Chapter 20: May You Stay Forever Young...

At the grand old Pacific-Union Club on Nob Hill, Chase Windsor was dressed like old money. A conservative gray suit whose cuffs were about an inch above his sturdy brogans. He was slender anyway, and his suit coat was about half a size too large. Lacy — rather Jia Li Ch’ing — knew it was to make him look as if he had recently lost weight. And, through sheer willpower, was keeping if off.

White button-down shirt, nondescript tie.

And, an air of quiet confidence. Nothing to prove, no one to impress.

Drake and Nelson Xing arrived in a hired car — a black Lincoln Continental. They’d been in their share of private clubs, but never this one. High ceilings, a hushed tone, formality in the muted inquiry from the maître d’hôtel, “How may I help you gentlemen?”

Nelson glanced at the two bodyguards stationed in the entrance and asked for Jia Li Ch’ing.

Thirty seconds later Jia Li, accent straight outta The Bronx, said, “Drake Xing, Nelson Xing, this is Mr. Reginald Flood Winston.”

Chase stood — 6-feet, 2-inches tall, towering over the brothers — buttoned his single-breasted suit coat, and shook their hands solemnly.

Over crabmeat cocktails, Jia Li casually mentioned, “Mr. Winston is descended from James Clair Flood.”

Two blank looks.

“The founder of the P-U Club.”

It was a conversationally awkward transition, but Drake couldn’t resist. He stared at Jia Li, “Speaking of descendants ... you are actually the Pretender to the Throne in the Forbidden City?”

She shrugged, “Some people say that.”

Reginald Flood Winston spoke quietly, with a stately cadence that conveyed wealth in that distinctive lockjaw that is heard mainly along the Gold Coast of Connecticut, “And what is your interest in the matter?”

Nelson, “Our family is from Hong Kong and we follow the Beijing news as best we can.”

Drake nodded, “There is considerable interest in the great-granddaughter of P’u Yi. Business interest as well as social.”

Reginald looked from Drake to Nelson, “One does not discuss business in the club.”

Nelson, chagrined, said, “No, no, quite right.”

Jia Li smiled up at the septuagenarian waiter, “We’re ready to order, Malcom.”

With the four of them living in the safe-house, Eulalie became even more casual. She liked how it made her feel when men looked at her.

Ethan was proud of her, and didn’t even begin to try to set limits. Bull ... well, Bull was a man. Besides, he had already seen her naked that first morning in the kitchen.

Madison was surprisingly easygoing. She had already lost Logan to Marie. And now, probably to Lacy. She was enjoying Bull during this long waiting period, but he was definitely ‘catch and release’.

So, Eulalie might or might not be dressed at any time, night and day. Marie didn’t seem to care one way or the other — the whole thing with her sister seemed to amuse her. Rémy? Just another guy.

“Tomorrow’s the day.”

Lacy nodded, “Yep.”

In Sausalito, men watched the former Ole Miss cheerleader, Connie Sue Rivens, for the usual reasons. The meteorologist at Channel 5 in Jackson was luscious. Blonde, with a bouncy personality and lovely ta-tas, Connie Sue dripped sex. She’d never once been referred to as a weather weenie.

During the two and a half years she’d held the weather slot in the 10 PM news program, guys from middle school through their 60s, tuned in.

Women watched too. Hair, makeup, wardrobe. And, in many cases, trying to determine how she pulled off that oh-so-innocent, yet oh-so-sultry act. She went right up to the Slut Line, yet never quite crossed it.

“I’d fuck her in a New York minute.” (From a good ole boy who’d never been north of the Mississippi state line.)

“Bet she likes it reverse-cowboy so she can watch herself in the mirror.” (A woman, who in fact, relished doing just that.)

“Are they real?” (14 year-old boys throughout the area.)

But in late October, viewers turned in for different reasons. This time of year, or certainly by November, usually marked the start of what certain Gulf Coasters called the Relief Season.

The heat and humidity had been especially oppressive from March through September. But rather than a gradual easing of temperatures, a lowering of the humidity index, the fucking weather turned even more brutal. And stayed and stayed and stayed.

A second-tier newsreader, Jimmy Roper — who was unsuccessfully trying to lose his Southern accent in case the network called — handed the baton to Connie Sue, “We all hope this won’t be anything like the 2003 disaster in ... South America. The heat killed, what was it, a million?”

“We certainly don’t want that, Jimmy. Over 70,000 deaths in Europe. Now here’s what’s going on right here at home.”

As she pointed to the area map that spotlighted Louisiana, Arkansas, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia, Connie Sue used a pointer to circle the area, “There’s the bad guy, right here. This giant high-pressure system has simply stalled — it’s just hovering over Mississippi and our neighbors to the east and west.”

She often used both hands to illustrate, a gesture that she well-knew emphasized her boob-profile.

“What this means is that the system has trapped all of the hot air that’s beneath it. And, as y’all know, the waters in the Gulf have been warming for years and years. So we’re stuck for now, folks. Waiting for a stronger pressure system to force this bad boy out of our way.”

TooTall said, “Bread knife weather.”

YesBut nodded, “Yep.”

In Sausalito, the heat discomfort was somewhat mitigated by air conditioning. Almost every house had at least one window unit the family could huddle in front of.

Marie, in her City Attorney’s role, bypassed Mississippi Power and went directly to the parent company, Southern Power. She hadn’t been the first civic official to ask for reduced rates and extended payment periods. So she was pleasantly surprised to learn that the provider was already implementing a fiscal relief plan.

Marie told Kate, “Miss Kitty’s monthly bill will go down almost 20%. And you can stretch out your payments if necessary.”

Both women knew that the topless bar was doing a booming lunch and late-night business. Higher beer sales than ever. And the tips were up too. But Kate wasn’t about to turn down a lower monthly bill.

D-Day.

Logan still couldn’t get over Lacy’s transformation. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he wouldn’t recognize her on the street.

He drove Corrine to the backup apartment in DC. A backup hidey-hole for a backup plan that he and Lacy hoped wouldn’t be necessary. When the Apache project was complete, Corrine would fly back to wherever she and Lacy lived. Logan wouldn’t try to track her; that would be breaking an unwritten code of conduct.

Connie Sue Rivens, standing in front of those fucking weather maps, knew exactly what she looked like — a sexy, blonde bimbo. She was savvy enough to let the image stand. She hid her brains and ambitions behind a bright smile and a perky attitude.

The agent who represented her — Madge Hawthorne — hadn’t been the smartest one she’d interviewed. And had been far from the nicest. But Connie Sue immediately sensed a shared trait — ruthlessness.

Madge had told Connie Sue in their first, exploratory meeting, “I may have you suck three or four cocks, but probably no more than that unless things change. You’ll end up fucking as few people as I can manage. You do girls too, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll book you at as few Chamber and school events as I can. Your audience isn’t Jackson Fucking Mississippi; it’s New York and LA. We’ll focus on your highlight reel.”

The three-year representation contract had another six months left, and Madge knew that Connie Sue would be dumping her. Well, they’d both had a decent run.

She told the former president of Kappa Delta at Ole Miss, “Drive down to Sausalito; I have a tame interview set up with the editor of the Chronicle. And a school presentation.”

Connie Sue didn’t argue; Madge rarely asked her to make public appearances, and then only for a good reason.

“Your contact is the City Attorney, a gal named Marie Guidry. She has that little town pretty much sewn up.”

“Okay. I give the weather-girl stump speech and one interview. That’s it?”

“No, spend the weekend down there. Marie will show you around. Think human interest story — proud Cajuns, maintaining old-world traditions, mostly isolated from the rest of the state.”

“Madge! Did Franklin okay me for the news desk?”

“No. But he knows your contract is up soon. And he wants to keep you. Good luck with that, Frankie. But he’s gonna give you a few three-minute slots on Sunday morning. Nobody’s watching, but it’ll look good on your reel.”

“He still wanna fuck me?”

“Yeah, I told him he’d get to, but not until three spots have aired.”

Connie Sue nodded, “Fair enough. Do I take Lenny to Sausalito with me?”

“No, you’ll have to do your own video. But that’s fine — the main thing is to get you out of the fucking weather business.”

The two women eyed each other appreciatively. Noting appearance, attitude, confidence.

“Welcome to the grand metropolis of Sausalito, Mississippi. I’m Marie Guidry.”

Connie Sue held out her hand, grinned, “The power behind the throne.”

Marie laughed, “Madge must still be pretending she knows more than she does. Anyway, I’ll take you to John Lee Hooker; we can get that out of the way first thing. Then there’s the Chronicle interview with Shannon Trudeau. She’s the editor, and owner too. She’s a pro, won’t waste your time. Oh, she owns the local radio station — WZYD — probably a quick interview there.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Madge said you want to sop up some local color. I’ll tag-team you with my sister, Eulalie, this weekend.”

“Good. Appreciate the hospitality.”

“You’re a big deal down here, Connie Sue. Up in Jackson too, I would imagine.”

The would-be newsreader hefted her jugs and winked.

Marie thought: We’re gonna get along just fine. Two Ole Miss Alumnae, but living in two different worlds.

Just fine.

Marie did the intros, “Connie Sue Rivens, this is Harry Hebert. And her ninth-grade homeroom.”

Then Connie Sue turned, smiling, to the class and said, “I’m the local weather weenie on TV — here’s what I do.”

Marie took Connie Sue to the Chronicle office, made the introductions, and left them alone for the interview. Shannon would do a nice puff piece on the visit, but the slant of the front-page article would be how charming the TV personality found the town.

Over cheeseburgers, shoestring fries, and icy-cold Dixies at Contrary Mary’s, Marie said, “The Cajun Bayous are like nothing else in the state.”

“I’ve never been down there.”

“Eulalie will give you the guided tour. It’ll be sweaty, no air conditioners in most of the homes.”

“Madge told you what I’m hoping to get — a unique story, some decent video. It’ll run on dead-air Sunday morning, but it should be good for my audition reel.”

“Good. Then, you and I’ll meet up for dinner, and I’ll take you out on the town.”

Connie Sue grinned, “Lemme guess — Miss Kitty’s, the joint that changed the town.”

“The very one.”

One of the Cajun waitresses stopped by, “Excuse me, Miss Marie.”

Celeste had a typical Sausalito accent — part syrupy south like Connie Sue’s, but more Cajun French. Mangled syntax, made-up words that were nevertheless comprehensible.

Marie smiled up, “Yes?”

“Tee-Roof says he done forgot his wallet again. Should I serve him? It’s dinner and two beers, that’s his usual.”

“How much is he into us for?”

“Eighty-seven and change. Not counting today.”

“Yeah, go ahead. He’s been out of work; that Fisher building is on hold in all this heat.”

Celeste shuffled her feet a little.

“Anything else, hon?”

She glanced shyly at Connie Sue, “Is it okay to ask for an autograph?”

Marie thought: Ah, the real reason.

Connie Sue beamed, “Of course it is, sweetheart. I just happen to have a stack of my latest publicity stills with me. Let’s see... ‘Hi Celeste! Great to meet you.’”

Connie Sue winked at the girl as she held her pen, “Do you dance at Miss Kitty’s? I’ll mention that.”

“I wish! I’m 14, but my MeeMaw won’t let me get my ID from Mr. Charles for two more years.”

The girl felt the sudden need to explain about her mother, “She don’t care, I suck cock, no ma’am. I mean, everyone does that. But she don’t want all them men feeling me up, finger-fucking me in the BJ Room. Not ‘til after I have my Sweet 16.”

“I understand.”

Celeste nodded to herself, “An’ she mean it too, MeeMaw. Even when I tell her I split the $40. Plus tips. Half an’ half.” Celeste shrugged, “She’s ole-fashion, MeeMaw.”

Connie Sue struggled to keep a straight face, “Do you swallow, Celeste?”

The girl was agog at the question; then broke into giggles, “I ever come home, tell her I didn’t swallow one of the boys...” She shook her head at the absurdity of it all. “She beat my butt raw, MeeMaw.”

She bounced away, and the other two girls rushed over to see the autographed photo.

Marie said, “That should be the town motto — We swallow.”

“I’ll be sure to include it in my segment.”

Marie leaned forward, “I know that family. And MeeMaw, she’s all of 28 now, has a string of boyfriends. And she made sure her daughter practiced sucking cock on most of them. She figured it was preferable to getting pregnant.”

Connie Sue shrugged, “I was head cheerleader at Siwell Road Middle School. Then at Forest Hill High School. At Ole Miss, I was head cheerleader by my sophomore year.” Big grin, “I swallowed my share.”

Marie thought: Just fine, we’ll get along just fine.

Eulalie said, “Gosh, it must be ever so glamorous, being on TV.”

Connie Sue laughed, “You even watch television?”

Big grin, “Not much.”

“Thought so. Where are we heading?”

“First, you got to change. You’ll melt down here, once we leave the house.”

“I like this place. Secluded. Great views.”

“Marie bought it, well, had it built, as soon as she graduated law school” Grin, “I think some creative financing was involved with a banker she knew.”

“The best kind. Now what should we wear? I brought some shorts and tops.”

“Let’s see.”

As Connie Sue unpacked, Eulalie was shaking her head, “You got anything but granny panties?”

“Not on this trip.”

“Come to my room, I’ll fix you up.”

Eulalie stripped and Connie Sue thought: God, she’s just like her sister. Sexy as fuck. Maybe even worse than Marie. Or better.

Eulalie pulled on a neon green thong and said, “There.”

“That’s it?”

She tossed an unopened packet of new thongs from Amazon to the weather girl and said, “You can bring a top if you’d be more comfortable.”

“I would.”

As Connie Sue undressed, Eulalie studied her just as closely as she’d been examined. She grinned, “Looks like we go to the same stylist.”

Connie Sue glanced at herself in the mirror. Her boobs were always the first thing everyone noticed, but she was more proud of her delicate pussy. Especially after she’d seen how big some of her Kappa Delta sisters were. She smiled at the little girl, “I got my first Brazilian when I was in middle school. I was on the pageant circuit and god forbid some pussy hairs peeked out.”

“And you’ve been bald ever since?”

“Oh, I went back and forth, mainly depending on my mood. But my agent, Madge Hawthorne, had me go full Brazilian before my first screen test.”

She looked at Eulalie, “It sounds silly, hell it is silly, but Madge was right. I just felt sexier in front of the camera with a bald pussy. Still do.”

“If it works...”

“Madge tried to talk me into doing a sex tape. So she could leak it, but I told her to fuck off. It may come to that someday, but not yet.”

Connie Sue pulled on a pale yellow thong and raised an eyebrow.

“Perfect. Almost matches your skin. Sure you want a top?”

“Well, let’s take it along. What’s our first stop?”