Front Porches and Funerals: A Swamp Bottom Novella

by K. A. Ware

  “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 back 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 your mouth Adelaide, you’re 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.

  Five

  Deconditioned Responses

  Adelaide

  Fifty-five Miles From Shreveport, LA

  “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. She’s just hungover, and all worked up over Zep. Don’t listen.”

  Gripping the steering wheel harder with my right hand, I turned away from her and pressed my left fingertips to 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 down Highway 1 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 laughed.

  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 for dinner,” I growled, ripping my seat belt off and grabbing my purse.

  Gasping, Savannah reached between the two front seats 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 threw a pack of diapers, some wet wipes, and three cans of Febreeze in the cart, preparing to lift the damn thing up and carry it out when I heard her.

  “Interesting cart items, Adelaide. Do you have something to tell us or are you stocking up in hopes?”

  No. 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 judging eyes roam down the black dress pants, simple blue cotton top, and 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 in Coushatta representing the Caddo Parish Ladies Auxiliary today.” A slow smile crept across her face as she patted the blond 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, focusing on something behind me. “I’m sorry, is that a pig?”

  I spun around and found my sister standing behind me, her hand on her ripped denim covered hip, and her “Normal Sucks” graphic black t-shirt hanging off one shoulder as she popped a wad of gum in her mouth. In her other hand, she held a leash that wrapped around the neck of one smiling, shit covered Kevin Jr., who 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?”

  A jolt of terror ran through me, and my spine stiffened on impact. “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.” Extending a decadently manicured hand, Courtney held it out limply for Sav to take and worship.

  Pushing the wad of gum into one cheek like a squirrel hoarding nuts, Savannah just looked at it with distaste. “Addie, we need to go. It stinks in here.”

  Mesmerized by anyone daring to disrespect a Carrington in public, I continued to stare at Courtney’s outreached hand hanging in mid-air. “Don’t you mean in the car?”

  I followed Savannah’s eyes as she caught Courtney’s, the nerve underneath her bottom eyelid twitching with anger. “Nah, the car smells like poo. It smells like bullshit in here. You feel me, Christie?”

  Courtney’s lips thinned to a tight line. “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, c
oming. Nice to see you again, Courtney.”

  Manners. 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 Caddo Country Club, so well, you understand. We just can’t expose the club.”

  Heat crawled up my neck and sweat prickled the skin under my long hair. “Expose it to what? The ‘p’ word, Courtney?” Walking slowly back toward her, I met her face to face and kept moving, forcing her backward. “Come on. Say it. Poor. 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. “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.”

  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. Aren’t you proud of yourself?”

  I couldn’t help it. With her nostrils flaring with irrational anger, I had to laugh at her. “Do you hear yourself? He shit all over my car, Savvy. He deserved to have his asshole sewn shut. He’s lucky he just got diaper slapped on him.”

  “You shit all over Princess Puss-Face’s parade back in 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 when I was scared. “Like a hundred-some years ago, this dude 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?” Nodding quietly, I attacked the other pinkie and switched driving hands. “Pavlov discovered that the dogs had an unconditioned response to 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 besides 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 just how all scientists are…always looking for the next project.”

  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.

  “Addie?” All the tension released from Savannah’s body as she reached across the seat and grabbed the hand from my mouth, holding it in hers. “Why do you and Zep spark such heated responses in each other? Sometimes you both look like you want to drive a monster truck across each other’s faces, and others it seems like you two want to devour one another. Which is it?”

  I stiffened as I made the turn that’d take us down the long winding driveway toward Sugarbirch Plantation. It always reminded me of Tara from Gone With The Wind, topped with a little Princess Bride for an over-the-top, gaudy factor.

  “Psychology is over, and there’s no time for drama class, dear sister. We’ve arrived at Professor Humpsalot’s house. Time to get it and split it.”

  Pulling up to the circular driveway, Savannah slammed her door and pointed a finger at me again before reaching for Kevin Jr. in the backseat. “Don’t think we’re done with this. There’s something you’re not telling me, and I’m going to find out, whether you like it or not.”

  I mustered another laugh as I pulled out my key and stuck it in the door. “Another subject lesson, Sav…ancient history? It’s better left in the past.” I glanced up at the freshly whitewashed wood of the hundred-year-old plantation house. “But modern history…well, that’s where you’ll find all the action.”

  “Did you steal a blunt from Babs before we left?”

  I tried to turn the key and grimaced. “No, but, I think one might help right about now.” I tried to turn my key again. “What the hell?” I twisted it the other direction to no avail. Then it hit me. “Motherfucker!” With one finger on the doorbell and the other banging on the wood, I hit them simultaneously, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Open this damn door, Roland!”

  Before I could slam my palm again, the door swung open along with my mouth. “May I help you?”

  Well someone had to, the poor thing’s outfit got mauled by a bear and made it out only half intact. She wore what I could only
assume was once a black miniskirt with bright red cherries all over it. Every time she moved her leg, her ass cheek fell out as if it was gasping for air and making a break for it. The long sleeve red shirt she wore would’ve been cute…on a toddler in the Gymboree catalog. The only thing that halfway made it modest was the long carrot red hair draped over her chest. Still, the fabric was so strained, I could count her ribs and every dimple on her overinflated boobs.

  “Holy shit, are those rea—”

  I punched Savannah, achieving the intended desire of knocking the wind out of her. “Who the hell are you?” I was in no mood for pleasantries.

  She grinned, revealing veneered teeth rivaling the day-glo whiteness of Roland’s. “Brandi, with an ‘i.’ Who are you?”

  “Adelaide, with an M-r-s.” I glanced around her and dangled my key in her face. “Why are you in my house, and why doesn’t my key work?”

  She tilted her head with the confused look of a two pound Chihuahua facing a nine-ounce ribeye. “Mrs? M-R-S,” She spelled it out, ticking the letters off on her fingers like a three-year old learning the alphabet. “RoRo?” She called into the house. “What does M-R-S mean?”

  RoRo?

  Gum popped behind me. “Oh, she’s a special kind of stupid. Her IQ must match how many dicks she can fit in her mouth.”

  My arm swung backward again. “Savannah!”

  A familiar deep voice boomed from behind the front door and moved forward. “What’s wrong, baby?” His good mood tanked and his face fell when he spotted me standing on the front porch. Trading in his normal three-piece suits, he looked almost beachy in a pair of khakis and light green golf shirt. “Oh, Adelaide. It’s you.”

  Had I been dropped into an alternate universe when I’d driven back to the swamp? Up was down, left was right, and Roland Bordeaux was in khakis. Life made no sense. “Oh it’s you? What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Roland?”

  Pursing his mouth, he arced an eyebrow disapprovingly. “I see you’ve picked up some bad habits while you’ve been away.” Tilting his chin, he glanced around me and smirked. “A pleasure, as always, Savannah.”