by Lynn Shurr
Tom made his entrance and shut their mouths in mid-guffaw. “Talking about me, ladies? I thought us Billodeaux kids were allowed to have our own private lives once we left home.” His mother’s pixie face colored across the cheekbones. Nice to have someone else blush for a change. With Krayola’s black skin and Corazon’s face a deep Hispanic brown, hard to tell if either one of them were embarrassed. He suspected not.
Corazon, who’d had a big hand in raising him, spoke first. “We only want to see you happy, Tommy.”
“Yes, we aren’t really interfering, only talking,” his mother claimed.
Tom set his eyes on Krayola. “If I’d known you were coming, I could have given you a ride along with Alix.” He’d always wondered if she spied on him and Dean and reported to their mother.
“I come up early to help. You know Miss Nadine don’t allow no caterers and says homemade is always better. It’s a lot of work for yo’ mama.” As if she hadn’t said a word about his sex life and his sheets, Krayola continued to slice long pineapple spears and fuzzy kiwis for a big fruit tray. Spy or not, he simply couldn’t fire her. The condo wouldn’t be the same without her big, white-clad frame bustling around and bobbing her head wrapped in a colorful do-rag to the tunes on her iPod.
For better or worse, all of these older women cared about him. He moved forward and gave each one a big hug.
****
To the clop of her mount, Alix thought, “Here I am at Lorena Ranch. Here I am at Lorena Ranch.”
The horses moved so slowly she could take in the view as they moved around the ring. Along with a horde of dark-haired, dark-eyed Billodeaux relatives of all ages, the rails were lined with big men who played with the Sinners, now or in the past, several hall-of-famers among them. She recognized handsome Connor Riley with is fair hair going from blond to white and worn much shorter now than in Morfar’s photo album. In complete contrast, Curse ’em and Crush ’em Calvin Armitage, huge, dark and forbidding but not so handsome, leaned on the top rail beside him. Calvin’s hair, always shorn close to the scalp in pictures, had gone to tight gray knots. The nearly as famous Billodeaux British butler, wearing Bermuda shorts, long white socks stuffed into his sandals, and an incongruously loud Hawaiian shirt, served them cold drinks from a silver tray. Gawking, she was nearly unseated when Copperhead broke into a slow trot following Teddy’s horse around the ring.
Teddy made a tight circle and pulled up beside her. “Get your hands off the horn and use the reins. If you want him to go slower, pull back—faster, a kick of the heels and a loosening of the reins. Lean in the direction you want him to go and let him feel the pressure of the reins on his neck. It’s easy, really.”
Shamed by a man wearing braces on his legs, Alix did her best but called it quits after a few circuits of the arena. “The way I’m slapping against this saddle when he trots, my backside will be too sore to do any kicking.” Gratefully, she slid off the animal at the gate and turned him over to two children, a sturdy boy and a petite girl, the younger set of Billodeaux twins.
She looked for Tom, always easy to locate with his blazing red hair. He was her roomie, her best bud, her security in the world of the Sinners and sadly nothing more. Maybe if she wore something more provocative to make breakfast than jeans and a tee—like only an apron since she lacked any sexy negligees, but she didn’t own an apron either. Hard to be good at something when you lacked the proper equipment, exactly like playing sports.
Alix headed for the barbecue pavilion intending to search the interior for Tom, but she found Vince Barbaro instead. Just inside the screen door, he loitered with a beer in his hand and his eyes appraising the side dishes three women placed on the long tables covered by red-checkered tablecloths. “Nice spread,” he said to Alix as if he weren’t referring to the array of coleslaw, potato salad, platters of hamburger and hot dog fixings, fresh fruit, a tray of veggies and dip, not to mention the baked beans bubbling in a cast iron pot on the indoor grill.
“What goes on the empty plates?” he asked a heavy Mexican woman with gray-streaked hair, her body encased in a scarlet bib apron edged with dark blue rickrack, and sporting a star-shaped pocket on one cushiony breast.
Maybe that’s the kind of apron I should get, Alix thought as the older lady answered.
“For the corn on the cob and the sweet potatoes and plantains from the umu oven.”
Vince snagged two long-necks from the silver tray as the butler passed with refills and plunked down his dead soldier. “Here you go, old man.” He tried for a British accent and failed in a way Tom never would. The butler stiffened but continued out the door without a word. The Mexican cook’s round, black eyes went hooded. She turned her back on Vince and continued a conversation she’d been having with a small, perky brunette woman who had been obscured by her size and surprisingly, Miss Krayola in the flesh. Alix waved hi to her and the cleaning lady, her hands busy, nodded in acknowledgment.
“So I say, you not coming home for the big picnic, Junior? My own son, he says, nope, going to Florida with his college friends. I tell his Papi, and Knox tells me a boy got to grow up and go his own way. I say why can’t that way be through his mama’s kitchen, no?” She gave the bean pot an extra hard stir for emphasis.
“I know, I know, it’s hard to gather them in again once they leave home. He’ll return when he gets older, never fear.” That sage advice offered, Nell Billodeaux laid slices of purple onion in a row next to the lettuce leaves.
Vince held out a bottle toward Alix. “Here, I got you a cold one, babe.”
She grabbed it in passing and went right by the man straight toward the Mexican. “I know you are Corazon Polk, the woman who saved Tom from being kidnapped as a baby. Thank you for that. He’s such a great guy.” She shook Corazon’s only free hand even though it was the left one.
“Sure, my Rojito, my Little Red, is a good boy, a second son, one who comes home on holidays.”
In the background, Vince snickered. Nell Billodeaux tossed a suggestion his way. “Why don’t you go outside and mingle with the men? I’m sure they will need your strength to lift the pigs from the oven, Vince.”
Vince puffed up a bit, flexed his biceps slightly. He’d dressed not unlike Prince Dobbs in a tight sleeveless shirt that flattered his muscles. The American flag pattern covering his hairy chest rippled a little. Alix had to admit he possessed beautifully muscular calves and heavy thighs, a feature she always noticed in men, but his were covered in dark hair that also scattered across his exposed toes clad in heavy-duty flip-flops. He’d slicked his black hair straight back from his swarthy face, and the ends rested on his shoulders, a perfect extra for a gym scene in a Rocky movie.
“Want to watch me lift those pigs, Alix?” he asked with another small jump of his pecs.
“Maybe later, Vince. I need to say hello to our hostess first.”
“Fine by me. I’ll hang out with Rojito.” He punctuated that statement with a snorty chuckle. “This is kind of a family affair, kids and dogs and horses running around everywhere. Most of the unmarried guys don’t come. You need masculine company, keep me in mind.”
“I’ll do that.” She turned toward Nell as Vince shoved off and rolled her blue eyes. “I hope Dr. Funk teaches me how to get rid of guys like that as slickly as you just did, Mrs. Billodeaux. I’m Alix Lindstrom, the Sinners’ punter. I room with Tom. Anything I can do to help?”
Nell held out both hands and squeezed hers. Her big, dark brown eyes crinkled in the corners, but she seemed very youthful for a woman sliding toward fifty as agilely as a base runner diving into home plate. Her trim little figure and short, pixie-cut hair contributed to that impression.
“I’ve been so anxious to meet Tom’s roommate. Getting rid of young men might not be as easy for you as it is for me. I’m an old married woman with a degree in psychology and an air of authority despite my size. I can only tell you that giving a man a task that flatters his ego usually works when they are underfoot.”
“I’
ll remember that.”
Joe Billodeaux entered the pavilion with a slam of the screen door. He let in three dogs, one large and black, two small, white and fluffy. All three went to sit hopefully at Corazon’s feet as if they knew the easiest mark when it came to treats. She took a hot dog striped from the grill, broke it into three pieces and tossed each a tidbit.
“Good to see you again, Alix. You’ve met Nell, I guess. Adam says the pigs will be done in a half hour.” Joe made his way to the bean pot and sampled the contents with a small spoon. “Needs a few dashes of hot sauce, Corazon.”
“There will be hot sauce on the table for anyone who wants it, Joe’s Special Reserve brand. Would you mind telling your mother to warm the rest of the hot dishes? You’re the only one she listens to, dearest. Please take the dogs out with you,” Nell requested.
“You got it, sugar.” Joe snatched a hamburger from a mound being kept warm on a metal platter. He held it high as he backed toward the door. Three pairs of canine eyes tracked him. “Oh, if you’re looking for Tom, I sent him to get his sister lifeguarding at the pool. We’ll close it down for the picnic, but I hope you brought a bathing suit.”
“I’m wearing it under my clothes,” Alix said.
“Good thinking. You’re bound to get wet one way or the other.” Joe broke up the hamburger and tossed it outside. The dogs stampeded for the meat, and he followed.
“Maybe you could help carry the hot dishes over from the kitchen, Alix. I would appreciate it, dear.”
“I’d be glad to do that.” In a second, Alix found herself trotting behind Joe to the kitchen of the big house and wondering if she’d been manipulated into leaving Nell, Corazon, and Krayola alone so they could complete their preparations in peace. Maybe, maybe not. Not only did she walk among the rich and famous, who seemed awfully like her own relatives in many respects, but she’d gotten a free psychology lesson from Nell Billodeaux herself. She simply loved this place, this family, and maybe she could love Tom if only she could figure out how to get him to take an interest.
Chapter Eleven
According to Adam Malala, a heavy feast called for a long nap afterwards Samoan-style, and more than one person dozed on blankets under the oaks. Even the dogs rested in the heat of the day and gnawed a pig’s ear each in the shade. Alix made her contribution by toting endless dishes from the kitchen, holding them with big barbecue mitts on her hands: among the offerings a pan of rice dressing, mac and cheese, and the crock of sauerkraut which she strategically placed between the hotdogs and the planks that would hold the roasted pigs. When she’d reached for the bread pudding, its peaks of meringue now nicely browned, Mawmaw Nadine slapped her mitts away.
“We put the desserts out later, cher, but I got to say you a helpful girl, not like some who think they’re queen of the Mardi Gras ball.”
Alix assumed that referred to Ilsa, who had sailed through the kitchen without stopping on her way to the buffet line already forming up. Nadine caught Prince sniffing behind the German woman like a dog after a bitch in heat and thrust a basket of warm garlic bread into his paws.
“Dean says you got good hands. Put ’em to use.” No one refused Mawmaw Nadine.
Now Alix lolled on a big, worn quilt under the boughs of a spectacular live oak with low-hanging limbs and a curtain of Spanish moss. It would have been a rather private place with Tom stretched out beside her, one arm behind his head and the other sprawled wide open as if he wanted to invite her to lay her head on his chest, but Vince found them, parted the veil of moss, and invited himself to sit down.
“Looks like you have room enough for three.” He positioned himself on Alix’s other side.
Between the heat the two men generated along with a blazing Louisiana sun, she hoped Nell soon gave permission to reopen the pool. That wouldn’t happen immediately as Joe Billodeaux banged on an iron triangle loud enough to wake the soundest sleepers.
He used the voice he’d once saved for audibles to reach his audience. “Hate to interrupt your naps, but we have a special event to celebrate, the birthday of our first grandchild. Thanks to all of you who brought gifts. We’ll be saving most of them for later since Granny Nell says they are too overwhelming for such a small child, so we’ll just trot out one big present from me to Beck and get on with the cake and ice cream and the rest of the desserts. I highly recommend my mama’s bread pudding.” Joe made a come hither gesture toward the barn and the biggest of his triplets, Mack, who had reached man size and then some, led out a paint pony beautifully mottled with black and brown patches.
“Horsey!” screamed Beck who sat wearing a paper crown at a small table just right for his size.
“Pony,” his grandfather corrected. “Might as well get your terms right, boy.”
“Po-nee!” Beck repeated and scooted across the grass to hug the animal around the neck.
“Look at the way that child can run already. Walked at nine months, a natural athlete,” Joe said, inflated with pride.
Nell stuck a pin in his balloon. “Did we really need another pony? Edie and T-Rex have nearly outgrown theirs.”
“Sugar, I think we’re going to have more than one grandchild, don’t you?” His little wife couldn’t argue with that. Having twelve children, there were bound to be lots of third generation offspring.
Mack set the little boy on the pony’s bare back and as Beck clutched the mane, led both to the table that now held a small chocolate cake with one big wax candle aflame in its center. “Cake!” Beck squirmed off his birthday gift and buried his face in the icing before the candle went out. Nell pinched the wick before the boy singed himself. His audience laughed as he raised his frosting-smeared face and tried to wipe it on Ilsa’s white shorts. She stood behind her child along with Prince, giving those not interested in the antics of little children a fine view of her long legs, bare midriff, and spectacular breasts.
“No, no! You take that dirty face to Oma.” She gave the boy a slight shove in Nell’s direction. “Also, we have a very special present for Beck. In December, we will give him a baby sister. Wunderbar, nein?”
The lawn of Lorena Ranch had filled up as Tom predicted. Over one hundred pairs of eyes swiveled toward Dean who stood off to one side with Stacy. Alix thought Stacy had gone white, but hard to tell with her pale complexion. Dean placed a steadying arm around his wife’s waist and shook his head. “Not my gift—I got my son a football.”
He drew a full-sized football quartered in Sinners red and black from behind his back. Beck shouted, “Ball!” and careened off his grandmother to seize it with still sticky hands. “I think he likes it,” Dean said as calmly as if he were at a press conference. Stacy murmured something in his ear, and he simply nodded.
“Way to go, bro,” Tom whispered from his place beside Alix.
Ilsa immediately drew the attention back to herself. “Ach, we are so over. My baby daddy…” She checked to see if she’d gotten the right word with Prince who seemed stuck tight to her side by sweat and lust. “My baby daddy says we are going to call her Princess, and when I get my shape back, we will have a big wedding, grander than Stacy’s, and all of you are invited.”
Ilsa nudged Prince who delved into one of the many pockets of the cargo pants that rode low on his narrow hips and came up to a ring. He slipped it on one of Ilsa’s long, scarlet-nailed fingers. “Red, my favorite color. It is a ruby, a very large ruby mit diamonds all around.” Ilsa flashed it for the crowd and received the acknowledgement she craved in a round of tepid applause.
Nell, such a tiny person compared to the people surrounding her, stepped forward into the breach of etiquette, the making of Beck’s birthday all about his mother. “We are very happy for you and Prince and hope the baby will be healthy and as wonderful as Beck. Now, dessert for everyone in the pavilion, a choice of cakes, pies, bread pudding, and ice cream to top them.”
“I-cream?” said Beck and dropped his football.
“Yes, buddy.” Dean picked up his son with one arm, nev
er letting go of Stacy’s hand, and took all three of them to the pavilion.
Women gathered around Ilsa to see the ring. Team members offered Prince their congratulations with a handshake or pat on the back before moving toward dessert. Neither Tom nor Alix moved. Vince got to his feet and batted the Spanish moss out of his way.
“Looks like Ilsa really is off the market now. What about your twin sisters, Tom? I heard they’re nurses and were once cheerleaders, twin nurse-cheerleaders. You can’t beat that, huh, not in your best dreams?”
“They’re in grad school studying to be nurse practitioners. They take their work very seriously, so I’d be careful what you say to them. They may be short, but both can still do those high kicks—right to the crotch, Vince. Fantasize about that,” Tom said with a chill in his voice that put the frost on a very hot day.
Vince shrugged, undaunted. “Just saying. I’m going to get some dessert. You coming, Alix?”
“In a little while.”
“Suit yourself.” Vince hulked off to pig out on cake and ice cream, though how he had room for it Alix didn’t know.
“How you can stand that guy? He’s from Philly and thinks he’s a real Italian stallion, totally irresistible to women,” Tom said.
“I think it’s wise to be cordial to my personal protector. I can’t say I admire your taste in women if Ilsa is any example,” Alix answered a little more sharply than she intended. She had no right to be jealous. She, too, was a tall blonde, though not nearly as voluptuous as Ilsa and Stacy—but at least her breasts were real and not silicon or saltwater. Not that Tom took notice of them. Heck, they weren’t even dating.
“Ilsa has her ways of making a guy forget she isn’t a very nice person.”
“With sex, you mean?” She should have let it go.
