by Hill Sandra
All of a sudden, “‘Macho Man’ blared out of Etienne’s phone, and he went bug-eyed at whatever he was seeing on the screen before remarking, “Cool! I could do that. Mebbe I could be Steve the Surfer Dude.” Then he yelled out to one of his cousins, “Hey, Mike, wanna be in the new Cajun Village People?”
Male heads around the yard shot up with alarm at those words and the music.
But then Mary Lou showed up, finally. She had been off on a trail ride with her cousin Andy and a new hotshot recruit for the New Orleans Saints, Bobby Jones, affectionately known as “Happy Legs” because of his fast strides on the football field. After the introduction, while she and Mary Lou watched the two men walk off to get a beer, Louise remarked to Mary Lou, “Looks to me lak he’s got a Happy Hiney, too.”
“Tante Lulu!” Mary Lou chided her with a laugh. “But, yeah, that is one very fine butt.”
“Shh! It’s okay if an old lady lak me sez that, but it’s sexual harassment if you do.”
Mary Lou pretended to zip her mouth.
Louise stepped away from Mary Lou then to give her a better look. Head to toe and back up again.
Mary Lou did a little spin to show off her new look, grinning like a cabbage-eating skunk. “What do you think, auntie?”
“Seems ta me, mah work is done. You got Cajun Sass down jist right.”
Mary Lou wore jeans, but they were white and tight and hung low on her hips, leaving a good six inches of skin exposed up to the cropped top of a blue spandex top, under which she had to be wearing one of them push-up or pump-me-up type bras because she sure wasn’t that buxom last week. Good for her! And wait…was that a tiny gold ring winking in her belly button? If Louise was younger, she thought she might try one of those. But that wasn’t everything. The girl must have gotten a haircut from her mother because it was shoulder-length now and curly, too short for one of her usual ponytails. She didn’t wear much make-up, but there was a hint of rosy lip gloss.
“And it feels good, too,” Mary Lou said, still grinning.
The two of them dropped down to a bench and continued talking.
“That dumb Derek won’t be callin’ you boring now, thass fer sure.”
“I already know that.”
Louise arched her brows at the girl.
“He was here earlier. Yeah, I know, he has some nerve showing up at the ranch. It was obvious he was still wanting to run into Andy. But he took one look at me and about swallowed his tongue. Tried to take back what he’d said about me being boring and denied that he’d dumped me.”
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Hit the road, Derek. Yer much too boring fer a sexy girl like me.’”
“Good!” Louise said, clapping a hand on her knee.
“Also, he about turned green when I mentioned that the new Saints player, Happy Legs Jones, asked me for a date. Horseback riding!”
Louise laughed. “I almost forgot. I have somethin’ fer you. C’mon.” She got up and started to walk around the house, headed toward the pasture where all the cars were parked by now.
Hurrying to catch up, Mary Lou said, “Let me carry that for you.”
Louise still had her purse in hand. She’d been about to go inside to the bathroom and touch up her make-up. It was probably worn off from all that cheek kissing she’d been doing since she arrived.
She handed the bag to Mary Lou, who pretended to stagger. “What do you have in here?”
“Everything. You know me, I’m allus prepared.”
When they got to the pasture, which wasn’t very far away, Louise finally saw where Lillian had been parked. Not hard to locate since it was the only lavender convertible in a sea of Ess-You-Vees and pick-up trucks.
Mary Lou frowned at her. “What’s up? Do you want to go home? Oh, my God! Are you sick?”
“No, no. I’m okay.” She put her purse on the back trunk area of the car and searched for the car keys, which, like always happened, were at the bottom. But first, she took out a cosmetic bag, a brush, a mirror, a canister of bug spray, a jar of her gator aloe salve, a pistol, a grocery list, her St. Jude fan, a handkerchief, a nail file, a rosary, and sunglasses. “Here,” she said, handing the keys to Mary Lou. “This should be the final touch to yer Cajun Sass, honey.”
Mary Lou frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s yours.”
“What’s mine?”
“The car. Lillian.”
“What? For real?”
“Unless you doan want it.”
“Oh, my God! Mine? Oh, my God!” she squealed. “I love it. I’ve always loved it.”
She opened the driver’s door and sat behind the wheel, touching the dashboard, fiddling with the knobs on the radio.
“It is awful big. Mebbe you’d rather have somethin’ smaller.”
“No, this is perfect. In fact, I bet I could hitch a horse trailer on this baby. I’m thinkin’ about doing some rodeos. Barrel racing. Team roping. Pole bending.”
“There you go,” Louise said.
“But what are you gonna do for a car?” Mary Lou asked. “Maybe you need to rethink this.”
Louise could tell that she didn’t really want her to rescind the gift. “Actually, I have my eye on a little vintage Volkswagen convertible that’s been restored in a pretty shade of glittery purple. Iridescent Grape, they call it. It’ll be the new Lillian.”
“Sounds perfect.”
As they started to walk back toward the house, Mary Lou kept her longer strides in pace with Louise’s much shorter ones, but Louise could tell that the girl wanted to run off to tell her parents and friends about her windfall. So, when they got to the porch, Louise told her to go ahead, alone, that she would follow later.
“Are you sure? I can stay with you.”
“No. You go on. I’m gonna sit on the front porch for a while. All those people and all that noise are fine, but I need to take a break now and then.”
The girl gave her a big hug, thanking her profusely. Once Louise was seated on one of the low rockers, Mary Lou was off with a whoop.
With a sigh, Louise rocked back and forth. She could hear music coming from the back of the house, along with laughter and muted voices. They could go on without her. Someday, probably sooner than later, they would have to. It wasn’t that she didn’t love a party, and she for sure loved her family, every single one of them, but she cherished her moments of solitude when she could grab them, too.
It was times like these when she thought of Phillipe. Yes, there had been other men in her life after Phillipe. Even ones she had loved. When she’d gotten too lonely, there had always been some man to step into her life. Like Justin, the doctor, who’d been the first. And so many others.
Still…always…she wondered what her life would have been like if Phillipe had survived the war. They would have married, of course. And had Adèle. Probably, they couldn’t have prevented the cancer that took her at such a young age, but they might have, together, convinced their daughter not to become involved with that devil Valcour LeDeux.
On the other hand, she had to admit that Valcour made wonderful children. There wasn’t a one of them that turned out bad, as far as she knew. And good-looking, too. The males and females, both, were stunners.
And here came one of the stunners now.
Tee-John sank down into the rocker next to her and sighed.
“Before you say anything, I’m fine. Jist restin’ fer a bit.”
“They’ll be singin’ happy birthdays and blowin’ out the candles soon,” he told her.
“I’ll go back in a minute.”
“I don’t blame you for hidin’ out here.”
“I am not hidin’ out. Cain’t a gal jist rest? By herself?”
Tee-John didn’t take the hint, his butt planted firmly in his rocker. And of course he had to talk, too. “It’s a madhouse out there.” They both rocked in comfortable silence for a few moments before Tee-John chuckled. “You created a real war zone, darlin’.”<
br />
“How’s that?”
“Giving Mary Lou your car. No one was expecting that. Now all the cousins are arguin’ over what must be in store for them if yer startin’ ta dole out yer belongings. What next? You orderin’ yer coffin from Amazon, or somethin’? Kin I expect ta see it on yer back porch next time I come by?”
“Doan be silly.” Actually, she didn’t know you could order coffins off the Internet. She’d have to check into that.
“Etienne is convinced you must have a Lamborghini or an airplane in store fer him if Mary Lou got Lillian. Jude mentioned a motorcycle. Camille and Blanche are arguin’ over yer cottage.”
Louise shrugged. “They’ll all get their due in time.”
“And, mon Dieu! What’s this I hear about you buying a VW?”
She shrugged again.
“You know it’s time to give up driving.”
Another shrug.
“You have heard of Uber, haven’t you?”
“Fer goodness sake, Tee-John! I’m not dyin’. All I did was give a girl a gift ta boost her Cajun Sass. Thass all. You and yer brothers and sisters need ta find somethin’ ta occupy yer time, instead of meddlin’ in mah life.”
“Meddling? Meddling?” he sputtered. “Yer the queen of meddling.”
“Mebbe I should be makin’ a wish or two,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, then grinning.
“Don’t you dare!” he said, pretending to duck her evil eye.
“Well, mebbe we do have enough babies fer now. But surely it’s time fer some matchmakin’. Doan we have some twenty-somethin’s in the family what need a boost toward the altar?”
“Oh, my God!” Tee-John muttered.
Just then a vehicle pulled through the gate and drove right up to the front of the porch. It was a white van with the logo “Starr Foods” on the side.
“Oh, goody! It’s mah date. I was afraid he took a nap and forgot ta come.”
“A…a date?” Tee-John sputtered, then grinned, “Well, slap mah head and call me silly.”
She slapped Tee-John on the arm to shush his silliness as she creakily rose from the rocker, then headed toward the dapper gentleman who exited the van. Tee-John stood, too, probably thinking she needed help down the steps.
It was Samuel Starr, Samantha’s grandfather, the founder of the Starr Foods supermarket chain. He was dressed as usual, in a white suit, white shoes, planter’s hat, and gray beard and mustache trimmed to perfection. Like the original Colonel Sanders, but better.
“Doan he look sexier than a hoot owl in them red suspenders?” she whispered to Tee-John. “Talk about!”
Tee-John made a sound halfway between a laugh and a snort.
“Hey, Sam! Yer jist in time fer the birthday cake ’n’ singin’,” Louise called out.
“Great,” he said, taking two shopping bags filled with wrapped gifts from the back of the van.
“Ya doan hafta worry about how I’ll get home t’night,” Louise told Tee-John. “Sam will be takin’ me home and…” She let her words trail off just to tease Tee-John whose jaw had dropped open.
But then Tee-John took her into a big hug which lifted her off her feet and caused her hat to fall off. Chuckling, he said into her ear, “You never change, do you, old lady?”
“Who you callin’ an old lady?”
“You. One of these days you’ll have to admit to being old.”
“Hmpfh! Well, I may be old, but I ain’t dead yet. I got lots ta do before I go to my glory.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Reader Letter
Dear Readers:
Well, what did you think of the second prequel of Tante Lulu’s history, following on WHEN LULU WAS HOT? These books are leading up to her senior years, when she first appeared in my Cajun series starting with THE LOVE POTION. Then she went sashaying with her eccentric and outrageous antics through twelve full-length novels to CAJUN PERSUASION? Whew! I never thought when I first started writing these stories that they would go on for so long, or that Tante Lulu would become such a beloved figure, bless her heart.
There should be at least one or two more of these long novella prequels, the next one taking us to Adèle as a teenager and young bride to Valcour LeDeux. And we need to find out when Tante Lulu started hearing the “thunderbolt of love” or making hope chests for all the men in her family or developing a passion for exercise guru Richard Simmons. After that, well, my goodness, there are lots of other stories in this LeDeux family to be told. Etienne, the quintessential rogue, once he’s grown up. Rashid, the musician. Andy, the football player. Blanche, the lawyer. Camille, the chef. And so on.
Of course, I can’t ignore my Vikings or Navy SEALS. I expect to return next to THE CAGED VIKING.
I took poetic license in a couple of places. For example, the Hank Williams’ song “Jambalaya” came out in 1952, not 1951, the Terrebonne General Medical Center was actually established in 1954, not 1951, and Rebel Without a Cause came out in 1955, not 1951.
I love to hear from you readers. For more information, you can sign up for my newsletter on my website at www.sandrahill.com, or check out my Facebook page at SandraHillAuthor.
As always, I wish you smiles in your reading.
Sandra Hill
Tante Lulu’s Peachy Praline Cobbler Cake
The cake:
white cake mix
3 whole eggs
1/3 cup oil
1 cup water
The streusel:
1/2 cup brown sugar (more or less, depending on taste)
2 pkgs (1.23 oz each) peaches and cream instant oatmeal
2 1.5 oz. pecan pralines, chopped (reserve 2 tbsp for garnish)
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) butter, melted
Fruit:
1 medium peach, sliced thin, or 1 small can peaches, thoroughly drained
The frosting:
1 cup milk
4 tbsp cornstarch
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup Crisco
2 cups granulated sugar
pinch of salt
2 tsp vanilla
The cake: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Make cake batter and put into two round greased and floured cake pans. Mix streusel and sprinkle over top of both cakes. Bake 35 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Let cakes cool.
The frosting: Cook milk and cornstarch until thick, stirring often. Cool. Cream all remaining ingredients, adding the cornstarch mixture gradually. It should be fluffy and not overly sweet.
Place one of the cooled layers, streusel side up, on a cake platter. Frost, topping with half the sliced peaches. Cover with the second cake, streusel side up. Frost top and sides. Garnish with sliced peaches in a pinwheel pattern, finishing with sprinkle of remaining chopped pralines.
Notes:
This is a very rich cake because of the streusel and instant oatmeal. If using plain oatmeal, the amount of brown sugar can be altered, to taste.
Peach juice, if available, can be substituted for some or all of the water in the cake.
Any white frosting can be used, keeping in mind how sweet the cake already is. A Crisco frosting (which can be found anywhere on the Internet) tends to be less sweet, which some people like.
Of course, the white cake can be made from scratch.
Last bit of instructions from Tante Lulu: “Set out a pitcher of sweet tea, chère. Invite over your friends and family. Then, laissez les bon temp rouler! Let the good times roll!”
Excerpt from When Lulu was Hot
Present Day
Sentimental Journey…
Louise Rivard, best known up and down the bayou as Tante Lulu, was celebrating her ninetieth birthday. For the second year in a row.
Or was it the third?
Maybe the fourth.
Whatever! she thought. Age is just a number, like I always say. Some fools are old fogies at fifty, like rusted-out jalopies, bless their hearts, creepin’ along the highway of life. Me, on the other hand, I still have a
bucket-load of va-voom under my hood, and miles to go before I bite the dust.
Bucket-load, bucket list, get it?
Ha, ha, ha! There’s a hole in my bucket, there’s a hole in my bucket…
Talking to herself was nothing new for Louise. Answering herself was another matter, especially when she answered in song. And, no, it had nothing to do with her age or that alls-hammer some seniors got. It was just that sometimes she was more fun than the people around her; so, she had to amuse herself.
Anyways, like she told her niece Charmaine last week, “Ninety is the new seventy.”
“If that’s true, then forty is the new twenty. Hal-le-lu-jah! Heck, I’ll settle fer thirty.” Charmaine, ever conscious of her age and appearance, had done a little boogie dance around Louise’s kitchen to celebrate. “Maybe I’ll have T-shirts made up fer mah beauty spas with that message. ‘Forty Is the New Thirty’ on the front, and on the back, ‘And We Can Help. Cut & Die Hair Salon, Houma, Louisiana.’”
Charmaine owned a string of hair salons and beauty spas in Southern Louisiana. A self-proclaimed bimbo with a brain, she was always looking out for the main chance.
Which isn’t a bad thing, necessarily, in my opinion.
Actually, Louise’s birthday had already passed, and been celebrated in grand style with a pool party at her nephew Luc’s house. Even so, today her LeDeux great-nephews and -nieces, along with a few great-greats, were treating her to a belated gift, some kind of secret destination road trip. There were so many of the family tagging along that they were a highway caravan. Pick-up trucks, expensive sedans like Luc’s BMW, even Louise’s vintage, lavender Chevy Impala convertible, named Lillian, being driven by her great-great-niece Mary Lou, who was constantly pleading for first dibs on the vehicle in Louise’s will.
To which, Louise always answered, “I ain’t dead yet, girl. Mebbe I’ll get buried in it, ’stead of some boring wood casket. Wouldn’t that shock St. Peter if I came roarin’ through the Pearly Gates? Not to worry. St. Jude would be out front, wavin’ me in.”
