“They want me to go to their office in Houma to sign some papers and get his belongings from his desk and locker. Donna won’t be out of the hospital for a few more days,” Julia said. “They said it’s my name on the paperwork, and I need to go there to sign it in front of their attorney and pick up his things.”
“I’ll go with you if you want me to, but wouldn’t you rather have LB go with you?” I asked.
“Donna is getting released tomorrow, and LB said he’d pick her up and bring her here. I said she could stay here a couple of days before she decides what to do or go home,” Julia said.
“Well, there’s the matter of the funeral. I think she might want to be here or help with that,” I said as gently as I could.
“I’d just as soon tell the hospital to send him someplace to be cremated. I don’t want to go back to the hospital or talk to Donna about any of this. Let LB deal with her helpless, brainless questions she’ll start asking as soon as she’s released,” Julia said.
“Julia, you need to keep thoughts like that in here,” I said tapping my head. “Try not to let them out here.” I made a motion with my hands as if pulling something out of my mouth in front of me.
Frank added, “Do you know how insulting you sound when you make comments like that?”
“I don’t care if people get their panties in a wad over every little thing I say,” she huffed.
“Did you tell one of the church ladies, who offered to bring something to your party, to keep her Tupperware home because you didn’t want chips and dip served here, or pigs-in-a-blanket?” I asked.
“I didn’t want my party turning into a potluck dinner. That’s what every get-together looks like anytime you have women bringing a dish. It always looks like whatever they made is baked and burned all over their harvest pattern Corning Ware,” she said. “I wanted my dinner to look nice and for everything to have a pretty presentation.”
“Even when you say it, she doesn’t hear how it sounds,” Frank said to me.
“Frank, I’m warning you. You are dancing on my last nerve,” she said and slapped her hand on the arm of her chair.
“Look, just think how can you make what you want to say sound like a compliment. You could have told them you appreciate the offer but not to go to any trouble because you have planned out the dinner and all the side dishes and already have too much food. If they like bringing a dish, you will ask them to next time, okay?”
“Half of them would bring it anyway,” Julia huffed.
“Well, put it in the kitchen, and when they’re not looking, empty it into one of your serving dishes.
“Julia, I hope you know Frank and I are both here out of concern for you,” I said. “If you don’t need me…”
“Will you go with me tomorrow?” Julia asked me. “Frank can stay here and help LB with Donna.”
On my way home, I drove past three of the homes where members of the cooking club lived who turned in a box of rum balls for the exchange. I had looked up their addresses once Agnes gave me their names. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I sure hoped I’d know it when I saw it. I planned to drive by all of the other seven members’ homes. Almost everyone had blankets or sheets over their shrubbery to protect them from freezing temperatures that had been forecasted for the past week and predicted to continue for the next few days until after Christmas.
I picked Julia up at 7:00 a.m. and we headed west toward Houma. I drove because I had a customer I had done several network repairs and reviews for in Raceland but had never met. Everything was done over the phone and via computer, voice mail, emails, and texts. Sooner or later he was going to call again with an issue. He needed an overall system upgrade, replacing a lot of outdated software. I decided I’d pop in on my way home and tell him how nice it was working with him, and since I was in the neighborhood, I wanted to meet him. We’d pass right by his pipe manufacturing business on our way back to New Orleans, and it was always easier to tell someone how much the fix would cost after you met him face-to-face. At least, it seemed that way to me.
We took the 310 split out of Kenner to the Highway 90 exit. Then it was a divided highway for the remainder of the trip with stoplights, crossovers, and speed traps in varying speed zones. Highway 90, in this part of the state, looks like an endless collection of metal prefab buildings in between boarded-up, single-story commercial spaces. Buildings that weren’t boarded either had a sign that said, “Bar,” “Restaurant,” “Restaurant & Bar,” or a neon sign that just said “OPEN.” You had to guess if it was a bar, a restaurant, or a bar and a restaurant. This strip of highway reminded me of how Julia described the places Larry liked to frequent…honky tonks.
“Larry might have frequented some of these restaurants along here, don’t you think?” I asked her, trying to get her talking.
“Hmm. Maybe,” Julia said, staring out the window as I drove.
The only redeeming quality of every one of these places was the food. These Cajun boys know how to cook. Kitchens in this part of the state are mobile, set up on a wire bed trailer that could be hooked up to a trailer hitch should the chef be summoned elsewhere to prepare food for an event. These mobile outdoor kitchens, some more tricked out than others, produced the most delicately fried fish or seafood, perfectly spiced boiled crawfish or shrimp, and big mouth-watering pots of gumbo. They were equipped with nothing more than propane tanks, big sixty-gallon boiling pots, big frying pans, and all the beer the chef needed to turn out enough food for a Cajun festival. The most fascinating thing about watching these guys cook was the outfits they wore and their custom-made utensils.
The dress code called for everyone to wear white or black shrimp boots. Cajun cooks fashioned a big utensil out of something handy. One guy used a boat oar and another used a broomstick with a colander wired to the end to stir or scoop out mudbugs to see if they were done!
It took us an hour and a half to drive to the headquarter location for the Houma, Morgan City, and Thibodeaux branch of the company Larry worked for. When we parked the car at our destination, I noticed this building was shiny and freshly painted, with landscaping and a sprinkler system. I expected as much. The oil industry was the big kahuna around here. Almost everyone in southwest Louisiana from Houma to Lake Charles was either employed by the oil industry, worked to feed those employed by the oil industry, or taught the children of those employed by the oil industry.
Julia had been quiet for most of the ride. I figured she’d loosen up after we both met with the company people and were told what they wanted from her. I used the time to call a few clients and wish them a nice holiday.
Before we got out of the car, Julia asked me, “Do you think I should tell them Larry was married?”
“I think we should go in here and be honest. Let’s see what they want to tell you, give you, or ask you for,” I said and looked at her. Julia sat there staring at the back of the truck parked in front of us. “What is it? Something bothering you?” I thought maybe Larry’s death was just hitting her.
“You see that truck with the airbrushed wolf on the back window?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I should have driven Larry’s pickup truck here with a FOR SALE sign on it. I bet I could’ve sold it in five minutes. It’s got that same tacky wolf painted on his back window to hide his gun rack.”
“Worry about that later,” I said. “Let’s go.”
A pretty young girl greeted us and said, “Oh yes, Miz Richard, they are expecting you. Right this way, cher.”
Everybody down here called each other cher. It was an endearment like calling someone honey.
The walls throughout the waiting room, the corridor we walked down to get to the meeting, and the conference room were covered with giant photos of oil rigs and platforms. The photos on desks were of loved ones in hard hats, safety vests, blue jeans, and work boots. We passed several cubicles where two or three men sat talking in the local dialect, Cajun French. I know a little French from high school, but
I couldn’t make out a word they said. The sound of their language has its own lilt and did not resemble true French at all. It was pretty, relaxed, and pleasant to hear. I’d love to learn it.
She led us to meet with three men waiting in a glass-walled conference room with comfortable swivel chairs, a whiteboard on one end, and a recessed screen for power point presentations on the other. All the AV equipment looked state of the art. We all introduced ourselves. Mr. Babineaux offered us coffee, water, or any other drink we’d like. Julia and I accepted coffee. The girl who accompanied us to the conference room was dispatched to get our preferences. Mr. Authement advised us he was the attorney for the company and gave his condolences to Julia on behalf of the men there and the company.
“Larry Richard, your brother, was a good worker and never missed a day. He was liked by his fellow workers and well-thought-of by management. We are sorry to hear he has left us in this untimely manner,” Mr. Authement said. “Our condolences to you and your family, Miss Richard.”
“Thank you,” Julia said, barely audible. “I’m the only family left. My brother got married two weeks ago, and the woman he married is still in the hospital from something. We don’t even know yet. Did Larry add her to his health insurance?”
“Yes, he did, but it takes ninety days for it to go into effect, I’m sorry to say,” Mr. Babineaux answered. “I’m the human resources director. Mr. Chiasson is the sales and marketing manager over the division your brother worked for.”
Mr. Chiasson said, “Larry had a few months in accrued vacation owed him. He rarely took a day off. He worked all the time. We wanted to give you his back pay and his life insurance claim. Ms. Richard, Larry named you as his beneficiary.”
Julia and I were both stunned and looked at each other for an explanation.
“We know he got married, and he came in to add his wife to his medical plan, but he did not want to make changes to any other benefits,” Mr. Chiasson said and looked at both of us. “I asked Larry if he wanted to change anything else and he said no. He wanted to leave everything to you.” He handed Julia two checks. The one for the vacation pay was in the amount of thirty thousand dollars, and the life insurance payout was one hundred fifty thousand.
Mr. Authement went on to add, “We know families can use the money right away for funeral expenses to help make the arrangements. Here, we try to get the help to the insured’s family right away.”
This wasn’t the picture of Larry we were expecting. They asked Julia to sign for receipt of the checks and she did. This wasn’t a job-related accident so it was nice they wanted to help families get money sooner rather than later. I’m sure this was a much less stressful way to lose an employee instead of by accident on a rig.
“Come eat with us,” Mr. Babineaux said. “We’re having our Christmas lunch here at headquarters. We have a big, nice lunch every day this week while the men are doing a shift change. The ones going out come here before they leave, and the ones coming in off the rigs stop to get their bonus checks and have a bite with their fellow workers. We all sit and eat together. Larry knew almost all of these guys from the rigs. He sold them equipment they needed and then he’d go out and make sure there were no problems with it. He was a good troubleshooter.”
Before Julia could say something insulting, I said, “That’s a great idea, and we would love to. Is there a ladies’ room where we can freshen up?” They pointed down the hall to the left. I practically dragged her with me.
“I don’t want to eat here,” Julia said as soon as we were in the bathroom.
“Let’s keep anything you want to say in here,” I tapped my head. “Let’s not let it come out here,” and I put my finger over my mouth. “They just handed you almost two hundred thousand dollars. These people are nice and have invited us, so yes, we, and by we, I mean you are having lunch here,” I said as I reapplied my lipstick. Julia had already fluffed her hair and was pulling out a compact to reapply more face powder she didn’t need. “We’re here and you might learn something else about your brother. You won’t get any better chances than this.”
“I know all I need to know…” Julia said.
“Really? Did you expect him to leave you that money? He could have changed that when he married Donna. I think you need to act a little grateful and try to see your brother like these people knew him. He seems like he tried to do the right thing by you, his only family left.”
Julia looked at me unconvinced. “You did meet Twilight with the black eye, right?”
I said, “I never heard Twilight or your brother say she got that from him. Do you really know if he was the one who hit her?”
“You don’t know him. He’s just like my daddy was, fast with his hands,” Julia said.
“Too bad he had such a bad role model. You got away from your dad and saw how things should be. Maybe after your dad died, Larry saw things differently,” I said. Julia still didn’t look convinced. “When we get back I think you should ask Donna and get all the facts before you make up your mind about your only brother.”
“We’ll see when we get back,” Julia said. “I still don’t want to eat here.”
“You can eat here with me or sit in the car and freeze while while I accept their invitation and have lunch. Your choice.” I said, “I won’t even give you the keys to turn on the heat while you wait.”
Julia stared at me.
“It could get a little chilly out there,” I said as I started to leave the ladies’ room.
“Okay,” she said.
“Julia, be nice or I will leave you out on the highway and you can walk home,” I said.
With her luck she would meet a wealthy oil man to give her a ride.
Chapter Twelve
Mr. Chaisson met us in the hallway and took us to a large room that spread across the entire width of the building. It looked like it could be used for meetings since there was a stage at one end and a cafeteria-style kitchen at the other. Today, it sat at least one hundred people—picnic style—at lunch tables with benches. Julia was going to love this.
He announced and introduced us as Larry Richard’s sister and her friend. He said we had graciously accepted their offer to eat with them. Okay, so most of it was right.
All stood and the ones wearing baseball caps tapped them while everyone mumbled condolences.
Mr. Chaisson led us over to a table and said, “Sit here by Andre and T-Jean. They knew Larry very well and worked with him a lot over the years. I’ll be back to join you.”
All the men up and down the picnic-style table stood up as we were brought over. Andre said, “We all install what Larry sells, but Larry, he makes it work if there are problems, cher.”
“I’m Brandy and this is Larry’s sister Julia,” I said by way of introduction.
“I’m Andre and this is T-Jean,” he said and pointed across the room. “His dad is over there. We call him Poppa Jean or just Pop. They both answer to almost anything when it’s time to eat.” All the men at the table laughed. T-Jean gave Andre a good-natured push.
Cajuns call little John or John Jr. petit John, but just say the “T” before the name. His dad was Jean.
“T-Jean’s mamma is making crawfish étouffée today. We’ll get you a plate,” Andre said as he and T-Jean made a beeline for the food.
“Not too much,” Julia and I said at the same time, but no one heard us.
Andre and T-Jean came back with two trays and man-size meals that would satisfy a lumberjack or in this case, a roughneck off the rigs.
“Eat what you want,” T-Jean said. “My Mamma can box it up and you take home what you don’t eat, unless you don’t like it.” He looked stricken like he was afraid we would have nothing to eat if we didn’t like it.
I took a bite and said, “I might not need a box for mine.” Everyone smiled and dug into their meals.
“So how was my brother to work with?” Julia asked. “You guys go out and party with him too?”
Okay, I wanted to push her fa
ce into the whole plate of étouffée only it was too good to waste like that.
“Larry was single and went out a lot,” Andre said between big bites of étouffée, which he helped onto his fork with a steamy piece of fresh French bread he pulled off the loaf in the basket in the middle of the table. I got a whiff of the heavenly smell from where I sat when he lifted the towel wrapped around it to keep it warm to tear a piece for himself before he passed it down the table. “We all from lil’ towns out down this way. Larry, he was from our state capitol, Baton Rouge. We all figured him to be more worldly, being from the big city and all.”
“Larry?” Julia asked, and I cut her off by way of a kick under the table.
“Baton Rouge is really more of a college town. It only seems like a big city because LSU is there,” I said.
“Right. You ladies…you both from New Orleans?” Andre asked.
“I’m born and raised there, and Julia is from Baton Rouge but lives in New Orleans now,” I answered before she could say something stupid. Then I noticed she wasn’t about to talk with them, but they had the good manners to assume she was grief-stricken over Larry.
Andre, who seemed to be the self appointed spokesperson to the two of us, said, “Larry wasn’t good with women. In fact, I told him, don’t change everything just yet, wait till you see how it goes. I talked to him right after he stopped by and told us he got married.” He went on, “Larry was always very serious at the job. Always following up, doing what he must and then some. After work, we all go home to our families, and sometimes we take him. We all married the girl we sat next to in first grade. We all got married in the same Catholic church and we all bury our relatives in the same cemetery next to that church. Your brother was not so lucky. He was lonely,” Andre said.
“He always seemed to go for the one who needed the most help or looked the most lost,” T-Jean said. “But, your brother loved a good party.”
“We’re all sorry he’s missing this big party,” a man sitting across from us said. “Larry, he loved the holidays, cher, and he loved when we all got together here to eat.”
Death By Rum Balls Page 11