101 In the Shade Pt. 01

"Just wait a minute, damn it," Candy hissed to the girl.

Colleen jumped up on the pew and ran along the wooden bench, then jumped and raced down the aisle toward the rear of the church.

"Clay!" Colleen screamed, uncaring that people were looking, staring at her.

"Clay!" she screamed at the top of her lungs as she burst into the brutal early September morning.

She saw a white pickup truck leaving the parking lot, but could not see through the American Flag that adorned the back window if it was him or not.

"Clay!" the girl sobbed, looking around frantically.

Collette came outside and put her arms around the girl.

"It was him, I know it was," Colleen sobbed.

Collette didn't say anything, just let her sister cry.

"Now what in Jesus's name..." Candy hissed, stepping out into the sweltering humidity.

"Not now, Mother," Collette snapped. "All right? Not now."

Candy had to squeeze the large brass handle of the door; she wanted to slap her impertinent child. How dare the little bitch talk back to her like that?

When Colleen's tears were under control, Collette led her back into the church.

Colleen tried to pull away, but Collette held her hand firmly and pulled her to the casket.

"Tell him good bye," Collette hissed.

"Mr. Earl?" Colleen whimpered. "I know I ain't never said it, but I love you."

In his pickup truck, Clay thought very briefly of going to his new apartment. He had not slept at all last night, dreading the memorial service, dreading the possible confrontation between himself and the soulless Candy.

He had marched up to the casket, had looked in at the sunken, lifeless face of his father. That was a bit of a shock; his father had looked terrible, and that was after the mortuary had done their best to make his corpse look his best.

"I forgive you; go in peace," Clay said to his father, knelt down and said the Lord's Prayer.

Putting on his sunglasses again, Clay had seen the twisted, no longer beautiful face of Candy Chopin, and the two beautiful young women to her left.

He had heard one of the girls gasp, but was no longer interested.

At the intersection of Highway 52 and Buchanan Street, Clay mentally flipped a coin. Yes, he was tired, yes, Anita Lopez had given him the day off, and tomorrow off should he need it. But he knew he was so close to finalizing Early's Finest. Barley and Rye had been added to the corn; they had isolated that. But there was just one other component.

A car horn brought him out of his reverie and Clay decided to go home, go to bed.

He parked in the space assigned to his apartment and got out of his truck.

"Hard man to find, Dr. Chopin," Richard Boudreaux smiled his almost permanent smile.

"Didn't know anyone was looking," Clay said.

"And theme's the hardest to find," Richard admitted, holding out a certified letter. "One's are hiding? They leave all kind of trails."

"So, how did you find me?" Clay asked, amused.

"Louellen Pratt," Richard said, getting back into his battered car. "That is one pissed off little black girl, you hear?"

The girl had made noises about wanting to move in, play house with Clay when Clay shared the news that he'd signed a six month lease on a one bedroom apartment.

Sex with Louellen had been less than exciting; she didn't like oral, didn't do anal, and insisted on condoms. Conversations with Louellen had been less than stimulating; she was very much a pop culture junkie and Clay had absolutely no interest in the celebrities she followed religiously. Even food was an exercise in patience; Louellen was very particular about what she put into her body which limited them in places to go, or meals to prepare.

So, Clay had been polite, but firm. They were not going to play house. And Louellen had been firm, but impolite. Don't call her. Ever.

Inside his apartment, Clay put the letter on the counter, next to his truck keys, marched into his bedroom, stripped and fell into a long, dreamless sleep.

At 1815 Morning Drive, Candy received the certified letter, opened it, and read that her husband had indeed made out a will. But Earl had not used Parker Johnson, or the adoption papers/will that she and Parker had brought to him.

Instead, her husband had yet one more deception, one more slap in the face to her. He had acquired his own attorney, Sophia Coutre.

"Monday's..." Candy tried to figure out how many days away Monday the seventh was, but with all the guests milling around, talking and laughing, she couldn't think.

Thankfully, some friends from of Earl's had stopped by with food in hand; Candy realized she needed to do some serious grocery shopping. They didn't even have milk.

"Thank you," she smiled tightly as yet another person expressed sympathy.

And finally, the last guest left. Colleen and Collette were nowhere to be found; there were plastic plates, and plastic silverware and crumpled napkins and half-filled cups everywhere, but of course, the girls were nowhere in sight.

Candy decided to just leave it; she was far too tired to deal with the mess right now.

"And where do you think you're going?" Candy hissed at Collette came down the stairs, dressed in tee shirt and jeans.

"Clean up; God, the house is a disaster area," Collette groaned. "Any of them ever hear of a garbage can?"

Candy felt guilty for snapping at the girl, but rationalized that she should have let her know she was going upstairs to change.

Colleen came out of her room a moment later, dressed in tee shirt and jeans as well.

Candy figured, with two girls doing the cleanup, she could fix herself a drink. If they needed her, they could come get her.

In two swallows, the Miles Gin was gone. The miniscule amount of alcohol did nothing to soothe the need, did nothing to calm the nerves. All it did was inflame a nearly psychotic need for more alcohol. Or something stronger.

Candy looked through her purse, found a five dollar bill and some coins. Again she tried to calculate when Monday was, failed, and marched down the stairs again.

Four hours later, Collette dug out some leftovers and made dinner for Colleen and herself.

Four hours after that, she and Colleen went to bed. Collette wasn't surprised when twenty minutes later; Colleen quietly knocked on her door, and then sidled into the room.

"Get in," Collette sighed, flinging the comforter back.

Two days later, Collette called the police to file a missing persons' report.

She spared Colleen the horror of having to identify their mother's body. Even with the horrific bruises around her face, and the snarl on her battered lips, Collette agreed, the corpse was that of Candace Nicole Simone Chopin, aged thirty nine.

Chapter 5

Clay sat in Sophia Coutre's office and read the document quietly. He sipped the cup of coffee and nodded in approval; Ms. Coutre had said her administrative assistant made the best coffee and he was inclined to agree. The woman had stirred in the precise amount of cream.

"And with the recent passing of Candace Chopin..." Sophia said and Clay looked up sharply.

"Oh! You... I thought you knew..." Sophia murmured.

Clay shook his head no, peering intently at Sophia.

"Figures," was all Clay said when Sophia stammered and hemmed and hawed that Candy's body had been found in an area known for trafficking drugs.

Her jewelry had been found at a pawn shop; the two men claimed they found the rings and bracelets, but one of the men still had a piece of Candy's chipped tooth imbedded in a knuckle.

The Mercedes-Benz, or what was left of it, was found two blocks away, her keys still in the ignition.

"And your step-sisters..." Sophia said.

"I have no sisters, step or otherwise," Clay said abruptly.

At 1815 Morning Drive, Collette searched through the pantry, hoping that there was something, anything that she'd not seen earlier. The food that had been brought over from Mr. Earl's funeral had long since spoiled; very few had attended Momma's funeral and there had been no food from that dismal affair. All that was in the refrigerator now was a nearly empty jar of pickles, some salad dressing, and a few American cheese slices.

She pulled out the bottle of corn oil and decided she'd make some American cheese crepes. Disgusting, unappetizing, but it was food.

"God, why?" Collette asked herself for the thousandth time.

Why hadn't she saved her money? Yes, she had the latest and greatest cell phone; couldn't eat that, could they? Her BMW had a thousand and one songs downloaded on its sound system, but not a drop of gas in the tank. She had a drawer full of the sexiest panties (not that any boy had ever seen them) but that wouldn't feed them. Nor would her four pairs of three hundred dollar shoes.

"What you doing?" Colleen asked voice little more than a whisper.

"Crepes; want some?" Collette asked as she poured the thin batter into the sizzling oil.

With that, the last of the cheese was eaten.

A few hours later, Clay sat in his white Ford pickup truck, looking at the building that had been his home for eleven years, his house for two years, until he was thirteen, then his prison, his Hell for the five years from thirteen to eighteen years of age.

The lawn was meticulously manicured; Superior Landscaping, LLC had a contract, and Earl Chopin had authorized Sophia Coutre to pay all household expenses until his last Will and Testament could be read. The front door was stained a understated Honey Blonde color, which went well with the mostly pink brick. The brass handle gleamed; it was nearly brand new.

The garage door was a dark Forest Green, also a nice color.

The front door had been a dingy off-white with a simple knob and deadbolt when Clay had flung his birthday cake and walked out through that door ten years ago.

The garage door had been a rust brown color.

And the mailbox had been a typical mailbox; Clay smiled at the fiberglass 'Pelican' mailbox they had now.

The 'stump' the Pelican sat upon had the house number on it.

Clay did not see any automobiles; then remembered Candy's car had been stripped. Her daughters, Clay guessed, being almost carbon copies of their mother, were probably out doing drugs and fucking a multitude of men and women.

He had asked Sophia about evicting the whore-seed, the two little demonic offspring of Candy Chopin.

Just as she had done with Clay's father, Sophia cautioned against taking that action. Sophia encouraged restraint, compassion.

A neighbor, not recognizing the truck and knowing that there were two girls living alone in the house, called the police about a strange vehicle. A unit was quick to respond.

"Afternoon Officers," Clay said, getting out of his truck, hands out to show he was unarmed.

Then, unable to put it off any longer, Clay parked in the driveway and walked to the front door.

Inside, Collette and Colleen looked at each other, terrified as they heard keys in the door.

"Did you put the chain on?" Colleen whispered, pale skin more pale with fear.

"Oh God, no!" Collette affirmed that she had not put the security chain on.

"Hello? Knock knock." Clay called out, stepping into the foyer of the house. "It's Clay, anybody home?"

"It's Clay!" Colleen screamed and leapt to her feet.

"Clay!" she screamed, running at the man.

"Oomph!" she grunted as Clay blocked her advance with a forearm to her chest.

His block sent Colleen tumbling to the floor and she rolled backward.

"Don't!" Clay screamed. "Don't you ever fucking touch me, you evil little cunt!"

Colleen sat on the floor, too stunned to react.

"What did you do?" Collette screamed at him, bending to help her sister to her feet.

"I just..." Colleen stammered at the man, then shrieked when she noticed the eye patch.

"Oh Clay!" she gasped and reached out to touch his face.

His arm flashed out and slapped her hand away savagely.

"What part of 'don't touch me' do you not understand, you stupid slut?" he screamed at her.

"I just, I just..." Colleen whimpered then turned and raced up the stairs.

"God! You ass hole!" Collette screamed at the man. "She just..."

"Fuck you whore; you're in my fucking house, don't you dare raise your voice at me," he bellowed.

"Don't you call me..." she screamed, lunging at him with claws extended.

She sat down, hard. Years of gymnastics, cheerleading, volleyball, Collette's reflexes were good. But she had not even seen his arm move.

"I fucking knew I should have just had you two cunts thrown out," he snarled, stomping over to the bar. "God damned female lawyers, I swear to God. 'Show some compassion' she says."

"No!" Collette screamed, his words sinking in. "Clay, no! You can't throw us out! We don't have anywhere to go!"

"Not my problem; where in the hell, where's the, is there nothing to drink in this house?" Clay asked, seeing that the bar's shelves were completely bare.

"Momma had Mr. Earl throw it all out," Collette answered. "Please, Clay, please, you can't..."

"Real nice," Clay sneered at the girl. "Live here for what? Fourteen, fifteen years? And you don't call him Dad or even Father? He's still Mr. Earl, huh?"

"He never let us," Collette defended. "But, please, please, I'm begging you; please don't kick us... Look, kick me out if you have to, but please, please don't kick Colleen out, she's..."

Clay turned and walked up the stairs, Collette following, still pleading with him.

"Nice, real nice," Clay sneered, seeing the door on his old room.

He opened the door and looked in.

Clay saw the little heart someone had drawn in the dust on the desk and entered.

"Clay, please..." Collette begged and Clay shut the door in her face.

"Oh, that felt nice," Clay smirked to himself. "Being able to close the damned door when I want to."

His clothes still hung just like they'd hung several years ago.

The three dress shoes, clay nudged them and wondered if Candy ever noticed that they'd never been worn. He damned near wore his tennis shoes to shreds, but never once put on the hated dress shoes.

Above the clothing, he saw his old chess set. Even Candy couldn't find anything sinful, wrong with chess.

He used the floral tie she insisted he have with the ugly suit and used the scrap of cloth to clean off the desk and put the chess set on the desk. He frowned as he set it up; the white king was missing. He then put everything back into the box and again put the set on the closet shelf

Someone had also drawn a little heart on his chest of drawers and Clay almost wiped it off, but left it.

The top drawer held the accursed Bible. Clay believed in God and believed in the words written in the book, but because Candy had plopped it on his desk and demanded that he read it, Clay had ignored it.

He smiled as he saw his High School Yearbook.

Pulling it out, he sat on the edge of the bed. A flash of anger coursed through him again; the mattress was still the battered, almost flattened mattress he'd begged his father to change out.

But Colleen needed a 'Princess Playhouse' bedroom suit instead so Clay had to make do with the old mattress for another year.

He opened the book and it immediately went to page 28-29.

No one knew how the photograph had passed the laser beam eyes of Mr. Edmunsen, the Staff Advisor of the Yearbook Committee. But on page twenty nine, Debbie Thompson had pulled down her shorts and flashed her bare buttocks at the yearbook photographer, playful smile frozen for all eternity. And it had been included among the other photographs of the Kimble Academy Cheerleaders.

Mr. Edmunsen had been replaced by Ms. Stanton and the following year's yearbook had absolutely no photographs of salacious nature.

Clay had asked Debbie to the Spring Prom, but of course Candy had nixed that idea. So, Debbie had gone with Derek Davis instead. And had given Derek a blow job. Clay knew Derek wasn't lying about it; Debbie had bragged about the blow job as well.

Clay almost laughed out loud at the memory. A month after their graduation, Mike Huffman had sent him a letter telling him that Derek Davis had come out of the closet, had announced his homosexuality. His announcement hadn't been much of a surprise; Clay and Mike had long suspected it.

Clay wondered if Debbie gave Derek any tips on how to perform the perfect blow job. According to the few classmates that had filled her mouth, Debbie did indeed know how to give the perfect hummer.

Reading what Debbie had written in his yearbook angered him again.

"Yeah, Debbie, it would have been great," he said aloud. "

The two pillows on his bed were still the foam rubber pellet pillows that needed to be shaken vigorously every now and then or all the pellets gummed together in one corner. Clay plumped them u and lay back to look through the photographs. Ten years later, he still remembered the names and the faces.

Michael Jeffrey Huffman, he knew, had died of brain cancer a few years ago. Derek, as far as Clay knew, was still in Atlanta with his boyfriend.

Allison, he looked at her photograph fondly, had married almost the moment her diploma was in her hand, married a sugarcane farmer and had six children.

He did wonder what ever happened to Debbie Ann Thompson. She had blazed out of Kimble, Louisiana the moment her diploma was in her hand and vowed never to return.

At five o'clock, Clay came out of his bedroom and walked with purpose to the stairs. He did not glance down the hall to the door that opened, at the two pale blonde faces that watched him fearfully.

"What the... Clay said peering into the vacant refrigerator.

The pantry was very nearly bare as well.

"God damn, really? Dad's been dead a week and y'all are already about to starve to death?" Clay demanded of Collette, who had been brave enough to come down the stairs.

"Momma didn't never..." she said.

"You're an adult, Collette, a fully grown, functioning adult; you mean to tell me you don't have a clue how to go grocery shopping?" he demanded.

"You got money?" she snapped, tired of his overbearing attitude.

"You got a pussy, you got a mouth, put them to use," Clay countered. "Fifty for a hummer, a hundred for a fuck."

Collette stared at him in shock. Behind her, she heard Colleen's horrified gasp.

"What? You mean you been giving it away for free?" Clay sneered.

"I don't... I never..." Collette stammered.

"You are your mother's daughter, right?" Clay spat as he left the kitchen.

"She didn't..." Collette defended but heard the front door slam shut.

Early's Grocery Store looked newer, more modern. Clay didn't know the story of the Angels 270 gang's Night of Terror, where the old façade had been riddled with bullets.

He grabbed bananas, apples and oranges, then potatoes, carrots, onion and bell pepper.

He grabbed a large jar of peanut butter and four different kinds of jellies. Two gallons of whole milk, none of the skim or two percent for him.

Chicken, sausage, and ground beef also went into the cart, and then he grabbed a loaf of whole wheat and a loaf of white bread.

A pound of coffee also went into the basket and he found himself at the liquor counter.

"Yes sir!" he smiled at the sign that announced that Early's Sweet, Superior (Anita had redubbed Early's Regular as Early's Superior) and Early's Finest would be available soon.

"Help you?" a chubby, cute girl asked.

"Fifth of oh, let's see," Clay mused, looking at the selection available.

A fifth of gin, a fifth of vodka, and a fifth of bourbon whiskey were selected and Clay grabbed a bottle of tonic water, club soda, ginger ale and a bottle of regular Coke.

"Par-tay!" a cute cashier announced as she rang up the alcohol.

"Um, not hard Lay!" Clay smiled tightly.

She thought that his response was funny and giggled over it as she rang up his purchases.

"Huh! Having a party? Guess my invitation must have gotten lost," a pimple faced boy joked as he pushed the basket toward the pickup truck.