The Scandalous Summer of Sissy LeBlanc (14 page)

“shameless activities.” So saying, she bent over to pick up her mod-

est PTA dress and felt her stocking pop right out of her black lace

garter belt. She grabbed her clothes and raced into the bedroom.

The dog raced with her, panting, but Sissy slammed the door on the

lot of them.

“Wait a minute, Sissy, I can explain,” came Parker’s muffled

voice through the door.

“How?”

“Yeah, Parker, how you gonna do that?” Sissy heard the other

woman ask.

Sissy was trying not to cry. Dammit, she wouldn’t give them the

satisfaction. How dare he give me a key and then come home with

a whore. She went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on

her face over and over until she cooled down—well, cooled down a

little. Let’s face it, she wasn’t cool. All she was, was wet. She looked

into the mirror and saw black rivulets of mascara running down

her cheeks and felt the tears of mortification rising again. What was

she doing standing around in her underwear in Parker Davidson’s

squalid little bathroom rubbing her face with his mangy towel?

Southern belles didn’t do things like this. That’s what the handbook

and ladylike behavior are all about, to save you from humiliation.

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 9 1

She’d make that Rule Number—oh hell, she was in no mood for

numbers.

She emerged from the bedroom with her head held high like a

queen. And tripped over the dog. Parker caught her. “Sissy, I know

this isn’t what you expected . . .”

She cut him off. Wrenching herself out of his hands and slapping

the key on his oak coffee table, she said, “It’s really none of my

business if you want to consort with prostitutes!”

The other woman, who looked hardly older than a teenager, had

been staring with unconcealed curiosity. Now she advanced on her.

“What did you call me?”

There was something very familiar about her. Sissy couldn’t place

her, but she was sure she’d seen her before. Well, she wasn’t going

to let some teenage hooker intimidate her. “Excuse me, I didn’t

know you’d be so touchy. What do you want to be called? A good-

time girl? A lady of the night?”

The younger woman swung back and would have landed a

punch if Parker hadn’t grabbed her arm. But Sissy was mad enough

to take on both of them. So Parker grabbed her arm, too.

“Ladies!”

They struggled for a moment and then the girl dropped it.

“You’re not worth fighting over, Parker Davidson. Just drive me

home like a gentleman and I won’t bother you again.”

“Clara’s no prostitute,” Parker said to Sissy, and introduced her

to Clara Conners.

Sissy eyed her warily. She sure doesn’t sound a prostitute. Doesn’t

look like one either with those prim white gloves. But that could

only mean one thing, Parker’s having an affair with a colored girl.

And maybe that’s worse. Maybe that’s a whole lot worse! “It’s

really none of my business,” Sissy said, heading for the door. The

girl was staring at her again, making Sissy uncomfortable.

“Dammit, Sissy, don’t take on like that,” Parker said, reaching

for her shoulder, turning her to him. “When you married Peewee, I

didn’t take a vow of chastity.”

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Sissy jerked out of his grasp. She saw the logic in what he said,

but logical was the last thing she was feeling. “You’re right. You’re

absolutely right. I’ll let you all go to it, then.”

Sissy had her hand on the doorknob when she heard the girl say,

“Wait a minute. You don’t have no . . . I mean you don’t have any

cause to be so stuck up. Don’t you recognize me yet?”

“Clara, I don’t think this is the place,” Parker said.

But Sissy ignored him. She was staring into the entry mirror.

“My God!”

“It took you long enough,” Clara said. “You still think I’m a

whore?”

“I hope not.” Sissy’s voice was soft and earnest. She took the

young girl’s hand and brought her next to her. They stood together

staring into the brown, speckled glass. The resemblance was

remarkable: They had the same bone structure, the same brazen tilt

of the head, practically the same fine nose. But Clara’s skin was a

soft honey color and her naturally wavy hair wasn’t actually red—

it was dyed auburn and cut like Sissy’s. And she was wearing a yel-

low sundress with a circle skirt!

Sissy couldn’t catch hold of her voice. Her father had been wid-

owed a long time, and before that, her mother had been sick for

years. He’d never had any public love affairs, and he’d lived alone a

long time, so it stood to reason. But still. She guessed it would take

some getting used to.

Finally Sissy managed to ask the question, but to her chagrin it

came out in a rough whisper. “Are you my sister?”

Parker groaned.

“Are you?” Sissy’s voice took on an urgent note.

The girl hesitated and then said, “No, ma’am, we’re just first

cousins.”

Parker shook his head. He knew he shouldn’t have risked bring-

ing Clara home after he’d given Sissy the key. But it hadn’t looked

like Sissy was going to use it. So when Clara called him, where else

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was he going to take her? Mixed couples weren’t exactly welcome

in the local bars and restaurants. He remembered running across a

mine field on an island in the Pacific while Japanese gunners shot at

him. He wished he could go back there now. “Clara, maybe you’re

right. Maybe I’d better take you on home.”

But the women ignored him. “I only have one uncle,” Sissy said.

Clara nodded, “I know. He’s my daddy.”

Sissy was stunned. “Uncle Tibor! The defender of racial purity?”

“Not around my mama, he’s not.”

“But he’s campaigning to uphold our glorious Southern tradi-

tions!” Her delight was clear in her voice. It was too delicious.

“I believe that’s one Southern tradition as old as slavery,” Clara

responded coolly.

Sissy examined her cousin again. Only the tone of her skin and

the width of her lips marked her as Negro and even these features

could be explained away. She might be from South America or even

Italy, maybe. In a logical society she wouldn’t be identified as col-

ored. Sissy would bet she wasn’t technically mulatto—quadroon or

octoroon was more like it. There were lots of white daddies in her

family tree. “I’m sorry I called you a prostitute. It was horrid of

me.”

The girl shrugged. “It’s okay,” she mumbled.

But Sissy knew it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay at all. She hated to

think of herself as one of those Southerners who assume any pretty

young colored girl with a white man is automatically a prostitute.

“It’s just that I didn’t think Parker was in a . . .” She hesitated and

then added, “A relationship.”

Parker broke in then. “Clara lost her job today. She was working

for old man Fletcher at the funeral home. She thought I might know

someone who needed summer help.”

“Is that right?” Sissy asked.

Clara didn’t answer directly. She looked down at her white gloves

and said, “I do need a job until September.”

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“She’s going to the University of Chicago in the fall,” Parker said

with pride in his voice, moving in between the two women and

leading them over to the sitting area.

“No kidding!” Sissy was impressed.

Clara nodded and sat primly on the couch next to the Nau-

gahyde lounger. She crossed her legs at the ankles. Like a Catholic

schoolgirl, Sissy thought. Or someone practicing for her debut.

“She won a full scholarship.”

He sounds so happy for her, Sissy thought as she prowled around

the room, maybe I’ve misjudged him. Maybe his interest in this girl

isn’t prurient after all. Maybe it’s philanthropic. Well, anything’s

possible. She began to feel a warm glow toward her newfound

cousin.

She moved over to the couch and ran her hand over the nubby

orange upholstery. “Parker, would you get me a beer? And one for

my cousin, too?”

“Sure,” he said. But he didn’t move.

Sissy knew he didn’t want to leave them alone together. “If you

don’t have beer, Coke will be fine. Or Dr Pepper. Even Nehi.”

“I have beer,” he said grimly as he got up.

Sissy waited until he’d gone into the kitchen; then she perched on

the arm of the couch next to Clara and asked, “How’d you know

who I was?”

“Seen you . . . I mean, I’ve seen you and your kids around town.

I’ve got lots of white relatives. More than colored,” Clara said with

a certain pride.

“And none of us ever knew.” Sissy was so tickled. She had never

heard a white person boast, “Got more colored relatives than

white,” but it must be true a lot of the time. It might even be true

for her. It amazed her how invisible the children living in Butler-

town were to all white people living on the other side of the tracks.

Colored people in general were invisible, unless of course they

worked for you. I’ve been passing this girl in Rubinstein’s and at the

drugstore for years and never really looked at her. Her delight

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 9 5

turned to shame. “You’re the spitting image of me when I was in

high school,” she said. Except, Sissy reflected, she’d never managed

to look quite that neat.

Just then Parker came back into the room with three mismatched

glasses full of beer. “Look, Clara, I’ve been thinking,” he said,

offering the beer around. “I know you need money for books and

warm clothes and things. So why don’t you let me handle the bus

fare?”

The two women stared at him.

A philanthropist, Sissy decided. Her heart warmed.

Clara shook her head. “I can’t take money from a man I’ve been

sleeping with. Especially not a white man.”

Parker, the philanthropist, crumbled right in front of Sissy’s eyes

and the dirty old man returned. She should have known. When he

was in my kitchen trying to get into my pants, he was already get-

ting into hers. Son of a bitch! He’d only been in town, what? A

week, two?

Parker looked shaken. He turned to Sissy and saw her disgust.

He turned back to Clara. “I’m not trying to pay for . . .”

Clara cut him off. “I know, but that’s how my mama got

started.” Her voice softened. “When the time comes, I want to be

able to say good-bye, clean, okay?”

As Sissy listened to them talk, a jumble of emotions and thoughts

assaulted her. She’d believed that the real reason Parker had come

back was to see her. Why else? He’d always loved her, hadn’t he?

Was he turned off by her vow to be faithful to her husband, or was

he just catting around? He still wants to be wild and free, she

thought. Maybe all that happened to them that afternoon in the

kitchen was opportunity. A wave of terrible sadness broke over her.

What did she care anyway? His peccadillo with this girl saved her

from sin. Not that she’d been overly worried about sin when she

took off her clothes and lounged about in black lace underwear. She

looked at Clara with her soft young skin and tiny waist and won-

dered, Does he like her better than me?Am I too old for him now?

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And then a thoroughly wicked idea occurred to her. It would put

her right in the center of this triangle, help Clara get into that Yan-

kee college and at the same time drive this two-timer crazy. “I could

sure use some help with the kids this summer, I mean if that

wouldn’t be too much of a comedown for a University of Chicago

coed.”

“That would be terrific. I mean after washing corpses, nothing’s a

comedown.”

“Then it’s settled?” Sissy asked, excited. She loved getting in the

middle of things and stirring them up.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Parker said, trying to

sound like the voice of reason. “What’ll Peewee say? Won’t you

have to talk this over with him?”

Sissy smiled a slow smile and said in an intimate voice, “Why,

sugar, you didn’t seem all that concerned about my husband when

you were all over me in my kitchen last Wednesday. But I know

he’ll appreciate the thought.”

“You SOB,” hissed Clara. “What do you do, just use me when

your little housewife can’t get out of the house?” Then she turned

to Sissy. “I didn’t mean . . .”

“That’s okay,” said Sissy, enjoying the fight.

“Clara . . .” Parker put his hand on her arm. She jerked back.

Sissy tried to hide her grin. Serves him right, she thought. She

wondered if Clara would go for his throat, but she couldn’t stick

around. “That husband you’re so concerned about must be won-

dering what’s become of me,” said the young matron in the navy

blue and white dress. Then Sissy made up Rule Number Thirty:

Never leave any man you are even slightly interested in alone with

the Other Woman.
“Can I give you a lift?” she asked Clara.

“I’d appreciate that,” said Clara, moving away from Parker. “I