“You’ll wake up in heaven, but we’ve got to go through hell first. I’m your angel to get you through.”
“Mr. Delacroix?” I asked.
“Shhh, na-na, he isn’t here now. It’s our time, just you and me. Keep feeling the pain, Susan. The pain means you’re alive. Breathe with me.”
I met his breath with my own and it helped. I kept my eyes glued to his and we breathed together. Memories came to my consciousness of mean schoolgirls, wicked women, parties, and shame. So much cocaine. My mother and her boyfriends, the beatings; street corners, money, cars, heroin, smoke, and mirrors. I wanted anything to stop the pain. I missed my mother but I was a little girl lost in the grocery store. She forgot me. Police Officer, my mother forgot me.
My head was spinning and a wave of cramps traveled from my calves through my intestines. “Sunny, I’m gonna puke. Please make it stop.” He freed my arms and legs, pulled me up, and held a large enamel bowl under my chin. “Puke it out, little girl. Get rid of those demons. Feel the pain. Embrace the pain. You’re alive.”
I was so empty, but I could not stop retching. I had never hurt so badly in my life.
“Breathe, little girl. Breathe with me.” He lightly pet my head. “That’s it. This part’ll pass.” He set the bowl down and got out of the tub.
I was shivering again, so he added some hot water to the bath. I could feel the warm water traveling up the length of my body. He was on his knees next to the tub, and with a luxurious washcloth filled with fresh-smelling lather, he began to rub my neck, arms, back, my breasts. His deft hand moved down my back and belly and gently between my legs. Every move he made hurt, but I breathed through it. I felt the pain. I was alive.
“Here, cher, lay back now.” He placed a pillow made of terry cloth behind my head and helped me comfortably recline as supine as possible in the tub. He rose up on his knees and washed my left leg, then my right leg, my feet, even between my toes. “You trust me now.”
I opened my eyes and saw him smile.
“Yes,” I said.
“Good. Things’ll be easier.” He put a steady hand behind me and helped me to the sitting position. “Look up now so the water doesn’t go in your eyes.” I sat up straight and looked up.
“There you go,” he said as he poured water over my head so that it ran warm down my back. His hands were full of lather and he was rubbing my head and behind my ears. It occurred to me that he had done this before.
“Okay, little girl, I’m going to rinse you, so look up for me.” I followed his instruction, eagerly awaiting that warm water traveling down my back. “A little conditioner and we’ll be through, little girl.” His hands rubbed and massaged. I felt as though my head were floating off my body: no pain.
“No pain,” I panicked. “I’m dying!”
He gave me a small slap on the arm. “Shhh, look up, little girl. Let me rinse.” I looked up eagerly.
As if I were a rag doll, Sunny lifted me up to the standing position. “Stand up now so I can give you a real good rinse.”
Everything hurt again. He loosened the removable showerhead and gently sprayed my body down from head to toe. The water stung me like needles and I began to cry.
“Breathe, little girl. The pain means you’re alive. Feel the pain. Good. Breathe.” His face was in front of mine, keeping me focused on those icy eyes.
He wrapped me in a towel and effortlessly carried me to the bedroom. His hands were swift as he patted me dry, even in my most private places. I was shivering like mad. He blew my hair dry as I sat naked, vulnerable, exposed. His hands never ventured further than needed to introduce me to the pain I had spent so many years medicating away. Cramps moved up and down my torso and legs. My back screamed with pain and the axe hit my head again.
“I hurt . . . the pain . . . I am alive,” I said like a mantra. Sunny joined in with his sweet angelic voice. This went on as he lifted my body to the edge of the bed. He held me in his arms and rocked me as we chanted, “I hurt . . . the pain . . . I am alive. I hurt . . . the pain . . . I am alive.”
* * *
There were muffled sounds of male voices, furniture being disturbed, the creak of bedsprings, the dropping of some heavy object. Sun came through a crack in the shutter. My body hurt. Someone rolled my body this way and that, and pushed my legs; I felt pinching in my arm, something cold inside my vagina, then drifting sleep.
Male voices again. “She is fine physically, but there is something you should know, Mr. Delacroix.” Voices trailed off, a door shut, darkness, nothing.
My mother left me. I left this time and she's the one who's alone now. The family. Everyone has a family. I'm alone. I hurt . . . the pain . . . I am alive. I hurt . . . the pain . . . I am alive. Please god, make it stop. Oh, let me sleep again.
My eyes clouded in darkness. Everything was blurry and twisted, my blankets heavily sodden.
“Ty.” My voice was weak and hoarse, my throat so dry. “Ty, where are you?”
The door opened and Mr. Delacroix came to my side and turned on the bedside lamp. A piece of red silk lay over the shade to dim the harsh light. He bent over and kissed me gently on the mouth. I saw him drink from a cut crystal glass; pink light bounced off the facets. I tried to pull away but he took my face in his hands, held me still, and forced my mouth open with his tongue. From his mouth, cool, sweet water flowed. I wanted more, so I held my mouth open. His mouth flowed into mine once more.
“Bonjour, Blanche Neige. Par sa peau blanche comme la neige.”
I reached up to touch him. “Are you real?” I asked as I touched his dark curls.
“Oui.”
5.
Mr. Delacroix threw open the shutters and lifted the sash. Wild white light and the street sounds and smells filled my senses. Clop, clop, clop. The sound of a mule pulling a carriage along the pavement under the window. The light breeze was succulent.
“Are you still in much pain, love?” His voice was a half whisper.
I tried to sit up and he scrambled to my side to assist me with his soft boxer’s hands.
“Yes, a little. How long have I been out?” I looked around and vaguely remembered Sunny bathing me and Mr. Delacroix’s electric eyes. The memories were dotted with amber light and shadows.
“Five days, cher, only five days. Can I get you anything? Do you need help to the toilet?”
“I’m thirsty. I don’t know what happened.”
He reached to the bedside table and brought a crystal glass to my chin with a bendable straw. “It’s iced water.” He smiled and looked me in the eye. “You seemed to really like it a minute go.” He guided the straw to my lips with his thick fingers. “Drink, cher.”
I sucked greedily on the straw. The cold water broke the dam of dryness that had been blocking my breathing. I felt astonishingly refreshed and took a long, deep breath.
“Hey, hey, let’s slow down,” he said, setting the glass aside. “Do you want to know what happened, what is happening now?”
“I can only imagine that I’ll find out sooner or later.” I leaned back on the pillow and closed my eyes.
“Do you want more sleep? We can speak to one another later, if you like.”
“No, Mr. Delacroix, I’m ready to hear it,” I said, though sleep beckoned.
“Cher, the good news is that you’re clean. The doctor says another two or three days of rest and you should be completely purged of the poison. From now on, the pain will lessen.”
“And the bad?”
“Bad news? There is no bad news. Only that you have a bit more work to do is all, but you’re on your way.”
“Thank you, Mr. Delacroix.”
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. Additionally, as I mentioned, I took the liberty of having a doctor come look at you just to make sure everything is okay. You frightened us there for a while, as we couldn’t wake y
ou up. We feared you’d gone into some kind of coma. We thought we might lose you, and poor Ty—he was hysterical.”
I smiled. “Is he here?”
“No. I’ll have Sunny call him in a bit, but Sunny’s here. Do you recall how Sunny helped you?”
I was suddenly ashamed remembering how I’d called him a faggot and puked and god knows what else.
“Neige, please remember there’s no judgment in my house. He was happy to help you and he’s the only one who knows how because he’s walked in your shoes. He came here much like you have, but in much worse shape.” He turned toward the closed door and called for Sunny to enter.
Immediately the door opened and there stood my angel of mercy. His smile was genuine and he laughed to see me awake. “Aw, little girl, I knew you could do it. I knew it. How is the pain? Is it still there? Are we still alive?”
“I feel like I’ve been lifting weights and doing sit-ups for a month straight.”
A pause. “Susan, you weren’t honest with us before, were you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were a heroin addict as well, weren’t you?”
I was ashamed. These men helped me out of their own goodness and I had lied. Sunny knew because he had been like me.
Sunny sat next to me opposite Mr. Delacroix, Delacroix like night on my left and Sunny like day on my right. “Little girl, you’ve still got work to do and it’ll be so much easier if you’re honest with us. We’re here to help you because we care. Didn’t I prove how much you can trust me?”
I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. Three men I hardly knew had taken me in and cared for me when I was at my worst. I started to bawl and mew as the sick kitten I was. “How can I ever repay you?” I asked between sobs.
“Ah na-na, not to worry about that, child,” Mr. Delacroix said as he bent to kiss my forehead. “There’s plenty of time to talk later. Sunny, call Ty. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see Miss Susan awake and alert. Par sa peau blanche comme neige, cher.” He looked at me lovingly. “I hope you’ll be with us for a long time. Rest now so when Ty gets here you’ll have your strength to listen. He has a story for you.”
He got up from my side and the vacancy he left hurt my soul. I did not want him to go, but I was glad Sunny stayed. I squeezed his hand, startling him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay. I was just lost in thought. Is there something you need?”
“Sunny, why are you doing this?”
“Because Mr. Delacroix believes it to be the right thing to do.”
“I don’t understand. I really don’t understand any of this.”
“Just chalk it up to Southern hospitality. When Ty gets here, he can help explain.”
* * *
I must have dozed because when Sunny opened the rest of the bedroom shutters and threw open the sashes, evening was at hand and the sun was golden through the window. The street sounds were comforting. I was hurting, but I was alive.
Who were these people and why were they interested in me? I was thankful but still distrustful. Were they going to sell me into some kind of sex trade or ransom me? Probably not the latter, as I did not know anyone who would pay for my freedom. If they had ill intent, why would they go to such expense and extremes to spoil me?
Knock, knock, knock. I knew right away it was Ty and I raced to the door, but had steady myself with my hand on the table. Ty was quickly at my side helping me sit back down.
“Cher, sit, sit. You got to be clean first ’fore you go runnin’ about.”
I hugged him fast and hard. “How can I ever repay you? Sunny said you saved my life.”
“Well, well, dat boy finally say sumpthin’ nice ’bout me,” he laughed. “Cher, you just be goin’ da wrong way is all.”
Sunny came in carrying a tray with a bowl of soup, some crackers, a glass of water, and a cup of the best coffee I ever had. “Miss Susan, I’ve made you some consommé, but eat the crackers, too, because they’ll help fill that emptiness you have in your gut.”
“Thank you, Sunny. But you don’t have to call me Miss Susan. I’m just Susan.”
“Mr. Delacroix prefers I call you Miss Susan and you’re welcome. It’s veal, the consommé, that is.”
“Sunny, you been tellin’ Miss Susan nice things ’bout me?” Ty asked through his wide smile.
Sunny let go a heavy, tired sigh. “Ty, grammar, please. We need Miss Susan to understand every word you say.” Icicles dashed from Sunny’s eyes.
“Okay, hold it, guys,” I said. “What gives with the Miss Susan bullshit and the grammar crap? What the hell is going on here?”
“Ty, that’s your job to answer, and do it well.” Sunny turned and left without acknowledgment.
My eyes pleaded with Ty for an explanation.
“Miss Susan, now all you got to do is eat your food and listen and then I’ll answer all your questions as best I can, okay? It’s good that you eat sumpthin’.”
“Sure, Ty. God knows I have a ton of questions.” I sat at the little round table where Sunny had placed my tray, and Ty sat opposite me.
“Mr. Delacroix’s family been round here for centuries, and they have a country home in Lafourche Parish near the border with Terrebonne Parish called Twisted Oak. The family has long since sold much of the local land and commercial agriculture program, but the Delacroix family still depends on the farm to provide for their needs at Twisted Oak,” Ty said.
Ty went on to tell me about how Mr. Delacroix’s grandfather had long ago had business with his friend and naval compatriot L. Geoffrey Scott, who had lost his wife in a horse-riding accident. Mr. Scott had a son named Jackson who desperately needed a motherly home, so the Delacroix family had welcomed Mr. Scott and his son, Jackson, to live at Twisted Oak. Jackson and Mr. Delacroix’s father, James, were the best of friends and grew up on the plantation together.
“Those boys were tight like family,” Ty said. “When you go to Twisted Oak, you gonna meet Mr. Jackson Scott. He live there. We call him Mr. Scott.”
“What happened to Mr. Delacroix’s parents?” I asked.
“Aw, cher, dey dead. Dey bote dead.” He shook his head in sadness. “Mrs. Delacroix, they say she die of cancer. That’s the official version, but mostly it’s thought she kill herself. She buried in Lafayette Cemetery. The elder Mr. Delacroix, he live for a while longer, but he die when his boy, our Mr. Delacroix, was just little.”
“Oh my god.”
“Yeah, it’s a sad case to be orphaned like dat. From what I hear, he love his daddy very much. Those men, Mr. Jackson Scott and our Mr. Delacroix’s daddy, they were close like brothers, but some folk say they were too close, like fag close, and dat why da momma kill herself, but that just rumor.
“Mr. Scott, he has his cheri, but he ain’t ever had no kids because he got our Mr. Delacroix. His woman, Mrs. Marie-Louise Scott, she fine like powdered cocaine,” he smiled. “Oh cher, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be remindin’ ya.”
“So, if I have this right, Mr. Scott lives at Twisted Oak, the Delacroix family home?” I stayed on the topic of Mr. Delacroix and ignored his comment. Just the thought of cocaine brought waves of undeniable cravings. I would have gotten high at that moment, but the thought of going through withdrawal again stemmed the urge. Mr. Delacroix had given me a chance at sobriety. The pangs lingered, but unlike my mother, I would choose a better life.
“That’s right, he the patriarch.”
“Shouldn’t Mr. Delacroix be the patriarch of his family estate?”
“That ain’t how the elder Mr. Delacroix set it up. He leave it all over to Mr. Scott when he die until our Mr. Delacroix be old enough to manage things. He get it all pretty soon when he turn thirty.”
“So Mr. Delacroix and Mr. Scott still have business together?”
“Oh, yes. They car
ry on what was goin’ on before.”
“It’s sad that the only family Mr. Delacroix has is really just a family friend,” I said. “What kinda business are they in, Ty?”
“Oh, now, that I don’t know. Something to do with boats and shipping. Then there is land, and some medicine companies, and I think farming, maybe oil, too. It all kinds of things. I dunno that kind of big business, but I reckon it isn’t very different from small business other than you have to know big numbers.” Ty’s infectious smile burst again.
“I reckon so,” I smiled back.
“So you ask me why I tell you all this and I say because Mr. Delacroix think it the right thing to do. Miss Susan, Mr. Delacroix been knowin’ his whole life that when he turn thirty, he got to step up and run Twisted Oak. He been knowin’ that by then he want to settle down and maybe find someone to start a real family with. He has a way about him when sumpthin’ get set in his mind. He is persistent, as they say.”
“Do you and Sunny do everything that Mr. Delacroix thinks is right?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation.
“Why? Doesn’t anyone ever ask him why he thinks this is right?”
Ty shifted in his seat and thought for a moment. He took a sip of his water. “Well, he save us both like he saving you right now. Sunny and I are part of the family and we loyal.”
“I don’t understand.”
He stood and looked out the window. “See, cher, the Delacroix family has a unique and powerful kind of loyalty. That part of the family tradition is hard to explain, but it’s the way it’s been since the beginning.”
He lingered in front of the mirror on the armoire and fixed a rogue ringlet. “Once you sign on and be part of the family, you expected to serve the family. In return you receive much in the way of opportunity, loyalty, and security.”
He checked his backside in the mirror before he came and sat again. “There are different levels of fidelity, but each in their own way serves the family well. Miss Susan, he be a powerful man with resources, if ya get my meanin’.”
Twisted Oak: A Sexual Odyssey Page 4