Too bad Rusty doesn’t give my ideas as much credibility.
Sylvie brought with her some old scrapbooks belonging to the Baptiste family. Turns out Charmaine had been right about having previously seen the picture of his ancestors Cain and Abel Lincoln. The black twins, a physician and a musician, had been best friends with the sugar planter Etienne Baptiste. Charmaine heard Sylvie graciously offer to lend Linc some ancient journals belonging to her family in which his ancestors were mentioned. Linc said he might just resume work on his book about early-Louisiana black musicians with all the new material he’d been given.
In the midst of all these revelations, they all got another shocker . . . well, Linc got the biggest shocker of them all. A late-model Mercedes sedan pulled up out front. They could see it from the backyard since it was forced to park off to the side.
Tante Lulu came up behind Linc and put a hand on his shoulder. “Linc, bless yer heart, you got a surprise comin’.”
“Huh?” He was already bedazzled by all the wonderful information Sylvie had been giving him. But then, as if in slow motion, his head turned to look where the rest of them were now staring.
A well-dressed black man emerged from the vehicle and started to walk toward them. It could have been Linc, except for the khakis with their razor pleats, the designer loafers and the golf shirt sporting the crest of an exclusive Beverly Hills country club.
“It’s Linc’s twin brother,” Tante Lulu announced. “Dr. Cain Lincoln. He’s a bone doctor out in Los Angel-less.”
The two brothers approached each other slowly, tears welling in both their eyes.
“You stubborn jackasss,” Cain choked out, pulling Linc into a tight hug. “Why didn’t you tell me where you’ve been? I could have helped.”
“I dug the hole I was in. I needed to climb out myself,” Linc answered. “But, man, it’s good to see you again. How are Phyllis and the kids?”
“Phyllis is still practicing pediatrics, and the girls are at UCLA. Sonia told me about the divorce, and about your being in prison.” Sonia was Linc’s ex-wife. “Dammit, Linc, I would have gotten you a good lawyer. I would have visited you in prison. I’m your brother. We stick together.”
“I needed to do it alone.” Linc looped his arm around his brother’s shoulder, though, and hugged him warmly. Then he looked over at Tante Lulu, the interfering old biddy. “I don’t know how you managed to learn I even had a brother, let alone locate him, but thank you.”
“Humpfh!” Tante Lulu said, clearly pleased by his words. “Thanksgivin’ is a time fer family.”
Sylvie came over then, while the two brothers got caught up on the happenings of the past few years. She saw Linc showing his brother some of the journals and albums Sylvie had brought with her. “Isn’t it amazing how history comes full circle?” Sylvie mused. “Linc’s ancestors who we were just talking about were twins, too. One was a physician and one was a musician, just like Cain and Linc.”
After that, Luc went inside with the other men. Charmaine, Tante Lulu, Sylvie, and Rachel worked on setting the numerous tables and preparing the food. It was going to be a spectacular feast, in the Cajun tradition of there being no such thing as too much food.
Turkeys oozing Cajun spices were about to be deep-fried. Beef steaks were marinating and ready to be placed on the barbecue. In the warming oven in the kitchen, or waiting to be reheated in the microwave were four kinds of dressing: corn bread, rice, oyster, and boudin sausage. For a starch, there was about a barrel of mashed potatoes and an equal amount of dirty rice. The vegetables included bacon and collard greens, black-eyed peas, smothered okra, candied yams, string bean casserole, and cranberry sauce. Most amazing to Charmaine were the twelve different desserts: pecan (two), peach, sweet potato and pumpkin pies (three), praline cheesecake, rum-soaked bread pudding, a red velvet layer cake, fresh fruit salad, and rice pudding à la Falernum.
A lot of this work had been done by Tante Lulu, but Charmaine had helped till late last night, too. Plus, Sylvie had made some of the pies, and Rachel had prepared a lot of the items, too, sending them in René’s vehicle since she’d come on the Harley with Remy.
Charmaine would have liked to think they would be eating leftovers for a week, but these were Cajuns, and they enjoyed good food. Much of it would go today.
When it appeared that everything was prepared that could be for now, and there was a time for a short respite, Sylvie and Rachel cornered Charmaine. Sylvie carried a pitcher of watermelon margaritas, and Rachel carried the frosted, salted glasses. Tante Lulu had gone inside to join the young ones in a brief nap before meal time.
“It’s time for us to have a little girl-to-girl, girl,” Sylvie said, pouring a drink for Charmaine and handing it to her. They all sat down on folding lawn chairs.
“Oh?” Charmaine said.
“I have got to tell you, I used to think that Luc was the best thing since sliced bread, and he is, of course, but, ooh la la, that Rusty is drop-dead, fan-me-with-a-feather, hot-damn gorgeous,” Sylvie pronounced, pretending to fan her flaming face.
That was a lot coming from a woman who used to be clinically shy. In fact, she’d been treated for chronic shyness by some psychologist at one point. Shyness therapy, of all things.
“Really, Charmaine, when he walks into a room, every feminine heart flutters . . . even the married ones,” Rachel added, “but don’t tell Remy I said that.” She fanned her face, too.
“We heard about your born-again virginity, and we want the scoop. All the delicious details,” Sylvie demanded. “How’s it going?”
“Let’s just say that when you’re almost thirty virginity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Oooh, I don’t know about that. Anticipation and all that good stuff,” Rachel remarked.
“Mais oui, there is much to be said for anticipation.” Charmaine had only taken two sips from her drink, and Sylvie was lifting the pitcher to pour her more. What did these ladies think she had to reveal? “However, I’m discovering that I’m the horny one in this picture. And horny isn’t much fun unless there’s an end in sight, if you know what I mean.”
“That’s all? That’s all you’re going to tell us? I’m disappointed,” Rachel said. “I expected to get some graphic details here.”
“Well, there is one thing to be said for born-again virginity,” Charmaine began hesitantly. She took an extra long time to lick the salt off her lips. Sylvie and Rachel leaned forward with interest. “Sex without consummation.”
“Huh?” Sylvie and Rachel both said.
“You would be amazed at the number of inventive ways there are to have sex—and we’re talking mind-blowing, orgasmic, I-need-a-cigarette sex—without losing one’s virginity.”
Sylvie and Rachel’s mouths both dropped open.
“Holy catfish!” Sylvie finally said.
“Do tell,” Rachel said.
There was a whole pitcher of margaritas imbibed by the three of them by the time Charmaine finished, amidst much giggling, outright laughing, and a few sighs.
In the end, Charmaine said, “So, what do you think?”
“I think there are going to be two Cajun rogues attacked by their wives tonight,” Sylvie said.
“And she doesn’t mean Rusty,” Rachel added.
On the other hand, Charmaine thought.
Chapter 15
We are fam-i-ly . . . and fam-i-ly . . . and fam-i-ly . . .
By early afternoon, Raoul was sitting in the great room of the ranch house, sharing long necks with Luc, René and Remy, the drone of football play-by-play in the background. Every man’s vision of a great Thanksgiving.
Linc, Cain, and Clarence were at the other end of the room, legs propped up on hassocks, watching the NFL game on TV, also sipping at cold long necks. They were all being denied lunch to build up big appetites for the main meal, except for Cajun hot nuts and some chips and dip.
Linc and Clarence looked like old fools—if you ask me . . . which nobody did—in tou
risty type cowboy shirts and hair combed back with so much hair goop they would probably melt in a good sunlight. But it was kind of touching that they were trying to please Charmaine by fitting in with her dude ranch idea. Hell, they were probably trying to impress him, too, thinking he would fall right in with Charmaine’s cockamamie ideas. Yeah, right!
The women were out in the backyard preparing for the late-afternoon feast. They’d shooed all the guys away, probably so they could rake their men over the coals. Raoul wondered idly if Charmaine considered him her man. Okay, not so idly.
Jimmy and Tee-John were horseback riding. The three little girls were taking a nap on Charmaine’s bed following an hour of hard horseback riding on the slowest nag on the ranch, which had mostly involved Raoul leading the horse around a small circle in the paddock and the girls squealing with delight. Actually, they got as much pleasure from chasing chickens and going out to look at some cows.
Too bad big girls aren’t as easy to please as little ones. Not that I have any particular big girl in mind.
God does not like fibbers, you-know-who said in his head.
Fleur and Dirk had not yet emerged from their sardine can of love. So much for her hard exercise regimen! Well, actually, maybe she had been getting a hard exercise regimen, though Raoul had never heard of sex curing cellulite. Could be a new invention.
“What are you smilin’ about, Lanier?” Remy asked. “Charmaine must be treatin’ you better these days?”
“Hardly.” I may as well be a born-again virgin, too, for all the action I’m getting. Not that action with Charmaine would be a good idea. Well, it would be a good bad idea, if that makes any sense, which it doesn’t.
“Not to worry. Tante Lulu brought him a hope chest,” Remy told his brothers with a decided twinkle in his eyes.
All three men grinned at him.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“You are such dead meat, you,” Luc said. “Speaking from experience.”
“I am not afraid of that old lady,” he boasted.
“Dead meat,” Luc repeated.
“Seriously, Rusty, you best throw in the towel now,” René advised. “When Tante Lulu pulls out the hope chest, the writing is on the wall.”
“But wait, you haven’t heard the best part,” Luc contributed, looking at each of his brothers. “Sylvie told me that Charmaine is a born-again virgin.”
“No way!” René said.
“Exactly what is a born-again virgin?” Remy wanted to know.
“She might even have her doo-hickey sewed back up,” Luc contributed.
Everyone turned to Raoul with eyebrows arched in question.
“She has good reasons for doing this,” he said and couldn’t believe he was actually defending such as asinine decision.
Their eyebrows remained arched, now with disbelief.
“Charmaine has been shakin’ her bootie like a wild thang since she was fourteen, no offense intended, Rusty. Suddenly, she’s turned into Miss Pureheart?” It was René voicing this skepticism.
Raoul took a long swig of beer, then replied, “Charmaine is a drama queen. I suspect she’s always been all vine and no taters.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Luc asked.
“She’s had a reputation for being a bad girl since she was a kid, mainly ’cause of her stripper mama. Charmaine decided early on that she might as well play the game if she already had the name. Except, for the most part, she just pretended to play . . . if you get my drift.”
The odd thing was that they all nodded as if that made perfect sense. I’m in real trouble if I’m starting to make sense.
“Actually, a friend of mine described her behavior perfectly. It’s called protective coloration. That’s a technical term for animal behavior.” Raoul was on a roll now. “You see, animals adapt to their surroundings as a defense mechanism, often by changing their color to camouflage them in the wild. A sort of defense mechanism. That’s what Charmaine does with all her outrageous clothing and behavior. It’s just a defense.”
Now all three men stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe his roll was actually a dip.
“What a load of bullshit!” René concluded.
“Who was this friend who described Charmaine like that? Betcha it was a woman.” Luc stared at him, then hooted with laughter when Raoul’s face heated up. “It was. Oh, Dieu, this is priceless.”
“Take my advice,” Remy said gently, even as his lips twitched with laughter. “Don’t expound that bit of wisdom to Charmaine. If you did, I would have to nominate you for the Dumb Man of the Year award.”
Luc pulled his briefcase closer to him on the floor and pulled out a file. “Changing the subject . . .”
Thank you, God!
“I’ve got some news,” he said.
“Good news?”
Luc shrugged. “Could be.” He handed the file to him, most of which had been prepared by the P.I., Zerby, and waited for him to read it over.
“This guy is good,” Raoul said finally. “So, he thinks the cop Gaudet is working with Blue Heron Oil. And he believes Blue Heron Oil might have been responsible for my dad’s death, even if only indirectly.”
“Yep,” Luc replied.
“At least it’s not Cypress Oil. As much as Charmaine dislikes her father, she would be devastated if he was involved in this dirty mess.”
“The goddam oil companies! They think they’re God,” René practically snarled. “Every friggin’ one of ’em comes in, rapes the environment, then skips off, leaving the bayou to die off. I am so sick of it all.”
Everyone sympathized with René and his fervor regarding the rapid decline of the southern Louisiana ecosystem, whether the culprits were oil companies, other industries, sport fishermen, or developers. The problem was, greed and profit always won out in any battle with the so-called tree huggers.
People like René did make a difference, though. Slow progress but progress nonetheless. Raoul admired the guy for his ideals and for his willingness to fight for those ideals.
“My DEA contacts weren’t of much help,” Remy said, “except that one of their snitches is supposed to meet with me this week. He might be able to help, especially if he can establish a connection between Gaudet and the oil crooks.”
“I really appreciate everything you’ve all done for me. I mean, I’m overwhelmed.”
“Hey, you’re family,” René proclaimed, and the others nodded.
Not really, Raoul thought, but it sure felt good. He turned back to Luc and tapped the folder in his hand. “So, what do we do with all this? Is it enough to reverse my conviction? Can we go to the D.A. now?”
“Just a little bit longer. I have a friend at one of the banks where Gaudet has a checking account. If we can get a paper trail on excessive deposits, that would clinch the case. There is one thing, though, Rusty.”
“Yeah?”
Luc pulled out another folder and handed him a paper and pen. “You need to request an autopsy on your father’s body.”
“Oh, man!”
“I know how you feel, but we don’t want any loose threads here. When we present the D.A. with our evidence, we’ve got to have covered all loose ends.”
He nodded and signed the paper quickly. Just then, he looked up and noticed Charmaine standing in the archway of the living room. There was a stricken expression on her face just before she spun on her heels and bolted back toward the kitchen area.
He frowned, but then he decided she must be upset over the prospect of exhuming his father’s body. Hell, it was distasteful to him, too.
“One more thing,” Luc said and handed him yet another folder.
Lawyers and their folders!
This time Raoul got a bit of a jolt. Inside were the new divorce papers for him and Charmaine to sign.
“You want to sign this now?” Luc inquired, a mocking tone in his voice.
Raoul let out a loud exhale. “Give me the papers to look over. I’ll send them back to you.
”
“Yeah, right,” Luc said, clearly unconvinced.
René and Remy were smiling, as if they didn’t believe he would sign them either.
It would be the best thing he could do for Charmaine, to sign the papers and let her start over. But not yet. Oddly, he liked being her husband, even if in name only. For a little bit longer, anyhow. In the meantime, he excused himself. There was one thing he could do for her now.
He went to his office, where he placed twenty-five thousand dollars in bonds in an envelope he marked, “For Charmaine.” Then he headed toward her bedroom, where he planned to leave the “surprise” on her bed.
But he was the one who was surprised.
Charmaine was there, and she looked like sweet temptation with a frilly skirt and a corset top that sucked in her abdomen and waist and pushed her breasts up and out. He didn’t know if she was supposed to be a gypsy or a peasant girl or a happy hooker, and he didn’t care. She’d obviously been crying.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” He grabbed a couple of tissues from the box on the dresser and reached out for her.
She took the tissues but swatted his hands away.
Dabbing at the wetness and smeared mascara under her eyes, she told him, “It’s just smoke burning my eyes. Someone needs to go out there and slow Tante Lulu down. She’s practically got a bonfire going on the barbecue grill.”
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously but accepted her story. “Here,” he said, handing her the envelope. “This should make you feel better.”
She peeked inside and tossed the envelope behind her on the bed. “What’s that supposed to be? A divorce settlement?”
“Huh?”
“Did Luc give you the divorce papers?”
“Yeah, but—”
She waved a hand dismissively.
Oh, no! He must have given the papers to her, too. Did she sign them? Without even talking it over with me? Dammit! “We need to talk, Charmaine.”
“No, what we do not need to do anymore is talk. Everybody talks to me. Everybody tells me what I should do. Well, I’m sick up to here of talking.” She sliced a hand dramatically across her neck.