All That Glitters

by V. C. Andrews

  But the second voice was harsher, biting, cutting, reminding me of the pain I could bring to Paul, whose devotion to Pearl and me was unwavering and complete. Look at the sacrifices he's making for your happiness, the voice said.

  But that's only more reason to keep my rendezvous with Beau secret, my softer voice retorted.

  Deceit!

  No, it's not deceitful if you're doing it to protect someone you love and prevent him from suffering any pain.

  But you're being sneaky and you're lying and hiding. Would Paul do that to you?

  No, but you and Paul did agree that neither of you would stand in the way of the other if one of you found someone else to love. Paul is upset and frustrated, but he is understanding and he doesn't want to do anything to make you unhappy or prevent you from becoming happy.

  But . . .

  Oh, stop the but's and the ifs, I screamed at myself. I threw down my brush and left the studio, where the solitude only encouraged my two selves to argue. I took a walk around the house and grounds and then, impulsively, I went inside, found Pearl and Mrs. Flemming, and told Mrs. Flemming I was taking Pearl for a ride with me.

  I put her in her car seat beside me and drove to Grandrnere Catherine's old shack. It was a mostly over-cast day now with the breeze from the southwest threatening to blow in darker rain clouds.

  "Do you remember this place, Pearl?" I asked as I took her out and carried her toward the sloping gallery. The weeds were high and there were spiderwebs all over my roadside stand. I could hear field mice in the house scurrying in every direction looking for places to hide when they sensed my approach and heard my footsteps on the gallery planks. The screen door groaned on its rusted hinges as I opened it and entered what now looked like so tiny a room to me. Funny, I thought, when I was growing up here, this was my whole world, and to me it was tremendous. Now I had closets bigger than the living room, and Letty had a pantry bigger than this kitchen.

  I walked through the house, hoping that my return would draw Grandmere Catherine's spirit and I would get some advice from her. If only there were a sign, an omen, I thought. But the shack was empty and hollow, my footsteps echoing. It was a grave site from which the bodies had long fled. Even my memories seemed uncomfortable here, for there was no longer any warmth, no music, no aromas of gumbo and jambalaya, no voices, nothing but the sound of the wind slapping loose boards against each other and skimming over the tin roof, making it sound as if a flock of mockingbirds or blue jays were nervously pacing from one end to the other.

  I went out back and gazed at the canal.

  "Mommy used to play down there, Pearl. Mommy used to walk along that bank and see the animals and the fish, even the alligators and turtles. Sometimes the deer would come right up to the back here to graze and they would lift their heads and look at me with sad eyes."

  Pearl just gazed at everything with wonder in her eyes. She appeared to sense my pensive feelings and was quieter than usual. Then, as if she had heard my words, a small doe stepped out from behind some bushes and raised her head to gaze at us. Pearl's eyes widened with interest. The beautiful deer was as still as a statue, only its long ears flicking occasionally. Even when Pearl cried out, it only scrutinized us with more curiosity, no fear. After a few more moments, just as casually as it had appeared, it turned and disappeared like an apparition.

  This was a world that did have pure and innocent things in it, and if they were left alone, they would remain that way, I thought; but they were rarely left alone. I walked about the shack for a while but left concluding that there was only one place to look for an answer to my dilemma, and that place was in my own heart.

  A few days later at dinner Paul told me of his need to go to Dallas, Texas.

  "I'll have to be away three days," he said. "I'd like Pearl and you to come along. You can bring Mrs. Flemming, too, of course. Unless you have other plans, that is," he said.

  "Well, I was planning on bringing the Confederate series to New Orleans. I've already spoken to Dominique about it and my other works, and he thinks it's time to arrange for an art show. He wants to invite some of his best customers, do lots of advertising."

  "That's wonderful, Ruby."

  "I don't think I'm ready for such exposure, but. . ."

  "You'll never think you're ready, but if Dominique does, then why not give it a shot?"

  I nodded and played with my napkin for a moment. "So what I think I'll do is go into New Orleans while you're in Dallas," I said. "I'll just stay a night."

  "Will you stay with Gisselle?" he asked.

  "I'd rather not," I said. "I'll probably stay at the Fairmont."

  "Good."

  We gazed at each other. Did Paul know what was really in my heart? It had always been hard to hide my true feelings and thoughts from him. If he knew, he chose not to speak. He smiled and turned to Pearl. I hated doing something I considered deceitful, but my softer voice had won out when it said I was doing something to prevent Paul from suffering any pain.

  He had to leave early the day he went to Dallas. After I rose, I packed my things and went down to breakfast. James helped me pack my paintings in the trunk of the car carefully and then Mrs. Flemming brought Pearl out to wave as I drove off.

  I gazed in my rearview mirror and saw them standing there. . . Mrs. Flemming and Beau's and my beautiful daughter. Surely a love that produced her couldn't be evil, I thought, and that thought propelled me forward. Moments after I pulled onto the main highway and accelerated, I took the ribbon out of my hair and let the wind lift the strands, making me feel free and alive and full of excitement.

  "I'm coming, Beau," I whispered. "Everything else be damned. I'm coming."

  It was a delightful day in New Orleans. The clouds and rain that had swept in the night before were long gone and replaced with a vast, soft blue sky spotted with small, fluffy milk white clouds. As soon as I pulled up in front of the hotel and the doorman shot out to greet me, I felt the increased tempo I always sensed in the inner city. That, along with my heightened nervousness, made me sensitive to every sound and every new scent. When I entered the hotel, I thought everyone was looking at me and that my heels clicked too hard on the marble floors. I had everything brought up to my room and then I sat at the vanity table and brushed out my hair. I freshened my lipstick and then decided to brush my teeth.

  I had to laugh at myself. I was behaving like a teenager about to go on her first date, but the rhythm of my heartbeat never slowed and the flush that had entered my cheeks planted itself there firmly. I saw the frantic and frightened look in my eyes and wondered if anyone else who gazed at me could tell that I was a woman tottering on an emotional tightrope, a married woman about to meet her former lover. I kept checking the clock. I changed three times before deciding that the outfit I had first worn was the best. Finally it was time to go. My fingers trembled around the doorknob. I took a deep breath and pulled it open and then walked quickly to the elevator.

  I had decided I would walk all the way to our rendezvous. Canal Street was as busy and as crowded as ever, but losing myself in the clumps of people who crossed it and walked quickly toward the French Quarter helped. It was as if they kept me moving, kept me standing. I turned down Burborn Street and walked toward Dumaine.

  The barkers were already out in full force, crying the bargains, urging the tourists to come into their restaurants or bars. I caught whiffs of the crawfish etoufee, the freshly baked bread, and the strong coffee. Vendors had their fruits and vegetables for sale on the sidewalks. At a corner where the restaurant was wide open to the street, I smelled the sauteed shrimp and my stomach churned. I had not eaten much of a breakfast and had been too nervous to have any lunch. From one cafe came the sounds of a jazz band, and when I looked through the open doorway of another, I saw four men dressed in straw hats playing a guitar, a mandolin, a fiddle, and an accordion.

  There was always excitement in the air here. It was as if one great and perpetual party were being held. People had a sen
se of abandon. They would eat too much, drink too much, dance and sing too long and too late. It was as if I had crossed over from the world of responsibility and obligations into a world without restraints or laws and rules. Anything went as long as it was pleasing. No wonder Beau had chosen the French Quarter, I thought.

  Finally I came to the address he had written on the little note. The apartment was in a two-story stucco building with a flagstone courtyard. All the apartments had small, scrolled iron balconies looking down on the street. I smelled the aroma of the spearmint growing against the walls. It was a quiet building, just far enough off the other streets and yet steps away when the inhabitants wanted to indulge in the music and the food. I hesitated.

  Maybe he wouldn't be in there. Maybe he had thought twice about it, too. I saw no signs of anyone in the windows. The curtains didn't move. I took a deep breath and looked back. If I did retreat, would I be happier or would I always wonder what it would have been like had I gone into the apartment building and met Beau? Maybe we would just talk, I thought. Maybe we would both come to our senses. I closed my eyes like someone about to dive into a pool and I entered the courtyard. Then I opened them and walked to the front door. I checked the numbers on the directory and walked up the small stairway to a narrow landing. When I found the door, I paused, took another deep breath, and knocked.

  For a few moments, I heard nothing and I began to think he wasn't there. He had indeed changed his mind. I felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. That part of me that had tried to keep me away urged me to turn and flee, to actually run back up the street and return to the hotel; but the other part of me, the part that longed for complete love, filled me with such despondency, I thought my heart would turn to stone and crumble in my chest.

  I started to turn away when the door was pulled open and I saw Beau standing there. He wore a soft white cotton shirt and trousers of the finest dark' blue wool. His eyes blinked rapidly as if trying to focus and convince himself I was really standing there.

  "Ruby," he said softly, "I'm sorry. I must have fallen asleep in my chair dreaming about you. I thought you wouldn't come."

  "I almost didn't, even when I found the address," I said.

  "But you're here. You did come. Come in. Please." He stepped back and I entered the small apartment. It was a one-bedroom with a tiny kitchen and a living room that had French doors opening to the balcony. The furniture and the decor were very simple, modern with that slightly worn look found in hotels or motels. The walls were practically bare, only a small print depicting fruits and flowers here and there.

  "It's not much," he said, gazing around with me. "Just a quiet hideaway."

  "It's quaint. It just needs some warmth."

  He laughed. "I just knew you'd apply your artist's eye instantly. Sit down," he said, indicating the small sofa. "Did you have an easy ride into the city?"

  "Yes. I'm becoming a sophisticated traveler," I said. It was funny how we were both acting as if we were meeting for the very first time, and he . . . he was the father of my child. But time, distance, and events had made us strangers to each other.

  "You're here alone?" he asked cautiously.

  "Yes. I checked into the Fairmont. I'm going to bring my new series over to Dominique. He has been talking about this art show he wants to do with me."

  "Great. But I warn you, I'm not going to let anyone else buy those pictures. No matter what the cost, I'll get them," he vowed. I laughed. "Would you like something cold to drink? I have some chilled white wine."

  "Please," I said. He went out to the kitchen.

  "So Paul knows you've come to New Orleans?" he asked while he poured the wine.

  "Oh yes. He's gone to Dallas for some meetings." "And the baby?" Beau asked, returning.

  "With Mrs. Flemming. She's wonderful with Pearl."

  "I saw that. You're lucky to get someone like that nowadays." He handed me my glass of wine and I sipped some while he sipped his, both of us peering over our glasses at each other. "You never looked more beautiful, Ruby," he said softly. "Motherhood has made you blossom."

  "I've been lucky, Beau. I could have been the fallen woman scrounging out a meager living in the bayou. . until my trust came through, that is."

  "I know," he said. "Ruby, is there any way I can make things up to you? Is there any apology that would sound right?"

  "I told you before, Beau. I don't blame you for anything."

  "Well, you should. I nearly destroyed both our lives," he said. He sipped some more of his wine and then he sat beside me.

  "Where's Gisselle?" I asked.

  "Partying with some of her old friends by now, I'm sure. She was different for a while, especially when she came to France. She had me convinced she had grown up because of all the trouble and hardship in the family. She was vulnerable, sweet, and, believe it or not, considerate. The truth is, she conned me, or maybe I. . . maybe I let her. I was very lonely and depressed after you got married. I realized I had let the one person who could make me feel complete slip through my fingers. I felt like a little boy who had lost grip of his kite string and was chasing after it in vain. I could see it drifting away, only it was your face being carried from me in the wind.

  "I drank more, partied harder, tried to forget. And then Gisselle appeared on the scene and there was your beautiful face before me. . . your hair, your eyes, your nose, though Gisselle to this day believes her nose is smaller and her eyes are brighter.

  "Actually," he continued, gazing down at his glass, "a friend of mine in school in Paris who was studying psychology told me most men fall in love with someone who reminds them of their true love, their first love, someone who impressed them at an early age, someone they couldn't have, but someone they spend a lifetime trying to win. It made sense and I let myself get close to Gisselle again.

  "That's my story," he said, smiling. "What's yours?"

  "Mine's simpler, Beau. I was alone with a baby, afraid. Paul was always there, helping. Everyone in the bayou knew we were once very fond of each other. Everyone believed Pearl was his child. Paul is devoted to me and, despite my protests, is willing to sacrifice for me. I don't want to hurt him, if I can help it."

  "Of course not," Beau said. "He's a very nice man. I enjoyed being with him. I just envy him."

  I laughed.

  "What?"

  "That was what he said to me about you."

  "Why?"

  I stared into his eyes, falling back through time. "Because he knows how much I love you, how much I've always loved you, and how much I always will," I said.

  It was enough to shatter the wall of nervousness and tension between us. His eyes brightened and he put down his glass so he could embrace me. Our first passionate kiss after so long a span of time was like a first kiss, full of fresh excitement.

  "Oh, Ruby, my Ruby, I thought I had lost you forever." He brought his lips to my hair, my eyes, my nose. He kissed my neck and the tip of my chin, one kiss following immediately upon another as if he were starved for love, as starved as I was, and as if he were afraid that I was an illusion and I would pop out of his mind any moment.

  "Beau," I whispered. His name was all I wanted to say. The sound of it from my lips restored me, filled me with pleasure, assuring me I, too, was really here, in his arms.

  He stood up, holding my hand, and I stood up and followed him into the small but cozy bedroom. The afternoon sun poured through the sheer cotton curtains, filling the room with brightness and warmth. I kept my eyes closed while he undressed me. Moments later we were beside each other in the bed, our bodies clinging together magnetically. We moaned, we whispered words of love and promises that went from now to eternity.

  At first our caresses were frenzied, but gradually we became calmer, softer. He pressed his lips to my breasts and traced a line of kisses from them to the small of my stomach. I dropped my head to the pillow and felt my body sinking into the soft mattress as Beau brought his body over mine, covering me with his chest and bringing
his hard manliness to me. I cried out when he entered me and he soothed me with his petting and his soft words.

  Then we moved against each other, drawing love from each other, touching passionate heights time after time until we both reached deeply into our minds and bodies and exploded in an ecstatic crescendo that made everything else but his lips, his voice, his body, disappear. I felt like we were drifting in space.

  "Ruby," he said. "Ruby. Are you all right?"

  Wherever our lovemaking had taken us was a place I didn't want to leave. I clung to it like someone in a wonderfully pleasing dream refusing to regain consciousness. But my peaceful aftermath frightened him and he raised his voice. "Ruby!"

  My eyes fluttered open and I looked up at his concerned face.

  "I'm fine, Beau. I was just drifting."

  He smiled. "I love you," he said, "and I won't stop."

  "I know, Beau. I won't stop loving you either."

  "This will be our love nest, our paradise," he said, turning over in the bed to lie beside me. He held my hand and we stared up at the ceiling. "You can dress it up any way you want. We'll go shopping today and find things to put in it, okay? And I'll buy some of your paintings for the walls. We'll get new linens and a rug and--"

  I couldn't help laughing.

  "What?" he said indignantly. "You think I'm foolish?"

  "No, never, dear Beau. I'm laughing at your exuberance. You're sweeping me off and into your dreams so rapidly, I can barely catch my breath."

  "So? I don't care. I don't care about anything else." He turned and propped himself on his elbow to gaze down at me. "Maybe you can bring Pearl into New Orleans next time, too, and the three of us can enjoy the day together."

  "Maybe," I said, but not confidently.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I just don't want to confuse her. She believes Paul is her father right now."

  Beau's bright smile faded and his face darkened. He nodded and fell back on his pillow. He was silent for a minute.