Maison de Chocolat| 25
Maison de Chocolat
By A.G. Fielder
Copyright 2011 A.G. Fielder/Angela G. Fielder
Smashwords Edition
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INTRODUCTION
Madam Clarisse Jean-Louis Declouet was a bona fide Creole, New Orleans bordello Madam. She had the looks, money, the status and the power that bordello work had afforded her all before the age of 25. Her Maison de Chocolat was the premiere chateau de rendezvous in the district. When it came to the sweet indulgence in the pleasures of those within the black Creole demimonde, Maison de Chocolat was the place to be. Many a man would expressly come to New Orleans to partake in the oft forbidden, hedonistic refinery of the chocolate demimonde. The halls of the Chocolate Bordello boasted some of the most exquisite Creole courtesans that the district had to offer. Not only were their physiques in a palatable array of soft brown hues, but each woman was quite skilled in the erotic art of seduction.
These were the days when sex was considered a most decadent art form that was studied, practiced, and perfected exquisitely by these most desirable professionals. Aside from the exotic beauty of Madam Declouet’s girls, it was their flair for erotic creativity, and solid mastery of how to satisfy the minds, desires and insatiable appetites of men that made them the most appealing seductresses in the district. It became increasingly clear that these qualities were quite the envy of the rival Madams. But all was not lost, because she was as clever as she was smart, and at the end of the day she made favorable alliances with her fellow territorial adversaries.
Madam Declouet was younger than most when she came in and took New Orleans by storm. Having started out as a working girl herself, she quickly moved up the ranks, saved her money and became very wealthy in a short period of time. Her clandestine Maison de Chocolat, although quaint, was a most luxurious bordello that had always left its clientele wanting more. But it wasn’t always this easy for Madam Declouet. Before she became the chic businesswoman whose power extended across racial and political lines – she was merely Clarisse, daughter of a slave whose past lay nearly an hour away on the Lafourche Parish plantation of LeBlanc Estates. This is her story…
1
The saucy bordello Madam Clarisse Jean-Louis Declouet was born September 4, 1855 in Thibodaux - the heart of Lafourche Parish, on the LeBlanc Estates sugar cane plantation. Those were the days when the tensions over slavery filled the air in heated debate. Her birth name was Clarisse Marcheau LeBlanc - her mother, Marie Thérèse was a Congolese house slave and cook to the LeBlanc family. Marie Thérèse would always tell her daughter that her father was a dashing rouge Creole cane planter who lived on the other side of Lafourche Parish, but Clarisse suspected otherwise. One reason was because of the certain amount of privilege and status that came frequently from the owner of the plantation. She was, by far, his favorite slave girl despite the fact that she had no knowledge of the whip and was only a slave by birth not by trade, choice, or looks. She was rarely punished or scolded like the other little slave girls who were the pets of the Monsieur Henri LeBlanc’s children. Nor did she look anything like the other slave children – even those who were her kin. Her café au lait complexion, long, soft, wavy black, shoulder-length hair, small, button nose, and rusty brown, doe eyes made her quite the striking young girl who stood out in a crowd. As much as Madam LeBlanc hated having Clarisse around, she couldn’t help but notice that the child’s beauty and charm transcended that of her own daughters – Clarisse proved to a be a liability.
Madam LeBlanc knew that her husband had a hankering for the exotic temptresses on slave row. She was no fool, and knew straight away that Clarisse was the Creole byproduct of her husband Henri and the house slave Marie Thérèse. But in antebellum Louisiana, it was not the Madam’s place to address the issue publicly – so she did so privately. Like most wives of such men would do during the time – she took out her jealousy, and hidden rage on Clarisse. Sometimes when Henri was not around, Madam LeBlanc would turn maniacal and take out her frustrations on Clarisse by making her do odd tasks much too strenuous for a slave child. This, of course, did not last very long because her husband Henri would get a glimpse of Clarisse doing something like trying to haul wood for the fireplace and quickly usher the girl to the kitchen with her mother, and go off to giving the Madam a black eye or two. So Madam LeBlanc thought of more subtle ways to punish Clarisse for being her husband’s lovechild.
It didn’t take long before talk on slave-row led Clarisse to believe that Henri LeBlanc really was her father. Female slaves in the sugar cane field would often glance at Clarisse indiscriminately then laugh and whisper in gumbo about her.
“She is LeBlanc’s daughter?” said one slave woman as Clarisse passed.
“What! Is she?” asked the other.
“Oui, she is,” the first woman replied in her patois riddled broken English laughing and pointing.
Clarisse went through this all of the time, but one day when she was around nine or ten years old, she decided to ask her mother about it.
“Maman?” called Clarisse to Marie Thérèse who was busy cooking in the kitchen.
“Hmm?” answered Marie Thérèse still distracted by her work.
“Who my papa is? M’sieur LeBlanc?” she asked innocently, her light brown eyes twinkling in the sunlight.
Marie Thérèse nearly stopped in her tracks and took a good, hard look at her daughter. Giving Clarisse her full attention, she approached the little girl curiously, and grabbed her by the arm.
“What mek you say dad?” asked Marie Thérèse with silent rage in her heavy accent.
“I dun know – bud I tink is him,” declared the girl.
“He say so, eh?” probed Marie Thérèse, her chestnut brown face turning rouge with anger.
“What you tink he tague you in ligue him udder chil’ren?”
Clarisse let her eyes meet her mother’s as warm tears began to form and slowly roll down her reddened cheek.
“You tink you was de same as him, cuz you skin ain’t ligue mine?” continued Marie Thérèse more sternly than before and grabbing her daughter’s café au lait chin in her hand.
“How much you tink I has to do to keep him off you, hmm? Tell me now!”
Clarisse looked away from her mother’s gaze, prideful she struggled to maintain her composure as tears poured faster down her face.
“Last night, him climb on me say him gwon climb on you too,” fired her mother in rapid patois.
“I say please M’sieur LeBlanc, not my baby! Ah my soul – please – not Clarisse” continued Marie Thérèse ignoring her daughter’s distress. Writhing away from her mother’s grasp Clarisse ran to the corner and buried her face in her hands and began to cry. Marie Thérèse sauntered over behind Clarisse, bent over and whispered in her ear. This time grabbing her shoulders, twisting her around and forcing Clarisse to face her.
“Hear me now girl?” she began her voice shrill and dense.
“Him say he will tague you soon, ain’t nothing I can do to stop – but I beg him tague me instead of you – him say soon come – he ligue you most, and soon come tague you like he tague me!” exclaimed Marie Thérèse rolling her eyes as she released her grasp on the girl.
Clarisse sat there shaking her head in denial, with her eyes lowered to the ground as tears slid slowly down her face. She did not want to believe her mother and hadn’t a clue what to say or do.
“You lie!” she barked through tears and sobs.
Marie Thérèse dropped what she was doing, walked over and slapped her daughter.
“Neva call you mudda a lie, she all you have in dis world,” she said calmly before returning to her work.
Clarisse suddenly stopped crying and darted a cold look in her mother’s direction. With eyes a squint and arms akimbo, she stared coldly.
“Mind how you look at me!” barked Marie Thérèse watching her daughter out of the corner of her eye.
With nostrils flaring, Clarisse wiped away her tears and steadied her thoughts before addressing her mother.
“What him reason, Maman?” asked the girl.