September 2008
Shakespeare wrote: "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."
When I first met her, she was Blanche, Blanche Rousseau. I assumed she was somewhat of a recluse spinster caring for her elderly bedridden father. At least that was the consensus of most of my neighbors.
I lived in the house directly across the street from Blanche. I found out later that it was encumbered upon by lien after lien.
Although bedridden at the time of his death, Mr. Rousseau was a mean, abusive bastard. Before his wife died, Mr. Rousseau was a very successful businessman. His family wanted for nothing and he gave his wife and daughters everything, including himself. The Rousseau's were a well-liked and respected family. Mr. Rousseau was a Deacon in his Church. The family attended Mass every Sunday.
After his wife's death, Benedict Rousseau denounced his faith. Alcohol became his sacrament ...then, his damnation.
I moved there after he was bedridden and knew of him by reputation only.
Never married, Blanche was promised the house after he died. Sadly, for all intent and purposes, Blanche was left with nothing for all her sacrifices.
This sweet, passive lady had no formal education beyond high school. Blanche worked part time on weekends delivering the local penny saver to get spending money.
Although Blanche was left the house in her father's will. Everything else was left to her younger sister, Clarette. Clarette and her latest boyfriend removed everything of value from the house. They even took Blanche's bed and dresser. They dumped Blanche's meager clothing to the floor, trampling them as they carried the furniture out. . They backed a rented moving van up to the house while we were at the wake. Blanche and I were the only attendees. Clarette never attended her father's wake or funeral.
I lived next door to Blanche for almost a year and never talked to her until the night when....................
I was washing 2 weeks accumulation of dirty dishes when the doorbell rang. I answered the back door off of the kitchen and saw Blanche standing there. It was obvious that she had been crying. Blanche's eyes were red and puffy. I invited her in and sat her down at the kitchen table.
"May I get you something Miss Rousseau? Coffee, tea... water, perhaps?" Blanche was sitting with her face in her hands, not answering. "Are you ill? Did something happen?"
Miss Rousseau, Blanche.... I called her Blanche then. I called her Blanche when I hired her as my live in housekeeper/maid. I changed her name when she became my submissive lover.
"My father died this morning." Blanche said hoarsely. She started coughing, trying to clear her throat. I brought her a glass of ice water and made her sip it slowly. Then I put the teakettle on to boil. Chamomile tea with honey and lemon would be just the thing to sooth her raw throat.
When the tea was ready, I brought her a cup and sat down across from her with mine. I put my hand on top of hers.
"Take a deep breath and sip your tea. Good, take your time and calm yourself." It was obvious that Blanche was hoarse from crying.
I held her hand while we sipped our tea, neither of us saying anything.
Although a bachelor, I am a man who enjoys looking at women. My first passion is for fishing. My occupation, I build custom fishing rods for a living. I am a stickler for details, striving for perfection. I specialize in split bamboo.
My prices for bamboo start ay $2500.00 per rod. I build no more then 25 rods a year. I require a 75% deposit upon placing an order and the average waiting time per bamboo rod is two years. I also will fabricate oak & leather hard carrying cases for any of my rods to the purchaser's preference.
As we sipped our tea I studied her, taking in the smallest details.
Blanche's face is heart shaped with a nice little turned up nose. She has a marvelous creamy completion with dimples in her cheeks. Miss Rousseau has full generous, inviting lips. And when she smiles... certainly not then, and not often at first.... but now.... often, sunlight, warm and inviting...lighting my life.
Dark brown eyes, little puppy dog eyes with such long eyelashes and perfect, precious little ears.
Blanche was five foot-five inches tall. A slim petite woman, no more then 110 pounds if that. Her figure was perfect for her small frame, round full breasts and a cute little round ass. I believe the correct terminology is that Blanche has a small frame. Blanche had small graceful hands. Beautiful hands with long fingers, the type of beautiful hands one sees in advertising for hand cream. As I was holding her hand, I was thinking a shame that she bites her fingernails.
This is in to way a put down, especially when taking into consideration her circumstances. Blanche's clothing although clean was threadbare, possibly second hand. It appeared she no real sense of style, so unlike Laura my friend David's wife, or Samantha.
Blanche wore glasses. The frames of her eyeglasses made of black plastic. They were broken at the bridge, then amateurishly glued back together They were too large and the wrong style for her pretty heart shaped face.
Blanche was not wearing them that night. They were hanging from her neck on a rhinestone eyeglass cord that was missing three stones.
The only jewelry of any quality that I could see was a fine 1.5 mm diamond cut sterling silver rope chain. Blanche's mother's platinum wedding band was hanging on that chain. As well as her birthright, a flawless, blood red 3- carat heart cut ruby. The ruby was mounted in a solitaire platinum ring and was nestled between her pert breasts next to the wedding band.
Blanche had her father convinced that he pawned them while on a drunken binge. Blanche later confided with me that she hid them from her father so that he couldn't pawn them.
"Mom promised me the ruby before she died, Adam The ruby was always to go to the eldest daughter." Mom inherited the ruby from Grandma, who in turn, inherited from her mother. This is a tradition from mother to daughter for as long as anyone can remember."
As I sat with Blanche, I remembered that it was her hair that I noticed when I first moved here. I saw Blanche from a distance riding her bicycle to work. Her hair was pure silver white in a thick solitary braid down her back, as it was styled now.
At first, I assumed she was an older woman, perhaps in her sixties with a wonderful figure and graceful movements. Although shabbily dressed, and wearing black frame glasses on a rhinestone cord.
I was intrigued with that old woman, or so I thought her old at first glance. As I said, I am a man who enjoys looking at women; therefore I watched for her return.
And return she did; "Curious & Curiouser" said Alice (she was so much surprised). This popped into my head when I saw Blanche's youthful face. I was much surprised and pleasantly so.
I contemplated, why in the world of all things did that thought pop into my head just then? Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll...what nonsense I am thinking. On the other hand, I would love to Tweedle Dee her little twat, and then, Tweedle Dum her little bum. Now that's more like it! Honest male carnal lust. I walked back into my house grinning like the "Cheshire Cat."
Blanche was the first to speak "I don't know what to do. I could tell from her expression that she was starting to cry. My sister won't help me and Clarette is demanding..."
"Slowdown." I interrupted, gently squeezing her hand. "Start from the beginning, Blanche.... may I call you Blanche, Miss Rousseau? Blanche wiped her tears with her hand, and nodded, yes. "My name is Adam and I will help you anyway I can."
We called the county coroner. Afterwards her father was taken to a funeral home for a one-day viewing.
Fortunately we were able to bury her father next to her mother in their family plot. Her mother preceded her father by 23 years. During all that time that bastard never bought a headstone for his wife.
