Velma

She hit the play button on her stereo and Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons' came pouring out.

Velma sat, rooted to the spot. She listened as someone painted an auditory portrait of the sunrise. She could hear the black begin to give away, could hear the colors begin to insinuate themselves into the tapestry of the sky, then heard the crashing, triumphant splendor of the sun making its presence felt and seen across the entire dome of the sky.

"Two Egg mcmuffins, and two large coffees, Paris shouted into the speaker at the McDonalds. "Um, three sugars and two creams into those, okay? Oh, and two large orange juices, please."

Velma broke out of her trance when Paris thrust one of the breakfast sandwiches into her hand.

"Um, thanks," Velma mumbled.

"Yeah, I didn't give you any time to get breakfast," Paris said.

Velma ate the sandwich ravenously, and then drank down the juice rapidly. The coffee would have disappeared just as quickly if it had not been so hot.

Her gastronomic pleasure was interrupted by a piece of Chopin. She listened, spellbound, as the piano described a leaf, clinging, clinging, then breaking fee of its mooring to the tree, and fluttering along in the Autumn breeze, captive to the whim of the wind, but also free.

"I can change it if you'd like," Paris said, mistaking Velma's silence for disapproval.

"No!" Velma cried out.

The six discs C.D. changer was set to 'Random' play and Velma listened, in rapture to each piece for the forty miles from Mumphrey to Hammond.

Paris pulled into the parking lot of the hospital and let the Nigel Kennedy piece play out before turning off the car. Velma didn't feel anything as Paris pulled her along the corridor of the hospital toward the ICU wing, her head; her senses were wrapped up in the beauty of music.

****

Mr. Boudreaux was almost unrecognizable. Nearly his entire head was swathed in bandages. Velma stared, horrified at the image of the man she could honestly say she loved and trusted, lying, helpless, unresponsive.

"Talk to him," the nurse on duty encouraged. "They say that they can hear you."

"Um, Mist... Mister Boudreaux?" Velma asked, her voice quavering. "Um, hi, it's Velma."

She broke into sobs and Paris pulled her into a hug, patting her back and crooning in a comforting tone. Finally, Velma pulled away from her and turned to face Mr. Boudreaux again.

"I'm sorry Mr. Boudreaux," she sobbed, holding onto the rail of his bed. I know you didn't want a bunch of crying and stuff."

"Hi Mr. Boudreaux, it's Paris," Paris said when Velma stepped back from the bed. "But don't worry, I didn't bring Stacie or Kimberly with me."

She turned and smiled at Velma.

"I brought Velma with me instead," she went on.

Velma listened as Paris prattled on, not really saying anything, but just telling Mr. Boudreaux about school, how everybody was so upset to hear about his accident.

"Let me," Velma begged and Paris smiled and nodded her head yes.

"Mr. Boudreaux, I hope you can hear me," Velma said. "I want you to know I love you, I love you a lot, and I hope you get better real soon, 'cause you're the only friend I got there."

Finally, Mrs. Davis entered the ward. Her surprise at seeing Velma was evident, as was her displeasure at seeing Velma.

Velma and Paris saw that visiting hours in the ICU ward were nearly over anyway, so they left the room and Mrs. Davis curtly thanked them for allowing her to visit with Mr. Boudreaux.

"You do have other friends there, you know," Paris said quietly as they left the hospital.

"Who?" Velma challenged. "Who I got? Huh?"

"I ever do anything mean to you?" Paris asked and looked at the sullen girl over the roof of her car.

"Well, no, but..." Velma conceded.

"And I have tried to talk to you, but you're always so fucking angry, you shove people away whenever anyone says 'hi' to you," Paris went on, anger creeping into her voice.

"Yeah, but what'm I supposed to do, huh?" Velma yelled. "You're always hanging around those two bitches!"

"You ever think maybe I need friends too?" Paris said and hit the button to unlock the car. "They're the only ones ever talk to me! Everyone else is all like 'Oh, you're Daddy's so rich, can you get me this? Or that?' At least Stacie and Kimberly don't just try to use me!"

The two eighteen year olds got into the car and Paris started it and slammed it into gear. She floored the accelerator.

"Buckle up," she snapped at Velma and then angrily turned the stereo off as another Vivaldi piece began.

"God damn it!" she screamed in frustration as she approached the exit of the parking lot.

"What?" Velma barely dared to ask.

"I got to pee!" Paris exclaimed.

She whipped the car around and drove back toward the hospital's entrance.

"You going to wait in the car, or do you have to pee too?" Paris snapped as she abruptly stopped the car and put it into 'Park.'

"Um, yeah, yeah, I got to pee too," Velma muttered.

"Well, come on," Paris barked and got out of the car.

Unwittingly, instinctively, she hit the 'lock' button and Velma struggled with the door.

"Oh, come on!" Paris yelled, not at Velma, but at herself, and hit the 'unlock' button on the key.

"Sorry!" Velma yelled back. "The fucking door was locked! What the fuck you want me to do?"

"Never fucking mind, come on," Paris demanded and marched back into the hospital.

They found the ladies room and both slammed their stall's doors. Velma tried to hurry, not wanting Paris to leave her stranded in Hammond. True, Mrs. Davis was probably still around, but she REALLY didn't want to have to ride with that woman for forty miles.

"I'm so sorry," Paris said softly and hugged Velma after Velma finished washing her hands. "I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at me."

"It's okay," Velma said and stiffly, woodenly returned Paris' hug.

"Friends?" Paris asked.

"Uh huh," Velma said, trying to extricate herself from the hug without simply shoving Paris away.

"Good," Paris said and kissed a stunned Velma on her lips.

She then giggled and used her thumb to wipe her pink lipstick off of a till stunned Velma's lips.

"Pink isn't your color," she giggled again and wiped her thumb on her black tee shirt.

Chapter 5

"So what color lipstick do you normally use?" Paris asked, the music turned down to be heard in the background.

"I don't," Velma replied.

Lipstick, cosmetics of any sort was an expense that Velma didn't have the luxury of. Esther used quite a bit of makeup, more and more of it to cover the effects of aging and excessive drinking. Velma didn't use her mother's make up; they weren't the same skin tone. Besides that, Velma had seen the type of men Esther's make up attracted and certainly wasn't interested in attracting that kind of man.

"Really?" Paris asked. "But your lips are always so pretty! I just kind of thought, well, whatever."

Velma looked at Paris to see if Paris was making fun of her. If she was, she was doing a great job of covering it up.

"You have to go straight home or what?" Paris asked.

Home. Momma and Randall were probably still asleep. If they weren't asleep, they'd both be hung over, or working on their next drunk.

"No, no, I don't got to go home," Velma said. "Why?"

"You want to come over and go swimming?" Paris asked excitedly.

"I um, I don't got a suit.

"Oh, that's okay, we're probably the same size," Paris bubbled. "You can borrow one of mine. I mean, your boobs are a little smaller, but not THAT much. We'll find..."

"Paris, I don't know how to swim," Velma admitted, a little frightened.

"Oh," Paris said, stunned. "Really?"

"Uh huh," Velma said.

Where would she have learned how to swim? If they had any extra money, it went to alcohol, not luxuries like swim suits or swimming lessons.

"Well, then we'll just stay in the shallow end, how about that?" Paris suggested.

"What do you mean?" Velma asked.

"Okay, our pool has two sides, a deep side and a shallow side," Paris explained. "You just stay on the shallow side, think that'll work?"

"I don't know," Velma said.

"And we got a life jacket, we'll put that on you, okay?" Paris went on, her enthusiasm bubbling up.

****

Velma looked around the room in awe. Paris' bedroom was easily four times the size of her own. In the middle, against the far wall, was a large canopy bed. On the fluffy comforter were several stuffed animals and dolls. One doll, Velma recognized, Patty Playtime.

She had sat on Santa's lap and told the fat man that reeked of cigarettes and cheap beer what she wanted, what she really wanted most of all in the whole world, a Patty Playtime. Yes, she had been a good girl, she'd been a very good girl, and even her teachers said she was a good girl.

There was no doll under the tree. There had been a few coloring books, and a brand new box of crayons, the big sixty-four set, but no doll. Her mother sent her to her room for not being grateful for what Santa Claus brought for her.

She quit believing in Santa Claus right then and there.

"I know, I know," Paris giggled, embarrassed. "I know I should just throw all that stuff out, I keep telling myself 'Paris, your almost a grown woman, time to get rid of all this stuff,' but every time I try, I just can't bring myself to do it."

"That's cool," Velma said and looked around the rest of the room.

There was a desk and hutch, which matched the bed and chest of drawers perfectly. A flat screen monitor sat on it, along with keyboard and mouse. Velma assumed the computer must be hidden away in one of the many drawers or cubbyholes.

There was a plasma television mounted to the wall across from the television and Velma looked at it in wonder.

"Yeah, Daddy put that in here when I was out sick last year," Paris said and opened a drawer of her bureau. "God a dvd player built in and all."

"A what?" Velma asked.

"A dvd player, you know, movies and stuff," Paris said and took out a black bikini. "Here, I bet this'll fit." Velma took the thin scraps of material and tried to make sense out of the skimpy bits.

"Go ahead, try it on," Paris said and pulled her own tee shirt off.

She unhooked her black satin bra, exposing her Thirty-four D breasts without any qualms, and began to shimmy out of her shorts and panties. Velma looked at the hairless slit for a second, then watched as Paris easily slipped into a pink swimsuit.

"Daddy hates this one, says it's obscene," Paris giggled. "But he's at works...

Velma undressed then put on the black bikini. The top was very loose, across her thirty-two C Breasts, allowing a glimpse of her large dark aureole. The bottom was a little snugger, but several tendrils of her curly brown pubic hair were visible on all sides.

"We're going to have to get you your own," Paris mused. "Thank God it's just us, huh?"

"I'd have to trim down there too," Velma said and pointed to the pubic hair sprouting out on all sides.

"Yeah, but there's nothing to that," Paris said and went into her bathroom and grabbed two large fluffy towels. "Come on."

----

Consuela smiled as Miss Paris and an unknown girl left Miss Paris' bedroom, dressed in very skimpy bathing suits. Miss Paris knew her father would not approve of his little girl in such daring attire, the top squashed her breasts, forcing them out on the sides, and barely covered her nipples. The bottom had a thin strap that separated Miss Paris' buttocks, and a thin strap in front that barely covered the pubic mound. What Mr. Mouton didn't know, Mr. Mouton wouldn't hear about from Consuela.

"Consuela, this is my friend Velma," Paris cheerfully introduced the maid. "Velma, this is Consuela. She's the best cook ever, except when it comes to eggs."

"Oh, Miss Paris, you stop that!" Consuela laughed. "I burn eggs one time! One time I burn them and she act like I do it every day!"

"It's nice to meet you," Velma muttered, trying to hide her body from the maid's gaze.

"It nice to see you too," Consuela said. "You stay for lunch?"

Velma looked at Paris.

"One, one thirty, okay, Consuela?" Paris ordered.

"Okay, I bring outside on deck, okay?" Consuela said.

****

Velma felt a little funny as Paris slipped the large life vest over her head, then cinched it on her, and made sure it was fitted properly.

"It's kind of tight," she offered.

"Supposed to be," Paris said and readjusted the bottom strap. "You don't want it slipping off."

Was it her imagination, or were Paris' hands purposefully rubbing against the sides of her boobs?

"Which side is the shallow one?" Velma asked as Paris led them to the large in ground pool.

"This side," Paris assured her.

Velma luxuriated in the sensation; her entire body was enveloped in the cool water. Every now and then, she would try to fill her bathtub with enough water to get this sensation, but either her head was sticking out, or her feet, or her knees. The buoyant life vest prevented her from dunking her head for very long, but she did it as much as possible and laughed out loud when she broke the water's surface.

"Oh, God, this is great!" she whooped. "I'd love to take a bath in this!"

"You'd love my tub," Paris assured her.

Consuela brought out two plates, nothing fancy, just two turkey and Swiss cheese sandwiches and carrot and celery sticks. A tall glass of iced tea sat next to each plate.

Again, Velma felt a little funny as Paris helped her take the bulky life vest off.

"Didn't I tell you?" Paris happily said. "She's the best cook ever!"

"Yeah," Velma agreed and munched on the sandwich.

Afterward, they stretched the towels out and lay in the afternoon sun. Paris liberally coated her pale skin with a light tanning oil, then turned to Velma.

"Here, you don't want to burn," Paris said and Velma likewise liberally coated herself.

At three o'clock, Consuela roused the drowsing girls for more iced tea and fresh fruit.

"That enough sun," she told Paris. "You going to burn."

"Yes ma'am," Paris agreed.

Chapter 6

"You don't have to go home, huh?" Paris asked hopefully.

They were in her bedroom, dressing back into their clothes.

"Um, no, not really," Velma said.

"Thank you can stay the night?" Paris begged and clutched Velma's hand.

"Um, yeah, yeah, I guess so," Velma agreed.

"Oh good!" Paris said and again kissed Velma on her lips.

Again, she used her thumb to wipe her pink lipstick off of Velma's lips.

"Um, I got to pee," Velma said.

"Bathroom's right there," Paris said and pointed.

The bathroom was twice the size of her own bathroom. Actually, it was larger than her bedroom and bathroom combined. There was a large walk in shower, with two showerheads, one on the north wall, and the other on the south wall. Next to that was a large manufactured marble tub, large enough for four people to sit in without touching one another. There were two sinks at the vanity and a recessed area in the middle, with a vanity chair facing the large lighted mirror.

But there was no commode. Velma looked around for another minute, and then went back out into the bedroom.

"Um, hey, Paris, where's the toilet?" Velma asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Paris giggled. Come on, I'll show you!"

"I forgot, you've never been here before," Paris explained as she walked around to the rear of the shower and pointed to the concealed commode.

Velma plopped down and down and sighed contentedly as she relieved herself.

Paris smiled at her when she exited the bathroom.

"Did you wash your hands?" she teased.

"No!" Velma said and grabbed Paris and wiped her hands on Paris' tee shirt.

"Ew, gross!" Paris laughed.

Her cell phone rang and she dug it out of her purse.

"What?" she snapped into the phone, all humor gone. "No, Grant, I don't have a nicer way of saying 'hello.' You know how much Mr. Boudreaux means to me, the least you could have done was be a little more supportive."

She listened for a minute then screwed her normally quite pretty face into an ugly mask of contempt.

"Oh, bull fucking shit, Grant." She snapped. "You were just worried about getting your nuts taken care of, that's all."

She laughed out loud, a mirthless laugh.

"Really? She will, huh? Well, go right ahead, Mr. Coutre, go ahead and fuck little Miss Kimberly Webber." She lowered her voice somewhat.

"See if she'll let you do her up the butt," she hissed. "I bet she don't."

She slapped the cell phone closed, then screamed in frustration and threw the phone against the wall with considerable force. It struck the wall, bounced to the floor, then lay on the plush carpet, undamaged. There was a faint crack on the plasterboard of the wall.

Velma stood, rooted to the spot and Paris wrapped her arms around the uncertain girl and sobbed. Velma clumsily patted her on the back, not really sure what to do.

****

Consuela smiled as she served Jim Mouton his dinner, and nodded to Paris and Velma.

Velma felt a little uncomfortable around Mr. Mouton; he reeked of power and money. He was a curt, abrupt man and did not let emotions come out very easily.

"Heard from Mom yesterday," Paris said.

"Really?" Jim Mouton said. "And what did Miss Peace Corps have to say?"

The people are still living in mud huts, running water is non-existent, no medical supplies, no doctor for hundreds of miles," Paris rattled off.

"In other words, she's happy," he said and continued to read through his stack of mail while eating.

"Thank you, Consuela," Velma mumbled.

"You welcome, Miss Vee," Consuela smiled and lightly rested her hand on Velma's shoulder.

"Um, where is your mother?" Velma dared to ask.

"Right now?" Paris asked. "In Columbia, helping out the victims of some mud slide, or avalanche or something."

Paris shrugged and took a forkful of her rice. "No, no, wait, it was a hurricane."

"Tropical storm," Jim Mouton corrected.

"That's it!" Paris said.

"My wife," Jim Mouton said and tapped the envelopes into a neat stack again. "Feels guilty because I make a great deal of money. Never mind the fact that I work for it, she just feels guilty about it. To offset her feelings of guilt, she runs off to these little third-world nations to do what she can to help out those less fortunate than us."

"Will there be anything else, Mr. Mouton?" Consuela asked as she picked up his plate.

"No, that will be all, thank you," he said without looking at her.

"Um, could I um, could I have some more tea?" Velma dared to ask.

"Of course, Miss Vee, I get it right away!" Consuela answered happily.

"I have told her, if she would just open her eyes, she could find people less fortunate, right here in the good old United States of America," he said and stood up. "Hell, she could probably find some right here in Mumphrey! But that's not good enough; I have to spend thousands of dollars on plane tickets to these shit holes for her to feel fulfilled."

"It doesn't take much to make Dad go off the deep end," Paris said to Velma, not bothering to lower her voice.

"Uh huh," he said. "Like an eight hundred dollar shopping spree at Dillards."

Jim Mouton smiled and patted his daughter's cheek.

"Three months!" Paris exclaimed. "That was three months ago!"

"And you still haven't paid a penny on that," he smiled.

"Here you go, Miss Vee," Consuela smiled and set the glass down.

"I'll be in the study," he said.

"He's going to drink," Paris translated.

"Paris, my dear," he sighed playfully. "Not all of my secrets have to be exposed to everyone, do they?"

"No, I still haven't told her about all the dead bodies buried in the back yard," Paris said, then covered her mouth. "Oops!"

"Smart ass," he smiled and kissed her on the top of her head.

"It's very nice to meet you, um, Vicky, right?" he said.

"Velma," she corrected.

"That's right, I'm sorry," he smiled and patted her on the shoulder. "It's real nice to meet you."