A Trashy Affair (26 page)

At the end of the meal, Brittney stood and ran a hand down the front of her dress. “Oh, no! My belly is pooching out. We should have gotten the pictures taken first. Mom, is your belly pooching out?”

Jenny regarded her stomach very seriously. “I don’t think so. It only stuck out when I had babies in there.”

Harley put his arms around both women. “Come on, you both look beautiful. Let’s get this picture taken.”

He guided them to the Villa’s tiny library, its shelves filled with old Reader’s Digest condensed books and dog-eared, donated novels. Relieved that Brittney hadn’t upset the plan for the day by refusing to pose with a poochy belly, Jane followed behind appreciating Harley’s value to the family for the first time. He may not have been a hard worker, but he had a soothing, silver tongue amid that bush of beard.

Milly Olinde had her lights set up around a settee in the same muted paisley pattern as the rest of the Villa’s furnishings. Small, quick, and slim in her skinny slacks, Milly dressed all in black from the flats on her feet to her long-sleeved, turtleneck top. Radiating a brilliant professional smile and greeting them like old friends, as they might well be in a town as small as Chapelle, Milly positioned Olive in the center of the settee. She placed the daughter and granddaughter on either side with Jayden sitting cross-legged at their feet. Arranging the men behind them, she made Merlin the center of a pyramid with stocky Doyle and Harley on either side. Jane hung back behind the photographer.

“Don’t forget, Jane,” Olive prompted.

“She’s not family,” Brittney objected.

“I want Jane in my picture. It’s my gift certificate.”

“Look, Brittney is right. I don’t belong in this picture. Why don’t you take it as is?” Jane stepped deeper into the shadows cast by the bright lighting.

Milly raked her fingers through her already spiky blonde hair. “You would throw the balance off. Let me get this shot and think about it.” She pronounced the usual “Say cheese!” and took three quick snaps.

“Okay, I got it. You two ladies—I do swear you look like twins, not mother and daughter—stand on either side of the settee. You, Jane, sit with Miss Olive and sort of center yourselves on the couch. Guys stay where you are.”

She went behind her camera again. Merlin’s hand slipped onto Jane’s shoulder and stayed there as Milly blinded them with the flash again and again. “Nice,” the photographer proclaimed. “I got some great shots. Now, how about a few extra poses? Maybe the four generations, granny, mother, daughter, grandson? Or couples. When was the last time you had a picture taken together? How about all these handsome men together?”

“Yes, the four generations. Get up, Jane.” Brittney took her place as Merlin’s hand fell away from her shoulder leaving a warm spot behind.

“I gotta pee.” Jayden wiggled his behind on the floor.

His mother reached down and plunked him on the settee. “Hold it in a few more minutes.”

“I want more yogurt.”

“Hold it, and you’ll have some.”

He did long enough for Milly to get her pictures, but immediately wet his pants as soon as he stood.

“No yogurt for you! You made a spot on Granny’s carpet. Now I must clean you up.”

J.J. sobbed from both humiliation and lack of yogurt as his mother yanked him from the room.

Olive Tauzin leaned forward and shouted after them, “I don’t give a damn. Not my carpet. Let the boy have his yogurt. It’s not like nobody ever wet themselves in this place. Doyle, fetch J.J. some yogurt for when he comes out the bathroom. Have some more yourself.”

Like a man accustomed to taking orders, Doyle left for the yogurt machine.

Unperturbed, Milly said, “Happens all the time when you photograph kids. No big deal. So how about a couples picture? I brought some scenic drops along in case you’re tired of the library setting: sunset, azaleas in bloom, apple blossom time, waterfall, beach.” Milly dragged the frame supporting the drops into place and checked the lighting.

“Sunset, Jane and me and the sunset,” Merlin replied, catching Jane off guard.

“I believe she meant Harley and your mom.”

“Apple blossoms,” Olive said almost dreamily. “If they want one with a sunset, fine, but I think Merlin and Jane should be among the apple blossoms. Then, Harley and Jenny and the azaleas in bloom. Humor me, y’all.”

Milly positioned Jane and Merlin sideways with the blazing sunset behind them and his arms folded around Jane’s waist. “Do I know a couple when I see one? Yes! Now, Jane put your hands over his. Don’t let them dangle at your side. That’s it. Let’s do this one serious. No smiles. Great. Click, click, click, and on to the apple blossoms. Face each other. His hands on your waist. Your hands on his shoulders. Look into each other’s eyes. Good. You two are very photogenic. You’ll want multiple copies of these. Next couple.”

“Mama, can I have a beach, too? Harley takes me to Destin sometimes,” Jenny pleaded.

“Sure, baby.” Olive patted the settee and asked Jane and Merlin to sit beside her. “Now watch that wet spot on the carpet. No need to get pee stink on your shoes. Thanks for making an old lady happy today.”

“Glad to do it, Granny.”

Merlin pecked her wrinkled cheek. Jane murmured the same sentiment. About the time Milly finished with Harley and Jenny, the others returned, Jayden in his damp little boy pants but licking frozen yogurt in a cone and Doyle doing the same.

Brittney, maybe concerned about her poochy belly, carried nothing but a sour expression and some water stains down the front of her red dress. “We got to go. I didn’t bring extra clothes for the kid. That Melba person gave me a towel to put down on your precious car seat, Merlin. I tell you these stains had better come out.”

“Go on, then. I’m worn out from being a glamour puss.” Miss Olive mounted her walker again.

Getting ready for the next group waiting in the hall, Milly said, “Now, I’ll be sending you the proofs by e-mail. Who has e-mail?”

Merlin raised his hand. “Got a laptop.”

“Great, then you can show the others. Write your address on this form. I know you are going to love these. I tell you with all these digital cameras around, a girl has to hustle to make a living. Remember, my photos will not fade away to nothing over the years. They are heirloom quality. Wait until you see my selection of frames.”

“That’s all good, but don’t you forget to credit my gift certificate,” Olive reminded the photographer as she moved her walker forward.

They parted from Olive at the double door entry of the Villa and got everyone into the truck again with Jayden positioned carefully on his towel and belted in, a tall for his age little boy already outgrowing car seats. He fell asleep on the way back. With his duffel bag stowed in the truck bed along with Harley who wanted him to have the front seat, Doyle chatted with Merlin, not about war but of old times growing up on the farm.

Including Jane, the soldier told her, “Kids bullied me in grade school. You know, the pudgy kid with the squatty body. I tried to laugh them off, but one day the bully king decided to wipe that smile off my face and knocked out one of my baby teeth. Merlin, he says to me, you tell those brats you’re Blackie Tauzin’s brother. They don’t want to know what Blackie will do to them if they bother you again. With Merlin being so many years older and up in middle school that worked really great.”

“What did you do to them, Merlin?” Jane asked as if he might confirm a history of violence.

“Nothing, because they didn’t want to know what Blackie would do. By the time I got to be thirteen I already had a tough attitude and a beard coming in, pretty scary to third-graders. I knocked out a few baby teeth myself in grade school when I got teased about not knowing my real daddy. After that, I just lived on my reputation. Once I got the motorcycle and started hanging out with Slick Broussard, everyone left me alone.”

“Except the girls,” Doyle snickered.

Jenny said softly, “My poor little boy came home crying from school, wanting to know who his daddy was, but I couldn’t tell. No, I couldn’t tell. He got into fights. My poor boy.”

Merlin pushed the truck up another ten miles an hour. Harley lay down in the truck bed in case the cops came after them. No sense attracting even more attention than being ten miles over the limit would do. They got back to the trailer park in record time and unloaded. Merlin did not get down. He let Doyle and Harley do the lifting. With a wave out his window, he sped home with Jane still in the backseat amid her choice of belts to buckle. She leaned as far forward as the seatbelt would let her.

“That was awkward.”

“Yeah, I hate when my mom gets upset about my grade school years. So what? I had to get tough fast. That’s what Harley taught us, but it didn’t come to Doyle naturally like it did to me.”

“I meant the picture taking session. I did not belong there. Brittney was right.”

“My sister is a bitch. Granny wanted you there, and I want—what Granny wants.” He kept his eyes on the road. She should have been grateful for that.

“Those couple pictures must have made you uncomfortable.”

“Nope. We watch the sunset together. I wanted a picture of that in case you go. The other was for Granny.”

“Go where? Not one reply to any of my job inquiries yet.” Jane flopped back against the seat.

“No rush. The Council won’t do much business right before Christmas. In January, they will see the error of their ways and want you back to run the new recycling program and administer that grant I know you’ll get.”

“You have more faith in me than I do.”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to think that’s the way this works.”

“What works?”

“Nothing. Look, I’m going to drop you off, change my clothes and pack, then go back to Mom’s to spend the weekend with Doyle before I have to go offshore. I’d invite you, but we’ll only be sitting around eating Mom’s cooking and telling stories on each other. I’ll leave from there on Monday morning, okay?”

“That’s what you should do, spend time with your brother, only don’t drink—” Jane stopped herself. She wasn’t Merlin’s mother, wife, or fiancée—only his too easy lay, and had no more right to tell him how to behave than honky-tonk Wanda. “Never mind.”

“I won’t drink at all. God’s oath,” he responded as if he really needed her to know that.

“Good. We might not see each other when you get back. I’ll be flying out at six a.m. that Monday for Christmas in Montana. I don’t want to wake you early after you get in late Sunday.”

“I don’t mind getting up to take you to the airport.”

“No, you’ll be offshore again when I get back. I’d better leave my car in long-term parking.”

“If that’s how you want it.”

No, that’s not how she wanted it. She’d rather have him drive her to the airport, kiss her goodbye long enough to embarrass the other passengers, say he loved her and would miss her, and be there waiting when she got back. Wasn’t going to happen with Merlin. She should make it easier on both of them by creeping away quietly and driving herself home after the trip.

He turned his truck into the gravel driveway. Helping her down, he held her briefly against his chest before turning her lose to go into the kitchen while he walked around front to his loft leaving her again.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Nine days without Merlin seemed like a month when Jane had nothing to do with her time except check her e-mail hoping for a reply to her job inquiries. Sunday morning, she ate a light breakfast of coffee, orange juice, whole wheat toast, and strawberry jam and scanned the newspaper Christmas ads for an inexpensive gift that might appeal to Merlin. If worst came to worst, she could always buy him a gift card for gas, though she couldn’t afford enough to entirely fill the tank of his big-ass truck.

And there it was—her long letter pleading the benefits of restoring the recycling program in Ste. Jeanne d’Arc Parish and asking for public support. Right below it taking up precious editorial space ran a full-color ad of a gorgeous swamp scene she recognized as the work of a talented local photographer. It promoted the same message and purported to be paid for by Falcon Enterprises. An ad like that cost plenty. Merlin was not cheap, nor did he lie. He’d closed on the sale of his townhouse the previous Thursday and gotten back the title of his big-ass truck the same day. While the ad dazzled her, the townhouse transaction relieved Jane of the worry that her problems would result in his financial ruin.

She tore out the page to save, noticing as she flipped it over that the backside had a picture of Bernard Freeman and his perfect family wishing his constituents a Merry Christmas and a Blessed New Year. Much as she wanted to use that portion to start her fireplace, the reverse side meant more. In fact, she would get dressed and walk over to the Fast ’N Fun for another copy of the Sunday paper to get a tear sheet for framing. Christmas gift problem solved.

****

Monday morning, Jane parked on the lot of the church of Ste. Jeanne d’Arc as everyone did who wanted avoid the new parking meters on the street and still shop in the two-block row of downtown, locally-owned businesses. She cut across the church green, its ancient live oaks currently bedecked with a frenzy of flying angel figures that lit up brilliantly at night to celebrate the holiday season.

Strolling along Main Street on a brisk morning that complemented the carols and pop holiday songs emanating from some of the small shops, Jane paused to peer into the two barred windows of LeClerc’s Jewelry and Watch Repair. Mr. LeClerc seldom placed any jewelry of great value right up front, but he did sometimes feature locally handcrafted merchandise placed with him on consignment. She could still window-shop if nothing else. One window displayed a Christmas special on diamond earrings, some so tiny one had to squint to see them in the setting. In the other, a pyramid of glass cubes caught her eye. Each one held a small animal figurine within its clear walls. On the very top, a silver falcon swooped suspended within its confines. Merlin.

But, first things first. Without entering the jewelry shop, she went next door to Sweat’s Gallery and Frame Shop, a relatively new business proving Chapelle held some fine but previously unacknowledged artists in its midst. Zola Sweat, who claimed her last name was pronounced Sweet, bedecked her walls with local art: swamp scenes, Louisiana celebrities, sketches of Cajuns past and present, and views of the church across the street in various mediums. While she occasionally collected a thirty percent commission on a piece of art, her real income came from framing LSU and Sinners football memorabilia and anything else people wanted preserved under glass like Jane’s news clipping. Zola lived above the store and came clomping down the staircase in her clogs when the bell over the door rang.