Page 92 of Frankly, My Dear

“He timed it with a clock in my cabin,” Lily said with boastful mirth.

“And what were you doin’ whilst he was doin’ all that timin’ bizness?” Iris teased.

“I was measurin’ with a piece of string.” She pulled an outlandishly long string from her trouser pocket, and they all hooted with laughter.

“I think you and Jeremiah were doin’ a whole lot of wishin’, ’stead of timin’ and measurin’,” Iris remarked skeptically, looking at the twelve-inch length of twine.

“You know what I likes?” Hyacinth interjected suddenly, her big breasts wobbling as she stood enthusiastically. “I likes a man what talks sweet durin’ the lovemaking. Yep, I likes a talker.”

“Sweet talkin’ is all right, I s’pose, but give me a man what can talk dirty at the right time. Whoo-ee!” Verbena added, rolling her eyes heavenward.

“All I hears from your cabin is moanin’,” Hyacinth commented dryly.

“Moanin’ is good, too,” Verbena agreed, undaunted by the laughter.

Reba was soaking up all this good information like a sponge. No doubt, Fergus would be a happy fella again that night. Then the overseer’s wife made the mistake of offering her contribution. “Well, Selene knows about a book called The Perfect Fit that tells how a…a climax can go on for hours,” Reba volunteered, then blushed at being the center of attention.

All the women turned to Selene, mouths hanging open with amazement and, unfortunately, curiosity. Selene shot Reba a look of reproach, but Reba just ducked her head sheepishly.

Selene had no choice then but to try and describe, as best she could remember, what the world’s most wonderful sexual position was supposed to be.

“Lordy, how the couple able to walk the next mornin’?” Iris wanted to know when Selene completed her explanation.

“I don’t know, and, geez, I never said it worked. I just said I read about this somewhere.”

But no one was listening to Selene’s disclaimers. They were all making plans for their evening entertainments, and Selene feared she was going to be remembered at Bayou Noir for something other than her schoolroom lessons with E.T. or her aerobics exercises.

Selene entered the garçonnière apartment an hour later. Mrs. Baptiste was kneeling on her prie-dieu before a miniature shrine to the Blessed Virgin. Seeing her guest, the slim woman made a quick sign of the cross and stood. She motioned Selene toward a small settee before which a tea service had been laid.

While Selene added a pigload of sugar and cream to her tea, Mrs. Baptiste discreetly snuck a huge dollop of liquor into her cup from a nearby decanter. Her eyes caught Selene’s as she was putting the stopper back in the decanter.

“I did not always…indulge,” Mrs. Baptiste confessed, picking nervously at the weave in her violet patterned cambric morning gown.

“Oh, please, Mrs. Baptiste, don’t think I’m judging you. I’m the last person to throw stones about addictions, or any other weaknesses.”

Mrs. Baptiste smiled kindly. “I would like to talk to you about my need for…liquor. Your group therapy session today touched me so, but I could not bear to speak in front of the servants.”

Selene nodded, understanding her reticence completely.

Mrs. Baptiste fidgeted. Then, with a disgusted sigh of exasperation, she folded her fluttering hands in her lap. “James thinks I am a weak woman, but I am much, much stronger than he would ever guess. It’s just that there are things he does not know. That’s why I invited you here today.”

“No!” Selene stood abruptly. “It’s not right that you should tell me your secrets, and not James.”

“Why should it matter if you are going away?” Mrs. Baptiste asked with a sly, knowing expression on her face.

“You mean because of the Collinses coming on Sunday?”

“Non, that is not what I mean, chérie.”

It took only a moment for Selene to remember the lavender-gowned figure pausing outside the library that morning. With foreboding, she dropped back down to the settee. “You know?” she breathed, fear rippling over her skin.

“Oui, but I suspected for days. Your magazine is very…interesting.”

“You’ve seen my magazine, too? Oh, James is going to be furious.”

“James is not going to know,” Mrs. Baptiste said firmly. “This is our secret. I do not understand how you came to be here. I suspect you are the answer to my prayers to the Blessed Virgin.” Her eyes shifted pointedly to the shrine in the corner.

Selene felt like giggling hysterically. Geez! Now I’m the answer to a Southern lady’s prayers. Not a Southern gentleman’s, mind you, but a Southern lady’s. Oh, Lord.