I love a beautiful painting. Unlike writing, (which is usually self-explanatory regarding motivations) artwork is different. Some paintings compel us to stare for hours wondering ‘what was the artist thinking?’ With his haunting images and breathtaking landscapes, George Rodrigue is one such artist. I don’t remember the first time I saw a Blue Dog painting; it always seemed to be one of those things I associated with life in Louisiana. Good food. Balmy summers. Hurricanes. Blue Dog. However, it wasn’t until a few years ago that I discovered Mr. Rodrigue’s other creations – Cajuns and Oaks. I was in love. I still am. Whatever his motivation, I feel it. Whether it’s a pirogue floating in a small bayou or his signature Jolie Blonde, each stroke of the paintbrush radiates pure love for his Acadiana roots and Louisiana heritage. Next Saturday, we’re headed down South to celebrate our birthday month (May), and first on the list is brunch at Jolie’s Louisiana Bistro in Lafayette, co-owned by the Rodrigue brothers. Next, a trip to the Rodrigue gallery to view his Memorial Retrospective. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my birthday.

By the time Bob arrived home, Millie had been there for several hours setting up for what she hoped would be a memorable afternoon for them both. She expected him to be irate after his meeting with Andrew, but nothing prepared her for the look in his eyes as he opened the front door. She’d seen this look once before, when she was innocent and unassuming. And weak. Inside she shuddered, wishing to be a child again playing with Jamie’s new cur puppies in the backyard of their Oxford, Mississippi home. Other than the .38 in her purse, rising to meet him was her only defense. And while putting a bullet in his belly and watching him bleed out was #2 on her fantasies list, she still needed his influence and power. Gathering her thoughts, Millie transformed into the character that had governed Bob O’Malley for nearly forty years. Mistress. It was a dark, dark world. Darker than what it should have been, or even what was normal for sadomasochistic relationships. If it had been with any other man, she would’ve played by the rules, maybe even enjoyed this sexual fetish. But it was Bob, and survival merited that she be in complete and total control. Of herself. And him. Uncrossing her legs she stood and calmed her breathing. Slowly walking in his direction, she was pleased to see his look soften. Millie was glad she’d worn the black cat suit. She thought it was ridiculous, but it turned him on. And by the way his hand moved toward the zipper on his jeans, just saved her ass.