Reason & Reward

"Anna! What? God, you, you are not ugly!" Paris protested.

"Next to you? Oh, or Shannon?" Anna said, wiping at her tears.

"Anna, I'm not pretty. God, look at all these freckles," Paris insisted.

"Paris, I would kill to look like you," Anna admitted. "Especially with those lips; God, they, your lips are just so damned perfect."

Their arrival in front of Moisette's home should have ended the conversation. But Anna did not unlock the truck's passenger door. She sat, staring straight ahead, into the inky blackness past the lights of Moisette's home.

"I shave my, my, down there because you do that for Tommy," Anna said. "God damned itching just about drives me out of my mind, and Jeremy's beard just...but Paris does it so of course I have to."

"What? I, ew, God! I never, I would never shave my, he's lucky I shave my legs, with that bushy nasty beard of his? Paris denied.

"What? You, are you serious?" Anna demanded, face hard.

"Shit, do you want to see?" Paris retorted, flipping the short hem of her denim skirt up.

"I will kill...oh! And let me guess," Anna shrilled. "You don't let Tommy do your ass either, right?"

"He, I want to kill him every time he sticks his finger up there," Paris said. "You really think I'd let him stick his thing up there? That, that is just so nasty."

"Get out," Anna sighed, hitting the lock.

"But seriously? Tommy's been saying..." Paris asked, very angry at that moment.

"Uh huh," Anna admitted.

"Wait. I need to get my bike," Paris decided. "I, it might be a while before I'm ready to come home."

"I, I never said nothing to you," Anna said, face becoming pale with fright.

"Don't worry, I won't, I'm not going to throw you under the bus," Paris assured the girl.

After getting her bicycle out of the bed of the truck, Paris hugged Anna. She then thanked the girl for the lift as she pushed her bicycle up the smooth concrete drive toward the home.

The house had looked beautiful as each timber was erected. The framing had been a work of art. Even when the home was just OSB boards visible from the paved road, the house had looked grand, majestic.

Now, against a backdrop of inky blackness, the honey blonde exterior, lighted by several small flood lamps staged at various intervals along the neatly manicured lawn was breathtaking. The ornate cast iron and stained wood rails that circumnavigated the veranda was a stunning accent to the lightly stained and polished exterior wood of the home itself. The large door had panels of stained glass and the door itself was a slab of carved wood with a cast iron framework.

Paris could see the interior was lighted as well; light seeped out through the lace curtains of the two large windows. Paris thought she might have seen one curtain flutter gently as she came closer to the home.

Paris locked her bicycle to the cast iron railing of the five steps up from curved walkway onto the veranda's wooden flooring. Running her fingers through her loose red hair, Paris climbed the five steps onto the porch. She walked the ten feet from steps' end to the front door.

"Oh! I, I am so happy you are here!" Moisette enthused, swinging the heavy door open as Paris reached out to press the lighted button of the doorbell.

Moisette's face was perfect; her hair was perfectly tousled on her square head, her light brown eyeshadow was perfectly applied, her pale features were smoothed perfectly with light foundation and her lips were painted a perfect shade of light pink.

Moisette's outfit was a gauzy lacy halter top that left her pale shoulders and arms and belly bare. The light cream coloring of the top hinted at the 32D breasts underneath the filmy material; Paris thought she could just make out Moisette's light pink nipples and half dollar sized areolae through the gauzy top. Moisette's pale belly looked soft and alluring and had a perfectly formed navel visible above the low slung harem pants of a matching gauzy lacy material. Moisette's hip bones were visible above the waistband of the harem pants and again, Paris believed she could just make out a perfect triangle of light red through the crotch's material.

The harem pants ballooned out over Moisette's thighs, giving tantalizing, teasing glimpses of her pale flesh underneath the layered material. The elastic cuffs ended at her ankles, showing off her fuzzy open toed sandal-slippers. Each toe was meticulously painted in a pale pink shiny polish.

With a soft kiss to Paris's lips, Moisette pulled Paris into the home. The door closed noiselessly behind Paris and Moisette clicked the latch shut, locking the heavy door.

"Come, come, oh, I am so happy you are here, come," Moisette enthused, gripping Paris's hand as she pulled Paris further into the home.

The front room had a large staircase, a great fireplace and some sofas strewn about. Through an open doorway, Paris saw a grand piano and some large bookcases as well as an immense globe. But Moisette pulled Paris to a doorway across from the open doorway. Letting go of Paris's hand, Moisette pushed lightly on the swinging door and entered the kitchen.

Seeing Moisette's adorable outfit from the rear, Paris was entranced by Moisette's bare back. The waistband of the harem pants sat right where Moisette's round buttocks began and through the filmy material Paris could just make out the furrow that bisected Moisette's buttocks.

Moisette's red hair touched her shoulders in the back, hiding the neck band of the halter top. Directly at the center of the back, the halter top had been knotted with a large, fat knot. Moisette's back was pale, with no blemish visible. There was a softness to her flesh.

"Here, here, I have some finger foods for us to nibble on," Moisette happily babbled as she picked up a large tray of various cheeses and meats and crackers, as well as cut vegetables.

Paris looked around at the gleaming kitchen. The countertops were sparkling clean. The white stove and white refrigerator looked as if no human hands had ever touched them. From large hooks suspended from the ceiling over a large granite island were various copper pots and pans and some cast iron pots and pans. In the center of the island was a large butcher block knife holder and Paris admired the numerous knives she could see.

"I, Moisette, I love your kitchen," Paris said.

"I, oh? Well, thank you! I, when I asked to have the house drawn, I said they must have a kitchen any chef would delight in using," Moisette happily declared.

"Well, they, well done," Paris said, slowly turning around to see everything in the kitchen.

"You, you love to cook?" Moisette asked, again gripping Paris's hands.

"I don't know if 'LOVE' is the right word, but..." Paris smiled at her hostess's bubbly mood.

"I, I am not the cook. I, the barn? It is not really a barn, it is the servants' quarters," Moisette said, pointing toward the rear of her home. "The cook, the maids, they are there, they live there."

The barn had been constructed first; Paris, and Tommy had gaped at the large structure as it had been framed. They'd not seen a barn constructed in such a manner. Now Paris understood why; it had never been intended to be used as a barn. It was intended to resemble a barn to the outside admirer.

"You, what, what is your best breakfast? I say to you, 'Oh Paris, you must make me the perfect breakfast in bed,' what do you create for us?" Moisette demanded, green eyes dancing.

"Cinnamon rolls and a cream cheese icing and a maple syrup icing; you take your pick," Paris laughed.

"But no raisins; I do not like raisins," Moisette demanded. "There must be no raisins on my cinnamon roll."

"No raisins," Paris agreed and grabbed the tray of finger foods Moisette had abandoned. "Where are we going with this?"

"Cinnamon...they would be good for a midnight snack?" Moisette pressed as she led Paris out of the kitchen, across the great hall to the open library door.

"Cinnamon rolls are an excellent midnight snack," Paris agreed, placing the tray of foods onto a low table in front of an elegant burgundy colored couch.

The library was large, with a fireplace framed by two immense bookshelves. In front of the bookshelf to the left of the fireplace was a large desk and large, overstuffed leather chair. The desk itself was bare; Parish was sure the desk was ornamental only. In the center of the room was the large grand piano, padded bench wedged underneath. On the walls next to the open doorway, Parish saw many black and white photographs; mostly of city buildings.

"This, this, you are seeing Seraque Consolidated," Moisette pointed to a photograph of a gleaming steel and glass building.

"Seraque con...what do they do?" Paris asked.

If you own a car or a truck in Canada, especially if your car or truck is diesel, Seraque Consolidated had touched your vehicle. We have delivered your tires, your exhaust system, anything and everything that causes your car or truck to go," Moisette declared.

"Wow," Paris said, looking again at the gleaming building.

She listened as Moisette pointed to and named the photographs of the government buildings and other buildings of interest in and around Quebec City. On the other side of the door were some buildings of interest in Ottawa and Ontario, Canada.

Behind the burgundy sofa was another black and white photograph, a photograph of two small girls astride a grazing bull. Both girls were obviously shrieking with laughter as the bull nonchalantly nibbled some grass.

Paris stood and looked at the framed photograph. She smiled at the delight on the girls' faces. She felt Moisette's arm come around her waist; Paris could feel Moisette's fingers resting against her hip.

"I. And my sister, Ayshire," Moisette said, voice thick with emotion.

"Ay, is that, that's where the name Ayshire Mobile Homes comes from?" Paris guessed, seeing that the two girls were twins.

"Yes," Moisette smiled, pulling Paris to sit on the couch next to her.

Moisette put some cheese and a few slices of beef onto a wheat cracker. Paris grabbed a napkin and placed the napkin on Moisette's leg, then prepared a cracker for herself.

"Oh! I, I am so rude! Paris, to drink, what would you have to drink?" Moisette asked, approaching a bar along the wall next to their couch.

"Whatever you're having," Paris said.

"I, this wine, this wine is perfect with the cheese," Moisette declared and poured them each a glass of a pale rose.

Returning to the couch, Moisette again prepared a cracker with cheese and beef.

"The wine, allow your tongue to taste the wine," Moisette encouraged as Paris washed down the cracker.

"Moisette and Ayshire, we are the daughters of Henri Michael Seraque and his wife, Rose Faye Seraque," Moisette said, twisting in her seat and pulling her right leg underneath herself.

She took a sip of her wine and looked right through Paris. Paris could see nothing in Moisette's beautiful green eyes.

Henri Michael Seraque is the son of a truck driver, Jeffry Seraque. Jeffry is a hardworking man but does not have the money to give his family what they want. They have no needs; he provides food, clothing, and shelter. At eighteen, Henri Michael joins the Canadian Army and serves for some years. When he gets out, he decides he will go to college. Somehow, he decides he will go to Connelly College in Oakleaf, Texas," Moisette narrated.

She took another sip of her wine and sat quietly for a moment. Then, she focused on Paris's intense scrutiny and smiled softly. She reached over and gently touched Paris's cheek with her fingertips. After a moment, Moisette allowed the hand to fall to the back of the couch.

"In Texas, Henri Michael Seraque meets Rose Faye Clark. She is the daughter of Anthony Clark and Roselyn Walters. Rose grows up knowing that, no matter what she does, she will never be as good, she will never be as perfect as Lucille Ann Clark. She is the valedictorian of Sacred Ascension High School. She is the captain of her softball team in high school and at Connelly, she carries a four point oh grade all four years of college, but Rose Faye Clark is not good enough. She cannot best Lucille," Moisette continued.

"Who is this Lucille?" Paris asked.

"My grandfather was married to a beautiful blonde, much more beautiful than my grandmother," Moisette answered. "Together, he and the beautiful wife, they had Lucille Ann Clark. And one morning, he found his precious Lucille's body cold to the touch. He did not recover from the loss and the beautiful wife, she left him."

"I, that, that's horrible," Paris empathized.

"Yes, yes it is always sad to lose an infant," Moisette agreed. "But we cannot wallow, we cannot always look to what we have lost. We must, we must look ahead, but my grandfather, he could not, or would not ever let his Lucille be."

Moisette now dipped a broccoli flret into a dill sauce. Holding the floret in her fingers, Moisette nodded with her head toward the tray. Paris likewise dipped a broccoli floret into the dill sauce.

"With the knowledge that she is not good enough, she is not smart enough, she is not pretty enough, when Henri Michael Seraque decides he will woo the beautiful red headed woman, Rose Clark succumbs to him and nine months later, we, my sister and I are born to the very bitter Henri Michael Seraque and the foolish, dishonest, deceitful Rose Faye Clark. Henri Michael and Rose marry and move to Quebec, to Quebec City," Moisette continued her narration. "With the one hundred thousand dollars Rose has somehow managed to accumulate through her investments and sales acumen, despite not being good enough or smart enough, Henri Michael Seraque begins Seraque Consolidated. Two years after we are born, my mother gives Henri Michael Seraque the son he deserves; Anthony Michael Seraque."

Paris said nothing; as much as she loved her father, she knew he tended to favor her brothers. Some men were like that; they saw a son as an extension of themselves.

"Ayshire and myself; we loved our father, how could we not? He was our father, our big strong father," Moisette said, again looking through Paris. "We would sing and dance and play the piano; Henri Michael loves the piano; come, I will show you..."

Moisette got to her feet and approached the grand piano. She flipped the lid up and exposed the piano keys. Paris stood next to the piano and watched Moisette's hands poise above the keys for a moment. Then with a fluid grace, Moisette played a piece of Mozart. From there, she launched into a Shubert piece. Paris stood, eyes transfixed on Moisette's beautiful face as the woman played the notes of a haunting passage.

"But it is of no use; he does not see us, he does not hear us," Moisette admitted and dropped the lid over the keys with a loud clatter.

"I see you," Paris whispered, sitting on the bench next to Moisette. "I hear you."

"Do you?" Moisette asked, voice hardly a whisper. "Do you, dear Paris?"

Moisette's lips brushed Paris's lips. The two women looked at one another for a long moment. Moisette again kissed Paris, then abruptly swiveled off of the piano bench and returned to the couch, to her glass of wine. She emptied the glass and returned to the bar.

"Ayshire tells herself, it is because we are girls. If we were not girls, we would have our father's approval," Moisette said, filling her glass again. "She throws herself into being the boy, the son that our father will approve of."

Paris sat on the couch and waited. A moment later, Moisette again perched on the couch, sitting on her right leg, right hand extended toward Paris, resting on the back of the couch.

"Rose Seraque gives Henri Michael another son, Paul Michael Seraque," Moisette said, sipping her wine. "This, of a matter of course, pushes myself and Ayshire further away from our goal; winning our father's love and approval."

Paris watched as Moisette's eyes began to fill with tears. Moisette turned and glanced at the photograph of herself and her beloved twin; two four year old girls having a grand adventure astride an unconcerned bull.

"And my Ayshire, my beloved sister, my half, she is half of me, I shall have her with me forever," Moisette mumbled, her tears spilling freely. "She finally has our father's attention. She..."

Paris sat and waited. Several long moments passed. Finally, Moisette twisted from her scrutiny of the photograph and looked at her guest.

"It was I, I am the one that discovered my Ayshire, the belt looped around her neck," Moisette whispered hoarsely.

Paris gasped. Moisette's eyes focused on Paris's horrified face and nodded somberly.

"It is my twin's suicide that finally awakens our mother," Moisette said. "She says to our father she is tired, she is finished, she will no longer be satisfied with his anger and his neglect. It is simply too unfortunate for our father, there was no pre-nuptial agreement. How could there be? When they married, they only had the money our mother brought into the marriage."

Paris saw a satisfied little smirk crease Moisette's face. After another sip of her wine, Moisette leaned over and prepared another cracker for herself.

"She takes half of Henri Michael's money with her when she leaves, returns to Texas. Henri Michael demands, she will leave Anthony Michael and Paul Michael with him. Rose says that is fine but she will take his daughter, his only living daughter."

Moisette chewed her food then sipped some more wine. Again, she prepared some more food and chewed it slowly, thoroughly.

"I am a pawn; neither mother nor father truly want me, but they do not want the other to have me. Back and forth it goes. Summers in Canada, Winters in Texas, always a guest, never a resident. I decide I will go to Missouri River State; it is away from, apart from my mother and my father. And when I am in college, my mother, she has the cancer, bile duct cancer. And she does not fight it, she simply allows the cancer to take her; she is now with our Ayshire," Moisette said.

"Oh, oh Moisette!" Paris cried out.

"I, I did cry," Moisette confessed, accepting Paris's hug of sympathy. "But everything, everything my mother had? Is now mine."

Gently, Moisette extricated herself from Paris's hug. She smiled softly at Paris, gently touching Paris's face with her fingers. Then Moisette took another sip of her wine.

"In college, I, I am alone. And I meet Kimberly. Kimberly is not just a roommate, she is a friend," Moisette said quietly, placing her empty wine glass onto the low table. "She knows I am not the poor college student; I have money. But Kimberly? She is a true friend. She does not say, 'oh, you must buy me this, oh please buy me that.' She is a true friend, a real friend."

"See, that's the Kimberly I know," Paris enthused. "Everyone's all like 'why are you friends with her?' and I try to tell them but..."

"Oh, I am sure Kimberly has rubbed some the wrong way," Moisette tittered. "In classes? She would..."

Looking at the platter of cold cuts and cheeses and crackers, Paris realized they'd eaten most of the food. She and Moisette reached for the last broccoli floret and both laughed at their light tussle over the vegetable.

"You must take it; you are the guest," Moisette conceded, smiling at Paris.

Moisette dipped the floret into the dill sauce then brought the floret to Paris's lips. The two women looked into each other's eyes as Paris opened her mouth and accepted the floret. Still looking into Moisette's eyes, Paris chewed slowly, then swallowed.

Moisette brought her face to Paris's face. Leaning closer, Moisette and Paris both closed their eyes and brought their lips together.

"Mm," Moisette purred as their lips pressed firmly together.

"Mm," Paris agreed, heart hammering loudly in her chest.

"I, oh..." Moisette sighed, her hand tracing Paris's cheek.