Stork Bite

by Simonds, L. K.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Jax Addington.”

  “I know Jax. We went to school together. We were in the same class.”

  “Really? What about Hollister Caine? And Ned Turner?”

  Miriam laughed. “Oh my goodness, what a small world! Yes, we were all in the class of twenty-eight. Well, except Ned. He should have been, but he jumped ahead of us and graduated in twenty-seven. I heard he went to a school up north—Massachusetts, I think—that has a big aeronautical program. Ned’s a genius, really.”

  “He took me flying in his airplane.”

  “He’s back from college already? And he has an airplane? I wonder what he’s doing.”

  “I don’t know. We didn’t talk about it. He’s a sweet guy, though.”

  “Always was.”

  “What about Hollister? What was he like in school?”

  “Well, you can probably imagine.”

  “Lady-killer,” Mae said, and they both laughed.

  “Yes ma’am. I had a crush on Hollister Caine all the way through school, but we never went out. I would have if he had asked, but I was shy, and I don’t think he noticed me. The girls—you know, the more forward girls—they swarmed him like ants.

  “Hollister was the starting quarterback for the Highlanders—our football team—but he was sweet too. Hollister never came off like he thought he was a big shot or anything like that. Centenary and Louisiana State offered him athletic scholarships, and he chose State. He was a great player, really a natural athlete. Everybody loved Hollister.”

  “I guess he’s just home for the summer,” said Mae.

  “Well . . . no . . . not exactly.” Miriam opened her pocketbook and took out a lacey handkerchief. She dabbed her perspiring temple. “I haven’t seen Hollister since graduation, so I don’t know this firsthand, but a mutual friend told me that Hollister was back home working for his father. His family owns the hardware store on Line Avenue.”

  “Why would he give up college to come back home?”

  “I don’t think he had a choice. Hollister liked to have a good time. He was always flirting with the razor’s edge, if you know what I mean.” Miriam placed her hand on Mae’s arm. “I was told he was drinking a lot—too much—and got kicked off the team. He and his father were always crossways, so he wouldn’t have had a way to stay without his scholarship.”

  “Oh gosh. That’s so sad.”

  “Mr. Caine—Hollister’s father—is a hard man. He was always hateful to Hollister, or at least it seemed that way to me from the things people said.”

  They sat in silence. The boys on the field collected their gear and trudged toward the locker-room entrance.

  “What about Jax?” Mae asked.

  Miriam stretched her legs out straight, feet together, and propped the heels of her Mary Janes on the bleacher in front of them. “Jax missed a lot of school, so I didn’t see very much of him.” She circled her hand over her middle. “He had this stomach thing, a nervous stomach or something like that, and it caused him to be absent most of the time.”

  “He’s pretty thin.”

  “He always was.”

  “Did he graduate?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. He walked with us. I heard he had private tutors and all that to help him keep up. I never heard what happened to him after graduation, so I’m glad to know he’s out and about. You said he works for your uncle?”

  “Cole’s Dry Cleaning. Over on Prospect.”

  “That’s who we use.”

  “Those boys—Jax, Hollister, Ned—they’re kind of a mismatched trio.”

  “Yes ma’am. I don’t remember them ever hanging around together in school. I wonder what brought them together.”

  “No telling,” Mae said.

  Miriam tucked her handkerchief back in her pocketbook. “Well, I better get going. I told Micah he could use my car tonight. His is on the fritz. Will you be staying in the dormitory?”

  “No, with my aunt and uncle.”

  “Well, how about I pick you up for registration? It’s hard to know what to do until you’ve done it. We always try to help the freshmen girls.”

  “I would love that. I’ve been a little nervous about it.”

  “It’s a madhouse, all right, but we’ll get you through it. We have a lot to talk about. There are two sororities on campus. I’m in Zeta Tau Alpha. The other one, Chi Omega, just started last year. I can introduce you to the girls in both groups. You’ll want to meet everybody before you pledge. That is, if you think you’ll want to pledge.”

  “Of course I do,” Mae said.

  Miriam stood. “I’m so glad we met. I’ll call you in a few days. Is your uncle in the book?”

  “Yes. Or you can call the cleaners. I help out there a lot.”

  “If you want to take a tour of the women’s dormitory before registration, just let me know. I’m an assistant, so I have a key. If you’re interested, that is.”

  “I wish I’d thought about staying on campus. It didn’t occur to me with Uncle Bill and Aunt Vida living so close.”

  “I understand. My home is near the college too. Actually, though, you have to live on campus for two or three terms—I can’t remember which—to qualify for a degree, so it’s something to think about. What with study groups and all the activities, it’s just easier to live in the dorm. Besides, we have a lot of fun.”

  “I don’t want to miss a minute,” Mae said.

  “Nor should you,” said Miriam. “Well, toodeloo.”

  “Bye-bye.”

  Jax was younger than Mae had imagined. He was only twenty or twenty-one at the most, yet his brown hair was thinning and already shot through with gray. Mae was glad she had been kind to Jax. After the Fourth of July celebration, she had even gone as far as accepting an invitation to take a ride in that big convertible he was so proud of. She permitted him to buy her a Coca-Cola, and she kept the conversation going, chatting about anything she could think of to avoid awkward silences.

  Mae did not tell Miriam that she had ridden around Shreveport and Bossier with Jax, and even out to Lake Bistineau to get a look at that old juke joint. Mae was engaged to be married, after all. Miriam might’ve thought she was flighty or unfeeling for running around town with a single man—even a harmless boy like Jax—while her unhappy fiancé was two hundred and fifty miles away. Mae loved Buster, and she was faithful to him. There was absolutely no point in letting her new friend get the wrong idea about the kind of girl she was.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Jax ran bootleg for Royce to line his own pockets while he handed his father every single paycheck from Cole’s Dry Cleaning and Laundry. Jax could’ve quit Mr. Cole and paid his father in full but keeping his foot in the door at Cole’s Cleaners kept his foot in the door of Mae Compton’s life. After the Fourth of July celebration, Jax had watched Mae hang around her uncle’s business, which meant she had free time—time she could’ve used to go home and be with her fiancé. But she did not. Most girls did not let their boyfriends out of their sight if they could help it.

  Jax had finally worked up the nerve to invite Mae out for a ride in the Sixteen, and to his surprise and delight, she accepted. He bought her a Coke, and she asked him to drive her out to Lake Bistineau to see the juke joint, which he was happy to do. He wheeled the Sixteen off the highway and up a dirt road that ended at the tree-choked lakeshore, where a weathered building squatted under the pines. No windows. No sign. A long plank deck jutted low over the swampy water on pilings that were blackened with age and moss. Electric lightbulbs were strung between posts along each side of the deck, and a few tables and chairs were scattered around.

  Mae eyed the building, absently tapping her bottom lip with the straw that stuck out of her bottle of Coca-Cola.

  After a minute, Jax said, “It’s kind of a dump.”

  “I’d like to see it when it’s hopping,” she said. Jax did not offer to take her, having seen how easily she was swept away from him before.
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br />   The next big move in Jax’s plan had been to take Mae flying, just the two of them, but he had failed to meet Ned’s expectations in the Jenny. By summer’s end, Ned was dodging Jax to avoid their flying lessons. To make matters worse, after Mae started classes in September, Jax only saw her a couple of days a week when she walked from the campus to the cleaners to study. She sat at the counter with her nose buried in her books until Mr. Cole closed the store and drove her home. She had no interest in chatting with Jax, much less taking a ride with him.

  Jax was dead in the water. He had just about resigned himself to quit Cole’s Dry Cleaning and move on to other girls when a miracle came his way. The fella who owned the hangar where Ned kept the Jenny bought a Monoprep, an apple red, sporty two-seater with a docile personality. Ned’s landlord was happy to let Jax fly his airplane for a fee, as long as Ned was satisfied with his handling of her. The little monoplane was a kitten compared with the squirrely Jenny. In no time at all, Jax handled the Prep better than her owner, at least according to Ned, who seemed eager to put any possibility of Jax flying his dear Jenny behind him.

  Whereas the Jenny had tandem seats, one in front of the other, the Prep carried pilot and passenger side by side, shoulders touching. It was easy to have a conversation, even with the engine and wind roaring. The airplane’s windshield was connected to the wing overhead, thus enclosing the cockpit, so Mae’s hair would not be mussed.

  At the owner’s request, Ned had installed a manifold on top of the engine, under the cowling, and connected it with tubing to a small opening near the bottom of the firewall. One twist of a valve and engine-warmed air folded around the occupants’ feet and legs for cozy winter flying.

  Jax took the Monoprep on scouting trips, looking for the most exciting scenery with which he could impress Mae, and getting more and more comfortable with the airplane. One Saturday morning, he flew to Baton Rouge to check out the Louisiana State campus. He landed and taxied to a fuel pump in front of a large hangar, and the attendant ran out to meet him.

  The attendant wore dark slacks, a starched white shirt, and a leather flight jacket. His black hair was close-cropped on the sides and long on the top. A sheaf, board straight, hung over his army-issue sunglasses. He swept the hair back—a gesture he must’ve made a thousand times a day—as he came around to Jax’s side of the Prep and opened the door.

  “Morning, sir! Beautiful bird. Top her off?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Jax got out and stretched his legs, while the attendant fueled the plane.

  “Where you out of, mister?” he asked. His speech was quick and clipped, as if he were rushing to get out what he wanted to say before he was cut off.

  “Flew down from Shreveport.”

  “Need a ride anywhere?”

  “Yeah, I’d like to have a look around town,” Jax said.

  “Be happy to take you anywhere you want. Got a brand spanking new Packard limousine out back.”

  “A limousine, huh.”

  “Yes sir. We get plenty of VIPs through here, and the big wigs like to go in style.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Facilities are inside the hangar. Ice cold pop and fresh coffee too. Make yourself at home, and I’ll bring the Packard around.”

  By the time Jax had used the facilities, the attendant had pulled the limousine to the hangar door. Jax got into the rear seat, which was plush and spacious. “This isn’t bad,” he said. “I’m Jax, by the way. Jax Addington.”

  “Billy Dean Simmons.” Billy Dean flew down the blacktop highway toward town, the Packard floating on its suspension.

  “I wanna bring a college girl down here soon,” Jax said.

  Billy grinned at Jax in the rearview mirror, showing a gap where an upper tooth was missing.

  “So where would you take a girl around here?” Jax asked. “I thought she might like to see the Louisiana State campus.”

  “Yeah, sure. That’d be all right. Ever seen the State House on the riverfront?”

  “Never been here.”

  “I’ll swing by. Then we can head over to the campus if you want.”

  The Louisiana State House sat on a bluff overlooking the river, as majestic as a castle in a fairy tale. The façade boasted the biggest stained-glass window Jax had ever seen, bar none. Billy parked the Packard in front, and they got out and climbed the steps. Billy opened one of the tall wooden doors for Jax. “After you, sir.”

  Jax walked inside to a massive winding staircase. It wrapped around a center column that rose from a black and white checkered floor to the capitol dome. The dome, made entirely of stained glass, spread like an enchanted parasol, its countless shards of color set afire by the sunlight.

  “A girl could feel like Cinderella in here,” said Billy. He took off his sunglasses, and Jax saw that he was just a kid, probably no older than sixteen or seventeen.

  “This is the place, my man,” Jax said.

  “There’s a mom-and-pop Cajun café across the street. Good gumbo. Best oyster loaf in town.”

  “I’m sold.”

  They drove back to the airport, and Billy parked the Packard beside the Prep. “She took ten gallons,” he said. “A buck even.”

  “How much for the trip into town?”

  “On the house, friend. The Capitol’s happy to have your business.” Billy smiled, but not so wide that the gap in his teeth showed again. He took a pouch of tobacco and papers from his pocket and rolled a cigarette with one hand. Jax had never seen it done half as quick. Billy lit the smoke and picked a thread of loose tobacco from his lower lip.

  “You here every Saturday?” Jax asked.

  “Every Saturday and Sunday, rain or shine. I’m it on the weekends.”

  Jax reached into the Prep and pulled a bottle from behind the seat. He handed it to Billy.

  The boy studied the label. “Canadian Club. Fellas around here would give an arm for this. We mostly just get rum down here.”

  “How much is an arm?” Jax asked.

  Billy laughed. “I dunno. Six, seven bucks. Maybe more. Most of these guys are flush.”

  “If you can get eight, I’ll come back tomorrow with a few cases. I’ll pay you ten percent for being the middleman.”

  “No kidding?”

  “I’m dead serious.”

  Billy stripped the ember and tobacco from the butt of the cigarette and tossed them away. He rolled the paper into a tiny tight ball and put it in his pocket. Then he stuck out his hand. “You got a deal, Mr. Addington.”

  Jax shook on it. “Where are you from anyway?” he asked. “You don’t sound like a Louisiana boy.”

  “Oklahoma Panhandle.”

  “Never been there.”

  “No reason to go. They call it No Man’s Land. I call it the Land of Dried Up Dreams.

  “Sounds like a good place to have in your rearview mirror.”

  “You got it right. Hopped a freight out of there the day after my mama died. I was fourteen.”

  “What about your daddy?”

  “Dirt poor and handy with a strap. I thought he was hard-boiled at the time. He was hard enough, I guess, but the old man couldn’t hold a candle to the railroad bulls. Saw the bulls beat a man to a pulp one time. You ever heard that saying? Beat to a pulp? It’s real.” Billy tucked the whiskey under one arm and rolled another cigarette and lit it.

  “What happened?”

  “Tramps had a camp in the woods outside Durant, Oklahoma. Bulls charged us one night whilst we slept. Everybody scattered ‘cept a broke-down fella called Danny Boy. Old Danny Boy was too slow, and the bastards caught him. Beat him to a pulp. A bloody pulp, I tell you.”

  Jax wished Billy would stop repeating himself so he could stop imagining it.

  “Danny was a hero in the war. Had a Medal of Honor. Saw it myself.”

  “What’d y’all do?”

  “Moved camp.”

  Billy drew down the cigarette in a couple of long drags. He stripped it as he had t
he previous one and tucked the balled paper in his pocket, adding it to whatever collection he had in there. He laid his hand on the Prep. “Gonna learn to fly these things. Gonna borry a bird, fly back home, and snatch away my kid brother.” He swept his palm down like an airplane dipping to the ground. “Gonna come outta nowhere like a chicken hawk.” He dropped his hand and laughed. “That’ll be a sight for the old man.”

  “Yes, indeedy.”

  “I’ll be here tomorrow. Come on back. And thanks for the bottle.” Billy looked at the label again. “Hey, wait a minute. What kind of game you running? You trying to get me killed?”

  “What?”

  Billy pointed to the label. “W-H-I-S-K-Y. That ain’t how you spell whiskey. Do I look stupid?” His hand balled into a fist.

  “Calm down, my man. That’s how the Canadians spell it. Same with the Scots. Go to a library and check it out.”

  Billy studied the label, skeptical.

  “Open it,” Jax urged. “The proof’s in the pudding.”

  Billy opened the bottle, unclenched his jaw, and took a sip.

  “If your customers know what’s what, they won’t buy Canadian or Scotch unless it’s spelled like that. Otherwise, it’s hooch for sure.”

  “It’s pretty good.”

  “Pretty good? It’s top drawer.”

  Billy took another pull and rolled it around in his mouth before swallowing. “I’m still gonna check it out, though,” he said as he screwed the cap back on.

  “You should. You absolutely should. Then meet me here tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Yeah. Sure.”

  All the way back to Shreveport, Jax calculated the possible profits from the Baton Rouge connection. His mind returned again and again to one inescapable conclusion: He was going to need a bigger airplane.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Mae sat on her bed in Aunt Vida’s house looking at Buster’s letters heaped in a pile in front of her. During her first weeks in Shreveport, she had waited breathlessly for his letters, running to the front hall to retrieve the mail as soon as the postman dropped it through the slot. Her separation from Buster had been raw then. Painful.