The Scandalous Summer of Sissy LeBlanc (26 page)

had tapped the phone, Sissy couldn’t have stopped talking to

Parker. He made her feel desirable again. She wasn’t just Peewee’s

wife—or that flirt men had dirty thoughts about (although that was

better than nothing)—but for the first time in years, since high

school maybe, Sissy felt somebody wanted her and was willing to

spend hours just talking about it.

Of course Parker wanted to do more than talk. He begged her to

come to him or let him come to her. But how could she with the

children running around and the Methodists peering at her from

across the street and Sister Betty Ruth Bodine keeping watch on his

house?

After dark, he suggested. By then Betty Ruth doesn’t know what

she’s seeing.

“What am I going to do with Peewee?” she asked.

“Peewee. Always Peewee.”

“He’s my husband.”

“I remember,” Parker said. His voice was dark.

Then one Monday afternoon, when the storm the weather

forecasters were so excited about kept threatening, but refused to

hit and cool everybody down, Parker asked what Sissy was wearing.

Her mother-in-law’s old torn chenille bathrobe covered in dog

hairs was the truth, but she couldn’t tell him that. She described an

outfit she’d seen in a Rita Hayworth movie. The next day he asked

again.

“Black lace.”

“Over what?”

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“Over me, sugar, what do you think?”

She heard an intake of air. “Can you see through it?”

“You can if you look.”

The iron ring he was holding slowly burned a hole though his

glove, but he didn’t even feel it. “Is that all?”

“Of course not. What kind of a girl do you think I am?” A long

pause. “I’m also wearing perfume.” She heard a groan that turned

into a high-pitched moan. And when she asked, “You want to

know where I smell the best?” the groan was silently echoed up the

line, because Calvin Merkin had tapped in to listen.

At first Calvin just told one of the other linemen. But he told a

friend who told a friend and by Thursday even the operators knew

about it.

Parker called at irregular times, but as soon as he did the word

went out and it became impossible to raise directory assistance or

make a long distance call. The Sissy and Parker Show became the

telephone company’s favorite soap opera.

When Peewee went to the Paradise for a beer after work, he

thought people were looking at him funny, talking behind his back.

But since he’d done nothing and Sissy seemed to always be home,

he decided he was imagining things.

Then on Monday, July 23, things came to a head. The country-

side was bursting with life. Morning glories and honeysuckle fought

for dominance over old fences and decaying shacks. Water lilies

spread themselves over lazy ponds. And Parker hooked into a line.

“Hey, Parker,” Sissy purred, and across the parish the signal went

out. “It was a long weekend without hearing from you.”

Parker swallowed hard. This girl could do it to him every time.

“I found us a hotel in the French Quarter I think you’re gonna like.

It’s got great big four-poster beds and armoires, and heavy old bro-

cade curtains to cut out the light, and best of all, icy cold air con-

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ditioning.” He tried to imagine her body laid out on that big bed,

her nipples blue with the cold. He saw himself reflected in the mir-

ror from the armoire, bending over her, warming those nipples,

kissing them.

“I never said anything about needing a hotel in the French

Quarter.”

He laughed. “I guess you just forgot.” He thought he was rescu-

ing her from the toad. But what Parker didn’t realize was he was

looking for some kind of home. Even a temporary home. Even a

hotel room for the afternoon.

“Parker Davidson, you know I can’t spend the night in the French

Quarter with you,” Sissy said.

“You can spend the afternoon.”

“Is that where you take all your women?” He could hear Sissy

was stalling.

“What women?”

“Oh, come on, Parker, you told me you never took a vow of

chastity.” Her voice was soft and teasing. “What did you all do in

that big four-poster bed? You can tell me.”

His voice was deep, sincere, and anything but convincing. “I’ve

never been there with anybody else.”

“Um-hum,” she said.

Parker was too smart to beg Sissy to believe him. Instead he said

he’d be glad to tell her what he’d do to her in that big four-poster

bed and found a part of his anatomy was standing up parallel to the

telephone pole.

“I don’t see how I could get away.”

“Come on, Sissy, you can find a way if you try.”

“Try,” echoed the linemen throughout the parish, but of course

Sissy and Parker couldn’t hear them.

“I’m going to take me a cooling bath,” Sissy said, holding her

hair away from her neck.

“Aww, don’t get naked alone!” moaned Calvin.

“That girl needs to cool off,” said one of the operators to Rowena

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 7 5

Weaver, her supervisor and the relief organist at the Methodist

church.

“I know you want me as much as I want you,” said Parker with

a low chuckle, “so why don’t you put both of us out of our misery

and say yes?”

“Say yes!” Came a chorus of unseen and unheard male voices.

“Don’t you do it,” said the operator.

“Trash is trash!” declared Rowena, adjusting her headphone for

clearer reception.

“I’ll think about it,” said Sissy.

“That’s the trouble with women,” said Calvin, taking his cigar

out of his mouth as he climbed down the telephone pole. “They all

think they can think.”

Sissy called Clara and asked her to drop by after her shift at

the chemical plant. Clara felt funny about seeing Sissy again, after

that awful evening with Parker. But Sissy had persistently tried to

set up a scholarship fund for her, so Clara knew she owed her.

Besides, Clara missed her older cousin.

They sat in the darkened living room with coffee cups on their

knees and Clara couldn’t help noticing the floors didn’t shine much

anymore and she’d bet the wainscoting was covered in dust. She felt

uncomfortable as a guest in the house where she’d worked as a ser-

vant, especially since Sissy kept pressing her about Parker.

“I don’t like to talk about things like that,” Clara said.

“Oh, come on, you can tell me. It’s important.”

Finally Clara admitted, “Well, he can be a real sweet lover.”

“I’ve never had me a sweet lover,” said Sissy. Her voice sounded

wistful.

“Are you in love with him?” Clara asked. It would be easier to

step aside for love.

But Sissy just snorted. “Love’s a myth invented by men to get into

our pants.”

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“You don’t believe that!”

“More than I believe in love. But I don’t want Peewee to have to

watch the kids while I’m cheating on him. It doesn’t seem right.”

And then she laughed a deep, throaty laugh. “I still have some stan-

dards.”

Clara wondered if she wanted a role abetting a sin specifically

forbidden in the Ten Commandments, twice. She took her com-

mandments seriously, especially since she was going to church regu-

larly now and praying for a miracle that would get her out of

Gentry and into the University of Chicago. It was only seven weeks

until Labor Day. All Sissy’s attempts to find her a scholarship had

led nowhere. “What did I tell you,” crackled Clara’s grandmother.

“These high-minded white womens got the attention span of a

gnat.”

Clara had received a generous offer of help from Parker, but that

was one offer she didn’t want to accept. She was desperately search-

ing for any alternative.

“Please say you’ll stay with the kids. My grandmother is at some

kind of convention on the Gulf Coast and I don’t trust anyone

else,” Sissy said.

“I don’t know . . .” Clara’s voice trailed off.

“Please.” Sissy was begging now. “I need you.”

“Well, I could sure use the money.” And in spite of everything,

Clara couldn’t help feeling proud that she could be so useful to her

white cousin.

Sissy hugged her. “Then you’ll do it!”

“I guess.” Silently Clara prayed to God to forgive her. If white

folks want to sin, you know there’s no way I can stop them, she told

the Lord.

Th at night in bed, Sissy had second thoughts. Was she really

going through with this? Rule Thirty-five came back to her. Did she

really want to give up the power of unrequited lust? Suppose it was

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a disappointment. Suppose it didn’t work out. Suppose Clara was

lying and Parker got his kicks knocking women around. Or

couldn’t get his kicks at all! What would she do with the rest of her

life? What would she ever have to look forward to again?

Lying next to Peewee in the dark, listening to him grind his teeth,

smelling him sweat, she thought about that old hotel. She imagined

the cool, dry air, the big bed, the clean sheets, and Parker all over

her. Naked and hairy and all over her. That’s when Sissy decided to

amend Rule Thirty-five to
Unrequited lust can get real old
.

Sissy’s car was parked in the Maison Blanche garage. The

school clothes she’d bought as an excuse for her trip were packed

away in the trunk. She still had half an hour before she met Parker.

She walked over to Bourbon Street, enjoying the way the damp, hot

air felt on her face and arms. Enjoying the looks she got from the

men as she swung down the street in her green linen dress and white

straw hat.

She walked past Galatoire’s, where a crowd was lined up on the

sidewalk waiting to eat oysters Rockefeller and trout almondine

with crisp loaves of French bread. She passed the Paddock Lounge,

open and beckoning the serious drinkers, while a recording of a

local jazz band was piped over the sound system and into the street.

She stopped and looked at a display of lacy underwear with the nip-

ples cut out of brassieres and slits cut into the bottom of panties. A

boisterous group of tourists in Bermuda shorts stumbled out of the

Famous Door, carrying their beer and hurricanes in glasses as they

made their way to the next watering hole. “
Laissez les bons temps

rouler
!” one of them yelled. New Orleans. Disneyland for alco-

holics.

“Hey, sweet thing, get a look at this,” said a doorman as he beck-

oned her into a club advertising the Naughty Lass and her Subma-

rine Strip. Sissy was never one to miss a free peek, but all she saw

was white skin writhing around behind a hot pink spot.

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She remembered the time in high school when she and Betty

Ruth, not yet Bodine, had played hooky. They’d gotten hold of

Betty Ruth’s father’s old one-eyed Buick and driven to New

Orleans, where they made their way down Bourbon Street from

club to club. They reveled in their power to attract attention until

Betty Ruth passed out (she’d consumed almost all the drink mini-

mums) and had to be carried back to the car by a couple of very

willing sailors. Then, of course, Sissy had to fight them off and

drive that big old boat with its one dim headlight through the dark

perils of the old Swamp Road only to catch holy hell when they got

back to Gentry. It had been their big adventure. It had been glori-

ous. It had been another life.

“Come on in, sweet thing, we’ll waive the cover charge for you,”

the doorman said. Sissy shook her head and moved on.

The next club featured a redheaded stripper with tassels pasted

to her nipples. The billboard said she could twirl them in opposite

circles while performing indecent acts. Sissy stared at the poster,

and turning her back to the street, squeezed her pectoral muscles to

see if she could make her boobs swing around in circles. If she

could, she’d give Parker a real treat. She chuckled at the thought.

There were shops right on Bourbon Street that sold tassels, but all

she could manage was a little bounce. She pressed her hands

together and bounced some more, trying to make them clap, when

she saw her father-in-law come out of a side street holding the

elbow of an elegantly dressed woman with blue-gray hair, dripping

in pearls. Sissy dropped her arms to her sides and stood up straight.

Bourrée kissed the lady on the cheek, put her in a taxi, and

charged over to where his daughter-in-law was standing.

“What you doing, chère? Looking for work?”

“Now, there’s an idea, Bourrée. Why didn’t I think of that? What

were you doing? Pearl diving?”

He squinted his eyes and lit a cigar. “That’s Estelle Perkins; I

manage her timberland.”

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She dropped her voice and stepped in real close. “I’ve heard it