by Cora Kenborn
“Are you trying to kill me?” she screeched.
She looked ridiculous with vodka dribbling down her chin and soaking the front of her dress. I shrugged and dissolved into giggles once more, this time with Addie and Babs joining in. A strange silence fell over us as our laughter subsided.
“Both have sad eyes. Why?” Babs demanded.
I lifted one shoulder. “It was a sad day.”
“Cow shit! Happy day. Pappy with angels now. We have big party to celebrate life, and my girls are home. Good day, not sad.”
“I guess it really was a pretty good day, all things considered,” I said, turning to Addie. Her return smile was thin and didn’t quite meet her eyes. Babs was right. She had sad eyes.
Addie took another swig of vodka, wincing at the burn. “I didn’t realize how much I missed this place.”
“Me either,” I agreed. “There isn’t anything like it.”
Babs scoffed. “Then why no visit your old grandma?”
Addie and I exchanged guilty looks.
“Babs, we’re sorry. You know how it is; life gets busy…” Addie trailed off, her voice no longer holding its easy confidence.
Babs waived a gnarled arthritic finger at her. “The cocksipper get in way!”
“Cock sucker, Babs,” I corrected. Her unique brand of garbled swearing was something we’d grown up with. It never got any better. In fact, the older she got the more ridiculous her insults became. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’d reached a certain age where she didn’t give a shit and was just seeing how far she could push it until someone cracked.
Addie sighed and tilted her head up to the sky. “God, he really is a dick, isn’t he?”
Babs and I locked eyes. She’d always been quick to defend Roland. Neither of us had ever heard her speak ill of him.
“Yes, he is. So, are you finally going to tell us what’s going on?”
Babs pulled out her pocket knife and a piece of wood from the basket beside her rocking chair and began to silently whittle. It wasn’t all that strange for her to check out of a conversation, but not during something this big. For years, Babs had been spitting on the ground in front of Roland.
“He's been seeing someone,” Addie said softly.
“He what?” I blurted out, my voice louder than I'd wanted it to be in the quiet night.
“Fatherfucker,” Babs muttered but didn't look up from her whittling.
I didn't bother correcting her this time. “Are you serious? What happened?”
“Yep, he told me just before I left to come here. Told me not to bother coming back, because he'd met someone that’d give him what I couldn't, and he wanted a divorce.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Just like that, ten years of my life down the drain. He wouldn't even let me take my stuff. I left with what was already packed in the suitcase and my car.”
“He can't do that!” I raged.
“Oh, but he can. I signed a pre-nup. So now I'm husbandless, jobless, and homeless. I've got no money and no place to go.”
“You have home here with family always,” Babs scolded, finally looking up from her work.
“Thank you, Babs, but I need to figure out what in the hell I’m gonna do. I have a degree, but I've never used it.”
“Technically, after today, you and I own half a company.”
“Just another mess to clean up.”
“Better to have gator teeth in hand than live one up ass,” Babs mumbled, continuing to work on her carving. Now that I looked, it was starting to resemble a man. I shuddered to imagine what kind of mix between old country superstition and bayou voodoo she was cooking up.
Best to ignore it.
“It doesn't have to be. This could be our fresh start. So our lives didn't turn out all sunshine and roses…big fucking deal. So we had a bad first quarter, that doesn't mean the game is over. We just gotta regroup and change tactics. Dubois women don't give up; we push back. It's high time you stop letting that asswipe dictate your life. Come on Ads, what do ya say?”
I saw a glimmer of the old Addie in her eyes as she stared at me, stoned off her ass. “You know what? You're right. Fuck him. He doesn't own me, and I don't need him to live a full and successful life.”
“Ya Ya!” Babs shouted, picking up the bottle of vodka and slugging back a shot.
“Ya Ya!” Addie and I repeated in unison.
She straightened her back and puffed out her chest. “It's time to shed this plastic smile and let that son of a bitch know who Adelaide Dubois really is.”
“Hallelujah,” I whooped.
“I am nobody's doormat. I am a strong independent woman!” she declared, her voice growing stronger.
I raised my hands in the air. “Preach, sister!”
“I’m going to take my life back!”
“Can I get an Amen?”
“Ya Ya!” Babs hollered again.
Her face fell. “Just one question. How the hell am I going to do it?”
A lazy grin tugged at my lips. “We, dear sister, are going on a road trip.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open in shock.
“Close mouth, Adelaide. You going to catch dicks,” Babs scolded, and we all burst into another round of laughter.
We made our way through the bottle of vodka over the next several hours as we laid out our plans. We were going to drive to Shreveport in the morning for Addie to get the rest of her things and finally tell Shit Stain where he could shove it. I’d help my sister take control of her life once again, and with any luck, I’d find a way to do the same.
5
Resting Bitch Face
Adelaide
Fifty-five Miles From Shreveport, Louisiana
“That pig is going to shit in my car, Sav.” Wrinkling my nose, I bounced my eyes from the highway to over my shoulder. Savannah’s pig sat buckled in the backseat of my pristine BMW like some wrinkly pink toddler with bad gas.
Savannah rolled her eyes and propped her bare feet on my dashboard, pressing her toes onto my wind shield. “No, he’s not.” Turning, she blew kisses into the backseat. “Are you, Kev? No, you’re a good pig. Aunt Addie’s just hungover and all worked up over Zep. Don’t listen.”
I gripped the steering wheel with one hand while pressing the other against my throbbing temple. “I’m not hungover.” I was so hungover. “And I’m not anything over Zep LeBlanc. I just don’t understand why the damn pig had to come to Shreveport with us, Savannah. He’s loud, he smells like a zoo, and,” I sniffed the air again and shot her an accusing look, “he farted again, Sav. That pig is going to shit in my BMW.”
“Whatever you say, sis. There’s a backstory with you and Zep that you aren’t sharing, but you’d better believe I’m making it my mission to figure it out.”
Laughing, she sang along with Luke Bryan’s “Kick The Dust Up” while pressing each of her big toes onto the wind shield, making happy faces with her prints. At the height of the chorus, Savannah waved her arms in the air and kicked her feet in perfect timing with the words of the song.
“Will you take the stick out of your ass? He’s not going to shit. Kevin Junior Bacon Cheeseburger is just like a dog. He’s well behaved, he’s housebroken, he’s…” Her words trailed off as her nose wrinkled.
“He’s screwed because he just shit in my car, Savannah. Damn it!” Screaming obscenities I hadn’t uttered in years, I jerked the wheel hard to the shoulder and rode the breakdown lane all the way to the next exit. Turning off, I shot my sister a death glare while pulling into the parking lot.
“Why are we at the Piggly Wiggly?” she asked, finally risking a glance up from her suddenly fascinating lap.
I glared back at the pig, snorting and wiggling his shit covered ass deeper into my leather seats as if dropping pig bombs in my car had been his master plan all along. I swore the dick smiled at me as his back hooves tucked chunks of feces between the crevices of my bucket seats. If I wasn’t ready to shove my sister’s face in pig poop, I would’ve lau
ghed.
I supposed I just found out where the term “happy as a pig in shit” originated.
“We’re at the Piggly Wiggly to visit your pet’s relatives. I’m guessing they’re either in the processed breakfast food aisle or still being packaged in the back for dinner,” I growled, ripping my seat belt off and grabbing my purse.
Gasping, Savannah reached between the two front seats, into the back and covered the pig’s floppy pink ears. “Don’t listen to her, Kevin.” Narrowing her eyes, she shot me a dirty look. “Aunt Addie is just cranky because she’s not getting any, and Uncle Shit Stain is poking a slut. She’ll calm down and realize cannibalism is immoral.”
Lifting a middle finger at them both, I stomped toward the entrance, letting the automatic doors blow my hair all over my face as they welcomed me inside the local grocery store chain. Of course, as Murphy’s Law dictated, I ended up picking the crappiest cart in the entire store, with two wheels that stuck every third revolution and squealed like Babs chasing a gator. Cursing again, I’d just throw a pack of diapers, some wet wipes, and three cans of Febreze in the cart when I heard her.
“Interesting cart items, Adelaide. Do you have something to tell us or are you stocking up in hopes?”
Oh hell, no.
Of all the grocery stores. Of all the people. What the hell was she doing in a fucking Piggy Wiggly?
Plastering a forced smile across my face, I turned to face her. “Hello, Courtney. What brings you to Coushatta?”
I watched her resting bitch face tighten as her judging eyes roamed down the black dress pants, simple blue cotton top, and the flats I’d bought at Walmart when I snagged the dress for Pappy’s funeral. In my hasty packing, I’d accidentally packed three pairs of pants without shirts or shoes. My attire was a far cry from the I Love Lucy dresses and designer heels the Shreveport Country Club expected of Roland Christopher Bordeaux III’s wife. Any streak of independence I’d managed to find left my body with a whoosh.
“I spoke at a luncheon today in Coushatta representing the Caddo Parish Ladies Auxiliary.” A slow smile crept across her face as she patted the blonde hair she’d tucked into a stylish chignon. “Oh, and I heard about you and Roland. That’s just terrible. Which reminds me...” Her smirk faded, and her voice trailed off as her eyes widened at something behind me. “I’m sorry, is that a pig?”
I spun around and found my sister standing behind me, popping a wad of gum as her “Normal Sucks” black graphic t-shirt hung off one shoulder. One hand was propped on her ripped denim covered hip and the other held a leash attached to the neck of one smiling, shit covered Kevin Jr. The same pig who just defiled my car now stared at Courtney like her Louboutins would be the perfect place for his next dump.
I couldn’t argue with his logic.
“Wow, nothing gets by you, does it?” Savannah mused, blowing a bubble and sucking it back it with the force of a Hoover. “Who’s the bitch, Ads?”
My spine stiffened. “Savvy!” Summoning what Sugarbirch etiquette I had left, I smiled again and motioned between my sister and my nemesis. “This is Courtney Carrington of Carrington Textiles. Courtney, this is my little sister, Savannah Dubois.”
Courtney held out her decadently manicured hand for Sav to worship.
Savannah just looked at it with distaste while shoving the huge wad of gum into one cheek. “Addie, we need to go. It stinks in here.”
Mesmerized by the sight of Courtney’s outreached hand still hanging in mid-air, I turned toward my sister. “Don’t you mean in the car?”
I followed Savannah’s eyes as she caught Courtney’s. “Nah, the car smells like poo. It smells like bullshit in here. You feel me, Christie?”
Courtney’s lips thinned. “It’s Courtney.”
“Like it matters.” Their stare down broke only when a high-pitched squeal from below commanded everyone’s attention. “Ads…” Savannah nodded toward the cash registers. “Now. Let’s go.”
In a daze, I nodded and took a step to follow my sister toward the front of the store, pausing to say goodbye. “Right, coming. Nice to see you again, Courtney.”
Always remember manners.
“By the way, you’ve been voted out of the president’s position of the auxiliary, Adelaide. Actually you’ve been voted out of the auxiliary all together.”
I stopped mid-stride and spun around. “What’d you say?”
Her top lip upturned into a cross between a snarl and a smirk. “Well, without Roland, you’re no longer a member of the country club, and, well, you understand. We just can’t expose the club.”
Heat crawled up my neck, causing sweat to prickle the skin under my long hair. “Expose it to what?” Walking slowly back toward her, I met her face to face and forced her backward. “Say the word, Courtney.” I licked my lips and crowded her against the jars of baby food. “I’m poor.”
The minute the word left my mouth, Courtney shuddered, the mere sound of the word almost sending her into the fetal position.
God, was this what I’d become?
“You know what you are, Carrington? You’re a cold, snotty…” I felt eyes on me, and one glance over my shoulder confirmed Savannah stood there with her hand wrapped around the leash and her mouth puckered in an encouraging snarky grin. A surge of empowerment rushed through my veins as I turned back to the living embodiment of all that Roland had tried to turn me into. Gripping the stocked shelf with one hand, I leaned into her ear. “You’re a cunt.”
A sharp inhale preceded a low growl in her chest. “You don’t deserve to call yourself a Bordeaux.”
A genuine smile brushed across my lips as I pushed away from her. I felt freer than I had in a long time. “You’re damn right, I don’t. I’m a Dubois. I forgot that for a long time.” Fluffing my hair, I made my way toward the girl grinning ear-to-ear in thrift store clothes and a pig shitting in front of the candy aisle. “But it’s all coming back to me now.”
6
Deconditioned Responses
Adelaide
Shreveport, Louisiana
Glancing across the console at Savannah, I sighed and squeezed the tan leather on the steering wheel for the fiftieth time in the last thirty minutes, while rolling my eyes at her. “So, how long do you plan on giving me the silent treatment?”
In her usual petulant fashion, my sister stared straight ahead, her lips pulled tight and her arms tucked tightly across her chest. “How long do you plan on keeping him like that?”
“Oh, come on, Savannah. You act like I’m scarring him for life.”
She flung a bony finger across my face and pointed toward the backseat. “He’s wearing a fucking diaper! He’s ashamed, Addie! You’ve managed to shame a pig. Are you proud of yourself?”
I couldn’t help it. With her nostrils flaring with irrational anger, I had to laugh at her. “He shit all over my car, Savvy. He deserved to have his asshole sewn shut. He’s lucky he just got a diaper slapped on him.”
“You shit all over Princess Puss-Face’s parade back at the Piggly Wiggly,” she argued, propping her feet back up on the dashboard. “She didn’t slap a maxi-pad on your face.”
Remembering Courtney’s shocked face at my freely flung vulgarities brought a smile to my face. “That felt really good. That bitch has wanted Roland for years, and I’ve kept my mouth shut.”
Savannah’s arms relaxed, and she twisted toward me. “Why did you let that asshole walk all over you. The sister I grew up with wouldn’t have been his decade doormat. Addie Dubois was no man’s doormat.”
The smile faded. “Did you ever learn about Pavlov’s dogs?”
Savannah popped another wad of grape gum in her mouth. “Did we dissect them in Mr. Haywood’s class?”
A low chuckle escaped through my memory. “No, not biology, Sav, behavioral psychology. I took it in college.” I paused to chew on my pinkie nail, a bad habit I had when I was scared. “Like a hundred-some years ago, this guy named Ivan Pavlov discovered that whenever he’d walk into a room,
his dogs would start drooling because they thought he’d come to feed them.”
“What does this have to do with my pig?”
“Nothing, Sav,” I whined, pulling my fingertip from my lips. “Just listen, all right?” She nodded quietly, and I switched driving hands so I could attack the other pinkie. “Pavlov discovered that the dogs had an unconditioned response to drool when they saw food. It was just in them to react a certain way. But when he rang a bell, they didn’t drool. Nobody drools for a bell.”
“Addie, I’m bored with this story.” Savannah yawned and reached for the radio tuner. With my heart thumping in my ears, I slapped her hand away. My entire life had been ruled by Pavlov and his stupid dogs.
I needed someone to understand me.
“He got this bright idea that if he rang that damn bell while giving them food, the dogs would acquire a conditioned response to eventually drool when he rang the bell…food or no food.”
She tightened her ponytail. “Well, did they?”
A sadness over took me as I stared at the highway, the corners of my mouth pulling down with her question. “Yeah, Sav, they did. They were so conditioned to value that damn bell and the rewards they thought would follow that they lived for that bell. They drooled like motherfuckers when that bell rang. They did a dance, bowed, and jumped exactly how high Pavlov said to jump, and you know what happened in the end, Sav?” I pulled my eyes away from the road and held her stare.
“What happened?”
“There were never any treats. It was all a lie. Once she was conditioned to respond to the bell, he was over the experiment. That’s how all scientists are...always looking for the next project.”
“She?” The muscles in Savannah’s throat worked hard as she swallowed her gum. “We’re not talking about dogs anymore, are we?”
I shook my head. Roland wasn’t the first man to condition me to salivate for the bell, then take away the food and find a new experiment. Apparently, I had a type, and until now, never realized my quest to leave the very thing that drove me away from my home had led me to the next thing that kept me from coming back. It was a vicious circle stemming from my own selfish need for more and more food and more and more bells.