by Lynn Shurr
Renee had found Gerry, bless his weak ticker, a long, bad year after her divorce. He’d been faithful to his fat, diabetic wife until death did they part but was ripe for a well-deserved, shapely, good-looking reward forty years younger than himself. Gerry did everything to please her. He paid for the boob job even though he said her real breasts were a treat, but she needed to renew her confidence after being dumped by Elias. Gerald took Viagra against his doctor’s orders to please her in bed and died on top of her. Even the nitro she’d forced between his lips hadn’t revived old Gerry nor her rather out of practice attempt at CPR, a skill her first husband insisted she learn. His children got everything except for the Lexus, some lavish personal gifts, and a modest cash bequest that kept her comfortable for the past year. Now, she need to husband hunt again like a vampire badly in need of blood.
Bodey Landrum possessed money, looks, and a crude charm. Renee thought she wouldn’t be tempted to stray for a good long time during which she would make the sacrifice and have a baby or two. At least, Bodey had no other children to suck up his fortune. He wasn’t likely to die on her either. On the other hand, if he ever did catch her cheating, Bodey seemed like a man who might take physical revenge on her lover. She’d noticed some scars on his knuckles, maybe from bull riding but possibly from brawling. Strangely, that held some appeal for Renee who shivered deliciously at the thought of men fighting over her.
Who else was there? Not Red Courville who enjoyed playing around on his attractive wife, but would never leave her or their four kids. She’d given him a brief try and had no intention of being only a well-kept mistress. He’d use up her remaining good years, then find someone younger. Nope, her next husband had to be Bodey Landrum.
****
Bodey Landrum looked hard at himself in the mirror. Okay, he had a few tiny lines in the corners of his eyes from being out in the sun too much. He had a lot of scars, but none were disfiguring. Some women liked them. He kept trim now by doing ranch work rather than going to the gym, though during his career he had worked out. His tan was real, not man-made. His dark hair grew thick on top and without any gray. True, he kept it clipped short or else his curls grew out long and girly. Some women preferred men’s hair to be long enough to be gathered in a horse tail like that Evan Adams. Maybe Eve was one of them.
He stood several inches less than six feet tall and was squarely built. Sure, the gals liked longer, leaner men—men with gaunt cheeks and dark eyes like pet cocker spaniels and beaky noses like golden eagles. He regarded his own blunt nose, bright blue eyes, and the cleft chin with a hint of dark beard. Mama always said she thought his daddy might have had Irish blood.
Too bad Bets hadn’t asked, or maybe remembered, his father’s name at that party where she’d had too much to drink and gotten pregnant by a total stranger. The man had passed through town with the rodeo, and Bets did love a bull rider. He’d had beautiful blue eyes was all she could recall. Often, she’d laughed and said Bodey must look like his daddy because he sure didn’t look like her. Betsy Landrum never saw Bodey’s sire again, though she’d taken Bodey to the rodeo every year since birth and tried to match up faces. It was a hard thing to know about your mother.
Bets had put off telling him for sixteen years. Even being in the midst of hormone-driven teenage lust himself when his mama finally came clean hadn’t helped much. To know that his own mother once had been, well, like Renee Niles, or the women he’d slept with on the circuit, was hard to take, but that hadn’t stopped him from accepting their offerings.
After all these years, Renee would have given him a tumble if he’d gone home with her this morning like she wanted. She was still a good-time girl, and they’d had some fine sex between his birthday and the end of his senior year when he’d hit the road to do some rodeo before college started. He had the experience now to know Renee had been a fairly sexually accomplished seventeen-year-old. They’d hooked up now and again when she attended college, once at Noreen’s wedding in fact, and she’d been even more skilled then. With two husbands behind her, she probably had the experience of most high-priced call girls by now. His mother would have been proud that her son hadn’t been very tempted.
He was rich and ready to settle down. He stood up straight and looked at himself in the mirror again. Bodey Landrum was prime property. So, why wasn’t Eve showing more interest? Both times when he kissed her, he’d felt her on the verge of cracking open like a big dungeon door suddenly letting in the white, hot light of day. Both times, the door slammed shut. It galled him that maybe the key to that door lay in the hands of a horse-maned, eagle-beaked, puppy-eyed artist named Evan Adams ready to turn.
****
Eve took her lunch at the Academy as usual. She sat with the two elderly nuns who had influenced her the most during her school years. At the time, she thought of them as ancient, when in reality they had been in their late fifties and vigorous. Now, Sr. Helen’s arthritis and a palsy prevented her from teaching the art classes, though she still taught French. Sr. Inez, a candidate for hip and knee replacement, rarely went riding anymore. The shortage of nuns and a desire to help a former student led to Eve’s taking over their specialties.
Eve swallowed a spoonful of Lenten bean soup. A roll of crusty brown bread laid broken open but untouched at the side of her bowl. She picked at the small, green salad and drank some of her iced tea. Sr. Inez and Sr. Helen exchanged glances.
“You’re very quiet today, Eve. Are any of the students giving you trouble?” Sr. Helen asked slowly and gently, her white curls bobbing along with her head under the short veil she still preferred to wear.
“I can come lay down the law for you,” Sr. Inez, whom the girls called Nessy behind her back and whose friends used the nickname to her face, offered with relish. She’d been a martinet in her day, but her students always learned their lessons. Those she favored, like Noreen Courville, went on to win prizes at the Social Science Fair. She still taught history, having given up her post as riding mistress with reluctance.
“It’s not that. Two men I used to know have come back into my life recently, and I’m not sure how to handle them.”
“Men,” said Sr. Helen. “We aren’t the best people to ask about men.”
“But, we are willing to listen,” Sr. Inez offered.
“Thanks. I’m not sure you can help. You see, I—ah—lived with one of them for a year while I attended art school.” Eve blushed.
“We are well aware such situations exist,” Sr. Inez said. “Go on.”
“Around the time my mother got sick and moved to Houston, he moved to the west coast. I was supposed to follow him after graduation, but I couldn’t leave my mother.”
“But he wrote, called, kept in touch, and loves you still?” Sr. Helen asked as she raised a spoonful of quivering cherry Jell-O to her lips. The doctor said gelatin might be good for her old bones and couldn’t really be considered a sweet even during Lent.
“Well, no. Our communications stopped after a few months. By the time my mother died, I had no idea where he lived. Now, he reappears in Lafayette doing some sort of installation for Red Courville.”
“Did you try to find him all those years ago?”
“No. I needed some time alone, to work on my art, to gather my energy.”
“And that time has turned into ten years. I remember when you returned here worn out and in debt.” Sr. Helen nodded emphatically to show it wasn’t just her old age palsy.
“This place heals.”
“We hoped you might join our order,” Sr. Inez remarked.
“I considered it, but something held me back. I can’t define it.”
“Tell us about the other man,” Sr. Inez urged Eve.
“I hardly know him really. We spoke only once when I attended here. I thought he might be interested in me, but he started dating one of the other girls at the Academy, and he never gave me another glance. Oh, I had a silly crush on him. Those blue eyes, a rodeo rider, kind of dangerous, he had everythin
g going to attract an immature schoolgirl. Now he’s back in town and, well, taking notice of me. Or so I thought until his old girlfriend showed up.”
“Bodey Landrum and that—” Sr. Inez clamped her mouth shut tight.
“Renee Niles. We remember. Every time Fr. Cyrus heard confession from that girl, he looked as if he’d aged a year. We feared Bodey might come to tempt you after he stopped you on the bridle trail. Sr. Nessy told me all about his lurking under the oaks that day and how you arrived late back at the barn,” Sr.Helen revealed. “Oh yes, I recall him well waiting for the Niles girl after classes, a very handsome young man with blue, blue eyes.” She gave a wispy sigh.
“He’s probably sown his wild oats by now, and a man who is good with horses might be a good man,” Sr. Inez said thoughtfully.
“Perhaps the artist became involved with his work but never forgot you,” Sr. Helen weighed in.
“I feel awkward with both of them. I’m just not good at dealing with men.”
Sr. Helen considered. “Men like blondes, I believe, and you are a blonde. Maybe if you wore your hair loose, it would help.”
“And wore more fitted clothes,” Sr.Inez said looking at the baggy, paint-speckled shirt that hung to Eve’s knees. “Not that we’re advocating pre-marital sex, but you can’t catch fish without bait.”
“That’s what Ja’nae Plato suggested when she loaned me one of her dresses. It might have worked, but then Hardy Courville and Renee Hayes got all mixed up in it, and I just don’t know if I want to try…”
“Life again?” Sr. Inez suggested.
“Perhaps you should take your problem to the Holy Mother. The Blessed Virgin had a husband and a son. She’d know about men,” Sr. Helen speculated.
“I’d suggest Mary Magdalene. She had more experience,” Sr. Inez said.
“I suppose prayer is always worth a try,” Eve answered. She collected the trays, stacked the dishes for the two nuns, and carried the dirty dinnerware to the kitchen.
“Eve will need some temporal help as well if that Niles ho—” Sr. Inez started to say.
Sr. Helen put a finger to her lips. “Don’t earn yourself an act of contrition, Nessy. Your knees and hips are too bad. I do think we need to check out these two men and give Eve our advice and some assistance. She deserves some happiness, but only with the right man.”
“My thoughts alone about Renee will earn me a penance. I have an idea.”
Sr. Inez gave Eve a beatific smile on her return. “Eve, dear, would you consider giving two old nuns a ride to the Lafayette Art Walk next week? We do want to see your landscape in situ as well as your friend’s sculpture.”
“Of course. I’d be happy to take you.” Eve suppressed any regrets she might have about being saddled with two elderly nuns who could barely walk. After all, these two once strong teachers had given all the years of their lives praying to God and guiding young women like her. It was the least she could for them. She put aside any thought of inviting Bodey to go with her.
Chapter Five
The week turned long on him again. Bodey Landrum got the floor people started early on Monday ripping up the gold shag carpet and preparing the surface of the slab to take a nice wood veneer. He’d found some good antiques among the stored furnishings, but the orange velvet upholstered couch and chairs he’d donate to Goodwill. The living room needed leather that dogs could drool on and kids could kick without doing much damage to the furniture.
He’d tried every day since Tuesday to get Eve out of her studio to ride or to eat dinner or to take in a movie. She worked Wednesday through Saturday nights at the restaurant and put in all the time she could on the commission from Hardy Courville because the piece needed to be done for the grand opening. Valid excuses, but underneath he sensed her uncertainty either about him or Evan Adams just like he could when he mounted a young bull for the first time. He began to feel uncertain himself, not a good emotion for a man who always brimmed with confidence.
Renee Hayes called him almost as often as he called Eve. Finally, he’d treated his former girlfriend to an expensive lunch in Lafayette for old times’ sake, but when he claimed he had to meet his interior designer right afterward, she’d followed him home and dogged their steps, making suggestions about the house. Renee was still hanging around when the frustrated decorator left. Bodey knew Renee could show him a good time, but Big Ben had taught him to set a goal and go after it without dilly-dallying along the way. Not his idea of a wife and mother, so why waste his time on her? He’d sent Renee home by saying he had to go for a haircut, the male equivalent of “shampooing my hair.”
Bodey went out to the machine shed and passed a few hours with Rusty working on a hay baler they’d want to use later in the spring. When his cell phone rang, he nudged it open with his chin to keep the oil off the surface.
“Hi, Renee. Sure, you can use the pool, but the water is still fairly chilly. No, I’m up to my armpits in grease right now, will be for most of the day. People are tearing up my flooring all over the house, so I’m stayin’ out of the place. Thanks for the offer, but I think my shower still works. Some other time, then.”
Rusty raised his eyebrows. “Looks like Cousin Renee is on the prowl again.”
“We’re old friends, that’s all. Like I said, I’m lookin’ to settle down.”
“Sure you are. What did you do Saturday night while Eve served fried crawfish tails at the café? Us old married men need to live vicariously.”
“So I went to the Rainbow Express out on Highway 90. Doesn’t mean anything.”
“You went to a honky-tonk, and it didn’t mean anything.”
“I had a few drinks. I danced with these girls who were celebratin’ a birthday until my knee started to bother me. I came home, took two Advil, and went to bed around one.”
“How many phone numbers did you get?”
“Three, not my best night, but I don’t plan on callin’ any of them since I found out Eve is still available.”
“I keep trying to tell you this is not a good match, old friend. The two of you couldn’t be more different. She’s all artsy and stuff, and you’re all cowboy.”
“Not true. We both like horses and strawberries and Mama Tyne’s biscuits. I buy art. She makes it. We’re both pretty much alone in the world. You and Noreen had less going for you than that.” Bodey wiped his hands on a rag.
“We’re both from old families around here.”
“Old families who hated each other. Noreen was Miss Rich Academy Girl, and you were just another cowboy whose daddy lost his land. Her people didn’t even come to your wedding, just me, your dad, a few of her college friends, and the nuns.”
Rusty carefully put down the wrench as if tempted to use it on Bodey. “You can be as generous as Big Ben and just about as dense when it comes to personal relationships. We get along with her family fine since Jesse came into the world. Noreen is a partner with her sister running the bed and breakfast in the old Courville plantation house. Hardy drops by when he has a project out this way.”
Bodey knew for a fact Noreen worked with her sister to bring in extra money since she’d never gone back to college to do her student teaching after Jesse was born, but he passed over that since Russ turned all red and thin-lipped when he mentioned their shotgun wedding.
“Hardy Courville is Noreen’s brother? Sure, I remember now. He looks more like a bigger, heavier, richer version of you. Noreen is so short and has all those dark curls. They don’t look much alike.”
“Now I know you aren’t from around here. Hardy is one of the red Courvilles.”
“I know that’s what he calls himself, but his hair isn’t all that red.”
“Noreen claims the youngest Courville son way back when was fathered by Aaron Niles, one of my great-great-great grandpappies. Now and then, a Courville still pops out looking like a Niles. Noreen proved we have the same male ancestor in a paper she did once. Hardy makes jokes about it.”
“So you and Noreen are
really related? Not good.”
“By now, no more than most families who have lived in the area a long time, less than a lot of the Cajuns. Early on there was almost a case of incest, but the Platos say old Mother Leontine, who founded the school, intervened with an early warning and some sage advice overheard by a slave woman working at the Academy. Ja’Nae and Leon are that woman’s descendants. Noreen interviewed them about their family stories. She wants to write a book someday about the Niles-Courville feud. Remember, Noreen used to say she thought we were the reincarnated souls of those lovers being given a second chance. Noreen toned it down when Jesse got old enough to understand. She didn’t want to upset his Catholic upbringing for now, but I’ll bet she tells our daughter later. Women, you never know what they’ll come up with.”
Bodey shook his head to clear it of the romantic slop he’d had to listen to the whole time he and Russ went to college. “See, that’s another thing I have in common with Eve. We aren’t from here. Her daddy came from up north somewheres, Wisconsin or another cold place, and her mama grew up in Mississippi. I checked what I could of her family tree. Lots of information on the female side. Those folks are family proud. Dead Confederates sprinkled around everywhere.”
“An absolutely great combination, Bodey, the offspring of a southern belle and a Yankee meets a Texan who looks like an Irishman and doesn’t know who his daddy is. Didn’t you used to call her Miss Fancy Pants because Eve thought she was too good for you?” Still smarting from Bodey’s earlier remark, Rusty looked like he wished he could suck those words back into his mouth again.
He had a wife who loved him, children, and a sense of family that went way back, the only things Bodey didn’t have. In their younger years, they would have been beating on each other by now. Bodey seemed determined to take the insult well.
“The great American melting pot, that’s what it’s all about, bro. We’ve done all we can with this machine. Call in a repairman if you can’t get it going. Give the bill to me since we’ll be sharin’ the hay. I think I’ll clean up, get some lunch, then take Rocky out for a good hard ride. He’s getting soft on spring grass and oats.”
