Barrett's Point

By Jim Oliver

Dr. Rebecca Dugas has chosen the privacy of country life on a lake near what she and her neighbors believe is a nature preserve. Deer browsed in her fields; wild turkeys visited her bird feeder - until one day bulldozers arrived and began to clear for what Rebecca was told will become a large housing development. Both the mayor and the president

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amazon Book Marketing Pros
• Release date: Jan 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9781961075979

Book preview

Barrett’s Point

Jim Oliver

Copyright ©2023 Jim Oliver

All Rights Reserved

Acknowledgments

Dr. JoAnne L. Oliver for her sharp eye and encouragement.

Gage Weakley for the cover photo and more than meeting a challenge to find an anhinga for his bird Life List.

About The Author

Jim Oliver has a master’s degree from Johns Hopkins University.

He has been a gardener, a retailer, a novelist, a marketing director, a house painter, an English teacher, a hired hand, a Peace Corps volunteer, and a French teacher – not necessarily in that order.

He lives in South Louisiana.

Other Novels by Jim Oliver:

Closing Distance, G. Putnam Sons

Wings in the Snow, Alison, Amazon

Every Other Thursday, Amazon

Chapter 1

Dr. Rebecca Dugas was thirty-five, single by choice, and always pressed for time. She was led through her days by clocks, with some recent concern for her biological one. Had she procrastinated too long?

Rebecca worked alternate half days on Saturdays. She and her friend and partner rotated Saturday morning coverage at their clinic. Her last patient of the morning was a breeze. He was well-informed about his few health issues, took good care of himself, and was compliant with medications. She tore his prescription renewal from her pad and finished her work for the weekend. The rest of the day was her own.

She removed her white coat from her private office, tied her dark chocolate hair into a ponytail, and checked her cell phone. There was a text message from her best friend, Fannie. Call me ASAP.

Rebecca and Fannie had been roommates through three years at LSU, and both lived in Rive Perdue.

Where are you? Fannie asked.

At the office. I just finished work.

You going home?

No. I’m going to Lafayette to look for lawnmowers, do groceries, and buy new windshield wipers.

Bag that. Come by my house. Please.

From Fannie, please was a summons. What’s up?

Just come. I need to talk. I’ll even make you lunch. Or I’ll take you to lunch. Whatever you want. On second thought, meet me at Labrideaux’s in a half hour.

When Rebecca stepped out of the clinic, she expected searing heat and humidity. Surprisingly, the mid-June, south Louisiana air still held some morning freshness. So, she decided to walk to the restaurant instead of driving. To save time, she took the pedestrian bridge across a wide gorge that had once been a navigable river and the commercial lifeblood of Slowey. The same body of water had been breached in the midst of a terrible flood more than a century ago. In the aftermath, the Slowey River completely disappeared within twenty minutes, and the town became known as Rive Pedue.

She walked down Lower Main through a quiet neighborhood where yards and flower beds were carefully tended, and old live oaks canopied the street. Summer perennials were coming into their own. Daylilies surrounded the Rive Perdue Library. Phlox was beginning to pop. She thought she should have some phlox in her backyard. She walked through a heavy-sachet scent of magnolia and remembered she was running out of bar soap.

Labrideaux’s was an institution in a parish of excellent restaurants. Its owner, Lester Labrideaux, scorned processed foods. Most meats were raised on his farm. What produce his farm did not provide came largely from other South Louisiana farms.

Fannie was sitting at a window table. Her hair was noticeably shorter than it had been a few days before. Fannie was, as usual, flush-faced.

People just don’t come here for lunch Saturdays, Fannie began. That’s why I picked it. You can’t even get a table Saturday nights, but Saturday lunch is almost empty. Why is Lester even open for Saturday lunch? How are you? The women hugged. Rebecca sat across from her friend.

Good. I’m good, Rebecca replied. I don’t have any cavities. The air conditioning in my house only cost a hundred forty dollars to fix. And I’ve been asked to present at the national conference on celiac disease in November.

Why?

Because it wasn’t the compressor. I was sure it was the compressor, but it wasn’t.

I mean, that disease, said Fannie. What kind of disease is that?

Think gluten, as in wheat. Gluten makes some people sick.

It’s real nice they asked you, but why you?

Fannie. You are sitting with a respected expert on celiac disease. I’ve written papers. I’ve done significant research.

Well! huffed Fannie. Ah was simply un-uh-wayuh. You want a bloody Mary? I could use a bloody Mary. Fannie waved her hand. Mikey? she called... Do you know this waiter, Becca? When he gets here, I want yuh to take a look at his ass. It is perfection.

Miz Scobie? greeted the waiter.

Two bloody Marys, please. Extra lemon in mine. Mikey, have you met my friend Doctor Dugas? She’s a expert on… what is it, hon? she appealed to Rebecca.

Celiac disease. Mikey, hi. How you been?

Doin’ just fine, ma’am.

… Did you look at his ass? asked Fannie when the waiter was gone from their table.

I’ve seen it naked.

Becca, you haven’t!

He’s been a patient of mine since he was a teenager.

"Well, I’d sure like to see it naked."

Your hair, said Rebecca. What’s that about?

Fannie ran a hand through her very short, black hair. "Well, I was thinkin’ yesterday. I am goin’ to be thirty-five in a few weeks. And all this time, even since you and I were in college, I’ve had the very same hair. Cut the very same way. Always parted in exactly the same place. I was always tryin’ to hide my cowlick. It was time for a change. This mornin’ I called Doris Mae and in fact she could see me and I went in and I said, ‘Gimme a serious trimmin’, Doris Mae. I want it short.’ And so she did. I’m still gettin’ used to it, but I think I love it. Whatcha think?"

It looks good, Fannie. It’s wonderful.

Thank you. Fannie grinned, then she frowned. "But I didn’t invite you to lunch today about my hair... I have a real problem on my hands that I need to talk to you about. I just don’t know what to do and you’re maybe somebody who knows about this with all your medical education and bein’ a internist and all. And anyway, I can talk to you. Fannie leaned toward Rebecca. It’s about Nathan."

Nathan? My god-child Nathan? He of the sweet demeanor?

"Rebecca, he’s masturbatin’!"

And you are surprised to learn this? Fannie, he’s 14.

"I don’t mean Nathan’s just masterbatin’. He’s doin’ it all the time!"

How do you know? Does he do it in front of other people?

"Of course not. And I don’t mean every minute. But very often when I go in his room with clean clothes or somethin’ he quickly pulls the covers over or puts a shirt or somethin’ over hisself? And his sheets? I mean… "

Fannie went suddenly silent. The waiter placed their drinks.

Can I get some appetizers started in the kitchen for you ladies?

No, no. We need some more time, Fannie told the waiter. "… Rebecca, his sheets’re all stained, you know what I mean? Like practically everywhere on ‘em now. And even his underwear sometimes. I told his father about this, and you know what his father said? He said everybody masturbates. He said he masturbates. Well, that blew me away. You’d think with my appetite for sex, I’d be more than enough to satisfy my husband. And that’s another thing. I been thinkin’, maybe I’m not pleasurin’ Robert right, or somethin’."

Fannie rolled her eyes. "Anyway, it all started back I guess when Robert had ‘that talk’ with Nathan. Suddenly Nathan learned another reason he has a penis and he must have went right at it. I told Robert Nathan might be goin’ compulsive or somethin’ and Robert better have another talk with Nathan. Well, he did, I guess, and Nathan told Robert he does this four or five times a day! And you know what? That didn’t even faze his father. And how did Robert handle this whole situation? After their talk, Robert put a box of Kleenex in Nathan’s room."

Rebecca suppressed a smile. But Fannie? How’s Nathan with the rest of his life? He has friends and all? His grades still good?

He gets straight A’s. And he has lots of friends. Before I came to lunch, I dropped him and three of his buddies off in Jeanerette to see a baseball game.

I don’t think you need to be concerned, Fannie. Do you?

"Five times a day? I don’t know, Becca. Fannie took a couple of sips of her bloody Mary. But there’s a other whole side to this, I been thinkin’.

"This may be perfectly normal, an’ all. And I guess I should be happy he’s healthy - even relieved he’s exploring new things in his body while he grows up. But Becca? This all makes me so sad. I’ll never be able to see my boy in the same way, ever again. He’s not my sweet little, happy, precious kid anymore. A tear ran down one of Fannie’s cheeks. She wiped it away. An’ then it won’t be long before he’s even having sex with girls, and graduatin’ high school…An’ goin’ off to college… an’ before you know it, I’ll be a mother of a groom. This is all happenin’ way too fast for me."

Rebecca reached across the table and took one of Fannie’s hands. "Fannie. It’s time you faced facts. Very soon you’re going to be a grandmother. And your boobs’ll be saggin’ around your belly button. Robert won’t be able to get it up anymore. Botox’ll no longer work for you and you’ll be wearin’ those awful, black, tie-up old lady shoes… "

Fannie began to smile. Thank you, Becca. You do have a way with reality checks.

Here comes Mikey. We best look at the menus.

"But wait, Becca. You don’t think five times a day is just a little compulsive?"

Chapter 2

The telephone earpiece had become damp, making her ear itch.

"Now listen, Rebecca. Listen to me. I’ve made a decision. I’m your mother. This is the way it’s going to be. I don’t care what you say. I can’t live here one more week. Nobody listens to me. Nobody!... And I want my piano. I miss my piano. Desperately… The food. Everybody complains. Everybody. You wouldn’t find food like this at the Salavation Army!

"I’ve made a decision. I’m moving to your house, Rebecca. By the end of this week. By Friday.

"And your sister…Now there’s a prize. April just breezes in here, talks my head off for ten minutes – I can’t even get a word in - then she breezes right out. Oh, she has to get her hair done at one o’clock. She has to pick up what’s-her-name from dancin’ or whatever. She’s illegally parked… "

It would be useless to point out to her mother that today was Friday; the food at Sugarland Home was remarkably good; her daughter April lived in New York and hadn’t been to Louisiana to visit their mother in nearly two years.

Rebecca wondered how it would be if she laid the phone on the end table, went to the kitchen, and poured a cold, slightly oaky chardonnay.

"… My cleaning. It hasn’t been delivered in nearly two weeks. Two weeks! I’m runnin’ out of clothes. I’ve worn the same dress for days. Probably three days. And those people do not even know how to iron… What?! Speak up, girl…Well, why didn’t you just say so?... Rebecca, I have to go now. They’re taking me somewhere. Good-bye."

Her mother didn’t know how to play the piano. And anyway, the baby grand wouldn’t fit in her little apartment at Sugarland Home. She had enough clothes over there for three women.

Rebecca hung up the phone.

Her hands used to tremble after she had talked with her mother. She used to have to leave the house and walk around her property - often a couple of times. Sometimes she’d have to lie on her back in the grass and breathe deeply. Her mother’s dementia had trimmed the tree of her memory. It was as if entire limbs had been cut and hauled away leaving her with a patchwork present and a perforated past.

Rebecca sighed. She sat quietly for a moment, fed her dog, went out to feed her chickens and got herself ready to go.

>>>

On occasions like this, parking was not easy at Ted and Carole Aymond’s. The couple specialized only in grand gestures and seemed incapable of hosting small gatherings. Rebecca had to park nearly a block down Bayou Celeste Road.

This party was a fund-raiser for Ted’s re-election. The Aymond’s house sprawled in irregular wings. Their guests sprawled within them and out onto stone terraces. You passed under arches of crepe myrtle to enter the house. High-ceilinged rooms branched from a large central hall. Rebecca was a frequent guest at Carole and Ted’s parties. She could always count on meeting new people at their home and enjoyed these opportunities.

Ted was a gregarious state senator. Carole helped run his campaigns, was president of the Rive Perdue Council, and called herself a homemaker. Her staff did the cleaning. She did not cook and had no reason or desire to learn. It was assumed by everyone who knew them that Ted and Carole lived on the leftovers of their frequent parties, Rive Perdue restaurants, and delivery take-out. A caterer’s servers circulated with trays of exotic finger food. Rebecca located the bar, took a glass of wine, and began to work the rooms.

Painfully shy in grade and high school, Rebecca entered her social stride when she went to college, away from her mother’s sphere of influence. She learned what looked good on her. She learned to her surprise, that she was good-looking herself. To her even greater surprise, she learned that others were interested in her and what she had to say.

This afternoon the town of Rive Perdue was well-represented at the Aymond’s. Rebecca moved among the guests with purpose. She greeted people, ensuring she did not linger on with one person or a group at a time. Then, she would settle somewhere when she found the right level of amusement.

She knew intimate things about many guests; she was a doctor in a smallish town.

Bobbie Landreau held a drink in one hand and squeezed Mayor Correge’s shoulder with the other. Bobbie Landreau had only one testicle; the mayor, often re-elected, had a terror of anesthesia. The mayor was trying to be polite about the squeezing hand while his eyes darted about for escape. He saw Rebecca and pulled away from Bobbie’s grasp. "Doctuh Dugas! What a sight fer sore eyes. My, you do look a pickcha tuhday! He whispered, Pretend yuh need me somewhere. That Bobbie’s been blatherin’ in my face for twenty goddamned minutes. Here, pretend tuh pull me over tuh Emily over there." Rebecca complied.

I saw that, Rebecca, smiled the mayor’s wife. Very smooth save.

Where are the hosts? asked Rebecca.

Out by the pool. At least they were. Emily introduced Rebecca to Patty Morris, a Daily Advertiser reporter who turned out to have a slick mind and a silly sense of humor. Rebecca made a note of her as a potential friend.

Ursula Comeaux held court with a small group of women near the entrance to the media room. Newly released from prison, she was rumored to have found Jesus there. She had lost some fat, Rebecca assessed. She could afford to lose much more. Rebecca continued toward the Great Room.

She saw Paul Duff and asked him to call her; she needed some shelves built in her garage. His wife appeared well. Her abdominal aneurysm was approaching five centimeters across and would need to be repaired soon.

Doris Trahan argued loudly with Roy Coates. What was he doing at a damned political fundraiser if he didn’t even vote? In a corner, Ashton Becnel was putting the make on Linda Duchein while his long-suffering wife recovered from a bleeding ulcer in Slowey Hospital. Rebecca talked with farmers about their sugar crop prospects and asked Brenda Becker how really, should you bake a duck if you happened to have one in your freezer.

On her way to a bathroom, Rebecca was stopped by snotty Joan Cadwallader. I am soooo glad to see you. You don’t know. I’ve had this awful pain in my hip for a week. You have to tell me what it is.

Of course, replied Rebecca. Take off all your clothes, Joan. I’ll have a look as soon as I finish in the bathroom.

After greeting her hosts and making her social way through terraces and the covered lanai, she returned to the house and joined a cluster of her friends in the living room, mostly women in their thirties and a couple of their husbands. She sat next to Holly Reynaud, thirty-six, twice divorced, and across from Fannie Scobie and several of the husbands. This would be her center of amusement, her comfort zone for the duration of the party, which she hoped would not go on more than a couple hours, after which her dog Vera, in a fit of separation anxiety, would likely poop in the doorway of Rebecca’s bedroom.

The conversation here was spirited. Rebecca had a history with these people and was fond of them all. They shared embarrassing stories about each other jokingly. Occasionally, when she became excited, Rebecca would get to her feet to give her hands more space for talking. She noticed a man not far away staring at her during a short lull. He looked away. A while later, she noticed him looking at her again. He was about her age; he was very attractive, in fact. Again he looked away.

The next time she looked in his direction, he was gone.

Chapter 3

Late Sunday morning, after a what-do-I-wear crisis, Rebecca drove to Rouses to buy flowers for her mother’s little apartment and then to Sugarland Home. As she walked down her mother’s hallway, she passed an attendant who said under her breath, She’s on a real tear today, Doc.

Locked and loaded, Consuela.

Her mother was on her sofa. She smacked a magazine against her thigh and then tossed it aside.

You’re late, she snarled.

Wonderful to see you, Mother. Rebecca ignored the fact that her mother had no idea she would be visiting today.

What’s that you have?

What’s it look like?

Why are you spendin’ money on flowers, Rebecca?

You know you love them.

Well, get them in water before they die. I hate wilted flowers. They’re so depressin’.

How was the Sunday brunch this morning? inquired Rebecca from the kitchen sink.

I didn’t go.

How come?

I had them deliver breakfast.

How come you didn’t go to the dining room?

I refuse to sit with that woman again.

Eva? I thought she was your good friend.

Not anymore. Not after last night.

Rebecca placed the flowers on a table and sat across from her mother. What happened last night?

Eva came over to watch one of our stories with me. I even made her sun tea and a dip for potato chips. After the show ended, what did she do? She stole my wristwatch! I had laid it right there before she came over. On the sill of that window and after she left, it was gone. She took it! To steal your friend’s watch? I was shocked…Well, I called her after and told her I wanted my watch back. She had the gall to tell me she didn’t have it right on the phone. Almost to my face, she denied it. I called Administration and reported her; that’s what I did. She never has money like the rest of us. Why, Helen told me she hardly ever has a cent in her Decidable Fund.

Discretionary Fund.

Her family must be poor. But to steal from your best friend? That’s just rotten. Well? Live and learn, I say. Live and learn. Girl? Why are you wearin’ those filthy, old boots?

I’m going on an outing with South Louisiana Birders.

Dressed like that? What in the world are you thinkin’? You’re a doctor, Rebecca.

Mother, we’ll be out in the bushes. I’ll see what you need in the fridge. I’ll shop after work tomorrow and bring it by.

In her mother’s tiny kitchen, Rebecca found a pad and pen. She opened the refrigerator.

In my day, said her mother from the living room, a doctor dressed like a professional. They still do, Rebecca. I have never in my life seen a doctor not wearin’ decent shoes. Or faded clothes like that blouse you got on. You should of thrown that in the rag bin a long time ago.

Her mother should have more fruit around. Easy to eat fruit. Did Rouses have cherries yet? Were pears still in season?

Professional people need to dress professional. If you want respect, Rebecca, you have to look it. You’re lookin’ just like some of the attendants around here. Faded tops. Stains, even, on their slacks.

Her half and half was near its expiry date. Did she need butter? Rebecca opened the butter bin. Her mother’s wristwatch rested on top of the Land ‘o Lakes box. Rebecca sighed. She added eggs to her list.

What’s her name, my attendant in the daytime?

Consuela.

She came in here this mornin’ with a wet stain right on her front. I was thinkin’, what’s she got on there? I looked. I’m sure it was baby vomit. The woman has a young child at home, and she works. Can you imagine?

Mother, here’s your wristwatch.

What? It was Eva gave that to you, didn’t she? I knew it. She’s nothin’ but a common thief.

It was in the refrigerator. In the butter bin.

Her mother said nothing for a moment. She musta’ hid it there before the TV started. And then she’d probably say she needed a glass of water and sneak back in there for it before she went back to her own apartment.

I have to go now, Mother.

You just got here. And now you’re leavin’? Why’d you bother comin’?

Rebecca stopped by Administration on her way to go birding.

>>>

Rebecca parked in her driveway. Vera was on a chair at a window, barking wildly. Rebecca went into the house for a moment to calm her, then walked across the field behind her house toward Barrett’s Point. She was a little resentful of taking hours out of her free Sunday to go birding. She liked birds and could recognize a decent number of them, both native and migratory, but birds were hardly her passion.

However, she was a card-carrying member of South Louisiana Birders and contributed generously to the club each year because of its ecological objectives. She felt she owed it to the members to show up every now and then for their outings.

Barrett’s Point was a swampy, wooded piece of land on the shores of Lake Poitier.

When Rebecca arrived, about thirty members were congregated at the end of the gravel road leading to the point. The club’s current president, Wendy Duchet, was dressed in full camouflage. Binoculars hung at her neck; she held a sheaf of papers and shouted orders like a marine.

"All people with names A to L are to stand at the fence…A to L at the fence. Not that fence, Barbara! The chain link! M to R? You are with Bebe O’Quin by that post. P through Z. Over there with Johnnie Katz.

"Alright. Now. Rare bird sightings MUST be recorded on PRE-PRINTED three-by-five cards in order to be acceptable to Arkansas-Louisiana Region OR be submitted electronically via the LSUMNS Louisiana Bird Resource Office site, which you all have in your handout. Alright, let’s spot us some birds!"

Rebecca made her way to the fence and Wendy Duchet’s group of a dozen or so. All members except she had binoculars.

Rebecca!

She turned. Standing nearby was Ben Inzerella, her partner in medicine. "Ben, what are you doing in a place like this?"

Cindy made me come. She thinks I’m out of touch with the natural world.

You are. Where’s she?

Over with the P to Z’s. She’s using her maiden name today. Ben lowered his voice. She can’t stand Wendy Duchet.

I can’t either, whispered Rebecca. Where’d you get the 3 x 5 cards? I didn’t even bring a pen.

Wendy began leading her group toward the woods.

I have an extra pen, said Ben. Where’s your car?

I walked. My house is just up past those pines.

But you live on a civilized street. Like we do.

Well, sure. My house is on the street. All this is sort of my backyard.

Christ, this is a very snaky place, Ben said warily. I know there are snakes here.

We probably won’t see any.

Are you sure this is a safe place?

I’ll protect you.

Rebecca stopped walking. Ben stopped walking.

Look to your right. More, Ben. On the ground. Grey, with a white bill.

I don’t see anything.

You’re looking in the trees, Ben. She pointed. There. On the ground. It’s walking.

OK. I see. What is it?

It’s an American coot. A ‘poule d’eau.’

My cousin’s name is Poule d’Eau.

They’re usually closer to water. Now write the name down, Ben. It can be the first bird on your Life List. But write ‘American coot.’ Poule d’eau’s a common name. Every time you see a new bird from now on, you add it to your Life List.

Ben wrote on a card. "This is just too exciting, Rebecca. Can we go back now?"

Their path meandered through dry and boggy areas and was a different trail from the rest of the group. Rebecca had them stop at the edge of a swampy area.

Smell that, Ben.

Smells wet. Kinda rotten.

I love the smell of vegetarian decay. To me, that’s the classic smell of Louisiana. It takes me right back to childhood….

…For me, the classic smell of Louisiana is cow shit. We always had cattle. My daddy still has a couple.

When I was eleven, Rebecca said, "my mother got it in her head she wanted to live in the country, so she and her then-boyfriend left Baton Rouge to a place not on the Atchafalaya but right smack in it. Totally irrational and impulsive. Just like her. I hated it there at first. I missed the city and my friends. But I made new ones with local kids, and they taught me to do all the stuff they did…we fished, we caught snappin’ turtles, harvested crawfish - all of it.

Look on that cypress root there, Ben. Bluish-grey. It blends right in with the bark.

I don’t see anything.

Keep watching. He’ll move in a minute. He’s fishing.

A skinny, grey-feathered neck shot into the water and immediately pulled out. A minnow wiggled in a beak.

That’s a bird, Ben remarked.

Little blue heron. Write that down, Ben. Your list is growing.

Something moved at the water’s edge within feet of Ben’s feet. Oh shit! he yelled when a long dark snake slid into the still, tea-colored water.

Ben grabbed Rebecca’s arm. OK! That’s it! Get me out of here!

"Ben, he’s tryin’ to get away from you."

I didn’t sign up for snakes. Anyway, Ben said as Rebecca led him back to the trail and away from the water. It won’t be long before the snakes’ll be gone. This’ll all be high-end houses.

What will?

Barrett’s Point. Right here. One of my patients told me they’re gonna build high-end houses down here.

Your patient has it wrong, Ben. Barrett’s Point belongs to the Nature Conservancy. The realtor told me that years ago, when I bought my place. In fact, that was a major reason I bought it. I don’t want neighbors in my face.

My patient’s on the Rive Perdue Council. He outta know. He told me there’s already a zoning amendment in the works.

But this land belongs to the Conservancy.

Ben was walking a little faster in the direction they had come. Well? Bulldozers’ll get rid of the goddamned snakes.

Chapter 4

In the storage stacks of his woodworking shop, Baily Alcus talked with his young apprentice about the material they’d use to build a very special dining table. He lifted a board.

This is American black walnut, he told Jake. It’s a great wood. You can’t go wrong with this if it’s been properly aged. This is old. I had it shipped from Pennsylvania. Here. Run your hand over it. Look at the depth and color in the grain.

Yeah. It’s pretty. Jake removed a board from the next bin. But this one’s a whole lot prettier; I’m thinkin’.

Maybe… That’s called Zebrano. Some people call it zebra wood. As beautiful as it is, Zebrano has a flaw. If you expose it to too much ultraviolet light, it can lose that wonderful luster… For the table we’re making, we’ll be using walnut, but not American walnut. Baily chose yet another board. European walnut. It’s usually a little lighter in color than American, but it has a fabulous depth. You’ll see how nice it is to work with. How about you bring all the four by fours; I’ll start carrying the planks.

For several years, Baily made only enough money to scrape by. He worked other jobs to support his passion for furniture making: he was a house painter until he became unutterably bored, a night watchman until he was replaced by a retired policeman later caught stealing, a swimming pool cleaner until a desk he had built and let out on consignment was purchased by an influential New Orleans designer. Thanks to the designer, Baily began to get substantial commissions.

He closed his barn at six o’clock, bid Jake goodbye, and walked to his house. The outside of his house was rustic. The inside consisted of two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a very large living room/kitchen, all with high ceilings. The interior walls were refinished old barn siding; the heavy, exposed structural beams also came from barns; the floors were dark with glossy vintage planking. A huge