Excellent If the love of your life is crazy, you might be too. The Raging Cajun by Michael Jefferson True Story Contest contest entry

I received the phone call every boyfriend dreads. “This is Carrie. I’m at the boutique. Veronica’s going crazy! Get down here!”                                                 *** Veronica Rennie was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. She had captivating emerald eyes, platinum hair that cascaded down her back, perfectly sculpted legs, and a generous figure packed into a 5’ 4” frame. And then there was her sultry southern accent, which seemed to spring forth whenever she wanted me to blindly follow her commands. She also ate lithium like breath mints and was a poster child for manic depressive misadventure. We met at a softball game. The more she cheered for her little brother, Vance, the more homers I hit over his head. Despite embarrassing him, he introduced me to his sister and asked me to give her a ride home. Veronica suggested we stop for a few drinks along the way. Jodi, an old friend, was our waitress. She didn’t hesitate to offer her advice when Veronica went to the restroom. “So…You and the Ragin’ Cajun?” “The what?” “The Ragin’ Cajun. That’s what everybody calls her.” "Jealous, Jodi?” “I got a man. I’m just tryin’ to warn you. You’re thirty and thinkin’ like you’re thirteen. You’re goin’ out with the wrong Rennie. Her sister Val’s much nicer. Veronica has a temper, and she’s crazier than Robin Williams on acid.”  “C’mon. She’s smart, polite…”  “Yeah, when she’s on her happy pills. When she’s not, you’d better sleep with one eye open.” “I’ve always liked slightly crazy women.” “Good. ‘Cause you just hit the jackpot.”                                                             *** At 5’ 10”, Valerie was a taller version of Veronica. Valerie didn’t have her younger sister’s captivating eyes, but her shapely legs, busty figure, and platinum hair marked them as siblings. Unlike Veronica, she was happy, and she knew it. “And I hate her for it,” Veronica said. I believed her. Veronica’s emerald eyes took on a noticeably darker hue whenever she mentioned Valerie. Being a Rennie meant being rich. They had a distant relative, Michael, who was a successful actor and had starred in the movie “The Day the Earth Stood Still.” Their father, Victor, started working in oil rigs in Texas before striking out on his own, making millions. Their mother, Vilma, had been a concert violinist. When they moved to Louisiana, she began making them. When their parents passed within a few years of each other, Veronica and Val inherited their fortune. With Val as her manager, Veronica made and spent another fortune as a model. On a whim, they opened a boutique and became millionaires yet again. The sisters also each owned 50% of Mr. Lucky, a champion showhorse. That partnership was as contentious as their business relationship. Mr. Lucky did his part to keep the peace, winning an equal number of ribbons for both sisters. Val and Veronica celebrated Mr. Lucky’s prodigious feats by setting up a sizeable trophy case behind the cash register at the boutique. Included with his trophies and ribbons was one of Mr. Lucky’s horseshoes.                                                             *** When I arrived in answer to Carrie’s distress call, the boutique was strangely devoid of customers. Carrie, the Rennie’s cousin and salesperson was standing in the middle of the floor, muttering, “Oh my God! Oh my God!” Val and Veronica were wrestling on the floor, punching and scratching at each other. Veronica got the upper hand. Sitting on Val’s chest, she tried to choke the life out of her.  “Stop!” Val gasped. “Stop what? Killing you? Not this time!” Valerie managed to break free, but their bad blood continued to boil. “Don’t blame me because you wanted to be a model and it wasn’t what you thought it would be!” Val yelled. “You got to travel, rub noses with celebrities. For a while, you were one. You wanted fast cars and money but didn’t want to work for it. Don’t blame because you couldn’t handle the spotlight!” Picking up a stapler from the counter, Veronica smashed Mr. Lucky’s trophy case. Grabbing the horseshoe, she flung it at Val like Sandy Koufax, throwing his best fastball. Val ducked. I didn’t. The last thing I remember is the horseshoe hurtling toward my face. When I came to in Veronica’s lap, Val was dabbing at my forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief, and Carrie was still pacing back and forth, muttering, “Oh my God! Oh my God!” As I wobbled to my feet, Veronica tried her hand at humor. “You’re lucky you have a hard head.” “He’s going to need stitches,” Val said. "I’ll take care of him.” “You can’t take care of yourself. Take him to the hospital, Carrie.” Veronica’s now dark eyes bulged. “I did it. I’ll fix it.” I grabbed Veronica before she could charge at Val again.  Latching onto her was like trying to contain mercury. She was flailing arms, damaging legs, elbows, and teeth. Realizing she wasn’t hurting her sister and I was getting blood on her expensive blouse, Veronica finally shut down. Val rubbed her scratched cheek. “Idiot! I’ve got a wedding in a week!” “So, it’ll look like your new husband beat you up before you went down the aisle. No biggie.” Val said, exasperated, “Get her out of here before I have her arrested.” Veronica drove me to the hospital. The six stitches I received replaced the eyebrow they shaved off to treat me. “Yeesh…I look like I went ten rounds with George Foreman and lost every one,” I said. “…I want out…” Veronica muttered. “Of our relationship?” “No. Out of the business…Out of the life Val’s created for me.” We sat speechless for several minutes. “Val told me you stopped taking your lithium.” “Bad move, I guess,” Veronica said. “Promise me you won’t take her side.” “Val’s? You assaulted her, Veronica.” “She wants to have me committed; I know it.” “I’m sure it’ll be okay if you take your meds.” “She signed the papers the last time,” Veronica said sadly. “I didn’t know there was a last time.” “I don’t want to talk about it. Want to see my new car? Let’s go for a ride.”                                                 *** Veronica was a frighteningly poor driver, often looking at me instead of the road. It didn’t help that with the convertible’s top down, her abundant blonde hair often covered her eyes. We drove up Hook Road, and it didn’t take long to figure out how it had gotten its name. Veronica was laughing at something I’d said, accelerating around a corner and trying to kiss me at the same time when we went off the road. Suddenly, we were driving through the woods, mowing down bushes, flowers, weeds, and small trees. Branches were smacking me in the head. Mud splattered against the windshield, further obstructing Veronica’s view. In between screams, Veronica was battling a large sunflower that had leapt into the car and was smacking her in the face. Then we hit a fallen tree, and the car became airborne. The car stopped abruptly. My body snapped forward, then pushed backward with so much force that the seat broke. Steam rose from the crumpled hood. Focusing my eyes, I could see we’d hit a tree. We were vertical, facing the clouds like astronauts waiting for takeoff on a launching pad. I turned to look at Veronica, who was sitting wide-eyed with both hands still riveted to the steering wheel, the sunflower resting against her face. "You okay?”  Veronica sneezed. Ungluing her hands from the wheel, she batted the sunflower aside. “Yep. But this is the fourth car I’ve wrecked this month. My premium is going to be sky-high. Ironic, eh?” I thought I smelled gas, but I kept it to myself. “Let’s get out of here,” I said. Opening the door, I took a step, falling twenty feet to the ground. Looking up, I could see the car was stuck in the center of a large tree. “You’re going to have to jump.” Veronica poked her head outside of the car. “I don’t think so. I’ll wait.” “For what, winter? C’mon, I’ll catch you.” “Considering the way you hit the ground, I’ll pass.” The smell of gasoline was getting stronger. “Get down here! Now!” Veronica opened the door. The car swayed when she stood up, but it held its position. Positioning herself like a swimmer on a diving board, Veronica closed her eyes and jumped. Her high heels slammed against my head, but I served my purpose, breaking her fall. "My hero,” she chirped, laughing. The car exploded. One of the doors flew off, whipping through the woods like a deadly Frisbee. A second booming explosion turned the car into a twisted, burning avant-garde sculpture that fused itself to the tree. “Looks like you’ll be driving to the wedding,” Veronica said.                                                             *** Carrie threw a pre-wedding party. Carrie Hood was a chunky redhead who hadn’t inherited her cousin’s striking beauty. She was more of a crunchy granola type who let her untamed hair fly in any direction it pleased, tended toward jeans and non-flattering tops, and wore granny glasses. What I liked about Carrie was her down-to-earth personality. She loved baseball, the Three Stooges, and Spooky Tooth, one of my favorite rock groups. Most women hated the first two topics and had no idea what the third was. The party served to heal the wounds between Val and Veronica. I was happy to see the sisters posing for pictures, gossiping, and hugging each other. By the time Val left, they were friends again. Their congeniality might have had to do with Veronica double-dosing her meds. That fuzzy feeling lasted until Veronica felt I was paying too much attention to the hostess. Carrie and I were engrossed in a conversation about music. At first, Veronica simply shrugged and walked away, talking to Vance as she refreshed our drinks. I didn’t see her put away the three shots of tequila that altered her personality. When Veronica came back, she practically punched me in the chest as she handed me my drink. “Still talking about Spooky Tooth?” she complained. “They’re really good,” Carrie replied. "Great. I think we should go home and listen to them. Let’s go.” “But we’ve only been here for an hour,” I said. “You just got me a new drink.” Veronica’s emerald eyes darkened. Carrie recognized the symptoms and thought she had the right words for a cure. “C’mon, Ronnie, don’t get mad. We’re just talking.” “Get your own man to talk to, porky.” Carrie recoiled. "And don’t call me Ronnie. Unlike you, I don’t look like a man.” Veronica turned, storming off. Halfway across the room, she realized I wasn’t following her. “Are you coming, darlin’?” I knew I was in trouble whenever Veronica’s voice regressed to a Southern drawl and she called me darlin’. But I felt sorry for Carrie and thought Veronica owed her an apology, so I stood my ground. “I’ll be right there,” I said. “Why don’t you fix yourself a drink?” Veronica’s stare went black. She marched over to the bar and downed another shot of tequila. Carrie’s eyes were wet with tears.      “I’m sorry, Carrie.” “The sad part is she won’t remember what she said to me tomorrow.” “Perhaps that’s best,” I said. “She’s had a lot to drink,” Carrie noted. “And lithium doesn’t mix well with alcohol.” Carrie and I went over to the bar. Veronica and Vance were clicking their shot glasses together, downing another shot. “Look who’s here,” Veronica slurred, her southern drawl syrupy sweet. “My two best friends, Brutus and Cassius, here to stab me in the back.” “Nothing is going on between us, Veronica,” I said. “Just talk.” Thrusting her arm out like a harpoon, she pointed at Carrie. “How come you don’t talk to me the way you talk to her?”    “Okay. Can the Red Sox win the pennant this year?” Veronica looked at Vance. “Football?” “Baseball,” Vance replied. Before I could signal Vance not to do it, he poured Veronica another shot of tequila. “You ought to slow down on that stuff, Ronnie,” Carrie said. She realized she’d slipped too late. “Call me Ronnie one more time, fatso, and I’ll show you how we handle hussies like you in the bayou.” Vance snickered. “Did you just call her a hussy? And you haven’t been back home in twenty years.” “Fine. Yuk it up,” Veronica said, slamming down the shot. Closing her eyes, she struggled to absorb its effects. “Are you okay?” I asked. “Just fine. Give me the keys, darlin’.” “You’re not driving. Not right now,” I said. “Fine. It’s your car, not mine. But I need to take a nap.” “Use my bedroom,” Carrie suggested. “Oh, no. I don’t want to keep you two from using it later.” Veronica held her hand out. I put the keys in it. “No driving,” I repeated. Veronica gave me the finger as she staggered across the floor. I caught up to her as she wobbled near the door, latching onto her as she passed out. The night air momentarily revived her. She kicked and fought against me so much that I was forced to put her down. “You should rest upstairs for a while,” I pleaded. “The car is fine, darlin’. Besides, I don’t want to interrupt your budding romance.” “I told you there’s nothing going on between Carrie and me.” “I see the way she looks at you!” “You can’t see anything right now,” I replied and immediately regretted saying it. Despite her fluctuating sense of balance, Veronica managed to get one of her heels off. She flung it at me with bad intent, but unlike the horseshoe, it went wide by several feet. Taking off her other shoe, she held it in her hand and waved it at me. Cursing, she tossed the shoe in the bushes, saying, “I thought you were different from other guys.” Turning away, she tried unsuccessfully to open the door, handing me the keys. I opened the door. She flopped face-first across the back and was quickly fast asleep. I went back inside to thank Carrie and say goodnight.  A few minutes later, Vance tapped me on the shoulder. He looked terrified. “You’d better get downstairs quick!” Thoughts of Veronica convulsing in the back seat crossed my mind. Veronica was awake, and she’d backed my car up the driveway. She spun the wheels, flooring the accelerator. The car sped forward, crashing into the garage door. The front end of my car was already a twisted catastrophe. The lights were busted, the grill was in pieces, and the bumper was barely hanging on. “She’s already rammed it into the garage like four times,” Vance noted. Veronica backed the car up, smoking the tires. She ran over the bushes and then clipped another car, putting boulder-sized dents in both vehicles. Veronica slammed the car into the garage door, buckling it. Taking pity on me, the guests formed a human blockade in front of the garage door. Carrie and I were advised not to participate. Veronica slowly backed up the driveway, clipping yet another car as she retreated. There was a tense moment as she revved the engine. Veronica opened the door, smiling victoriously at me as the bumper fell off. The radiator hissed as steam issued from it, and anti-freeze dribbled to the pavement. I walked toward her. “Guess we’re sleeping over,” Veronica slurred. “Why’d you do this?” “I told you, darlin’, I wanted to leave.” Veronica passed out where she stood. I caught her in my arms before she hit the pavement.                                                             *** Veronica slept for so long that I was worried she was in a coma. At two in the afternoon, I heard her groan, calling out my name. “Help me! I’m blind!” She was lying on her back with the pillow over her head. Veronica cringed like a vampire fearing the sun when I took the pillow away. Despite a frightening hangover, she still looked like she’d just stepped off the front pages of Vogue. “Was I a bad girl?” “You’ve got a few apologies to make and a lot of checks to write. We’ll have to hitch a ride to the wedding with Carrie, which, by the way, is in two hours.”                                                             *** When we got to the church, Val pulled me aside. “How is she?” “Very hungover, “I replied. “Good, she’s more docile when she’s in pain. I don’t care if you have to get her meds into her with a blowgun; you make sure she takes them. She’s already complained that Carrie’s the maid of honor, which could mean trouble. This is my day, not hers. The truth is, if it weren’t for you, she wouldn’t even be in the wedding party. Just look after her, okay?” When I met Veronica again, she was beaming, her green eyes shining like polished gems. Carrie was staring at her in disbelief, and I soon figured out why. Veronica had a white mustache. “What’s going on?” I asked cautiously. Veronica spoke with the speed of a submachine gun. “I crushed my meds and snorted them so they could work faster! I feel great!” Carrie backed away. “Good luck, lovebirds.” Veronica hiccupped. I wiped away the residue on her lip. “Thanks! I feel great!” Fortunately, Veronica’s colossal burst of energy tapered off by the time the wedding began. The only glitch was when the preacher said, “Speak now or forever hold your peace,” and Veronica hiccupped. Veronica made an acrobatic catch of the bouquet. Just before Val took off for her honeymoon, she came by our table. “I wanted to thank you two again for your gift. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received.” Val practically skipped away. “What did we give her?” “A new trophy case for Mr. Lucky’s horseshoe,” Veronica replied. “I also signed over my end of the business to her.” “So, what are you going to do now?” “I was thinking of getting married.”

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