Son of a Sinner

by Lynn Shurr

  “The way Mama Nell raised him he’d never keep a mistress. I think he really believes he’s only helping her out temporarily, but Ilsa made sure we all knew about her big move and who funded it.”

  “She really rubbed it in. He’s rationalizing.”

  “I guess you’re right. Still, I’m worried about both of you. His bright light is muddied, and your purple is fading to gray.” Xo gazed at her own image in the mirror and quickly looked away as if she’d seen something she disliked.

  Stacy shook her head over her assessment. “I’m going to miss you and all your woo-woo stuff when I leave. I never thought we’d be this close. Admit you didn’t like me at first.”

  “No one liked you at first. You were the worst snob, so superior to everyone. You won Lorena over with Titi and Jude and Annie with your style, but not me. I was too tough for that stuff. When I moved down to this end of the hall and painted over the gray and white so I could still have a yellow room with a red rose border, you said the place looked like a fiesta in there.”

  Stacy nodded. “Add a few piñatas and you would have had Paco’s of Chapelle. It grew on me, all that glaring color glimpsed through the bathroom we shared. I used to think the bathroom fixtures in here were real gold as befitted a princess not just gold-colored. We both landed in a good place after our parents’ deaths, but I didn’t appreciate it for a long time. I’m going to miss Lorena Ranch and Anchi Services and you.”

  “I don’t want to do without the cousin who rushed through that adjoining bathroom when I screamed in the night and couldn’t find my gris-gris bag to calm myself. You never told Mom and Dad that you stayed with me when the bad dreams came. I didn’t want them to know. I was too old for all that.”

  “Since Titi ate the bag, I felt responsible. Good thing those herbs weren’t poisonous. Remember how we got Mr. Polk to drive us to the traiteur’s place to get another, and I put my allowance money under a rock for the Virgin Mary.”

  “That’s when I began to like you. Don’t go to Europe!” Xochi embraced her hard and finally drew away. “We’d better get down there. Ilsa’s telling everyone next time she’ll bring the sauerkraut. It’s enough to kill my appetite, too.”

  “Should I lock Mati up here? He’ll beg and get in the way.”

  “No, they couldn’t set up the bouncer and the outdoor games for the little kids. They’ll enjoy him. Mom says she’ll have to put on a movie for the children in the theater, and the men must make do with watching football in the den.”

  “Big sacrifice with the size of Uncle Joe’s TV.”

  “Speaking of sacrifices, we’d better get going.”

  With Mati at their heels, the young women took the shortcut and rode down in the elevator Teddy used when in residence. Plenty of food remained to fill their plates with the long dining room table sporting all its extra leaves and weighed down with the abundance of Cajun starches—potato salad, rice dressing, cornbread dressing, French bread and rolls, mac and cheese, and baked beans—on one side. A colorful narrow aisle of green beans with bacon, candied yams, glazed carrots, slaw, and salad held the center. At the far end, the elderly Billodeaux butler, stiff and stately, expertly carved the two turkeys, a large ham and a seasoned pork roast. Brinsley’s wife, family nurse, and former nun, waited to treat the tummy aches, skinned knees, and bruises sure to occur with so many children running around inside as well as any possible heart attacks among the elders.

  Stacy ate enough to please those who watched her every bite but held off on dessert until later, as many did. She derived some satisfaction from noting Ilsa’s hipbones weren’t quite so jutting any more. The German woman had succumbed to Louisiana cuisine at last. Probably no one else noticed since Ilsa had chosen to wear a tight bandage dress in varying shades of blue that intensified her light eyes. That bit of a belly hid beneath the shadow of her deep cleavage. Every male over the age of twelve tracked her with their eyes and envied Dean. Nothing Stacy could do about it but tamp down her jealousy and be polite.

  Xo said she’d faded and inside that was exactly the way she felt. She’d worn a simple gray cotton sweater with black slacks and flats because it suited her mood. No one dressed fancy for a Billodeaux Thanksgiving, which ran toward elastic waistbands and loose tops. No high heels because of all the running back and forth to the kitchen and buffet table. Dean hadn’t given Ilsa the dress code evidently. Most likely it never crossed his mind.

  Instead of brooding over what she couldn’t change, Stacy rummaged through a deep closet where the kids kept their sports gear and found an old hula-hoop. She got the dog treats out of her purse and summoned Mati from a group of adoring children to put on a little show for them as the men gathered in the den for football and Nell set up a movie. Mati, a natural ham, happily did his dance for the audience. He sat on his haunches with a treat on his nose until his mistress gave the command for him to flip it up in the air and eat it. She had little Edie hold the hoop down low for the dog to jump through, holding it a little higher each time. “How high can he go?” she asked the kids. They held their arms up sky high.

  A deep, masculine voice from the back of the group said with a hard edge of sarcasm, “Stacy is great at training hoop jumping.”

  “There’s a big lout in every audience. Why don’t you go criticize the Lions in the other room, Dean?”

  “Your wish is my command, Princess.” He made a mock bow, slid his arm around Ilsa’s waist, and took her away with him.

  Her next career should obviously be dog training. With time on her hands in the evenings, she’d lavished attention on Mati by teaching him simple tricks. He finally refused a waist-high hoop and began to sniff the rear seats in the theater. “No, Mati!” Gathering him up, Stacy headed for the theater exit. Still pouring outside, and oh, how Mati hated to pee or poop in the rain, she stood there holding an umbrella and waiting for him to do his business.

  With that out of the way, she sat through two movies involving animated cars and planes, though she would have rather watched football with Dean and Joe shouting advice to the officials and both quarterbacks, a part of their holiday tradition. Ilsa sat between the two men when Stacy moved to the dining room to make a turkey sandwich and get a piece of sweet potato pie for dinner. As the second game ended, Tom and Teddy grabbed a bite to eat and began making noises to leave in order to catch as much as they could of the third game at their apartments. Fine with her that this endless day was coming to a close.

  Corazon had stowed a basket of leftovers for each of them in the SUV, enough to survive on for a week if they took a wrong turn and got lost in the Atchafalaya swamp. None of “her” children would ever go hungry. Mama Nell insisted on a group hug and usual farewell. Dean slipped into the circle beside Stacy, his arm around her waist. “Love y’all,” everyone said. “Love you,” Stacy repeated.

  Dean and Ilsa departed in the Mustang, top up, going in one direction. Tom, Stacy, and the others moved out in another. The rain had stopped. Cold, clear air dominated a frigid starry night.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Dean burned up the field with his post-Thankgiving performance and led the Sinners to three more victories before Christmas. Their perfect record stood with one to go, Atlanta away, just before New Year’s Day. Stacy turned off the TV after the last night game before Christmas concluded. “At least, I didn’t destroy Dean’s talent. Prince may never play again, but there is that. I guess I’ll turn in for the night. You want the Christmas lights on?” she asked Xo.

  “No, I’m going upstairs to read.” Xochi began clearing away the popcorn bowls and drink glasses.

  Stacy unplugged the white lights on their artificial tree all decked out in silver ribbons and clusters of purple glass grapes. Another difficult holiday lay ahead with no way to get out of it. Her shopping completed, two large bags of wrapped gifts waited for transport to Lorena Ranch, including a special parting gift for Dean and a “being a good sport” present for Ilsa, a gift certificate to her favorite German res
taurant. Christmas at the ranch meant only immediate family, though others might drop in for a short time and partake of Corazon’s cookies and a glass of cheer.

  She’d dealt with all the clients. Xo would keep the police contract for now and any others requiring French, Spanish, and Portuguese at the Trade Center as well as staying in the apartment, possibly with a new roommate. Ilsa had no interest in continuing the translating and interpreting trade but hadn’t confided any other plans to Stacy even when offered air fare home. Her sole regret other than losing Dean remained her hospital work, which she found satisfying and hated to leave. Maybe if and when she returned from Europe, she’d specialize in medical translation services.

  With that on her mind, she said to Xo, “Say, did I tell you I ran into Prince Dobbs going into physical therapy? He says he’s a changed man. He saw Jesus when he came near to dying.”

  “They do give out some pretty strong painkillers,” Xo said, unimpressed.

  “This from a woman who sees auras. Anyhow, I asked if maybe he didn’t mistake the Rev for Jesus since he prayed over him several times. No, he said. Jesus is a black man darker than himself but lighter than the Rev, long dreads and a beard, white robe, bright light, and way thinner. Christ told him he’d gotten shot because his apology to me was insincere and done only for his own ambitions. Then, Prince said he’d get on his knees to beg my forgiveness if he thought he could get up again by himself. Sounded pretty serious. According to him, in apologizing to me, he did the same for all women he’d treated badly.”

  Xochi shrugged and picked up her book, another of her Spanish novels. “I doubt those college girls would accept that. I’d have to see Prince to believe him. He’s probably still taking drugs to get through therapy.”

  “If it lasts, it will be a nice change in his personality. He’s determined to play again next year. I wonder if I’ll be able to catch any of the games in Munich. Visit me, okay?”

  “Stay here and we’ll take our next vacation there,” Xo answered.

  “Too late now. Goodnight.”

  Stacy went upstairs trailed by Mati who dragged along the red replacement scarf she’d gotten him in lieu of the one the police had taken as evidence. Clearly, he hoped to get a game of tug going before bedtime. Her plane ticket lay on her dresser. Initially, she’d saved every extra cent earned in the business to plow into expansion. Hiring Ilsa had been her first move in that direction. Now Dean used Ilsa’s services. She’d split the bank account with Xochi and used her portion for air fare, warmer clothes, and the down payment on a rented flat in Schwabing, the student district of Munich, once very Bohemian. Near two universities where she could take language courses and the vast English gardens for activities, she considered the location ideal for her purposes of acquiring a new language—and staying away from Dean and all that reminded her of him. Mati didn’t know it yet as he gazed at her expectantly with his dark button eyes and the ratty red scarf in his mouth, but he’d be wearing a blue bow on Christmas when she gave him to Edie.

  What if she took that scarf right now and put it in the window? Across the way, no light shone in Dean’s condo. The team would fly in tomorrow morning. No chance he’d see her plea until afternoon. Suppose she waited here for him? Would he cross Canal Street which now seemed as wide and deep as a real waterway, and just as difficult to traverse since their breakup? Or had she cried wolf one too many times and now must be devoured by her own regret?

  What would she say if he ran to her rescue again? I need you, Dean. I love you. That’s the emergency. Dumb idea. He’d be with Ilsa who had slacked off on her duties since she latched onto Dean. Stacy took up one end of the scarf and played with Mati until he settled down for the night. If only going to sleep would be as easy for her.

  ****

  Dean Billodeaux arrived at his condo, stressed, exhausted, and in need of sleep being too wound up after the game and unable to nap on the plane with any success. His phone buzzed again. Ilsa had no conception of the strength and energy expended during a season of football. Throw in the tension of trying to keep the Sinners undefeated, a feat his father had never accomplished, and more sex with her simply seemed like a waste of vitality needed elsewhere. He’d specifically asked her not come to his place out of consideration for Tom. The apartment he’d gotten for her wasn’t all that far away. He’d go when he felt like it, and her incessant phone messages didn’t encourage him.

  In the past, he’d let his girlfriends break up with him, lack of commitment being their number one reason. Since arriving in New Orleans, he hadn’t dated anyone long enough for it to be a problem. This time, he’d have to take the initiative. He planned to tell Ilsa that he’d be going to Lorena Ranch for Christmas to spend time with family and say a difficult farewell to Stacy. He wanted to make things right between them before she left. His mother had asked that he not bring Ilsa, maybe later on New Year’s Eve after Stacy was gone, but he wouldn’t blame this on his mom.

  Ilsa might be put out and maybe not put out in other ways. He didn’t care. Her anger would be appeased by an expensive gift, he was certain, and he’d offer to get her on a plane to visit her own kin for the holidays. She had hinted long and hard that she wanted jewelry for Christmas. He’d gone to an expensive and reputable shop only blocks from his condo and purchased a diamond tennis bracelet with good-sized stones. The prissy male clerk with the neatly trimmed silver mustache suggested that tennis bracelets might be a trifle out of style and perhaps he should consider a more complex custom design with colored stones.

  “Just put the receipt in the box. She can return it later if she wants something else,” Dean told the dapper little man who muttered tres romantique before wrapping the item in their signature black box and gold bow.

  He checked the latest text message. “I have something wonderful for you, Liebling. Come quickly to me.” Probably another sexy nightie to model or erotic oils to rub into his skin. That the idea didn’t titillate but only made him weary told him something. He was tired of Ilsa and often wondered if he’d wanted her for any other reason than to irritate Stacy. After the holidays but before the playoffs, he’d tell her they were done, quick, clean, and honest the way such things should be handled. Ilsa, you are a beautiful and intelligent woman, but I don’t love you. By that time Stacy would be in Germany, unless on Christmas day he could convince her to remain here.

  The phone buzzed again. This time he chose to answer with one short phrase. “On my way.”

  As he’d anticipated, Ilsa opened the door and displayed herself in a very festive red lace naughty nightie and a jaunty Santa cap perched on her pale blonde hair. The apartment was dim and lit by dozens of fat candles set on mirrored surfaces as if she’d prepared for the meeting of a secret cult. Christmas carols, sounding very much like the von Trapp family singers played in German. She’d set a special scene for him amid a better quality of modern furniture than she’d rented in the past.

  Dean forced a smile as she kissed his cheek marking him with red lipstick. He rubbed it away with his thumb and thrust the jewelry box at her. “Sounded like you wanted to exchange gifts early so here you go.”

  Eagerly, she tore off the wrapping and held out her thin, white wrist to allow him to put on the bracelet. Turning her hand, she made the diamonds flash in the multicolored lights of a tall Christmas tree obviously custom decorated by a florist and standing in a corner. “Oh, I love it, and I love you so much. Come sit beside Ilsa and let me show how much I like this present.” She arrayed herself on the white leather sofa and patted the cushion beside her.

  “Not now. Look, I have to go to the ranch for Christmas. It’s going to be just Mom, Dad and my brothers and sisters. We’re having a farewell party for Stacy only for the family, so I thought you might want to fly home and spend time with yours. My treat.” Maybe, just maybe, she’d stay there and that would be the end of them.

  “I think you will not want me to go away. Here, open your present.” She handed him a tall and heavy box sit
ting on the genuine teak coffee table.

  Dean drew out a large beer stein traditionally decorated with a merry couple garbed in lederhosen and a dirndl on one side, a castle on the other all wreathed in edelweiss, and an engraved pewter lid—“To Dean with love from Ilsa” and the date. Except for the inscription, he’d seen plenty like it, but thanked her politely. “This will look great in my game room. Thanks.”

  “Every time you see it you will think of Ilsa and what fun we have, but look inside.”

  Cautiously, he raised the lid and put his hand in deep, really expecting something along the line of edible underwear or penis rings. He fished out a piece of paper from its depths and unfolded the note—maybe like one of those homemade certificates for hugs and kisses kids made, but in Ilsa’s case sure be some exotic sexual pleasure.

  “Read!”

  “Congratulations. In July you will be a Papa. Huh?” Not a good time for his throwing hand to develop the shakes.

  “Ja, Ja, we have a baby next year. Now we celebrate. The doctor says is okay, but nothing too rough.”

  “How long have you known?” He seemed to be losing his wind as well since the words barely came out.

  “I am almost two months, but Ilsa is so healthy, I do not have the vomiting. I am not so sure until I have my appointment this morning.”

  “I thought you were on the pill.”

  “Ach, nein. They make me swell. I use the diaphragm. Sometimes, we have such a good time I forget to put it in. Macht nichts. Now we get married and have a beautiful child together.”

  Dean found himself using the words planned only an hour ago. “Ilsa, you are a beautiful, and intelligent woman, but I don’t love you.”

  The Merry Christmas in Bavaria act stopped right there. Ilsa’s eyes turned cold as only light blue eyes can. “You want to pay me to get rid of it.”