In the Strongest of Terms

The real world has left Bobby B in the swamp between Lafayette and Baton Rouge with $2 million. So, in the meantime – In my Fairy Tale, the Minstrel Prince and Bookworm Feminist Princess share a pair of Lesbian Fairy Godmothers. One of them is a rich, impatient, no nonsense French lawyer named Alixandrie, who was introduced here


Jackson held the door of his apartment for Alix, kicked the pizza box out of her way and picked up the green plastic trash bag Dash should have taken outside.

“Should your mother and Amanda discover how you live, my custody of your welfare would be questioned. My love, the word…encombrement most extreme.”


Oui! Your French, it improves! You know of the clothes? How which is to who?”

“I’m the one who doesn’t wear nylon underwear. The jeans are pretty easy to tell, and all the socks go in one basket.”

“A commune of chaussettes?”

“Socks. I know that one. Will you knock it off with the French?”

“My love, the shock. Most severe. I may assist you, perhaps Saturday? I require from you only the protective gloves. As well for the odor, something, yes? In return as now my kitchen becomes beautifully new by your skill?”

“Alix, you can’t come help me clean, and you don’t owe me anything for installing your new appliances. This place? Dash is leaving after Christmas. I’ll make some changes after that happens. I’ll clean it up, you can help me pick some furniture.”

“Oh petite amour how you may survive?  Vous vivez de cette façon et l’étude?”

“Come on Alix, more than one?”

“Ah, forgive me petit amour. I have said you live as such and study? C’est impossible.”

“It’s college, Alix. American college, not Deanna’s postcard college.”

“Your voice, the tone of it, how do you say, ‘It sells you out?’ The weight of your worry, my love. Release it. She, I believe, is well.” Alix let the weight of compassion in her comment hang for a moment above the piles of laundry, the pizza boxes, beer and Sprite cans, hoped Deanna’s recent fear and relief hadn’t entered her own voice. “As you ask of me I speak with her when she telephones. We are as thieves that whisper in the night. Amanda, should she discover us, may, as you say, ‘take the big shit.’”

“I didn’t mean for Deanna to be a —”

“Shhh. Certain troubles of women must be shared only with another woman. Even a girl as the Little Jewel has such times. As you, she becomes mine. She belongs to all of Morisé, but time is required to soften and heal damaged hearts. Written on time, the tales of our hearts, no?” She picked up and immediately dropped a pair of jeans, went to the sink and ran water over her fingers. “Kennedy, la petite ballerine who speaks with me in French the times we are together? You have spoken? She has danced Tchaikovsky well, cracked the nuts of Baltimore?”

“She stole the shows, got rave reviews, said to tell you ‘Joyeux Noël.’  The night before she left she got past her big metaphysical facade and told me about what really hurt and after she unloaded she said she felt ‘beautiful’ again. Just before she fell asleep on the couch.”

“Your charms, my love, known well are they not to become tiresome? In your favor, a woman who may unfold her dreams and pain without fear becomes beautiful always.  As also unfolds the towel that does not offend the nose?”

“Second drawer down, on your right. No, your right”

She dried her hands, made a face and tossed the towel into the middle of the room with the scattered dirty laundry. “You will see your mother at Christmas? She worries.”

“No, she’ll be dealing with little brother and his ‘might marry this one, might be pregnant’ girlfriend and that’s too much. You’re the only one who knows what’s really going on out here. What do you tell her that she worries?”

“I fear to describe to her the truth. No, I tell her always of your concern for her and your father. Of your success. Not of the vulgar music, the diet of pizza and fizzy sugar drinks, the most unsuitable petite danseuse who with you destructs my furniture, not of this,” she looked around the apartment, “this…house for the dog.”

“Your coffee table was my fault, don’t blame it on Logan. We were practicing for that stupid dance class, I got my feet tangled up with hers and we fell. You got a new coffee table for my birthday.”

“Pfffft! I have heard in words of your own how you become with la femme in the closeness of ‘dance.’ Destined to become the two of you in a dance most horizontal, no? ‘Dance’ as such furniture becomes destructed escapes even me. And I am French.” She waved her hand in a wide arc at the apartment again. “This…No, no more. It becomes…Intolerable, oui? Come. I desire spicy food and the Mexican biere rouge. No lime. Tonight I discover in it a green pepper most divine I think. We go where you know of the angry men who debate with us what we eat.”

She stepped over the pizza box that kept sliding back in the doorway, kicked it backwards with her heel, turned, looked up and put her finger on his nose. “Saturday, my love. I arrive and make uses of myself. Or before it shall be clean. You are advised. In the strongest of terms.”

Published by

Phil Huston

6 thoughts on “In the Strongest of Terms”

  1. Fascinating, Phil. A couple of corrections, quote:
    “Oh {petite l’amour} how you may survive? Vous vivez de cette façon et l’étude?”
    If she’s French, which she certainly appears to be, then she’d know to say ‘petit amour’ not ‘petite l’amour
    “Ah, forgive me petit l’amour. I have said you live as such and study? C’est impossible.” Here too, she’s a bit off, it’s {mon petit amour} not {me petit l’amour}
    That is, unless you were saying something else and I missed it!
    Autrement, c’est très bien écrit, à mon avis.


  2. Thank You! Not my first “French Correction” nor my last. The “petite l’amour” is a term of endearment (most of the time) bestowed by Alix “the little love” or as the endearment version of “my love” without making it, or mistaking it, for “real” love as in wine and roses and “Mon Amour” as Alix sprinkles a lot of people with “My love” in her conversational style. I already had to fix the accent thingy on Morisé because it needed to be Morrah-say and I had it backwards. So – fix all the petit l’amour to petit amour. No biggy, gobal search and replace. And the last one maybe needed a comma after “me” “Ah, forgive me, petit amour.” However your way has a nice cross liguistic contamination ring to it. You should read the one where he tells her the story of dance lessons. Thank you again!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I’m 50 years off with my French, even if at one time it qualified for a Canadian 4th year university level on a test. I see where the missed comma fooled me. “forgive me petit l’amour. ” Of course, forgive me,
      but here’s the strange French syntax thing. You still need to say, “forgive me, mon petit amour.” It’s not like English, she needs to say my dear love. (“petit” is a diminutive term of endearment that can be left out). In some context it would be OK to say, forgive me, mon amour, which in context here would be the preferred mode of expression. If you want to give her more French, “pardonne-moi, mon amour.”)

      I find your mixture of Alix’ French fun to read. Is she French, French, or Cajun? I think French in the conversation.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. France French. In other conversations she explains being a young girl in her father’s vinyard, tells her grandmother’s story about “the boys” and is in general the very best modern Fairy Godmother out there. Thank you!

        Liked by 1 person

    2. I see in re-reading your comment that I had missed your explanation and repeated unnecessarily. My apologies, certainement! We’re on the same page, and that’s good.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Hooked! Completely. And i am loving the French. I only have four years under my belt, and that was in high school. Ahem.. almost 40 years ago. This is so much fun. Great story, great dialogue!


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