The Scandalous Summer of Sissy LeBlanc (24 page)

down by the endless compromises he had to make to support his

family and to keep his business solvent in a town that had stopped

growing at twenty-five hundred opinionated souls.

It was still called
The Weekly Avenger
, but
The Weekly Absolver

would be more like it, at least in the opinion of some of the town’s

darker-complexioned citizens. But they didn’t subscribe. And his

subscribers felt that, with its extensive high school football cover-

age and weekly recipes,
The Avenger
was all that a small-town

newspaper should be.

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 5 9

“Let me get this straight,” said Hugh. “You want me to take up a

collection for your maid?”

“Not a collection, Daddy, a scholarship fund! My goodness, con-

sidering the education they get up at the colored high school, it’s

amazing she can write her own name, let alone get some Yankee

college to give her tuition. I think it’s a very worthy cause.”

Hugh looked searchingly at his daughter perched on the edge of

his desk. “What do you think, Sam?”

Sam Carter, the
Avenger
’s advertising manager and space sales-

man, mopped up the sweat from the creases on his neck with his big

white handkerchief. He’d been intent on watching Sissy uncross her

legs under her tight blue skirt. “Hell, yes, it’s a worthy cause.” He

jumped up from his desk and lit her cigarette.

Sissy awarded him a dazzling smile. “I’m so glad you think so,

Sam.”

Rita Sue Mullins,
The Weekly Avenger
’s sole reporter, looked up

from the file cabinet she was searching through and shook her

head. Twenty-five years before, she’d pioneered as the first female

to study journalism at LSU and dreamed of a career as a foreign

correspondent. Now her beat was the high school awards dinners,

wedding receptions, and choosing the cook of the week.

“I remember you raised, I don’t know how much, last year when

May Cuttler’s baby needed that operation and Daddy said you

increased circulation to boot.” Sissy was on a roll.

“We sure did,” Sam said. “And it made us real proud to help that

little boy. Of course, we can’t lose sight of the fact that our adver-

tisers may hold to a different opinion about this here, er . . . schol-

arship fund.”

“What do you mean?”

“He means May and her baby were white,” said Rita Sue from

the file cabinet.

Sam glared at Rita Sue. “Now, don’t get me wrong, Sissy,” Sam

said. “I mean, I’m all for it. But you know since the Supreme Court

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L o r a i n e D e s p r e s

decision and all that agitation over in Montgomery about who sits

where on the buses, the white trash around here have got them-

selves all worked up. Some fools have even organized a Klan chap-

ter again, not that any of us would get involved with it, of course,

but I don’t think this is exactly the time to be taking up a collection

to send some nigra to a white college. Even a worthy nigra,” Sam

hastened to add, mopping his forehead. “You understand?”

“Didn’t her father go to jail for drugs?” asked Rita Sue.

“Her father . . .” Sissy began, but Hugh cut her off.

“She means her stepfather, honey. Reuben Johnson. I believe he’s

in the state penitentiary, serving five to life. I can’t remember, was it

heroin or marijuana he had in his possession?”

Rita Sue shrugged. “Whichever.”

“She never told me.” Sissy felt betrayed.

“The family’s a real upstanding representative of their race,” said

Rita Sue, lighting her own cigarette.

Defeated, Sissy slid off the edge of the desk. And she really hated

defeat. She flicked an ash over the paste-up Sam had been working

on most of the afternoon. “Oh, Sam, I’m
so
sorry.”

She would have bumped into Rita Sue, accidentally of course,

pushing her headfirst into that file drawer, if her father hadn’t taken

her elbow and walked her to the door. “She didn’t tell you about

her stepfather?”

“I think she mentioned him.”

“But not his current address?”

“No.”

“Well, don’t let it throw you. I’m sure she’s a fine young woman.”

Sissy nodded abstractedly as her father opened the door and a wave

of heat hit her in the face from the shimmering sidewalk. “If you

want to put your public spirit to use, I suggest you join the garden

club,” he said in a loud voice. Then he closed the door behind them

and spoke softly, “Sissy, I can’t take up a collection for my niece!”

“You knew?” she asked. What other family secrets was he keep-

ing from her?

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 6 1

“Tibor’s my brother. He’s been catting around Butlertown since

we were kids.”

The candidate’s face smiled benignly down at them from a bill-

board covering the side of the building. “Tibor Thompson, Protect-

ing the American Family.”

“But he’s claiming to be the Great White Hope!”

“That’s a laugh, isn’t it?” Hugh said.

Sissy nodded and glanced at the huge photograph, but when she

turned back to her father she saw him looking startled as if there

were something he thought she already knew. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Sissy let it pass. “How does he get away with it?”

“Politicians and preachers can get away with damn near any-

thing as long as they say what the riffraff wants to hear.”

“But if they find out, won’t they turn against him?”

“How’re they going do that?” Hugh asked.

Sissy smiled a slow, rebellious smile. “I’d think the newspapers

would be in hog heaven to get a scandal like this.”

“Sissy, look at me. If you have any notions of using this against

your uncle, forget it. Besides, he’s too smart. He knows nobody’d

print it.”

“But . . .”

“It’s not news who a man sleeps with. Hell, if we wanted to dig

up that kind of dirt on our politicians, every journalist in the coun-

try would have black fingernails.”

“Wouldn’t it sell newspapers?”

“Maybe. But you can’t invade a man’s private life. Who’d run for

public office? Now of course, if he comes to the attention of the

readers some other way, a divorce or an inheritance, then his pecca-

dillos are fair game. But the first paper to print this kind of unsub-

stantiated rumor would be hit with a million-dollar libel suit. No

reputable paper wants that kind of trouble for some cheap gossip.”

“It’s not right. He’s her father! Can you imagine what it was like

for her all these years?” Sissy was working herself up. “The least he

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L o r a i n e D e s p r e s

can do is pay for her education. He’s got plenty of money—you told

me yourself he takes bribes from half the parish.”

“Sissy, now listen to me, don’t you mess with Tibor.” She didn’t

say anything. She was staring up at the Protector of the American

Family. Hugh took her chin and turned her face toward him. “I

mean it. He’s crazy when it comes to revenge. Clara’s stepfather

wasn’t on drugs. I knew Reuben. He was hardworking and sober.”

“So why’s he in the jail?”

“He had the audacity to marry Tibor’s woman.”

“But Uncle Tibor couldn’t marry her.”

“That doesn’t mean he’d allow someone else to. Don’t mess with

him.”

“Oh, Daddy, what can he do to me?”

Hugh was silent for a long moment and then said softly, “You

don’t want to find out.”

Sissy wasn’t ready to give up. Before she went home she drove

across the tracks and turned up Grand and parked in front of Hop-

per’s drugstore. She cornered Amy Lou, who was consuming a Baby

Ruth with quick little bites like a rabbit gnawing away on a carrot.

“Are you talking about that piece of high yeller trash I saw hang-

ing around your yard?” Amy Lou asked, delicately wiping her

mouth on a Kleenex.

“She won a scholarship to the University of Chicago, which is

more than I can say for either of us!” Sissy said.

Amy Lou threw her Kleenex into a wastebasket beneath the

counter and said, “The Ladies Auxiliary of the Methodist Church

has about as much charitable work as we can handle. But if you love

the negras so much, why don’t you help with our Christmas baskets

for the poor? You’ll find it so gratifying to do the Lord’s work.”

Sissy slammed out of the drugstore, furious at herself for giving

Amy Lou such pleasure.

She switched on the ignition. What had started as a unpremedi-

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 6 3

tated effort to get Clara away from Parker had become Sissy’s per-

sonal quest. Rule Number Twenty-six had taken over. She had

picked this fight. And she was going to win it come hell or high

water.

In the weeks to come she prodded Peewee into talking to the

Kiwanis and sicced Belle on various organizations that performed

“good works.” But regardless of how their views differed, in the

matter of their charitable enterprises they all agreed that sending

Clara to the University of Chicago was not going to be one of them.

Parker Davidson, his arms filled with groceries, kicked at the

screen door until it bounced. He hooked his foot around it and

knocked it open. From inside the kitchen he heard Sid barking with

excitement. Shifting the groceries to the crook of his arm, he freed

his right hand and turned the key in the lock. Tonight was going to

be different. The grocery bags were full of real food, lettuce, toma-

toes, milk, eggs, and a man-sized sirloin steak. He was going to

start taking care of himself.

Sid hunkered down as he watched the door open and, then with

an explosion of pure animal joy, leaped up to lick his master’s face.

His tail wagged in full circles behind him and his sharp claws

slashed right through the brown-paper grocery bags. Parker yelled

as eggs, milk, meat, lettuce, tomatoes, and cans of dog food crashed

to the kitchen floor.

The dog cowered in confusion. Why the yelling and the noise?

He was just trying to be a good dog, just trying to show his master

how much he loved him. Then he smelled the delicious aromas

wafting up around him and Sid knew he was a good dog after all.

His master was giving him a treat.

He skidded through the broken eggs and pushed the lettuce into

the spilled milk. Man and dog raced for the steak. Dog won. Step-

ping on a tomato for leverage, Sid sunk his teeth through the

butcher paper into the meat. He tore the package apart, covering

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steak, paper, and string with dog drool. This was the very first time

his food had ever come gift-wrapped.

Parker watched his dinner turn into doggy delight and seriously

considered killing the beast. Instead he slowly bent his large frame

over and picked through what was now garbage to retrieve the

fucking cans of dog food. He threw them into the sink, where they

dripped a dirty mixture of eggs, milk, and tomato. He opened the

kitchen cabinet. He still had to make dinner for himself and the

grocery store had closed. He found two cans of corned-beef hash.

He slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. The setting sun

beamed its last rays through the screen and the beveled-glass door

straight at him. The dog was making gleeful noises on the floor.

Parker covered his eyes with his hands.

At first he thought the knocking was just more of the dog’s enthu-

siasm. But when he looked up, dazzled by the glare, he saw Sissy sil-

houetted against the glass. Her shape glowed against the red sky.

Parker jumped up. The puppy did it. She’d come back to him.

Barreling into Sid, who made a low threatening sound over his

food, Parker opened the door.

But Clara was standing on the welcome mat. Parker’s smile

wavered a little and then widened. He stepped aside for her. “Hey,

girl, come on in.”

“Something wrong with your front doorbell?”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever used it.”

Sid’s low, threatening sound turned into a bona fide growl at the

entrance of the interloper. When she stepped near his food, the dog

hunched back ready to spring. “Sid!” Parker yelled.

Clara shrank back.

Parker pushed Sid aside, so instead of lunging, the dog slid

through the slippery mix of egg and squashed tomatoes into the

kitchen cabinets. “I was just making supper.”

“And it looks delicious,” Clara said, carefully picking her way to

the other side of the kitchen, as far from the big dog as possible.

“I guess that means you don’t want any.”

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 6 5

“You white folks sure do know how to make a mess.”

“We sure do,” Parker said as he tracked through his ruined sup-

per. He grabbed a couple of Dixies out of the icebox and, with one

arm around the girl, propelled her into the living room.

“Good to see you again.”

“Good to see you.” Her voice was warm. She settled down into

his couch and knocked back the bottle of beer as her free hand