The Scandalous Summer of Sissy LeBlanc by Loraine Despres Read Free Book Online Page A

good five minutes, until he noticed the lipstick on
    Parker’s shirt. “I should fire your ass, boy,” he said. “Who you been
    catting around with? Some housewife with a bad phone?” But his
    eyes didn’t show anger. Instead they gleamed with eager admira-
    tion. “You SOB.”
    Parker said nothing.
    “Come on,” Calvin said. “I’ll let you buy me a drink.”
    They went out into the parking lot together. Calvin watched
    Parker grab a jar of homemade pickled watermelon rinds from the
    telephone truck and toss it into his MG.
    “Damn!” said Calvin. “Damn! She gave you a souvenir!”
    “I’ll see you at the Paradise,” Parker said, and peeled away from
    the curb.
    He’d fallen in love with Sissy in the days of his youth, when he
    was struggling to remain pure at heart. He’d never even tried to
    make love to her. Now he ranked that as one of the stupider deci-
    sions.
    As he pulled up to the bar, he thought about the bigoted toad
    she’d married. But he didn’t know what to do about it.
    Love is like cigarettes. It gives you a little pleasure while you’re at it, but it leaves you with a bad taste in your mouth and a
    pain in your chest.
    Rule Number Forty-two,
    The Southern Belle’s Handbook
    C h a p t e r 3
    Sissy stood in the bathroom window, her hand on the creased,
    yellowing shade. She heard the voices of Frankie Lymon and the
    Teenagers floating down the empty street singing “Why Do Fools
    Fall in Love.” Good question, she thought as she saw the second-
    hand hearse filled with high school kids round the corner under the
    streetlight.
    She remembered what it was like when she was in high school
    looking for trouble on a hot summer night and her biggest problem
    was she might not find any.
    The storm had blown over, leaving the town breathless and
    muggy. She pulled the shade down and hung her green chenille robe
    on the hook in back of the door. The wet clothes everyone had
    thrown into a heap and left for Mother were lying in a puddle on
    the black-and-white tile.
    Balancing an ashtray on the edge of the old, claw-footed tub, she
    sank wearily into the water. It was barely tepid now that she’d got-
    T h e S c a n d a l o u s S u m m e r o f S i s s y L e B l a n c 3 9
    ten the rest of her family bathed. She closed her eyes, too tired even
    to pick up the soap.
    After a while she sat up and took a drag on her cigarette. As the
    nicotine curled through her system, the horrors of the afternoon
    came back to taunt her. Peewee had been so brave. Foolish but
    brave. He could have died in that damned gravel pit like Sissy’s
    brother Norman had all those years ago. Guilt crawled up and
    down her stomach. Okay, that did it, enough. She was going to
    remain a good and faithful wife just as she’d always been . She
    decided to make that Rule . . . she searched for an appropriate
    number . . . Fifty seemed about right.
    She ran the pink bar of soap along her arms and around back of
    her neck where her auburn hair was more or less pinned up. No
    more yielding to temptation, she swore to herself. What does it get
    you, anyway? A different man. Big deal.
    A memory flashed through her body of another man, a long time
    ago, a short powerful man in a hunting jacket. She reached for her
    cigarette. Southern Belle’s Handbook Rule Number Seventeen: A
    lady doesn’t waste her precious time on bad memories . She inhaled
    shakily. Ashes fell into her bath. Shit. She tried to grind out the
    butt, only to knock the ashtray onto the floor.
    Love is like cigarettes, Sissy thought as she leaned over the edge
    of the tub and shoveled up the dead butts and old cellophane wrap-
    pers. It gives you a little pleasure while you’re at it, but it leaves you
    with a bad taste in your mouth and a pain in your chest.
    She picked up her still burning butt and tried to take one last
    drag, but it fell apart in her ash-wet hand.
    She stretched her chin to her chest, working the kinks out of her
    neck, and wondered what she