The Scandalous Summer of Sissy LeBlanc (38 page)

Sissy checked her watch.

“It’s quarter of two. We’re both early.”

She put her hand on his, closing his menu. “Parker, do you know

what it means to be a grown-up?”

“You don’t have to clean your plate before you can have des-

sert?”

She ground out her cigarette with her long, freckled fingers. Then

she stood and said, “Come on.
Fourteen years of foreplay is enough

for any girl
.”

As she left the restaurant, she wondered if Bourrée was already

in his apartment on Royal Street waiting for her. Eat your heart out,

you old coot, she thought as she took Parker’s arm. And then she

didn’t think of Bourrée any more for the rest of the afternoon.

As soon as Parker opened the door, Sissy felt her heart racing. She

stepped into the room and was greeted by a huge bouquet of white

flowers on a polished rosewood table in front of the cypress

armoire with its full-length mirror. The honeyed scent of jasmine

hung in the air.

She saw his reflection close the door and walk over to the white

canopied bed. It was a beautiful old bed. High and wide. She won-

dered if she’d made a terrible mistake.

She turned and looked at him straight on. He smiled. It would be

terrible form to get him all this way and change your mind, she told

herself. She had to go through with it. But unlike that afternoon in

the kitchen, all her fantasies had abandoned her. In that delicate

moment before the first touch, she wondered if she knew this man

at all.

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Why had she been so brash in the restaurant? They could be eat-

ing oysters and sipping champagne, right now. Telling jokes, talk-

ing. Anything!

She went over to the air conditioner and fiddled with the dials.

She turned up the fan so high the white organdy curtains floated up

in the air. She opened the armoire door and took out a couple of fat

pillows, when she felt Parker slip his arms around her. As he

pressed her to him, she realized he was ready. Right now. Ready.

Oh God, she wasn’t. She tossed the pillows on the bed.

His calloused fingers were gentle as he unzipped her green linen

dress, letting it fall to the floor. She wondered if she could force her-

self to go through with it. Of course she could. He ran his hands

over the satin lace that sheathed her body and stepped back. “Walk

around.”

“What?”

“Walk around. I like to see a woman wearing a slip.”

“Parker . . .”

“It looks like home.”

She walked across the room, relieved to get away, and watched

him warily. He unbuttoned his shirt. As the fabric came apart, she

saw his chest was rippled with muscles and covered with scars and

those same soft brown curls she’d remembered. But she kept her

distance.

He slid his pants over his thighs. Then he slipped out of his

shorts. She saw his penis standing up, hard and red against his

body. She didn’t know it could do that. Straight up.

She was surprised how completely at ease he was in his naked-

ness, how confidently he moved in his body. She wondered what he

wanted her to do. Men were so peculiar about sex. They had rules.

Bourrée wouldn’t undress. Peewee wouldn’t let her move too much

or make any noise.

Suddenly, he scooped her up in his arms. She let out a little squeal

and found she naturally wrapped her legs around his naked waist.

And pressed herself to him. She was beginning to wake up.

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He laid her on the bed and caressed her body, still covered in

satin and lace. And then as he began to kiss her, she thought maybe

she wouldn’t have to force herself after all. He kissed her all over

until every inch of her shivered, and Sissy decided she definitely

wouldn’t have to force herself. But the kisses went on and on, until

she began to feel uneasy.

Peewee and even Bourrée had always zeroed right in on a couple

of obvious targets, eager to get the job done. But Parker was taking

such a long time, she wondered if something was wrong. He ran his

work-hardened fingers slowly over her back until it tingled. Then

he peeled off her slip and kissed her flat stomach, her ribs. He

reached around her to take off her bra and licked the creases under

her breasts. Working his way over her breasts, both nipples

between his rough fingers, he kissed her neck so softly she thought

she could feel its pulse beating in and out. Then he ran his hands

down her arms, kissing her breasts and tickling her skin until the

inside of her elbows became erogenous zones. Sissy shivered deep

inside herself. If this was wrong, she never wanted to do it right

again.

He knelt down and rolled off her lace panties. She arched and

waited for him to enter her. But Parker just stood over her. He

seemed to be drinking in her nakedness. Then he kissed her.

Down there! Sissy had heard about men doing that, of course.

Women, too. But she thought they only did it in New York.

All her upbringing told her they were going straight to hell. She

pushed against him, trying to push him off her. But he sucked on

her and she began moaning in spite of herself and then as he held

her thighs, flames shot up through her body and she started to

scream. He didn’t even try to hush her. He just laughed and began

licking her and flicking his tongue back and forth! That’s when

Sissy decided hell was okay with her, especially if it took a real long

time getting there.

He entered her finally and filled her up, pushing her knees over

his shoulders, rubbing places she’d never felt before, turning them

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to yearnings as he moved back and forth, back and forth, and

exploded inside of her.

And just as she found herself wishing he could have lasted a little

longer, he wanted to do it again. And this time as she caressed him

with her fingers and wrapped herself around him, there was no

question of forcing herself. No question at all.

Afterward, they lay with their legs entwined, his hand cupping

her breast. “Why didn’t you do this fourteen years ago?”

“I don’t know, I must have respected you.”

“Shit, Parker, why’d you have to do a thing like that?”

“You know why I love you, Sissy? You talk just like my buddies

in the Marines.” They laughed, but beneath the laughter, Sissy

grieved for all those years and what could have been.

He ran a bath for her in the big claw-footed tub and washed her

breasts and the inside of her legs until she pulled him in with her. As

they were splashing water all over the tiles, trying to get his big

body to fit, Sissy wondered how long he planned to stay in Gentry.

“Are we just some kind of pit stop for you, Parker?” She heard a

lonely wind blowing through her voice and tried to hush it. “I don’t

want to pressure you or anything.”

He laughed and slid his knees around her hips, bobsled fashion.

“You trying to get rid of me, girl?”

“No! I mean, I just . . .” How did she get herself into this?

“Everybody expected you to be a big success. You know, my daddy

wrote all those articles. And you had an international business.

Don’t you want that anymore?”

Parker shrugged. “ ‘Desire is the root of all suffering,’ ” he

quoted.

Sissy froze. “Who says?”

“The Buddhists.”

It was a good thing he couldn’t see her face. She thought of the

years she’d spent in Gentry before he’d come back. All those years

without desire. All those years of nothing much. “Well, let me tell

you something, Parker Davidson, and you can tell those Buddhists

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of yours,
Desire is the root of
. . .” She paused, casting around for the

right word.
“Life! And if you ain’t got that, you ain’t got nothing.”

Parker laughed again. “That the Word According to Sissy?”

“You can quote me.” She thought about adding that to the

Southern Belle’s Handbook. Rule Number . . .

But before she could assign it a number, Parker said, “Let’s just

see what kind of desire we can stir up right here.” He slid his hands

under her buttocks and moved her around until she found out it

was possible to stir up quite a bit even in a tub filled with hot water.

Parker taught her a lot of possibilities that afternoon.

When they left the bathroom, it was already dark. “Oh my God,

Peewee’s expecting me home by now!”

“Stay.” Parker was sitting on the bed. He held out his hand to

her. “Stay the night.”

“I can’t. You know that.”

He took her hand. “I don’t want you to go. It’s too soon. I’ve

waited too long.”

“You think I want to?” She pulled away from him and started to

dress. “Don’t worry, this is not a one-night stand.”

He didn’t say anything, but watched her intently as if trying to

make up his mind about something. He helped her hook up her bra.

She pulled her slip over her head and with one leg on the bed,

attached her stocking to her garter belt. But when she started to put

on her panties, he took them from her. “Just put on the rest of your

clothes. I want to see you in your dress and know that part’s still

open and ready for me!”

“Parker, you’re a pervert!” she said, but the thought excited her,

too. He stood up and took her over to the mirror. She looked at his

big, naked body and wondered how she’d be able to stand Peewee

now. He slid his arm around her shoulder and slipped his hand into

her bra. She slapped at him. “I’ve got to go.”

He bent over and kissed her ear and pinched her nipple. She

remembered hot nights in the drive-in when they were kids, and she

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pressed her body against his. But when he started pulling up her slip

she pushed away from him. “I can’t stay. I want to, but I can’t.”

She stepped into her green dress, zipping it up behind her. He

picked up the phone and asked the operator for her number. Sissy

tried to grab the phone, but he held it away from her until a voice

on the other end said, “Hello.”

“Say you’ll be late.”

“Hello,” the voice said again.

“Clara?” Sissy asked.

“Where are you? Mr. Peewee’s been expecting you for over an

hour.”

“Tell him . . .” Parker reached his hand up under Sissy’s dress,

feeling along the top of her stocking. She tried to push him away.

“Tell him . . .” Parker’s fingertips gently stroked her pubic hair.

“Tell him I’ll be . . .” He touched her skin, rubbed, and brought up

the wetness . . . “staying . . . here . . . all night.”

“You can’t!” The voice over the wire was shocked.

A feeling of wild abandon swept over her. After fourteen years

Sissy was busting loose. “Oh, yes I can!”

“Oh, Lord, what am I supposed to tell your husband?” Clara

asked. Sissy could hear the envy in her voice.

That’s when Sissy experienced another first. As Parker pulled her

onto his lap, she didn’t want to lie. She didn’t even want to think

one up. “Tell him . . . tell him anything you want.”

Around 2 A.M. they were famished and went out to an oyster

bar where the night people of Bourbon Street and the jazz all came

in through the open door. Sissy had been to New Orleans many

times, but she’d never slept there. Peewee didn’t see the sense in put-

ting out good money for a hotel room, when he could sleep in his

own bed just two hours away. She couldn’t get over the way the city

was alive all night long. People went out for supper whenever the

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mood struck them. She was all eyes as the musicians, the strippers,

and the society crowd stood around the oyster bar calling to one

another, passing the catsup and horseradish like family. A saxo-

phone player helped her mix her oyster sauce. A man in a tuxedo

drunkenly, but gallantly, presented her with the carnation from his

lapel. She squeezed Parker’s hand, and his heart soared at how

young and alive she looked. She felt like a princess who’d been

freed from enchantment. Cinderella out of the cinders, on the arm

of her prince.

When they were seated at a table, a lone clarinetist wandered in

and sat down next to them and began to play softly. Sissy kissed

Parker on the cheek. She thanked him for giving her this perfect

evening and told him how she loved their hotel. The Guest House.

She’d always wanted to stay at a place like that. On the few trips

she’d taken with Peewee and the kids to the Gulf Coast, they’d

always stayed in cement block motels with broken air conditioners

and dingy sheets. Parker smiled, proud he could make her so happy,

but when she added: “A cheap motel would make what we’re doing

feel sort of, well, you know . . . cheap,” he shifted uncomfortably

on the wooden chair.

“I thought we might meet out on the Airline Highway, next

time.”