his young lover.

And receiving no response, as now, it was Vylette’s turn to be consumed with something other than the company surrounding her.

Scooping a gold plated spoon absently, Vylette was more idly moving, rather than eating the creamy cucumber salad that had been heaped into the small china bowl in front of her.


“…Violette Blanche? Darling? Vy!”
Now Michael had shifted into French.

Seated to Michael’s immediate right, Vylette, even though she knew it was quite rude, was staring.

The very table at which was seated, seemed to be a divide in the worlds she knew.

At Vylette’s side, was her sister, eating happily without a care in the world, buttering her third croissant greedily. Her bowl of cucumbers had long been scraped clean.

And across the table, Vylette looked at the Povahs.

Directly across from herself was Hannah, who was occupied examining all off the fine china decorating the table. Today it was a delightful pink and gilt pattern--since the house was overrun with females that day--and tiny scenes of ladies in eighteenth century garb, powdered wigs and all.

Lemonade had been served in beautiful goblets that started clear at the top and by the base had transformed into a deep blush pink.

And in the center of the table, picked by Michael’s own hand, were a huge arrangement of his prized roses.

Seated beside Hannah and eating just as greedily, refilling her bowl, was Hildegard.

The Povahs were a sharp contrast to all of the displays of wealth and opulence.

While Vylette, Vinnie and Michael sat wearing new, fashionable garments, the Povahs sat in clean, but well mended and reused calico cotton dresses.

Vylette was still halfway stunned at the story Hannah had confided. It was remarkable to think to her how closely Hannah and the rest of her washed out, mealy-mouthed siblings had come to being born into wealth.

Why, the girls may have even had some color to them, and been pretty. It was a shame they took after their mother.

Vylette thought of Michael’s sister Latoya. How beautiful she had been. How robust and full of life. During the entire makeover she’d orchestrated, she’d been all smiles, laughs, and happiness.

She was the type of woman, had she lived closer by, Vylette would want to stay in the company of.

Hannah was sweet, but no excitement found her.

Vylette only wished that Lorraine was there. She wanted to pull her cousin into a secluded corner and relay the tale. She didn’t see it as breaking her confidence with Hannah; the story concerned Marlon too. It concerned his parents.

And most importantly, it explained why in the hell Mary Povah always looked down her long ass nose at them. Why she couldn’t be still and glared at them no matter where she saw them, in town or even in the holy, sacred confines of Mass.

But, Lorraine had never left Marlon’s side that morning, and the last anyone had heard from her was about twenty minutes earlier, when she had yelled for Adelaide to bring fresh towels, as she was rubbing Marlon’s sore frame all over with Absorbine, Jr., liniment to ease him.


“Vylette Evangeline…”
She jumped as a large brown hand gripped her own and squeezed.

Looking up curiously, she found Michael staring at her affectionately.

“Yes?”

“Sweetness, I was trying to ask, would you like me to turn on the radio, so we may have some music to enjoy our meal with?” Michael picked up the extra goblet at his setting containing his spiced tomato juice and had a sip.

“Oh…oh yes.” Vylette nodded and Michael rose, heading to the small radio on the sideboard.

Clicking it on, the sound of soft classical music began to play.

“Oh…this is Stravinsky.” Michael paused and his eyes closed a moment, body swaying to the soft tune, transporting him to one of the Viennese balls of his past. “I love this…”

After several moments, Michael returned to Earth and his seat.

Smiling, he questioned,

“Hannah, how are you enjoying your salad, Dear?”

Sprinkling pepper on her spoonful, that pointed face broke into a smile.

“Yes. It’s delicious! I’ve never had a salad like this before. I feel like a movie star, eating a salad for lunch.” Hannah started and Michael chuckled.

“This isn’t the entire meal, Hannah, just the first course. The appetizer.”

Michael went to his mouth again and the spoon in Hannah’s hand fell to the bowl.

“You mean…there’s more?” She gasped and onside of her Hildegard exclaimed indignantly,

“I told you! They always have a big meal like in a restaurant.”

“Leaping Lizards!” Hannah shook her head. “We never have lunch like this at home.”

“And what do you have?” Michael drank more tomato juice, setting his glass down.

Curious to see what it tasted it like, as she’d never sampled tomato juice, Vylette picked the glass up.

And set her mouth afire as she had forgotten how liberally the hot sauce was mixed in.

“Just sandwiches. With milk or Coca-Cola.” Hannah replied softly.

“Oh…well, we don’t have just sandwiches.” Michael stated solemnly. “My brother hates them for one thing. He prefers a sit-down meal, and I have to because of my health--”

“Your health?” Hildegard broke in, appearing frightened.

“Yes, don’t worry. I just have Chronic Anemia. So long as I have enough to eat and plenty of vitamins, I’m alright.”

“I’m sorry Michael.” Hannah apologized and glanced at Vylette.

“It’s quite alright…if everyone is done with the cucumbers, I’ll have Adelaide bring in the main course.” Michael deflected his medical history amidst the four feminine voices telling him to go ahead.

The small, china bell rang and immediately, Adelaide was there, clearing dishes.

Vylette watched Hannah and took in the look of sheer joy as large platters of steaming roast beef, asparagus topped with coddled eggs and hollandaise, and sugary, honey glazed carrots were placed on the table.

“Help yourselves, don’t be shy.” Michael encouraged and soon everyone was digging in and parking of large portions.

Nibbling at some of the carrots, Michael Jackson turned his attention to Vylette, and started to speak of matters that were far beyond Hannah’s reach.

“Vy, Honey…do you want a black or a white limousine?” He wondered suddenly and two sets of eyes stared at him.

One set lavender, the other, pale blue.


“…but I tell you, he’s going to marry that blonde-haired dame, Carole Lombard!”

“He won’t either! William Powell is going to stay a bachelor for life! Why, he said it to Silver Screen Digest just last month!”

“Oh Vinnie!”

“Oh, shut up, Hildegard!”
Absorbed in an argument about Mr. Powell, the younger girls heard nothing being said.

Breathless, Vylette stammered,

“A…a limousine?”

“Yes, for the gala on Saturday. I wanted to ask, so I can go ahead and rent one. If there’s any left to be rented in New Orleans. The people who don’t own one already, will rent one.”

Pink-centered meat was cut and Michael poked it in his mouth.

“I’d have bought one, but its so close, I’d have never been able to get the car here or hire a chauffer in time.”

Before Vylette could reply, Hannah butted in.

“You’re going to a gala, Vy?”

In spite of herself, Vylette could feel herself starting to swell with a bit of pride.

“Yes…” She cut an asparagus spear and ate it. “Michael and Marlon were recently accepted to the Fleur-De-Lis Country Club in the City and a welcome party is being held for them by Sir Reginald and Lady Tabitha Cavendish. They’re escorting Lorriane and me--”

“Sir Reginald and Lady Tabitha? Nobility?” Hannah was clearly impressed.

“Exiled nobility.” Michael corrected her, spooning up more carrots.

“Oh how exciting! You’re really moving up in the world!” Hannah remarked and the thin note of envy didn’t go unnoticed.

“Um…” Vylette glanced back at the handsome man eating. “My gown, has it been selected?” Vylette asked, not exactly sure if she wanted to know or was just showing off for the thrill of it.

The closest Hannah came to a gala was the mid-summer cotillion at the church.

“Yes, Mein--”

“Is it purple?”

Thin brows wiggled in jest.

“No, my little hard-headed Darling, it’s not. I selected a gown of icy, pale blue for you.” A hand gripped her chin and tilted her head.

“Your eyes are such a unique, queer color, I wanted to exploit the blue tones in them. I’ve been doing so much lately…”

The bell was rung a second time, drawing Adelaide from the bowels of the kitchen.

“Yes, Sir, Mr. Michael?”

“May I have another glass of tomato juice, please?” He held up the goblet and it was taken.

“Yes, Sir!”

As Adelaide left, he continued,

“I’ve been handling getting things together for the gala, and then tying up loose ends for the opening of the Palace on the third and then--thank you Adelaide.”

He drank a deep sip of juice.

“Ugh, spicy! And then my brother Jermaine called just this morning. He’s riding along on the train with my nieces and nephews to make sure they get here safely for their stay until school starts in September. So, I’ve had to find furniture and get the two bedrooms set up for five children. I don’t know if Jermaine will bunk here or in the City. Not to mention getting the solarium and pool ready for use--”

“Are you sure you aren’t doing too much?” Vylette was alarmed by how much activity Michael Jackson was taking in and worried he wasn’t doing too much on his own.

“No Vylette, it has to be done…oh, I’ve also consulted Latoya about the gala. She’s speeding along some of the newest shades of nail varnish for you and Lorraine to choose from for your manicures. I think for the gala, we’ll stay over in the City, at the Landmark again. I’ve already arranged for the hairstylists and manicurists for you. You won’t go to the salon, they’ll come to you again. Permanent, manicure, styling…”

Michael stopped long enough to yawn.

“Pardon me.”

“Wow, Vylette…” Hannah shook her head. “That sounds like grand fun.”

Michael seemed to have forgotten she was there and he smiled,

“Hannah, how many of you are there? Six?”

“Yes, five girls, and Ulrich.” Hannah’s head bobbed as she partook of more beef.

“I can’t invite you to the gala, that’s closed invitations, but I do want to extend an invite to the opening of my theatre, the Palace, and Marlon’s, the Paragon for Fourth of July weekend…”

Hannah’s jaw dropped and she sputtered.

“…I’ll be screening the new Charlie Chaplin picture City Lights and Marlon’s screening Bela Lugosi in Dracula.”

“A…a real theatre?” Hannah finally choked. “Not the little dingy room of the movie house. Oh, Michael! Michael thank you!”

“It’s no problem. There more the merrier.” Michael grinned nonchalantly.

Vylette beamed, that was really going to get Mary Povah’s goat.

“I can’t believe it!” Hannah pressed her hands to her face growing paler. “A real movie premiere--will Charlie Chaplin be there?”

Vylette nearly fell off her chair at the reply,

“I extended an invite, as I’d love to meet him, he’s a genius, but unfortunately, he’ll be in London promoting the film at the time.”

Michael…Michael had tried to contact Charlie Chaplin, one of the largest, most beloved film stars of their age?

“Michael…” Hannah started, picking at the lace tablecloth. “I’ve heard tell you own theatres and things…can…can you really meet film stars?”

As calmly as if he were talking of something else, like the weather, Michael recalled,

“I’ve met a few. Mostly during my time living in New York. Silent stars mostly. Dick Barthlemess, Ramon Navarro, Clara Bow--her Brooklyn accent killed me, and Norma Shearer. I met them when I had lunch with my sisters at the Four Seasons once. I’ve seen one, but didn’t meet her directly…”

Michael trailed off and glanced around.

Even Vinnie and Hildegard were rapt listeners.

“Once, right before I left New York for here, I saw Jean Harlow--”


“Jean Harlow?”
Storming through the doorway, like a general charging a fort, Lorraine was stomping in.

She came directly to the Michael’s side and was gripping his shoulder.

“Lorraine…you’re indecent!” Vylette hissed, her eyes swelling.

Which, her cousin was. Lorraine’s body was only concealed by a scant pale pink brassiere and tap-pants panties, with matching stockings and garters.

Hannah stared and Vylette couldn’t tell if she was envying Lorraine’s curves or her expensive, imported drawers.

“Calm yourself, Vy. I got liniment on my dress and Adelaide had to wash it!”

She gave no explanation as to why her fiery hair was loose and falling to her waist.

A strap fell off her freckled shoulder.

“Now you said you saw Jean Harlow, Michael! Where?”

Her green eyes were huge and wild in her head about a sighting of her idol.

“What did she look like? What’d she have on? Is she really as petite as they say? Did you speak to her?”

“You calm down!” Michael pulled her hand from his shoulder.

“I’d like to have some skin left, thank you! I was at a restaurant, eating dinner with Marlon. She was in one of the VIP rooms in the back, and came walking out. Black silk gown…it was 1929, she was just starting out. And she had on a robe de style, which has since gone out of style. She was blonde but not as white as it is now. She was nice, and said hello as she went by. Then she was gone. Now please, go put on a dress or something! We’ve got company!”

Michael motioned to Hannah and Hildegard still staring, shocked by Lorraine.

Seeing Hannah, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and put a hand to dimpled hip.

“What’s the matter Hannah, ain’t you never seen a girl in Italian lace before? ” She quipped haughtily, and was gone, leaving Hannah to stare after her mouth agape at such flagrant behavior.

“Excuse her…she forgets herself at times…” Vylette spoke through gritted teeth.

Yeah, that was exactly what they needed.

Vylette wasn’t ignorant to the whispers that had been going around since they’d stayed over with Marlon and Michael in New Orleans. The whispers about “adult” things that had likely happened between the four of them, some so sordid, she dare not think of them.

And it didn’t help matters any, that Lorraine, came down in her skivvies, after being alone in Marlon Jackson’s bedroom all the day, and then standing, undressed in front of Michael with no qualms about it.

Because while the Jacksons were making advancements into Parish society, there was the driving force looking for any reason at all to try to shun them.

Hannah’s hellacious mother. And her jealousy of an event that changed the course of quite a few lives more than thirty years ago.

And Vylette was scared.

Very, very scared of Mary Povah’s influence.

Trying to eat, Vylette glanced at Michael, sipping his juice.

He wasn’t scared. He wouldn’t be scared.

Jackson Manor was his home, and he wasn’t going to be run.

Not without a fight.

Chapter Fifteen

The Following Morning
Rainelle Parish, Louisiana

Late morning in the Parish was a most beautiful time of day. All was bright, warm and balmy, but not quite to the outrageously blistering heat that would come along with high noon. It was a day marked by a sapphire blue sky, with nary a single cloud to it. Just a bold, empty vastness overhead. 

It was a sky that Vylette Meraux couldn’t help but admire that morning as she made her way into town.

For a day meant to be spent leaping in and out of the latest styles of European couture, in an effort to devastate the other members of the Fleur-de-lis Country Club, she had dressed simply, yet chicly, in a cool, sleeveless dress of baby pink cotton, dotted all over with small, embroidered white flowers.

With each step, the exaggerated, rounded collar, constructed of gauzy organza, flounced like an angel’s wings.

She wore no gloves on tender white hands, no hat on her immaculately arranged hair, and modest, pink shoes were on her feet.

Skipping alongside her, Vinnie matched her big sister in a pink, eyelet trimmed jumper and sheer, short, puffed sleeve white blouse. She was carefully lifting and setting down each foot, in pink, patent Mary Janes, so that the loose, Louisiana soil on that unpaved road would not mar them.

Turning sideways a bit, and looking over the large bow fixed in her sibling’s hair, Vylette spied her cousin, lagging a few yards behind.

It was remarkable how someone so pretty could look so ugly as Lorraine Devereaux did that morning.

Her becoming figure was draped in a rich, navy plaid dress, the butterfly wing sleeves fluttering in the breeze, the color bringing out every coppery highlight in her auburn mane and making her eyes appear darker.

But as she trudged along, in plaid satin pumps, her face was unavoidable.

The lusty, annoyed fire in her eyes, the protruding, pouted red lips, the furrowed, drawn-in brows.

The audible way her breathing was heard, so far away and how her delicate nostrils flared with each intake of breath.

And she had looked that way for about the last fifteen minutes.

Ever since young Winston Pelant had knocked on the door as the girls reclined in the living room and recited a message.

“Mr. Jackson wonders if you ladies will meet him at the five and dime in town, please. He’s low on petrol and is afraid if he drives all the way out here, he won’t be able to drive back.”

Lorraine had been in a stew ever since.

Vylette only shook her head at her. She knew Lorraine loved being driven around in the fancy Cadillacs and attracting the stares of anyone they passed. Lorraine was a vain little creature and craved to be the center of attention.

To her cousin, having to walk like a commoner was something of a demotion.

And an insult the fiery redhead was taking to heart.

“Don’t look so down in the mouth, Darling…we’re almost to town.” Vylette called back and pace quickening, Lorraine caught up to her cousins.

“Well, I still don’t like it, Vy! I was with Daddy all day yesterday at the house, and before he left he told me…” Her voice drop several octaves to mimic Marlon Jackson, in a rather comical way, as his voice was as light and mild as Michael’s.

“‘Lori, you dress pretty for me tomorrow, and I’ll come pick you and the girls up in Big Blue and we’ll go out to the house’--that’s what he told me, Vy!”

Hands pressed hips and that dimpled chin pressed into her throat as she nodded deeply with conviction.

“And I was a fool to believe him, humph!”

“Stuff happens Lorraine.” Vylette sighed, stopping and gazing at her. “There are no petrol stations in town. He’d likely have to go to New Orleans for it. If he couldn’t make it to the house, he surely can’t make it fifty miles further. And we can’t all fit in Michael’s car! It’s a two-seater. Three of us would have to jog behind! We’re almost there. Now, come along!”

Vylette started to turn, when Vinnie, for the first time all the morning, ceased humming abruptly.

“Vylette…” She whispered, poking at the white flesh of her sister’s arm. There was a look of strange distress in her grey eyes that worried her and following the gaze, Vylette soon saw why.

“God damn it.” Lorraine muttered below her breath, hand covering her face in angst.

Slowly creeping up from the way they’d come, was a car.

And it wasn’t a bright blue luxury vehicle either.

Instead, it was a glistening, jet black Ford.

And settled behind the wheel, grinning, was that goon, Steven Wilkes.

Steven! What the devil did he want? Vylette wondered to herself, lips starting to droop into a frown.

All that boy ever brought with him was unwarranted trouble!

Vylette didn’t want trouble; not today. She was supposed to be picking out her gown for the gala!

The engine chugged lightly as the car pulled even with them, and Steven’s teeth showed brighter in his tanned, pirate-like face.

“Good morning!” He greeted them with false cheer, his eyes pinpointing Vylette.

She shivered; it was as though his gaze could cut clean through her dress and underwear to her naked flesh.

Eyes sweeping over her, the grin on his lips faltered a bit, when he spied her ever-present diamond tennis bracelet and moonstone ring.

When the three stood, regarding his frostily, with no reply, his smile faltered even more, and his true nasty personality came bubbling past the surface.

“Still think y’all too damn good to talk to me? I notice you’re the ones walking when I’m driving! What happened, your dandies get their cars repossessed? Lose their fortune in this Depression?”

It was eating that bastard alive that the Jacksons were so wealthy and he coveted their wealth, ignoring his own good fortune anyway. He was never satisfied, a sadly jealous cretin.

Knowing him, he probably prayed to God for something bad to happen to the Jacksons. But prayer didn’t work that way.

Gripping her sister’s hand tightly, with no need for his foolishness that morning, Vylette stated curtly,

“It’s none of your concern Steven, good day.”

Turning on her heel, she started away, tugging her sister behind her.

The car remained slow, enabling Steven to keep up with them to further his harassment.

“Now don’t be that way--I could give you a lift to town in about a minute. It’s supposed to be well up over a hundred degrees this afternoon. I’d hate to see y’all sweat and ruin your dresses…”

Staring ahead, the three girls remained silent and Steven wouldn’t leave them alone.

“…I bet those dresses cost a lot of money--”

“They surely did!” Lorraine hissed and Vylette advised,

“Don’t encourage him!”

Leaning out the driver’s side window, Steven chuckled wryly and demanded,

“Where are your rich N(bad word)s? Why they ain’t driving you now? They dump you? Found some other women to wine and dine, eh? HA! Or have they gotten a limousine and the driver will get y‘all! HA! HA-HA-HA!”

Vylette winced as Lorraine grabbed and was crushing her wrist in an effort to maintain her composure. Any sort of ill-speaking done about her “Daddy” usually warranted a fierce rebuttal, maybe even a slap to the jaw, no matter how unmatched she and her opponent may have been. (And Steven could have very easily run her over if he was rubbed the wrong way. Vylette wouldn’t put that stunt past that jerk.)

Seeing that Lorraine was starting to bristle up like an angry feline, Steven continued to pick at her, all for his own sick amusement.

Though his true grievance was with Michael Jackson, and not Marlon, he wanted to stick it to them anyway he could.

“N(bad word)s like them don’t stick around for the long haul. Y’all just a novelty--looking like White gals for them Black asses. Bet they been with any and every thing! Colored, White, Oriental….Probably crawling with all kinds of venereal disease ya never even heard of--”

Lorraine broke.

Whipping around, she nearly threw Vylette and Vinnie into the side of the Ford, and wailed,

“You shut up Steven Wilkes! You think you know so much, when you don’t know a damned thing! Not one blessed thing about Marlon and Michael you big, ignorant Johnny Reb wannabe!”

“Lorraine!” The Meraux sisters exclaimed, exasperated.

Ladies didn’t swear in public and talking back would only egg that swarthy gorilla on more.

Blue-green eyes danced in hilarity and his mouth curled harder with a smile of nastiness.

“You always did have a big mouth attached to you Lorraine…you learn that kind of trash talk from your Yankee? That how they talk up the country?”

Hands on hips, Lorraine was gearing up for a shouting match and her voice was escalating in decibels.

“And what’s it to you, how I speak? I’m not seeking your approval, you louse, you swine! As long as Daddy doesn’t mind, I’m not changing a thing. I take my marching orders from him!”

Steven fell quiet, and eyed Lorraine for a long moment.

Looked over her scowling face, tinged with red in the cheeks, down her figure on off to her feet.

For a moment, Vylette thought he was going to relent and go on about his business.

But when had Steven Wilkes ever left a conversation without having the benefit of the last word?

And what a last word it was going to be!

Laughing heartily, he questioned as he slapped the steering wheel.

“Daddy? What--you’re fucking your father too?”

Every ounce of color in Lorraine’s face drained away as her cousins gasped in horror.

“Steven!” Was all Vylette could think to say.

How could he say that? How could be so cruel as to fix his mouth to say such a thing? Why, he’d even been at the funeral! He knew full well that Lorraine’s father was deceased and had only said that for the pure thrill of getting her goat and upsetting her.

All of the buildup, bravado and arrogance in Lorraine trickled away at the insult.

Blinking several times, as tears came to her eyes, her voice dropped to a whisper and cracked.


“You…you know my father’s…dead!”
And she was gone, half-stumbling, half-running away.

“Lorraine!” Vylette called and without so much as another word to that truly hateful creature, she was tugging Vinnie along as the two tried to catch up with her.

If only Vylette could have been a man for five minutes, she’d have given Steven Wilkes just exactly what he had coming to him.

“Go ahead on and cry!” Steven called from behind them.
“Maybe next time you’ll know not to mess with me! You’re just a silly girl!”

Vylette was trying her best to catch Lorraine, in order to calm her and soothe her in some form of way.

She was suddenly frightened. Very frightened.

Eyes on the wobbling blue figure ahead of her, she knew she had to reach Lorraine first.

Because of Lorraine got into town and reached Marlon Jackson first, in the terrible, horrendous state she was in, who knew what would have happened.

Marlon was cut from the same mold as his woman. Flaming, salty, short-tempered and tempestuous.

If he saw Lorraine upset…

The wooded lane finally opened up to Main Street and the rows of businesses came in to view.

Vylette noticed about a dozen people milling around, including a few more children.

“Come on Vinnie, faster--faster, please!” Vylette ordered dragging her sister along as they made it onto the wooden sidewalk.

“Hey Vylette, hey Vinnie…” Elizabeth Pelant, Wallis’ little half-sister, called as the two went racing past the grocery store and leapt from the sidewalk to cross the dirt road to the five-and-dime.

And midway across the street, Vylette screeched to a halt, having spotted Marlon Jackson.

He had been idling against the passenger side of his car, smoking a cigarette and chatting with Old Man Goebbels, but as Lorraine made a direct beeline to him, he dropped the cancer stick.

Sobbing wildly, she threw herself against him, hugging him tightly and wailing,


“…my father! My father…oh Daddy!”
Lorraine was gurgling and weeping, her makeup coming off on his chest dirtying his white shirt as she pressed her face against it.

“Baby! What is it? What’s wrong? What about your father? Lori? Cherry--what is it?” Panic-stricken, as he’d never seen her so hysterical, all Marlon could do was pat at her head and hold her.


“You’re shaking!”

“My father! Oh, Marlon--my father!”
Timidly, Vylette and Vinnie eased over as even Mr. Goebbels, alarmed, was trying to calm her.

“Get her some water or something, please!” Marlon begged and the elderly gentleman was ambling away.

Amber eyes were going murky brown with concern as he started over Lorraine’s head at Vylette.

“What in the hell happened? What’s got her like this? What’s this she’s babbling about her father--?” He wondered and Lorraine pounded a fist in his chest.

“My Papa…my Papa! My father!”

Vylette nibbled her bottom lip, her mind burning and racing, trying to come up with just how to phrase such an offensive statement. And to keep Marlon from flying off the handle.

And Vinnie…Vinnie just stared down at the tops of her shoes.

In the meantime, Mr. Goebbels returned with a glass, filled with a clear liquid, faintly tinted brown.

“Here’s some water…” The man remarked, holding out the glass, and added covertly, “I put a few drops of my New Year’s rum in it. It should calm her.”

“Thank you…” Marlon took it and was pressing it to her mouth. “Come on Baby, drink this. Please. Calm down, you’ll faint! Drink!”

As Lorraine obediently took a few gulps, Marlon repeated,

“Somebody kindly tell me--what happened?”

Head coming up, Vinnie spoke before her sister.

“Steven Wilkes in…in…insinuated that Lorraine had an ‘unnatural relationship’ with her Papa.”

“Steven said that about Luc Devereaux?” Mr. Goebbels was breathless, eyes wide, as he had been friends with Lorraine’s father before his death.

Although she had been very young at the time of her uncle’s death, all Vylette had ever known of the brick-haired man was that everyone who’d known him, held him in as high esteem as her own father.

For a moment, Marlon Jackson was dumbstruck and could only stare down at the redhead pressed against his bosom.

Mouth opening in disbelief his eyes were huge with incredulity.

Realization hit him like a freight train.

“WHAT?” Marlon Jackson turned purple with rage. “That son of a bitch said that to her? That she and her father--”

“I didn’t!” Lorraine wailed, struggling against him suddenly. The empty glass fell to their feet.

“He never! I was five years old! My Papa was a saint! He‘d never hurt me! My Papa loved me!”

“I’ll be rightly damned!” Marlon sneered, and with Lorraine still hugged to him, hobbled to open the door of his car.

His eyes fell on Vylette and her sister.

“Get in! All of y’all get in! I’m gonna take y’all home. This is some bullshit for the chickens…”

Marlon Jackson trailed off, and it was then Vylette noticed his gaze wasn’t directly on her anymore.

His face hardened, eyes dark, all laughter in them extinguished his thick lips pursed.

Blood cooling in her veins, she somehow forced herself to turn around.

Across the street, pulling to a halt in front of Mumfree’s restaurant, was a black Ford Model-A.

The door opened and from it, Steven Wilkes emerged, a cigarette glowing in his mouth.

In the doorway of Mumfree‘s, Ulrich Povah, sandwich in hand, appeared, calling a greeting to his friend.

Lorraine was all but thrown into her cousin’s arms.

“I’ll murder that motherfucker!” Marlon’s voice was low and lethal, as he started to unbutton and roll up his sleeves to the elbow.

Readying for action.

Lorraine sniffled appreciatively, a sardonic smile coming to her wet face.

“Oh no, Marlon…” Vylette begged, reaching for his wrist only to have it yanked away.

“Gonna talk to my girl…”

Entire body going erect, Marlon Jackson started to slowly advance towards Steven, with his back turned, talking back and forth with Ulrich, still in the doorway.

It was at that moment, Vylette remembered something Lorraine had told her about Marlon.

On their graduating day, when Steven Wilkes had first upset the Jacksons.

Marlon had learned to box from professionals.

Fight. The man could punch, bob and weave like it was a match at Madison Square Garden.

Marlon Jackson was going to fight Steven Wilkes.

And if Marlon was anything like Michael had been not too long ago, Steven was in for a bad time.

Heart racing, Vylette propped Lorraine, starting to seep back to consciousness against the car and turned to Mr. Goebbels.

“Where’s Michael?” She questioned, vainly hoping he was still in the store piddling around.

“He didn’t come to town.” The old man stated nervously. “Marlon said he stayed at home. He was gardening.”

Clutching his shoulders, Vylette ordered,


“Go! Go please! Call him--Broadlane-7653! Use your telephone! Call him and tell him to get here! Hurry! Don’t you see what’s about to happen! Go, please!”
If those two got into it in the center of town…it was going to be a disaster!

With him scurrying away like vermin, Vylette’s attention went back to Marlon.

He was now standing directly behind Steven Wilkes, glaring at the back of his head.

“Is Marlon going to fight Steven?” Vinnie questioned and Vylette shook her head.

“If Marlon can fight like I think he can fight, he’s going to massacre Steven!”

The child smiled openly; she loathed the Wilkes boy just as much as the elder girls.

“I hope he does kill him. Saying such things tome! I‘m a lady!” Lorraine spoke up and pushed herself to standing.

Vylette wasn’t sure what she wanted.

Sure Steven deserved to have his jaw broken, but in front of the bulk of the town?

Lorraine took off running, eager to be closer to Ground Zero and wind leaving her, Vylette gave chase with Vinnie close behind.

Getting nearer, she could hear Steven speaking without any knowledge that he had company.

“…I figure we can try fishing tomorrow. If the pond ain’t overrun with little pickaninnies trying to swim…” Steven put his cigarette to his mouth and inhaled deeply.

“That’s all they do…stream out the ‘Bottoms’ to swim.”

Marlon Jackson remained motionless and Vylette’s hands wrung, wondering what he was doing. What he was thinking.

What was going on in his curled head, behind that deep, harsh scowl curling his features.

“Mama wants me to try to catch some trout or gar…” Blowing a cloud of smoke, Steven removed his cigarette, flicking ashes, and held it down by his side.

And Marlon Jackson made his move.

Snatching the cigarette with one hand, Marlon gripped onto Steven’s left wrist with the other.

Before anyone could stop him, Marlon mashed the lit cigarette into Steven’s bulging arm.

“AHHHHHH!” The bigger boy, who had about a foot in height and a good hundred or so pounds in weight on, just like with Michael, screamed shrilly, yanking free and clapping a hand over his wound as Marlon tossed the butt to the ground.

“Christ Alive! Did y’all see that?” Lorraine gasped, hands mashed to her chest.

“Oh my God!” Vylette had a hand to her mouth, as people, attracted by the noise, came into doorways and flooded the sidewalk. All vying for a peek.

“You fucking N(bad word)! That‘s my fucking arm you son of a bitch!” Steven screeched, face going scarlet with rage, and fists the size of Marlon’s head were curling. “You must have a death wish! Well, I’m about to grant it fo’ yo’ ass right quick!”

Running.

Vylette was running.

Fleeing in the direction of the brick building at the end oh the row.

Reaching the steps of her father’s medical practice, she heard a collective “Ooooooh!”

Looking back, she could see Steven staggering, his mouth gushing blood down onto the front of his pale green striped polo shirt, his car rocking, as he’d been knocked into it by Marlon.

“Come on you fat fucker! I want you. Me and you, right here, right NOW!” Marlon was goading, his fists balled, stepping lively in the dirt as the crowd was beginning to ring around them. “You ain’t got no business even opening your mouth to my woman, and I’m gonna shut it for you! Gonna learn today!”

A punch was thrown and connected with Marlon’s shoulder, he wavered, but did not hit the ground.


“Ooooooh!”

“That’s it Steven!”
“Don’t let him knock you down, Daddy! Whip his ass!”-- That was Lorraine.


“Beat his ass!”

“Put the old pepper on it!”

“FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!”
A child proclaimed the final comment and like frightened jackrabbits, from the surrounding woods, people of all ages, mostly male, came streaming.

Pulling the doors to the office open, Vylette flung herself inside, finding his waiting room vacant.


“Papa! Papa! Papa!”
She called, rushing up to the closed door of his office, throwing it open to find him seated at his desk, smoking his pipe and reading the paper.

“Vy--” He started, eyes widening as his daughter rushed to him, clutching his arm and pulling at him.

“Papa! Come quick--something terrible is happening. Marlon and Steven are fighting!”

“What--damn!” The good doctor was on his feet, following his elder child, and the two came storming from the building, in time to see a massive crowd of nearly a hundred circled around cheering.

Women shrieked, men hooted and small children were punching air in encouragement. Some even rode on the shoulders of their fathers and older brothers to have a better view.

Getting to the outer rim of the audience, Vylette could see, from out the woods, a man running.

A tall, thickly built, man of about fifty, with a deep, dark tan, and graying black hair slicked back.

Working in the warm out of door had left him perspiring, his face damp and his butternut colored polo sticking to his muscular frame.

A hard frown twisted what would have been handsome features and the wide handlebar mustache above his top lip wagged with every stride. A lip snarling over white teeth.

Making a run for the crowd, as the sound of a punch resulted in cheers, was Josiah Wilkes.

Steven’s father.

With no regard for the more delicate spectators, Josiah was grabbing people and pushing them aside, making his way to the front. Parting them like the Red Sea.

And in the divide he was leaving behind him, Vylette and Dr. Meraux followed.

In such a short span of time, much beating had been done on both sides.

Steven’s face bore several bruises, and his clothing was torn and crusted with dirt, his hair all over his head.

In the melee, Marlon Jackson had come completely out of his shirt--Lorraine holding it to her bosom as she shouted, her arm around a clapping Vinnie.

On the other side of Vylette, Wallis had her arms around Elizabeth, watching with keen interest and a smug smile growing ever larger with each lick landing on Steven.

Though Marlon had a few bruises gracing the trunk of his body, and an oozing scrape on his tight back, his face hadn’t been touched.

(Author’s Note: Are you kidding me? Marlon’s too beautiful for me to damage his mug! Even if this is fiction!)

And the crowd was split with supporters calling for their favorite to win.


“Get him!”

“Kill him!”

“Come on Steven!”

“Marlon use the left! The left!”

“Holy shit!”
The men were circling again and getting to the front, Dr. Meraux called,


“Alright that’s enough, boys! You’ve proved your point! That’s enough--”
He was promptly drowned out by Mr. Wilkes thundering,


“Steven--You better damn well win tying up the town like this you dumb monkey!”
“I plan to Pa!” Steven sputtered and spit a blob of blood out onto the ground.

“Like hell you are!” Marlon’s fist found Steven’s jaw and an arc of blood flew.


“Ooooooh!”

“Goddamn--pardon me ladies!”

“Wow!”

“Yay, Marlon!”

“Whoopee!”
“I’m gonna be sick!” Elizabeth, standing next to her whooping sister, joyous that her annoying cousin was getting his comeuppance, whimpered, putting a hand over her eyes.

“Kick his ass, Marlon! Wooo!” Wallis shrieked, as Marlon ducked a punch and landed an uppercut, knocking Steven against the Ford again with a thud.

The Pelant boys were all rooting for Marlon Jackson, as they had lived their lives being bullied by him.

In the middle of the crowd, Steven’s few lackeys were calling his name.

“Stop this! You’re grown men!” Dr. Meraux begged, the only voice of reason and was going unheard. “What kind of example is this?”

“Steven, get your fat ass up right now!” Mr. Wilkes was screaming at his son as he was pushing himself off the car. “You fight to win! Boy, get your ass up now!”

Marlon was a great opponent and his smaller size helped him. While larger Steven was showing signs of fatigue, staggering, stumbling and missing punches, Marlon looked alert and full of zest.

“Damn it Steven, with all the pointers I gave your ass over the years, you’re losing to this little skinny N(bad word)?“ Mr. Wilkes bellowed in dismay.

The men circled again, fists up, bodies tight, tensed and ready for the first move of the other.

A blow found Steven’s shoulder and while he jerked, he remained on his feet.

If one fell, they’d surely never get back up.

“Come on you ape, that all you got?” He smiled, his entire mouth red with gushing blood. Had he a tooth knocked out?

His fist found Marlon’s belly and when he doubled over, Steven attacked grabbing him and both men fell to the dirt clawing, growling, cursing, flailing for dominance.


“Fuck you, you Coon! Your ass is mine!”

“I’m down, not out, cocksucker!”

“You think so, huh?”

“Bitch, I know so!”
“Get him! Come on Marlon!” Lorraine shrieked as they rolled. “Come on, Daddy!”

Steven was getting the better of Marlon and sitting on him, was trying to hold his head to punch him in the face.

Vylette held her breath. Not his face. Not Marlon’s face.

He was so very handsome!

Squatting down behind his son, to be eye level to what was sure to be a complete knock out, Mr. Wilkes started to shout.


“Knock him out, so we can end this, Steven Sherman! Knock him the fuck out, boy!”
Large hands clapped as Marlon continued wiggling.


“Get off me you big ox!”
Struggling and flailing, Marlon began kicking like a caged animal.


“Knock him--”
A foot struck Josiah Wilkes directly in the jaw and sent him reeling tumbling over into the crowd, before he hit the ground, out cold. A few of bystanders dragged him up onto the sidewalk.

Steven never even saw that his father had been dropped like the worst habit.

Getting his feet up and around Steven’s middle, miraculously, Marlon, using sheer leg strength, managed to pull Steven off him and throw him in the dust.

Marlon was back on his feet, and a fist pounded the top of Steven’s head.


WHAP!
“Gonna make my girl cry? You ain’t got no business talking to her in the first motherfucking place!”
Marlon repeated as Steven, weakened and disoriented, crawled on the ground.

Several children, mocking him, were on their hands and knees too.


“Get up Steven! Get up!”

“Atta-boy Marlon! Atta-boy!”

“Sweet Jesus!”

“He’s going to kill him!”

“Damn it, Marlon!”
Cheers rang along the street as Marlon stood over the crumpled heap on the ground.

“Motherfucking…” Marlon drew his foot back and kicked Steven solidly in the gut, felling him to the ground.


“Oooooh!”

“Damn!”

“Oh my God!”

“…asshole….”
Another kick.


“….don’t talk…”
Kick.


“…to my woman ever again!”
Steven Wilkes laid murmuring in the dirt and the crowd slowly grew silent, all eyes on him, waiting to see what he would do next. If anything. When he showed no signs of trying to retaliate, Marlon drew his foot back again, aiming for Steven’s head

“That’s enough, Marlon! Please!” Dr. Meraux begged hoarsely, mopping his own brow with a handkerchief.

“Oh no!” Vylette mashed her hands to her face, certain that Marlon was about to commit homicide.

A hand appeared on his bulging, sweaty and bruised bicep.

“I said that’s enough, Son.”
Dr. Meraux was gripping his arm tightly, eyes pleading.

Seeming to notice that there were people leering at him, Marlon looked around at all of them, his eyes wide.

Had he been oblivious to them this entire time?

He then looked down at Steven, a pile of flesh at his feet.

He nodded, sucking in his bottom lip.

“Yes, Sir…”

That quickly, it was over.

Heaving, Marlon turned around, and started for the doctor’s office.

“Daddy--Baby, wait!” Lorraine called running after, him, trailed by about a dozen congratulatory others, as the crowd started to disperse.

On the sidewalk, Josiah was still out cold and Steven was grunting in pain.

“Someone, anyone, help get those two to my office!” Dr. Meraux, shaking his head with disgust, started back to the low brick building at the end of the street. Vinnie skipped along beside him.

“That was amazing! Sensational! It’s about damn time someone dusted Steven’s broom!” Wallis tossed her head evilly and hugged Vylette as her brothers Winston and Edward were imitating the fight.

“Child, I didn’t know he had it in him! I didn’t know rich fellas like him could box it out like that! Jesus Christ! That made my year! I should have bet money”

Wallis started back for her store, the excitement over, and Vylette went to walk to her father’s office when she noticed Ulrich still standing in the door of Mumfree’s.

That sandwich was still in his hand.

“I’m…I’m sorry Vylette.” He whimpered his head lowering.

Vylette stared at him curiously,

“Why are you sorry, you didn’t make Steven make an ass out of himself. I know you’re his friend, but you didn’t force him to insult Lorraine. He did it to himself.”

Those pale, watery eyes met hers.

“It’s my fault, because I knew Steven was going to do that this morning.” He confessed and Vylette’s eyes widened and her chest expanded as she inhaled deeply.

“He heard Winston get that message from Marlon this morning and had the intent on bothering with y‘all ever since--”

“Because he hates the Jacksons, I know.” Vylette finished for him shaking her head derisively.

“Well, Steven got what he wanted: a fight. He also got what he didn’t want: to lose in front of God and everybody.”

Together the two mounted the steps and Ulrich held the door for her.

This was all a mess. A bloody, cursed mess.


Sometime Later

Jackson Manor

Rainelle Parish, Louisiana

“…Fetch, Baron, fetch! Get the ball! Come on Baron!”

Vylette reclined on the wicker sofa, enjoying the gentle, cool breeze that had begun to blow, and caused the canopy of tree branches crisscrossing the long driveway to sway.

From the front porch of the rambling mansion, Vylette could see her sister, weaving in and around the trees, chasing after Michael’s large dog, a bright red rubber ball held in his mouth.

Vylette squinted.

Her surroundings were so quiet, so peaceful, so calm.

It hardly made sense that only an hour before she had been witness to what was to become one of the most talked about fights for generations to come.

The rich New York Yankee, Marlon Jackson, versus one of the Good Old Boys, Steven Wilkes.

And Marlon had clearly been the victor in the situation, as he had been the only one to walk away once was all said and done.

Marlon Jackson had emerged with only a few contusions, mostly to the trunk of his body from the blows Steven had managed to land on him, and a three inch, superficial laceration to his back, from the one time he’d been thrown against Steven’s Ford. The wound didn’t even require stitches, though Marlon had cursed up a storm when antiseptic was applied to it.

And while it wasn’t truly necessary, Marlon was upstairs in his room, with Lorraine, the two doing what they claimed was “taking a nap.”

Steven…

Vylette shook her head derisively as she thought of that big lumbering fool.

Steven had been beaten so badly, at the swift, experienced hands of the smaller Marlon, he’d both had to be carried into her father’s office to be examined and carried on home afterwards by several of his friends.

According to Dr. Meraux, Steven was going to be goofy for a couple of days, as he’d sustained a minor concussion--Marlon had aimed for his head and never really tried to let up--and sore for a few weeks, due to bruising of several of his ribs. (He’d been body slammed into the Ford, too.) This was in addition to the busted lip he received, that had taken three stitches on the inside of his mouth to fix.

Plus, he was spotted all over with more bruises than anyone dare count on the outside.

Steven’s father, Josiah, walked away with an injury. All the good jawing and shouting he’d done, led him to have his two front teeth chipped from the kick in the chin Marlon had given him while struggling with Steven.

Sitting up straighter as her sister wrestled the ball from the dog and threw it further, Vylette folded her arms across her bosom.

Steven had gotten his just desserts.

Marlon had been right to try to skin his ass alive; he had no right to speak as he did to any of them, especially to Lorraine and trying to besmirch the name of her poor, dead father.

Why, it was something of a sin to speak ill of the dead.

Luc Devereaux had done nothing evil to be spoken of.

He’d merely run a dental practice in New Orleans, where Lorraine had lived the first five years of her life, before the Flu epidemic claimed both her mother and father.

But Steven was an old windbag and Marlon had summarily deflated him.

“Here we go, some ice cold Coca-Colas…”

Slipping out onto the porch, from one of the wide open windows allowing the air to circulate in the formal living room, was Michael Jackson.

Holding the two bottles, caps removed, he was a casual dream in a red polo and black tweed slacks.

“Here, Baby.”

She was handed a soda, and as he sat, she thanked him.

“Danke Shoen.”

“And in German…” Michael winked, an arm draping her shoulders.

The bottle tilted to his lips a moment, before he spoke in apology,

“I’m sorry that your entire day was disarranged, Honey. I thought we’d just select dresses for the gala, and have a nice visit. Then…well…”

He looked off into the distance and grimaced, his mind on the obvious. Though he’d missed the actual brawl, arriving about five minutes too late, half a dozen eager spectators enlightened him to the event.

“It’s all right.” Vylette leaned and kissed his dangling hand.

“Before we leave for the City tomorrow, you and Lorraine can choose a dress. But its important we know what dresses you want before we go.”

“Why?”

“You’ll find out tomorrow, Darling.” Michael winked and indicated the empty driveway where Vinnie was petting Baron.

“Do you notice that all the trucks are gone?”

“Yes.” Vylette waved to her sister. “Do they have the day off?”

“Nope. The solarium and pool are complete--sit.”

Vylette’s wrist was grabbed and she was returned to the seat.

“But its not ready to be seen, yet. I have to receive the furniture, and decorate the room. By Wednesday you can see it. Wednesday, the four of us can have a little christening party. How’s that?” Michael was beaming and Vylette chuckled.

“I’d like that a lot.”

While Vylette wasn’t exactly to sure as to just what solarium was, she had seen plenty of privates pools in her movie star magazines and felt the zing of excitement go up and down her spine. Her own pool, that she could go swimming in, anytime she felt the notion. She wanted to pinch herself, but there were too many goosebumps in the way!

Michael’s empty bottle was set on the coffee table, and he sighed,

“Have you been writing, Baby?”

“A bit…” Vylette’s hands started to wring. “I’ve handwritten four more stories, I just need to type them up.”

“And what is keeping you from typing?”

Michael’s eyes were on her and she felt guilty for not utilizing her graduation gift better.

Beautiful violet-colored eyes fluttered and lowered with grief.

“I can only write at night, because I have chores. And the typewriter is noisy when I type. I’d have the whole house awake if I typed at night. Pencil and paper are silent--”

“But you cannot submit a story in pencil, to publishers.” Her chin was pinched. “Do you do everything at home? Cooking, cleaning, laundry?”

“Yes--”

“Would you like me to hire a housekeeper like Adelaide?”

She stared at Michael in wonder. He was speaking; she could see his lips flapping and there was noise coming from him.

Vylette wasn’t quite sure she’d heard correctly. Michael had offered a housekeeper, like offering another soda to her. He’d done it so easily and naturally.

“Uh…” She didn’t know what to say. A housekeeper would have been a blessing, but she knew her mother would shout from the roof it was an extravagance serving to spoil the girls.

“You’re going to be my wife. My wife does not work.” Michael gripped her hands in his.

“My wife will be a published authoress, attend country club functions and play tennis and croquet. None of the other ladies at the club has to do menial chores. Its needless. I will provide all you need. That‘s what a husband does…”

He assured her, and Vylette stared ahead where her sister was running away down the path.

She didn’t want to cry and spoil her makeup.

“You are a wonderful little cook, Vy, but if don’t feel like it, you shouldn’t have to. And you can make all the noise you want typing during the day. You can use my office if you like.”

Vylette leaned against him heart swelling.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you more.”

Arms wrapped her, pulling her into Michael’s lap and his cool tender lips mashed hers.

“…Don’t be scared…he’s says any friend of mine is welcomed here…you chicken!”

Somewhere in the lust-filled darkness, Vylette became aware of her sister speaking.

“Mike…” She pulled free from him, leaving his mouth smooching air.

Looking up, both were surprised to see Vinnie, a few feet away, physically pushing another little girl up the steps.

A pale faced, light eyed blonde, Hildegard Povah.

And the look of fright in her eyes was like that of a deer on the wrong side of a double-barreled shotgun.

“Ahem!” Quickly, Michael and Vylette righted themselves.

“Hello Hildegard!” Michael was up and taking her hand kissing the top of it. “Welcome to Jackson Manor.”

“Gosh.” She was turning red all over.

Seeing she was indeed welcomed, a relieved smile creased her face.

“Hi Michael, hi Vylette.” She giggled, and looked around at the veranda. “Zowie.”

Pointing out one of the extra armchairs, Michael asked as Hildegard sat and Vinnie propped on the arm,

“What brings you by?”

“I…I…I wanted to play with Vinnie and Mrs. Meraux said she was here…”

Blue eyes drifted around and without thought, Hildegard wondered,

“Do you really live here, Michael?”

“Yes…” Michael nodded and Hildegard gasped.

“This is my ancestral home.”

“Michael…” Vinnie slipped from the chair and threw her arms around his neck. “Can Hildegard come with us to New Orleans, tomorrow? Please?” Her bottom lips poked out and wobbled.

“Oooh!” Hildegard, hearing about the big City was now squishing between him and Vylette to hug Michael.

“Please, I’ve never been to New Orleans!”

Michael pretended to be deep in thought a long moment and charmed, Vylette was smiling. As if there were anything to contemplate.

“I see no problem with it, as long as your father says its okay.”

Michael Jackson was a smart one. He knew Mary Povah had it out for him and instead was going to appeal to the rarely seen, henpecked Bob Povah. A traveling salesman, he was often on the road for stretches at a time, but was home for about a week.

Just long enough to earn Hildegard time away from her overbearing mother.

“Yes, Sir!” Both girls chorused, and Hildegard was squeezing him harder.

“Vinnie, why don’t you show Hildegard the Library and you can each select two books. One Nancy Drew, and something educational. I want you two to learn as you read. Books aren’t just for entertainment, they’re for expanding your minds.”

“Okay Michael.” Vinnie stood and started away.

Hildegard remained seated, mashed against Michael, eyes closed blissfully as she rested her head against his chest.

“Hildegard!” She called from the French doors.

The child remained motionless and Vylette tried to hide her giggles.

“Sweetie…” Michael lightly tugged one of the long blonde braids trailing down her back. “…go get your books.”

Seeming to return to reality, Hildegard finally released him and started away.

Turning back her face went scarlet as Michael’s shirt.

“I think you’re more debonair than William Powell!”

She blurted and went running to Vinnie, both of them scampering away.

Vylette doubled over.

“Ha! William Powell! Lord!” She snorted as Michael smirked. “You seem to have a little admirer, Mr. Jackson. Should I be worried?”

“No…I never have liked blondes.” Michael tossed his head. “I prefer curvaceous brunettes with wicked jaws.”

Squinching her nose, Vylette leaned forward and kissed him with a smack.

“And I prefer wiry gentlemen with big…”

“Vylette!”

“Match made in Heaven.”

Chapter Fourteen Visuals and Inspirations

Hey Y’all!

First of all, again, I want to extend my very appreciative and heartfelt thanks to each and every one of my readers. You don’t know how it fills me with joy and rapture each time I look at my blog statistics and see that the amount of readings I’ve drawn continues to increase. I write not only to keep Michael Jackson’s memory alive, but also to entertain my fellow fans. Thank you.

Now let’s talk about this chapter. Once again, the story centered around another Love Lesson between Michael and Vylette. This time, Vylette learned about the Art of Cunnilingus, which is oral sex performed on a female.

When I first decided that I wanted the Lesson to be a “nibbling” one, it took me a long while to decide just what kind of “nibbling” I wanted to happen. Did I want Vylette to do it to Michael? Did I want Michael to do it to Vylette? Did I want them to both do it at the same time? (Commonly known as a 69)

I eventually decided on having Michael do it to Vylette--not to say that she won’t be learning the Art of Fellatio soon enough (and that segment will knock your socks off, TRUST ME!)--but everything I write is with a purpose. And my purpose in having Michael do this particular act to Vylette was to show, he was more concerned with her. Because to me, unless its 69, oral sex is a very sort of selfish act. Think of it.

Somebody has their face buried in someone else’s genitals, it’s kind of all for the person on the receiving end.

And Michael, rather than have the pleasure of being sucked bone dry, is performing the act on the woman he loves and will eventually marry. (If that damned ring ever gets done!!!)

Anyway, with a chapter like this, there is actually VERY little inspirational material to go by, unfortunately.

There’s no need for elaborate clothing as the parties involved will soon be nude anyway.

For Vylette I used this as the dress she wore when arriving at the empty Jackson, but I obviously changed the coloring to make it a bit more become to her unique features.



As for Michael, in general, unless he’s going into town--whether it be in the Parish or New Orleans--he’s wearing “preppy” casual wear, in the story, in shades of blue.



I added something subtle to the chapter and I literally laid in wait like a spider on a web to see if anyone noticed it.

A few days after the chapter went up, I was having a conversation with my friend Ebonie about the chapter, and as I wanted, she noticed what I had done.

I hope no one skipped directly to the sex, because if you did you missed something about Vylette Meraux.

Her attitude and behavior with Michael Jackson changed a bit.

Vylette up until this chapter, has been written as a rather straight-laced, puritanical type of girl.

But I wanted to start maturing her character and a part of it was to make her more flirtatious, at least in private with Michael.

I don’t know if I’ll ever have her as outwardly sexual as Lorraine tries to be, but Vylette, as time goes on, will become more womanly, and teasing of Michael keep his attentions on her and ONLY her.

I can guarantee though, that some surprising behavior from her will emerge in future chapters.

But in this chapter, I introduced an imaginary book The Inner Workings of Human Sexuality by Dr. T.M. Butler.

(Just a minor nod to myself and all the short erotic stories I’ve written over the years…)

Michael and Vylette have a brief and frank discussion of the contents of the book, Cunnilingus.

There is a line where Michael states that in Latin the word means “vulva-licker”. I swear to God on a stack of Holy Bibles, I would have never known this if I had typed that word into the Dictionary feature on my Microsoft Word and it happened to come up as part of the definition.

Dumb luck, completely.

For the actual love scene itself, I did do a little research, via the Tumblr website.

You really can find anything on the internet.



The chapter ended with Michael and Vylette in his bathroom, primping and making themselves look as though that hadn’t spent the afternoon being naughty.

There is also the revelation that the ball gowns from Europe have arrived so that Vylette and Lorraine can select gowns, not only for the gala at the Fleur-de-Lis Country Club being held in their honor, but also the back to back openings of the Palace and Paragon theatres.

This will be covered in chapter FIFTEEN, being written right now. And keep a sharp eye out, there will be some more plot twists and surprises to keep you entertained and on the edge of your seat.

Again, thank you for reading!!!