Chapter Seven

 

Chapter Seven

A Few Days Later

Rosewyck Manor

Juniper Island, Canada

“...for the last three weeks, The Great Lover himself, Rudolph Valentino, has been on location in the English countryside, filming his new picture, 'Monsieur Beaucaire', for the Famous Players-Lasky studio...and our roving reporter has finally caught up with him...”

For the last half-hour or so, Odette Dufrense had been perched, in attractive repose, atop the brocade chaise of Her Mr. Jackson's office, the latest issue of Motion Picture Mania, spread across her lap.

From the Victrola on the opposite end of the room, an airy, tinkling piece of ragtime spilled.

Across the room, Michael Jackson presided behind his desk, diamond-tipped fountain pen in hand, writing in intervals onto a pad of pale blue paper, while fingering his way through what appeared to be a rather hefty book that had been splayed open.

Whatever he was transcribing, only he and God knew, for Odette's mind was far too occupied with other, pressing matters to let curiosity insert itself in that moment.

Her mind replaying the events of the previous Sunday evening, only four days ago...

Odette couldn't believe it.

She simply could not believe it: that Her Mr. Jackson, had, in an instant, laid his wayward, smut-minded nephew out with a tome of Greek poetry without a second's thought, after what he'd taken to be an insult not only to her, but her reputation, and to a lesser extent, his own.

Though she had tried, many, many times to erase the image of Dr. TJ Jackson, an unconscious, perspiring pile of flesh on the floor, surrounded by the tattered remnants of Homer's Iliad, she found it refused to leave from where it had seemingly become melded to her psyche forevermore.

His brother, Dr. Taryll, frantically trying to rouse him, loosening his tie, opening his shirt, slapping at his cool, clammy cheeks, while Dr. Taj had loomed, face drawn and pale, looking on with aggravation, teeth grinding audibly.

It was an expression, that had been repeated on Michael Jackson's ashen face, as he took hold of Odette's hand, leading her away.

Mumbling under his breath darkly,

“...TJ had no business in the first place, talking to a lady about obscene things such as Stag Films...he's lucky I didn't break his jaw clean off his skull...I just know Tito's going to call long distance to bawl me out for hitting his son and I don't have a damn to give...!”

Rather than returning to the Library where his nieces were clustered—the Classical music had been replaced a second time with Jazz, as it spilled recklessly from the front parlor—Michael proceeded into the dining room where Mavis had been carefully laying out handwritten place cards in the shape of a lamb, hinting at that night's main course, marking where each guest was to sit.

Without a word, he picked up the entire place setting marked Doctor Tito Joe Jackson—china, silverware, linen napkin and drink glasses—moving them to the very far end of the table. Completely separate from everyone else.

Odette was speechless.

Seeing that Mavis was staring at him with eyes of questioning, he pointed out the lone setting.

“Do not move this, Mavis. TJ's pissed me off! My nephew can eat at my table, but I don't want him anywhere near me!”

“Yes, Sir, Mr, Jackson!” Dark eyes were somber and her short hair bounced as Mavis nodded in accordance and deference.

Then Odette's hand was crushed in his and she was pulled in to the Library for another hour where Michael sat to himself in a chair, Odette at his feet on a low ottoman, with him smoking far too many cigarettes and watching his nieces perform the latest dances with each other, until dinner was finally announced by Gus.

Dinner had been quite the tense affair among the adults.

Odette already dreaded it, as she always took her dinner seated to Mr. Jackson's right at the formal dining table, rather than back in the kitchen with the rest of the help, an arrangement which did not change, despite quite a few members of the Jackson Family being present.

(If Michael Jackson was even attempting to conceal their relationship that night, he was doing a piss-poor job of it!)

And there was no way to avoid how Elsie would conspicuously glare at her, as she was forced to serve Odette, who was supposed to be her peer, not her superior, but couldn't say anything, lest she incur her employer's wrath again.

Though, TJ Jackson was the only target of Michael's wrath that cold night in February.

Everyone had come trickling in to the table, set lavishly with white chinaware, rimmed in thick bands of black and silver enamel, and crystal stemware, all glowing under the yellow cast of a few dozen candles, it was an elegant atmosphere for a family dinner.

The little girls entered first, in pairs, holding hands with each other, giggling churlishly at their own inside jokes. No true idea of the storm that was brewing right above their curly heads.

Lighthearted and smiling peacefully, one of the twin's mouth was bouncing as she'd snuck one last Deviled Egg.

Like father, like daughter.

Next came Dr. Taj, his handsome face still tight, transforming to feign happiness, as he sat to the left of his uncle, directly across from Odette, a chair between him and his twins.

Dr. Taryll was next, mopping sweat from his brow, cheeks flushed as he'd exerted himself quite a bit rousing his sibling and was seated beside Dr. Taj, leaving Cornelia and Jessilynn to be seated alongside Odette.

Odette noticed that as the girls reached their respective seats, lamb-shaped cards denoted that Jessilynn was to be between her and Cornelia.

That is,until a tiny, red-tipped hand switched the cards and Cornelia placed herself next to Odette, taking the time to grin up at her, before turning to her cousin and chattering away about an upcoming Geography exam. Perhaps that ball of fire wasn't all brat after all.

Last to slink in, stumbling unsteadily on his own two feet, was Dr. TJ Jackson.

While his brothers and uncle were all dressed smartly and neatly, with nary a hair out of place, he looked a veritable mess, his tie missing, his shirt unbuttoned and untucked, spilling messily around his suspenders, showing his undershirt. What appeared to be a small band-aid had been placed on his right pectoral, and peeked above the neckline of the undershirt.

There was a noticeable swelling where the bridge of his nose met his forehead—Michael had clearly tried to send that book through his head!

Seeing his place at the far end of the table, he managed only a weak “Michael?” before the master of the house was on his feet.

Eyes fixed on the pitiable excuse for his relative that evening.

Hands pressed to his slender hips, as Mavis and Elsie came out, one with a crystal bowl of Pickled Beets to start, the other with a basket of steaming Cloverleaf Rolls, Michael was scowling to the point it frightened Odette.

He appeared ready to leap clear over the table and go to work on his nephew further.

If he did, Odette only hoped one of the other men could stop and console him.

Instinctively, as TJ was seated nearest the swinging kitchen door, the two maids went to portioning out food, Mavis spooning beets into his salad bowl and Elsie placing a roll on the small saucer, Michael Jackson announced shrilly,

“Do not serve him!”

The room fell silent, all eyes darting between Michael and TJ.

The little girls were quiet for once, staring out at TJ, Cornelia smirking impishly, the other three showing worry.

Taryll and Taj were stone-faced and grim.

Tension seemed to smother the entire room, filling every nook and cranny.

A long finger indicated the isolated figure.

Michael's voice cut like a saber's blade.

“Tito Joe, you will not be permitted a single crumb, until you get up and apologize to Odette for your abhorrent behavior. You had no business opening your mouth to her in the first place! And then what you said—I can't even repeat it, because there's children here! It was rude, uncouth, vulgar and I'm ashamed of you for even daring to speak to a lady in such a fashion! Quit looking at me crooked and get your shiftless ass up!”

A white fist struck the tabletop and everyone seated jumped.

“Now, Tito Joe—now!”

Golden eyes narrowed lethally from the far end of the table, but TJ did comply, slowly rising to his feet. There were too many sharp knives on the table to risk backtalk that evening.

The room was at a standstill, as TJ wove around the two standing maids, Gus peeking from the kitchen his lined face one of stoicism, and made his advance towards Odette.

His eyes were on Michael as he reached the opposite end of the table and stood at the corner between his uncle and his uncle's maid.

His mouth a straight line of defiance.

The two regarded each other coldly a long while.

Odette could feel and hear her own heart beating in her ears.

TJ's gaze fell on the pretty young girl in the red and black dress.

Slender nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, and threw his shoulders back, preparing his performance.

He was a Jackson, scion of a family with roots in performing on Vadeville stages, globally.

“Allow me to offer my...apologies for...my behavior towards you earlier today, Odette...”

Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, that was for sure.

From the excessively saccharine tone of his voice, it was clear, he was only apologizing to appease his uncle; there wasn't even a hint of remorse to be found. TJ Jackson was far too arrogant and bawdy for such emotions.

She saw his gaze leave her face, drifting down to her bosom, though she drew no attention to it. The knives were still there.

“...I don't know what came over me...”

“Stupidity.”

That had come from Dr. Taryll, with him and Dr. Taj laughing outright, Dr. TJ balling fists at his sides, his teeth grinding with a dull crack. A terrible habit for an orthodontist, with him pushing on with the humiliating display.

Michael wanted to humiliate him and he was definitely doing so.

“...but I acted in a way unbefitting a man of my status and degree. I've brought shame not only onto myself, but my loved ones..I do hope you can forgive me for the...rude things I said to you, Odette...”

A hand fell on her shoulder in false comforting, and was flicked off immediately by a swing of Michael's. His dark eyes were so huge with repressed rage, Odette feared they'd pop out and roll along the tablecloth.

“...I've set a bad example...especially to my little girl...as to how a man should treat a lady...”

As this statement was made, Jessilynn Jackson rose suddenly, flounced over to Elsie, and plucked a roll from the basket she still held in withered hands. Completely unphased by her father's theatrics, the child bit into the bread, smacking quietly.

There was a look of “get on with it, Papa!” in her eyes.

No one else bothered to move; they were all too invested in this manufactured spectacle.

TJ's eyes finally left the two mounds under the silk and returned to Odette's face, indicating that he was done with the apology.

The only sound was of the fire in the hearth crackling.

A thick brow rose—he wanted a response from her.

Heart thudding, Odette glanced at Michael and found him staring flaming daggers at the back of his relative's head, with it clear his calm facade was being held together only by the fact his young nieces were present.

If no children had been there, only God knew what that man might have done in his fury.

“It's...” She swallowed hard and stared down at her hands, twirling in her lap. “...it's quite alright, Sir... mistakes happen.”

His lips curled slyly.

“Thank you.” A large hand petted the top of her head as one did a lap dog, and he was making his way back to his banished perch, snatching the roll from his child's hands and taking a larger bite, Jessilynn stomping the floor and pouting after him.

That was the last anyone heard of TJ Jackson that evening.

For the remainder of the meal, the conversation lobbed back and forth, covering topics of everything from what sermons had been preached at church, where in Louisiana Odette had come from, different business ventures Drs. Taj and Taryll were considering investing in, how the girls marks looked that grading period, and when they'd last spoken to their great-grandmother.

The little girls chattered amongst themselves; the twins trying to figure if they wanted to paint Michael in oils or watercolors, Cornelia considering sculpting a clay bust of her mother, and Jessilynn undecided on what, if anything, she'd submit for the Art Contest.

Dr. TJ was thoroughly excluded, his punishment for daring to disrespect Odette under his uncle's roof.

And Odette was bothered by the entire scene.

That TJ had effectively disappeared and his own blood were ignoring him.

Families were supposed to band together; not divide at the mildest inconvenience.

But what bothered her beyond the idea of a man of twenty-five being cut down and treated like a naughty toddler, thrown off into a corner, not to mention the goose-egg sized lump emerging in the middle of his face, was how his daughter, Jessilynn, took it.

Odette knew that, had this been her burden, if her uncle had assaulted her father, she'd have been terribly upset—inconsolable, perhaps in tears over such a display between family members.

But Jessilynn Jackson...appeared not to care at all.

She was relatively aloof throughout the meal, speaking softly with her cousins,gossiping about fellow classmates, speaking up to say she didn't like the mint jelly on her lamb chops ( which a greedy Theodosia scooped off for herself) and was peaceful.

Not once did she look towards her father, sulking as he dejectedly ate his meal in silence.

That inspired new concern in Odette.

Was...this a normal situation for Jessilynn to be in? This animosity between her father and great-uncle? Had she witnessed scenes like this so many times that it no longer caused anything within her to be stirred?

Covertly Odette had observed the child, at the moment, saying something about comedian Roscoe 'Fatty' Arbuckle and how she didn't think he killed anyone,let alone some 'cut-rate, wannabe actress like Virginia Rappe' and wondered if she knew her father had a woman on the side.

She recalled Taj saying that TJ had been seeing Mei-Ling for almost a year.

How long could one conceal an affair?

Was it possible to do so--

It was then Odette realized she was being stared at.

Not by the lascivious Dr. TJ, or any of the men.

Not even by that rueful Elsie, as she was slowly circling the table, a platter of steaming chops in her hands, offering seconds to whomever wanted them.

Rather, Cornelia Jackson seemed completely enthralled with Odette.

Through the meal, it seemed she couldn't extract her blue eyes from Odette's face, peering at her with the utmost in curiosity.

Several times, someone had had to call her name more than once, or snap fingers for her attention, as the little girl kept turning to look at the woman at her side.

Dressed so finely, yet called a maid.

A domestic servant, so to speak, yet looking like a lady of leisure.

It wasn't lost on Odette for a second that the child had her suspicions of what Michael was lacking to hide.

The child wasn't stupid. Far from it.

She was the worldly daughter of a wealthy doctor, a pupil at one of the finest private schools in all of Toronto, perhaps all of Canada, and seemed...advanced beyond her mere ten years.

If anyone at that table had an idea of what was going on, it was Cornelia Katherine Jackson...

And if a ten-year-old was speculating, leaning towards the truth, what was the rest of the family doing?

The entire town of Juniper Peak?

Odette had tried several times to go over the events of Mass, but each time she did, she emerged angrier than she ever thought possible, at how Michael Jackson had been treated as less than human.

Like a third-class citizen.

When he was clearly, the most upstanding, warm, compassionate gentleman to ever set foot on the Island.

Why, it turned her stomach!

Indeed, Odette Dufrense was a fish out of water.

Straddling the line of two entirely different worlds: supposedly as the servant of the wealthiest man on Juniper Island, but also his lover.

Was she still a maid, was she his girlfriend?

The blurring and outright erasure of this line perplexed and stressed her.

In public she was supposed to be an obedient servant, catering to Michael Jackson's every whim, answering him 'Sir' at every turn, but there were cracks emerging in the veneer.

Michael had her eat as his table, at his side. Had her follow him around the house to keep him company. Neglecting her duties of cooking and cleaning to listen to Victrola records by the hour and read movie and fashion magazines.

He had taken her to church, dressed her up in a fine dress from a fine store. Made no attempts to hide her from the prying eyes of the entire town.

She had been on his arm, had arrived riding shotgun in his coupe...not the servants' car...

It was all so confusing. Nothing made sense!

Would anything ever make sense anymore?

BRIIIIIIIIIIING!

On the desk, where Michael continued to write, the phone jangled loudly, startling Odette so, she nearly pitched her periodical across the room.

BRIIIIIIIIIIING!

Without a single skip to his scribbling with his right hand, Mr. Jackson picked up the receiver with his left and mashed it to his ear.

“Hello, Rosewyck Manor, Michael Jack—who, Julius?”

An arched brow raised, but he continued writing.

“Ondine, her name is Ondine, Julius. She's from Quebec! Yes, I know she's got an accent thicker than Black-Strap Molasses in winter—I've asked Taj several times to get a secretary who can speak English more clearly, but she's fluent in French, Spanish, Russian and Hungarian and helps him with communicating with some of his immigrant patients—what did she want?”

The fountain pen halted mid-word on the page.

“Today? He's bringing his twins here...today? And he's on the way, now?”

Michael stood straight up from his desk.

Although he were clean, by way of a hot bath that morning and smelling quite strongly of his signature Minuit cologne, he wore only a set of pajamas, a deep brown, printed over in a gold paisley print and his slippers; it was hardly the type of outfit one was accustomed to seeing Mr. Jackson wearing when hosting his family.

“Did...did Ondine say when he was going to leave?... Today was a half-day at St. Ignatius for the children?...”

Odette could hear the very gears in Her Mr. Jackson's mind whirling.

He was on the precipice of a social disaster!

Mr. Jackson usually welcomed any visitors to Rosewyck Manor, with hors d'oeuvres, speciality drinks and punches, and by the way his eyes had begun darting about the room, over her head, she could tell he was trying to figure out if he had enough time to get Gus to rustle up something before their arrival.

There should have been a good hour or so, at least. Time to drive from downtown Toronto to the marina and a forty-five minute ferry ride to The Island and a further drive out to the far-flung estate.

The pen fell from Michael's hand and bounced across the desktop.

“He left over two hours ago?”

The sentence was uttered in such a high register of disbelief, had Odette not be looking directly at Michael, she'd have sworn the words had been spoken by an upset woman.

“Yes....yes!” He was flagging for Odette who leapt up. “Thank you, Julius—goodbye!”

Large hands landed on slender shoulders with urgency.

“Odette, I need to you to run, positively run, down to the kitchen and tell Gus and them to make 'tea sandwiches'. It's the quickest thing he can make--”

Michael had been instructing this when he was drowned by a very familiar noise.

AAAH-OOGA! AAAH-OOGA!

“Goddamn it,that's Taj! I hate that horn—sounds like a goose in heat!”

Michael yelled through grit teeth, spinning Odette around and shoving her towards the doors.

As she staggered through them and down the steps along the left to run off through the dining room, Michael blitzed past her on the right, leaning into the front parlor, screaming something jumbled at Elsie about chamber music.

Then he was a blur, hurling himself through the vestibule and the front doors.

“Hi Uncle Michael!”

Odette crashed through the swinging door, scaring the hell out of Gus and Mavis, whom sat playing poker, a pile of penny candy between them.

“Gus!” She gasped doubling over and almost heaving,

“Mr. Jackson! Tea sandwiches! Dr. Taj and his daughters are here!”

“Aw, shit!” Gus declared as he and his wife threw their cards down, and were scrambling.

Gus darted to the back door, yelling for Chester, while Mavis was hauling her freight downstairs into the cellar.

“Odette, you get you a drink of water and try to settle down, before you pass out!” Gus was intoning, hand waving at her in caution, before he leaned out the door again,

“CHESTER MORTON! NEGRO, I KNOW YOU HEAR ME!”

“What?” Odette heard the chauffeur shout in the distance, running from the carriage house.

He appeared in the back doorway, breathless and wild-eyed.

“I need you to run into town right quick! To the grocer! And don't you dare stop to chat up Willa! I ain't got time to call over there! We need some bread, pimento cheese, scallions--”

“Odette!” A bony hand latched onto her thin wrist and she looked up into Elsie's pinched, frowning face.

“Mr. Jackson is calling for you.”

It was a simple statement but the amount of spite and hatred packed into those few words were enough to blow the entire house off it's foundation had someone lit a match.

Elsie was annoyed and Odette knew why.

(Elsie was always annoyed!)

While Elsie had been working, Odette hadn't done much of anything, but pretend to read a magazine while thinking worrisome thoughts.

But before Odette could dedicate her mind to the imbalance among the servants of Rosewyck, she became aware of the sound of arguing.

“...you're gonna paint Uncle Michael in the style of Mr. Clade Monet?”

She heard one of the twins sneering as she came through the dining room, finding the front hall empty.

“And just what is wrong with me wanting to paint like Mr. Monet, Teddie?”

Coming up to the open doors of the front parlor, classical music playing softly, she spied Thomasina and Theodosia Jackson, standing toe to toe in front of one of the divans, while their father and uncle stood nearer the hearth, warming themselves by the fire.

The girls matching in dresses of a green, peach and white abstract print, each holding sketchpads and a few pencils in each hand, were huffing at one another.

Tommie Jackson tossed her head, one of her thick, gleaming braids flying over her shoulder.

“We saw Mr. Monet's paintings when we were in France visiting Auntie Janet and Auntie Latoya! They looked lovely from far off but were a complete mess of random strokes up close! I've never been too fond of the Impressionist Movement. And you know the Sisters are going to look at our paintings up close when judging!”

“Well, just what The Devil do you plan to do?” Teddie Jackson fired back hotly, and Dr. Taj, still wearing his black overcoat and bowler spun.

“Theodosia, watch your language!” He admonished, waving a leather gloved finger.

“Papa! Tommie keeps twitting me!” One daughter pouted whilst the other smiled.

“Regardless, you don't use foul language, especially in front of your Uncle! You're a young lady!”

“It wasn't even a real swear, Papa!”

“Tommie, answer your sister before I lose my temper, please.” He was taking a drag off his cigarette in despair.

“I'm going to paint in the style of Mr. Peter Paul Rubens--”

Tommie had proudly been all teeth until her sister mocked, with a sharp snicker,

“You're gonna paint Uncle Michael naked and fat? All the Sisters will up and faint!”

“Uncle Michael ain't fat!” Tommie stamped a tiny foot in a leather boot.

“I'm not posing for a nude portrait, for anyone. Not for you,Thomasina, and not even for a Master painter, like Rubens!” Michael spoke up, his eyes shooting briefly to the figure in the grey dress, hovering, then back to the pair of children.

“I'm not asking you to! You're my uncle, ewwwww! I don't wanna see that! Ewwwww!” Thomasina gasped horrified, then got a dreamy look to her little face.

“Now if you were Rudolph Valentino or Ivor Novello--”

“Thomasina Regina!” Dr. Taj snapped, temper waning. “You're only ten-years-old! Stop that! You're not even supposed to think about men like that yet!”

“Oh, Papa!”

“Don't 'Oh Papa' me, child! You're to obey me and those types of thoughts are off-limits to you until after you're married! And I don't want to hear them even then! You're my daughter! Do you understand?”

He was scowling over the tops of his glasses at her, his mouth a tense line below his nose.

Tommie's head hung, “Yes, Sir, Papa...”

Teddie elbowed her sister lightly, goading,

“See...all that trouble for nothing and I'm still going to win the Art Contest!”

“Oh shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“Papa! Doggone-it!”

“Thomasina, goddamn it! Swear again, and see what happens! You're not too big for me to take over my knee!”

“You said a real swear, Papa!”

As the twins continued bickering, albeit at a lower volume, Dr. Taj holding each by a braid to keep them from laying hands upon one another, Michael swept across the room and around them to Odette.

Taking her by the arm he lead her further out into the front hall.

“Sweetness, I have a favor to ask of you. Taj still has to go buy a St. Valentine's Day gift for his wife and he was hoping you'd accompany him, to give him a lady's perspective and help him choose it.”

It was now Odette's turn to be horrified.

“But...but Michael...” She whispered, all but wrapping herself around one of his arms. “I don't know anything about picking jewelry! Especially for a woman I've never even met before!”

Odette Dufrense didn't know a single thing about Talia Jackson, other than she was Dr. Taj's wife and the mother of Tommie and Teddie Jackson.

She had never even seen a photograph of Mrs. Jackson!

“Don't you worry about that...” Michael was patting at her cheek, as if something of this magnitude was a normal request!

“Taj has an idea of what he'd like to get, he's narrowed it down. He just needs to fully decide. You can help with that. If not, I know he'll buy everything he's considering. He's done it before.”

He'd bought everything before? That line almost wiped out Odette completely.

Just what did everything entail? Dozens of items? Hundreds? More?

And all genuine stones and precious metals of the highest grade, as no Jackson would have bought or worn anything less than the absolute best of the best.

“Are you sure?” She was skeptical and squinted up at him, hoping that all of this wasn't a tremendous mistake in the making.

“I'm positive.” Michael was nodding, silken strands bouncing. “Besides it might do you good to get out for a while. You've been stuck in this house all week--”

“I like being stuck in the house...with you.” Odette admitted and was staring down at her feet sheepishly for making what she thought was a very flirty statement.

Warm lips impulsively pressed hers and Odette's knees buckled, Michael helping her a few feet over to the bench in the hall, where she was allowed to collapse.

And was kissed a second time, electricity flowing through her veins.

“Once you get your bearings, go change your dress. Taj will be waiting, okay? I envy you...” He was twirling a lock of her hair fondly, “...you get to go into The City for the afternoon and see nice things, while I get to keep my nieces from slaughtering each other!”

“Quit bothering me, Teddie!”

“You quit bothering me Tom—ow! Papa! Tommie pulled my hair!”

“If you don't both stop this nonsense this minute, I'll spank you! You're too old for spankings! Stop it now!Right now!”

Michael sighed and shook his head again.

“My nieces are good kids, but competitive as all Hell. All four of them are competitive, but that's the environment at the school. It's all a competition. To get the best grades, to get into the best college when they graduate, to wear the best clothes, have the best supplies, go on the best vacations... turns sweet girls into little vipers.”

A dark eye winked at Odette.

“Mighty funny considering it's Catholic school run by nuns, where they're supposed to be teaching modesty and demureness!”

He continued smiling as the small, warm, lightly perfumed hand grasped his and Odette leaned into his ear,

“Will...will we send ours to Saint Ignatius, also?” She whispered, her heart absolutely pounding at the very idea of having children, mothering children, for Michael Jackson.

That dark orb twitched at her a second time,

“Whatever you prefer, Odette.” He was nodding with conviction, “We can send them to the nuns at the appropriate age, or I can hire on a private tutor so they can take their schooling at home.”

As Odette was left gasping by the prospect that it was her own decision and that Her Mr. Jackson would support it, whatever she chose, she was pulled back onto her feet. What a lovely, endearing feeling it was.

“Now go on and change. Taj is still waiting, Dear.”

His hand had been on the small of her back, pushing, to hurry her along, but dropped, as Mavis, toting a silver platter loaded down with tea sandwiches, came rushing past them, with Gus following, carefully maneuvering a crystal bowl of punch to avoid painting the entire front hall red.

As Odette scurried, the last thing she heard was one of the Jackson Twins crying in dismay,

“No Deviled Eggs?”

Thirty minutes later, Odette Dufrense was again in a rush, scurrying from her bedchamber, out to the front hall.

While it had taken her no time at all to shed her grey uniform in favor of the simple, brown nautical-style frock, one of the very first ones she'd ever owned—and that had been hand selected by Dr. Taj Jackson way back in Fayette Parish—it was her last-minute decision to wear makeup that had damned her.

The young girl had had no trouble in applying her powder, rouge and even trickier cosmetics, such as the eye shadow, liner and cake mascara; it was the lipstick which had been her undoing.

The popular look of the day was that of the 'Bee-Stung' lips, using the thumb to create something of a heart shape on the lips in the center and then filling them out with a brush.

It was a technique Michael had used when applying her make up the first time and she'd seen Mavis repeat many times in any given day as she reapplied her lipstick.

And in spite of how each had made it look so effortless and easy to do, in reality, it had taken Odette a good seven tries before she looked like anything other than a deranged clown whom had escaped the circus by the mouth!

Now she was doing three things at once: running to apologize to Dr. Taj for keeping him waiting, trying to cinch up the black coat she'd worn to Mass that past Sunday, and trying to keep the coordinating, eccentric chapeau from flying off her head.

She skidded into the front hall, where she found the twins, apparently on good terms again, arm in arm going up the stairs.

“...I don't think we should paint Uncle Michael in his pajamas, Tommie, I...I think that's a bit too...relaxed for the Art Contest...”

“I was thinking the very same thing, Teddie! Perhaps a suit, something a bit more elegant. Uncle Michael always does dress up so well...Don't tell Papa, but I think Uncle Michael is the best-dressed man in the family!”

“...I know he has bolts of sample fabric in the back of his closet. Maybe we can wrap him in fabric, like a Roman tunic. That would be so artistic!...”

Doing up the last hook, Odette all but threw herself into the front parlor.

And found only Michael Jackson, nibbling at a sandwich with one hand and looking over one of his nieces' sketches of himself with the other.

“Where—did he leave without me?” Odette asked, breathless and stricken at the prospect Dr. Taj had grown tired of waiting on her.

“No...” Michael glanced up and smiled at her reassuringly, “...he got tired of listening to Teddie and Tommie arguing, he went out to his car. He didn't leave you...”

Swiftly he crossed to her and laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it.

“Quit fretting. Go enjoy yourself. You might even see something you might want for St. Valentine's Day.”

Her cheek was pecked and Odette fairly floated out the front door.

Dr. Taj Jackson had been seated inside of his coupe, the engine idling and reading a magazine when he noticed Odette coming down the front steps.

And he was instantly out the car, rounding it to open the passenger side door for her.

“Please forgive me, Dr. Jackson...” She was babbling as she reached him. “If I knew doing my makeup was going to set me back like this, I'd have never done it, Sir!”

Odette expected Dr. Taj Jackson to be upset, rude, mean to her in some way. Frown at her at the very least.

Grinning.

That's what Dr. Jackson was doing as he looked down upon her—grinning.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Odette. I figured you were 'putting your face on' as my wife calls it. We are going into The City, after all. You only wanted to look presentable. No harm, no foul. Please...”

A gloved hand indicated the dark leather interior of the Pierce-Arrow.

Feeling quite silly over the whole ordeal that wasn't actually an ordeal, Odette giggled and sank into the plush seat, the door being shut on her.

Dr. Jackson jogged back around and was slipping into the driver's seat, shifting gears.

As they glided down the lane towards the open gate, two figures caught Odette's eye.

One was Chester, wearing a Mackinaw coat and corduroy trousers and a cap, waiting to shut the gates after them.

The other, was a tall, languid, Colored woman, in a fawn coat, her face half hidden by a matching felt cloche, hanging on to Chester's arm, crimson lips parted in a smile.

And for the first time, Odette saw his sweetheart, Willa.

He had chosen a pretty one; Odette hoped they were happy, as they certainly did look it.

Both waved as the car slid by and out towards town.

Odette was peacefully quiet for most of the ride, firstly because she was admiring the lush interior of the vehicle, the rich, imported leather, gold-plated knobs and cranks and even the tiny heater that was keeping the interior warm, and secondly because she was grappling with her own mind.

She had a question that was burning her and she desperately wanted to ask Dr. Taj but couldn't come up with a polite and inconspicuous way in which to broach the topic.

Thankfully, as though sensing she wanted to speak, the friendly doctor's jaw loosened,

“I appreciate you tagging along, Odette. I'd much prefer your honest opinion over anything the 'yes-men' at the jewelry store would try to push me towards. They're more concerned with dollar signs and I'm more concerned about what will make my wife happy.”

He was so thoughtful.

“I hope I can be of some help to you...just I've never even been inside of a jewelry store in my life, much less bought anything genuine, Sir.” Odette shrugged and hated the feeling of stupidity washing over her.

She had never even bought anything fake for herself!

Eyes, smokey quartz in color, left the road for an instant to glance at her, Dr. Taj chuckling.

“You could have fooled me, Odette...”

“I don't know how, Sir--”

She never got to finish her statement as a large hand came down and gripped her wrist.

A sharp tug revealed her omnipresent bracelet.

“I noticed this at dinner on Sunday. Seven full carats of princess-cut diamonds set in platinum, correct?”

Again he looked to the young girl, now growing pale, her grey eyes consuming her little face.

“Answer me, Odette.”

She didn't know what to do! God she didn't know what do to do!

No one was supposed to see the bracelet, know of it's existence. It was to be hidden at all times...until the time was right.

And this wasn't yet the right time!

How Taj Jackson managed to keep his eyes off the road for such a sustained amount of time without driving his automobile up one of the many trees lining its perimeter was feat in and of itself.

His eyes, once warm and inviting, were now boring holes right through her, staring over the tops of his spectacles.

“Yes...” She whispered, suddenly feeling very naked.

“How did you know?”

No one was supposed to know!

“I overhead Uncle Michael on the telephone with the jeweler in his office one day. I was about to knock and bum a cigarette, when I heard him specifying the seven carats. Apparently all the ready-made models had less than that and he specifically wanted seven carats of diamonds...”

His eyes finally returned to the road, the main strip of Juniper Peak coming into view.

“I know seven is his lucky number. He's been saying that since I was a child.”

Slowly, Odette's wrist was released.

And Odette stared at the gems twinkling at her.

It never occurred to her that her gift had been custom-made, but it did make sense.

Michael Jackson surely wouldn't want any other woman to have the same piece of jewelry as his lover.

And that made her heart swell, the bracelet was even more dear and precious now.

“When I asked him about it, Michael claimed the bracelet was for Grandma, for St. Valentine's Day. I knew that was a blatant lie, because I already know what he's gotten for Grandma: a big, gaudy, gold-plated cage for her pet birds. I figured that bracelet was for you—and here it is, on your wrist.”

Odette's heart was close to beating right out of her chest and despite the very warm interior of that coupe, she was very, very cold.

The Pierce-Arrow whipped through the town's center so fast, everything was a solid blur. If anyone had dared to stop and stare, Odette didn't see.

She was staring into her lap, hands wringing wildly.

Speechless, she didn't know what to say or how to say it.

All she could think was how very upset and disappointed Michael was going to be with her. Their relationship was supposed to be a secret, kept under wraps.

Taj Jackson then fell silent and remained silent.

Until they reached the marina.

Where Taj handed off his prized automobile to a porter and taking Odette by the wrist, the same wrist featuring the bauble, was tugging her along to the ticket booth to pay their fare.

Once a pair of tickets were in his hand, he spoke, mutedly, so that only she heard him, as he ushered her towards the ferry, bobbing at the dock,

“I knew...from the moment I first saw you, that your final form wasn't to be a lowly domestic servant in my uncle's house.”

Startled by the revelation, her head shot up but she couldn't will a single sound from her mouth.

“My uncle is very visual, Odette. I mean, that when he has an idea about something, he can see it in his mind's eye. You see how he's got artwork around his house. All the colors and textiles. How he even has all of his suits made to his specifications, not what fashion may dictate. He had that crazy birdcage made for my grandmother—he drew it out by hand, himself. And for years, he's had an idea of what...the woman he'd end up with, would look like.”

They joined a line, about twenty deep, jostling to board the ferry for Mainland Canada.

“He always said this fantasy woman would be 'pale, with black hair and light eyes... foreign'... Almost like Snow White from The Brothers Grimm. Said that over and over from about the time I was ten...I'm twenty-nine now. You probably weren't even born then! And here you are, now. Of course, you had to be presented as a maid or some type of servant or you'd have never been able to leave The States. You wouldn't have been allowed out of Louisiana...it's against the law to transport women for...ahem, carnal means.”

Taj, still gripping her wrist, propelled her onto the ferry, it's foghorn blaring, and into one of the sitting areas to a bench in a far corner, away from the other riders.

She was plopped down, Taj nearly sitting on her.

“We all know, Odette...my brothers and myself, that is...we had all speculated about it, murmured amongst ourselves from the time we did your exam at Rosewyck...but it wasn't until Sunday dinner we knew...”

Grey eyes bulged in unchecked fright.

“You didn't look like a maid—to be honest, you never did, once you were all cleaned up and put into proper clothes—but Sunday cleared any doubts in our minds. You weren't in uniform. Had your hair down, had cosmetics on and a manicure. And smelled of expensive perfume. I know good perfume, I've bought plenty for my wife as she has expensive tastes and a nose for fragrance. And you sat with the family in the Library and at the dinner table with us. Never once did you lift a finger to work. You didn't look like a maid, you looked like the Lady of the House. And Uncle Michael clearly treats you as that, already.”

An engraved cigarette case appeared in his gloved hands and he took his time to pop a cancer stick into his mouth and set it alight.

Noting the look complete abjection on the oval face next to him, he laughed, smoke wafting from his nostrils.

“You needn't look so stricken, Odette. Knowing Michael, he probably wanted to be secretive with it all. And I suppose he is succeeding in a way, as Rosewyck is far off and most of the family doesn't yet know...but they will...”

A smoke ring was blown into the air and Taj squinted after it complacently.

“I doubt he'll be able to conceal it much longer. I could tell just how he looks at you, Odette. He gets this glow I've never seen before. He just looks happier. You bring him joy, and he needs that. And that's why he damn near flattened TJ for speaking out of turn to you. He already thinks of you in that special way...has put you on that pedestal...And I like it. I honestly do. I like you, Odette.”

Leaning her head against his shoulder, Odette was quietly crying and smiling at the same time.

“I...I like you too, Dr. Jackson...”

He was petting her knee politely.

“Call me Taj, we're friends. And you may very well be my aunt one day!”

Odette sniffled and was offered a handkerchief which she used to dab at damp eyes.

“Taj?”

“Yes?” He was blowing smoke rings in the air, nonchalantly.

“I...I have fifty dollars...do you suppose I'd be able to afford something for Michael for St. Valentine's Day?”

That was the most Odette had ever had in her possession in her entire life.

“Hmm...” Taj touched after his chin thoughtfully. “I'm sure something can be worked out at the jewelers. I'll talk to them for you...do you have anything in mind?”

“I know he's fond of wearing brooches with everything. Do you think he'd like something like that?” Odette shrugged as she'd never been able to buy a gift for someone before. The only gift she'd ever given was a fistful of wildflowers and thistles to her mother as a small child.

Before...

Taj Jackson nodded, leaning over Odette to toss the butt of his cigarette out the window and into the icy lake.

“I think he'd love that, Odette. Very much.”

Sometime Later

Dreyfus and Company

Toronto, Ontario, Canada

Odette Dufrense had never seen a store quite like Dreyfus and Company.

As the brown and tan coupe approached the building, one of the tallest on the skyline, Odette had assumed it was an office building; she'd read of so many like it in books and magazines. Places where robber barons had made their fortunes on the backs of impoverished minions.

It was an imposing skyscraper of limestone stretching upwards for at least fifteen stories and Odette didn't realize they'd reached their destination until a boy, close in age to herself and wearing a simple black suit had approached and greeted Taj Jackson, by title and name.

The car was again handed off into the trust of a valet, and Odette found herself, hand in hand with Taj Jackson, being led through a revolving door of wood and bronze.

And Odette was quite thankful to have been holding his hand, as the first floor, which seemed to be selling everything pertaining to housewares—furniture, stoves, ice boxes, framed paintings, chests of heirloom silverware—was packed with crowds of people.

Gathered around the counters lining each side of an endless expanse.

People roving from display to display. Some counting out varying amounts of money, children too young for school running here and yonder.

It was almost a town within a town in a way.

Odette was both awed and fascinated as Dr. Jackson led her past a wooden escalator heading up to the Retail Heavens and instead arrived at a bank of elevators, where an older Colored man, in a black suit and looking very dapper greeted him by name,

“Hello, Dr. Jackson, which floor would you like, Sir?”

Was Taj truly in there so often, to the point people knew him on sight?

“Ninth floor, please...”

“Ah...Jewelry...getting something for Mrs. Jackson, might I ask?”

“Yes...for Valentine's. How's Janine and the baby?”

“Oh, doing mighty well, Sir! Boy's getting bigger and bigger each day! I'll have Janine bring him by so you can see!”

Odette was silent, watching as a small arrow pointed out the floors as they ascended. She wondered how many times her Michael had had a conversation like this while spending his money.

To know the names and familial details of faceless elevator operators...

“Ninth Floor: Jewelry--” The man started as the doors slid open and stopped short.

Standing on the other side of the doors, as if anticipating their arrival was another man.

Rather short, about Odette's height, he was a mousy looking sort, with bright white hair sticking up all over, as though thrown in by a windstorm.

Like everyone else she'd seen thus far, this man wore a plain black suit, the only thing providing some variety was a striped tie. And even the tie was in muted shades of grey.

He wore glasses, but while Dr. Taj's were fashionable, round, Harold Lloyd-style tortoise shell frames, his were unadorned black and frankly square.

“Dr. Jackson, a pleasure to see you, Sir!” His voice was just as mousy, high-pitched and a bit rushed.

“Mr. Dreyfus, hello. It's nice to see you too.” Taj was shaking his hand as he and Odette stepped off.

“May I present Miss Odette Dufrense, a friend of my wife, Talia. She'll be helping me select the piece I choose for her.”

“Miss Dufrense, Mortimer Dreyfus, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ma'am, and welcome!” Her hand was being shook by the limpest grip she'd ever felt on a man and for a moment she wondered if Mr. Dreyfus were...'soft'.

He did verge a bit on the effeminate to her, but not quite so obviously as Armand had.

Were there degrees to effeminacy and masculinity?

“Nice to meet you, too...” Her words fell short as she fell into step behind the two men, Taj mentioning something about emeralds.

The ninth floor of Dreyfus and Company was indeed the Jewelry Department and Odette had never seen so many grand gems at one time in one place.

Aside from the glass-topped displays rimming the perimeters of the pale pink and grey striped papered room, backed by stylish, attractive female clerks in black frocks, many with their hair in complimentary bob variants, there were stand-alone displays dotting the center of the floor, showing watches, bracelets, rings, earrings...veritable treasure chests as far as the eye could see.

Gems twinkling and sparkling.

It astounded Odette that all of these gems even existed in one place...where had they come from? Whom had mined them? And there were still more to pluck from the Earth's crust!

They were lead to a display in a far corner, where one of the clerks set out a tray, featuring six emerald and diamond rings, each more ostentatious than the last. The emeralds were obscenely large, larger than any Odette thought could exist and judging by the five figure price tags attached, Dr. Jackson was spending a small fortune on his wife.

Were all the Jackson women, that mysterious hazy not quite real circle of femmes treated as such?

Spoiled beyond compare and given jewels by the sackful on a whim?

She recalled how Michael had said his nephew was apt to buy everything, if she weren't to intervene and help him choose just one item.

Indeed, as Odette had kept Mr. Jackson's bedroom and office tidy, she had seen pictures of women, Colored women whom she took to be his three sisters, all well dressed in the finest clothing with copious, but not vulgar amounts of jewelry adoring their sleek, slender figures. There were photographs of the matriarch, Katherine as well, but her tastes appeared more modest, perhaps a set of dangling earrings or her ever-present plain gold band of a wedding ring. Understated, but still showing signs she was a woman of wealth and status.

Once she and Michael were finally public with their relationship, perhaps married, she would also rise to the level of these fabled, beautiful creatures.

Odette watched as Taj plucked a ring, showing a huge, marquise-shaped emerald rimmed by a double line of pave diamond baguettes in platinum from the display.

“I do like this one...” He mused more to himself than Odette or Mr. Dreyfus, “but...”

He lifted a second impressive ring, an oval-cut emerald, also in platinum, a long baguette diamond on each side.

“...this is also exquisite.”

He turned to Odette. “Which do you like best?”

“Um...” She was uncertain. “Does...Talia like such obvious affects--”

The glasses titled and Dr. Jackson was blinking at her in that teasing, coquettish way, and she had her unspoken answer.

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Dreyfus?”

A hulking, heavy-set man, in what looked to be a cream version of a policeman's uniform was striding towards them.

“Yes, Mr. Wright?” Mr. Dreyfus had been polishing a third ring, an emerald ringed by blue sapphires, but stopped, his cheerful face growing serious.

“Sir, I hate to bother you, while you're with elite customers, but we just caught a dame shoplifting down in the Ladies' Clothing Department. Had about thirty silk scarves tucked into her coat and a few places I can't mention in polite company....”

He nodded at Odette.

“Oh dear!” The ring was replaced, with Mr. Dreyfus excusing himself apologetically. “I won't be but a moment, Dr. Jackson! Please, you and Miss Dufrense continue browsing and if you don't see something you want, feel free to ask any of the girls here for help.”

Mr. Dreyfus all but sprinted away.

Odette shook her head. She had never stolen anything in her life other than the errant roll of stale bread from one of the bakeries back in Toulouse Parish, and she'd only done that because she'd been desperate and dizzy with hunger.

She'd have never had the nerve to attempt stealing anything like a silk scarf, let alone thirty of them!

In the silence of the show room, a soft click attracted Odette's attention.

Dr. Jackson was holding his cigarette case open and Odette stared at him, alarmed that he would dare to smoke in such a prestigious establishment, even if he were an 'elite customer'. (And God only knew how much money one had to plunk down to achieve that ranking!)

But instead of taking one of the cigarettes held in place by a sterling spring loaded clip, she watched as Taj slid a gloved finger over the opposite side, which for the first time, Odette noticed was inscribed,

Happy Birthday My Love, Talia. August 4, 1922

The fine case had been a gift from his wife!

Finger gliding, it was revealed that the inscribed was a moving panel and beneath it, a photograph.

Odette leaned closer, captivated.

There was a small, hand-tinted portrait, showing a woman, peering over one bare shoulder in a come-hither manner.

Her hair, a lovely deep auburn, was waved and brushed out forming something of a red halo around her head, not messy as the puff on Julius Abernathy's head, but a more stylized, purposeful version. Her coiffure was organized chaos.

Talia had large, inquisitive amber colored eyes under the barest of brows and a tiny, flaming mouth.

Talia Jackson was very attractive...befitting a man like Taj Jackson.

A bit more showy while he was understated.

Just barely, through her massive thatch of hair, Odette could make out nearly obscene diamond earrings dangling.

“This is my beautiful little Belgian...” Taj snickered impishly, proudly. “You can't see it, but she's wearing an eight-carat diamond wedding ring. She likes big rings, big everything...ahem...and well...I indulge her.”

The off-color joke went over Odette's head and to a degree, Taj Jackson was grateful it had fallen flat.

Odette looked from the photo, back to the display of rings, where a clerk was busying herself polishing the wood and glass with a rag.

She glanced over the emeralds on offer and a different ring, one which Dr. Taj had seemingly overlooked, jumped out at her.

There was a deep, hunter green, Asscher-cut emerald, surrounded by two fans of baguette diamonds.

Timidly, a pink-tipped finger pointed it out.

The sleepy eyes on Taj Jackson widened.

“Oh...!” He took the time to remove one of his leather gloves and snatched it up. “I''ll be damned! This is just the thing! Oh, Odette—Talia will love this! Thank you!”

Odette found herself in Dr. Taj's strong arms, being twirled and felt him pecking her cheek.

Turning to the smiling clerk, he asked,

“Tell me about this, please...”

“Yes, Sir! That is a six and a half carat Brazilian emerald surrounded by three carats of diamonds...”

As Dr. Taj took to heckling about the price, which was in the neighborhood of about eleven thousand dollars, Canadian, Odette took to wandering around, enjoying the sight of so many gems and being allowed the privilege of being in the same room as them.

And it was nice, how the other clerks smiled politely at her.

It was just wonderful being treated nicely and like she belonged.

Not being looked down upon or ignored like she wasn't even a human being.

As she passed yet another case, the clerk, a woman in her middle thirties, with dark hair cut into a Dutch Boy bob, called out to her,

“Is there anything in particular I could interest you in, Ma'am?”

“Um...yes...” Odette glanced back hesitantly at Dr. Jackson. He'd obviously selected the ring, as he was now looking at bolts of colored paper in which to gift wrap it.

“I'm looking for a brooch. The gentleman I'm buying for is very fond of them—he wears them frequently...”

Odette couldn't figure a time when she hadn't seen Michael Jackson affixing some form of jeweled bauble to his shirtfront, or vest or lapel.

It was the final little 'ta-da' that set his outfits apart from everyone else's.

“Do you have a preference? Silver, gold, or platinum?”

The woman was drawing out several velvet-lined boxes for closer inspection, each one holding about a dozen pins, in varying shapes and sizes and showing a litany of different gems.

Emeralds, rubies, diamonds, sapphires....other stones she'd never seen before.

“I'm...I'm not sure...” Odette whispered as one of the price tags, attached to a pin of black enamel, laden with princess-cut diamonds caught her eye and she inhaled deeply.

Fifty-five hundred dollars.

And there she was with only fifty dollars to her name!

“What are you up to over here?” Dr. Jackson was suddenly there, slinging an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her to him.

“Ah, looking for something for Michael, I see.” He pointed out the axiomatic and was tilting his specs for a closer look at the wares.

“Do...do you see anything he might like?” Her words were fainter now, the fear that she was far in over her head a blinding reality and probably couldn't afford anything but the rags the shopgirls were tidying up with.

“That's up to you, Odette. It's gift from you to him. What do you think?”

Odette Dufrense stagnated for a long, timorous moment.

This was the very first time in her scant life she'd ever chosen a gift, for anyone, much less her very own sweetheart. Why, it was the first gift she'd ever selected for any man; and for a man like Michael Jackson, so refined, debonair, so wondrous to a girl like herself, Odette wanted to make sure it was both fitting a man of his stature—even more elevated and pompous in Odette's imagination—and to convey her deep, boundless affection for him.

The steely eyes slowly went over the brooches presented, taking each in, her mind trying to imagine how each would look attached to the lapel of one of his many, many bespoke suits.

She wanted to find him something beautiful, timeless, that he'd be proud to wear each time he held it in his hands.

That'd he think of her fondly each time he looked upon it.

And that's when she saw it.

Her eyes widened, her breath stalled.

A frankly large pin, it may have been too large for a lesser man, but not Michael Jackson.

It was a round pin, in the center of which was a clear, frosted stone in a heart-shape, surrounded by alternating red and clear stones, also faceted down into hearts. If there was ever a piece of jewelry crafted for the Day of Love, it was this.

Weakly, she pointed at it and heard Taj give a soft gasp beside her.

“Tell us about this, please...it's very nice...” He encouraged and the clerk was all teeth as she plucked it from it's mount.

“This is a piece from the exclusive House of Orsini based in Rome. The center stone, is a carved, frosted rock crystal quartz of close to six carats, ringed in a further two carats of alternating diamonds and Burmese rubies, each one heart-shaped. It's all set in twenty-karat white gold....”

As the clerk was speaking and grinning, mildly flirting and charming Dr. Taj Jackson in an attempt to secure the sale, Odette, saw the tag dangling from it and drew in a fearsome breath.

The brooch was eighty-five hundred dollars, far more than the fifty dollars she had rolled up in her coat pocket.

Again she looked to Dr. Taj, her blood pressure spiking as he'd taken the brooch from the clerk and was eyeing it more closely.

“This really is a fine specimen...” He was commenting with a nod as he held it up to the lights, watching it shimmer.

His eyes fell to the stricken, blanching face.

“She'll take it. Wrap it it please, its a gift.”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Taj--”Odette started and had his hand around her bicep pulling her out of the clerk's earshot. “I don't have--”

“How much do you have?”

“Fifty dollars—I told you that!” Odette was breathless with a creeping worry she'd never make it out of Dreyfus and Company with that bauble, unless she were being escorted by an officer for theft. Unless the laws of arithmetic had changed, fifty dollars did not add up to over eight thousand!

Irritatingly, her nose was booped with the doctor turning back to the clerk,

“Miss, I know that Mr. Dreyfus, senior, is indisposed at the moment, but may I speak to Mr. Dreyfus, junior, please?”

Odette's ears perked up.

“Yes, sir, I'll run fetch him.” The dark haired woman nodded before beckoning the other clerk to finish the process of wrapping the brooch.

“What are you doing?” Odette was yanking on his coattails.

“Handling things for you, Odette.” Dr. Taj nodded and then spoke a sentence that sent shock

waves through her.

“You're a Jackson Lady now...”

Odette stared up at him in questioning. She didn't know how, but she could feel that things were suddenly different between her and Michael's nephew. And they would never be the same again.

Her attachment to his uncle had given her an invisible upgrade.

“Dr. Jackson, hello, Sir!

“Hello Morty!”

A second, younger mousy looking man, perhaps thirty or so came rushing forward, his hand out as he greeted Taj.

Mortimer Dreyfus, junior, was his father all over again, voice and all. Only difference was his wild hair was an nondescript brown instead of white.

“Carla said you wanted to speak with me? How may I be of service?”

“Well, you see, this is Miss Odette Dufrense, a dear friend of my uncle Michael--”

At the mention of Michael's name, Morty Dreyfus was instantly, kowtowing and kissing the back of her little hand.

“A pleasure, Miss Dufrense; any friend of Mr. Michael Jackson is a friend of mine!”

Or Michael Jackson's money.

“You see,” Taj was explaining, moving forward and putting an arm around the young Dreyfus' shoulders, like they were pals.

“Miss Dufrense has come to select a St. Valentine's Day gift for my uncle and she's a tiny bit short.”

Short was the understatement of the century! And the century wasn't even a quarter passed yet!

“Now the piece she chose is eighty-five hundred but she only has fifty on her. Is it possible for me to pay the rest--”

“Taj!” Odette gasped alarmed he was going to pony up the rest of the exorbitant price.

“Odette, please...” He was flagging at her in impatience.

“Of course, Dr. Jackson.” Morty was beaming and suggested, “...shall we go to my office? We can settle things up in there....”

“But Taj...” Odette repeated and was rebuffed by Taj putting a finger to his little pursed lips, then walking off with the younger Mr. Dreyfus.

Leaving her speechless and dry-mouthed.

Odette Dufrense stood on the sidewalk outside of Dreyfus and Company, snow blowing in flurries around her.

Holding the gift-wrapped box in her little hands.

The box containing the expensive ruby, diamond and rock crystal pin for Michael Jackson.

It was hers, soon to be his, paid in full.

All eighty-five hundred dollars.

She clutched it to her chest, her heart beating wildly, as she'd never held anything so expensive in all her days.

She sincerely hoped Michael liked it...loved it.

AAAH-OOGA!

A horn honked obnoxiously, causing a few passers-by to turn their heads at the sleek two-toned coupe pulling up to the curb, Dr. Jackson leaning to open the door for her from the inside.

As Odette slipped in, she was informed,

“Sorry, I took so long getting the car, I telephoned Michael to let him know we took a bit longer at the Jewelers than I expected. He told me to take you to dinner, cause it'll be far too late by the time I get you back to his house and you need to eat something.”

Odette stared at the doctor as he merged with the traffic, smiling blissfully ahead, like he hadn't just spent tens of thousands of dollars...on only two pieces of jewelry.

“Uncle Michael says he took you to The Morgana and you seemed to like it, so I'll take you over there. They've got a table waiting for us. Oh, I also called Talia and let her know where I was at. She's over at Cecelia's having her hair done. Takes a while, she has it dyed red with henna every two weeks, without fail.”

Finding Odette gazing at him, seemingly in shock at the news his wife wasn't a natural redhead, Taj Jackson chuckled,

“Talia's a brunette, something close to the color of our daughter's hair...but one day she decided she wanted red hair, and red she's got it. I think it's cause she read Anne of Green Gables to our girls and liked the idea of Anne Shirley's red hair—even though Anne hates her red hair! That wife of mine... Talia's always reading something and getting ideas... ”

“Is...is this normal, Taj?” Odette wondered hushedly, turning the box, wrapped in shiny red paper and topped with a dancing silver bow.

“Well, yeah. Talia's used henna for the last three or four years. When she first went red, they used some kind of strong dye and it almost scalped her, henna's more gentle. Arabs, I think, use it to draw on their bodies, maybe Muslims--”

“No.” Odette was shaking her head. “I mean, is it normal to spend like this? For jewelry like this? You...you didn't even bat an eye at the price tags.”

Pink lips pursed as Taj pondered his next statement carefully.

“My family has worked incredibly hard to be where they are today, Odette. My father and aunts and uncles all worked their childhoods away on Vaudeville stages, earning their fortune to provide for the family. There were ten kids! That's a lot of mouths to feed on a steel mill worker's pay in Indiana. A Colored steel mill worker. Pops was about ten or so when Grandpa started putting him onstage and as more kids came along , they went up too. All ten... Started with my Auntie Rebbie, who's the oldest. Singing, dancing, playing instruments, doing monologues. Everyone did something. Then they started marrying and having kids...left show business. Started investing money they earned in other businesses and other ventures. Real estate, land, my aunts run salons and dress shops in New York state and over in Europe...My generation came along, me, my brothers, cousins, went on to the best schools, colleges and universities in Europe. Most of us were raised over there between, England, France, Belgium. Even went to war fighting for Europe. Most everyone over twenty, twenty-one has been to college. Got me and my brothers we're doctors. A few cousins in the States are attorneys, a few doctors down there too. One is trying to be a scientist. First he tried to work with electricity, then he tried working with chemicals. He's already blown all the windows out his house—twice. There's a lot of talent in our family, Odette. Most can sing, dance and play instruments. But intelligence is the most important thing, almost more than the money. You have to be intelligent to make and keep money. It may seen extravagant or frivolous, buying jewelry and cars and things...but after a life of hard work, you want to reward yourself. I can give my wife and daughters anything they like, and I do.”

He glanced at the slight figure beside him.

“And my uncle is going to shower you with the same, Odette. He knows your life has been hard. No one's life should be as hard as yours has been. You don't know...” Taj was shaking his head, trying to calm himself with a deep breath, his voice cracking with newfound emotion, “...how profoundly your plight has affected my uncle. He's...cried...several times about you, Odette. What you must have gone through at the Orphan Asylum...”

Odette was staring ahead, stunned. That was the only true way to describe how she felt.

Michael Jackson had...shed tears about her? What she'd endured for the greater part of her life?

Taj was still speaking, his voice low, tone somber, now.

“When we saw the bruises...all those bruises. He wanted to kill that Lenoir woman. For what she'd done to you. I...I had to talk him out of it. Every so often he mentions it and I still have to talk him down from chartering a plane back to Louisiana to go after her. It'd take too long to travel by train or car. And if he did do something foolish, he'd be liable to lose the ability to reenter The States if he managed to avoid the electric chair. He'd need a plane to get away—and he can't get one, because no one will charter one to a Colored man. And while my Uncle can do a lot of things, piloting a plane is not one of them!”

The head topped by the stylish bowler shook a second time,

“You shouldn't have been beaten. No child should be. I've never raised a hand to my daughters, none of us believe in it. Grandpa...was a strict man with my father and uncles, let me put it that way...and they didn't repeat his tactics with their own children.”

In the distance, against the dusk of nightfall, the neon sign to The Morgana lit and began flashing. Beckoning them.

A gloved hand patted after her knee through her coat.

“My uncle cares a great deal about you, Odette. Loves you. That's how I knew that maid ruse wasn't going to last for long. He was already having a fit from the moment he first laid eyes on you, to...to make you his sweetheart. You were worried about how much things cost just now. You'll never have to worry about a price tag ever again, once my uncle is able to be free with you. Public... just...” Taj groaned and sucked on his teeth.

“I'm not blind to what goes on in Juniper Peak. I see how the people look at him. How they stare. How they're...scared of him in a way. People treat the rest of us the same way too. Cause of the name, our wealth...everything. While some is true, most is rumor and gossip. And you're about to be lumped into that, soon. Odette. Michael told me you were quite upset with Mass last Sunday. How you were set apart and everything at the church. I'm hoping...maybe...”

He was peeking at her, his eyes shining.

“...maybe you'll be able to change that for him. He doesn't want to live in The City like my brothers and our families, but I do often worry about him out on that damn island. But at least my families and my brother's families sit where we please at Mass. And aren't banished to a Crow's Nest. I am happy he has you, Odette. He needed you. He needed someone to share his life with and love. He's been alone on that island for so long. Too long. And he has you...”

Much like his uncle, Taj reached and cupped her chin in his hand.

“I'm so glad he has you, Odette.”

Tears of happiness were flowing down her cheeks and dampening his glove.

Packed.

That was the only, accurate, truthful way to describe the interior of the main dining room of The Morgana Steakhouse that evening—packed.

Every available seat was occupied and the lobby of the popular establishment was standing room only, with parties of varying sizes all jockeying and jostling as each table was being claimed as soon as the previous patron's dishes had been cleared.

The softly dim, rosy space was warm and a trifle noisy, as in the absence of Mr. Michael Jackson—and his never-ending tips—the band in the center of the room was again serenading all with ears with raucous, tumbling Jazz pieces. Which Odette didn't mind, as she had come to appreciate the chaotic scattered rhythms, that seemed to compel a few of the braver diners out onto the floor to fling their bodies about in strange, and forbidden dances.

Instead of being placed in the far corner of the room, this evening Odette had a ringside seat, as Dr. Taj Jackson had requested his usual table.

At that particular moment, thought, her escort was missing in action; seeing he'd left his precious cigarette case in his coat and needing a nicotine fix in the form of rare blends of Turkish tobacco and had thrown himself into the fray, to try to swim back to the coat check girl.

Odette sat quietly, absently running the tip of her finger around her water glass producing a dull tone.

She was disturbed, she did feel so out of place that evening.

Around her, everyone was dressed in their best evening wear, tuxedos, top hats, canes, furs, diamonds and luxe fabrics of every sort.

And then there was Odette, wearing her simple brown frock.

The only jewelry on her, that dear, seven carat bracelet.

But she couldn't ignore that she was severely under dressed for such a grandiose place and desperately wished she could snap her fingers and be wearing the gown she'd worn when dining with Her Mr. Jackson.

Several times, whilst Taj has been gone, a few of those stiff-necked, overblown waiters had come by, trying to take her order.

And that compounded Odette's grief, as she had no idea how to order anything in a restaurant. It did bother her to see women around her, of her own generation but from vastly difference circumstances, hardly batting an eye at the menu, written in French, which she did understand.

Picking up one of the pair of menus on the table, she regarded it.

While she could understand that listed before her were offerings of soups, salads, poultry, fish, beef, sides and desserts, it was the variety of preparations that were beyond her grasp.

What was Coq au Vin? Confit de Canard? Boeuf Bourguignon? It was all Greek—ahem, French—to her.

She knew it was food, as waiters kept flowing around her, steaming silver platters held above their heads valiantly.

And she was growing hungry, but for fear of looking greedy, hadn't touched the basket of complimentary rolls, though they steamed and smelled heavenly.

Again she looked to the door, hoping to catch sight of Dr. Jackson, that inscribed silver case in hand, striding towards her, so that they may order.

“Pardon—Mademoiselle Dufrense?”

Odette turned, and was surprised to see one of those platter holding beings at her side.

“Why, yes?”

“Dr. Jackson is still detained in the lobby, but he ordered the first course for you—Vichyssoise—a chilled leek and potato soup, ma'am”

As he spoke, the waiter was placing a pair of bowls onto the tabletop each bearing a thick, faintly green liquid inside, a few rings of scallion and cubes of toasted bread bobbing in it.

“Would you care for a drink, ma'am? We have a wine list--”

“May...may I have Coca-Cola, please?” Odette questioned and noted one of the man's eyes twitched in aggravation.

“Yes, ma'am...I'll get that right out to you.”

And he was gone, slick head gliding across the room.

Picking up a spoon, she was so famished, Odette turned to seek out Taj again.

And paused.

Near the archway leading into the dining room, her eyes caught a figure.

A tall gentleman, in a resplendent tuxedo and tails, who bore himself erectly, proudly. A frankly handsome Colored gentleman, already swaying to the music, as he politely removed his top hat indoors, handing it off to someone unseen.

Revealing a head of wild, curly, unrestrained hair.

The spoon splashed off into the bowl with a light tink.

Standing at the room's edge, grinning broadly, was Dr. TJ Jackson!

Odette was silent, her stomach dropping, watching as he offered his arm out to someone.

All of her breath sucked in at once, all the noise and revelry around her dampening down to a muffle.

A woman, a few inches shorter than him, quite slim, wore a heavily beaded, yet diaphanous dress of silver and jet. Straight, ebony hair had been swept into a chignon at the base of a long, slender neck, the only bit loose was a heavy, blunt fringe, stopping just above pencil-thin brows.

Brows over dark, slanted eyes.

The woman hanging onto Dr. TJ Jackson's arm, and falling into step behind the maitre 'd leading them their table, was not his wife!

This was not Lorena Jackson.

No...no...

It was the young Chinese woman Odette had spied on that street corner on a night, not so long ago.

Mei-Ling Zhang!

In spite of herself, Odette Dufrense was staring. Watching as the couple, this lewd twosome, were hugged to one another, smiling, giggling, exchanging little pecks here and there.

Very much affectionate in the sight of God and all.

Odette wasn't stupid, she knew there were men who 'stepped out' on their wives, leaving the little missus at home to tend the children, but Odette had always assumed such meetings went out in secret.

In dark alleys or far out the way locales, not easily accessed by the mainstream.

Hidden away from the public eye.

Affairs were meant to be hidden—when they happened at all;

Not in front of people, some of the best people of Toronto Society.

Not so openly, so brashly, so...untethered and unbothered.

Yet, there they were, passing within ten feet of Odette herself. So closely, she could see the conspicuous collection of diamond bracelets, at least six on each wrist, glittering, competing with the gems dangling out her ears, and the sparkler on her right ring finger.

Did TJ buy all of that for her? And not his wife?

The lascivious pair were seated at a table somewhat catty-corner to her own, so that they were close to the dance floor and orchestra, still spinning wild Jazz melodies.

The two chairs had been facing each other across the table, but Dr. TJ quickly remedied that, dragging his chair around so he was right beside Mei-Ling whispering something to her that made her giggle into her hand, showing long, almost plebeian, scarlet nails with almond-shaped tips.

“I'm going to have to talk to Henri about that girl he's got checking. Seemed like it took her forever to find my coat. I watched her put a tag with my name on it. Should have been easy to locate. Foolishness! Highly unprofessional—oh, good, the soup's here!”

Taj Jackson was muttering to himself as he brushed around Odette and took his seat across from her, laying the silver case on the linen tablecloth.

He continued to speak at her, as he sprinkled salt into his soup, whirled his spoon in it soundlessly, and started to his mouth.

“I don't know if you've ever had veal, but I put in the order for it while I was stuck out front. Hope you don't mind it medium...”

He found that his uncle's lover wasn't looking at him, but past him. Grey eyes fixated elsewhere.

“I see you've spotted my brother and his girlfriend.”

Those eyes darted back at him and widened, full of emotion.

“Oh, Taj...” She dropped her voice, feeling it was almost sinful to even talk about it. “... I never expected to see him out with her...not like this...in public! Why, he's....he's married! He should be with his wife—not That Woman!”

Taj sniffed loudly and shook his head derisively,

“Well, that's TJ for you: he's never been one to do what's expected of him. Why do you think he's a dentist? Because everyone expected him to go to medical school like Taryll and myself and he went to dental school just to buck the trend. Taryll's and my wives are European—for the love of God we were born and raised in Europe and lived there till The War! TJ went all the way to South America—Peru—and came back with a wife. We don't even know anyone in Peru! It's like he threw a dart at a map and set his cap to go there! We say black, he says white, we say up, he says down. TJ has lived his entire life being contrary. He was even a damn breech birth for Mother!”

A fingertip tapped at her bowl.

“Eat your soup, Odette...it won't get cold, but eat some of it before the entrees come out.”

Obediently, a spoonful went into that plump, reddened mouth and Odette did like it.

This soup, Vichyssoise, was a delicious blend of potatoes, leeks and onion, spiced relatively well, and was dense and creamy.

And it was almost startling to eat a chilled soup. It was quite refreshing and she felt very worldly eating her starter in such a way.

She consumed a few more bites, trying to collect her thoughts, as the waiter appeared long enough to place a chalice of soda with ice cubes floating in it beside her bowl and a glass of red wine beside Taj's.

“Do...do you all just...ignore, TJ's infidelities?”

“Yes, or I'd be beating his ass all day, every day.”

Half the glass was drained in one gulp.

The spectacles were tipped, Taj glaring over them at her.

“Do you think Mei-Ling is his only one?”

Odette was breathless.

“You mean, there's more--”

“Of course, there's more Odette! There's always been more! Mei-Ling is his favorite...for now, anyway.”

Wine glass still in hand, Taj turned in his seat to observe his sibling, now laughing as Mei-Ling was popping cherry tomatoes from his starter salad into his mouth.

“He's always had at least three at any given time. Its a good thing he's wealthy and his other mistresses are independently wealthy themselves, cause what he doesn't spend on Lorena and Jessilynn, he spends on her. Mei-Ling, isn't wealthy, not like TJ, but is doing alright cause of her family's restaurant in Chinatown—and the opium den they run out the basement they think no one knows about. He's set her up in an apartment in the ritzy part of town. Got her a car, a Cadillac, and its purple. It's like that fool is pointing a goddamn floodlight on her!”

The other half of the glass disappeared and Taj turned back to his rapt, saucer-eyed young guest.

“Why do you think Pops went back to Europe? He could have stayed here in Canada. He does have a house here; he stays in it come Christmastime. He's angry at TJ. Angry about what he's doing to his wife and daughter. Parading around with different women...”

Taj trailed off, as the waiter, steaming tray above his head arrived and began laying out plates before them.

“I apologize for the delay, Dr. Jackson, we're quite backed up in the kitchen tonight...”

“It's alright.” Taj was gruffly waving his hand nonchalantly.

“Here you are, Veal Bordelaise , Pommes de Gratin, and Embeurree de Chou. Bon Apetit!

Odette saw a plate of tender medallions of veal in rich, maroon sauce, rounds of potato in a white sauce and a mound of braised cabbage—in no sauce. It was another grand, elegant meal.

“Merci—another glass of Burgundy, si'l vous plait.”

“Oui, Sir!”

Silence fell between the pair and briefly the only sound to be heard was the silverware scraping across fine china.

Staring down at the piece of beef she was chasing around the plate with her fork, Odette wondered, worried,

“Will...Michael also have a mistress?”

“No. You needn't worry about that. He loves you, and only you, Odette.” Taj interjected with conviction. “Michael Jackson doesn't run around.”

Well, that lifted a weight from little shoulders and unaware, Odette sat up straighter.

Watching as Taj chewed after cabbage thoughtfully, dabbing at the corners of his mouth, Odette was beset with worries again,

“I...I really hope I can be a good girlfriend to him...a wife one day...”

“You will be. You're beautiful, kind, and I'm sure when the time comes, will give him children. You're a bit on the young side—he's twenty-five years older than you—but I know he wants children. Wants to be a father, Odette. He always says he'll be incomplete as a man unless he's a father.”

Reaching across the table, she took hold of one of Taj's slightly rough, warm hands.

“What is it like? To....to be a Jackson Lady, as you say?”

Taj Jackson was one of the men that made these women possible. At least the ones not born into the name.

“You'll want for nothing, Odette. Anything you desire, Uncle Michael will provide it for you. We've already discussed seeing to it that you finish your studies as they got interrupted so long ago. You'll probably be taught piano—everyone in the family plays—or any other instrument you'd like. You'll have all the clothes, dresses, shoes, blouses skirts...everything. Uncle Michael has an eye for fashion and you will be the best-dressed woman in any room...”

Blushing Odette sank in her seat. Michael did seem to get great joy from picking out clothing for her and dressing her like a life-sized doll.

“You'll travel, of course. To the States to the see the family there and Grandma, and abroad. Uncle Michael loves to travel. Um...”

Odette was surprised as Taj gripped her hand pulling her forward, dropping his voice to be heard over the din of the bustling cafe.

“You'll forgive my asking, Odette, as this is a bit embarrassing for me to ask...” His voice was at a whisper. “...but have you been... ahem... intimate...with Michael, yet?”

“Oh!”She gasped, and tried to loosen her hand from his, found he wouldn't let go.

Why were his eyes, magnified ten-fold by the lenses of his glasses, so intense?

“Not...not entirely...” She mumbled, shame gnawing at her and causing her heart to clap in her chest. Her mind started to replay the events of that night when she and Michael had been alone and she shook her head until her hair flew around her.

Now was not the time or place to reminisce!

“We...I mean... Michael..he...oh...” She was babbling unable to say what she wanted.

“I understand you're modest, Odette, and that's a pleasant virtue...” With his free hand, Taj forked the potatoes into his mouth. “...but you must understand I'm looking at this with the clinical eyes of a physician. I'm not trying to be rude or pry. I want the best for you, and that includes your health. I just mentioned children. You have to be healthy yourself to bear healthy babies. For all intents and purposes I am your doctor, Odette...we must speak plainly.”

She was yanked forward again.

“I repeat, have you been intimate with Michael?”

“Not entirely--”

“What all does that 'not entirely' entail?”

The pretty face across the table grew red as a tomato and Odette hissed through clenched teeth,

“I can't tell you that in a goddamn public place, Taj!”

As she said this, Taj reached out with a free hand and caught the coattail of an unarmed waiter slithering by.

“Are all of the private rooms occupied?” Dr. Jackson asked curtly and for the first time released Odette's hand.

“Non, Monsieur--”

A ten dollar bill appeared under the waiter's long nose.

“Will this rent me one for a few minutes? I'm trying to have a private conversation.”

A white gloved hand plucked the note and tucking it into his jacket, the waiter was beckoning.

“Come on!” Odette was effectively yanked out of her seat.

Odette found herself being half-carried and half-dragged after Dr. Taj Jackson, himself keeping a fast pace after the waiter as they wove in and around tables, a few people recognizing him and calling to him but going unheard, as they were led from the main dining hall, through an ornate swinging door, and up a curling staircase Odette hadn't known even existed until that moment.

Another ornate door was unlocked and she found herself, indeed,in a private dining room.

A small table had been set for four, the same rosy color scheme following into the room.

“Merci...” Taj was shutting the door and turning, pointed out a chair, “Sit, Odette.”

“I don't want to!” A small foot stomped, as overwhelmed, the young girl clung to any scraps of control she had left in a situation far out of her little hands.

“You have to answer me, Odette.” He leaned against the door, blocking the only exit, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“No, I don't, Taj--”

“I am your doctor! I have to know your medical history! All of it! That includes your...your sexual history! Look, Odette...”

He came forward and laid heavy hands on her shoulders, speaking to the top of her head.

“You're partially my responsibility, and have been since the day I met you. You're my uncle's girlfriend. You're going to be expected to do things--”

Odette tried to pull away, uncomfortable with the whole topic but was held in place, painfully.

“Listen to me! You're nineteen, damn near White and free. You're an adult woman, no matter how sheltered you were in the middle of Bumblefuck, Louisiana. You're dating a man, an adult man who has it in his mind to one day make you his bride, do you understand me, Victoire?”

At the mention of her real first name, her head came up and she stared at him queerly.

“He wants children, Odette, and in order to produce them, you have to have intercourse with him. Are you a virgin, or has any other man touched you?”

“No one has ever touched me...only Michael.” She sneered up at him and for the first time felt a distaste for Taj Jackson.

“Downstairs, you said you hadn't been intimate with Michael, not completely. What did you do?”

“Let go of me!”She began to struggle, and instantly he let go of her shoulders, his hand tangling in her hair, yanking, not hard enough to hurt her but enough to gain her attention.

“What did you do, damn it!”

“It was something....it had a strange name. A word I'd never heard before! Fe....fe....fela--”

“Fellatio?” Taj supplied with knowing, unraveling his hand. “And that's all you did? He...he...”

Now Dr. Jackson was turning red himself.

“He didn't penetrate you—did he?”

“Penetrate?” Odette repeated and he went from red to purple.

Growing flustered, Dr. Taj turned his back to her, digging a heel into the inlaid wood flooring.

“Yes!—by God don't you know how sex works!—did he penetrate you with his....his....manhood?”

“No!” Odette, finally sank into a chair, legs failing her. “You mean that has to go into my...?”

“Yes!” Dr. Jackson was nodding, rubbing a hand along the back of his thick neck as he turned back to her. “I needed to know...cause whenever that does happen, I'll have to keep an eye on you, in case you become pregnant. Look, I'm sorry, Odette. I know you're probably feeling some kind of way about how I went about this, but... I had to know. Valentine's is coming. Things happen on Valentine's. How do you think I got my twins? Their birthday is November fifteenth. Nine months and a day after Valentine's! One was born 12:03 am and the other was born at 12:09.”

He was clutching at her hand.

“Uncle Michael is very important to me, Odette. He's like another father to me, especially since Pops and Mother are abroad. We're very close and have always been since I was a child. He's only fifteen years older than me. Like a big brother. I'm just looking out for him and his interests too. I like you, Odette. You're a nice, sweet girl, just the type for Uncle Michael, but I want you to know what you're getting into. What's expected of you. Not trying to scare you or worry you...just letting you know.”

“Thank...thank you, Taj.” Odette hung her head. “All of this is still so new to me. I'm lost half the time.”

“You've got a friend in me, Odette. Don't ever forget that.” Taj assured her and was petting the top of her hand. “And you can count Talia as a friend, too. She's very interested in meeting you. But we're waiting until Uncle Michael announces you to the family first. You can talk to Talia about things like this. I keep forgetting a lady would prefer to discuss things like this with other ladies. Talia could be a doctor herself she knows so much, but she likes being a socialite more. You will too. ”

“Do...do you really think I'll fit in?”Her chest fluttering, Odette wrapped herself around his arm. Odette Dufrense, socialite did have a wondrous ring to it.

“I do.” Taj was beaming at her, an expression she mirrored back to him.

“Now, let's get back to our table. I think I want a second helping of that veal!”

“Okay...” Still clinging to him, Odette was led back out into the hall. “May I have another Coke--”

“Tariano Adaryll Jackson, Junior!”

A voice addressed Dr. Jackson by his full government name.

Turning, both saw TJ Jackson, emerging from a private room further down the hall.

And it was clear he had been up to no good.

The last Odette had seen of him, he'd been fully dressed in a tuxedo.

Gone were both his jacket, shirt and bow tie, with him wearing only his white undershirt.

And there were a streak of lipstick in the very shade Mei-Ling Zhang had been wearing.

The streak started from his left cheek, and went down, through the five o'clock shadow he constantly had, down his neck and off onto his chest.

That close to him, Odette saw the swelling that had been in the center of his face had gone away, leaving it to it's usual attractive lines.

“Taj Jackson...you old devil you!” TJ snorted as he neared them. “Never in my life did I ever expect to see you stepping out with Odette!”

Odette felt every muscle in Taj's arm tense up.

“How the hell did you ever manage to get her out from under Uncle Michael!” TJ had the actual nerve to reach and pinch her cheek while continuing to roast his sibling. “I honestly thought any moment Michael was alone with his little Southern Belle, he was thumping her like a bunny. I could go for some of that 'Southern Hospitality' myself--”

BOP!

And TJ Jackson was staggering, having taken a quick right jab, via his brother, to the jaw.

While he was trying to regain his footing, Taj hissed over his hanging curly head, through his teeth.

“If you really think so lowly of me, your own flesh and blood, to believe I'd betray our uncle like that, you really do need every last tooth in your head knocked clean out your ass--”

As the last word left his mouth, a brown fist struck his clefted chin sending his eyeglasses into the air.

“Oh my God!” Odette gasped and managed to catch them and was shoved clear and back against the wall.

But while TJ had had his ankles loosened by the blow he'd received, Taj Jackson didn't move.

He absorbed the punch as if it were merely a tap.

His body may have been placid, but his eyes showed his ire, wide at TJ who only half a second after the strike realized he'd made a dire error and was going pale.

“Tito Joe, you better get on your knees right now, how I assume your concubine was doing for you a while ago, and thank God we're in a public place or I'd knock the Black off you for pulling this stunt! But I don't feel like going to jail again and I don't feel like sending you to the hospital again, cause then Taryll will have to get out of bed to come patch your dumb ass up!”

Tossing his head, Taj extended his hand,

“My glasses, please!”

Hand shaking, Odette placed them on his palm and took his time to put them back on his face.

TJ Jackson was fairly radiating with anger, and took a step forward in menacing, fists clenched at his sides.

“I wish the fuck you would. Give me a reason! Give me one, good reason!”

Taj goaded, same hand coming up, and scooting Odette behind him, leaving her frightened the two were about to jam on each other.

They were brothers!

“TJ!”

Down the hall, Mei-Ling was peeking out cautiously.

“Your other woman is calling you...” Taj taunted, pointing. “Wouldn't want to keep her waiting...”

He started to walk away, pulling Odette in tow, then stopped and looked back.

“It's not so much that you have another woman, TJ... just you lack gentlemanly discretion. You make a fool of your wife and child in front of everyone. And for what...”

He glanced at Mei-Ling, whom had stepped out into the hall holding after the top of her dress, which had been torn in haste.

“For a cheap romp? You sicken me!”

With that he was hauling an aghast Odette away.

“Yeah? Well, you sicken me, too, Taj! Doctor Taj Jackson, the Goddamn Golden Boy of the Jackson Family! Just the thought of you makes me want to fucking vomit!”

TJ shouted after him, his voice fading as the door to the hall shut after them, and Odette's ears were once again filled with wild Jazz.

As she was set back at the table, Taj hailing the waiter for more veal, her head felt fuzzy and it troubled her.

Was this what it was to be like, to one day become a member of the Jacksons of Canada?

Not so much trouble with Michael, but his nephews!

TJ Jackson seemed at odds with everyone, his uncle, his brothers...God only knew how he and Lorena interacted on a daily basis. If TJ even saw his spouse on a daily basis.

What also worried her, was his seeming attraction to her.

His interest was undeniable, and he had no qualms of openly flirting at her, not only in front of Taj, but Mei-Ling!

Were material things like an apartment, a car, jewels, really enough to make a woman look the other way? Already knowing she was the other woman in a string of them? Watching him try to tie on another one in front of her own sloe eyes?

And what about Lorena? Why did she allow such behavior from her husband?

How could she?

There were so many questions! So, very many, unanswered questions.

She stared across at Taj, explaining to the waiter he wanted his second-helping cooked to medium-rare.

Odette wanted to ask Taj Jackson all these questions and more, but simply couldn't.

She was simply too bewildered to utter a single word.