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they have unleavened buns. Comes from all that hot air, I think. Yep, their inner tubes are leaking.”
    Sylvie and Blanche were sitting on lounge chairs beside the pool behind the Breaux family plantation house. The estate was renowned for its spectacular garden of native and imported irises of a thousand different species, which were in full bloom now.
    Tonight Inez Breaux-Fontaine was holding a cocktail party for a few of her closest friends…about two hundred people. Some of the men and women wore bathing suits and were enjoying a swim, but most had come for the political and social networking. Sylvie and Blanche, in sundresses and sandals, were people-watching as they sucked down watermelon margaritas like salt addicts, and listened to Paul Trebel’s band playing soft jazz over by the archway of live oak trees.
    Sylvie licked the crust on her stemmed glass and continued her observations. “God really must be a man, don’t you think? Either that or He has a warped sense of humor. Why else would a woman’s behind blossom into Rubenesque proportions after a certain age, while a man’s behind just disappears?”
    “ C’est la vie ,” Blanche slurred with margarita-inspired wisdom. “What kind of buns does Charles have?”
    “How would I know?” Sylvie was still in a state of shock over Lucien LeDeux eating the jelly beans intended for her boss. She hadn’t lost faith in her potion, but she wasn’t about to try her experiment on Charles or anyone else till she was sure Luc wasn’t lurking about. He’d promised to stay away for a week, but she wasn’t taking any chances. And no way did she believe his contention that Charles was gay. No way. Blanche grinned at her, as if reading her thoughts.
    “It’s not funny,” Sylvie said.
    “Oh, yes, it is, Sylv. You and ‘The Bad Boy of the Bayous.’ Ay-yi-yi!” She fanned herself dramatically. “Seriously, hon, isn’t this the greatest test you could give your potion…two archenemies? You should take advantage of the situation. I hear those Cajuns are fab-u-lous lovers.”
    Sylvie arched a brow with skepticism.
    Blanche finished off her second margarita and nodded her head as if agreeing with herself. “Best of all, their buns stay hard longer…not to mention other body parts.” Blanche rolled her eyes meaningfully.
    Sylvie couldn’t help laughing. “You should say that on your talk show. You’d have women flocking to Louisiana like homing pigeons, searching for a hot Cajun. The tourist commission would declare you a state treasure…just like that John Berendt guy promoted Savannah with his book Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil .”
    “It’s the truth, honey. Didn’t you ever hear the story about the beginning of the oil boom in Texas?”
    Sylvie groaned. There was nothing Blanche liked better than to tell a story…her own embellished version.
    “All these Cajun men crossed the border to work on the oil rigs, and the Texas women went full-tilt-boogie wild for them,” Blanche said. “Pretty soon all the Texas men were wondering what those swaggering Cajun men had that they didn’t…what made them so vir-ile .” She jiggled her eyebrows at Sylvie on that last word. “Well, the wily Cajuns told them that it was the fat in those ol’ crawfish they ate all the time. And sure enough, those dumb Texans commenced scarfing up mud-bug fat. Some people say that’s what started the popularity of crawfish.” The whole time she talked, Blanche gave her story the drawn-out, Southern Creole accent that endeared her to thousands of radio fans.
    Sylvie reached over and squeezed Blanche’s hand. Thank God for this good friend who could make her smile, even when her world might conceivably be about to self-destruct. All because of Lucien LeJerk.
    “Sylvie Marie, you know Mr. Sommese, don’t you?” her mother said, having come up behind them unexpectedly. The cool stare Inez leveled her way said clearly that Sylvie was failing in her responsibilities