Page 2 of Lulu’s Recipe for Cajun Sass

He had a point there.

Just then, while Tee-John was making an exaggerated show of turning her car around in the parking lot—it didn’t have power steering—old man Boudreaux came out of the store with a broom and proceeded to sweep the sidewalk, which was already clean. Another nosy posy! He waved at her, and she waved back.

“Holy crawfish! Don’t tell me, that’s another one of your beaux from days gone by. Leon Boudreaux is ninety if he’s a day, and he’s lookin’ at you like you’re the cream in his café au lait.”

She smacked him on the arm. “No, I never dated Leon, but I did almost marry his brother Justin before he went up north to do his doctoring.”

“Really? I saw his obit in the Times-Picayune last week. A big-time brain surgeon in Chicago, I think it said. Never married.”

When he glanced her way, she imagined that his eyebrows, behind the dark glasses, were raised in question.

She just shrugged.

“Almost married? Holy sac-au-lait! How many marriage proposals have you had, auntie?”

“Seventeen,” she answered, without hesitation. “Seventeen serious ones. I doan count all those phony baloney ones where the dumb clucks thought they could get the key to my bedroom with a wink and a pinch.”

Tee-John blinked at her. It was always a pleasure to Louise when she could shock her wild nephew.

But then he exclaimed, “Seventeen!”

“What? Why are you so surprised? I’ve lived a long life.”

“That’s for sure,” he muttered under his breath, then asked, “When was your last proposal?”

“Two weeks ago. Leroy Hamm begged me to marry him, but he’s lookin’ fer someone to spring him out of the Happy Hours Nursing Home.”

Tee-John shook his head, not sure if she was joshing him or not. “I always figured it was your famous dead fiancé that turned you into a spinster, but now I’m wonderin’. This Justin Boudreaux…is he the reason why you never married? Or maybe one of those other seventeen men?”

“None of yer beeswax,” she said.

If he only knew!

* * *

When you need advice, go to the opinion goddess…

Mary Lou had just been seated in The Mudbug, the new Houma restaurant located on the ground floor of a restored Victorian mansion, hardly having time to check out her surroundings, when her great-aunt arrived. She watched with amusement as the old lady walked across the dining area, wobbling on high-heeled, wedge sandals toward their booth. Her colors shouted va-va-voom.

The small half-circle banquette Mary Lou had chosen was in an alcove at the far side, following the curve of a corner window that overlooked a back courtyard with a fountain and outdoor seating, not yet open to the public. Practically every table or booth the old lady passed had someone calling out for her to stop and chat, usually accompanied by a hug. Many of them, especially the older ones, had used her services as a traiteur, or folk healer, over the years.

Or maybe people just wanted to get a closer look at Tante Lulu’s outrageous get-up of the day. You never knew what color her hair would be, what kind of make-up she would be experimenting with this week (can anyone say twenty shades of Maybelline eye shadow?), or whether her clothing came from Frederick’s of the Bayou or the children’s section of Wal-Mart—to fit her tiny frame, which seemed to be shrinking by the year, if not the day, bless her heart.

Today she was in blonde mode, a cross between Pamela Anderson and Betty White. Ironically, as over-the-top as her appearance might be to the young crowd, more than one old guy gave her great-aunt a second, and third look, sometimes even a wink.

Kudos to her!

To tell the truth, Mary Lou’s very own mother Charmaine was a younger…well, fortyish…clone of Tante Lulu. Charmaine had once self-proclaimed herself in a magazine article, to Mary Lou’s pre-teen humiliation, as a “bimbo with a brain.” Which was an apt description. Charmaine LeDeux Lanier didn’t open a dozen beauty salons and spas on her outrageous looks alone.

Therefore, kudos to her mother, too!

Unfortunately, the apple fell far from my tree, Mary Lou thought, looking down at her faded skinny jeans and sleeveless white blouse. Mary Lou had to think for a moment to recall whether she’d put on any make-up at all this morning, or not. She often forgot as she went about her chores on the ranch, taking care of the horses, or even on the Tulane campus when she rushed to her pre-vet classes.

Yes, she decided, she had put on a little mascara and lip gloss, but her long, chestnut hair was pulled off her face into a simple ponytail. Nothing bimbo or outrageous about her at all. In fact…boring!

She winced at the significance of that last word and felt tears well in her eyes. That’s exactly how Derek, her longtime boyfriend, had described her…boring…when he’d broken up with her last week.

Immediately, Mary Lou stiffened and willed herself to smile, not wanting to alarm her aunt. She needed to ease into the reason why she’d requested this meeting with the lady known as the Ann Landers of the Bayou.