by D. A. Bale
Of course, keeping Charlotte in the manner in which she was raised endeared him even more to those Louisiana elders. After all, they had a reputation to uphold – kinda scary to think about looking at the next generation sitting with his mother at one end of the porch.
Janine’s younger brother typically spent his summers learning the ropes of the empire he’d take over someday. All day. Every day. Well, except for Sunday mornings. Had to put in the requisite appearance in the family pew and then lunch before heading into the office with his dad. But knowing George’s penchant for morning breaks, coffee breaks, lunch breaks, tea, afternoon breaks, and dinner meetings, he’d likely found new ways every day to disappear and do just enough to get by – or find someone else to do the work for him before taking all the credit. He was your quintessential next generation rich kid.
Okay, yes I was from a wealthy family too, but at least I actually paid my own bills. Most of the time. Except for the contents of my closet. Well, and the recent renovation – but that wasn’t my fault. We’ll just call that one a gift from the heart of an overprotective and concerned mother.
But where Janine worked herself into a frenzy toward a doctorate in music, her brother was a slacker, sleazebag, and overall slimebucket by comparison – evidenced by his multiple and never-ending attempts over the years to cop a feel. We’re talking all the way from the time he was five, folks.
I can’t tell you all the times growing up in church when he’d accidentally trip just to see up a woman’s dress or brush his hand against a certain part of a girl’s budding anatomy. It got so bad, Mrs. De’Laruse even took him to an ear, nose, and throat specialist because she was convinced he had an inner ear problem affecting his equilibrium.
Janine and I never could bring ourselves to explain the only problem George had was his overstimulated sexual curiosity – I tended to prefer the word pervert but refrained from saying it aloud out of respect for my friend’s family. The guy had probably been looking at porn from the cradle. Most times George reminded me more of my dad than his.
Hmm. With my dad’s wanderlust – emphasis on the lust – it was always a distinct possibility. But I couldn’t picture Mrs. De’Laruse stepping out on her husband or betraying my mother’s friendship. With her penchant for sniffing out scandal, I also had trouble seeing Mrs. De’Laruse as someone who could hold her tongue and keep a secret of such magnitude for more than ten seconds.
However, Thomas was a certified workaholic, and it was a miracle they’d found the time to have one child, much less two. George must’ve been dredged from the bottom of their combined gene pool.
“Victoria dawlin’,” Mrs. De’Laruse drawled, calling me over to the wicker table and chairs where sweet tea and cookies signified the dessert portion of lunch.
I bent over her seated form to accept the air-peck to both cheeks. “Hello, Mrs. De’Laruse.”
“How are you doin’, dear?”
“Can’t complain about anything but the heat.”
“And how’s your mother?”
“She’s doing fine, but I imagine you’ve talked to her since I last saw her.”
“You really should call her more often, Victoria,” Mrs. De’Laruse admonished.
And with that guilt train, it was time for me to escape. “Sorry to interrupt lunch, but is Janine home?”
A scowl pursed her lips. “That girl wolfed down her luncheon and hoofed it back to her room like an inbred ruffian. So disappointing. So unladylike. It makes a mother wonder where she went wrong.”
Wide eyes gave me the once over. It was obvious where Mrs. De’Laruse thought she’d gone wrong, though the inbred comment might explain a lot where their son was concerned. Like most old southern family lines, there were likely several generations of close-relational marriages buried within the De’Laruse DNA. I just smiled and did my best to bite my tongue.
“Say hello, Georgie,” Mrs. De’Laruse commanded her twenty-three-year-old son before I could slink away.
“Hello, Victoria,” George said as he stood, placed the linen napkin by his plate and ran his hands through unruly dark curls before coming around the table. “It’s been a long time since you stopped by to visit.”
“Well, you’re usually not here when I do,” I said.
The fake charm oozed to the forefront while the thinly veiled hunger gleamed in his blue eyes – and we’re not talking from lack of lunch, folks. The youngest of the De’Laruse brood was built more like his mother with a little more paunch than panache. Or a lot. It didn’t stop George from squeezing my chest to his though – and placing his outside hand a little too low on my right haunch where his mother couldn’t see.
What’d I tell you? Georgie was very adept at getting some T&A – and in front of his mom to boot. It didn’t deter me from giving him my own little reminder, as I found that sensitive skin just inside the arm and gave him a little pinch in return. I felt rather than saw the wince as he pulled away a bit too quickly.
In the south, it isn’t good manners to run off without spending at least a modicum of time in conversation. But we all know by now that proper isn’t a word I’ve given much credence to these last few years. At least I accepted a chocolate chip cookie before dashing into the sprawling foyer and up the grand staircase to Janine’s room. The door was cracked open a smidge, which in my book is an invitation to let yourself in.
Janine sat at the desk near the floor-to-ceiling windows on the other side of her full-sized and very pink canopy bed. Books lay open on her desk, across her bed, and scattered at her feet like a flock of birds come home to roost. She scrawled on a yellow notepad like her life depended on it before turning to the line and staff pages set on an old-fashioned wooden stand, carefully writing out music with a calligraphy pen like a woman straight out of the 1800s. Ah, the life of a doctoral candidate – or a bookworm. Too bad Janine was both.
Since my bestie had the misfortune of being born female, and therefore discouraged from pursuit of the family business, Janine had become a perpetual student. But at least the De’Laruses weren’t so antiquated in their beliefs as to a woman’s education. At present, Janine held not only a master’s in accounting she’d never been allowed to use, but she was also nearing completion of a doctorate in music. Other than teaching, I didn’t know what she’d do with that piece of paper either. Maybe she’d finish that minor in business next. All Mrs. De’Laruse wanted was for Janine to find a successful man to marry and produce grandchildren.
I was so-o-o glad I didn’t have to deal with such family pressures anymore.
“Hey, Janine,” I said.
At my apparently startling greeting, tomes flew off the desk while the pen launched from her hand to leave a black blotch on the pale pink window sheers.
“Vicki!” Janine squeaked in her soprano pitch, eyes wide and brows heading toward the stratosphere. “You startled me.”
“I’d have never guessed,” I quipped. “Whatcha working on?”
“What I’m always working on these days.” Janine sighed with a hand to her chest. “I’ve gotten so far behind on my thesis this summer. Then I’m supposed to teach one of Dr. Husingkamp’s freshmen classes, so he wants to see lesson plans on Monday before the start of the semester. I haven’t even finished scoring a single composition since June,” she wailed.
“Really?” I scanned some of the books lying on the floor and picked one up. “Did you change topics recently from music to…Setting up Your 501(c)3?” I read aloud.
“Give me that.” Janine swiped too slowly at the book I held just out of reach.
“What kind of a non-profit does a person with a doctorate in music set up?”
“A none-of-your-business kind.” Lips pursed just like her mother’s as she held an open palm toward me.
In her present state, of course I wouldn’t say she reminded me of her mother when she did that. Not out loud anyway. You just don’t say something like that to your best friend when she’s already quite obviously in an overwroug
ht state of panic and distress.
I’d tell her later.
“This has something to do with Bobby, doesn’t it?” I challenged as I placed the book in her outstretched hand.
The irritation in her bloodshot eyes dissolved into fear. “I…uh…it’s…”
When Janine devolves into hesitated stuttering, you know she’s trying really hard to come up with something to say that isn’t an outright lie. It’s how I knew before she admitted she had a crush on Steve Connors in the third grade. Before she told me about Georgie’s oral yeast infection being the real excuse for his week-long absence in ninth grade. It was also why we got in trouble when her mom suspected us of sneaking out during a sleepover. My brilliant explanation had our sorry carcasses out of the noose before Janine put them right back in with one steely-eyed scowl from her mom.
But none of that would ever stop me from loving my Honest Abe of a best friend. It was rare to find a friend you could trust implicitly – at least as long as you kept her out of trouble. Sometimes it amazed me that Janine had stayed friends with me for so long.
“Well,” I started, “I think Bobby can use all the help he can get. The Internal Revenue Service loves nothing more than to do everything they can to screw with non-profits.”
Janine’s shoulders relaxed. “My dad says the same thing. After all, they audit his philanthropic entities practically every year, not to mention the businesses on a rapidly rotating basis.”
“Part of the joy of earning money and having the audacity to try and keep some of it.”
“He says that too.”
Three-quarters of Texans say that every April, but I kept those thoughts to myself. Better to let Janine hold onto the fallacy of her dad making up that saying. At least it proved she listened to his advice.
It was so obvious they were grooming the wrong De’Laruse to take over the family business. But sweet and trusting Janine running a multi-billion dollar empire? Yeah, that might be a bit of a stretch. Then again there was George.
Nope, I gotta stick with Janine on this. I shuddered to think what her brother would do with that kind of money at his feet. At least under Janine’s management umbrella they’d have plenty of philanthropic causes to use for tax shelters. If history was any indicator, George would take the company the way of the porn industry.
Hmm. Maybe I should introduce him to Nick’s Fashion Emporium.
“So,” I continued, “is that what you’ve been doing all summer instead of working on your thesis…helping set up Bobby’s prison ministry?”
“Well…um…yeah,” Janine admitted. “It all started with a question he asked after services one Sunday. Bobby’s a talented minister and so good with people, but he really doesn’t have a head for business.”
I also remember what Bobby had a head for at one time. I’d always carry fond memories of that F-150 truck. But where I’d devolved into a drunken dancing queen in my adult years, Bobby had matured and discovered a new life’s path.
I cleared my mind of truck bed visions. “Being the wonderful person you are, you offered to help him set up everything.”
Janine nodded. Was that a blush I saw coloring her cheeks? “I started researching some of the new tax laws governing non-profits. Then one of Dad’s attorneys offered to do the legal work pro-bono.”
“That was generous.”
“It also provided some tax benefits to the attorney,” Janine said with a smirk.
“So that’s why you were over at his place the other day. You’ve been spending extra time with him all summer.”
The blush came full on so fast, I thought Janine was going to have a heart attack. “Well I…it’s just that…there’s nothing going on, I swear!”
I laughed. Then laughed some more. A full minute passed before I could breathe enough to speak. “I’m just giving you a hard time, Janine. Geez.”
“I’d never do anything like that. I mean, it’s only been a couple of months since Amy…and after you and him…it wouldn’t be right.”
“That was a long time ago. And you’re right…he’s still grieving. I’m just glad you’re the one helping him with all of this.”
Her shoulders were so tight when I laid my hands on them, I kneaded them like an attentive coach to work out some of the kinks. Some coach. All summer I’d worried about my own life so much and about when I could return to my apartment that I’d neglected my friend. It was obvious she needed to get out and have a little fun again – Vicki style.
“Besides,” I continued, “with you spending all this time working with Bobby, it leaves less opportunity for Lorraine Padget to get her claws into him.”
Janine snorted. “You should visit church again just to see the spectacle Lorraine puts on around him, now that Bobby is considered available,” she air quoted.
“I thought she was engaged to that old oilman. Mr. Summers wasn’t it?”
“Still is, though you’d be hard pressed to believe it with the way she fawns over Bobby.”
My turn to snort. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she dropped her fiancé any day now.”
“Drop him by poisoning him, you mean,” Janine offered with a grin. “Just to get her mitts on the money and Bobby.”
“How could she get the money if they’re not married yet?” I asked.
“Daddy said Mr. Summers changed his will and added Lorraine as a beneficiary when they got engaged.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. But it’s only a specified amount until they get married. After that, percentages from the pre-nup will kick in.”
Hmm. Lorraine might be onto something. Marry an old, rich guy who’s bound to kick off in a couple of years, then enjoy the estate with a few boy toys on the side. Ew.
I wasn’t as twisted and scheming as those of the Padget persuasion. I couldn’t picture kissing a man older than my dad during the wedding ceremony, much less after the wedding. Consummation? Forget it. People like Lorraine would simply give the guy a sleeping draught then go to the hot, young guy waiting in the next room. Tempting, but that would be something my dad would do – and I refused to be anything like the sperm donor.
Which is why I’m happily single. I enjoy the consummating without the complication of vows. No strings to tie me down – and I ain’t talking Pinocchio.
Janine exhaled in relaxation before I released her shoulders and plopped onto the bed among all of the Pepto-Bismol pink. Pink sheets. Pink pillows. Pink carpet. Pink walls. I felt a little chalky just lying there.
It was time to sic Reggie on this room and bring Janine into adulthood – dragging, kicking, and screaming if we had to. Was pink even her favorite color anymore, or was it a holdover from dear, old mom?
“So putting Lorraine aside,” Janine said, swiveling the chair to face me. “Was there something other than Bobby you wanted to talk about?”
Speaking of Reggie – er, without speaking of Reggie. “As a matter-of-fact, there is.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“Are you sure you have time?”
“For my best friend?” Janine asked with a rapid bat of her unfairly long lashes. “You shouldn’t even have to ask.”
“True,” I admitted. “Okay, since I’ve been out of the debutante circles for several years, I don’t know what’s happening among the uppity crowd.”
“And with my doctoral work, and generally not caring about those silly gossips, I do?”
“Maybe not, but your mother does.”
“You got me there,” Janine admitted with a grin.
“I need you to show a smidge of interest in what’s said among the socialites,” I said, paging through a nearby textbook. “Nose jobs. Home remodel jobs. Things like that.”
“Boob jobs?”
“Maybe even blow jobs.”
“Vicki!”
“Hey, you never know what those girls will discuss at the Thursday afternoon ladies luncheons.”
“That’s at church,” Janine scolded.
“Never s
topped them when Mom dragged me to those things.”
Janine tilted her head in contemplation. “Come to think of it, there were some rather saucy topics discussed when we leaned in to listen.”
“Exactly,” I returned.
Furrowed brows turned my way. “Does this have something to do with that gang talk at Bobby’s?”
“Um…,” I started.
“And don’t you dare say you plead the fifth this time,” she interrupted. “It sounds dangerous if it involves gangs, so I need to know what’s going on.”
Like any good law-abiding Texan, I looked Janine right in the eye, opened my mouth and spoke in a way she could comprehend this time.
“I plead Beethoven’s Fifth?”
Chapter Fifteen
Now that I had Janine’s interest piqued, I figured it was time to get down to business – the consulting variety. The old consummation thoughts I’d already put aside, especially when faced with scurrying past one seriously oversexed Georgie without suffering another attempted pat-down. I’d never get over how close the genetic material was between my best friend and her brother. Night and day, folks.
Since I had to get ready for work in a few hours, Janine followed in her red Mercedes as we made our way down the De’Laruse lane toward the highway. I chanced a call to Reggie’s cell and got his drippy voicemail message instead – fake accent and all.
You haff reached Reginald von Braun’s messaging service. Vat a sad day, no? But all is not lost! Leave Reginald a vee, little note, mein liebchen, and he vill reach out and touch you soon. Ciao!
“Reggie, it’s Vicki,” I said over the roar of the Vette as I peeled out onto the highway. “You might want to change that outgoing message before you get hit with a sexual harassment charge. Anyway, when you have a chance to talk, give me a call. Or swing by my place. Better yet, tell me where to meet you if it isn’t too late. I’ve gotta be at the bar by six. Bye.”