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.)
had left town. They’d gone to college on the G.I. Bill and never
returned or they’d found new opportunities in the city.
But a few remained to take over the family farm or run a small
business. A couple of his old teammates spotted him and came
over. One was tall and gaunt, with an unhealthy pallor and a heavy
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 4 9
five o’clock shadow prickling over his cheeks. He had small black
eyes with pouches hanging from them. Parker remembered they
called him Plurb something. The other man Parker recognized as
Sammy Rutledge, whose family owned Parish Motors. Sammy had
been heavy when he played tackle. Now he looked as if he’d been
stuffed into his skin like a German sausage. They’d been sopho-
mores when Parker had had his famous senior year. Sammy slapped
him on the shoulder. “What you doing back, boy?”
“It’s about time, don’t you think?” Parker said, motioning for
them to sit down.
“Hell, yes,” said Sammy, pulling out a chair. It creaked with his
weight. Plurb hooked an empty from the next table. Sammy waved
to Rosalie behind the bar and said, “Tell the truth. There’s no place
like Gentry, is there?”
“Damn straight,” said Parker.
Sammy nodded to Plurb with approval. Plurb said nothing.
“Parker’s working with me,” Calvin said with obvious pride. He
downed his fourth beer. Even though he was the supervisor, Calvin
had the grace not to say Parker Davidson’s working
for
me, but it
was there anyway, hanging in the air.
Parker shifted in his chair. “It keeps me outdoors.”
His former teammates nodded and said nothing, but they looked
betrayed. Peewee was right. Parker was supposed to come back
bringing them fame and glory they could bask in. Parker recognized
the look. He knew he should have saved up enough money in
Miami so he could just sit around Gentry and look important. But
he’d go nuts doing that, so he said, “I never was one to settle
down.”
He saw Plurb’s eyes shine with a dream of freedom—a man’s
freedom.
“Same ol’ Parker,” Sammy said.
“Gotta be wild and free,” said Parker.
When Rosalie arrived to take their order, they fought over who’d
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buy the drinks. Parker slapped a five on the table, but Sammy
pushed it away and handed Rosalie a ten. “This boy’s been con-
sorting with Yankees and worse. His money’s no good down here.”
Rosalie smiled and took Sammy’s bill. “You all want some
potato chips?” she asked, slipping her pencil behind her ear into her
curly black hair. The gold was peeling from her drop earrings. She
looked tired.
“Sure do, honey,” said Calvin, patting her once voluptuous hips,
now beginning to sag. “We just love your potatoes.” Rosalie swat-
ted at him like at a pesky fly. Sammy and Plurb laughed. Parker said
nothing.
“Hey,” Sammy yelled after her. “Bring three, four bags of pork
cracklin’, too.” He brushed his pale crew cut with his palm in eager
anticipation.
When Rosalie came back with the order, Calvin waited until she
leaned over the table with a tray of drinks and rubbed his palm over
her spreading rear. This time Rosalie jumped. Parker had to move
fast to catch the tray before the beers turned over and landed on
their laps.
“Hey, woman, you gotta be more careful,” Calvin said.
Sammy and Plurb thought that was hilarious.
“Cut it out, Calvin,” Parker said, handing the tray back to
Rosalie.
“What’s eating you, boy?” Calvin asked, his voice filled with the
injured innocence of the intoxicated.
“Can’t you see she doesn’t appreciate it?”
“Sure she does. You love me, don’t you, honey?” Calvin said, try-
ing to pinch her.
“Course I do,” Rosalie said, jumping back and moving around
Parker for protection. She set out the last of the drinks, warily eye-
ing Sammy Rutledge, who was on Parker’s right.
Sammy appraised the waitress with a crooked smile. Then he saw
Parker’s expression and decided to go with the winners. “Leave her
alone, Calvin. You’re drunk.”
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“Damn right,” said Calvin. “And proud of it.”
Everyone laughed at that.
When Rosalie was gone, the men relaxed. Sammy started to rem-
inisce about Parker’s famous ninety-five-yard touchdown against
Hammond. While Calvin amiably downed his fifth beer, the three
ex-teammates went over the game, play by play. Parker could
almost hear the cheering as they relived that great afternoon. He
felt better than he had in ages. He told them about the opposition
tackle who’d tried to step on his face. “That’s right. He did fall,”
said Sammy. “I remember thinking he wasn’t real coordinated.”
“Right,” said Parker. “Lost all his coordination when I yanked
on his shoe.” Everybody laughed and Parker was glad he’d come
home where he could find friends to share his memories.
“Why didn’t you get the rest of us to beat the shit out of him on
the next play?” Plurb asked. It was the first time he’d spoken.
“That would be playing his game,” said Parker. “I didn’t want to
do that.”
Plurb squinted at Parker. “I remember, you always was clean
cut.” He picked up his beer and sniffed it.
“Nothing wrong with that,” said Calvin. His voice was loud.
Sammy agreed there was nothing wrong with that at all. Plurb
said nothing.
“You never did get hurt, did you?” asked Sammy, tearing into the
potato chips.
“Once, sophomore year.” Parker described the game against
Amite. “Doctor benched me for a month.” He started to tell them
about it, but they weren’t listening. It was before their time.
“Remember the barf party we had after we beat Hammond!”
said Sammy, washing his potato chips down with beer and opening
a bag of pork cracklin’. “Man oh man, did I get sick.” They ordered
another round and moved on to the great barf parties of their
youth. When the drinks came, Calvin kept his hands to himself.
After that, talk turned to the war. But pretty soon Calvin and
Sammy were doing the talking, because all Parker would say about
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his Silver Star was “I guess I was in the wrong place at the wrong
time.” He never said any more.
“Tell these boys about some of them places you was living in. He
was shacked up with one of them Thailand cuties,” Calvin said,
pulling on his eyes so they’d slant.
“No shit!” Pork cracklin’ fell out of Sammy’s open mouth.
But when Parker started talking about something besides cuties,
Sammy cut him off. “Hell, Parker, me and Plurb was stationed over
in the Pacific. We couldn’t wait to get home. Them places are filled
to busting with little brown people, don’t even speak English.” He
passed the pork cracklin’ around the table. “And the things they
eat. Shit, that stuff ain’t fit for a dog.”
Plurb spoke for the third time that evening. “They eat the dogs,
too.”
A silence descended on the table after that. Parker searched for
some way to fill it. He’d been the captain of the team and still felt
it incumbent upon him to keep up their spirits. A muscle in his
neck started to ache. Before he could think of anything, the others
reached for their wallets and pulled out pictures of their families.
Sammy showed off his plump wife and two plump sons. Plurb,
with quiet pride, passed around a snapshot of his sweet-faced wife
and six little girls in matching dresses and Mary Jane shoes. Calvin
pulled out a snapshot of Thelma, who turned out to be blond and
perky. Parker admired all the pictures, but didn’t pull out any of
his own.
Finally Parker’s teammates wandered off, shaking their heads.
Gentry’s greatest football star and war hero stringing phone lines
for Calvin Merkin. A satisfied smile played around Plurb’s slack
cheeks. Parker felt humiliated. He knew the most satisfying thing
about other people’s fame is seeing them brought down to your
level of everyday disappointment, but that’s not what he’d come
home for.
“You still got family here?” Calvin asked, hoping to solve the
mystery of why Parker had returned.
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But Parker shook his head. “You know my father died.”
“I always wondered why you didn’t come back for the funeral.”
“I was trekking through the jungles of Burma. By the time I
found out, my mother had already moved to Florida.” The two
men looked at one another in silence. “She visited me in Bangkok
that Christmas, but she didn’t like it.”
“Was you living with your Thailand cutie?”
Parker nodded and twisted his head to stretch the tense muscle.
“Your mama find out?”
“My girlfriend didn’t have any other place to go. I couldn’t
throw her into the street.”
“Jesus, Parker.” Calvin wiped his head and then carefully
arranged his hairs. There was admiration in his voice, but Parker
heard anxiety, too. He’s afraid I’ll get him in trouble. Parker didn’t
know how to reassure him. This afternoon with Sissy had ignited
a spark he wasn’t sure he could snuff out. He wasn’t sure he want-
ed to.
They drank in silence. Calvin began complaining again about his
wife, Thelma, his ball and chain. Parker tried to match his descrip-
tion to the perky blond in the picture. Maybe she wasn’t so perky
anymore. Finally, she called and Calvin had to stagger on home for
dinner. “Dammit, Parker, you’re one lucky bastard. You’re free to
do anything. Anything you want.”
“Yeah,” said Parker. “Anything I want.” He stayed at the Par-
adise until most of the crowd had gone home to their wives. He
talked to Rosalie behind the bar for a while. Then he began to feel
queasy. He decided to go on home and get himself some supper.
He got into his car with a grinding sense of futility. Nothing was
working out. He should have known. He thought about Sissy and
how he’d had to hide in the pantry because of that bigoted toad
she’d married.
He heard the
Panama Limited
in the distance hurtling toward
Chicago. The luxury express had roared through town twice a day,
every day of his youth.
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Red lights flashed at the crossing.
Suddenly Parker was back in high school and in the grip of a
crazed adrenaline rush. He downshifted and charged the tracks.
He could beat the old
Panama Limited
. He could still do it. The
MG was caught in the blinding light of the oncoming train as it
rushed toward him. The warning bell clanged as he floored the gas
pedal.
The diesel screamed.
Parker white-knuckled across the intersection.
“Yowee!” he yelled into the night as the gates closed down
behind him. The adrenaline had knocked out the grinding in his
stomach.
And then as the train blasted and rumbled, he heard his saner
voice. That was a damned fool thing to do! You almost killed your-
self and all those innocent people. For what? For nothing.
Parker began to shake and had to wipe his palms on his jeans. As
a kid he’d spent hours watching the trains. He’d been fascinated by
them and the tales of heroes who’d given their lives to pull innocent
victims from the tracks. When he was ten years old, he’d tried to
strike a deal with God. As long as I’ve got to die anyway, let me do
it saving a life.
So far, fortunately, the Lord hadn’t seen fit to answer.
He crossed the tracks again at Education Drive and drove
through the quiet to the high school. Nothing had changed. It was
the same two-story brick building set back in the pines. The same
broad steps where Sissy and the other cheerleaders used to sit with
their legs bent under their skirts. The same double entrance doors,
flanked by cement pilasters and surrounded by curlicues.
Mens sana
in corpore sano
was engraved in the cement. He wondered if they
were still engraving Latin above the doors of American schools. He
doubted it.
He stopped the car and got out. He wanted to run those ninety-
five yards one more time. His work boots made a crunching sound
in the dried pine needles under his feet. The scent of pine was strong
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 5 5
in his nostrils. He began to sprint. His face took on the wind. He
rounded the corner of the school and kept on running.
The field was there as it had always been. The lights, the score-
board, the cement stadium, in front of which Sissy had leaped into
the air and led the cheers.
But they’d put up a chain-link fence.
He stood panting. He went over to the gate and shook it. It was
padlocked. Damn. For a brief moment he considered climbing over
it. He fit the toe of his work boot into a hole in the chain link. He