Love, Cajun Style

by Diane Les Becquets

  Dewey was holding on to the stroller, rolling it slightly back and forth. “Thanks for hanging out with Mattie,” I said.

  “No problem.”

  I scanned the sidewalks, thinking maybe Daddy had stepped out for some air. “Hey, Dewey, have you seen my dad?”

  “Not since we got back,” he told me.

  It was then that I saw the light on in Daddy’s shop, about a half a block down the street that ran almost perpendicular to the gallery.

  “I think I’m going to go on,” I said. “Do you mind?”

  “I don’t mind. Is everything okay?”

  I reached for his hand. “Everything is fine.” By now I was smiling and he was smiling in reply.

  “I liked kissing you, Dewey.”

  “I liked kissing you, too,” he said.

  Before I got to Daddy’s shop, I turned down the alley that led to the back of the store. The door was unlocked. As I stepped inside, I saw Daddy sitting at the table on the other side of the work area. In front of him was a bonsai tree.

  “Daddy?”

  He didn’t look at me. He didn’t say anything.

  I walked around the counter to the table and pulled up a chair beside him.

  “You okay?” I said.

  He set down his scissors.

  “Do you know how your mama and I met?”

  “You were both at a crawfish fest over in Beaufort,” I said.

  Daddy laughed a little. “That’s where it started. After the crawfish fest, there was a group of us that decided to head down to the beach. Your mother was climbing over a barbed-wire fence. She snagged the back pocket of her jeans. Ripped it clear off, tearing a hole through to her backside. I gave her my jacket to tie around her waist. She wore it home. I’d put my phone number in the pocket.”

  “Mama called you?” I asked.

  “She needed to return my jacket,” Daddy said.

  “And it was love ever after,” I said.

  Daddy smiled. “Something like that.” He picked up the scissors again.

  “So why are you in here alone trimming a bonsai tree?”

  Daddy snipped at a couple of branches. “Didn’t like the way the first tree turned out, I suppose.”

  “That’s not why,” I said.

  I reached for the scissors and set them aside. “You don’t like Mr. Savoi, do you?”

  Daddy propped his elbow on the table. He turned to face me, his knuckles against his temple. “I don’t know him. He might be a nice enough man.”

  “Daddy?”

  “Hmm?”

  “How did you know you were in love with Mama?”

  He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I thought about her a lot,” he said. “I wanted to be with her all the time.”

  “What about now? Do you still want to be with her?”

  Daddy smiled. “Yes, I still want to be with her.”

  “Then why is she at the gallery while you’re in here?”

  Daddy looked away. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think maybe you should go back?” I said.

  “You have a lot of questions stirring around in that head of yours, don’t you?” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me against him. “You know how once in a while we’ll get us a cold front? The kind that comes along in January or February and brings all sorts of unexpected weather?”

  “Are you and Mama having a cold front?” I asked.

  Daddy still held his arm around my shoulder. “Cold fronts down here never last very long.” He smiled, rubbing his hand over my hair and messing it up a little.

  I tucked my head against him. “Maybe instead of sitting here cutting a bonsai tree, you and Mama ought to go home and build a fire.”

  The Chamber

  The day after Mr. Savoi’s open house, I left the shop around two to meet Evie and Mary Jordan at St. Vincent’s park. I’d promised Tante Pearl I would give Moses his bath since I’d have to work late the next day. Evie and Mary Jordan said they’d help, then we could ride out to the beach.

  Evie didn’t smell like Coppertone that day. She smelled more like a piña colada.

  “What’s with the new perfume?” I asked.

  “The store was out of Coppertone. I thought I’d try a different brand.” Evie lifted her arm to her nose. “Personally, I think I smell rather nice.”

  “I’m sure all those gnats are going to think you smell rather nice, too,” I told her.

  We left the park and began our ride to Tante Pearl’s, staying as close to each other as we could, except when a car drove by.

  “What did you think about Mr. Savoi’s open house?” Evie asked.

  I felt myself smile. “I had myself a mighty fine time,” I said.

  “You had yourself a fine time at the reception, or a fine time after you and Dewey left the reception?” Evie asked, all too knowingly.

  “Why do I feel like I’m missing something?” Mary Jordan said.

  “Because you are,” Evie said.

  “Last night Dewey and I took the Bankses’ daughter on a walk,” I told her.

  “I remember that part,” Evie said.

  “Once she settled down and fell asleep, we stopped by a bench over at St. Marc’s.”

  “And?” Evie said.

  “And Dewey asked me if he could kiss me.”

  “He asked you?” Mary Jordan said.

  “Mm-hmm. And I’m here to tell you that was the finest kissing I’ve ever had in my life.”

  Evie about startled me off my bike with the loud whoop she released.

  “I had no idea,” Mary Jordan said. “I thought you two were just friends.”

  “We are friends,” I said. “That’s what’s so cool.”

  “Girlfriend, I’m happy for you,” Evie said.

  “I’m happy for you, too,” Mary Jordan said.

  As we turned onto Tante Pearl’s driveway, Moses ran to greet us, prancing up a storm. We laid our bikes in the grass and went around back to get the hose. Tante Pearl wasn’t home. Seemed to me Tante Pearl wasn’t home a lot these days. Next to the hose pipe was a bucket with a brush and a bottle of Palmolive. Evie and Mary Jordan and I soaked Moses down and lathered him good, getting a shower of suds all over us from time to time as he’d shake out his coat.

  I went into the house to get a towel. Tante Pearl’s linen closet was bare. I checked the dryer. It was bare, too, so I went back to her bedroom. Sure enough there was a laundry basket next to her nightstand, and stacks of clean laundry that she had yet to put away on top of a fluffy pink chenille spread. I didn’t recall Tante Pearl ever having a fluffy pink chenille spread. For as long as I’d known her she’d had a tie quilt on top of her bed that smelled like mothballs. I sank into the mattress, running my hands over all that soft fluff. That’s when I saw the piece of paper on the nightstand. “Soul’s Desire,” was written across the top in Tante Pearl’s large, bold cursive.

  The back door opened. “Where’d you disappear to?” Evie hollered.

  “In here,” I yelled back.

  Evie and Mary Jordan appeared in the doorway. “My aunt writes poetry,” I said, hardly believing my own words.

  Evie and Mary Jordan sat on either side of me, looking over my shoulders.

  Evie read it out loud. Mary Jordan and I followed along silently.

  Yearnings into a quake of desire.

  Open my heart, the vessel is full,

  The chamber is empty.

  I will waste on nothing.

  The night sings,

  Like a white moon in a black sky.

  Fill me, my love.

  “Just what chamber do you suppose she’s talking about?” Evie said once she’d finished reading.

  “I’m not sure I want to know what chamber she’s talking about,” I said.

  “I think it’s beautiful,” Mary Jordan said.

  Evie looked at Mary Jordan. I looked at Mary Jordan, too.

  “What?” Mary Jordan said.

  “Nothin
g,” Evie said.

  I set the poem back on the table where I’d found it, and grabbed a large towel from one of the stacks on the bed.

  We dried Moses, wrestling around with him in the grass for a long while. After a time, Evie said the grass was starting to make her itch, so we dragged the hose back around the house, then climbed on our bikes and headed off toward the beach, Evie scratching at herself the entire way.

  By the time we pulled into the parking area, Evie looked fit to be tied.

  “Do you suppose it was gnats or chiggers that got to me?” she asked us, scratching herself something awful.

  “If they got to your privates, they’re chiggers,” Mary Jordan told her.

  There wasn’t a soul around. Evie stripped out of her clothes. Sure enough her southern region looked like it had a record outbreak of the measles.

  “Chiggers,” Mary Jordan said.

  “Mm-hmm, chiggers,” I said.

  I thought Evie was going to cry.

  “Maybe the salt water will make all that itching go away,” I said.

  Evie grabbed her clothes, and the three of us headed over the levee. There were a couple of people down the beach a ways. Evie didn’t care. She ran for that water just as fast as her freckled legs could carry her.

  Mary Jordan and I stripped down to our underwear and dove in after her. Evie had already swum out a good ways.

  “How is it?” Mary Jordan hollered to her.

  “I wonder if they use chiggers at torture camps,” Evie yelled back.

  “I’ve heard nail polish can help,” Mary Jordan said.

  “And where am I going to get nail polish all the way out here?” Evie inquired.

  “I’ve got some in my bag,” I told her.

  We didn’t swim long. Evie said she was itching too bad.

  Instead, we hiked back over the levee, Evie’s polka-dotted derriere leading the way.

  I dug the nail polish out of my backpack.

  “Do you need any help?” Mary Jordan asked her, laughing.

  “I think I can manage by myself,” Evie said, disappearing behind a tree with the bottle of polish and her clothes.

  Evie’s disposition had settled quite a bit by the time she re-emerged.

  “Did you give it time to dry?” I asked her.

  “I did,” she said.

  “That’s good,” Mary Jordan said.

  We climbed on our bikes and started back to town.

  “I think maybe you ought to stick to Coppertone,” I told Evie.

  “I think maybe you’re right,” Evie said.

  Improper Advances

  When I got home, I took a quick shower and changed clothes. I told Mama I’d grab some supper after rehearsals. By the time I got to the school, most everyone was there. I smeared my long, damp hair away from my face with both hands and took my place next to Evie and Dewey.

  “You made it,” Evie said.

  Mary Jordan was sitting behind us with Doug. Then Billy walked in, wearing a threadbare white T-shirt and a baggy pair of jeans.

  “What are you doing here?” Mary Jordan said.

  “Your director told me he was short a part. I thought I’d help you all out.” He took a seat on the other side of Evie.

  “Since when did you talk to Mr. Banks?” I asked.

  “I didn’t talk to Mr. Banks.”

  “Who’d you talk to, then?” Evie said.

  Billy looked up and pointed to Mr. La Roche, who had just stepped onto the stage.

  “Mr. Banks isn’t going to be here,” Mr. La Roche told us.

  “He has some personal things going on. I’ve been asked to take over.” He paused before continuing. “I’m going to be directing the play.”

  The auditorium fell so quiet we could have heard a mouse breathe.

  “What personal things?” Evie asked in my ear.

  I shook my head, all the while my stomach feeling terribly uneasy.

  Mr. La Roche went on. “Billy Jacques has agreed to play Mr. Banks’s part as Puck.”

  The auditorium remained silent. Mr. La Roche took a deep breath. “So…”

  Again Evie leaned into my ear. “Does anyone else know about—”

  “Shhh.” I immediately cut her off.

  Evie pulled back, giving me one of her sorry expressions, her mouth all puckered up and her eyes big.

  “So let’s get started,” Dewey said.

  Several people stood up and approached Mr. La Roche, no doubt asking for more information. The rest of us walked backstage to get ready to rehearse. People in Sweetbay are as curious as a tomcat with a feline in heat, but when something needs to get done, they get right down to business, and that’s exactly what we did.

  Doug had been cast as Demetrius, upon whom Helena’s affections passionately fell. Mary Jordan had been cast as Helena. Evie had been cast as the Fairy Queen.

  Mr. La Roche called me to the stage and gently steered me to where he wanted me to stand.

  “Do you understand the scene?” he asked me.

  “I think so,” I said.

  He looked out at the rest of the cast and explained that I was in love with Lysander, who would be played by Dewey. However, my father, Theseus, had ordered me to marry Demetrius. If I refused to marry Demetrius, my only option would be to become a nun.

  Mr. La Roche then motioned Dewey and Doug to come forward, and situated them on the stage, as well. I enjoyed playing Hermia. I enjoyed being onstage. I wasn’t as shy as I had thought. When Mr. La Roche and I had finished our discourse, Doug immediately took his cue. “‘Relent, Sweet Hermia, and Lysander, yield thy crazed title to my certain right.’”

  “‘You have her father’s love, Demetrius; let me have Hermia’s,’” recited Dewey.

  I loved having Dewey beside me. The further into the play we rehearsed, the more immersed into the character I became. I forgot about Mr. Banks. I forgot about my parents and Mr. Savoi. All I saw were my friends around me. We had entered another world. I was as high as a kite. If Hermia loved Lysander, then I would love him, too.

  It was when we took our places onstage for Act II, Scene 2, where Oberon anoints the Fairy Queen’s eyes, and Puck squeezes love juice on Hermia and Lysander, that I noticed Evie’s polka-dotted derriere from her nail-polish job, clear through her white shorts. Before I had a chance to say anything to her, Billy walked up behind her. He placed his hands on her waist and steered her off the stage. He wasn’t laughing at her or making fun of her or anything. A few minutes later she appeared with a long-sleeve shirt tied around her waist, which they had no doubt retrieved from the costume room. I was glad Evie had Billy. I was glad Billy had Evie, too.

  Billy was a natural onstage. Just having his easy way about us seemed to bring out the best in everyone. I decided Mr. Banks’s leave of absence might not be such a bad thing for the play. It was as if we’d been singing in the shower with an audience, and now the audience was gone and with it all our inhibitions.

  “We can do this,” Dewey said to me as we were waiting for our next scene.

  “Of course we can,” I said.

  He put his arm around me lightly. “Wait for me after practice.”

  As I looked at him, his eyes held mine for a split second. He didn’t smile.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  After rehearsal, I stayed behind with Dewey, waiting for the auditorium to empty. We sat together on the edge of the stage. Dewey’s hands were spread out on his thighs. He was staring straight ahead.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  He continued staring straight ahead.

  “Dewey?”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Mr. Banks is in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “I don’t think he’s going to be teaching this year.”

  I waited for him to go on.

  “Today while I was at the gallery, Savannah came in to see if Dad might want to show some of her p
hotographs. She’d brought her portfolio. She said she was looking to pick up more work.”

  “What does that have to do with Mr. Banks?”

  “Dad gave her his list of fees for wall space. They were talking back and forth when Mr. Banks walked in. He said he’d been looking all over for her. Things got a little heated. Dad and I disappeared into the back, but we could still hear them. Mr. Banks was telling her to believe him, and how could she take their side.”

  “Whose side?” I asked.

  “Dad talked with Ms. Pitre later in the day. She heard your principal got a call from the school Mr. Banks used to work at in Atlanta. Seems like one of their students came forward, making accusations against him.”

  “What kind of accusations?” I asked.

  “From the sounds of it, he got involved with some student up in Atlanta. She didn’t come forward until after he was gone.”

  As Dewey talked, I felt a well of heat rise to my neck and face, as if I were suffocating from the inside out.

  “How do you mean ‘involved’?” I said.

  “Involved enough for his old school to be looking into it, and maybe enough to make Trudeau not want him teaching this year.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Pretty sure. Ms. Pitre said there was going to be a board meeting next Tuesday to make a decision.”

  Dewey reached for my hand. My face and neck were aflame, my palms were clammy, and queasiness curdled in my stomach.

  “Will you tell me what happened between you and Mr. Banks?” Dewey’s voice was so tentative and quiet, I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right.

  I tried to pull my hand away, but Dewey wouldn’t let go. He turned his body slightly toward mine and searched my face. I kept my eyes pinned to the blue-speckled carpet in front of me till each of those blue speckles became a blur. I wasn’t crying. I was just trying to make the whole moment disappear.

  “Something happened,” Dewey went on.

  “Did Evie say something to you?” I asked, trying for the life of me to understand how Dewey could have known.

  “No. She didn’t have to.”

  “How do you know something happened, then?”

  “Just the way he’s been acting toward you, always coming around wherever you are, and the way you’ve been acting toward him.”