Love, Cajun Style
Page 15
“I think the women whose bodies are imperfect are the most beautiful,” Evie said.
She was staring at a painting on the far left. I crept over beside her on my hands and knees. The painting looked like one from the eighteenth century. Rays of sunlight seemed to dance over the woman’s large body. Her long brown hair cascaded over her breasts.
“Evie?”
“Hmm?”
“That’s Tante Pearl.”
“I know.”
Jaybirds
Daddy and I had agreed to accompany Mama to Mr. Savoi’s open house. She said we were to be ready by six o’clock. When I got home from work that day, I immediately knew she’d been in one of her benevolent moods.
“Lucy, help me bring these plates of food out to the van,” she said.
Mama makes her turtle candy with semisweet chocolate chips, maple syrup, and pecan halves. She makes her Cajun mimosas with Asti and a touch of Tabasco sauce. I love Mama’s turtle candy. I love her Cajun mimosas, too. But I wasn’t the least bit fond of her making them for Mr. Savoi’s open house. It seemed to me with all the cooking lessons she’d been giving him, he could make his own food.
“I don’t see why you had to do all this cooking,” I told her as I was carrying a couple of trays outside.
“It isn’t often culture visits our town, and when it does we should give it our finest welcome,” she said.
I decided it best not to push the subject any further.
When she got home from delivering her preparations, I was in the shower.
“Wear something nice tonight,” she hollered through the door.
“Why?” I hollered back.
“A lady should always dress for the occasion.”
I didn’t have a clue what I was going to wear. It might not have mattered so much if Dewey wasn’t going to be there.
I wrapped myself in a towel and walked back to my bedroom. Laid out across my bed was a black dress with spaghetti straps and sequins embroidered across the bodice. I thought it must be Mama’s, but when I held it up I saw the tag. It was a size ten and marked “Tall.” Mama didn’t wear a size ten. She wore a size six. Mama didn’t wear dresses marked “Tall,” either.
I combed out my long black hair and dabbed a little of Ethel Lee’s Amour Oil behind my ears. I fixed up my eyes with her waterproof eyeliner and mascara. For my birthday Ethel Lee had given me a tube of steamy red lip gloss. I never thought I’d want to wear red, but that night, I applied some of it, too. Standing in front of the full-length mirror attached to my closet door, I stepped into that black dress, pulled the straps up onto my shoulders, and ran the zipper up my back. The dress hugged my small breasts and waistline. I stared into the mirror, hardly recognizing myself. Am I beautiful? I wondered.
I still wasn’t happy about Mama’s helping Mr. Savoi, but seeing myself in the dress she’d picked out for me, somehow all that anger inside of me seemed to wane. I couldn’t believe she’d bought me a black dress. Mama always said a woman shouldn’t wear black until she was eighteen, unless she was dressing up for Halloween.
When I came down the stairs, Daddy was in the kitchen making himself a sandwich since Mama wasn’t fixing dinner that night. He turned around as my black heels tapped against the floor.
“Lucy Marie,” he said, staring at me. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
“You like it?” I asked, afraid he wouldn’t approve.
“I wasn’t sure I had the right size,” he said.
“You bought this?”
“Doesn’t a dad have a right to spoil his little girl?”
I was shocked. I walked over to him and put my arms around his neck. “Thank you.”
He hugged me so tight, I didn’t want to ever let go.
Daddy drove Mama and me over to the gallery. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d all ridden together as a family. I knew Mama didn’t approve of my black dress, but she didn’t say anything. She wasn’t wearing black. She was wearing a long apricot skirt with a cream-colored shell and pearls. I thought she looked beautiful. I wanted Daddy to tell her she looked beautiful, but he didn’t.
Daddy wasn’t wearing his jeans. He’d put on a pair of khakis and a black blazer, his dark hair brushing against the collar in the back. I thought I smelled a trace of cologne on him, but I wasn’t sure.
Daddy didn’t say anything on the drive over to the gallery. Mama didn’t say anything, either. I’d never known my mama to ride anywhere without saying something. I hated all that silence. I wished Daddy would turn on the radio.
We pulled up in front of the post office. After Daddy parked, he walked around to Mama’s side, but she’d already opened her door for herself.
“We don’t want to be late,” she said as she climbed out and shut the door behind her.
We followed Mama down the sidewalk to the exhibit hall. In front of the gallery’s window, roses and ivy petunias surrounded a sign on an easel. THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER, the sign read. I couldn’t help but think of all the women Mr. Savoi’s eyes had beheld.
Inside, a cellist and a flutist had arranged themselves in one of the corners. I didn’t recognize the musicians, and knew they must be from out of town.
Mama seemed to have read my thoughts, because she leaned close to my ear and said, “They’re from New Orleans. Victor hired them from the Chamber Symphony.”
There were a lot of things I didn’t care for lately, and one of them was my mama slipping in the mention of Mr. Savoi’s first name.
Scattered around the room were small round tables draped in white linen with parfait chairs, and in the center of each table was an antique glass vase holding a single red rose. I didn’t recall Daddy getting an order for a dozen red roses, and wondered if they’d come from New Orleans, too. No one was sitting at the tables. As I glanced around the room, I realized no one was looking at the paintings, either.
Daddy disappeared into a group of people near the food and drinks. Ethel Lee walked up to Mama. “Isn’t this wonderful?”
A flash went off from somewhere behind me. As I turned around, I saw Mitchell Priest, the editor of the Sweetbay Times. He was taking a picture of Mr. Savoi and Dewey in front of Mr. Savoi’s display. That was the first time I’d seen Dewey since I’d arrived. He was wearing a long-sleeve white sweater with a pair of pleated gray slacks. I knew Mama would have thought he looked refined. His hair was blonder than when I’d first met him, bleached out by the sun. His skin was tan against the white of his sweater. He didn’t resemble his dad, I realized. I thought of his mom and wondered what had happened to her. And as I stood there looking at him, I saw something in his eyes that made my heart ache. Mama had said Mr. Savoi was a widower. I wanted to tell Dewey I was sorry for whatever had happened to his mom.
I glanced at the display behind him, instantly relieved that a replica of Mama’s bare body wasn’t there.
Daddy brought me a cup of punch and Mama one of her Cajun mimosas.
“J.C., isn’t this wonderful?” Ethel Lee said.
Daddy smiled.
“And to think we have a genuine artist living right here,” Mama said.
I turned to look at Daddy, but he wasn’t there anymore. Then I saw Evie and Billy sitting at one of the tables, each with a plate of food in front of them. I walked over to join them. That’s when Dewey broke away from his father and Mr. Priest.
He gently took me by the arm and leaned his face close to mine. “God, you look beautiful.”
No one in Sweetbay talked like that. They didn’t say “God” unless they were uttering a prayer.
Dewey told me to go ahead and sit down and he’d bring me some food. I sat next to Evie.
“You’re a knockout,” Billy told me.
No sooner had Billy said that than a loud voice rang out, “Mitchell, you’re going to have to move. I can’t see a thing with you and that camera in the way.” Miss Balfa had arrived.
Mitchell begged her pardon and stepped aside. Mitchell was almost as big as T
ante Pearl.
“Well, they’re as butt naked as a jaybird, aren’t they?” Miss Balfa said.
Billy started to laugh. Evie and I laughed, too.
“Hey, Pearl, that looks like you,” Miss Balfa called out.
I hadn’t seen my Tante Pearl, but sure enough she appeared from a group of people, not looking the least bit embarrassed.
“I studied some guy in college who painted up women like this,” Miss Balfa said. “I had to take an art history class.”
Mr. Savoi appeared behind Miss Balfa. “Heironymus Bosch?” he asked.
“Mm-hmm,” Miss Balfa said. “Are you related?”
Mr. Savoi laughed. “Perhaps you would let me paint you sometime,” he said.
Miss Balfa said, “Perhaps not,” then headed over to Ms. Pitre’s crab-stuffed mushrooms and crawfish dip. Ms. Pitre had been cooking all day, too.
Dewey handed me a plate of food and pulled up a chair beside me. As he sat down, his knee touched mine underneath the table, sending a wonderful warmth tingling through my skin. He didn’t move it away. He just kept it right where it was, so I kept my knee right where it was, too.
He shook Billy’s hand. “I’m Dewey,” he said.
“Billy Jacques. So this is all your dad’s doing?” Billy asked.
“Yeah. He always wanted to open a gallery.”
“Nice,” Billy said.
A hand pressed against my back. It wasn’t Dewey’s. Dewey’s hands were on the table.
“We tried to call you.”
It was Mr. Banks.
He pulled up a chair from the other table and sat between Evie and me. “We were going to ask you to watch Mattie. I should have known you’d be here.” He lowered his voice, “You look incredible.”
“Hey, Mr. Banks,” Dewey said.
“How are you all doing?” he said back.
Then I felt his knee press against my other leg.
“This is Mary Jordan’s brother, Billy,” Evie said.
While they shook hands, Mr. Banks’s left hand slipped underneath the table and onto my leg, startling me to no end.
“So, I hear you’re directing a play,” Billy said. “How’s it going?”
“It’s coming along,” Mr. Banks said.
I thought I’d casually slip his hand off my leg, but as soon as my fingers reached under the table and touched his, he clasped hold of them so that I had no idea what to do.
That’s when I saw Savannah. She was standing by the door, holding Mattie, who was squirming something fierce.
“I’ll see you all tomorrow night at rehearsals,” Mr. Banks said. “Billy, nice meeting you.” He stood up, finally letting go of my fingers, the heat of his hand still on my leg, and walked over to a group of people by the food, never once paying any mind to Savannah or Mattie.
Billy and Evie and Dewey started talking about the play and who had gotten what part, but I was still so caught up in the discomfort of Mr. Banks’s hand on my leg that I wasn’t participating in their discourse.
Mr. Banks had now gotten himself a drink and was standing with Ms. Pitre, who seemed to be carrying on a one-way conversation. No sooner had I noticed them than he looked my way, catching my eye, and smiled, as if there was some sort of understanding between us, though I had no idea what that understanding was. I was sure he was going to join us at the table again now that he had his beverage, so when Mama walked up to me and said, “Lucy, maybe you could help Savannah with Mattie. That woman’s not going to have a free minute to enjoy the paintings,” I just knew God had intervened.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Dewey.
Savannah smiled when she saw me.
“Want a hand?” I asked, reaching out for Mattie.
“I just fed her. I don’t think the milk agreed with her,” Savannah said.
“I could take her outside,” I said.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” I told her.
“You’re sure?”
I bounced Mattie up and down in my arms. “I’m sure.”
“Her stroller’s out front,” Savannah told me. “We walked.”
I carried Mattie with me back to the table. “I’m going to take her for a walk. See if I can get her to calm down.”
Mattie’s fussing turned into a downright wail.
Dewey stood up beside me. “Want some help?”
I adjusted Mattie on my shoulder.
Dewey smiled. “Let’s go.”
Cold Fronts
By the time we got Mattie in her stroller, she was still crying up a storm. “You’d think she’d wear herself out,” I said. We walked almost five blocks before she started to settle down.
Though it was still light outside, the temperature was pleasant, and with Mattie finally getting quiet, Dewey and I had a chance to talk.
“What did you think of the gallery?” he asked.
“I thought it was impressive.”
“And the paintings?”
“They were beautiful.”
“I hoped you would say that.”
After a few more blocks, I decided to take off my heels, and stopped at a bench in front of a small garden by the church. Mattie was still being quiet.
“Should we chance it and sit down?” Dewey asked. “Maybe she’ll sleep.”
“We could try,” I said.
I checked on Mattie. Her eyes were closed. I secured the brakes on the stroller and sat next to Dewey.
“A lot of people showed up tonight,” he said. “I was glad for my dad. I wish my mom could have been there.”
I had never known anyone our age who had lost a parent. “What happened to her?” I asked.
“She got cancer a couple of years ago. She went through chemotherapy and radiation. For a while we thought she might make it. But then the cancer came back. She died last fall.”
“Dewey, I am so sorry.” I laid my hand over his.
“It’s been a tough year on Dad,” he said.
“It’s been tough on you, too,” I told him.
He turned his palm over and glided his fingers between my own. Holding his hand like that made me feel as close to another person as I had ever felt. It wasn’t my body responding this time. It was something in my heart. With the fingertips of my other hand, I traced the veins running from the crevice of Dewey’s palm down the underside of his arm. Slowly traced them back and forth.
“Hey, Lucy?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad we met.”
“Me, too,” I said.
Dewey let go of my hand and wrapped his arm over my shoulder. His fingers gently touched my arm. We sat like that a few more minutes, the night air smooth and balmy, the colors beginning to soften. Then Dewey’s face turned toward mine. “Lucy?”
“Yeah?”
“May I kiss you?” he asked.
“I’d like that,” I said.
His eyes settled upon my mouth. I reached up, holding my hand upon his warm neck. Dewey pressed his lips against mine, sending a honey-thick flush through my body. We kissed several times, our breathing lingering against each other, my fingers tangling themselves in his thick, blond curls. His tongue tasted sweet, his mouth sweet. I knew I had never enjoyed anything as much.
His hand reached up to mine and grasped my fingers in his. We kissed a few more times before I laid my head against his chest and let him hold me. I closed my eyes, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath my cheek. Everything was so peaceful, I didn’t want to move.
Dewey was the first to speak. “Let’s keep getting to know each other.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” I said.
I wrapped my arms around his waist, squeezing him against me. “We should probably get going,” I told him. “The Bankses may be ready to leave.”
I carried my shoes to the side of me while Dewey pushed the stroller. Mattie was still asleep. “Thanks for telling me about your mom,” I said.
“Thanks for caring.”
The gallery was still packed with people. I slipped my feet back into my shoes. Dewey stayed outside with Mattie while I went in to find Savannah.
I spotted her right away, talking with Mama.
“She wore herself out,” I told Savannah. “She’s asleep in the stroller.”
Mama’s face looked aghast. “You didn’t leave her out there by herself I hope.”
“Of course not. Dewey’s with her.”
“Thank heavens,” Mama said.
“I didn’t bring my purse,” Savannah told me. “I’ll see if Ted has some money.”
“All I did was take Mattie for a walk. You don’t need to pay me,” I said.
“I’ll tack on some extra next time,” Savannah offered.
She left to get Mattie. As I looked around the room, I didn’t see Evie or Billy or any other young person that I knew. I didn’t see my daddy, either.
Mama was still standing next to me. “Where’s Daddy?” I asked.
She glanced around, her face appearing rather surprised. “I don’t know. He was right here.”
I checked the room again, but didn’t see him. “Are you staying much longer?” I asked.
“Well, I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to be one of the first to leave the party.”
“I’m going to go ahead and walk home, then,” I told her.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” I said.
Outside, Dewey was still with Mattie. “Where’s Savannah?” I asked.
“She went to find Mr. Banks and see if he’s ready to leave.”