The Scandalous Summer of Sissy LeBlanc (20 page)

when a six-year-old child has him in her teeth? He can’t yank her

back by her hair.

He heard Clara mutter, “These white folks sure do know how to

entertain company,” as she walked back into the kitchen.

“Marilee, what the Sam Hill do you think you’re doing?” Peewee

yelled, yanking the little girl off Parker.

Marilee, shocked at her father’s tone, began to weep. Sissy sat

down on the floor, took her baby into her arms, and rocked her.

Her eyes caught Parker’s. She could see he felt foolish, but he man-

aged to smile and refrain from rubbing his shin, which must have

been smarting like crazy.

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 1 3 1

“I don’t know what came over her,” Peewee said. “She’s not usu-

ally like this.” Sissy heard an angry edge to his voice. He wants to

be proud of his family, wants to show us off, and let a bachelor like

Parker see what he’s missing, she thought.

“No damage done.” Parker was back in control. The two men

squared off. Sissy could hear the testosterone buzz around the

room.

When she was young she was thrilled when men fought over her,

but now she knew that fighting was just something they did natu-

rally. Women were only an excuse. If a man really loved you, he’d

want you to be happy. He’d share. Of course, that man had yet to

be born.

Parker knelt down on one knee and said gently, “I’m sorry I

frightened you.” He spoke to Marilee, but Sissy could feel the near-

ness of his body reach out to her and beg her to give him another

chance.

The little girl wrapped her arms around her mother. Sissy held

her, but didn’t move away from Parker so the child would know she

wasn’t afraid.

“What you need is a real dog to play with,” Parker said.

The little girl nodded. Sissy caught the calculating look on the

child’s face. The little girl twisted away from her mother and looked

at Parker. “I like dogs,” she said.

“You look like a girl who’d take real good care of one,” Parker

said, standing up.

Marilee nodded enthusiastically. Suddenly she grabbed her

mother, hid her head, and began to scream again. Sissy stroked her

daughter’s head. “What’s wrong, sugar? Tell Mommy.”

That did it for Peewee. He went to his wife and yelled, “For

Pete’s sake, Sissy, don’t encourage her. You’ve spoiled these kids rot-

ten. Marilee, you stop that crying this minute or I’ll give you some-

thing to cry about!”

Marilee must have figured she already had something to cry

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about. Clutching her mother, she sobbed for all she was worth. Pee-

wee grabbed the little girl and shook her, stopping her sobs. They

were replaced by hiccupping screams.

Clara came back into the living room to see who’d been bitten

this time. “Parker, look at your leg!” Blood was seeping through his

summer slacks.

Peewee wondered why the colored girl had said Parker, not Mr.

Parker. He’d never heard a Nigra make that mistake before, un-

less . . . Peewee smiled a man-of-the-world smile. The BMOC, Gen-

try’s greatest Jew-boy jock, wasn’t after Sissy, dark meat was more

to his taste. He was after a high yeller! And his servant to boot. If

Sissy only knew. Of course it wasn’t the sort of thing a man should

tell a woman, but Sissy was his wife. She had a right to know. It

would do her good. He’d tell her that very evening as soon as they

were alone. Feeling sophisticated as hell, Peewee went into the back

to get Parker’s tool belt.

Sissy walked into the kitchen with a bottle of hydrogen per-

oxide and found Clara with Parker’s leg in her lap gently bathing it.

She also saw how much Parker was enjoying her ministrations.

They were talking softly and laughing. Damn him, damn him to

hell. He didn’t come to see me at all. He came to see her! The man

has no shame. She looked at Peewee coming back with Parker’s tool

belt and silently renewed her marriage vows. Trying to commit

adultery is just too tacky.

She slipped back into the bathroom, put the peroxide away, and

came out with a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “This is going to hurt,”

she said with easy confidence.

“Sissy,” Parker protested, “you don’t have to . . .”

“Oh, but I do,” she said pouring the alcohol straight into the

open wound. Parker inhaled sharply and bit his lip to keep from

calling out in pain. Sissy poured on a little more alcohol. “I

wouldn’t want you to get an infection.”

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 1 3 3

Sissy caught Peewee watching them, chuckling to himself. He

threw out his chest. “Clara, you want to bring us a couple of beers

and set an extra place for dinner. We’ll eat in the dining room

tonight.”

“That’s okay, Peewee, I don’t want to be any trouble,” said

Parker, who looked as if he were planning a strategic retreat to

some safe place like a rattlesnake farm.

“No trouble at all, boy,” Peewee said. And taking Parker by one

arm and his wife by the other, he led them both out of the kitchen.

Clara went to the icebox. It was one thing to hang around helping

Sissy. She did that for her own mama, and she’d taken care of kids all

her life. But this was different. She looked into the living room and

saw the white folks laughing in the breeze from the ceiling fan. She

studied the man she thought had cared for her sitting with them.

They’d put her in “her place,” all right. Well, she wasn’t staying there.

Sissy came out to the kitchen to see what was keeping Clara and

found her putting on her white gloves. “What are you doing?”

“I gotta go.”

“I thought you were going to help me with dinner.”

Clara just stared at her and pressed her lips together. “The bis-

cuits are in the oven. You can take them out in five minutes.”

Clara checked her hair in the mirror by the door. Her face was

closed down.

“Go on then,” Sissy said, remembering with what pleasure she’d

bathed Parker’s leg.

When Peewee came into the kitchen for another beer, he found

Sissy looking out the door. “You paying her good money and she

just walks out when we’re having company? I told you to hire Hes-

ter Lee. But you wouldn’t listen. Oh no, nothing would do, but you

had to have that piece of high yeller trash. I knew it was a mistake

from the start. There’s none of them know how to work. I hope

you’ve learned your lesson.”

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Sissy turned to her husband. “She’s day help, Peewee. Lincoln

freed the slaves.”

Meanwhile, Parker had stepped out on the front porch to stretch

his legs and figure out what to do next. He lit a cigarette and saw

Clara walking down the street. Thank God. Maybe he could get

Sissy alone yet, and somehow convince her to meet him.

Suddenly he knew how to do it. Simple. With Clara gone, he’d

offer to help Sissy with the dishes. He imagined the two of them

standing together at the sink. Again. Only this time he’d control

himself. Peewee won’t be a problem. Hell, if he keeps on guzzling

beer, he won’t be able to find the kitchen. Parker’s confidence had

returned. All he had to do was encourage Peewee on the path he’d

already chosen. He could be as good a drinking buddy as the next

guy. He saw Clara turn and look at him. He waved.

Tears welled up in Clara’s eyes. It wasn’t fair. The white girls

always get it all. It’s not a man’s world. It’s a white world. Well,

she’d get hers just as soon as she hit Chicago. She’d be as white as

any of them.

Then she saw Parker wave. He still cared about her after all. He

wasn’t just sniffing around Sissy. Maybe he’d even come out on the

porch to signal her. She turned under the streetlight and waved

back. She felt a little bounce return to her step.

Coming into the living room, Sissy saw them waving and saw

Clara’s bounce. She spun back to the kitchen. The fried chicken was

crackling in the pan. She was wondering how she could coat

Parker’s with ground glass when Billy Joe banged into the kitchen.

He gave his mother a squeeze. She kissed the top of his head.

“Wipe your feet,” his father said, opening another bottle of beer,

“and come on into the living room. There’s someone I want you to

meet.”

Sissy turned back to the chicken. She thought of herself as brave,

but not brave enough to be there when Billy Joe saw Parker again,

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 1 3 5

although she didn’t think Billy Joe would betray her. She threw a

couple of chicken breasts into the sizzling fat. Splatters of blistering

oil popped around her face. She jumped back into Chip, who’d

slipped soundlessly through the screen door. Then she knocked the

handle of the skillet and splashed boiling grease all over the floor.

“Oh, my God, Chip, are you all right? I didn’t burn you, did I?”

She searched his bare legs.

“I’m okay.”

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people. Someone could get hurt.”

Chip smiled.

“Billy Joe, I want you to meet Parker Davidson. He was quite a

football player in his day,” Peewee said, stressing
in his day
. Then

he saw his Chip at the door. “Come on in here, boy,” Peewee said,

and added with pride, “These are my sons.”

Billy Joe gave Parker a sullen look and stared down at his shoes.

Chip smirked.

“Where are your manners?” Peewee asked. “Don’t you all know

how to shake hands?”

Chip glanced at his father. He gave Parker his hand and a nasty

smile. “I already met Mr. Parker, Daddy,”

In the kitchen, Sissy was reaching for a dish towel to wipe up the

floor.

“Remember?” Chip asked.

Sissy had to catch herself before she slipped on the grease.

“I remember,” said Parker and his tone dared the teenager to say

another word.

He didn’t.

Billy Joe left the room. His father called after him, threatening,

but Parker said, “Let him go. He’s just being a kid. You remember

what it was like.”

Sissy came back in with Marilee, who crawled onto Peewee’s lap.

Parker looked at Peewee surrounded by his family, surrounded

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by Sissy’s children. “Thou shalt not covet,” the Bible said, but it

didn’t say how that was possible.

Sissy had hardly sat down when Peewee drunkenly ordered her

back into the kitchen for another beer. When she came out with it,

he wanted some pickled watermelon rinds.

“You should taste Sissy’s pickled watermelon rinds,” Peewee said

to the benighted bachelor. “They’re the best in the parish.”

Sissy came back and slammed the jar on the table in front of her

husband.

“She puts them up with her own hands,” Peewee said, taunt-

ing him.

Parker fished out a watermelon rind and sucked on it, looking at

Sissy. “Sure is good.”

Peewee saw her eyes flash in what looked like anger, but it

couldn’t be. Then he saw Parker smile. Peewee shifted uncomfort-

ably in his seat. He looked at their glasses. They hadn’t drunk all

that much. The truth of their relationship almost penetrated his

dulled defenses before he banished it with “How about some din-

ner, woman?”

Sissy returned to the kitchen and took the fried chicken out of the

skillet. Who does he think he is, ordering me around like that? She

threw the chicken toward an old silver platter Clara had spent a

good hour rubbing until it shined. I’m his wife, not his servant. She

picked a breast off the floor and was brushing it off when the real-

ization hit her. If I were his servant, I could go home. I’m lower than

his servant: I’m his wife.

The silhouette of Parker waving to Clara came back unbidden,

along with the memory of Clara caressing his leg. Did they make a

date for later? Of course they did. I’ll bet he’s picking her up as

soon as he’s finished eating my supper!

Just then she smelled smoke. Opening the oven she pulled out

Clara’s biscuits, black and hard. She threw them into the garbage.

She could see the men sitting under the ceiling fan, telling jokes.

The testosterone was so thick in the air they could hardly see or

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 1 3 7

hear one another now. They were flying on the autopilot of their

hormones.

Sissy walked toward her bedroom thinking about lesbians and

wondering where she could find herself one.

“There she is,” said the long-suffering husband. “Dinner finally

ready?”

“It’s on the kitchen table. Dish it up yourself.”

“Hold it,” ordered Peewee. He took her arm and pulled her

aside. His breath was sour. “What the hell’s going on with this fam-

ily tonight?” he whispered. “Can’t you even bestir yourself to serve

up some dinner?”

“I have a splitting headache.” She waved away his sour breath

and said in a loud, firm voice, “I am going to lie down.”

“Wait a minute . . .” Peewee said. “Now you wait just one dad-