TWO HOT MAMAS Cajun Delight
TRUDY ROBICHEAUX STRAWBERRY PUBLICATIONS, LLC RISON, AR
STRAWBERRY PUBLICATIONS, LLC PO BOX 895 RISON, AR 71665
Copyright © 2016 BY TRUDY ROBICHEAUX TWO HOT MAMAS: CAJUN DELIGHT is a work of fiction. It is not meant to depict, portray, or represent any particular persons, living or dead, actual events, establishments, or organizations. Other characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and are used fictitiously to give this poetry book a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblances of fictionalized events or incidents that involve real persons are purely coincidental.
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ONE
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ETTE DEAVILLE STOOD at her kitchen sink staring out of the window, admiring the beginning of her new empire. Her face was dusty and hot. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with a paper towel. It was rough against her smooth skin. She wondered where the handkerchief was she’d used before to refresh herself. The scratchy paper absorbed the perspiration that trickled down onto her eyebrows. She poured herself a glass of fresh brewed iced tea, the sweetest drink in Louisiana. The Mélange was Bette’s favorite drink. The ice melted when the tea flowed over it. It clinked and clanked until it exploded under the pressure of the hot tea. She took a long swallow, her throat cooled as it quenched her thirst. She gazed out over her new lawn, compliments of a disastrous late October hurricane. The high winds uprooted century-old pecan trees, scattering them across the yard. The bayou had overrun its bank, leaving a dross of mud and muck deep enough to cover her feet or a precious secret, if need be.
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With a sigh, she brooded over how much of her chore was still left to do. Gulping down the last of her cooling draft, she pulled her work gloves over her delicate hands and headed back outside to finish her job. Bette is a divorcée from Port Bluff, Louisiana, a small town along King’s River in Atchafalaya Parish. Port Bluff is a quiet, stilled town with its main source of commerce to be fishing. Every day fisherman, donning white rubber boots, fill the local markets with fresh fish they angled from King’s River. Her ex-husband, Craig Olivier, was one of the wealthiest fisherman in Port Bluff. He managed to build a small dynasty from the fish he snared from the river. Some say he’d pulled a lot more than fish from the water. Craig Olivier is a man with a malicious heart that held deep, dark secrets, enigmas that are as dark as the Cajun blood coursing through his hardened veins. During he and Bette’s marriage, he was very abusive. He showed no compassion for her or her needs. She hid the bruises with a sturdy smile for fear of someone finding out. There was a pretty good chance he’d be bait instead of the shad. Bette's delicate features sometimes portrayed her as being weak. But in the heat of battle, there was no mistaking her strength. She proved it with the demise of her marriage. Every punch. Every degrading remark. Every humiliation came back to bite him. Bit him hard as the THUNK of a rattlesnake. When Bette got tired of being Craig's doormat and beating post, she left. Her revenge played out right where it hurt the most, his pockets. Years before they were married, Craig was awarded a small trust fund left by his grandfather at his passing. Against his family’s advice, he married Bette without a prenup. He held to his superstitions and beliefs that if he had a prenuptial agreement, he was asking for a grim marriage. A notion Bette could finally see the irony in. He invested the small fortune in starting his own fish market. It was a booming local trade, and with the right money to make money, Craig knew he could exploit King's River for all it was worth. Soon after that he built the empire known as Olivier’s Fisheries, Inc. Early in their courtship Bette thought Craig's insecurities were cute and soft. But soon after the wedding, those little foolish notions and idiocies, which once lured her, allowing her guard to fall, became torments of guilt and shame. She plotted through swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. When she left, she hired the best and dirtiest divorce attorney in Atchafalaya Parish. The day the
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divorce was settled she demanded only two things, her maiden name, and half of all Craig was worth. Bette had only been in her new home for a couple of months. When she made her decision to buy, there was only one kind of home she wanted, the Cajun Mansion, a triple-wide mobile home. She had it nestled on Bluff Bayou, underneath pecan trees left over from the old orchard. This plot of land went along with 150 acres that traveled all the way down the bayou. Revenge. Though she was only forty years old, she had been through so much turmoil during her marriage. She needed the peaceful air of the bayou to bring her serenity back. Louisiana nights on the bayou were mesmerizing. Each night she’d sit on her beautiful deck and listen to the orchestra of bullfrogs and chirping crickets harmonizing in baritone and time. She was glad to be back. When at last she’d raked the final leaf and limb into a pile to be burned, Bette made her way to the hardwood deck. She took her rest on the Cypress swing hanging from beams under the press-tin porch. The grand veranda was compliments of JJ Batiste. JJ was a close friend of the Deavilles, and an even closer friend to Bette. JJ and Bette had been friends since grade school. Their parents were friends when they were young. They were in the same social circle throughout their lives. JJ saw Bette through her albatross and heartaches throughout their life. He was well aware of Bette’s troubled marriage and family secrets. Heck, the whole town was. Nothing traveled faster in a small town like Port Bluff than cheap talk. Gossip here flowed as fast as the current in King’s River. Bette tore off her work boots and gloves with fervency, allowing the sweet breeze that only a harsh hurricane can leave behind to rejuvenate her hands and feet. The deck still smelled of fresh stain that JJ so heavily and methodically applied to the wood. He was a methods man, having what he called the “JJ Batiste Method” to explain things that seemed unexplainable. Like the way he got the wood to shine as though he'd put ten coats of polyurethane upon each and every splinter of the wood, when he swore there was only one. A ‘Gentle Giant’ he's been accused of being, but he had his own demons and insecurities, one of them being Bette. She drove him to exist as though she was hell chasing him down. She always thought he’d loved her in a sibling manner. But it was with a passion, a secret dedication and adoration that he loved her with.
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Her phone was sitting next to her on the swing. It too was a nice prize for Bette, a fancy, iPhone 7. She was one of the first in the entire Parish to get one. The swing shimmied when it started vibrating, alerting her of a call coming through. She flipped it open and read the contact's name, “Elvis.” “Elvy?” Bette answered the phone. It was her twin sister. Their mother had named them after the two singing legends whom she loved to the point of obsession, Elvis Presley and Bette Midler. Elvy was a troubled soul according to the standards of the people of Port Bluff. She had been involved in more than one paradoxical situation which gained her somewhat of an ambiguous reputation. Her life had been as sharp as her French features. She was very much a sandpaper person, always seemed to rub others the wrong way. Even as a young child her impulses and rebelliousness waxed hard upon her. She developed addictions young. Not only to drugs, but she loved to steal and lie. “I thought you were at the casino,” Bette said. Elvy’s voice was raspy and excited. “You will never believe what happened!” She was more than ecstatic. “Did you run over a small child on your way home?” Bette laughed sarcastically. “You sure sound happy.” There was a twist of pang in her words. Bette thought about the struggles her sister had been through and overcame. It wasn’t often she heard such dither in her sister’s voice. “Better than that. I hit at the casino!” she shouted with turbulence into the receiver, as though if she spoke calmly, her sister shan't hear her. “Are you cryin’ wolf, again?” Bette showed her skepticism. Her sister embellished stories when opportunity presented itself, which was very often. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. I almost decided not to call you.” Elvy was laughing at her sister’s hesitations. She was well aware of Bette’s reasons to doubt her. “Since you don’t believe me, I guess I don’t have to share my earnings the Hopewell Indians just paid me.” Elvy slammed the phone shut, throwing it onto the seat beside her. She pressed the gas pedal of her old Ford pickup truck. Putting her foot to the floor, she raced to Bluff Bayou to prove herself to her sister. Dust and gravel flew from the tires as Elvy drove like a mad person. The truck jumped and hopped over and across the road, but she paid it no mind. The Grand Hopewell Casino officials thought her to be completely void of senses when she took all her winnings in cash. She threw the money, all small bills,
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into a complimentary bag marked with the casino logo and hastily made her getaway. “Zhonna Bette!” Bette called out to her niece when she realized Elvy had hung up the phone. “Get out here, girl. Your Mama just hit at the casino!” Zhonna Bette was Elvy’s daughter born out of wedlock to a boat captain named Sawyer Davis. Elvy and Zhonna moved in with Bette after the divorce since Bette didn’t want to be alone and Elvy needed to make ends meet. They were all comfortable on the bayou. “Yeah, right.” Zhonna stepped through the sliding glass door leading to the deck. “How much this time? $35 like the time when y’all went to Natchez?” “I don’t know, cher, but it must be huge. She just called and sounded even more deranged than usual.” In the distance the two heard the blaring of a horn. It was Elvy’s truck horn. The rusty, silver and black truck came jumping over the levee pass, kicking up a rooster tail of dust. “Don’t believe her, Auntie. You know how she is. Don’t believe it until you see the face of Ben Franklin.” Zhonna Bette pulled the scrunchy from her wrist tying her hair up with it, revealing her cafe au lait toned skin. She was a beautiful Cajun princess. Elvy did everything she could to afford her princess a decent life, without any help from Sawyer Davis. After Elvy told him she was pregnant, he guided his tug boat up the river and never came back. She was on her own. Bette took the brunt of her emotions, but Elvy took all responsibility for Zhonna. Elvy dragged her truck to a halt in front of the deck and jumped out. Out of breath from her private celebration on her way home, she toted the blue casino bag to the swing where her sister was sitting. “Y’all, I sang Mary Chapin Carpenter’s I Feel Lucky all the way to the casino this morning. And I really felt lucky!” Elvy shouted through her rapid gasps for breath. She tossed the bag in her sister’s lap. It landed with a THUD from the heaviness within. The bag was full of money. Hundreds, fifties, and twenty dollar bills. “Oh Em Gee!” Zhonna Bette shouted, reaching into the bag fondling the bills. “How much is this?” “After taxes,” Elvy smoothed her hair back with shaky hands, “I came out with a cool $122, 428.”
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Bette was astonished. She worried in the past about Elvy’s gambling weakness. Not that Elvy was any kind of big time gambler, but she did frequent the Louisiana casinos and juke joints, if truth be told, more times than naught. Often on the losing end. She never thought that her sister’s habit would pay off. Even though Bette had recovered well from the divorce, most of her settlement was still tied up in lawyer fees and other obligations. Along with the money spent on the new homestead, she made a large donation to Jubilee Church and was back living month to month on alimony. This was major cash for their family. A hundred thousand dollars could change lives on the river for a lot of people. It may not seem like much money to most, but to those along King's River, it was like hitting a lick. None of them slept that night. The trio stayed up talking and celebrating. They beat the drum over Bette’s triumph in her divorce, something that should have been lionized before now, and they celebrated all of Elvy’s trials by fire, which had finally paid off. It was champagne all around, marshmallows on an open fire and Percy Sledge on the Pandora. Even Zhonna Bette drank a glass of bubbly during the toast. “This is to the future for us two hot Mamas.” Bette raised her glass. “And one hot child in the city,” Zhonna Bette added. They clinked their glasses together and the fete flowed until daybreak. It was a night for memories, some good, and some not so good. However painful the trip, the three Deavilles made their way down memory lane. A journey that was difficult and uneasy. The broken road and the shattered dreams brought them to the exact moment they were endowed with now. They felt accomplished and proud. Except for Elvy. She was in overdrive now more than ever. She needed to buy something, and it had to be something big. Each one had their opinion on what Elvy should do with the motherlode she’d won at the casino. Her options were few and far between. Port Bluff wasn’t exactly metropolitan. There were few houses she could buy and renovate, in which she could either sell the property or rent it out. The area could use a few nice places to live, she thought. They all agreed on that. There were a couple of old commercial properties up for auction or sale. Morrow’s old music store and bait shop, and Daigle’s Cajun Delight, an old bar and grill on the river. Both were businesses that once thrived in Port Bluff’s economy. Due to the enormous drop in the economy on the river, they had long
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been closed. Days when the town’s people patron the local markets and mercantile were known better as “The Boom In Port Bluff,” and they were days gone by. Still, throughout the night the ladies laid a lot of things out on the line. They got a few important things off their hearts, too. Zhonna Bette, who had always been a trustworthy, kind, and obedient daughter and niece, opened up to her mother and aunt about her insecurities, her opinions, and the things she was grateful for. Never having had a father around, her connection to others became grim and stiff. She knew of her mother's terrible reputation. Not that she judged her for it. She knew when doctors said her mother's problems stemmed from jealousy of her twin and a need for attention, they were just brushing her off because there was more going on with her mother than just some bad attitude. She was a witness to some of the outlandish outbursts and fiery fits of rage. Never directed at her though. Perhaps it was because of her, in the sense that her mother's struggles as a single parent may have worsened any mental condition she had. Many tears were shed before dawn seeped in.
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LIMMERS OF SUNSHINE peeked through the Spanish moss dangling from the Cypress trees. Dew kissed the blades of grass with a hush and gentle tang of mist. Sunrise was always a beautiful time of day along the bayou. Delighting in sunrise on Bluff Bayou was done with a steaming cup of coffee and a gossip session. Both were much loved southern institutions. For those who believed in the power they possess, traditions in southern families come a dime a dozen and are adhered to like the Holy Grail. Some are spooky superstitions involving voodoo, some tell tall-tales about the Rougarou, a swamp creature legend to roam the swamps and bayous of Louisiana, tormenting its inhabitant, and some of them are just old wives’ tales that have evolved into family traditions. Fibs, like the coffee they loved, came from the fields of Versaille and were aged in French Royalty. Folklore is the chicory beans that King Louis XIV's slaves planted and brought over during his reign. The beans sprouting today still
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come from the first burlap sacks that made the voyage from France to Louisiana, so the myth continues. The girls sipped their coffee, each one enjoying their view of the dawn on the bayou from the magnificent veranda. They watched as the sun rose above the fog hovering over the bayou. They blew nimble puffs of cool air over their cups, watching as the wisp began to lift. Bette and Elvy’s mother, Donna Ann, and their grandmother, Genevieve, had once sat out on an old porch made from cypress, much like the one JJ built for Bette. Most of the original homes were made of this indestructible wood. Their home sat just on the other side of the levee, which was relatively new. Built in the 1970’s, the old house sat on the bayou long before the levee was there. It was one of the first settlements in this part of the Parish. Many times the bayou had overrun its bank, taking the old place to a watery grave. Genevieve Le Blouf was born in France and came to Louisiana with her parents, Eugene II and Marie Therese Le Blouf, and her grandparents, Eugene I and Celestine Le Blouf, in the early 1800's. The families were people of noble consequence. Augenè Le Blouf was brother in-law to Augustin Robespierre. He served Napoleon in battle, earning him the title of Duke of Basse-Normandie. This led to the Le Blouf assignment to New France, by way of New Orleans, where he held the title of Archduke of Orleans. Once Napoleon's reign was accomplished, Eugene I and his son Eugene II, better known as Gene, moved north from New Orleans and settled in Hopewell Indians territory of today's Atchafalaya Parish. The father-son dyad began trade between the then unsettled poor town and France. Cotton, tobacco, spices, and furs became a main trade between the countries. However, fishing was already a way of life on King’s River. Most King’s River natives did what they knew best and fished the river for a living, in all sense of the word. The fishing trade exploded into a commercial dynasty and surpassed any new beginning for the fisheries expansion in the Parish. Within a year of his arrival to the destitute land, a committee convened and voted to incorporate the town, naming it Port Bluff after the Le Blouf family, who had the original dream for making this area along the river one of industry, merchants, and money. The town became a doorway into the central parts of Louisiana and a water gateway connecting King’s River with the Mississippi and Red Rivers, which led all the way to the Basin.
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Genevieve shared many mornings just like this one with their mother, Donna, when she was a young girl. They would sit on the porch enjoying the coolness of the morning breeze. It was a recherché home, kept warm, inviting, and secure by Genevieve after her mother Celestine passed away in the early 1900’s. The porch warmed up by the rays of the sun that peeked through the pecan trees. The gnats and mosquitos were already doing their jobs of aggravating the senses out of the bayou natives. They were still a terror on the bayou even though it was October, compliments of Hurricane Oudette. Elvy fanned herself with a silk hand fan that belonged to Genevieve. Barely tattered and not showing itself to be over a hundred years old, the fan wafted in the air a hint of cedar from being preserved in a cedar chest. The morning solace was comforting. During the celebrations from the night before, Elvy’s mind was made up about what to do with the money she’d won. She was waiting for the right moment to bring the subject up. She knew she’d have to convince her sister it wasn’t just some hair brain scheme. She had to persuade her to believe the idea was a true marketable venture that would bring new things to Port Bluff, like jobs and better attitudes. She could carry on the Le Blouf legacy. She hoped Bette would get on board with her idea. Elvy gazed at her sister, whose stocking feet were perched up on the porch railing. She was trying to think of the right words to say. People had been cynical in the past concerning her, so she knew she had to sell Bette on her plan. “I’ve thought things through and have come to a decision as to what to do with the money.” She swirled the coffee around in the cup. “You? Think something through?” Bette returned in laughter. “This is gonna be good. Just what exactly have you decided?” “I,” she started slowly. “Have decided to become a business owner.” Pulling an envelope from her purse, she handed it to her sister. It was overstuffed with the dollar bills. “What is this, Elvy?” Bette asked suspiciously. “And what are you involved in?” Bette wanted to be supportive of her sister’s purpose; however, Elvy had been muddled in more than one shady scheme bounding her up tighter than a bale of hay. These contrivances were holding Bette back until she knew the plan in its entirety.
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Elvy was trying to turn over a new leaf in her life. Some say, she had gotten “saved” a while back at the Church of Jubilee. But you could never tell about Elvy. She held tight to those Cajun ways, and being raised a River Rat gave her the maniacal senses she swayed to like a first love. Bette opened the envelope. There was $50,000 inside. “What is this for, Elvy?” Bette gave her sister a perplexed look with a slightly twisted grin shrouded behind her beautiful, full mouth. “Remember how you used to always tell Daddy you wanted to have your own Shad Shack when you grew up. You used to dream about frying up all the seafood from the river, and selling hot plates of fresh water fish cooked to perfection.” “Yes, I remember that.” Bette’s head moved back and forth on her neck like a see-saw, ever so slightly, not even noticeable to her sister. “So?” “So, I am buying the old Daigle’s Cajun Delight. And going into business with my best friend.” She patted her sister’s hand, silently and tenderly, giving thanks she’d had this opportunity to do something good and right. No matter what anyone told her, she knew she had found true salvation. “What best friend?” “YOU, silly. It’s gonna be the new “Cajun Delight!” “I can’t do this right now, Elvy,” Bette said foiling her sister’s plans. “I know you think it's a good idea and all, but I’m sorry. I don’t get another lump sum of money for a few more months. I couldn’t do anything before then.” “I thought about that too. Dang.” Elvy was quickly frustrated when not immediately admired for trying. “And it is going to take a few months to bargain Old Man Daigle down to about 37.50 for the landing. Signing the final paperwork probably won’t happen until after harvest season. Then you could use some of your alimony payment to buy what we need to renovate and get started.” Elvy needed to do this and she needed her sister’s approval. Not just approval, she needed her sister’s guidance and level headedness to help make the crucial decision. “Please, Bette, we could be 50/50 partners.” She was nearly begging. Standing up from the porch swing, Bette walked over to the rails. She lit the hanging citronella candles used to sward off the pesky mosquitos. Having a restaurant on the river was a dream she always had. It was a dream of her mother’s and sister’s as well; even though, Donna Ann didn’t live to see it come true.
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“I don’t know what to say.” Bette sat down next to her twin sister. Though they shared the same womb, the two couldn’t be any more different and attached. She hugged Elvy tightly, “And just how do you suppose I am going to run a restaurant? Dreams usually don’t come true, you know.” “WE!” Elvy hugged and kissed her sister. “How are we gonna run a restaurant. I am going in all the way with you. Shoot.” She emphasized how important this venture was to her. “I can’t just turn you lose with my money. I gotta protect my investment.” They both laughed through their tears.
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