“No! Parker, I can’t. Not today.” She saw the hurt spread over his face. Oh, this was terrible.
“When?” he asked, his voice soft and even.
“I don’t know.”
“Tomorrow after school?”
She shook her head.
“Wednesday?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
He dug his hands into his jacket. “I get it.” And without another word he walked off to the parking lot.
“Parker, don’t be like that!” Southern Belle’s Handbook, Rule Number Eight: A girl who lets a boy go away mad risks letting him go for good. “Parker!” she called. She wanted to run after him, to tell him not to be mad at her, tease him out of it, but there just wasn’t time. She didn’t know what would happen if she were late. Bourrée wasn’t the type to wait around.
So there she was, standing in the cemetery with the icy rain beating on her and mud oozing up around her tennis shoes. She’d been there over an hour, but Bourrée was nowhere in sight.
BOURRÉE WAS WARMING his hands in front of the gas heater. When the bone-chilling rain started, he’d let his tree-cutting crew go and retreated to the office of the sawmill in which he was a part owner.
Maurice DeStephano, the mill’s manager, was pouring them shots of whiskey and recounting a fight that had broken out at the mill the day before. “So then this big, fat mammy comes to the door and she yells, ‘LeRoy!’ and course LeRoy hides, ’cause she’s gotta outweigh him by a good hundred pounds.” Maurice cracked up as he handed Bourrée the drink. “But where does that dumb nigger hide? Over the rotary saw!” Now Maurice was laughing so hard he was choking as he tried to describe the ensuing fight. Bourrée smiled his hard, mean smile and walked over to one of the windows. He made a circle in the steam and looked out. Then he grabbed his coat. “Wait! Wait, you ain’t heard the best part.” But Bourrée banged out the door without waiting to hear whose flesh they’d picked out of the saw’s teeth. He’d seen Sissy emerging through the drizzle.
He caught up with her in the parking lot and pulled her behind his truck, where they were hidden from the office and from the men carrying logs into the mill. “What the hell are you doing here?” He gripped her arm hard.
“I waited for you in the cemetery as long as I could.” Her hair was plastered to her head, and her legs under her short skirt were chapped and gray with goose bumps. She slid her hand into his sleeve, searching for warmth. She didn’t find it.
He pulled back, exposing her freezing hand to the elements. “Hunting season’s over, girl. I told you that last Friday.”
“But I didn’t think that meant …You didn’t say anything about…” Her teeth were chattering now, and tears mixed with the rain slid down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes and left streaks of mud on her nose. “I didn’t think we were over, too.”
“All good things must come to an end.” His voice softened. He wiped her nose with his thumb.
His touch warmed her. He continued talking, but Sissy couldn’t concentrate on what Bourrée said when he was touching her. She put his hard hand to her lips and kissed it. Then she stepped in close and slipped her hand between his legs. “Don’t you want me anymore?”
A mill hand came out of the Colored Only washroom and caught sight of them. His teeth flashed through the gloom, and Sissy heard him chuckle. But she was beyond caring.
Bourrée yanked her hand away. “Stop it!” he growled, jerking her back into the shadows.
She was stunned by his anger. “I just want to be with you.” It was so simple, why didn’t he see it?
“Where? Where you gonna be with me in a little town like this? You tell me!”
He’d always talked so brave, like he didn’t care what anybody thought. Now he sounded like everyone else. She was swamped with grief. It was the same feeling of sudden abandonment she’d felt when they put Norman in the ground. “No!” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.
But instead of taking her in his arms, he moved away from her. No! She stepped forward, shaking her head. But he kept backing away! She had to stop him. She had to make him see they belonged together. She threw her arms around him, still sobbing. “I’ll find us a place. I’ll find a place where we can be together.”
It was five and the mill hands were leaving. They averted their eyes, but Sissy heard the whispers. “Mr. Bourrée’s got him some young meat.” “Umm-hummm!” And she saw the grins they couldn’t hide.
He held her stiffly at arm’s length and hissed, “Cut it out, girl. I’ve got a family.”
“Why’d you take up with me, then, if you knew all along you were going to dump me?”
Bourrée dropped his arms and shrugged. “You looked lonely lying there, your skirt pulled up, playing with yourself.”
Sissy hit him as hard as she could. Bourrée was primed to hit her back, but she saw him check himself. His men were watching them, chuckling, saying, “Man ought to be ashamed of hisself, carrying on like that.”
Bourrée broke away. “When you get older, Sissy, you’ll learn to take your fun where you find it,” he said and walked past her toward the office.
She called after him, her voice raspy and hard. “This isn’t fun for me, Bourrée!”
“Life’s uneven,” he said as he opened the office door and went inside.
Maurice was closing up. He gave Bourrée a peculiar look and started to say something. Then he thought better of it. “You still gonna be able to give me a lift?”
“Sure am,” Bourrée said, finishing his whiskey, pouring himself another, and then pouring another for Maurice. He was waiting for the girl to leave.
IT WAS DARK when they finally emerged. But Sissy was still there, waiting for him in the rain, next to his truck, hidden on the driver’s side. Her head was bowed. He had to push her aside to open the door.
Sissy swung up onto the running board. Her hair was wet and wild and falling in her face. No matter what, she couldn’t stand the thought of him abandoning her, too. “Bourrée, don’t go! I’m sorry. It was just…”
Bourrée gave her a look that would freeze a whore. Then he turned to his partner and said, “Maurice, this here’s Hugh Thompson’s girl. She’s been seeing my son.”
Maurice said something polite that made Sissy want to scream, but she didn’t. She just stared at Bourrée with fading hope. He spoke to her as if to a small child. “I’ll talk to Peewee, sugar. I’ll tell him how upset you are. But you’re gonna have to let go of the truck, you hear?”
He started the engine. The truck lurched and Sissy fell backward into the mud. An old colored mill hand walked up and bent over her. “You hurt?”
Sissy nodded yes, but denied it with her words: “I’m fine, thank you, just fine.” He helped her up gently. And then after a few more words of concern and advice and an offer to give her a lift, he piled into an old, rickety truck with some other men. Sissy was left alone in the dark.
The icy rain beat down on her, but she didn’t move. Her fingers turned blue and still she didn’t move. Bourrée’s words were playing over and over in her mind: “This here’s Hugh Thompson’s girl. She’s been seeing my son.” Finally a bitter smile spread over her face and Sissy knew how to take her revenge.
PEEWEE WAS HUNCHED over his notebook drawing the circuitry of an imaginary radio when a girl in a tight red skirt placed her butt right on top of his hand! A deep blush spread up from his collar over his neck and face and landed in his ears. He heard giggles and looked up.
It was Sissy Thompson. Sissy! The popular kids were always picking on him, but Sissy never had. She’d always been real nice, saying hello and everything. Maybe she was on some kind of dare. He pulled his hand out from under her, feeling the soft flesh move as he did. Oh man! But he said only, “You’re on my paper.”
She smiled down at him and said, “Oh, I’m so sorry,” and sort of slithered off his desk. Then she turned and leaned over. He had to duck his eyes or he’d be looking right into her blouse! “What
you got there?” she asked.
Should he snatch up the paper and hide it? She was smiling at him as if she meant it, but they always sucked you in like that. Of course she’d smiled at him just the other day in the hall. And she’d said hello that afternoon in Hopper’s Drugs.
Before he could make up his mind what to do, he was saved by the arrival of Miss Rose, their European history teacher.
Sissy went back to her desk, rubbing her behind where his fingers had been. She looked at him over her shoulder and whispered, “You’ve got real nice hands.” Then she hid her face in her book.
Jeeze! What did she mean by that?
“Turn to page eighty-four,” said Miss Rose. Peewee opened the book, but he was looking at his hands. Nice? They were stubby and broad like his father’s. What was nice about them? He looked around the room.
“The only way we can understand the war in Europe today is to understand the past.” Miss Rose pulled down a historical map of Europe. Everybody was hunched over their notebooks taking furious notes. Miss Rose pointed to the middle of the map and started talking about the Holy Roman Empire. Peewee put the hand that had been under Sissy up to his nose and inhaled. He didn’t smell anything special, so he sniffed the paper.
He was leaning over it when Sissy turned around. He whipped it away and hid it under the desk.
She smiled and bit her lips.
He was in for it now. He didn’t know what that smile meant, but it couldn’t mean anything good.
When the bell rang, he took his time packing up his books. He figured if he dawdled just long enough, they’d have to go to their next class and he’d still have time to make his.
But when he walked into the hall, she was there, surrounded by what looked like the whole cheerleading squad. He tried to make a dash for it, but she detached herself from the group and hurried after him.
“Hey, Peewee, wait up.”
“I gotta go to class.” He kept his head down and his books clutched to his body. She had to run after him.
She couldn’t believe it. She was running down the hall after Peewee LeBlanc! “Now, you just stop it!” she called and was gratified to have him stop. Boys were sure a lot easier than men. She ought to make that a rule, but she forgot all about the Southern Belle’s Handbook when he turned and she looked right into Bourrée’s eyes. The swamp of misery she’d sunk into and tried to banish with her outrageous flirting was everywhere. A lump grew in her throat that made her voice sound all husky and hesitant. “I just wanted to ask you to come over to the house tonight and study with me.”
“I don’t think so.”
Peewee LeBlanc turning down Sissy Thompson! She couldn’t let that happen. “Please, you’ve just got to help me.”
“Why me?”
She gazed into those pale blue eyes and said, “Because I think you’re really smart.” He looked at her as if she were crazy, so she went on very fast. “I know you’ve always been real quiet in class, but that’s ’cause you’re shy.” No boy she knew could resist flattery like that. “Come on, say you will. I’m going to flunk the test if I don’t get some help.”
He looked like a rabbit sniffing a trap. “I don’t think I can.”
“Peewee!” A look of annoyance crossed her face. The boy was a real drip. But then she quickly bent her head and looked up at him through her lashes. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll be home studying at seven-thirty with a whole pot of coffee. And if you don’t come, I’ll be forced to drink it all by myself and by ten I’ll have a tizzy fit and it’ll be your fault.”
“Well…” he said as the second bell rang.
“Say you’ll come.”
“I gotta go.” He sped off to his next class.
“I’ll be waiting, seven-thirty,” she called after him.
Sissy turned and saw Amy Lou Hopper giving her a look. Don’t worry, Sissy thought. I’ll send him back to you when I’m done with him, and he’ll be as good as new. Better. He may even have the nerve to ask you out.
DOREEN AND BETTY Ruth came up to Sissy in home ec class while she was stirring her slime stew. Miss Loretta, their teacher, had gotten it into her head to teach the girls to cook what she called in her high-pitched, fluttery voice “indigenous foods.” And then some fool farmer had donated okra. Well, she’d cook it, thought Sissy, but she wouldn’t eat it.
Doreen stuck her head near the pot. “Owww, your slime smells even worse than my slime.”
“If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, who do you think we’re gonna catch with this?” asked Betty Ruth.
“I’ll bet old Peewee LeBlanc would eat it if Sissy fed it to him,” said Doreen, giggling.
“What you doing with him, anyway?” Betty Ruth asked.
“I’m gonna save him,” said Sissy, throwing a shake of Tabasco into the pot for Miss Loretta’s benefit, so they’d look like they were doing something.
“Uh-huh,” said Doreen. “That’ll be the day.”
“He’s not so bad. He’s just shy and doesn’t know how to dress, that’s all.” She thought of his hands, those short, stubby hands. “I could help him.”
“What suddenly gave you the urge to take up missionary work?” Betty Ruth wanted to know.
“I don’t know, I’m just full of urges,” said Sissy. The girls broke up at that and Miss Loretta told them to mind their own pots.
“What’s really going on? You can tell us,” whispered Doreen across the stove.
“Nothing!” Sissy said innocently. “Can’t a girl do a good deed?”
“Yeah, well, if you want to do a real good deed, just send Parker to me and I’ll satisfy a whole lot of urges,” said Betty Ruth.
Doreen giggled and Sissy said, “You better keep your painted fingernails off Parker, you hear?”
“Girls!” said Miss Loretta, clapping her hands. “That’s enough.”
Doreen watched Sissy dreamily stir and burn her stew. She turned to Betty Ruth and whispered, “What do you think she wants with Peewee?”
“I don’t know, but whatever it is, Peewee better watch out.”
PEEWEE WALKED OUT onto the football field as if he owned it. He was taking an article to the head cheerleader. He adjusted his glasses proudly. He’d been over to her house every night this week. He hadn’t actually gotten up the nerve to talk about much beside European history yet, but he would as soon as he thought she was ready.
Of course, he knew she was going steady with Parker Davidson and he respected that. Especially since they hadn’t gone out for almost two months and Sissy explained that while Parker was a great football star, he wasn’t so much fun to study with. Peewee took a deep breath. Fun to study with! That’s me. Fun. Sissy said so.
He saw Parker out on the field with Doreen McAlister and veered over to the sideline.
Doreen’s face was alive with the drama and the sadness of her revelation. “I hate to be the one to tell you, because I’ve always considered Sissy my very best friend, but she’s been with him every night this week.”
“Come off it, Doreen,” Parker said with the easy grace of confidence.
“Have you tried to call her?”
“Yeah, every night. And she was always there.”
“Have any long conversations?”
That stopped him. Then he said, “This whole thing’s crazy. If Sissy’s been with Peewee LeBlanc, she must have had a good reason. Maybe she was helping him with an assignment.”
“Maybe, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.” Doreen pushed back her long blond hair and looked ever-so-sympathetic, but at the same time she stood so he could see her breasts protruding from beneath her cheerleader sweater. He knew Doreen was proud of her large breasts.
Parker took her by the arm and turned her around so she could see Peewee strutting across the football field, clutching his books to him. “You telling me that’s my competition?” Doreen had to giggle. “The day I have to worry about Peewee LeBlanc is the day I’m gonna give up on girls.”
; “Well, I do hope that day never comes,” she said, twisting a strand of golden hair around her finger, “because I’m sure if you and Sissy ever really broke up, half the girls in the school would be standing in line to console you.”
He laughed. He was too happy to worry about gossip, even though he’d been hearing about Peewee all week. Parker was going out with Sissy that very night. Officially. Their separation was over. The coach blew his whistle. Parker started to run onto the field and then turned back to Doreen. “You want some brotherly advice?”
She hesitated a moment and then said bright and hard, “Of course. I always want to improve myself.”
“Stop bad-mouthing your very best friend,” he said, and trotted out onto the field as Doreen ran to the sidelines, her face red with humiliation.
SISSY WAS LYING on the ground in front of the stadium. Miss Robbie and the coach had just about practiced her to death. They’d wanted to see if their head cheerleader could travel the length of the football field doing cartwheels. They found out.
She couldn’t.
And she didn’t care. Sissy lay there with her eyes shut until the ground stopped whirling around her. When she opened them and lifted her head, she saw Bourrée swaggering across the rotating football field. The swamp of misery began to dry up. She sat up, smoothing down her hair. But then the stadium stopped turning, and she saw it was only Peewee.
She gave him her hand. He held it for a moment, as if he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with it. So she said, “You just gonna leave me on the ground or what?”
He blushed and apologized and pulled her up. “I brought that science article, the one I told you about.” He shuffled through his books and papers until he found a copy of Popular Mechanics.
“That was so sweet of you! You came all the way out here to give me this!” She said it as if she meant it, enjoying the effect she had on him.
Peewee took a deep breath and grinned. “I was proud to do it. Do you want to study tonight?”
She put on her best look of regret. “Oh, Peewee, I can’t.” The Letter Club was holding its Awards Dinner that evening.
The Scandalous Summer of Sissy LeBlanc Page 21
