A Trashy Affair

by Shurr, Lynn

  Regardless, Olive Tauzin seemed like the kind of old-timey woman who would make everything from scratch. Jane spent her Sunday morning baking a pecan pie using nuts gathered in the yard and stored in the freezer along with her mother’s own recipe for an extra-flaky crust. She scalloped the edges with a spoon and in the end her masterpiece resembled a giant sunflower. Gathering lemons from the tree Merlin had observed had a real nice crop, she made fresh-squeezed lemonade with real sugar and put on a pot of coffee, dark roast, the way Cajuns liked it. She had no dining room, but the kitchen was spacious with plenty of room for a table and four chairs. A bowl of extra lemons held in a brown glazed bowl and accented with sprigs of the sweet olive now blooming wildly since being liberated from the vines sat in the center of that table. Glasses, mugs, plates, spoons, dessert forks and a pie server waited for the arrival of company.

  Jane expected a knock any second at the kitchen door but instead, her front bell rang. She hurried through the house to find Olive Tauzin sitting on the porch swing and Merlin carrying a walker with yellow tennis balls on its feet up the steps.

  “Oh, you should have come in the back way. It’s shorter. So nice to see you again, Mrs. Tauzin.”

  “We’re guests, not family. Call me Olive, or Miss Olive if you need to. I want to see the house. Merlin told me what a good job you did with it. How nice the floors turned out. Didn’t know all that wood was under there. I made sure the tennis balls are on tight so I didn’t ruin them.”

  Olive raised herself up on the walker her grandson placed carefully before her. A tiny woman, her black eyes as bright and curious as one of the squirrels in the pecan tree, she moved across the porch at a fairly good pace. Her lace-collared, flowered dress hiked up in the back as she bent over and showed a bit of her slip. She entered Jane’s house, peeking into the small living room where Jane had laid down a tan and white cotton rug and furnished with two overstuffed chairs and a comfortably battered brown leather sofa. The television hid in an old cypress cabinet. Small local works of art enlivened the walls.

  Olive thumped across the hall. “What do you call this room?”

  A desk of dark cherry wood held her computer. A rug, faux oriental from Lowe’s, covered the floor. Crowded bookcases covered the walls everywhere except the two window spaces and the small, corner fireplace.

  “My library. I guess that’s sort of pretentious.”

  “Nope, you got enough books for it. See, I told you she has class, Granny,” Merlin said.

  “Those fireplaces work now? We closed them up to keep out the draft,” the old lady said. All four of the original rooms had them built into corners sharing the two brick chimneys on either side of the house.

  “Yes, they do. Not that we need them very much in south Louisiana.”

  “Folks used to keep low fires burning to cut the humidity even in summer.”

  “Interesting, I did not know that. Sometimes on a rainy night I make a fire and run the air conditioner at the same time. I know I’m wasting energy, but…”

  “Enjoy life while you can and don’t worry so much,” Olive advised. “Old age comes quick enough.” She thumped off to the next room and, without a moment of hesitation, threw open the door to Jane’s bedroom.

  “A brass bed, I knew it,” Merlin commented from behind the two women.

  Jane’s eyes went immediately to her nightie and matching sea foam green robe hung over the footboard. Her silly, pink bunny slippers peeked out from under a bed skirt the color of spring foliage like shy, woodland creatures. In a hurry to start her preparations that morning, she hadn’t pulled up the floral-sprigged comforter or fluffed her pillows. Her jewelry and makeup covered the top of a light oak dresser helter-skelter. Slung over a chair upholstered in fabric that matched the comforter her dress from dancing at Mulate’s failed to cover the underwear on its seat.

  “Green lace,” Merlin said, his voice deepening with regret as if he’d thrown away a great opportunity.

  “We don’t mention a lady’s unmentionables, even if she leaves them out where everyone can see, boy,” Miss Olive corrected.

  “Sorry, I had no time to clean this morning. I baked a pecan pie. Would you like some pie? Let’s go to the kitchen.” Jane shut her bedroom door the second Olive Tauzin’s rear cleared the jamb.

  “I want to see the other bedroom where Herve and me used to sleep.”

  For a cripple, the old lady could move. She flung open that door and registered her disappointment. “Not much in here.”

  Jane’s dusty treadmill sat in the middle of the room facing a small, portable TV on a stand. “I haven’t decorated in here yet, but when I can afford the furniture, I’ll make a guest bedroom. The bath turned out nice. Would you like to see the bath?”

  At least, she had taken the time to scrub that and put out fresh towels for her visitors in case either of them needed to use the facilities. Right next door, it had been added to the rear of the house just like the kitchen, hence her fear of streaking across the hall to her bedroom when Merlin lurked by her refrigerator the other night.

  Not lemons but palm trees dominated the décor on the wallpaper and the appliqué on the guest towels. She’d retained the old claw-footed tub and pedestal sink, both refurbished, but added a showerhead and a curtain patterned in fronds that could be tucked in when she wanted to wash her hair. Otherwise, she liked to luxuriate in the deep, refinished bath, preferably with bubbles or scented bath salts in the water. The commode, however, was new. No way to get years of stains out of the old toilet. One of the workmen hauled that away to make a planter at his house.

  “Nice,” Merlin said, glancing from the oval framed mirror over the sink to the deep tub and back as if he fantasized about Jane covered in a froth of bubbles while he shaved his heavy, black beard.

  Or maybe, she invented the fantasy. He’d be wearing only a towel, low slung on his hips. The mirror revealed his muscled chest covered in a mat of black hair, his swarthy face lathered in pure white shaving cream. He caught her watching and unleashed a lascivious smile that promised he’d soon be in that tub with her.

  “Pie! Let’s get out of here and have pie.” With her heart beating way too fast, Jane led her guests to the kitchen.

  Merlin got his grandmother settled while Jane poured the lemonade and cut thick slices of her pecan masterpiece. She awaited Olive’s verdict. The old lady considered the dessert as if she were judging in a 4H contest. She stuck a fork in one petal of the crust and watched it flake off and drift to the plate.

  Eyeing the filling, Olive said, “You used the Betty Crocker recipe with the three eggs and the light corn syrup, no?”

  “Why, yes.”

  “I always used Steen’s molasses. It makes a rich, dark pie, but your crust is good. You used pecans from my old tree. Most people won’t bother to shell those little nuts, too small. They been spoiled by those huge, tasteless paper shell pecans. These are sweet, sweet.” Finally, the judging done, Olive took a bite, nodded, and declared, “Tasty.”

  “Real sugar in the lemonade, too. I was afraid you’d use that artificial stuff.” Merlin drained his glass and dug into his pie. Between large bites, he said, “Say, I’d like to go upstairs to my old bedroom in the attic and see what you did with it.”

  “The garçonniere,” his grandmother corrected as she accepted a mug of coffee.

  “You can slap a fancy French name on it, but us boys still slept in an attic with two mattresses on the floor and one rattling old air conditioner to make it bearable in summer.”

  Miss Olive sniffed. “In my day, no one had air conditioning, and we didn’t complain. Go on if you want. You know I can’t do those stairs no more.” She accepted another tee-tiny piece of pie before they left the kitchen.

  Jane and Merlin went out on the front porch and climbed the outside stairs to the traditional garçonniere. She explained as they went that some of the old boards had been replaced, but the contractor had carefully matched them with aged cypress to replicate the
weathered gray color. As they entered the area, Merlin ducked his head to keep from bashing himself on the slanting roof beams. He glanced around with amazement.

  “I’ve grown some since I last slept here. The trick is to remember to stay in the center of the room. If the place had looked like this in my time, Doyle and me would have thought we were staying at the Hilton. Gaw, you put in a bathroom.”

  “Just a small one with a shower, sink, and commode. I thought my brother might like to stay up here if he visits with my parents. What did you and Doyle do for—facilities?”

  “Oh, Granny never locked the front door so we could go downstairs if we really needed to take a crap. She gave us one of those chamber pots to use, too, but mostly we just peed off the side of the stairs. Killed her hydrangeas. Nice bed.”

  Merlin sat on the single sleigh bed with a pull-out trundle in the bottom. He still had to lean forward a little to avoid the hand-hewn beams left showing between the slabs of the new insulated ceiling. As below, the floor had been redone and decorated in this case with oval rag rugs. A couple of cowhide chairs and a small flea market table sat near a tiny window. Two lanterns hung from the central beam, but came on with the snap of a switch rather than a strike of a match. On this fairly warm afternoon, the central air conditioning blew gently across the space big as the four original rooms below but narrowed by the slanting rafters.

  Merlin lay down, put his feet up on the footboard of the bed, and his hands behind his head. “I can see me here and Doyle on that trundle just listening to the summer rain beat on the tin roof. You ever been up here when it rains?”

  “No, but I do hope you are comfortable there.”

  “Hey, my shoes are clean. The best, most soothing sound in the world. I used to dream about Louisiana rain when I was overseas.” His eyes closed.

  Jane ventured closer from the middle of the room where standing presented no problem. “Merlin, we shouldn’t leave your granny alone downstairs.”

  “Sure, help me up.”

  She should have seen it coming but still offered her hand. He used his much superior strength to lever her on top of him.

  “Did you wear those green panties for me last night?”

  “Certainly not! They matched my dress, that’s all.” She braced her arms on his chest and pushed up slightly bumping her head on a beam.

  “Sure, I know how important it is to match your dress and panties when no one is going to see it. Why hell, I pick my boxer briefs in the same color as my eyes.” A grin pushed at the corner of his mouth trying to expand.

  “It matters to women!” she protested, absolutely sure no fabric could ever duplicate that stunning shade of blue, but she wasn’t going to ask him to show her.

  He brought her face down to meet his. The kiss began with a flick of his tongue across her lips still a little sticky from the syrup in the pie. He coaxed his way inside her mouth, all the while raking her hair with his fingertips. She answered him stroke for stroke despite the rasp of his beard against her skin until they ran out of air. Surrendering, Jane collapsed against the hardness of his body.

  “Tasty,” he said, mimicking his grandmother. “You know why they put the Cajun boys in the attic? So they could go out, carouse, and sow their wild oats without disturbing the rest of the family.”

  “Out is the operative word. I doubt if those boys did any sowing right over their granny’s head—which we are doing at the moment.”

  “No, we’re not. Listen.”

  The unmistakable thump-step of the walker progressed across the boards of the porch right to the bottom of the steps. “What she got up there, Merlin, a bed?” Miss Olive shouted in her cracked old lady voice.

  “Yep, a real fancy one, and a john, too. I’m going to use it, then be right down.”

  But Jane got to the bathroom first to finger comb her hair and make sure her lipstick wasn’t all over her face. No lipstick problem. He’d licked it all off, damn him! But her lips glowed red from passionate contact and her chin bore a small pink patch from his stubble. She dabbed the beard burn with a cold, wet tissue. Not much help. Tucking the tails of her yellow silk shirt back into her black, tailored slacks and making sure all the buttons were closed, she turned the small space over to Merlin, ducking under his arms when he would have caged her inside with him. She rushed down the stairs to find Miss Olive rocking in the porch swing and took a seat beside her.

  “Sorry we took so long. He was very interested in everything up there.”

  “I bet he was. Not to worry. My grandson ain’t taken much interest in women since he come back from the war this last time. That’s not good for a young man. First time over there, he seemed okay, not now.”

  Merlin’s heavy steps on the stairs alerted them. “Not talking about me, I hope.”

  “No, I was telling Jane how pretty the flowers are, purple and gold, my favorite colors.” That pink, wrinkled face stayed perfectly innocent.

  “Merlin, baby, go across to the Fast ’N Fun and get your granny some scratch-offs.” Miss Olive fumbled with a net bag on her walker and took out a change purse. “Get me twenty of different kinds. You know, the casino bus comes twice a month to Magnolia Villa to take us Indian gambling, but I don’t get out enough to get my scratch-offs,” she informed Jane.

  Her grandson waved the folded twenty away. “I got it, Granny.” He loped off to do her bidding.

  “He’ll be gone a while. People certainly do like their fried chicken boxes and Sunday plate lunches. The line is out the door around this time. I just wish their trash didn’t end up in my ditch. Oh well, can I get you more coffee, Miss Olive?” Jane asked.

  “No, thank you, cher. I’m wearing my good drawers, not my diaper.” She placed a wrinkled, veiny hand over Jane’s lying on the swing. “I want to talk to you about Merlin. On the outside, he’s this big, tough man, but inside he hurts. He won what they call the Distinguished Flying Cross in Afghanistan for saving six lives. He was coming back from an insertion of troops when he saw a squad pinned down with no way out. Why, he swooped right in and rescued six of those men, two of them riding on the struts of his helicopter. Got them to safety, called for help, but by the time another helicopter got there, the rest were killed. He can’t get over not saving them all. I wouldn’t know a word of this if the army hadn’t sent the papers and the medal to us. Merlin won’t talk about it, but his mama blabbed. Just made it worse that the town wanted to give him a parade, and he refused to attend.”

  “He should be proud of saving the six.”

  “That’s what everyone thinks, but not him. He has lots of other hurts he holds inside from before he went into the army. You know about his mama?”

  “That she’s—simple-minded.” Jane used Merlin’s own term. Retarded sounded too harsh, special too precious.

  “Yes, my Herve, being a small farmer, didn’t have much insurance. I waited too long to go to the hospital trying to save on money. Foolish. Anyhow, nothing wrong with her body. She’s tres petite like me, but pretty as a buttercup when she was young. I’ll bet you a winning scratch-off Merlin didn’t tell you my Jenny gave birth to him at just fourteen. A smart college guy, a young man who oughten to have known better, knocked her up. When Herve threatened to go to the police to report it, the boy’s rich daddy comes running. Please don’t ruin his son’s life. Oh, he’ll see Jenny and the child are supported until the kid reaches eighteen. A thousand dollars a month, he offered. Sounded good at the time. All our daughter had to do was say she didn’t know who fathered the baby. They had a slick city lawyer draw up papers with one of those non-disclosure clauses. All three of us signed.”

  “No, he didn’t tell me any of this. Merlin doesn’t know who his real father is?”

  “He certainly does. Smart boy, he figured it out by himself, but I can’t tell you. I doubt he will. We had to take Jenny out of school because she got a reputation for being loose after that, a girl who didn’t know who fathered her baby. She would of earned only a certificate of co
mpletion, anyhow. We kept her close where we could watch over her and the baby until she turned eighteen. Then, Herve asked old man Broussard to give her a job at his dance hall. They were friends from childhood, so Broussard promised to watch out for Jenny. I guess he did his best, but she come up pregnant again. Harley David ain’t much, can’t keep a job, hardly raised a sweat on the farm, but he stepped up. Every night she works, he’s at the bar watching out for her. All of them lived here, Jenny’s second and third babies, then her baby girl’s baby, too, before I had to sell the place.”

  “Merlin wanted the house. He said he was saving his flight and dangerous duty pay to buy it from you.” Jane craned her neck to see if Miss Olive’s grandson returned with the tickets. Not yet. She had a good view of the Fast ’N Fun now that the bushes were trimmed, more’s the pity.

  “Best he start over where there ain’t so many sad memories: his grandpa wasting of cancer, his little sister catching a baby just like her mother before her, having to sell off the pasture and woodlot to a developer, then the cane fields to pay the doctor bills, Doyle going into the army. Not a damned thing Merlin could do about any of it, but he took each blow hard. He thinks he ruined his mother’s life, should have stayed in college and made big money to pay our bills, and been here to prevent Brittney from going with that guy and Doyle from enlisting.”

  Jane watched Merlin emerge from the convenience store trailing several streamers of scratch-off tickets. “He’s coming, Miss Olive.”

  “Only have one more thing to say. I like you, Jane, but don’t you hurt my grandson. It’s bad enough he bought a townhouse from that snake oil salesman, Bernard Freeman, and sits over there brooding day after day.” Miss Olive pursed her lips as if she wanted to spit right on porch, but she held back. “My Merlin smiles when he talks about you. I haven’t seen that smile in too, too long, so you be careful of him, you hear?”