Read The Scandalous Summer of Sissy LeBlanc Online
Authors: Loraine Despres
Tags: #Loraine Despres - Scandalous Summer of Sissy LeBlanc 356p 9780060505882 0060505885, #ISBN 0-688-17389-6, #ISBN 0-06-050588-5 (pbk.)
“shameless activities.” So saying, she bent over to pick up her mod-
est PTA dress and felt her stocking pop right out of her black lace
garter belt. She grabbed her clothes and raced into the bedroom.
The dog raced with her, panting, but Sissy slammed the door on the
lot of them.
“Wait a minute, Sissy, I can explain,” came Parker’s muffled
voice through the door.
“How?”
“Yeah, Parker, how you gonna do that?” Sissy heard the other
woman ask.
Sissy was trying not to cry. Dammit, she wouldn’t give them the
satisfaction. How dare he give me a key and then come home with
a whore. She went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on
her face over and over until she cooled down—well, cooled down a
little. Let’s face it, she wasn’t cool. All she was, was wet. She looked
into the mirror and saw black rivulets of mascara running down
her cheeks and felt the tears of mortification rising again. What was
she doing standing around in her underwear in Parker Davidson’s
squalid little bathroom rubbing her face with his mangy towel?
Southern belles didn’t do things like this. That’s what the handbook
and ladylike behavior are all about, to save you from humiliation.
T h e S c a n d a l o u s S u m m e r o f S i s s y L e B l a n c 9 1
She’d make that Rule Number—oh hell, she was in no mood for
numbers.
She emerged from the bedroom with her head held high like a
queen. And tripped over the dog. Parker caught her. “Sissy, I know
this isn’t what you expected . . .”
She cut him off. Wrenching herself out of his hands and slapping
the key on his oak coffee table, she said, “It’s really none of my
business if you want to consort with prostitutes!”
The other woman, who looked hardly older than a teenager, had
been staring with unconcealed curiosity. Now she advanced on her.
“What did you call me?”
There was something very familiar about her. Sissy couldn’t place
her, but she was sure she’d seen her before. Well, she wasn’t going
to let some teenage hooker intimidate her. “Excuse me, I didn’t
know you’d be so touchy. What do you want to be called? A good-
time girl? A lady of the night?”
The younger woman swung back and would have landed a
punch if Parker hadn’t grabbed her arm. But Sissy was mad enough
to take on both of them. So Parker grabbed her arm, too.
“Ladies!”
They struggled for a moment and then the girl dropped it.
“You’re not worth fighting over, Parker Davidson. Just drive me
home like a gentleman and I won’t bother you again.”
“Clara’s no prostitute,” Parker said to Sissy, and introduced her
to Clara Conners.
Sissy eyed her warily. She sure doesn’t sound a prostitute. Doesn’t
look like one either with those prim white gloves. But that could
only mean one thing, Parker’s having an affair with a colored girl.
And maybe that’s worse. Maybe that’s a whole lot worse! “It’s
really none of my business,” Sissy said, heading for the door. The
girl was staring at her again, making Sissy uncomfortable.
“Dammit, Sissy, don’t take on like that,” Parker said, reaching
for her shoulder, turning her to him. “When you married Peewee, I
didn’t take a vow of chastity.”
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Sissy jerked out of his grasp. She saw the logic in what he said,
but logical was the last thing she was feeling. “You’re right. You’re
absolutely right. I’ll let you all go to it, then.”
Sissy had her hand on the doorknob when she heard the girl say,
“Wait a minute. You don’t have no . . . I mean you don’t have any
cause to be so stuck up. Don’t you recognize me yet?”
“Clara, I don’t think this is the place,” Parker said.
But Sissy ignored him. She was staring into the entry mirror.
“My God!”
“It took you long enough,” Clara said. “You still think I’m a
whore?”
“I hope not.” Sissy’s voice was soft and earnest. She took the
young girl’s hand and brought her next to her. They stood together
staring into the brown, speckled glass. The resemblance was
remarkable: They had the same bone structure, the same brazen tilt
of the head, practically the same fine nose. But Clara’s skin was a
soft honey color and her naturally wavy hair wasn’t actually red—
it was dyed auburn and cut like Sissy’s. And she was wearing a yel-
low sundress with a circle skirt!
Sissy couldn’t catch hold of her voice. Her father had been wid-
owed a long time, and before that, her mother had been sick for
years. He’d never had any public love affairs, and he’d lived alone a
long time, so it stood to reason. But still. She guessed it would take
some getting used to.
Finally Sissy managed to ask the question, but to her chagrin it
came out in a rough whisper. “Are you my sister?”
Parker groaned.
“Are you?” Sissy’s voice took on an urgent note.
The girl hesitated and then said, “No, ma’am, we’re just first
cousins.”
Parker shook his head. He knew he shouldn’t have risked bring-
ing Clara home after he’d given Sissy the key. But it hadn’t looked
like Sissy was going to use it. So when Clara called him, where else
T h e S c a n d a l o u s S u m m e r o f S i s s y L e B l a n c 9 3
was he going to take her? Mixed couples weren’t exactly welcome
in the local bars and restaurants. He remembered running across a
mine field on an island in the Pacific while Japanese gunners shot at
him. He wished he could go back there now. “Clara, maybe you’re
right. Maybe I’d better take you on home.”
But the women ignored him. “I only have one uncle,” Sissy said.
Clara nodded, “I know. He’s my daddy.”
Sissy was stunned. “Uncle Tibor! The defender of racial purity?”
“Not around my mama, he’s not.”
“But he’s campaigning to uphold our glorious Southern tradi-
tions!” Her delight was clear in her voice. It was too delicious.
“I believe that’s one Southern tradition as old as slavery,” Clara
responded coolly.
Sissy examined her cousin again. Only the tone of her skin and
the width of her lips marked her as Negro and even these features
could be explained away. She might be from South America or even
Italy, maybe. In a logical society she wouldn’t be identified as col-
ored. Sissy would bet she wasn’t technically mulatto—quadroon or
octoroon was more like it. There were lots of white daddies in her
family tree. “I’m sorry I called you a prostitute. It was horrid of
me.”
The girl shrugged. “It’s okay,” she mumbled.
But Sissy knew it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay at all. She hated to
think of herself as one of those Southerners who assume any pretty
young colored girl with a white man is automatically a prostitute.
“It’s just that I didn’t think Parker was in a . . .” She hesitated and
then added, “A relationship.”
Parker broke in then. “Clara lost her job today. She was working
for old man Fletcher at the funeral home. She thought I might know
someone who needed summer help.”
“Is that right?” Sissy asked.
Clara didn’t answer directly. She looked down at her white gloves
and said, “I do need a job until September.”
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“She’s going to the University of Chicago in the fall,” Parker said
with pride in his voice, moving in between the two women and
leading them over to the sitting area.
“No kidding!” Sissy was impressed.
Clara nodded and sat primly on the couch next to the Nau-
gahyde lounger. She crossed her legs at the ankles. Like a Catholic
schoolgirl, Sissy thought. Or someone practicing for her debut.
“She won a full scholarship.”
He sounds so happy for her, Sissy thought as she prowled around
the room, maybe I’ve misjudged him. Maybe his interest in this girl
isn’t prurient after all. Maybe it’s philanthropic. Well, anything’s
possible. She began to feel a warm glow toward her newfound
cousin.
She moved over to the couch and ran her hand over the nubby
orange upholstery. “Parker, would you get me a beer? And one for
my cousin, too?”
“Sure,” he said. But he didn’t move.
Sissy knew he didn’t want to leave them alone together. “If you
don’t have beer, Coke will be fine. Or Dr Pepper. Even Nehi.”
“I have beer,” he said grimly as he got up.
Sissy waited until he’d gone into the kitchen; then she perched on
the arm of the couch next to Clara and asked, “How’d you know
who I was?”
“Seen you . . . I mean, I’ve seen you and your kids around town.
I’ve got lots of white relatives. More than colored,” Clara said with
a certain pride.
“And none of us ever knew.” Sissy was so tickled. She had never
heard a white person boast, “Got more colored relatives than
white,” but it must be true a lot of the time. It might even be true
for her. It amazed her how invisible the children living in Butler-
town were to all white people living on the other side of the tracks.
Colored people in general were invisible, unless of course they
worked for you. I’ve been passing this girl in Rubinstein’s and at the
drugstore for years and never really looked at her. Her delight
T h e S c a n d a l o u s S u m m e r o f S i s s y L e B l a n c 9 5
turned to shame. “You’re the spitting image of me when I was in
high school,” she said. Except, Sissy reflected, she’d never managed
to look quite that neat.
Just then Parker came back into the room with three mismatched
glasses full of beer. “Look, Clara, I’ve been thinking,” he said,
offering the beer around. “I know you need money for books and
warm clothes and things. So why don’t you let me handle the bus
fare?”
The two women stared at him.
A philanthropist, Sissy decided. Her heart warmed.
Clara shook her head. “I can’t take money from a man I’ve been
sleeping with. Especially not a white man.”
Parker, the philanthropist, crumbled right in front of Sissy’s eyes
and the dirty old man returned. She should have known. When he
was in my kitchen trying to get into my pants, he was already get-
ting into hers. Son of a bitch! He’d only been in town, what? A
week, two?
Parker looked shaken. He turned to Sissy and saw her disgust.
He turned back to Clara. “I’m not trying to pay for . . .”
Clara cut him off. “I know, but that’s how my mama got
started.” Her voice softened. “When the time comes, I want to be
able to say good-bye, clean, okay?”
As Sissy listened to them talk, a jumble of emotions and thoughts
assaulted her. She’d believed that the real reason Parker had come
back was to see her. Why else? He’d always loved her, hadn’t he?
Was he turned off by her vow to be faithful to her husband, or was
he just catting around? He still wants to be wild and free, she
thought. Maybe all that happened to them that afternoon in the
kitchen was opportunity. A wave of terrible sadness broke over her.
What did she care anyway? His peccadillo with this girl saved her
from sin. Not that she’d been overly worried about sin when she
took off her clothes and lounged about in black lace underwear. She
looked at Clara with her soft young skin and tiny waist and won-
dered, Does he like her better than me?Am I too old for him now?
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And then a thoroughly wicked idea occurred to her. It would put
her right in the center of this triangle, help Clara get into that Yan-
kee college and at the same time drive this two-timer crazy. “I could
sure use some help with the kids this summer, I mean if that
wouldn’t be too much of a comedown for a University of Chicago
coed.”
“That would be terrific. I mean after washing corpses, nothing’s a
comedown.”
“Then it’s settled?” Sissy asked, excited. She loved getting in the
middle of things and stirring them up.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Parker said, trying to
sound like the voice of reason. “What’ll Peewee say? Won’t you
have to talk this over with him?”
Sissy smiled a slow smile and said in an intimate voice, “Why,
sugar, you didn’t seem all that concerned about my husband when
you were all over me in my kitchen last Wednesday. But I know
he’ll appreciate the thought.”
“You SOB,” hissed Clara. “What do you do, just use me when
your little housewife can’t get out of the house?” Then she turned
to Sissy. “I didn’t mean . . .”
“That’s okay,” said Sissy, enjoying the fight.
“Clara . . .” Parker put his hand on her arm. She jerked back.
Sissy tried to hide her grin. Serves him right, she thought. She
wondered if Clara would go for his throat, but she couldn’t stick
around. “That husband you’re so concerned about must be won-
dering what’s become of me,” said the young matron in the navy
blue and white dress. Then Sissy made up Rule Number Thirty:
Never leave any man you are even slightly interested in alone with
the Other Woman.
“Can I give you a lift?” she asked Clara.
“I’d appreciate that,” said Clara, moving away from Parker. “I