Southern Hearts (6 page)

“Cold. It rains a lot. But I like it.”

“I thought about going to school out there, then I changed my mind at the last minute. I don’t think I could leave the South; it’s part of me and I know I’d miss it.”

“It’s a culture shock, that’s for sure.” I said, tracing her expression with my eyes as she spoke. She was lovely, and being next to her, feeling her skin casually touch mine, made it hard for me to concentrate on the conversation. It was almost torture, she was so captivating, and I had to bury the urge that was racing inside of me to reach out and fondle her. I wanted to put my hand on her leg, to feel the softness of it.

“I decided to go to Louisiana State instead.”

“What did you get your degree in?” I asked.

“Horticulture. I wanted to be able to increase the productiveness of my dad’s business.” She confided, “He isn’t very appreciative of natural soils and composts, though. I’m still working on molding him toward that thinking. He’s pretty dedicated to phosphoric compound.” She laughed. “He’s not much on organic.”

I smiled.

“Do you want to take this barge for a sail? It’s exhilarating if you’ve never been,” Regee said, standing. She stepped over the cabin and pulled the anchor from the port side, then spun the wheel wildly until the boat turned sharply to one side. “Grab the cord over your head and give it a hard yank,” she directed. “Pull it until it’s tight and then tie it around the pulley next to you.”

The sail swung forward and the boat swayed into a pronounced lean onto its side. I pulled myself to my feet by the jib only to slip onto my butt and slide across the deck until I was at Regee’s feet.

She laughed loudly, twirling the wheel in the opposite direction as the boat leveled. She put her hand under my arm and propped me up. “Sorry,” she said with an unconvincing smirk.

“Oh, no problem.” I ran my palm over my hair, nervously combing it from my face. The boat jerked, and she fell back into my lap and I into the padded seating at the stern. Regee was facing me, her hands between my legs as she slumped over me.

“Are you supposed to be my treasure from the sea?” I asked with an uncomfortable grin. I put my palm onto her thigh, bracing her.

It was my moment, I contemplated what to do. I didn’t even know her—was she gay, straight? I had thought I was picking something up from her, a transmission if you will, but I was unsure. I could act on my impulse and find my lifeless body flung overboard for the fish to devour. I could walk away with a handprint permanently over my cheek.

I took a deep breath, my pulse pounding in my neck, my lungs pulling tight and constricting. I leaned forward, put my hand behind her head, and bent her toward me. I put my lips to hers, letting out a sigh, then brought her hips closer to mine with an urgent yank. She put her hands around my waist and slipped them up under my bra, pulling it up and over my head with one movement. I raked my hand down the front of her shorts, unbuttoning them while she stroked her long nails through my hair and into my scalp. My breathing labored as she dropped me down onto my back, bracing my thigh over her shoulder as she pulled my shorts down over my legs and down my calves. Then she put her hand over my chin, caressing it and making me moan.

I jerked her slender frame closer into mine, gripping her breast firmly between my lips and tickling it with my tongue, then tracing its outline until she cried out. I pushed her farther up on me, and as she thrust her fingers into me, I thrust mine into her, and we pressed to one another as we came.

The moment passed almost as instantaneously as it had arisen, and we were silent. The only sounds were the clank of the buoys that dangled from the boat’s side, the whistle of wind cutting through the leaves and rustling the bark, and the distant hum from the f current just beyond Blanche Bay out along the Gulf of Mexico.

Chapter Four

I thought of little else but Regee over the next two weeks, and every day paled next to the lust of passion that had transformed me the day on her boat. I was finally pulled out of my reverie by the chime of the doorbell.

“Hello, Mrs. Trusdor.” Pulling open the door with one sweep, I waved my hand to direct her inside.

AnnLou Trusdor was popularly known as the elderly Napoleon of Louisiana. I had met her only once, but the strong odor of Obsession that she always bathed herself in stung the inside of my nose and made her difficult to forget. She was in true form, her hair bundled and combed high on her head into a b
 
b
ouffant, forked into place and sprayed to give it immovable height. She was clothed in a saffron caftan with earthworm designs spattered over it—probably paisley, I thought as I looked at them again. It was accented with a Bakelite choker with coral pink balls that dangled over her trachea. I couldn’t help think that the color made it look like bees swarming a swollen hive. Her voice was grainy, matter-of-fact, with a presence that overtook the room as soon as she entered.

“This is my daughter Lani.” She pressed a solid hand to the top of her backbone, then slipped it up to the side of her face to smooth her hair.

“Hi, Lani, nice to meet you.”

AnnLou stepped forward, swiveling her head as she peered into every room along the entryway. “Where’s your mother?”

I pointed. “Through there and on the left, in the rumpus room.”

“I had better go and see what that old woman is up to. I’ll leave you girls. Goodbye, darling, I will see you later on.”

“Goodbye, Mother.”

Girls?
I thought to myself. I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but I detected a hint of superiority in her voice that instantly caused a feeling of loathing to wash over me.

I looked at Lani. Her shoulder-length hair, highlighted with streaks of blond that gradually became darker at the roots, was curled primly and teased around the sides to give it body. She was full-figured, with large breasts that were strapped into a contoured bra in an attempt to give them a more delicate shape. Her black T-shirt hung loosely at her narrow waistline, and her Birkenstock sandals were similar to mine, though less worn and scuffed. Her broad and healthy birthing hips were stashed under baggy denim shorts that were a shade beyond the ebony of her top and only thinly visible below its hem, ending inches above her kneecaps.

“I thought we’d drive into New Orleans. We can walk around the French Quarter and then take in some jazz. Do you like jazz?”

“I love it. It’s not too common in California, though, so I don’t get a chance to hear it as much as I would like,” she said.

Her voice was soft, like a familiar blanket, and had a way of drawing you in as she spoke. It was crisp and rhythmic, pitching from high to low, which made it a pleasure to listen to.

“California, huh? What part?” I slung my backpack over one shoulder, closing the door behind us and leading her to my car.

“Sacramento. I go to UC Davis. Well, I was at Davis. I just got my master’s in women’s studies this past spring. Now I’m trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. Life beyond being a professional student,” she said. “What about you?”

“I just finished senior thesis, so I will be graduating— finally—in December. It’s been stressful, so the familiarity of home over the last few weeks has been a nice change of pace,” I said, taking a deep breath. “What do you think you want to pursue?” I pulled from the drive and turned out onto the road.

“I’m thinking of something in social services, something that will get me out in the community. Where maybe I can make a difference.” She added, “Everyone says that, I know, and I almost feel dumb saying that. I just sent out a ton of resumes all over the country, so I’m hoping to find something before too long.”

“I don’t think it’s dumb at all. I admire people who want to dedicate themselves to helping others. It’s hard work, and I think it’s great when someone wants to undertake it.”

“My mother tells me you live in Seattle. What do you do up there?” She asked this as if, by its location, Seattle were part of another universe.

“I’m a copy editor for the local newspaper, and then I take classes at the University of Washington two days a week. It’s nothing sexy, but it pays the bills,” I said.

“Things don’t always have to be sexy.”

“True.” I nodded, raising my eyebrows in agreement.

“It’s nice to be home again.”

“Oh, are you from here? My mom gave me the impression that you weren’t familiar with Louisiana.”

“I was born here, but I spent a lot of time in California when I was young. So I guess technically I’m not that familiar.” She stared at me for a long moment, then looked out the window.

“Oh, your family moved around a lot, huh?”

“Not my family, just me.”

“Does your dad live in California or something?” It quickly dawned on me that I was prying, asking questions that really were more meddlesome than informal.

“I don’t have any family anywhere but in the South.”

I was more than a bit perplexed, but I knew that had she wanted to talk about it, her answers would have been more forthright. I took the hint and let the topic drop.

We sat quietly for what seemed liked several long minutes. Here we had just begun the day, and already we had exhausted all forms of conversation and allowed the heat to pull us into an almost comatose state. I thought that perhaps I had upset her, taken my line of questioning too far and made her uptight.

“I know this isn’t exactly how you wanted to spend your vacation,” she paused, “baby-sitting your mother’s friend’s needy daughter.”

“Baby-sit?” I blinked. “I never thought of it that way.” The words clogged in my throat like hair wedged in a drainpipe. If I were to be truthful about it, I had seen it that way. I had felt lured into her entertaining her to appease my mother and her unyielding pressure. “I don’t mind, really.” I could only hope that my expression would remain neutral and not reveal the lie I had just blurted out without thought.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to be nice about it.” Lani continued, her tone low and unconvincing. “I know how my mother and yours can be. We will just have to make the best of it, I suppose.”

I took my eyes from the road and looked at her. She was a strong, healthy woman but I couldn’t help but notice there was something meek about her mannerisms.

“I can see by your expression that you agree.”

“I just have other things on my mind, that’s all. It’s not you, really.”

“And she goes for the slam-dunk.” Lani swept her hands into a dunking motion in front of her.

My head twitched slightly. “I think we have really gotten off to a bad start here.” I was amused by her animation, though I tried to conceal it. She had hit it directly dead center, though; I didn’t want to be here. My thoughts were on Regee, our afternoon, the boat, and, of course, the sex.