The Red-Hot Cajun

by Sandra Hill

  Best for whom? “Telephone calls? Letters? Anything?”

  The pink tinge of her mother’s pale cheeks told her plenty. “The letters were returned to sender. They would have only upset you. It was best that your father thought you didn’t want any contact with him.”

  Best for whom? Tears welled in her eyes at the tragedy of it all. “You said most. What do you still have?”

  “The lawyer insisted that I save the letter your father wrote at the time of the divorce and that I should give it to you at age eighteen or whenever you asked.”

  Hey, Mom., yoo-hoo! I’ve been over eighteen for a long time now. “Where is it now?” She could barely restrain herself from leaping over the desk and slapping her own mother.

  Simone regarded her with disdain, then walked over to a filing cabinet where she removed a thick envelope. She tossed it in Valerie’s lap and went back to her chair.

  Valerie just stared at it as tears streamed down her face. Finally, she stood and tucked the envelope in her folder and picked up her purse. “Did you hate him that much, Mother?”

  “More than you can know. He rejected me. No one does that.”

  “Really? Guess what? I’m rejecting you now.”

  With those words she left and did not look back.

  It was an ending of sorts, but a good ending.

  Rene to the rescue

  There she was.

  Rene was parked along the street, waiting for Val to come out of the real estate office. When she hadn’t called him to pick her up at the airport, he’d figured out where she would have gone. To confront her mother.

  And by the looks of her, tears streaming down her face, it was not a good meeting. He got out of his Jeep and went around to the sidewalk, picking up her luggage. “Get in, honey.”

  Her head jerked up. She was surprised to see him. “Thank God you’re here.”

  “Where else did you think I’d be?”

  “I never cry,” she blubbered, taking a tissue out of her purse and wiping her face.

  Right! That’s just sweat running down your cheek s.

  “My mother is a bitch.”

  You took the words right out of my mouth. “What’s that?” he asked as he maneuvered the vehicle out into traffic and headed out toward Bayou Black. She had just taken a sealed envelope out of a folder on her lap.

  “A letter to me from my father. It was written at the time of the divorce.”

  Uh-oh. I predict more tears.

  She read it aloud:

  Dear Valerie:

  I’mgoing away for a while, sweetie, but I will come back to see you whenever I can. You are the light of my life, always have been, always will be.

  When I think of you— and I will think of you every day of my life—I will remember the day you were born, how precious you were. The first time I held you, you looked up at me, and I swear to God you smiled. Your first steps were into my arms. Your first word was “Papa.” I loved reading you book s and teaching you to read. You danced on my shoes when I played music. Remember the times we went fishing on the bayou.

  I have so many dreams for you. Most of all I wish you love. I was the first man in your life. May the Good Lord grant you a husband one day who will love you half as much.

  1 will try to be in your life as much as possible. If I am prevented from doing that, please cometo me when you are of age.

  With much love,

  Papa

  At the bottom of the letter there was the address of a legal firm in Paris for making contact.

  Valerie began weeping again. Hell, he had tears in his eyes, too. She swiped her face with tissues and reread the letter in silence.

  When he pulled to a stop about fifteen minutes later, she looked up with surprise. “Where are we?”

  “This is the house I’m thinking about buying. I want to show it to you.”

  “Rene,” she chided him. “You already know how I feel about this.”

  “C’mon. Humor me,” he said. “It’ll take your mind off... other things.”

  They both got out of the car and headed toward the front door. It was a spectacular house and very unusual for Southern Louisiana. Made of cypress logs, it was modern and comprised of many levels, all of them raised high off the ground. Huge windows looked down on a wide stretch of Bayou Black. It was Frank Lloyd Wrightish in design, built by an architect for his own family ten years ago, but they’d moved to the west coast. There were two acres, and immediate neighbors were not visible through the heavy foliage.

  “Rene! It’s beautiful,” Val said, once they entered the house. It was empty, of course, which made it appear even bigger than it was. The random plank hardwood floors gleamed. The kitchen had ultramodern features. An office/library off the living room had wonderful cherry paneling. There was even a dining area, which should be a novelty for Val. A gas fireplace in a carved wood fireplace would be a delight on those rare cold winter nights.

  He kept watching Val’s face to get her reaction. She loved it, he could tell, and at least her mind was taken off the day’s sad events.

  “Can you afford this?” she asked at one point.

  “Yeah, I can, actually. I’ve made good money at times over the years and never lived extravagantly.

  Plus I made a mint in the stock market a few years back during the dot-com boom and had the good sense to get out early.”

  She nodded with understanding.

  The house had three bedrooms, and he told her, “That’s the master bedroom and the other two would be children’s bedrooms.” She was unnaturally quiet, and he turned to look at her.

  “Children?” she squeaked out.

  He tilted his head in question. “Yeah. What do you think of children?”

  “I never think about children.”

  “Never?”

  She shook her head. “You?”

  He nodded. “I would like to have three or four, but I’d settle for one or two.” He smiled at her, hoping to get some kind of positive reaction. No such luck. Deflated, he asked, “Don’t you want children at all?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t know. I’ve always thought I would think about it later.”

  “You’re thirty-five years old, honey. You don’t have that much time to think about it.”

  She gave him a hard look and turned on her heels, walking back to the living room and out on the deck.

  He joined her there.

  “Are children a deal breaker for you?” she asked.

  He thought for a while and answered, “No.”

  “No?”

  “I could live without children. I’m not sure I could live without you.”

  “Oh, Rene!” She stepped into his arms. “You’re pushing too hard,” she said against his neck.

  “I know,” he responded, kissing the top of her head.

  “You’re making assumptions that I would live in Louisiana, and I’ve already told you I don’t want to do that.”

  “I know.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I want you to see how it could be with us.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “Oh, babe, I’m sorry. I feel as if we have so little time and I’ve got to make my case quick.”

  She put her face in her hand.

  “Okay. I’ll back off. Let’s go to your hotel. This has been a long, eventful day for you. I’ve got just what the doctor ordered.”

  She arched her eyebrows.

  “You take a bubble bath with a glass of wine. I’ll order room service.”

  She sighed. “That sounds wonderful.”

  “I promise I won’t jump your bones the minute we enter the hotel room.” Maybe five minutes later.

  Just not the instant the door shuts.

  “Thank you.”

  Don’t be thanking me yet. I plan to bring out the big guns tonight, sugar. You don’t stand achance.

  He was a dancing fool

  Rene LeDeux was the best thing that had ever
happened in Valerie’s life. Even as she recognized that fact, she realized that they had been doomed from the start. This would probably be their last night together.

  He drew a bath for her and filled it with some expensive department store bubble bath, which he must have purchased especially for her. He handed her a stemmed glass with white wine, then refilled it when it was empty. He wrapped her in a thick hotel terry cloth robe when she was done and led her to the dinner he’d ordered for them both, crab imperial with tiny roast potatoes and a garden salad. There were strawberries and whipped cream, which they set aside for later.

  She ate heartily, not having eaten all day. He ate very little. He just sipped at his wine and watched her, like a hawk waiting for the perfect moment to swoop down on its prey.

  His restraint was incredible to watch. And flattering. She knew how much he wanted her—his fingers trembled when they accidentally touched her—but he was waiting for the right moment. His right moment.

  “I intend to screw your brains out tonight,” he said out of the blue.

  A sexual shiver ran through her body. “And how is that different from any other night?”

  “It will be different,” he promised her silkily.

  “How? Why?”

  “I want you to be addicted to my touch. I want you to dream of me night and day. I want you, body and soul.”

  Oh, sweetheart, don’t you know that I already feel like that? “So that I will move back here?”

  “So that you will want to be with me more than anything else in the world.”

  He’s trying to change my mind about living here. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that any more today.”

  “We won’t. What time does your flight leave tomorrow?”

  “Noon.”

  “Ah, then we have roughly twelve hours together, babe. Are you ready?”

  I’ve been ready for week snow.

  He held his hand across the table, palm up.

  She put her hand in his. “Are we going to do something perverted?”

  “I hope so,” he said, then grinned. “What did you have in mind?”

  They both stood, still holding hands.

  “I would be too embarrassed to tell you about all my fantasies. They’re silly.” She could tell he was interested. What a can of worms to open now!

  He led her over to the king-size bed and sat her down while he fiddled with the clock radio on the nightstand. He finally found a station playing rock music. Bruce Springsteen sang “Glory Days.” Then he turned his attention to her. “You can’t possibly toss out such a tantalizing remark and then back down.

  Come on, Val. Give.”

  She felt herself blush. Should I? Heck , this might very well be my last chance. Go for broke, girl!

  “Well, there is one thing. When I was in college, some of my sorority sisters rented an x-rated video. In it, this really hunky guy was in a shower or tub or something—the details are hazy. The woman stood outside watching while he soaped and touched and posed and stuff. It should have been sleazy, but somehow it wasn’t. I told you it was silly.”

  “That’s all. Hell, that isn’t even perverted.”

  “Forget about it.”

  “Uh, uh, uh. Your wish is my command. I’ve never done this before, but I’m not shy and I think... yep, I’m up for the job.” He winked at her.

  He led her into the bathroom and sat her on the closed seat of the toilet. “Only the best for you, sugar.

  Front row center.”

  Standing in the middle of the room, he toed off first one boot then the other, in such a way that they twirled in the air and landed upright, next to each other. “It took me weeks when I was eleven years old to perfect that trick,” he told her.

  “It’s an important talent to have,” she remarked.

  “Damn straight. It impressed the hell out of the girls.”

  “I don’t like you impressing other girls.”

  “Okay, I’ll ‘fess up. This is the first time I’ve done it.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  The song on the radio changed to “Do You Love Me... Now That I Can Dance?” and they both laughed at the appropriateness of its lyrics.

  Rene began to dance a little bit for her. Just swaying his hips from side to side as he pulled off his shirt. “Talk to me, darlin’. I need a little encouragement here.”

  “You have a nice body, Rene. I like that you have chest hair but not too much. I like your underarm hair, too.”

  “My underarm hair?” He raised one arm, then the other, sniffing. “I’m okay.”

  “You also have a nice butt.”

  Chuckling, he turned his back to her and did a little shake of his booty, looking back at her over his shoulder.

  She let out a hoot of laughter. “That was a little too Chippendale-y.”

  He faced her again and opened the top snap of his jeans. He put his hands behind his neck and danced some more, rolling his shoulders and undulating his hips. Moving up directly in front of her, he urged her, “Unzip me, baby.”

  She did. Real slow.

  He turned then and shrugged out of his jeans and boxers, not letting her see the front of him. Stepping into the glass shower stall, he turned on the faucet and stepped under the spray.

  After that, he didn’t look at her again. But, Lordy, Lordy, what a show he put on! All to the tune of Rod Stewart’s “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy.”

  Oh yeah!

  He shampooed his hair, tilted his head back, and let the lather run down his back in a stream that eventually made its way through the dead center crease of his tight buttocks. He soaped his arms and chest and belly, then used his hands to massage it in. Finally, he held onto the showerhead with one hand and leaned forward to lift his balls and touch his erection. After that, he turned, braced his back against the far wall and looked at her while he pumped himself, first slowly, then more rapidly. At the very end, he bared his teeth, arched his neck, and climaxed in front of her.

  He turned off the faucets and came out of the shower soaking wet. “How’d that do for you?” Before she could answer, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. “Rene! You’re wet!”

  “The question is, chère,” he whispered into her ear, “are you wet?”

  She was.

  Tit for tat, and then some

  “Do you believe in good sportsmanship?” he asked Val when they returned to the bedroom.

  “Huh?” He was still carrying her and her face was buried in his neck.

  “You know, fair play?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “Because, cupcake, it’s time for my fantasy. And guess what? I had the same fantasy you did. Isn’t that amazing?”

  It took a couple seconds for her to realize what he meant. “Oh, I don’t think I could do that.” Her face looked really cute, all pink with embarrassment.

  “Oh, well. If you can’t you can’t.” He put a particularly hangdog expression on his face. “Guess I thought you were more daring than that.”

  She swatted him playfully on the face. “Don’t try to trick me. I’ll do it, but you better not laugh.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it.” He set her on her feet and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth.

  “What should I do?” She was standing at the foot of the bed, still in her fluffy robe.

  “It’s your party, toots. Show me your moves.”

  “You’re smiling.”

  “With anticipation.”

  Oh, boy! The Beach Boys started to sing something about California girls.

  “Hey, that gives me an idea,” he said. “I’ll sit here.” He pointed to the dresser that faced the bottom of the bed. He shimmied up there and sat, buck naked, with his legs dangling off the floor. Rooting through her makeup case beside him, he said, “Voila!” and handed her the small bottle of baby oil that she used to remove makeup and tossed it to her. “Okay, here’s the deal. It’s a really hot day, and you’re going to the beach”—he pointed to the bed�
��”to sunbathe.”

  “And what are you?” she scoffed. “The horny lifeguard?”

  “Whatever you want. A spectator. The lifeguard. A loose dog. The police. A wave.”

  Yikes! “Where’s my beach blanket?”

  “You’re wearing it.”

  “Okaaay.”

  She crawled up on the bed, lay down, opened her robe, and spread it out blanket-style. Then she scrunched her eyes shut tight “Coward!” Rene laughed.

  “You betcha. I always keep my eyes closed when I... sunbathe.”

  “So is it hot on the beach today?” he inquired. She could hear the amusement in his voice.

  “Scorching.” Truth to tell, she was feeling really hot. “I can feel the sun beating down. My skin feels tight. There are red colors behind my eyelids.”

  “Be careful you don’t get a sunburn. You better put on some lotion.”

  “Oh, yeah.” With her eyes still shut, she felt for the plastic bottle at her side and flipped the cap. By sense alone, she drizzled some on the middle of her chest, more than she’d planned. Setting the bottle aside, she began to spread it with her palms over her breasts, her abdomen, her belly. Then she returned to her breasts, massaging them to hard points.

  “Oh... my... God,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. Go on.”

  “I’m imagining that you’re kneeling between my legs and you’re the one oiling me up,” she admitted.

  “Then spread your legs to let me in,” he recommended.

  She did.

  “If I were really there, I would be drizzling oil on those curls so it would seep down and mix with your own... oil.”

  She still had her eyes shut, so she had a little trouble aiming correctly. In the end, she accomplished her goal.

  “Lift your knees and spread wider. I want to see you, all of you,” he said huskily. When she did, he said, “Mercy!”

  “Is that mercy good or mercy bad?”

  “Definitely good. Now, show me how you like to be touched. I’m a slow learner so a little vocal instruction would help.”

  She groaned. “I am not that uninhibited.”

  “Yes, you are. You would do anything for me... anything to please me.”

  “Gentle, at first. Along the sides.” She used a middle finger to show him, over and over.