by Sandra Hill
“And ain’t that somethin’? Every time I think we tagged all of that horndog Valcour LeDeux’s chillen, another one shows up. Wish I could get that man out of mah mind. He’s lak a booger what can’t be thumped off. Oops, sorry fer sayin’ bad things ’bout yer daddy.”
“Hah! Daddy has never been much of a daddy to me. Or to Luc, Remy, René, Tee-John, Daniel, Aaron, or now this Simone, and God only knows who else. Let’s not talk about him anymore. I just get depressed.”
Ain’t that the truth? Louise unlocked the door and went through the small living room and directly into her kitchen.
Charmaine followed and immediately opened the fridge and took out a pitcher of cold sweet tea, pouring a glass for each of them.
Louise took a couple beignets out of the bread drawer and set them on a plate in the center of the table. “I got some leftover shrimp and grits with andouille sausage, if yer hungry,” she said.
“No, this will be enough. Rusty is makin’ barbecue fer dinner.”
Louise sat down wearily and looked around. Her kitchen was a charming room, if she did say so herself, with red-and-white checkered curtains and a matching tablecloth over an old 1940s red-and-white speckled porcelain enamel table on metal legs with four red leatherette chairs.
Off the kitchen was a pantry holding all of Louise’s traiteur remedies. There was only a single window, but it provided enough light for her to handle her herbs and potions with mortar and pestle on the butcher block table in its center without going squinty-eyed. Even out here in the kitchen, she could smell the pungent dried herbs that hung from the pantry ceiling. Glass containers with handwritten labels were arranged on the floor-to-ceiling shelves, containing all the medicinal remedies she’d gathered from old and new recipes, some of them decades, even centuries old. The grandchildren always got a kick out of looking at jars holding the novel items, like alligator hearts, or possum tails, or frog tongues.
Enough with the reminiscing! “Back ta our matchmaking mission,” Louise said, sitting down at the table across from Charmaine who’d just taken a bite of her beignet and sighed with pleasure. “I doan know fer sure, but I’m thinkin’ Daniel is in most need of lovin’. He’s got the blue devils badder’n I’ve ever seen. Well, no wonder! That boy has had a lot of rain in his life, bein’ a children’s cancer doctor. What he needs is some rainbows, of course.”
“Of course.” Charmaine was probably being sarcastic. She licked the sugar off her fingers, then wiped them on a St. Jude napkin. “And we’re gonna bring him rainbows? With a love match?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m afraid ta ask. Do ya have anyone in mind fer him.”
“Samantha Starr.”
“Lawdy!” Charmaine said. “Those two don’t even like each other.”
“Charmaine! How ya ever gonna take over fer me, if ya doan learn nothin’?”
“Huh? Take over what?” Charmaine narrowed her eyes with suspicion.
“Mah jobs.”
Charmaine’s suspicion turned quickly to alarm. “Tante Lulu! Is something wrong? Did you go to the doctor? Is it your heart?”
“I’m fine. But I won’t allus be around, and someone’s gotta be willin’ ta step inta mah shoes.”
Charmaine exhaled with relief, as if she’d been holding her breath. “I have enough to do with mah beauty salons without becoming a folk healer, too.”
“I’m not talkin’ ’bout mah traiteur bizness. I got plenty of folks willin’ ta take that over, includin’ Grace Sabato. She knows almost as much about herbs as I do. And I got it in mah will that Luc takes over mah charities . . . Jude’s Angels, fer instance. Tee-John already tends mah garden, even if he does say some bad words when he gots ta hoe around the okra. I better not look down from heaven one day and see my garden gone ta seed. And I’m gonna bequeath Useless ta Remy.”
“I thought it was Remy who pushed that gator off on you in the first place.”
“I’m pushin’ back. Oh, not right away. Doan go gettin’ that scaredy-cat look in yer eyes again. But eventually.”
“Okay, Grace, the folk healing; Luc, the charities; Tee-John, gardening; Remy, the gator. What about René?”
“Oh, he’s gonna take over the Cajun Village People acts in the future.”
Charmaine grinned. Probably with relief that she’d escaped that one.
Years ago, the LeDeux family started putting on music and dance revues modeled on the old Village People acts. Usually they were done in conjunction with one of Louise’s matchmaking ventures.
“How about Daniel, Aaron, and Simone?”
“I’ll think of something fer them later.”
“Okay. I’ll bite. What do you have in mind for me? Keep in mind I have a chain of beauty salons to run, and my daughter is a teenager now. Mary Lou is a handful.”
“Pfff! Those beauty parlors practic’ly run themselves now. And Mary Lou is the best behaved teenager I ever met. Spends all her spare time with her daddy runnin’ the ranch. You should be thankin’ yer stars fer all yer blessings. I know all about wild teenagers, believe me. I pretty much raised Tee-John, dint I?”
Louise could see her pondering the words. “You’re right. I am blessed. So, again I ask, what do ya have in mind?”
“Sort of a family matriarch.”
“Huh? What? Like Dynasty, or Dallas, or Downton Abbey?”
“Like me. Oh, doan go all scary eyed again. I’m not plannin’ on kickin’ the bucket anytime soon. It’s a role ya gotta ease into.”
Charmaine rolled her eyes.
Folks did that a lot around Louise. As if she wouldn’t notice!
“Tante Lulu! I’m not even a blood relative.”
“Bite yer tongue, girl. Yer as much mah family as the boys.”
“I know, I know,” Charmaine said, with tears in her eyes. “Your adopted niece then.”
“Hmpfh! Mah niece Adele was married ta Valcour LeDeux, and I stepped in ta take care of her chillen when Adele died . . . Luc, Remy and René, which would make them mah grand-nephews, I s’pose. Or great-nephews. Whatever. Then that Valcour married Jolie and had Tee-John, who also was in need of mah help. So, technically, Tee-John’s not mah blood kin, either, but I’ll go ta mah grave callin’ him mah nephew. So, it doan matter if yer mama got involved with Valcour, too, and no Rivard blood was passed on. When ya came ta me fer help, did I say, no, ’cause yer not mah blood kin?”
Charmaine leaned down and hugged Louise, clearly realizing how much she’d riled her up. Louise had tears in her eyes, too, probably had mascara running down her cheeks.
“So, it’s settled. Yer mah ‘niece,’ blood or not.”
“Okay.”
“So, are ya agreein’ ta be the family matriarch, too?”
“Oh, I doan know. Aren’t I a little young to be a matriarch?”
“I been a matriarch since I was yer age. What are ya implyin’ here?”
Charmaine put up her hands in surrender. “What exactly does a matriarch do?”
“A matriarch is the go-to person fer anyone in trouble. But ya gotta sniff out trouble, too. Lak a detective. And matchmakin’, of course.”
“In other words, a busybody.”
“Zackly!”
“Lawdy!”
“One more thing,” Louise said. “I’m worried about Richard.”
“Richard who?”
“Fer shame, girl! There’s only one Richard fer me. Richard Simmons.” She sighed. For many years, Louise had been a fan of the exercise guru. What a hottie!
“Why are you worried about Richard Simmons?”
“I haven’t seen him on TV lately. Mebbe he’s sick. Mebbe he got fat and doesn’t want anyone ta see him. Mebbe terrorists are holdin’ him fer ransom. Mebbe aliens have come down and kidnapped him. Mebbe we should go to Hollywood and check it out.”
“No! Absolutely not! This is where I draw the line. No Richard Simmons. No Hollywood. No whacko road trips.”
“Whatever ya say, Charmaine,” Louise agreed.
“Yeah, right.” Charmaine sighed. “You got any bourbon fer this tea?”
Chapter Seven
There was no escaping him anywhere . . .
When Samantha’s alarm went off that morning, she realized that she’d been in the midst of yet another of the alarming sex dreams that had been plaguing her lately. Nightmares, really, because they starred that irritating, full-of-himself, condescending Daniel LeDeux, of all people.
Ever since she’d met the twins at John LeDeux’s wedding a few years back, she intermittently ran into the evil twin, Daniel. Hard to avoid anyone named LeDeux here in the South, but especially hard for Samantha, who had so many personal connections with Luc and with Tante Lulu through their joint efforts in the Hope Foundation.
Daniel wasn’t really evil, of course, but he was irritating to the point of madness. Usually, Samantha would avoid someone so toxic to her well-being, but she couldn’t avoid running into the man every couple months as he bee-bopped in and out of Louisiana . . . when he wasn’t holed up in that old fishing camp like a self-absorbed hermit. When it came to brooding, he gave Heathcliff a bad name.
Just being a doctor was bad enough in her book, of course, because of her experience with Nick and his buddies who obsessed over material things . . . biggest boat, most expensive car, higher income. Yes, she knew it was unfair to lump all physicians together. She couldn’t help herself, though.
As for Daniel, she hadn’t seen any evidence of greed . . . so far. But each time they met, like at the periodic meetings of the Hope Foundation board on which they both served, thanks to Tante Lulu’s bulldozer persuasion methods, he said or did something to annoy her, deliberately.
So why would she be having erotic dreams about such a man?
It was a puzzle.
Freud would have a field day analyzing the whys and wherefores of her apparently hidden attraction to the man.
The more likely scenario was that the meddling maniac of the bayou, Tante Lulu, had probably put some kind of curse on her. Not that Samantha believed in curses, or voodoo, or even the old lady’s faith in St. Jude miracles.
She was over thirty years old. No longer a slave to her hormones like she’d been when she’d gone brain dead and married Nick more than ten years ago while he’d still been in medical school. Hard to believe the gall of the jerk to demand alimony at their divorce trial seven years ago, but she’d thought that was all over two years ago when Judge Pitre, bless her heart, had denied his request for additional alimony and issued a temporary restraining order because of his harassment. Now, it was starting all over again. The man never gave up!
Last week he’d reached new lows by filing yet another court petition, this time a lawsuit, claiming she’d lied in initial hearings regarding her financial statements and demanding a million dollars in punitive damages.
“That guy must have balls the size of soccer balls,” Luc had remarked on relaying that latest news.
To which she had responded, “Yeah, but an itty bitty penis.”
“We should put that in an amended reply.” Luc had been half serious.
“Can we?” she’d asked.
“Unfortunately, no.” Luc had grinned at her. “But maybe you could accidentally blurt it out at our next hearing.”
She should have known better than to marry Nick. Really. What man with movie star good looks and enough charm to peel a grape would look twice at an overly tall, auburn-haired woman with splotchy freckles all over her body? He’d pointed out her shortcomings ad nauseam, but only after the wedding certificates had been signed, and then only in the slyest manner. Like, “Do you really think you should wear that red dress, darlin’? It makes your freckles look like zits.” Or, “Have you gained weight, honey?” Or, “A woman as big . . . um, as tall as you . . . really should avoid heels.”
So, why was she dreaming about another too good-looking man who clearly did not like her any more than she liked him? Shaking her head with disgust, she sat up and turned off the still shrilling alarm.
But then, cued by the alarm clock, her family began to awaken and come to say “hello.”
“Woof, woof!” said Axel, her German Shepherd the size of a pony, who’d been ancient when she adopted him two years ago and was even more ancient now. He would have jumped up onto the bed beside her if he was able. Axel had recovered from his broken hip; German Shepherds were genetically predisposed to hip problems anyway, but the wise ol’ guy knew his limitations and avoided jumping wherever possible. His bald patches had filled in. And she no longer noticed that half of one ear was gone. Despite being in better health, he would not be winning the Westminster dog show anytime soon.
“Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip!” Five orphaned, thankfully crate-trained, three-month-old puppies of indeterminate breed announced their presence from their downstairs cage. Adoptions had already been arranged for the cuties. So many abused and abandoned animals to be rescued! Her fostering efforts had started two years ago as a security measure, but she had discovered she was a soft touch for animals about to be put down for lack of adoptive owners. Who was she kidding? It probably fed some maternal yearning of hers for children.
Axel would miss this particular bunch of puppies. He’d taken over their care from the beginning, almost like a mother dog with its litter, which was a miracle considering Axel was a castrated male.
“Meow!” Sleeping at the foot of the bed, but now yawning awake, was Madeline, her gorgeous Savannah cat. Maddie, also one of her initial adoptees, had been a hard animal to adopt out, despite her beauty, because she resembled a small cheetah and scared families with children. Savannahs were hybrid cats with both domestic and wild blood. Although Savannahs could be sweet and affectionate, Maddie had been mistreated, causing her to have trust issues. Samantha liked to think she and Maddie, now a permanent member of her “family,” were soul sisters.
There were three other cats, Garfield, Felix, and Max, rambling around her large home, tough-as-nails, indoor/outdoor critters. They were a Maine coon breed, who came in when they chose, not when she directed. These were recent entries into her home which she’d thought would have been adopted by now. She wondered idly, the blasted dream still lingering in her mind, whether the LeDeux brothers might not need mousers at their new home on Bayou Black. A bleepin’ plantation, for heaven’s sake! Hadn’t Tante Lulu mentioned the possibility of the twins sheltering animals in some of their outbuildings?
Maybe, she thought with a grin, she ought to put bows on them, and take them for a housewarming gift to the brooding Daniel. He needed something to lighten him up.
Or maybe she ought to take others from her menagerie. A good choice would be Clarence, the foul-mouthed cockatoo whose lone vocabulary was “Holy shit!” usually said at the most inappropriate times. Or Emily, the small potbellied pig with a serious case of depression due to a broken heart. (Yes, a depressed pig. And small only compared to other pigs. Emily weighed in at about sixty pounds.) Or how about the goat? Oh, Lord, would she like to unload Grumpy! And, yes, he and Doctor Grumpy would get along just great. There were also a few ducks, one goose, and an honest-to-God miniature llama in the middle of the Big Easy. Thankfully, she’d been able to get rid of the two peacocks she’d gotten originally from the rescue farm. Her neighbors had complained, with good reason, about the peacocks’ screeching cries. She expected the same fate for the llama, ducks, goose, and goat, and she’d warned the rescue center, “No more outdoor animals!”
Over the past two years, she’d probably fostered two hundred different animals in her home. The worst had been a monkey named Eli. He’d thrown food and feces at her or anyone who got near his cage, and masturbated constantly. Eew! Never again! She’d also drawn the line at snakes and rodents.
Her family thought she was crazy and said she was compensating for lack of a real family.
Well, yeah!
The daughter of wealthy divorced parents, she’d never really had a normal family life, just boarding schools. Her father was
on his fifth wife . . . six if you counted the brief five-day marriage to that Bourbon Street stripper. Her mother, a quintessential jet-setter, lived in the South of France, and supported one boy toy after another.
Neither parent had ever had much time for her. As a result, Samantha had always yearned for a large family of her own. A man who loved her, with at least three, maybe five children. And that’s exactly what Nick had promised her. Turns out, he’d never wanted children, despite his promises before their marriage. In fact, he’d had a vasectomy without telling her.
She could only imagine what Daniel would say if he knew her pathetic life story, or if he saw her current “family.” His sarcasm would be unavoidable.
Ah, well, Samantha thought, as she got out of bed and padded down the stairs and out to the kitchen where she opened the door for Axel to go out and do his business. She put on the coffeepot, and began the lengthy process of feeding her own personal zoo. It was a Sunday; so, she wouldn’t be going into the office, but she planned to do some work as the director of the Hope Foundation, a growing operation founded by Starr Foods after that horrible hurricane devastated her town, and which expanded a few years ago to take the LeDeux family’s Jude’s Angels under its umbrella, mostly at the instigation of Tante Lulu.
To her annoyance, the erotic dream stayed with her for a long time. While she drank her coffee. While she fed the animals. While she studied her budget and put together an agenda for the next board meeting. While she took a shower and dressed for the day.
Good thing she was the only one who knew about it.
It was her dirty little secret.
The Awakening, non-Kate Chopin style . . .
Daniel awakened in his garconniére bedroom, sunlight streaming through the open windows, more contented than he’d felt in years.
Hell! Who wouldn’t be contented after the wet dream of the century? And with stone-cold Samantha Starr, of all people, who wouldn’t touch his cock with a ten-foot pole. Man, he thought with a smile, wouldn’t he enjoy telling her about the dream? She’d probably faint with disgust.
