Chapter 11: Gonna Rouge My Knees and Roll My Stockings Down...

Quintin Apache heard from one of his tracers, George ‘Goose-Step’ Gorman. An LA transplant to Nazi Idaho. Reliable. Expensive, but reliable.

“There is a woman working the shady side of the street. She can slide a guy who’s in trouble into some secret place. Like a sanctuary city somewhere.”

“Anything else?”

“Preliminary indication on her location — California. Southern California.”

“Your old territory. Still connected?”

“I know a couple of our soldiers down there.”

“Let me know.”

“On it.”

Apache checked out of his cheap, no-identification-needed, motel and headed west in his Honda. He wouldn’t drive to California, not yet; that would be premature. But he’d position himself somewhere in the middle of the country, ready to head in any direction.

Ethan said, “These crawfish are a lot of trouble.”

Eulalie said, “Watch me, Mr. Smith.”

She held a tail daintily between her thumb and index finger, squeezed it as she sucked the delicate meat out. She made a kissing sound and grinned, “The trick is knowing how to suck. It takes a little practice and it’s messy, but so worth it.”

Ethan thought: Fourteen. And, like Logan said, going on thirty. The bold little girl sat back on the deck chair, one leg over the arm, her pink tee riding up, that white thong ... just there.

He glanced at Marie who seemed quietly amused; she winked at him, “Eulalie has always excelled at sucking.”

Eulalie bantered back, “I’m one of those girls who just loves to do it.”

At Miss Kitty’s, Gigi proudly showed Eulalie the new pictures. The teenager didn’t miss a beat, “Ray-Ray, Gigi and I know what you’re going to be doing with these.”

He turned a deeper scarlet.

“I want you to keep your notebook and Gigi’s tape measure with you at all times.”

“Yes ma’am.” It came out a hoarse whisper.

“Tell us why.”

He stared down at the floor. Eulalie lifted his chin with two fingers, “Look into your mother’s eyes when you talk to her. Where the fuck are your manners?”’

Gigi kept a straight face.

“I’ll write down how often and how far.”

Gigi frowned, “How often what?”

“I, um, you know. Jerk off.”

“And?”

A whisper, “How far I shoot.”

Eulalie said, “And... ?”

Big frown, “Uh...”

The girl sighed, “Ray-Ray, I told you to measure your cock. Length and thickness.” She winked at Gigi and nodded to the camera, “With those shots, that appendage will be getting more attention than ever. Wouldn’t surprise me if it grew some more.”

“Huh, I didn’t even think of that.”

“Especially that last photo. Doesn’t your mother have the sexiest little pussy, Ray-Ray?” She reached over and patted it fondly.

Whisper, “Yes.”

Gigi turned to her son, “Regular reports, Raymond.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Or I’ll take over the record keeping myself.”

Raymond felt twin sensations — like lightning bolts — abject terror and a forbidden thrill.

Logan helped Eulalie clean up the mess. They simply wadded up the newspapers that had served as plates. Claws, cobs, empty beer cans, the fragrant litter from the delicious spread.

Eulalie smelled her hands, “Whew, I’m taking a shower.”

She walked from the back deck, around the corner and Logan heard the water explode. He thought: Huh, an outdoor shower.

Marie came out and handed a kitchen match to Logan, “Fire me.”

She placed the back of her palm on his hand as he lit the fat cigar. She nodded her thanks and blew out some credible smoke rings. Watched them disintegrate in the sunshine. Nodded toward the corner, “Shower?”

“Yep.”

Ten minutes later, Eulalie, a towel wrapped around her head, a larger one around her body, plopped down in the chair facing Ethan. She winked at her sister, “I’m beat, think I’ll spend the night here.”

She looked like a refreshed and alert 10-year old girl who had just awakened from a nap.

Marie shrugged, “Might as well, you have breakfast duty.”

Raymond Fontenot’s street creds had skyrocketed once he started handing out the Miss Kitty pictures. Actually, even before that — back when word had raced around Sausalito High about the assignment he’d been given.

Eulalie had decided to order only 50 copies of each girl. She instinctively wanted demand to outstrip the supply. She told Raymond, “Be discreet, but also hand out ten of each girl to the middle school kids.”

The boys at John Lee Hooker, and a few girls too, devoured the photos even more avidly than the high schoolers. Most in demand — teachers and mothers. Women that the students actually knew. Or knew of. Real women, not digital ones. Real.

Logan was standing in the glow of the Cajun Arms Motel sign when Marie picked him up. She had a slight grin on her face as they headed for Miss Kitty’s. She drove a lovely XKE, polished to a gleam, British Racing Green, with the top down.

He nodded in approval, “Classic.”

Marie laughed, “Repairs. I used to think in terms of ... would it be ready to pick up this Tuesday or would it be Wednesday? Then I shifted to weeks.” A carefree shrug, “Now I think in terms of seasons — will it be ready by Spring, or will I have to wait until Summer?”

Logan had the impression that she didn’t really care about cars. And that someone else was almost certainly paying the garage bills.

As they walked down Main Street, they could feel the pulse of the bass half a block away. The noise — music, laughter, cheers — really hit them when they opened the front door.

The assault on the senses continued with the light contrast — dark in the audience, bright up on the stage. Both dancers were topless, pretty standard after ten.

The petite waitress whisked the reserved sign off the one empty table and grinned, “Ms. Marie.”

“Jolene Horton, this is Logan Kelly.”

Jolene wore a lacy bra, a green thong, and two matching garters filled with one-dollar bills. She bent down and whispered something in Marie’s ear. Marie looked over at Logan, grinned, and nodded.

As they sipped gin and tonics, they watched both pole dancers strip off their G-strings and start smooching. The crowd roared its approval.

At the end of the set, the girls stayed naked as they casually walked down the steps and strolled back to the dressing room. The DJ — Evelyn Oubre — slowed down the tempo and a bluesy version of Stormy Monday blared out.

Two new dancers slinked onto the stage and immediately electrified the crowd by sliding a hand under the other girl’s thong. Marie smiled to herself as Logan shifted in his chair.

The dancers were obviously finger-fucking each other — you could see the back of the thongs tenting out and back, out and back, as their two middle fingers kept time to the beat.

Marie leaned in, “Hard to believe they’re doting mothers, isn’t it?”

Logan nodded, shifted position again.

Eulalie was the only student at John Lee Hooker who took her cellphone into class. As a courtesy, she switched it to vibrate. But this time, the outside call for her went to the vice principal’s office.

She followed a teacher’s aide down the hall and answered, “Hello?”

“Eulalie, this is Miss Earline.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Ms. Washington said to tell you that you can start distribution to John Lee Hooker.”

“Thank Helene for me, Miss Earline.”

Kate Broussard called Eulalie at home, “Honey, can I have Raymond again? Two more sessions.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Moms Gone Wild was standing-room-only. I had to add a third set. The girls raked in more tip money than ever. As much as any Friday night payday.”

Eulalie got there quickly, “And you want a Moms photo.”

“That’s right, and Teachers too.”

After Rémy’s crawfish boil, after the cleanup, Marie gave Logan a ride back to his car. Ethan, Rémy, and Eulalie were out on the shaded deck, enjoying evening cigars.

Marie piloted the little Jon boat effortlessly, waving to Grumpy as he watched with heavy-lidded eyes. She steered in an easterly direction, parallel with the shoreline. Logan had no way of knowing she was making a slight detour. One part of the swamp looked like every other part to an outsider, even in the bright afternoon daylight.

She pulled up to a grass mound and dropped the small anchor. Logan turned back and she winked at him, “It’s a natural tide pool in the evening. Bayou kids have been skinny dipping here since before I was born.”

Logan thought: Alligators. Snakes. Madison. In that order.

Marie looked him in the eye as she kicked off her sneakers, tugged her tee-shirt up, and whisked her thong off. She stood there, the sun slanting, bathing her in a golden hue.

Logan sighed, and followed her up the little rise.

Raymond shot the Moms on a Tuesday morning. He not only wasn’t embarrassed that Gigi was there, he was proud of her. That first intimate photo session had shifted something in his psyche. He felt more confident, more ... of a man.

Gigi noticed the change, encouraged Raymond, and hoped it would last. Would translate into a more active social life. He was a cute kid; if only he had Eulalie’s confidence, he could be scoring pussy for sure.

But then, who else had Eulalie’s confidence?

Kate smiled at the twelve giggling, bikini-clad girls. Still a little giddy after their sold-out performance the previous week.

She said, “Fluff up each other’s nipples, ladies.”

Raymond stared — suddenly back to being an awkward high-school junior — as the girls grinned and twirled and tweaked and bantered. Gigi, the tallest, was in the middle with a pre-instructed mom on each side cheerfully using their tongues.

Raymond kept staring. And shot off in his jeans.

The few girls who noticed knew better than to tease. A lot of men left Miss Kitty’s with wet underwear. Although most of them had had a lap dance.

Because her bikini top had been wet, soaking really, Gigi’s nipples were clearly visible in the group photo. Other than a couple of mild tsk-tsks, there wasn’t much negative reaction around town. What with Harry’s pussy wedge and all those scantily-clad girls ... well, that horse had left that barn a while back.

Raymond wasn’t teased about his mother. Unsurprisingly, he was envied. “God, man, she is smokin’ hot.”

“I know.”

If anything, the Teachers Gone Wild photo session was even raunchier. And the married teachers were every bit as lively as the singles. Not only that, the four married teachers with children were the most spirited. It was like a group high. They’d drawn the largest crowds of their lives — at least equal to the Moms Night. And then there were those photographs that raced through the school system!

Tee-Jim Bergeron had worked up his nerve and waited until school let out to ask his ninth-grade homeroom teacher to sign the already-autographed picture. Miss ‘Harry’ Hebert grinned at the blushing boy as they both gazed at her pussy wedge.

“What’s your favorite part, Tee-Jim?”

“Uh, I dunno.”

She winked, “Of course you know.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, “Show me.”

He stabbed his finger to the area in question.

Harry nodded solemnly and signed the picture, “Tee-Jim, Keep your eye on the prize. Harry.”

As Tee-Jim showed that prize around, it set off a minor frenzy of after-school autograph seekers in John Lee Hooker and Sausalito High. The teachers secretly basked in the attention and cheerfully signed slightly risqué notes.

That led to a couple of factions. Teachers who were still young enough and attractive enough, were regretting not jumping on the Miss Kitty’s bandwagon. So, as Kate Broussard had predicted, job applications rose steadily.

A smaller subset of dancers regretted — without resenting Harry Hebert — not having thought of a pussy wedge themselves. As Mrs. Reynolds told a group of four other teachers, “Hell, I get stark fucking naked most weekends. I should have showed more flesh for that Fontenot boy.”

The others nodded; lesson learned.

Unlike the shots of the individual dancers, the Moms and Teachers were printed in a horizontal format. And — demand for the group shots was at an all-time high at both schools.

Eulalie hadn’t yet mentioned her plans for the two elementary schools to Helene Washington. That would come down the road.

For now, she was pleased that the pictures continued to be a major topic of conversations, texts, and emails among the girls. There was a particularly avid interest among the middle school set.

She’d seen seven or eight girls in ninth grade study hall looking over the Teachers photo. Agnes Mouton spoke fiercely, “Of course they swallow! Duh.”

The others nodded. Who didn’t swallow? Duh.