When Lulu was Hot: A Cajun Series Prequel

by Sandra Hill

  When they landed at Fort Polk, the first person he saw when he emerged onto the plane steps was Louise standing in the terminal doorway. How could he miss her! She was wearing a red velvet dress, tight on top and swirly on the bottom, edged with white fur on the neckline, cuffs, and hem. Black high-heeled boots and a Santa cap on her head completed the picture. And did I mention red lipstick?

  Every man’s Christmas fantasy!

  He smiled as he stepped onto the tarmac. Dropping his duffel bag onto the ground, he opened his arms and she came running into his embrace. He lifted her off the ground and buried his face in her neck. She smelled of her Tabu perfume and Louise skin, a deadly combination to a war-weary soldier.

  “I’ve missed you so much, chère,” he said.

  “Not half as much as me, my love,” she countered. There were tears in her dark Cajun eyes.

  She reached up and kissed him then, and it was no sweet welcome brush of lips. It was desperate and hungry, expressing all the pent-up emotions they were both feeling.

  A male voice passing by, probably Landry, Phillipe figured by the Southern drawl, hooted out, “Lookee, lookee, the looie and his Lou-ise.”

  Phillipe couldn’t care less. He would probably be covered with Louise’s lipstick. He couldn’t care less about that, either.

  A short time later, they were in his car in the parking lot. She’d picked it up from his parents’ place where it had been stored in a shed. Along the way, they’d stopped repeatedly to kiss, or just look at each other.

  “I have a present for you,” she told him when they came up for a breather. They were still sitting in the parking lot.

  “Uh-uh. No opening presents before Christmas,” he told her.

  “It’s not that kind of present.”

  He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  She laughed. “It’s not that kind of present, either.”

  “Okay, sweetheart. Give.”

  “My roommates have all gone home for Christmas, and they won’t be back until New Year’s Day.”

  It took Phillipe only a second to figure out, today was Wednesday, Christmas was on Saturday, and New Year’s Day was the following Saturday. That meant ten whole days alone.

  He made it to Louise’s cottage in New Orleans in record time, barely noticing the holly and glittering lights that adorned the faded yellow house with green shutters. He did pause for a second and laugh when he saw the little Christmas tree in the front room decorated with nothing but lights and little sea shells. He knew, without asking, that the shells were the ones she’d collected on the Grand Terre Island beach they’d visited one time.

  A short time later, a way too short time later, they were naked in her bed, and sated. Well, relatively sated. He lay on his back and she was on her side with her face on his chest and one leg over his thigh.

  “Well, that was embarrassing,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

  “What? Me? Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, not you, darlin’. Me. No soldier wants to be that quick on the trigger.”

  “Oh,” she said, understanding. Then she looked up at him and grinned. “Maybe I better check the barrel to make sure there’s no malfunction.”

  She did. Thoroughly. And this time, the lovemaking was a little slower and more satisfying, for both of them.

  “Where’d you learn how to do that?” he asked, afterward.

  “From a book.”

  “What book? Don’t tell me your prostitute friend is giving you books now.”

  “No, Vi didn’t give me any books, and you shouldn’t call her a prostitute just because she was on hard times. She’s remarried now, anyhow, and lives on a farm up north with her Air Force husband’s family.”

  “Okaaay,” he said slowly. Louise tended to go off on a tangent at the least question. “So, where did you get these books?”

  “My roommate, Cheryl Ann, has a brother-in-law whose cousin has a collection.”

  “What precisely are we talking about here?”

  “The Adventures of Tom Jones. Moll Flanders. The Kama Sutra. Lordy, Lordy, you should see those pictures! Lots of men’s magazines. Then, of course, I got an early copy of that new book, Forever Amber. I had no idea…”

  And off she went on another tangent. He barely listened, just watched her animated features. Lord, he loved this woman! So much! Was he really here with her where he’d dreamed of being all these months?

  “Are you hungry?” she inquired finally, when she took a break.

  “Starved. I haven’t had a bite since I ate a stale Christmas cookie in the Fort Pierce air terminal this morning.”

  “Oh, my poor baby! Well, I’ve got homemade beignets that I made last night with the last of my sugar ration,” she began, off and running on another tangent. “Mama’s teaching me how to make them, just like the Café du Monde. No coffee, though. That’s impossible to find these days. But I do have sweet tea in the ice box. I also bought you one of your favorite muffalettas from Central Grocery. And, speaking of Mama, she sent some shrimp gumbo for your homecoming, and half of a Figgy Buttermilk Cake, which is a compliment to you since she hasn’t made that since Daddy died.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “All right. She keeps busy with her traiteur work.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come for your daddy’s funeral. At the time, I was…um, away. I’m not sure I could have got a liberty anyhow.”

  “Mama understood, and as I told you before, she appreciated the Mass card you sent. So, what’ll it be? Beignets, gumbo, muffaletta, or cake?”

  “All of those,” he said.

  She rose from the bed and proceeded to walk toward the doorway when she paused and gave her bottom a little wiggle just to show that she knew he was watching her nude display. The minx!

  After going into the bathroom to relieve his bladder and dispose of the used rubbers, he pulled on a pair of undershorts and went out to the little kitchen, which was only big enough to hold a stove, ice box, Hoosier style cabinet, and a chrome table with a Formica top, flanked by two vinyl-covered chairs.

  Louise had donned his undershirt, which reached all the way to her knees. “Ta da!” she said, waving a hand to display the feast she’d laid out on the table.

  He ate voraciously. Two helpings of everything, even the beignets which were a bit limp. Not that he would tell Louise.

  “We should probably go out to visit my family this evening,” he said. “I have a few gas ration stamps.”

  “And I have some I saved up,” she told him as she began to clear the table. “Do you want to take a bath first?”

  “Only if you’re in the tub with me.”

  She put a forefinger to her chin as if pondering his question. “First, I have a question for you. It’s about those books I mentioned.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said dubiously, seeing the mischievous glint in her eyes.

  “Well, there was one thing I didn’t understand. It was in one of those men’s magazines.”

  “Go on,” he prodded, not unaware of the rosy hue that now adorned her cheeks. This ought to be good if it could make his wild Cajun girl blush.

  “What is sixty-nine?”

  They never made it to the tub until much later.

  Chapter 7

  There was a whole lot of ho-ho-ho-ing going on…

  Louise accompanied Phillipe when he visited with his family that night, and they brought Louise’s mother with them. Her mother didn’t complain a lot, but Louise knew she was lonely and worried about Frank. There was still no word on her brother. Phillipe was wearing his dark blue dress uniform, which he usually didn’t like to do while on liberty, but he explained that his family liked to see him in military attire.

  Phillipe’s family house was a joyful place, especially at Christmastime. The stilted house, made of logs, had a wide back porch that fronted Bayou Black, about thirty feet away. Every window had a candle in it, and garlands and wreaths of pine boughs and Spanish moss hung with red bow
s in swags here and there.

  In the yard was a chicken coop, which was something new. She shouldn’t be surprised. Lots of families were raising their own table fare in these times of tight rationing.

  “Merry Christmas! Ho, ho, ho! Welcome, welcome,” Phillipe’s father, Zachary Prudhomme, said cheerily from the open doorway, but he only had eyes for his son, whom he hadn’t seen for months. Louise heard him whisper, “We are so proud of you, son.” His mother Nadine greeted them the same way, and her hug of her oldest son was even tighter than his father’s.

  They greeted Louise, as well, with kisses to the cheek, and then hugged her mother, too.

  “Alma, bless yer heart, ya brought yer famous Figgy Buttermilk Cake, dint you?” Nadine said to Louise’s mother on seeing the cake tin she carried. “Ya shouldn’t have, but, Lordy, I cain’t wait to slice me a piece.”

  Louise and Phillipe had brought a ham which they’d purchased with their combined rations.

  “Louise, yer lookin’ mighty pretty t’night,” Zachary said. She was wearing the Santa outfit again, at Phillipe’s urging. “No wonder mah son is so smitten. If I was twenty years younger, I might give him a run fer his money.”

  “More like thirty years, you old goat,” Phillipe’s mother said with a smile.

  “Smitten? Do I look smitten?” Phillipe asked Louise in an undertone.

  “Totally,” she replied.

  Once inside the large room which was a reverse L-shape, the bottom leg being the kitchen which opened onto a large living room, she saw it was filled to overflowing with family. There was Phillipe’s pawpaw, who remained seated with one leg propped on a hassock; he was suffering from gout, Phillipe had told them on the way over. His pawpaw had tears in his eyes when Phillipe leaned over him to give him a hug.

  Also there was Phillipe’s sister Josette, who was there with her husband Mark Bastian and their toddler, Michael. Phillipe’s brother Samuel, who was twelve years younger at fourteen, was playing with a large, mixed-breed collie on the floor. His sister Mary Mae, or MaeMae, at sixteen, sat on the couch with her boyfriend Rufus LeBlanc. The only one missing was Phillipe’s sister Felice, who was twenty-one and serving as a WAC nurse somewhere overseas on a hospital ship.

  Christmas music was playing on the phonograph, and the smell of pine needles from the brightly lit tree in the corner and spicy food cooking in the kitchen, plus the constant chatter and laughter contributed to the overall warm atmosphere. Family. That was important, Louise realized, and it was sad that her mother lived alone. Louise vowed then and there that she and Phillipe would have at least four children someday, maybe even five, and she told Phillipe so in a whisper as they sat on the floor, holding hands, next to the tree.

  “Whatever you say, darlin’. I’m feelin’ like Santa Bountiful tonight. Ho, ho, ho!” Phillipe said and kissed their joined hands, a gesture which didn’t go unnoticed by some in the room.

  Phillipe’s pawpaw called out, “Remember what I tol’ you, Phillipe, ’bout the Prudhomme Whammy?”

  “I remember,” Phillipe said with a wink at his grandfather.

  Phillipe’s father, overhearing, looked at PawPaw, then Phillipe, then back at PawPaw, and remarked, “Talk about!”

  “What’s a Prudhomme Whammy?” she asked Phillipe.

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  After another hour of food, conversation, even singing, they took Louise’s mother home with promises to pick her up the next night for Midnight Mass at Our Lady of the Bayou Church. She and Phillipe were probably fooling no one with their little white lies about him needing to stay at the NAS officer quarters and her staying in the New Orleans cottage because of her work at the Higgins plant. But no one said anything.

  They spent the next two days and nights making love, shopping for Christmas presents, making love, wrapping Christmas presents, making love, visiting the USO where they danced three sets, then went home to make love again. Phillipe was teaching her some things that weren’t mentioned in the books. He claimed he’d learned it all in Anatomy 101, a college pre-med course in which he’d excelled with a final A-plus grade. She would give him an A-plus, too.

  Once he’d pretended he was Santa…a nude Santa…bringing her a special present. He had her Santa hat on his head and a red bow tied on his you-know-what. “Ho, ho, ho!” he said.

  Before they left the cottage on Christmas Eve, Phillipe turned serious. “Let’s exchange our gifts now,” he suggested. “We’ll be too tired when we get back, and I’d like to sleep in tomorrow morning.” He waggled his eyebrows at that last statement.

  “Okay. Let me go get mine.” When she returned to the small living room with a large, gaily wrapped package in the form of a cylinder, she saw Phillipe was down on one knee.

  She gasped and set his gift on the sofa. “Phillipe?”

  He held out a little velvet box with a diamond ring inside. “Will you marry me, Louise? After this war is over, will you be my bride? I can’t promise where we’ll live or what I’ll be doing, but I promise this: I will love you forever.” His voice was husky with emotion as he spoke.

  Tears misted her eyes as she said, “Yes. Yes, yes, yes!”

  He stood and slipped the ring on her finger. “I know it’s small,” he started to say.

  “It’s perfect,” she countered, and they kissed to seal the engagement. Then they kissed again.

  “What made you change your mind?” she asked. “You’ve been adamant about waiting till after the war is over.”

  “We’ll still wait to get married, but I love you, and you love me, and it seemed foolish not to put a ring on your finger.”

  She smiled, admiring her ring on an extended arm. But then, she said, “I forgot. Your gift.”

  “What are you up to, darlin’?” he asked, noticing the grin she couldn’t hide.

  “Me?” she said with mock innocence, handing him the present.

  Inside the cardboard mailing tube were two posters. Pin-up posters, actually. In one, she was wearing a sailor suit, fitted to her feminine form with an exaggerated cleavage which she did not have. In the other she was wearing a red silk robe. The artist had wanted her to wear a black, see-through negligee, but that was a bit too racy, even for her.

  Phillipe examined them both, in detail, then looked up at her. “You minx!”

  “Do you like them?”

  “I love them.”

  “I didn’t frame them because I thought they would be too difficult to carry with you. And I had smaller size copies made, which will fit in your wallet.”

  “You couldn’t have given me a better gift,” he said.

  “Likewise,” she replied.

  “I’ll have to hide them from the guys. I wouldn’t want them drooling over my girl.”

  “I don’t care if anyone else sees them. Nothing naughty is showing.”

  “Do we have time for me to thank you…better?”

  “We have to leave in a half hour.”

  “That’ll do.”

  They were almost late for Midnight Mass.

  Making Christmas memories…

  They attended Midnight Mass with Louise’s mother, and sat in the pew alongside his own family. For some reason, it was a particularly touching ritual tonight. Well, actually, Phillipe did know the reason. Prayer and a faith in God gave people hope that the horror of war would soon end. When the choir sang “Silent Night,” many an eye was misted with tears.

  Also touching was the tribute to fallen soldiers who had been members of this parish. And then, to Phillipe’s surprise, the priest asked everyone to pray for those military men on active duty, and his name was one of those on the list. Frank Rivard, Louise’s brother, was also mentioned, although word was that Frank was MIA—missing in action.

  They spent Christmas Day at Alma Rivard’s cottage, and Phillipe’s parents and some of the kids joined them there for a late dinner and an exchange of gifts, most of which were small and inexpensive. He and Louise had pooled their money to buy her mo
ther a pair of slacks, something Louise had been wanting to do for years, and a new winter coat. Her mother scoffed at the idea of wearing pants, but he could tell that she would be trying them on as soon as they left. As for the coat, winters in Louisiana were mild, but occasionally warm outerwear was a necessity.

  They gave his parents a set of ducks, of all things. A male and a female. It had been Louise’s idea, which turned out to be a big hit. “Duck eggs are the best things fer bakin’,” his mother said.

  “And roast duck…yum!” his father added, dancing away when his mother tried to swat him. “Do we give them the same feed as the chickens?”

  Everyone oohed and aahed over Louise’s ring. She couldn’t have been prouder if he’d given her a huge rock of a diamond.

  Phillipe took lots of pictures with the new camera given to him by his family…his father, mother, and PawPaw…until he ran out of flashbulbs. He promised to take pictures in his travels and send them home, which he probably wouldn’t be able to do, but he didn’t tell them that. They would drop the film off for developing on Monday, but the photographs wouldn’t be ready before he left. Louise would send him copies.

  After exclaiming over Louise’s ring once again, his mother asked her, “What did you get Phillipe, honey?”

  Louise exchanged a glance with Phillipe and blushed. She said, “Oh, just two studio pictures of myself.”

  “Why didn’t you bring them with you?” her mother asked. “Kin I get a copy of one fer framin’?”

  “Um, sure,” Louise said. But she was probably thinking, Over my dead body!

  “Yeah, Louise, maybe the studio still has the negatives,” Phillipe suggested with a wink.

  She gave him a pointed look which translated to, “You will pay. Later.” But all she said in a hushed voice was, “Don’t you wink at me.”

  Louise loved his winks.

  And then the days sped by, way too fast. They made love so many times that he had to buy another tin of rubbers from a pharmacy on Canal Street. While he was standing in line waiting for the clerk to replenish the stock on the shelf behind the counter, another guy, an Army sergeant, waiting for the same thing, remarked, “Did you hear about the guy who bought some rubbers from a local pharmacy, and when he showed up for his blind date, he discovered her father was the pharmacist? Ha, ha, ha.”