The Scandalous Summer of Sissy LeBlanc (33 page)

* * *

week at the Paradise. This Friday, an old-time Negro band was

playing the songs of their youth. The bar was warm and crowded.

On the dance floor, everyone was making the most of the Golden

Rule and doing unto others what they would have done unto them.

So Bourrée found leaving wasn’t the easiest thing in the world.

He lurched out of his truck onto his driveway, humming a song

from his youth about the right key, but the wrong keyhole. He was

late for supper, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t in the mood to care

about much of anything until he walked in his front door and saw

Sissy sitting on the couch in deep conversation with his wife. He

grabbed the door frame and hung on for balance. He was glad he

was already drunk.

Miss Lily, her plump cheeks trembling, asked, “You have trouble

finding your way home?”

Bourrée looked from his wife to Sissy with poker eyes.

Finally, Miss Lily said, “You know Hugh and Cady Thompson’s

girl?”

Bourrée made a sound that neither admitted nor denied anything.

Sissy stood up politely, held out her hand, and said how much

she’d been looking forward to this meeting. His touch sent a jolt of

electricity through her and shut her up. Miss Lily chattered on

about the rug and static electricity. Bourrée smiled a tight, mean

smile. “You just happen to drop by?” he asked as Peewee came into

the living room with a tray of Cokes. The boy faltered and the

glasses tottered and clicked together when he saw his father.

“I invited her, Daddy.” Bourrée heard the eagerness in his son’s

voice and that note of pride. Pathetic.

“Peewee asked Sissy to go steady with him. Isn’t that sweet?”

Miss Lily said.

Bourrée stumbled and sat down hard in Miss Lily’s antique chair.

He turned to his son and kept his voice low. “You what?”

2 2 2

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

Sissy went to help Peewee with the tray. “Peewee popped the

question this afternoon.” She displayed her green-sweatered chest

with Peewee’s service pin hooked over her left nipple. Bourrée

examined her chest and saw the color rise in her face. She was look-

ing at him like an alcoholic who’s taken the pledge and then sees a

bottle of whiskey. This little girl was going to be more trouble to get

rid of than he’d ever thought. Not that he’d ever given it much

thought, especially when she was sitting on top of him, naked to

the world, grinding her little butt into him. But he had to think

about it now.

He watched Sissy sit on the couch and pull Peewee down next to

her. And saw that fool boy beam. “You knew I was seeing your son,

didn’t you, Mr. LeBlanc?”

Bourrée’s lip curled. “Now how was I supposed to know that?”

“Why, Peewee,” Sissy teased. “You bad boy. You’ve been keeping

me a secret.” And then in a confidential tone to Miss Lily, she said,

“He’s so sly. He’s been over to my house every night this week.

Since Tuesday, anyway.” Rule Number Twenty-two:
A man always

wants a girl another man has
. That’s why God made up His rule

against coveting your neighbor’s wife. He knew men could hardly

stop themselves.

Bourrée growled softly.

“Now, Bourrée,” Miss Lily said, “you may be drunk as a dog,

but that doesn’t give you any call to act like one. I’m sure you’re as

happy as I am that Peewee found himself such a nice girl.” She pat-

ted Sissy’s knee.

“Is that true, Mr. LeBlanc?” Sissy asked, and he knew she wanted

to see him squirm.

“I don’t know. Are you a nice girl?” He looked her in the eye and

his lips curled.

Peewee was mortified. “Daddy!” he wailed.

Miss Lily shook her head in disgust. “Well, I’d better go see

about my roast.” She hefted herself off the sofa slowly and with

some difficulty.

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 2 2 3

“Oh, let me help,” said Sissy as she left the room behind the older

woman.

Bourrée watched Sissy sashay out of the room in her modest

gray-flannel skirt. But he wasn’t thinking modest. He was thinking

how it cupped her ass. His nostrils flared.

Peewee rubbed his palms on his pants and said, “Bert brought

girls home all the time, and you were always nice to them. Real

nice.”

“This one isn’t for you, son.”

Peewee’s voice broke. “What’s wrong with her? You think she’s

too pretty for me. Is that it?” He was fighting tears.

Oh, Christ, Bourrée thought, the boy’s suffering again! Teenagers

just aren’t fit to associate with the rest of humanity. There ought to

be some kind of pen you could lock them up in when they turn thir-

teen and hold them there until they reach twenty. Then he thought

about Sissy swinging her hips around in the kitchen. He imagined

her bending over to get some onions. Maybe he’d just lock up the

boys. Let the girls out when you had a use for them. “You been

fighting over her?”

Peewee touched his swollen face and grinned proudly. “I took on

Parker Davidson. He’s the captain of the football team.”

“Then you’re a bigger fool than even I thought. That girl’s noth-

ing but trouble.”

“How would you know?” Peewee’s voice was sullen.

“Trust me on this one.” Bourrée wasn’t even aware of the smug

tone in his voice. “Just dump her. With a girl like that, you don’t

have to worry about letting her down easy. Just let her down.”

“You go to hell!” yelled Peewee.

Bourrée came back loud and clear. “Don’t you use that tone of

voice to me, boy!”

And Peewee crumbled. Bourrée had won.

But when Miss Lily told Sissy to call the men in for dinner, she

caught Peewee by the hand and said, “I’m having such a good

time!” Then she kissed him on the cheek, and turning her deep

2 2 4

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

green eyes on Bourrée, added, “Miss Lily asked me to come for din-

ner every Friday night.”

Peewee was kissing her good night. He’d been at it for what

seemed like forever, although it had actually been less than a

minute. Sissy tried to pull out of the embrace, but he wouldn’t let

go. His lips were wet and soft and he was holding her tight in his

skinny arms, rubbing up against her. The image of a weasel popped

into Sissy’s head. Peewee slipped his hand under her green sweater.

She tried to push him away gently, so as not to hurt his feelings, but

he held her tight. She put her hand over his and shoved it down, but

his hand immediately crawled back up over her slip. His insistent

fingers endeavored to get inside her bra. Touch her skin. She shud-

dered and tried to pull his hand out, but he grabbed her nipple.

That’s when she hit his chin with the heel of her hand, ungluing his

lips from hers.

“Stop it!”

“But we’re going steady,” he said, rubbing his sore chin. “I

thought . . .”

“I don’t care what you thought, I’m not that kind of girl!”

“I know that, but if you love somebody . . .”

Sissy groaned. “Peewee!”

Over his shoulder she spotted a man moving in the dark, step-

ping out from behind a white oleander bush. Peewee nattered on

about respecting her and a man’s natural desires. A car pulled out

of a driveway, swinging its headlights over the yard, and she saw

the silhouette of a short powerful body in a hunting jacket step

back into the shadows.

“I’ve got to go inside.” She quickly unlocked the door.

“But . . .”

“My daddy’s real strict.”

“Just five more minutes,” he begged.

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 2 2 5

“If I don’t go in now, he may not let me go out with you again.

And I’d just
hate
that.”

As she hoped, Peewee was too flattered to protest. Behind him,

she made out Bourrée watching her. Well, she’d give him something

to watch. She grabbed Peewee and kissed him, and for a brief

moment even slid her hand down his back, patting his jeans as a

parting gift. Then she shut the door firmly in his face.

She straightened her clothes with a mild feeling of disgust and

tiptoed through the house, turning off the lights. Her parents’ door

was open.

“Sissy,” she heard her mother call to her from the dark. Her voice

was weak.

“I’m real tired, Mama. You go on to sleep.” Sissy stood in the

doorway, threw her mother a kiss, then sprinted down the hall into

her own room and locked the door.

She switched on her bedside lamp. The silk lampshade turned the

room amber. She put Coleman Hawkins on the phonograph. She’d

make Bourrée sorry he threw her over. She’d make him beg her to

take him back. She could do it. She knew she could. And then she’d

have someone again.

She pulled up the shade and searched the darkness until she saw

the light of a cigarette moving into the backyard. Bourrée had come

back to her! Just like she knew he would.

She pulled out the bobby pins and fluffed out her curls. Turning

completely around she lifted the green sweater slowly over her

head, showing off her long, lean torso in her pink lace slip. Then

she twisted agilely to the side, unzipped a zipper, and stepped out of

her gray skirt. Next she pulled up the pink lace slip, slowly, slowly,

hesitating: showing tantalizing glimpses of her thighs and panties,

and then dropping the slip. Would she? Wouldn’t she? Finally she

ripped it off and threw it on the bed.

In the yard, Bourrée tipped a flask of whiskey to his lips and

watched Sissy, lit by the amber glow of the bedside lamp, take off

2 2 6

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

her pink bra one strap at a time, finally reaching around, unhooking

it and exposing her young, firm breasts to the eyes of the night. The

girl was trouble, pure and simple. He rubbed himself as he watched.

Coleman Hawkins made his tenor sax wail, as Sissy, wearing

her pink panties, bent over to take off her socks. Finally, she stood

up and slowly rolled down her underpants. She turned away from

the window and admired herself in the full-length mirror on her

armoire. Lightly cradling her breasts, drawing a circle around her

red pubic hairs, sliding her hands sensuously over her flat belly.

Then she turned and stood right in front of the window.

“Sissy,” her father said.

She jumped. Her father knocked on the door.

“Just a minute.” She hurriedly slipped into a short, frilly night-

gown, pulled down the window shade, and opened the door.

Her father stood in his pajamas in the hall. He tied his plaid wool

bathrobe around him and said, “Your mother told me you broke up

with Parker today.” Sissy groaned silently. “You okay?”

Sissy nodded. “I’m fine, Daddy. I guess seven weeks was just too

long.” She hoped he wouldn’t tell her about the banquet. She

couldn’t stand it.

“You think it would help to talk about it?”

Sissy shook her head. “No.”

Her father shifted awkwardly in his leather slippers. He ran his

fingers through his hair as if he were trying to figure out what to

say. Finally he managed: “I wouldn’t let it get you down, honey.

You know these breakups don’t usually last.”

She looked into his gentle face with hope in her eyes. “Thanks.”

“Sissy . . .” he began, but she quickly cut him off.

“I just can’t talk about it. I don’t want to think about Parker. Not

tonight. Okay, Daddy?”

He nodded, and after a few more words of encouragement,

kissed her on the forehead and went back to his bedroom in the

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 2 2 7

front of the house. Sissy took a deep breath and locked the door

after him. When his footsteps died out, she turned off the light and

pulled up the window shade. The cigarette was still glowing in the

dark. Bourrée must be leaning against the big live oak tree in the

backyard. Waiting. For her. She turned the light back on, opened

her window, and unlatched the screen. Then she went to her bed

and arranged herself in a Lana Turner–type pose. Waiting for him.

But he didn’t move. What did he want? An engraved invitation?

Finally, when she couldn’t stand the suspense any longer, she but-

toned her new royal-blue coat over her nightgown, turned off her

light, and slipped barefooted out of the window.

“Bourrée,” she hissed. “You better get out of here, or I’m gonna

call the sheriff and tell him there’s a peeping Tom in my yard.”

He snorted. “You talking about that show you just put on? Hell,

girl, I didn’t need to peep. You were exposing yourself to God and

country.”

“You think the sheriff is gonna believe that when he catches you

in my yard?”

He grabbed her and pushed her into the old live oak. “Stay away

from my family, you hear.”

She could almost taste the tobacco and alcohol on his breath. She

tossed her head. “How you gonna make me? You gonna tell Peewee

what you did to me in the woods? How you took my virginity