**New edition with a new afterword. **
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Where I Got The Crazy Idea for Coyote Cowgirl & Other Tidbits
My husband Mario and I were driving back from my sister’s wedding in Las Vegas. (Yep.) If you’ve ever driven the road north out of Las Vegas, you know that it is a long, winding, and sometimes scary road. I remember sitting there thinking that we could go off the road any minute and crash down the steep embankment and just disappear.
I chided myself for worrying about these kinds of things; I was forever a “woman in jeopardy.” A WIJ. I wondered what it would be like to write about a woman who was afraid of practically everything. In so many books and movies, the hera/hero of the piece is almost always brave and stalwart. In real life, most of us have fears and anxieties, but that doesn’t make us any less brave. In fact, if someone isn’t afraid of anything, what’s the big deal? When you’re afraid and you still walk ahead, now that’s something. And so Jeanne evolved from that. I told Mario what I was thinking and by the time we got on the straight and wide again, I had the whole book in my head.
Most people ask me about Crane, the talking crystal skull. Where did he come from? I have no idea. Mario says I had been doing research on crystal skulls because I wanted to put them in another story, so maybe that was the germination of Crane. But like most of my characters, he just popped into my head full-blown. He is one of my favorite characters. I love his sense of humor.
Another interesting tidbit: My parents lived in Scottsdale part of the year, and I visited them many times. There really is a huge feather and inkwell at the front of the library. In the book, Jeanne’s mother has Mexican heritage and her father has French heritage and their famous Scottsdale restaurant serves cuisine from both countries. I called my father and said, “What should I call a French and Mexican restaurant?” Without hesitation, he said, “The Oui & Sí.” So that’s how the restaurant got its name.
Readers ask me if Sosegado, Arizona and La Magia Cafe really exist. I hope so. I plan on visiting soon—and maybe even staying a while.
Wholly Inadequate Descriptions of This Book
The One Sentence Pitch:
With a talking crystal skull as her sidekick and recipe maven, Jeanne Les Flambeaux searches for the stolen family jewels, cooks up truth-telling feasts, and discovers a few skeletons in the family closet.
Cover Blurb:
Jeanne Les Flambeaux—you know, the famous Flambeaux clan, the great chefs and restaurateurs of the Southwest—is the black sheep of her very accomplished family. She has a few problems. Like, for one, she can't cook. And she hears voices for another. And she screws up everything she touches for a third. No one, including herself, ever expected her to amount to anything, so she hasn't; she thinks of herself as an idiot savant—if you drop the savant part.
When her parents take a much-needed vacation, leaving her in charge of the family's ancient, prized possessions—a crystal skull and a priceless ruby scepter—she wakes up the next morning to find that her lover, Johnny (what is she doing with that loser?), has stolen the scepter. This propels her on a wild and wacky journey across the Great American Southwest, trying to catch up to Johnny and the scepter.
To complicate matters, women (and some men) start mysteriously disappearing throughout the southwestern. The police and the FBI have few clues—and Jeanne, as she stalks Johnny, is herself being stalked by someone or something. Fortunately—or unfortunately, Jeanne can't quite figure it out—she's aided in her impossible task by the crystal skull . . . now a talking crystal skull, which, of course, speaks only to her. The crystal skull, who calls himself Crane, leads Jeanne (who is rapidly becoming an actual heroine) through the casinos of Las Vegas, the mysteries of the Goddess Temple, the family's skeletal closet in Mexico, and finally to a wild climax that outdoes Tom Robbins . . . and maybe even gives Carlos Castaneda a run for his pesos.
Light and sexy, filled with imaginative characters and situations, and some of the hottest secret recipes from the Flambeaux recipe drawer, Coyote Cowgirl will leave you laughing and begging for a sequel.
Questions to Start A Scintillating Discussion
1. What is the significance of the book beginning on the Day of the Dead? Does it help you “suspend your disbelief?”
2. Do you think Jeanne truly has a problem with food? If so, how does it manifest itself, how is it resolved?
3. What are the effects of secrecy on this family? Do you see it with every family member? What happens in a family when parents insist on one reality while the children experience another? (i.e. the parents say everything is fine while things go wrong in the family: divorce, sickness, money-problems, etc.)
4. What is the difference between privacy and secrecy, especially regarding family secrets?
5. Did Jeanne manifest “special” qualities when she was a child? If so, did her family nurture these qualities? Did her family’s reaction to her “abilities” affect her as an adult?
6. Do you think Jeanne is excessively afraid? Do you think her fears are justified? Do women and men have differences in their “fear factor?” What does Jeanne do to assuage her fears in the beginning of the novel? By the time the novel concludes, has Jeanne changed in regards to her being a “woman in jeopardy?”
7. “Women in jeopardy” films are big in Hollywood and on television. Do you think Jeanne was influenced by the media? How do you feel about WIJ movies and their treatment of women? Are they showing the truth of women’s lives or warning women to be fearful and stopping them from stepping into their power? Does Jeanne “step” into her power?
8. What is our responsibility as citizens of this planet? Did you agree with what Winema said about the world? Did Winema’s views of the world change? Why do you think they changed? Did the world change or did she? Do you think Jeanne agreed with her grandma?
9. If you had the Non-institute Institute how would you run it? Would it be a place to take refuge from the world permanently or for a short while? Would it be a place to create change? How would you do that?
10. Is it ever possible to “leave the world” while we are still alive? If it is possible, is it ethical? Is there a difference between “dropping out,” getting off the grid, etc. and building a shelter somewhere and waiting for the end to come?
11. Why is food so important in Coyote Cowgirl? How is it used throughout the book? How do you as a reader learn the “truth” through food in the novel?
12. Why do you think the nuclear testing was part of the novel? What significance did it play?
13. What is the significance of humor in the novel?
Nice Things Reviewers & Others Are Saying
"Coyote Cowgirl is one of my favorite books, period....I envy those of you who will be reading it for the first time." —Charles de Lint
"Coyote Cowgirl...is a lighthearted but character-rich narrative.... Antieau unfolds a brand of fantasy that recalls the domestic magical realism of Isabel Allende...and a snappy wackiness worth more than a few laughs.... Also simmering is a deeper level of empathetic magic that binds Antieau's eclectic cast together through the unique southwestern flavor of Jeanne's cooking." —Kate Aid, The Bloomsbury Review
"It's a great read, quirky and magical.... Coyote Cowgirl is a fast-paced, upbeat read." —Romanticsf.com
"Coyote Cowgirl is a terrific read and one that crosses a number of genre boundaries, not the least of which being rich fantasy and fine food." —Ernest Lilley, www.sfrevu.com
"Antieau again trips the light fantastic....Fun, often gripping." —Kirkus Reviews
First chapter (excerpt)
Chapter One: El Día de los Muertos
The skull did not speak to me right away.
As I remember it, the evening started out like any other Day of the Dead celebration. The open-air courtyard was filled with our relatives and esteemed customers of the Oui & Sí, Scottsdale’s famous French and Mexican restaurant, owned and run by my parents, Jacques and Alita Les Flambeaux, beloved by all who knew them.
Food abounded, all prepared by my parents, my brother Antoine and sister Belinda. Tables and plates overflowed with glazed salmon steaks and green mayonnaise, scallops and mushrooms in wine sauce, tarragon chicken, cheese-stuffed chiles, enchiladas with green sauce, Mexican rice, green rice, tortilla soup, all kinds of breads and appetizers, and endless rounds of margaritas and French wines.
Golden light from table candles and an occasional torch made the courtyard look otherworldly. I stood with one foot on the ground and one on the tile floor which was part of the corridor leading back to the indoor section of the restaurant and the kitchen. I leaned against a pillar and watched my father and mother at the head table, looking as though they were bride and groom at their wedding, robust and rotund, with the crystal skull on its ruby scepter between them.
If it weren’t for my grandmother Nana, who now sat next to my father at the head table, I would have grown up believing I was a changeling in this family of the big and Amazonian. She and I were the only small ones, except for cousin Michael who did not attend this year, forcing me to don the ceremonial dead-skeletal-ancestor costume which was all black except for the glow-in-the-dark green bones. No one had wanted to ask me to do it, because no one wanted to draw attention to my skinny body or to the fact that no one had seen me eat in the almost twenty years that had elapsed since the skull had last spoken to me. I had been six or seven when it happened, and my parents feared I was a few acorns short of a real tree, like my mother’s mother, Winema, whose name was rarely invoked.
“You’re all skin and bones,” Antoine said, startling me as he grabbed me from behind.
“You scared me,” I said.
“Girl, you are always a wij.” He was dressed as a French aristocrat.
“A witch?”
“A wij. Woman in jeopardy.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re going to be a brother in jeopardy if you don’t get away from me.”
He grinned. “Don’t screw up. Dad will kill you.” He leaned closer. “And if the skull talks to you, Jean d’Arc,” he whispered, “just pretend you didn’t hear a thing.” He laughed and strode away.
Too cute to kill, I thought, too close a relation to screw.
My father rose from the table and slowly made his way over to my hiding spot, stopping to whisper to this or that lady or clasp this or that hand. I wanted to slink away before he got to me. Instead, I grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter, gulped it down, then set the glass on the bus cart behind me.
“Hello, father,” I said when he reached me.
“Hello, Jeanne,” he said. His size often surprised and intimidated me. Although he was not particularly tall, he was big. He could easily crush me under his thumb. Not that he had every struck me. Ever.
“It’s a nice party, Dad. I’m sure everyone is having a great time.”
He nodded as he looked around the courtyard. “Twice a year, once for the dead and once for the living. I do enjoy these gatherings. Perhaps I am not as French as I would like to believe!”
“You do like wine, Poppa,” I reminded him.
“Ah yes. Water is for fish to piss in. Now, you understand that you’ll come into the courtyard as a representative of our ancestors, taking the skull back to the otherworld.”
“Yes, Dad.” I had only witnessed this ceremonial rite every year for the past twenty years. The skull and ruby scepter were my parents’ most prized possessions. Everything they had ever achieved had been done so with the help of the skull and scepter, or so my father often reminded us. The rubies on the scepter were nearly priceless, and the skull was not exactly a trinket. My father allowed the skull and scepter out of their specially-made safe twice a year.
“I want them put directly into the safe after your performance,” he said. “The rest of us are going back to the house since Momma and I are leaving for vacation tomorrow. D’accord?”
“Sí, poppa. I’ll make certain they go right into the safe. You can count on me.”
“Your Cousin Johnny is here,” he said.
“Oh?” I tried to hide my delight.
“Don’t let him near the skull. Or you. He’s not one of us, you know. He’s gotten himself in quite a lot of trouble. Your uncle James is always bailing him out of jail.”
“Don’t worry, Dad.”
He squeezed my arm. “You know, Jeanne, you take things so seriously. You really should go out and have some fun.” He nodded, turned, and walked away.
I sighed, glad he was gone. He meant well, but I knew he was worried I was going to freak out and start hearing voices, or something. I was the baby of the family: the one without any innate ability, the one who had not excelled in college, the one who had no avocation or vocation. I could not even cook.
I felt hands on my hip bones and heard whispered breath in my hair. “I’ve always wanted to fuck skin and bones.”
“Johnny.” I turned to Cousin Johnny, his long blond hair nearly white in the semi-darkness. He pulled me completely into the darkness.
I heard my father begin to address his guests. “This is a fiesta of my wife’s ancestors,” he said. “My ancestors, the French, don’t party much. We merely eat, drink, and make love!” The crowd applauded appreciatively. Johnny kissed my breasts through my costume.
“Someone will see,” I whispered. He stuck his tongue in my mouth while my father said, “On this day when the veil between the worlds is the thinnest, I thank all those who have gone before us.” I heard my father pick up the scepter with the skull on the end of it. “As you all know, this skull was made perhaps thousands of years ago by the Mayan or Aztecs, we don’t really know. My great great great grandfather was a chef for one of the missions in South America. They were so grateful for the healing work he did, via his culinary skills, that they gifted him with the skull. The scepter has been in my wife’s family for generations, too. When we met, we discovered the skull and scepter fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, joining our two families as they were always meant to be joined. I thank all those who went before us. Thank you for our lives. Viva les ancêtres!”
That was my cue. I pushed Johnny away and slipped the hood over my head.
Now I was one of the undead.
The music began, a kind of guitar dirge. I knew the musicians were near, but I did not see them. I could barely see anything as I stepped off of the tile and onto the ground. I felt momentarily disoriented. Dizzy. Then people began clapping steadily, along with the music. I was not a performer, I did not want to do this, but something about being totally covered and almost anonymous—except for the fact that everyone knew me—helped me loosen up. I crouched a little, trying in my own stiff way to be theatrical. I watched my parents’ faces as they smiled and clapped for me, their befuddled living descendant impersonating their revered dead ancestors.
And then I saw the skull, now reclining, like a gleaming crystal half-person with a jeweled spine.
“Back to the other world we go!” I croaked my line.
So far the skull hadn’t uttered a word.
I grabbed the scepter and lifted both. I had to touch the skull. That was part of it. It had to be broken from the scepter. So I tucked the scepter under my arm and against my body and I popped off the skull, then held it aloft for everyone to see.
The crowd roared.
Really, it did.
Jubilant, I raced away, silent skull and scepter in hand.
I ducked under the overhang and ran down the corridor, into the huge kitchen full of shiny stainless steel, and up the stairs to the apartment. I ran to the office and set the scepter and skull inside the open safe.
“Hello, cousin.”
I turned around. Johnny.
“Hello, cousin,” I answered, out of breath. Johnny grinned and closed the office door. He wasn’t really my cousin. His mother had married my uncle James five years ago. Since then, Johnny and I had ruffled the sheets together on more than a few occasions.
I peeled off my skeleton.
“Sorry, no more skin and bones,” I said.
“No, but a lot more skin,” he said.
Then we did it on the couch.
I tripped the light fantastic. Johnny-be-good for moi.
Later, we made love on my bed and talked over old times.
“It wasn’t even a felony,” he told me. “All charges were dropped. Just a little dispute over a gambling debt.”
He smelled of cheap cologne and my sweat.
The open window brought in a fragrant breeze and no more sounds of a party breaking up.
“Do you owe money again, Johnny?”
“He cheated. The dice were loaded.”
I laughed. “You're so full of shit,” I said. “You and I are the losers of the family.”
He snorted. “In your family being a loser means you haven’t lived up to your royal name or you’ve burnt the crêpe suzettes or something. In my family being a loser means doing a dime in the big house.”
I laughed. “What big house? The one your mother got my uncle to buy for her in Tucson?”
He grinned. “I never could get any shit past you. Got any money?”
I shook my head. “Just my good looks.”
“That’s enough for me.”
We fell to sleep singing, “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean...”
In the morning when I got up, Johnny was gone. He left a post-it on the television. The note read, “Love, J.” I switched on the television.
I took a shower. Got dressed.
Went to the office. Glanced at the safe.
I had forgotten to close it last night.
I blamed Johnny’s wandering hands.
I walked to the safe and started to swing the door shut.
And noticed the scepter was not next to the skull.
I leaned my head inside, moving the skull back and forth in the tiny enclosure.
The scepter was disappeared.
I tossed the room, like a real pro.
Did not find it.
Went back to the open safe door.
Only the skull inside.
All my hopes were dashed. No, they had flown the coop, too.
“Well, now you’re really done it,” the skull finally said.
I slowly sank down onto the couch.
I could only concur.
The television droned on in the background. “...other news, police report that the latest disappearance, this time of a Tucson woman, has positively been linked to the other so-called W.I.J. disappearances. The initials were left in lipstick on the bathroom mirror. If you have seen this woman, police—”
Voices downstairs.
Johnny? He’d decided he did not have the heart to steal from me after all?
Footsteps on the stairs.
“Jeanne!” Belinda.
“Jean d’Arc!” Antoine.
“Ma fille!” Dad.
I jumped up and slapped the safe door shut.
“Wait!” the skull shouted as the safe door closed. “I can help you find the scepter.” The door slammed shut.
Most people ask me about Crane, the talking crystal skull. Where did he come from? I have no idea. Mario says I had been doing research on crystal skulls because I wanted to put them in another story, so maybe that was the germination of Crane. But like most of my characters, he just popped into my head full-blown. He is one of my favorite characters. I love his sense of humor.
Another interesting tidbit: My parents lived in Scottsdale part of the year, and I visited them many times. There really is a huge feather and inkwell at the front of the library. In the book, Jeanne’s mother has Mexican heritage and her father has French heritage and their famous Scottsdale restaurant serves cuisine from both countries. I called my father and said, “What should I call a French and Mexican restaurant?” Without hesitation, he said, “The Oui & Sí.” So that’s how the restaurant got its name.
Readers ask me if Sosegado, Arizona and La Magia Cafe really exist. I hope so. I plan on visiting soon—and maybe even staying a while.
Wholly Inadequate Descriptions of This Book
The One Sentence Pitch:
With a talking crystal skull as her sidekick and recipe maven, Jeanne Les Flambeaux searches for the stolen family jewels, cooks up truth-telling feasts, and discovers a few skeletons in the family closet.
Cover Blurb:
Jeanne Les Flambeaux—you know, the famous Flambeaux clan, the great chefs and restaurateurs of the Southwest—is the black sheep of her very accomplished family. She has a few problems. Like, for one, she can't cook. And she hears voices for another. And she screws up everything she touches for a third. No one, including herself, ever expected her to amount to anything, so she hasn't; she thinks of herself as an idiot savant—if you drop the savant part.
When her parents take a much-needed vacation, leaving her in charge of the family's ancient, prized possessions—a crystal skull and a priceless ruby scepter—she wakes up the next morning to find that her lover, Johnny (what is she doing with that loser?), has stolen the scepter. This propels her on a wild and wacky journey across the Great American Southwest, trying to catch up to Johnny and the scepter.
To complicate matters, women (and some men) start mysteriously disappearing throughout the southwestern. The police and the FBI have few clues—and Jeanne, as she stalks Johnny, is herself being stalked by someone or something. Fortunately—or unfortunately, Jeanne can't quite figure it out—she's aided in her impossible task by the crystal skull . . . now a talking crystal skull, which, of course, speaks only to her. The crystal skull, who calls himself Crane, leads Jeanne (who is rapidly becoming an actual heroine) through the casinos of Las Vegas, the mysteries of the Goddess Temple, the family's skeletal closet in Mexico, and finally to a wild climax that outdoes Tom Robbins . . . and maybe even gives Carlos Castaneda a run for his pesos.
Light and sexy, filled with imaginative characters and situations, and some of the hottest secret recipes from the Flambeaux recipe drawer, Coyote Cowgirl will leave you laughing and begging for a sequel.
Questions to Start A Scintillating Discussion
1. What is the significance of the book beginning on the Day of the Dead? Does it help you “suspend your disbelief?”
2. Do you think Jeanne truly has a problem with food? If so, how does it manifest itself, how is it resolved?
3. What are the effects of secrecy on this family? Do you see it with every family member? What happens in a family when parents insist on one reality while the children experience another? (i.e. the parents say everything is fine while things go wrong in the family: divorce, sickness, money-problems, etc.)
4. What is the difference between privacy and secrecy, especially regarding family secrets?
5. Did Jeanne manifest “special” qualities when she was a child? If so, did her family nurture these qualities? Did her family’s reaction to her “abilities” affect her as an adult?
6. Do you think Jeanne is excessively afraid? Do you think her fears are justified? Do women and men have differences in their “fear factor?” What does Jeanne do to assuage her fears in the beginning of the novel? By the time the novel concludes, has Jeanne changed in regards to her being a “woman in jeopardy?”
7. “Women in jeopardy” films are big in Hollywood and on television. Do you think Jeanne was influenced by the media? How do you feel about WIJ movies and their treatment of women? Are they showing the truth of women’s lives or warning women to be fearful and stopping them from stepping into their power? Does Jeanne “step” into her power?
8. What is our responsibility as citizens of this planet? Did you agree with what Winema said about the world? Did Winema’s views of the world change? Why do you think they changed? Did the world change or did she? Do you think Jeanne agreed with her grandma?
9. If you had the Non-institute Institute how would you run it? Would it be a place to take refuge from the world permanently or for a short while? Would it be a place to create change? How would you do that?
10. Is it ever possible to “leave the world” while we are still alive? If it is possible, is it ethical? Is there a difference between “dropping out,” getting off the grid, etc. and building a shelter somewhere and waiting for the end to come?
11. Why is food so important in Coyote Cowgirl? How is it used throughout the book? How do you as a reader learn the “truth” through food in the novel?
12. Why do you think the nuclear testing was part of the novel? What significance did it play?
13. What is the significance of humor in the novel?
Nice Things Reviewers & Others Are Saying
"Coyote Cowgirl is one of my favorite books, period....I envy those of you who will be reading it for the first time." —Charles de Lint
"Coyote Cowgirl...is a lighthearted but character-rich narrative.... Antieau unfolds a brand of fantasy that recalls the domestic magical realism of Isabel Allende...and a snappy wackiness worth more than a few laughs.... Also simmering is a deeper level of empathetic magic that binds Antieau's eclectic cast together through the unique southwestern flavor of Jeanne's cooking." —Kate Aid, The Bloomsbury Review
"It's a great read, quirky and magical.... Coyote Cowgirl is a fast-paced, upbeat read." —Romanticsf.com
"Coyote Cowgirl is a terrific read and one that crosses a number of genre boundaries, not the least of which being rich fantasy and fine food." —Ernest Lilley, www.sfrevu.com
"Antieau again trips the light fantastic....Fun, often gripping." —Kirkus Reviews
First chapter (excerpt)
Chapter One: El Día de los Muertos
The skull did not speak to me right away.
As I remember it, the evening started out like any other Day of the Dead celebration. The open-air courtyard was filled with our relatives and esteemed customers of the Oui & Sí, Scottsdale’s famous French and Mexican restaurant, owned and run by my parents, Jacques and Alita Les Flambeaux, beloved by all who knew them.
Food abounded, all prepared by my parents, my brother Antoine and sister Belinda. Tables and plates overflowed with glazed salmon steaks and green mayonnaise, scallops and mushrooms in wine sauce, tarragon chicken, cheese-stuffed chiles, enchiladas with green sauce, Mexican rice, green rice, tortilla soup, all kinds of breads and appetizers, and endless rounds of margaritas and French wines.
Golden light from table candles and an occasional torch made the courtyard look otherworldly. I stood with one foot on the ground and one on the tile floor which was part of the corridor leading back to the indoor section of the restaurant and the kitchen. I leaned against a pillar and watched my father and mother at the head table, looking as though they were bride and groom at their wedding, robust and rotund, with the crystal skull on its ruby scepter between them.
If it weren’t for my grandmother Nana, who now sat next to my father at the head table, I would have grown up believing I was a changeling in this family of the big and Amazonian. She and I were the only small ones, except for cousin Michael who did not attend this year, forcing me to don the ceremonial dead-skeletal-ancestor costume which was all black except for the glow-in-the-dark green bones. No one had wanted to ask me to do it, because no one wanted to draw attention to my skinny body or to the fact that no one had seen me eat in the almost twenty years that had elapsed since the skull had last spoken to me. I had been six or seven when it happened, and my parents feared I was a few acorns short of a real tree, like my mother’s mother, Winema, whose name was rarely invoked.
“You’re all skin and bones,” Antoine said, startling me as he grabbed me from behind.
“You scared me,” I said.
“Girl, you are always a wij.” He was dressed as a French aristocrat.
“A witch?”
“A wij. Woman in jeopardy.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re going to be a brother in jeopardy if you don’t get away from me.”
He grinned. “Don’t screw up. Dad will kill you.” He leaned closer. “And if the skull talks to you, Jean d’Arc,” he whispered, “just pretend you didn’t hear a thing.” He laughed and strode away.
Too cute to kill, I thought, too close a relation to screw.
My father rose from the table and slowly made his way over to my hiding spot, stopping to whisper to this or that lady or clasp this or that hand. I wanted to slink away before he got to me. Instead, I grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter, gulped it down, then set the glass on the bus cart behind me.
“Hello, father,” I said when he reached me.
“Hello, Jeanne,” he said. His size often surprised and intimidated me. Although he was not particularly tall, he was big. He could easily crush me under his thumb. Not that he had every struck me. Ever.
“It’s a nice party, Dad. I’m sure everyone is having a great time.”
He nodded as he looked around the courtyard. “Twice a year, once for the dead and once for the living. I do enjoy these gatherings. Perhaps I am not as French as I would like to believe!”
“You do like wine, Poppa,” I reminded him.
“Ah yes. Water is for fish to piss in. Now, you understand that you’ll come into the courtyard as a representative of our ancestors, taking the skull back to the otherworld.”
“Yes, Dad.” I had only witnessed this ceremonial rite every year for the past twenty years. The skull and ruby scepter were my parents’ most prized possessions. Everything they had ever achieved had been done so with the help of the skull and scepter, or so my father often reminded us. The rubies on the scepter were nearly priceless, and the skull was not exactly a trinket. My father allowed the skull and scepter out of their specially-made safe twice a year.
“I want them put directly into the safe after your performance,” he said. “The rest of us are going back to the house since Momma and I are leaving for vacation tomorrow. D’accord?”
“Sí, poppa. I’ll make certain they go right into the safe. You can count on me.”
“Your Cousin Johnny is here,” he said.
“Oh?” I tried to hide my delight.
“Don’t let him near the skull. Or you. He’s not one of us, you know. He’s gotten himself in quite a lot of trouble. Your uncle James is always bailing him out of jail.”
“Don’t worry, Dad.”
He squeezed my arm. “You know, Jeanne, you take things so seriously. You really should go out and have some fun.” He nodded, turned, and walked away.
I sighed, glad he was gone. He meant well, but I knew he was worried I was going to freak out and start hearing voices, or something. I was the baby of the family: the one without any innate ability, the one who had not excelled in college, the one who had no avocation or vocation. I could not even cook.
I felt hands on my hip bones and heard whispered breath in my hair. “I’ve always wanted to fuck skin and bones.”
“Johnny.” I turned to Cousin Johnny, his long blond hair nearly white in the semi-darkness. He pulled me completely into the darkness.
I heard my father begin to address his guests. “This is a fiesta of my wife’s ancestors,” he said. “My ancestors, the French, don’t party much. We merely eat, drink, and make love!” The crowd applauded appreciatively. Johnny kissed my breasts through my costume.
“Someone will see,” I whispered. He stuck his tongue in my mouth while my father said, “On this day when the veil between the worlds is the thinnest, I thank all those who have gone before us.” I heard my father pick up the scepter with the skull on the end of it. “As you all know, this skull was made perhaps thousands of years ago by the Mayan or Aztecs, we don’t really know. My great great great grandfather was a chef for one of the missions in South America. They were so grateful for the healing work he did, via his culinary skills, that they gifted him with the skull. The scepter has been in my wife’s family for generations, too. When we met, we discovered the skull and scepter fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, joining our two families as they were always meant to be joined. I thank all those who went before us. Thank you for our lives. Viva les ancêtres!”
That was my cue. I pushed Johnny away and slipped the hood over my head.
Now I was one of the undead.
The music began, a kind of guitar dirge. I knew the musicians were near, but I did not see them. I could barely see anything as I stepped off of the tile and onto the ground. I felt momentarily disoriented. Dizzy. Then people began clapping steadily, along with the music. I was not a performer, I did not want to do this, but something about being totally covered and almost anonymous—except for the fact that everyone knew me—helped me loosen up. I crouched a little, trying in my own stiff way to be theatrical. I watched my parents’ faces as they smiled and clapped for me, their befuddled living descendant impersonating their revered dead ancestors.
And then I saw the skull, now reclining, like a gleaming crystal half-person with a jeweled spine.
“Back to the other world we go!” I croaked my line.
So far the skull hadn’t uttered a word.
I grabbed the scepter and lifted both. I had to touch the skull. That was part of it. It had to be broken from the scepter. So I tucked the scepter under my arm and against my body and I popped off the skull, then held it aloft for everyone to see.
The crowd roared.
Really, it did.
Jubilant, I raced away, silent skull and scepter in hand.
I ducked under the overhang and ran down the corridor, into the huge kitchen full of shiny stainless steel, and up the stairs to the apartment. I ran to the office and set the scepter and skull inside the open safe.
“Hello, cousin.”
I turned around. Johnny.
“Hello, cousin,” I answered, out of breath. Johnny grinned and closed the office door. He wasn’t really my cousin. His mother had married my uncle James five years ago. Since then, Johnny and I had ruffled the sheets together on more than a few occasions.
I peeled off my skeleton.
“Sorry, no more skin and bones,” I said.
“No, but a lot more skin,” he said.
Then we did it on the couch.
I tripped the light fantastic. Johnny-be-good for moi.
Later, we made love on my bed and talked over old times.
“It wasn’t even a felony,” he told me. “All charges were dropped. Just a little dispute over a gambling debt.”
He smelled of cheap cologne and my sweat.
The open window brought in a fragrant breeze and no more sounds of a party breaking up.
“Do you owe money again, Johnny?”
“He cheated. The dice were loaded.”
I laughed. “You're so full of shit,” I said. “You and I are the losers of the family.”
He snorted. “In your family being a loser means you haven’t lived up to your royal name or you’ve burnt the crêpe suzettes or something. In my family being a loser means doing a dime in the big house.”
I laughed. “What big house? The one your mother got my uncle to buy for her in Tucson?”
He grinned. “I never could get any shit past you. Got any money?”
I shook my head. “Just my good looks.”
“That’s enough for me.”
We fell to sleep singing, “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean...”
In the morning when I got up, Johnny was gone. He left a post-it on the television. The note read, “Love, J.” I switched on the television.
I took a shower. Got dressed.
Went to the office. Glanced at the safe.
I had forgotten to close it last night.
I blamed Johnny’s wandering hands.
I walked to the safe and started to swing the door shut.
And noticed the scepter was not next to the skull.
I leaned my head inside, moving the skull back and forth in the tiny enclosure.
The scepter was disappeared.
I tossed the room, like a real pro.
Did not find it.
Went back to the open safe door.
Only the skull inside.
All my hopes were dashed. No, they had flown the coop, too.
“Well, now you’re really done it,” the skull finally said.
I slowly sank down onto the couch.
I could only concur.
The television droned on in the background. “...other news, police report that the latest disappearance, this time of a Tucson woman, has positively been linked to the other so-called W.I.J. disappearances. The initials were left in lipstick on the bathroom mirror. If you have seen this woman, police—”
Voices downstairs.
Johnny? He’d decided he did not have the heart to steal from me after all?
Footsteps on the stairs.
“Jeanne!” Belinda.
“Jean d’Arc!” Antoine.
“Ma fille!” Dad.
I jumped up and slapped the safe door shut.
“Wait!” the skull shouted as the safe door closed. “I can help you find the scepter.” The door slammed shut.
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