Page 42 of Frankly, My Dear

“What?”

“I saw you counting all the children. Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘Sex is the poor man’s opera’?”

“My, my! Quite the philosopher, aren’t you? And what is sex to the rich man?”

“I wouldn’t know, not being rich. Probably his dessert.” A companionable silence thickened between them. “Speaking of food…” he finally said, motioning her to hold out her plate toward Jolie, the oldest of the Gastoneau children, a thirteen-year-old girl who moved with the body language of an oversexed Sharon Stone as she carried a cauldron and ladle toward them. Her fully developed breasts strained against the feedsack-style fabric of her dress, the nipples standing out through the thin cloth like two beacons flashing her availability.

Reba and Selene exchanged disgusted looks when the girl’s come-hither eyes lingered on James and Fergus as she served their food. Selene wondered uneasily if the Gastoneaus offered up their daughter, along with the food, for a few coins.

“No, thank you,” Selene said, declining the gumbo that Jolie offered her. It had a slimy texture due to the okra that was its main ingredient.

“That one, she is skinny-skinny,” Jolie remarked to James, as if Selene weren’t even there.

“Bless the Lord, there is some food she won’t eat. The South’s food supply is no longer in danger of extinction.” Even as he teased her, Selene could see that he was still deeply troubled, having difficulty accepting the reality of her time-travel.

Selene lifted her chin with a forced sniff, pretending wounded pride as she accepted a piece of fire-blackened cat-fish, some swamp chicken, and a helping of greens, accompanied by a thick slice of homemade bread slathered with fresh butter. At first she concentrated on her food, being ravenously hungry…as usual. When her stomach was finally full, she sipped a cup of the thick chicory coffee and watched the maneuverings of the girl, especially in front of James.

“Will the m’sieurs be staying for the fais-do-do tomorrow night?” the young girl asked. “The gentlemens will be coming from miles aroun’ for the joliment, I tell you.”

“Non,” James answered with a knowing smile. “I must return at once to my home.”

Jolie pouted prettily. “Don’t you like to dance with the pretty girls, m’sieur?” Before he had a chance to answer, she continued, “Me, I love to dance. I love to stay up late-late.”

Yeah, and I’ll bet there are some other things she loves to do, Selene thought.

Jolie turned to Fergus. “And you, m’sieur? Do you like to…dance?”

Before Fergus could answer, Reba jabbed him so hard in the ribs that he choked on his food.

Undaunted, Jolie leaned forward to pour James some more coffee and offer a second helping of dinner, while the gaping neckline of her dress exposed her bare skin practically down to her navel. She held his appreciative eyes for a telling moment before she straightened and tossed back her greasy blonde hair, in classic California-girl fashion.

Blonde hair! Lord, what was it about men and blondes?

Selene leaned over and took Reba’s fan from her hands. Then she flicked it open in front of her face. “Hey, James,” she said, trying to get his attention, which wasn’t easy since the little tart was bent over the cooking pot, providing a tantalizing view of her rear end. “James!” she snapped, and he finally turned to her with an infuriating grin.

Selene still held the fan in front of her face. Then, moving her head from side to side, keeping the fan immobile, she asked in a purring voice, “Do you know what this is, James darlin’?”

He looked at her as if she’d grown a horn between her eyeballs. “No. What is it?”

“A blonde fanning herself.”

It took several moments for the joke to register. When it did, his eyes immediately shifted to the blonde Lolita who was still casting her sultry eyes his way, flinging her hair over her shoulder.

“Why does Selene tell you these blonde-woman riddles all the time?” Fergus asked.

“Because she thinks I have a preference for blonde women.”

Fergus nodded. “You do.”

James shot him a condemning glare, and Fergus laughed.

“What did the blonde say when asked to spell Mississippi?” Selene continued.

James sipped his coffee, pretending not to hear her.

“Which one—the river or the state?”

Fergus guffawed and Reba giggled, but James ignored her, refusing even to look her way. Geez, the man was entirely too stoic. He hardly ever laughed or grinned.