It's a romp in the swamp! Bill’s Cajun House of Pleasure Historical Fiction by Alan Lampe ➱ Book Tour with Guest Post and giveaway
It's a romp in the swamp!
Bill’s Cajun House of Pleasure
by Alan Lampe
Genre: Historical Fiction
It's a romp in the swamp of historic proportions!
Eager young reporter Jimmie Rains is assigned to write an exposé on the treatment of elderly residents of Our Lady of Sorrows Nursing Home. He soon finds that all the residents speak in awe and hushed tones of the life led by legendary fellow resident Bill Valencourt.
As a teenager, Bill was sent to work for his cranky and demanding uncle who ran a bordello on the edge of the swamp. His girlfriend, Anne Marie, was less than happy with this arrangement. As the granddaughter of the famous swamp witch Marie Laveau, she believes her magic is strong enough to keep Bill from straying. She seduces him, believing the taking of his virginity will bind him to her for all time.
When his uncle is murdered by the wife of an angry patron, Bill’s destiny is irrevocably changed, leaving him the new owner of the cathouse and setting him on the path to both riches and ruin. When he falls in love with one of his girls—the beautiful and curvaceous Ariel—Anne Marie vows revenge.
Six
chimes in descending tone came out of the radio, followed by a baritone
voice. “And now WFUX-AM 690 proudly
presents the News of Louisiana with
Rich Bastards.”
“Good
evening Louisiana, this is WFUX-AM 690 and I’m Rich Bastards.” The new voice
purred out of the radio speaker. “Today,
I have the esteem privilege of interviewing Governor Earl Long. He’s taking a little break from the campaign
trail to speak with me this evening.
Governor Long, welcome to the News
of Louisiana.”
“Why
thank you there, Mr. … uh Bastards, or do you prefer Rich?”
“Please
governor, I’m a simple man. Rich Bastards
will be fine. Now then,” a shuffling of papers could be heard coming from the
radio, “according to this here report from your campaign office, you are
funneling funds to Arkansas farmers for undisclosed reasons. Would you care to explain those reasons?”
“What?”
Governor Long was bewildered.
“Your
campaign office told us you are funneling funds to the farmers in
Arkansas. I’m sure your constituents
would love to know why.”
“What
are you talking about? I’m not funneling
funds to the Arkansas farmers.”
“Ah
ha!” Rich Bastards pounced. “So you are
funneling funds somewhere, just not to the northern hillbillies. Now let’s see,
where could you be funneling the funds to?”
“I’m
not funneling any funds to anywhere, Rich Bastards!”
“Your
campaign office swears you are, Governor Long. If you’re not funneling funds to
the northern hillbillies, you’ve got to be funneling them somewhere. Is it
Mississippi? No, wait; they wouldn’t know what to do with the funds even if you
were funneling it to them. Lord knows
they don’t spend any money on education.
Why hell, they’d probably think the greenback is some sort of mutilated,
or mutant spinach plant. So that just
leaves Texas.”
“This
is preposterous, man. I’m not funneling
funds to any of the bordering states!”
“But
your campaign office says you are right here on this piece of paper.” A rustling of paper followed the statement.
“Let
me see that paper.”
“I’m
sorry, Mr. Governor, but a good reporter never reveals his sources.”
“But
you’re not a good reporter! You’re just
spewing conjecture.”
“Spewing
conjecture!” Rich Bastards was
bewildered. “I’ll have you know I have
never spewed anything in my adult life.
Although the étouffée at this
past Mardi Gras almost came back up. But
I swear on my grand pappy’s grave that I haven’t spewed since I was a baby.”
“It’s
all a lie. I’m not funneling funds
anywhere,” said the governor.
The
radio went silent for a moment before Rich Bastards spoke again. “So you’re laundering the money. Can you believe it Louisiana? Our own governor right here and now just
admitted to laundering money in Texas.”
“I
did no such thing. You’re putting words
in my mouth.”
“Oh
come now, governor. You deny laundering
money with the northern hillbillies and the uneducated Mississippians, but you
never denied laundering the good clean money of Louisiana through the oil
soaked hands of the Texans.”
“I
deny that right now. I’m not funneling
funds or laundering money to any of the neighboring states. And that’s the truth.”
Rich
Bastards paused again and then continued the interview. “Well then, I guess that settles it. You heard it here first, ladies and
gentlemen, Governor Long is embezzling funds through off shore accounts.”
“What?!”
Governor Long was beside himself.
“Oh
sure, you denied the funneling of funds and the laundering of money, but you
never denied embezzling funds.”
“This
is utter nonsense! I am not doing
anything illegal with my campaign. All
of my funds are accounted for and verified.
I’m not a crook!”
“Oh
come now governor, you’re a politician.
And as all Louisianan’s know, all politicians are crooks. I’m confident the books you would provide for
us to look at would be as fake as a… a Honus Wagner baseball card.”
“Honus
Wagner! What the hell does he have to do
with this? He has a real baseball card,
you know.”
“Honus
Wagner has a real baseball card! You’re
saying someone with a name like Honus is in the same league as Babe Ruth, Roy
Campanella, Ted Williams and Bobby Doerr.
Now that’s preposterous Governor Long.
But let’s not change the subject.
Which nefarious enterprise are you supporting through your campaign
funds?”
“For
the last time, I am running a clean campaign.
I am not funneling funds. I am
not laundering money. I am not
embezzling.”
Rich
Bastards was silent for a moment. “Well
that just leaves extortion. Why Governor
Long, I am shocked, yes shocked to see that a fine upstanding political figure
like yourself is extorting funds from the less educated Mississippians for your
own sick pleasure.”
“A
minute you go you called me a crook and now you’re calling me a fine upstanding
political figure. Listen Rich Bastards,
I am doing nothing illegal with my campaign.
It is all legit. The great people
of Louisiana know my record and know I’m an honest man.”
“That’s
what every politician says right before they get caught with their hand in the
cookie jar. You’re brewing up some
shifty gumbo that you hope the people of Louisiana will swallow, aren’t you?”
“Is
there no end to you and mad ramblings?
I’m through with you and this interview.” The sound of chair scraping along the floor
could be heard, then the governor spoke again, but his voice wasn’t as audible
as before. “I have to go find out who
the hell told me that talking to Rich Bastards would be a good thing and fire
him.”
“Fellow
Louisianan’s, the governor has gotten out of his chair and is leaving the
booth.” Rich Bastards raised his voice
and continued, “Go ahead governor and leave.
You’re not the first guest to ignore the questions of Rich
Bastards. We know you’re a crook. You’re whole campaign office says so right
here on this piece of paper!” A
shuffling of papers came through the speaker.
“Wait, where is that piece of
paper? It was right here on my
desk. Did that kid from the Times-Picayune sneak in here while the
governor as leaving and steal my paper?”
More shuffling of papers could be heard across the airwaves. “I swear to you folks, I just had a piece of
paper from Governor Long’s campaign office in my hand, and now it is gone. Hell, there goes the credibility of this
whole interview, with no facts to back it up now. But don’t you worry, Louisiana, Rich
Bastards wont’ stop until the truth is revealed. This is Rich Bastards for
WFUX-AM 690 signing off.”
I recall
the beginning of Isaac Asimov’s biography in his Foundation books where it says he “was born in the Soviet Union to
his great surprise. He moved quickly to correct situation.” At the age of
three, he stowed away in his parent’s baggage when they emigrated to the United
States.
To many
people’s surprise, I was born in Connecticut. I don’t have grand or fond
memories of my time there. My family moved to Arkansas six months after my
birth. I grew up a southern boy and enjoyed writing from an early age. The
earliest recollection I have of writing for pleasure is a second grade writing
contest. I placed second. I can’t remember if the contest was school wide or
district wide, but I do remember where I finished. The prompt was “If you were
stuck on a deserted island, what would you bring with you.” I wrote a fine
masterpiece, one I’m sure the Smithsonian will treasure for years when they
obtain it. My composition related how I would take a magic book with me and use
it to conjure up the necessities and a flying carpet to leave the island.
Welcome to the world of my writing.
I continued
to write stories throughout junior high and high school. I wrote a science
fiction series in colored magic marker, where each character was represented by
a different color. Even at that young age, I found a way to remove the
unnecessary tags. I believe there are over a dozen twenty-page stories in that
series. I wrote a couple of science fiction trilogies, one included a comical
slant. I even designed a worksheet with the mysteries of Dr. Investigator for
my little sister to solve. Like a good author, I kept all these treasures.
Maybe one day I’ll revise them and share them with you.
I entered
the Air Force after high school and journaled my experience. On the last Sunday
of basic training, at the church services, your flight is allowed to say a few
words. I wrote a poem for my flight. It was read by another flight member. I
still have those journals and interesting stories abound within them.
After the
Air Force I continued to improve my craft. I wrote a novella and published it
monthly in the newsletter of my local Society for Creative Anachronism group.
That, as well as the work I did on the newsletter itself, allowed me get my
Award of Arms, a lordship, within the SCA.
In the late
1990’s and early 2000’s I focused on poetry. During this time I lived in the
Dallas / Fort Worth area. Teen drug overdoses were frequent and my poems
drifted to telling their story. I have a poem in each of the following The
National Library of Poetry anthologies.
·
A Prism of Thought
·
Soaring with the Wind
·
A Picture of Elegance
·
Outstanding Poets of 1998
·
Blossom in the Dawning
·
America at the Millennium
One of my post powerful poems, The Measure of 0.16, I wrote after a
drunk driver killed four Brock High School students on December 19, 1998. 0.16
was his blood alcohol level and the event helped reduce the legal limit in
Texas to 0.08. I’ve written over 80 poems and most
fall into the “Tragic Poems of Life” chapter in a Word document where I keep
them.
On April
20, 1999, the Columbine Massacre occurred where two students killed twelve
classmates and a teacher. The school shooting dominated the news that week. It
also led me to launch a memorial website, www.Columbine-Angels.com, where I
tracked acts of school violence for the next ten years. The site has over 2000
entries, the most of any site that I know of. I also provide extensive data as
to when and where the attacks occur. Many people from around the world visited
my site and several asked for permission to use my data in their research. I
wish I could have continued the site in perpetuity, but the ever-growing
numbers, nearly 300 in one calendar school year, is just too much for one
person. Keeping the site updated became a second job. Although I received great
response from the site, I couldn’t continue to dedicate that much of life to
it. From 2010 to 2015, I updated the site with acts of school violence I saw in
the news. Those are fewer, but if you research diligently and consistently
(i.e. twice a day like I was), you will see how violent are kids truly are.
Early in 2016 I posted my last update to the site.
My former girlfriend and I developed
the essence of Bill’s Cajun House of Pleasure. We truly
enjoyed our time in Bayou Cove. After we separated I built our escapades
into a full length novel. This historical fiction romp takes place from 1939 to
1969 in the swamps of Louisiana. Bill works at his uncle's bordello and is in
love with a descendant of the infamous Marie Laveau. Things change and he
falls for one of the soiled doves under his uncle's employ. After World War II,
he and her live in Amsterdam. When they return to Bayou Cove in 1950 he builds
his grand Cajun House of Pleasure. Staying informed of world events via
WFUX-TV, he and his women are able to play politics with
the lieutenant governor's wife. In the '60s the sexual fun continues
to roll when a few artist stop by and find what they need to be successful. It's a fun story with adult language
and sexual situations. I hope you enjoy it.
I am
currently developing my next story. The new tale is set in medieval times on a
different planet. It’ll be a fun romp as my characters travel across the
continent. Highlights along the way include stops in Hack, where the Hackers
live; Pee-On, where the Pee-Ons live; Dead Oak and their solution to depositing
their dead on a cart to be hauled off; and more.
Alan Lampe has been writing down tales and stories since the second grade. Over the years, his writing matured and was recognized by The National Library of Poetry. They published six of his poems in their anthologies in the late 1990s. Jotting down ideas and cranking out numerous short stories off and on throughout the first decade of the twenty-first century, he focused on his writing in 2011 instead of Super Bowl XLV.
Bill’s Cajun House of Pleasure is the brainchild of Alan and his former girlfriend. The first nuggets of this romp in the swamp were hatched eight years ago. Between workshops, critic groups, and conferences, he polished his prose in the following years. Wanting to leave no detail unchecked, he traveled to Louisiana to capture the essence of Cajun life.
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Sounds like an amazing read.
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