Tag Archives: Daily post

The Madam’s Worry

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Another one-two-three whiskey slam, and Reba retired to her room. The house quiet, I poured another shot, placed the poker chips back in their slots, and settled my weary bones in the parlor.

I flicked off the chandelier and closed the curtains, indications the bordello was closed for business. Now, only a small flame flickered from the lantern beside my settee. A beautiful house, a beautiful room. The thought of being forced out terrified me and left me queasy. Perhaps the whiskey was talking, making me somber and heavy-hearted. What if city officials dropped my grand establishment from the city’s Blue Book, and Madam Volvino’s House of Disgust remained open?

The room, empty of anyone with predetermined Expectations of me, I slouched on the red velvet settee and took another sip. I remembered that one perfect night with John and then dismissed the memory. Years ago, others saved me. This time, I’d do it on my own.

Excerpt from The Last Bordello

 

 

It Ain’t About Hooch

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I need to say something. Something to calm Brandon’s storm. “So Brandon. Remember that Possum Piss you forced me to swallow?”

“Shut up, Emma June.”

“Just saying. I wouldn’t have minded so bad if you’d poured what we’re selling down my throat. Best in the south.”

“Best in the south,” Scoot mutters.

Brandon’s black eyes coil like a snake as he stares at me. “Ain’t about hooch, stupid ass.”

Scooter makes a slow-go at standing up. He sticks his hand inside Knife Pocket. I get closer to him and whisper, “It’s okay, Scoot. We’re going home soon.”

Frank’s eyes go wide, his fists clenched at his sides. “I didn’t touch your sister, Brandon.”

“Yeah? And I trust you? You’re nothing but a gigolo from New Orleans.”

“Nah-Len’s,” Frank says.

I try not to laugh at Frank’s Seriousness. He’s never pronounced the town like that.

Brandon spits again. I want to tell him I know what he did to Carla. I can’t. I promised. But I never promised one thing.

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket

 

How do you shake hands?

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Funny, how a word prompt will remind you of something. A long time ago, when I was fourteen, the pastor leading our confirmation class, talked about shaking hands. He said, “Shake hands as if you mean it. Who wants to shake a limp fish?” We called him P.F. and, for many reasons, he was one of the best individual’s I’d ever met.

For some reason, his unexpected comments about shaking hands stuck with me. Shake firm. Show your strength. Show  your character.

So, I began shaking with confidence even if I didn’t feel any. That’s when I noticed the different kinds of handshakes on my receiving end. The limp fish. The Lukewarm I-don’t-really-want-to-meet you kind; the one’s with, egads, two fingers.

Decades later, I realize I have formed my own version of a handshake. The main difference is that I don’t do the pump up and down. I grab hold, look in the person’s eyes as if they are worthy, and don’t let go until I feel as if I’ve truly “met” them. Sometimes, I will put my other hand on top for good “measure.”

How do you shake hands? (Or do you just fist-bump? 🙂 )

Oh, and if you are shaking a paw, always do it gently!

Don’t criticize those who are “different”

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I don’t want to answer any more of her all-the-time questions. So I ask, “Where’s Scooter?”

“Behind on his school work. No surprise there.” She laughs, but I know her son lagging behind in this world rubs blisters of worry under her skin. “He’s home with Leonard,” she continues. “I’ll swannee, my poor husband doesn’t have much hair left from the strands he pulls out trying to help Scooter.”

“Hmm,” I say, looking at Choppers.

Kids at school say Scooter’s grain elevator doesn’t reach the top of the silo. That he acts more like a six-year-old than a thirteen-year-old. They don’t know Scooter like I do. He might not be the brightest penny in the cash box, but I’ve known him all my life. He has more grain than most of the numbskulls in Holly Gap, Texas and Scooter’s worth more than the whole lot of them. Wherever Scoot skips, bounces or walks, goodness sprouts in the footsteps he leaves behind. Without Scooter, everything would grow dead.

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket

Daily word prompt: Criticize

“Boys that age get a little carried away”

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I muster up Miss Brave. “Daddy? Can an almost twelve-year-old have a friend that’s almost fourteen?”

“Of course, Sugar Pea.”

“Even if it’s a boy?”

Daddy sighs and creases his forehead. He places both hands on my shoulders. The pressure feels like serious is coming. “Emma June. Boys that age get a little, a little, carried away sometimes and don’t always think with their heads. Do you know what I mean?” His eyes beg me to understand.

I think of Frank who got carried away with his need for moonshine money and blackmailed me to get it. I think of the man behind the flea circus tent who told his girl, “We’ve been friends a long time now. Time for something more.” Then Carla and me Heard a loud smack across his face and the man yell, “bitch”.

“Boys want more than a girl might wanna give,” I say.

“That’s right. And a boy hasn’t got any right to take it if a girl says no.”

“But what do I have to take?” I never let Frank take my dollar. And I didn’t let Brandon dance with me at the carnival.

Daddy sighs again. “Maybe, since your Mama is away and all, this is something you should ask Miss Helen. In the meantime, don’t let any boy touch you.”

I don’t tell Daddy, but he’d be proud knowing I didn’t shake Frank’s spitty hand.

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket

 

The Lone Wolf Trembles

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Carla falls into my arms. Her pale face is scratched up and whiter than usual. Her dress is ripped at the bottom. When I hold her, she feels like a stranger.

Remembering how Daddy helped me the night I ran home from Frank’s house, I steer her to the kitchen, plunk her on a chair, and hand her a wet rag. She won’t stop crying.

“You going to tell me?” I say.

“Oh, oh, Emma. It was … was just awful …. He.. he…”

“Who?”

Carla blows her nose and looks at me like she remembers us being good friends. “He pinned me down. Said I wanted it. Said I’d been asking for it a long time. But I wasn’t, Emmy. I never asked for that! Never!”

She blows her nose again. Her tears are real, like when we were little girls and Stevie told her she looked like a possum.

“When did this happen?”

“Right after school.” She squeezes my arm. “Sometimes? I feel so lonely without you that I think kissing a boy would take my mind off not being around you and Scooter.”

She’s blaming me for acting like a tart?

“We used to have so much fun. But my parents made me stay away from you.”

I’ll ask her about that later. Right now, I think about jelly-mixing. “What did he do to you? He didn’t, you know …”

She shakes her head and cries again. I count to three. “Then what?” I say.

“He almost did. He pulled up my dress. He, he saw my panties, Emmy, my panties! He would have done more but, but we heard Rachael yelling out for me. She didn’t know I’d gone with him behind the schoolhouse. Anyway, he clamped a hand over my mouth, told me to shut up.” She’s stopped crying, but now she’s shaking like a tornado through a house.

 

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket

 

Tremble

During the interrogation, Possum speaks lovingly about his wife

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Possum bolted out of his chair, knocking it down. “I swannin’, I never kilt nobody an’ I don’t plan to. I ain’t an eye-fer-an-eye kinda feller,” he said, looking at me.

Giovanni picked up the chair. “Hell, we know that, Possum. Calm down.”

Sheriff Tobin removed his hat and patted the table. “Just sit for a spell and hear us out.”

O’Connell did as told, rubbing his beer gut.

Sheriff Tobin stuffed his hands casually in his back pockets. “Miss Duecker, here, says you remember seeing Miss Sanders, the lady with the yellow scarf, at Menger’s.”

Mr. O’Connell let out a shiver. “Gotta show…show…show y’all somethin’.” He retreated to his bedroom and returned with a cat under one arm and a yellow bonnet under the other. “This here,” he said, lifting the cat up to his shoulder, “is mine.” He placed Dawg on the floor and held out the bonnet. “This here belonged to Edna. She loved this head wrap. Had it fer many years. Thought about burying her in it, but I jest couldn’t do’er…couldn’t do’er. Wanted to have it to remember her by.”

Van Riper shifted his weight from one leg to the other and heaved a deep sigh.

“Anyhow,” Possum continued, sitting again, “that’s how I come to remember that yeller scarf. Bright as this here bonnet. I’d been drinking Menger corn juice thinkin’ ’bout Edna when I saw that scarf round that woman’s neck. Almost like Edna done sent me a wink, wink, wink from heaven.”

Excerpt from The Last Bordello

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Lovingly

Stupid pinwheel, stupid me

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I had motioned Mama away. I was stupid because I had to save my pinwheel. Stupid that I let Brandon pour so much rotgut down my throat that I was too sick to leave with Mama.

What if I had given up the pinwheel? Never let Brandon pour that hooch down my gullet? I know the answer. If I’d been well, I would have made Mama stay. In a red chili second, I would have forced Mama and Daddy together to finish talking, to work out their problems.

I lift my head and see the note Miss Delores read to me. It’s three-quarters folded and right then I know something’s funny. Miss Delores didn’t write down Mama’s words from a telephone conversation. I’d Recognize Mama’s writing a mile away.

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket