by Lynn Shurr
Tom anticipated all that bliss would disappear with the brevity of a sky rocket on the Fourth of July with Alix’s full exposure to the Billodeaux family and its many honorary members. It began to extinguish when he stopped the big, red SUV in Baton Rouge to pick up his twin sisters who seemed to be perpetual graduate students at the university. Not identical but close enough with their large dark eyes and mops of curly black hair, Jude and Annie clambered their short selves into the back seat. Jude promptly reminded him he’d arrived fifteen minutes late. He retaliated by asking if she wanted to take a few minutes and to go inside to change because their low-riding short shorts and bare midriff tops were sure to set off their grandmother. “That navel ring better be a clip-on, Jude.”
“Holy shit, Tom, you sound just like her,” Jude shot right back.
“Language,” he said, primly.
“He does Mom pretty well, too,” the milder Annie replied.
“Okay, both of you are on your own. I’ll stand around and say, ‘I told you so.’ Jude and Annie, this is Alix Lindstrom, the Sinners’ new punter.”
Alix’s blue eyes shone as if she were meeting major celebrities. “I’m so happy to meet you. You’re both so cute and petite.”
“Small but mighty like our mother, and don’t you forget it, Tom’s giant girlfriend,” Jude snarled.
Alix turned around and studied the hump of the Mississippi River Bridge in the distance as if memorizing a geography lesson. The back of her neck burned red. Annie reached up and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry about that. Jude is sensitive about being height challenged.”
“Um, so am I, about being tall,” Alix murmured.
“Yeah, I can’t see over you,” Jude said, and Alix promptly slumped in her seat.
Burned up, Tom announced in his best Daddy Joe impersonation, “I tell you me, one more smart remark out of you, Jude Emily Billodeaux, and I put you out by da side of da road for da gators to eat.”
Jude answered right back. “Then you’d be in trouble for making me hitchhike to the party in these shorts. Okay, sorry. I’m only tired of being dominated by tall blondes, first Stacy, then that obnoxious Ilsa.”
“Well, Alix isn’t either one of them, so leave her alone.”
“It’s fine, Tom. Sort of like having Tille in the car. Jude doesn’t know me yet, and I hope she’ll like me when she does.” If a mild answer turneth away wrath, Alix had just delivered one. She stared straight ahead as they approached and crossed the bridge spanning the wide river without one glance downward at the barges being pushed by tugs far, far below.
“We’re both going to like you,” Annie swore. “Jude is just pissy because a guy she wants is dating a tall blonde right now. She can’t get his attention without jumping up and down.”
“Anybody I know?” Tom asked.
“Nope,” they replied in unison, giving a hint that he probably did.
Tom drew on his patter about the great Atchafalaya Basin when they reached the causeway across the swamp. He pointed to the place where an oil well blew out and to the vast number of jagged stumps sticking out of the water where once giant cypress grew before being logged out early in the twentieth century. They passed Breaux Bridge, Crawfish Capitol of the World, and moved on to Lafayette where his adopted brother, Teddy, sat waiting patiently in his wheelchair. He rose up on his crutches to allow Tom to stow the bright red chair and accepted help getting in beside his sisters. Annie gave him a shoulder hug and introduced Alix before Tom got the chance.
Treading carefully lest she step on any more toes, Alix said, “I know you are a sports reporter and an announcer, too.”
“Only for the local paper and games, but I’m building my resumé. Any chance of an exclusive interview?” Teddy asked with a most appealing smile on his face. His fine, blond hair hung in his blue eyes giving him the appearance of a shy child.
“I’ve been interviewed so many times lately, I don’t think there is anything left of me that’s exclusive, but sure if you can think of any new questions.”
“Great. I’ll get in touch.” Teddy settled in for the short remainder of the trip.
By the time the group arrived at Joe Billodeaux’s huge country home, Alix had regained some of her shine. Knox Polk, the ranch manager and guardian of the gate, nodded his grizzled head and waved them on. As Tom turned the SUV down the live oak-lined drive, she whispered, “Lorena Ranch, I’m really here at Lorena Ranch,” so quietly he figured only he heard over the conversation in the backseat. Knowing he had to get it over with, he parked by the kitchen door and led Alix inside to meet Mawmaw Nadine, the grandmother who loved her family fiercely but wasn’t above telling them all their flaws.
Nadine labored at putting a two-inch topping of meringue on a vast pan of her notable bread pudding. Spatula still in hand, she opened her arms wide. “Tommy, give your Mawmaw some sugar.” Dutifully he pecked her soft, lined cheek and bowed his head over her still thick, white hair to receive his hug. Not two seconds later, Nadine turned her strong features and dark, dark eyes on Alix.
“A new girlfriend?”
“The Sinners’ punter, Alix Lindstrom.” He might as well get it over with. “She’s renting my old rooms at the condo.”
“That so.” Mawmaw appraised Alix from her red painted toenails to the top of her light blonde head.
She’d worn sandals that exposed her long toes, khaki shorts, and a long T-shirt with a patriotic smattering of glittery red, white and blue stars. The neckline had a V, but it didn’t go down very far. A blush spread across Alix’s cheeks and she blurted, “I’m sorry, I should have brought a hot dish. I have lots of recipes, I just didn’t think.”
“Cher, this time you a guest. You like bread pudding?”
“Very much. I’ve had it several times in New Orleans.”
“Mine is better. If you can cook, I give you the recipe. Looks like Tom is filling out some finally. He always was a scrawny kid. You could never feed him up enough. Your doing?” Mawmaw’s eyes roved Tom’s body and made his face light up like a red lantern.
He’d also worn khaki shorts and sandals, but with a fitted black tee that clung to his chest muscles and showed a small tuft of red hair between his pecs. At the time he dressed he thought it passed for sexy. Now he found himself checking for nonexistence rolls of flab. He hurried to say, “Alix is a great cook, like you. What’s this?” He raised the lid on a covered dish and immediately slammed it down again with a sharp snort from his pug nose as if he’d inhaled a deadly gas. “Sauerkraut. Ilsa is here already.”
“Mais, yeah. Who brings sauerkraut to a Fourth of July picnic? All you got to do is dump it from the can into a dish. That ain’t cooking. That’s lazy,” his grandmother pronounced.
“Actually, sauerkraut is great with roasted pork. We eat our share of it in Wisconsin. I have a recipe for sauerkraut balls made with cream cheese and sausage. You’d never know you’re eating it. Next time, I’ll make some,” Alix promised, so eager to please it hurt Tom’s heart. What would Nadine’s always-unbridled tongue say to her next?
Those dark eyes glittered in their net of wrinkles. “You got a kind heart when it comes to—sauerkraut.” Turning them on Tom again, she said, “Has Alix met Ilsa yet?”
“No.”
“Well, she’s here with that not so charming Prince in the den. You might as well get it over wit’. Beck is still my great-grandbaby, my cher bébé, no matter what.” As Tom and Alix moved toward the hall, they exposed the twins and Teddy standing behind them.
“You better go on upstairs and put on some clothes before your daddy sees you two—or anybody else does for that matter.” Using her hands to gesture as always, their Mawmaw scolded so hard that meringue from the spatula flew through the air and stuck to their scanty tops.
“Sure, now we have to change,” fumed Jude, who stomped by them looking at if she’d just come inside from a blizzard. Annie followed in her stormy wake as always.
Mawmaw Nadine held out her arms
again to Teddy leaning on his crutches, waiting his turn. “Come here, honey, and give me one of your bear hugs.”
While his grandmother received her homage, Tom steered Alix to the vast living room/den where Joe Billodeaux’s many trophies and awards filled all the crannies and his large family gathered regularly. At the moment, it was occupied by three people: Ilsa Beckmann, mother of Dean’s illegitimate son; Prince Dobbs, a wide receiver for the Sinners, who claimed a miracle recovery from a gunshot wound the previous year; and the huge, black bulk of the Reverend Revelation Bullock, hall-of-famer cornerback and fulltime AME minister.
Prince held Ilsa on his lap in one of the big recliners. Tom noticed the placement of his hands, one dangling over her very prominent breasts clad in clingy red and the other wrapped possessively around her bare waist. Her long legs curled beneath his and her nearly white hair drawn up in a high ponytail mingled with Prince’s head of short, light brown dreads as she pressed her face against his tawny cheek. He’d worn a sleeveless muscle shirt that displayed both his well-developed biceps and his once obscene and violent tattoos, now converted to an elaborate Celtic cross on one arm and a portrait of a dreadlocked Jesus on the other.
Obviously, the three had been discussing theology of a sort because the Rev said, “Son, it’s hard to enter heaven with a beautiful blonde on your lap, especially one you’re not married to.”
Prince waved the hand perched on Ilsa’s breast. “She’s my woman now. We got a big announcement to make today. You’ll see. Since I met Christ face to face, I plan to found my own church, the Temple of the Dreadlocked Jesus just like I got on my arm because that’s what he looks like, ain’t no white man.”
The Rev pursed his big lips and steepled the large hands that had once stripped footballs from opponents like a bully stealing candy from a baby. To Tom, he appeared to be praying for patience. “First, you must learn humility before you can lead others to Christ.”
“Sure, sure, I got humility. Learned it after being on the injured reserve for months and months, but now I’m back and ready to play,” Prince Dobbs assured the minister.
“Hate to interrupt, but I wanted to introduce you to Alix Lindstrom, our new punter, since you weren’t at mini-camp, Prince.” Tom tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “You, too, Ilsa.”
Prince stood, all but dumping Ilsa on her ass, but she managed to regain her feet fast because she excelled at quick recoveries. “My, my, you are going to improve the looks of that team one hundred percent, you pretty thang.” He reached out to grasp Alix’s hand, but Tom stepped between them as if searching the room for a lost object.
“Where’s my nephew on his first birthday? Hiding out?”
“Ach, no, he is mit the ponies. Daddy Joe says he is not too young to ride. What do I know? I am no farmer,” Ilsa said with her German accent. She shrugged her pale shoulders, beautifully exposed by the red top that tied around her neck. Her white shorts were only slightly longer than the twins’ and rode even lower.
“Rancher,” Tom corrected. “We’ll go watch him ride.”
“So,” said Ilsa as her cold, pale blue eyes lasered in on Alix. “You are with Tom? He is such a funny boy to play mit and all over freckles. You understand what I mean?”
“I’m not sure I do.”
“Come on. You haven’t seen the horses yet or the rest of the place. We’ll go out by the front door.” He grasped Alix’s hand and towed her into the hallway again. Might as well tell her exactly what Ilsa meant now and get it over with, though for the moment Alix seemed to be awed by the shining burgundy floor tiles, the sweeping staircase to the second floor and the excessively sparkly chandelier hanging in the foyer, all chosen by his dad before his mom’s better taste intervened. They exited through the large front door with its beveled sidelights and came out on the many-pillared verandah.
“Gravestones?” Alix said, her eyes wide and riveted on two small markers by a rustic bench.
“The family’s pet dogs.”
“Oh, Macho and Titi. I remember now. Where is everyone else?”
“Only bodies we have buried here,” Tom joked. “But if you mean the living, probably over by the corral or the barbecue pavilion. It’s early. The place will get a lot more crowded by noon.”
“Ilsa is right. You are funny.”
And freckled all over, as the German woman knew only too well. Tom took a deep breath. Here goes. “Yeah, Ilsa knows all about me. We were lovers before she figured out American football and the amount of money quarterbacks get paid. When Dean and Stacy broke up, she moved right in on him while he was still smarting and dumped me. I blamed Dean at the time, but I see it differently now. I had a lucky escape. Unfortunately, she’s in our lives forever. Anyhow, that’s how she knows about the freckles all over.” He gestured to his body but kept his eyes on the ground not daring to raise them to Alix.
“Oh wow, that didn’t make the scandal sheets. Just Stacy and Dean, then him with Ilsa.”
“Kickers don’t have a very high profile. Mostly, the paparazzi don’t care who we date.”
“I think I’m glad about that. Freckles all over,” Alix continued with speculation in her voice.
How he wanted to show her right now in the palm grove, but they’d rounded the mansion. The barn and pavilion entered their view. Daddy Joe, standing by his big Samoan friend and current Sinners cornerback, Adam Malala, monitored the pit where two whole pigs roasted island style. The men waved to them. People gathered around the corral took their eyes off the male two-thirds of the Billodeaux triplets who led a brace of ponies bearing small children around the ring and looked their way. Nothing to do but go forward and join the party.
His dad had purchased horses for his youngest set of twins since the ones the elder children had ridden now grazed in that big pasture in the sky. The brown Welsh pony with a lush forelock hanging in his eyes and the stockier Shetland palomino would be around for little Beck to ride whenever he visited. Now, the blond boy, holding happily to the saddle horn, crowed, “Gid-up” and flailed with his heels as the horse meandered around the ring. Cute.
His dad’s trick horse stood saddled nearby along with his old mount, Copperhead, pretty long in the tooth by now. “You ride?” he asked Alix.
“No. I’d like to learn.”
“If we have the time, I’ll put you up on Copperhead. He’s so old he won’t take off with you. Hard to believe he was once a top barrel-racing horse, but he still has some life in him.”
The horse did indeed have a copper head, but also a gray muzzle. “I’m not too sure about that name. I don’t know much about horses, but I’ve killed a few snakes over the years I’ve been camping.” Alix approached warily. “Does he bite?”
“Only apples. Give him one, and he’s your friend for the rest of his life.”
They joined Teddy, moving along steadily on his crutches toward the corral. “I think I’ll get a little riding in before Rascal gets too exhausted from hauling children around.”
“You ride?” Alix asked, then must have realized how condescending that sounded as she added, “I don’t.”
“It’s good for core development when you have spina bifida. Watch this.” Teddy approached the trick horse, big, red Rascal, and executed a hand signal. The animal knelt before him, and Teddy climbed aboard. “Dad got him especially for me. Get up on Copperhead, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
“Minute,” Tom said. “She’ll need the stirrups longer.” He made the adjustment and showed her how to mount from the left. Opening the corral gate, he gave Copperhead a swat on the rump that moved him forward. “Take good care of her, Ted. I’ll be over by the pavilion with Dad and Adam.” He lingered long enough to make sure she wouldn’t fall off, not likely at the plod they were going. Alix felt brave enough to unclutch one hand from the horn and wave as the horses moved away. Nothing more to do right now than go over to the pavilion and check in with his mother.
As he approached the screened building, he saw
the forms of three women working on the picnic preparations, two fairly hefty and one, his mom, quite petite. He recognized a familiar voice speaking her mind that he hadn’t expected to hear at the ranch—Miss Krayola, his cleaning lady. Since the topic was Alix, he slowed and ducked behind a tree to listen.
“Alix, she ain’t tidy like your boys, Miss Nell, clothes all over the floor most days.”
“Messy, then?
“No, bathroom is always clean like she scrubs it herself. I know the girl cooks, but never leaves the pots in the sink for me to scrub. More like she’s always in a hurry and can’t make up her mind what to wear. I jus’ hangs everything up again, and she writes me thank you notes. But those white rugs of hers need washin’ all the time. She does track in some dirt.”
His mother’s lighter voice responded. “If those are her only flaws, she seems rather nice. Do you think they are intimate?”
“I’d say no, and I washes both sets of sheets. If I were that young woman, I’d be on Mr. Tom like a tick on a red-eared hound dog. To my mind, he’s a catch, but being a football player and all maybe she’s cheering for the other team, you know what I mean.”
“Yes,” his mom replied. “That would be too bad because Joe thinks Tom is already badly infatuated.”
“If you mean hung up on, pro’bly,” Krayola answered. “I come in on them more than once. She’s always dressed. Mr. Tom, he’s wearing a robe and showing his chest like one of them orangutans trying to attract a female.”
“Better than a baboon who shows his behind,” said Corazon, the Billodeaux’s stout housekeeper and the third occupant of the pavilion. All of them laughed heartily and that stung a little. Maybe he was making a fool of himself, but he refused to be discussed so openly by three women, all of whom mothered him.
