FIVE...Pent up

So you want pent up anxiety? I'll give you pent up anxiety! But where to start? Dallas? Kids? Bankruptcy? Divorce?

Ah, yes. Dallas. Isn't that where I left off to veer into unknown waters, anyway?

Left a good job in the city. Working for the man every night and day...

That was me. It was New Orleans in the mid-80's, and I'd been in the Meat Industry my whole career. As the top salesperson of Australian tenderloins and Angus ribeyes for a global purveyor of fine red meats, I was happy as a clam. But I was having a little too much fun with my customers at happy hour (in the interest of customer relations, of course). One martini isn't quite enough. But two can land you in the slammer, even in New Orleans. Not great for your marriage, either!

Pete was always a doll when he was at home, but trying to raise CC and Will while we were both on the road a couple of days a week wasn't making for good kids. Or a happy mama, either. I loved my job, but I loved my kids more, so one day I just up and quit. My intentions were to work for Pete in his Artist's Rep business, and go back to Meat when the kids were a little older and things settled down. Hah!

The economy cratered, jobs dried up, and I couldn't BUY a job in the Crescent City after 3 years out of the loop. So I challenged Pete's masculinity (See Chapter 2) once too often, he called my bluff, and next thing I know I'm in Dallas. I thought I was headed for adventure. But it turned out I was headed for Stepford! Bunky grocery shops in flip flops and cutoffs and a VW convertible; Dallas suburbanites grocery shop in matching Lauren tennis togs with "real" bling and Hummers. From the beginning I was a fish swimming upstream. And the worst part is that it was all MY idea! Careful what you ask for!

Before we left home, I had flown to Dallas and landed a job, back in Meat, without a problem. And Pete could basically work anywhere, just as long as he was willing to hit the road from Monday through Thursday every week.

This new Meat job turned into disaster in a hurry. I had worked for the biggest, most well-respected beef company in the world back then, and now was working for a small family owned business that hadn't changed a thing in 50 years...we actually used carbon paper to duplicate order tickets! I didn't know you could still BUY carbon paper, did you?

So in the interest of interest, let's just say I started a trend of "resume enhancement" over the next couple of years that would read like a novel. I could find a job easily enough, but Dallas wasn't New Orleans. Most of my new and/or would-be employers were quick to point out that "fun is the f-word" or "If you're having fun at work, you can't possibly be working hard enough." One guy actually TOLD ME THAT!

And once again, I was in the hunt.

So after a couple of short trials job-wise, I finally resorted to a head-hunter. None of their hi-tech corporate clients were looking for an almost middle-aged mother of 2 who could debone a hanging beef carcass in less than 30 minutes. That's a pretty narrow profile if I do say so myself.

The good news is that the head-hunter thought I might like what she did, so she offered me a commission-only job and the rest is (abbreviated) history! Now I was in the People business! Aren't People and Meat almost the same thing, anyway?

FOUR...Love at first dunk...

And so, this guy Pete turned out to be pretty darn cute after all! That first date in Fat City wasn't much fun, but it did seem like it was worth a follow-up, apparently to both of us. Since we both worked in the NOLA business district, we agreed to meet for an early showing of Jaws at the Joy Theater on Canal Street (of course, that was back in the days when you weren't taking your life in your hands by walking unarmed on Canal Street). Again, no real spark, but enough interest to agree to go out again. So on about Wednesday of the next week, Pete called me at work.

"Bunky, this is Pete LeCompte."

"Hey Pete! Glad you called."

"Listen, a few friends are going canoeing this weekend on the Big Biloxi. Can you come along?"

"Oh, Pete, I'd really love to go, but I have to tell you, my experience at canoeing is all bad. The last time I was in one was in 6th grade at church camp. They made us turn the boat over on purpose, and I broke my front tooth. Had to go home from camp to get it fixed. So, really, you probably don't want me as your co-captain."

"Oh come on and go. I'm not experienced either, but my friends are. It'll be a slow, easy trip. And no reason to think we might capsize."

Well, he persisted and I did go. It rained for 2 days before we left. The river was ridiculously swollen, we turned over in a rapid, and I ended up on a limb in the middle of the river, clad only in my bikini bottom and a babushka (I never did figure out what happened to my top when we went over). I watched as Pete and his friends floated away, around a bend and out of sight. So picture me sitting topless in that tree, singing my heart out to keep calm and away from total panic.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray..." And on and on and on.

I was imagining that they would have to float on down to the take-out point, call the authorities (no cell phones in 1975), and send a chopper to my rescue. How dramatic!

But no, about 2 hours later Pete's childhood friend, Dave, not only made his way upriver with a life vest (what on earth was I doing on a swollen river without one anyway?), but he brought me a cigarette in a Ziplock and a Dixie beer. Ah, New Orleans friendships...easy to make and you can always count on codependence when you need it most! He threw me the vest along with the beer and the smoke, and eventually convinced me to jump in and float through the rough water to where the rest of the group had made it to shore

The real story here is that when I was finally reunited with Pete and his gang, I refused to get back in the boat until the river eased up, so we pitched camp, got really drunk on Kamikaze's around the campfire, and that night, in a Coleman 2-manner, Pete and I REALLY fell in love. Lots of pent up anxiety in need of an outlet, and 35 years later here we are.

With lots of pent up anxiety in need of an outlet.

THREE...Who in the world is Bunky LeCompte anyway?

So before I go traipsing off to Dallas, I guess I should explain a little about Bunky. Born Elizabeth Anne Edwards, the oldest daughter of Clinton and Maxine Edwards, I have been called Bunky since birth. That had a great deal to do with the fact that Clint and Max lost their precious "Bunkybird" the week before I was born. Bunkybird was a schizophrenic parakeet who went everywhere on Clint's shoulder... work, barrooms, church (occasionally), sporting events, shopping. And it was at a Tulane-Alabama baseball game that Bunkybird decided to make his/her run for it, never to be seen again. So, yes, for lack of a better story, I was named for a parakeet. How romantic. Anyway, Bunky I became (and praise God it was shortened or Bunkybird I would be today).

I married Pierre LeCompte, a coonass from Crowley, a year after graduation from LSU. His mama still calls him Pierre, but most everyone except our banker calls him Pete. It fits him well...very nice guy, a bit anal most of the time, but friendly and nice and usually a little more upright than uptight. Straight, but not too straight. Funny, having actually been voted Most Humorous in his senior class at Crowley High School. And very much fun, but only when it's completely appropriate to be so. Oh, and did I say he was always a very good sport?

Pete and I met on a blind date set up by Max's hairdresser, Crazy Sheila, shortly after I came home after finishing college. Max was a Neonatal Nurse in the hoppingest maternity hospital in the south, and Crazy Sheila did the hair of all the nurses from Labor & Delivery, the Newborn Nursery and NICU. My Mama had not only worked her way into the top 100 nurses in the South, but also into the prestigious 3:30 p.m. Friday appointment with Sheila. I had been home from college for a few weeks now, working downtown, and dating all my old high school flames. I was living with my folks and looking for a cheap, safe apartment, but they weren't very happy with the company I was currently keeping (more on that later). I can see Max in Shirley's chair now and hear the conversation:

Sheila: Isn't Bunky home from LSU for the summer?

Max: She's home for good...finished school on her birthday last month, and started a job the next day. Great to have her home, but she's dating that Cal guy again, and she thinks Clint & I don't know it.

Sheila: So does she think y'all are stupid? Hey! Pammy's fiance has a friend who just got home from Viet Nam. A cajun boy from Lafayette or somewhere. Maybe they could fix her up with him. I hear he's pretty cute.

Well, Mama came home that afternoon, and told me that Crazy Sheila wanted to fix me up with some Pete guy who had just gotten out of the Navy. Wow! That's exactly what I had in mind...going out with a perfect stranger, right out of Nam, who I'd never met, but was a friend of my mother's hairdresser's daughter's fiance! Great qualifications, yes???

I found excuses on the next 2 Fridays, but when I realized they wouldn't let up until I succumbed, I finally agreed to meet Pammy, her fiance, and their veteran sidekick at a bar in Fat City the night of Pammy's birthday.