Southern Ruby

by Belinda Alexandra

  ‘Wow! What an amazing coincidence,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the pianist: a stocky man in his fifties, with grey sideburns and a white goatee. ‘That’s Glenn Neville. He played with your father on many occasions.’

  Glenn’s piano technique was raw and wild. He stomped his black running shoes on the floor as he played and kept his long grey hair out of his eyes by flicking his head. The untucked purple shirt he wore barely hid his beer belly. I tried to picture what he would have looked like in his twenties, when he and my father played together. Then I tried to imagine what my father would have been like now, in his fifties. Would he still be clean-shaven and sharply dressed in a suit? Or would he have adopted Glenn’s more modern ‘I’ve just rolled out of bed’ style?

  The night was magical, with the band playing jazz classics like ‘Saint Louis Blues’ and ‘Sugar Rum Cherry’. When they performed ‘Shake That Thing’, the audience — as crowded in as we were — got up to dance. When the show was over, I felt that the pieces of the puzzle about my father were coming together faster now.

  Elliot and I waited outside on the street, and when Glenn Neville came out, Elliot explained who I was, because I was suddenly too choked with emotion to tell him myself.

  ‘Wow!’ Glenn said, grabbing my shoulders. ‘Look at you, Amandine! It’s like seeing Dale again — only in drag!’ He hugged me so fiercely that my feet lifted a few inches off the ground — not a small feat as I was a good deal taller than he was.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re all grown up!’ he said, putting me back on the ground and holding me at arm’s length. ‘I used to bounce you on my knee and pretend it was a bumpy horse ride. You were a good kid. You only made trouble once when you covered my suede shoes with toothpaste.’

  ‘It sounds like I was a pain!’ I told him. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It was strange to have had this other life that I couldn’t remember. ‘No, you were our mascot,’ he said, lighting a cigarette. ‘The whole band loved you!’

  ‘Listen, would you like to join us at Pat O’Brien’s?’ suggested Elliot. ‘Amandine has come to New Orleans to learn about her father. You knew Dale well, didn’t you?’

  Glenn’s eyes lit up. ‘He and I were the best of friends. I’ll tell you anything you want to know,’ he said to me.

  The three of us went to Pat O’Brien’s bar, which was crowded with both locals and tourists. Elliot led us straight to the patio to get away from the noise of the duelling pianos.

  ‘Let’s take that table by the fountain,’ he said. ‘It will give you two a chance to chat.’

  We sat down, and a waitress took our orders for Hurricane cocktails.

  ‘I can’t believe that your father has been dead for twenty-three years,’ said Glenn. ‘I still talk to him sometimes. I’ll always miss him.’

  The affection for my father in Glenn’s voice touched me. I pressed my hand to my chest. It was as though I was stepping into a new life, one where my father could be a real person to me. In the short time I’d been here, I’d learned more about my him than I’d ever thought possible.

  ‘How did you become friends with my father?’ I asked Glenn.

  ‘I met him at a gig — I took to him straight away,’ he replied, putting out his cigarette and taking out another one. ‘He was smart but very easy-going. Your mother was more of an extrovert. But together they were a dynamic pair. When you came along, it didn’t slow them down. They took you everywhere. Half our van was filled with music gear and the other half was packed with all your baby stuff. The band loved you, and we even took turns at changing you. Though I did get in trouble from Dale once for spiking the juice in your sippy cup!’

  Elliot and I laughed.

  ‘It must have been a handful having a small child on tour,’ I said. ‘I’m surprised my parents didn’t leave me with Grandma Ruby or Aunt Louise.’

  Glenn shook his head. ‘Your father would never have had that. He didn’t want to be another musician with a divorce and a broken family. That’s why he insisted you all stick together. But he did tell me once that he and Paula were planning another baby and then they’d stop touring. He wanted to open his own jazz club and stay put in New Orleans to give you stability.’

  Glenn’s revelation stung my heart. My parents had been planning another child. How different would my life have been if I’d had a brother or a sister?

  ‘Was my father . . . was he a happy man?’ I asked, my pulse racing. I was surprised at myself for asking the question. But I knew why I had, even though it tore me in two. I was ready to know about that night — about the accident.

  ‘Your father didn’t have any demons,’ Glenn answered emphatically. ‘He wasn’t a jolly, roll-about-on-the-floor kind of guy. But he was a glass-half-full person. He had the quiet contentment of a man who loved his family.’

  The waitress returned with our cocktails. I knew the time had come to ask the question that I’d needed an answer to for so long. But it was agonising because I was afraid it would undo all the good feelings I was starting to have about my father.

  ‘What happened the night my parents died? I was told my father had a blood alcohol reading of 0.21. But everyone who knew him says he was a light drinker.’

  Glenn grimaced, then cleared his throat. ‘We had a gig to play in Jacksonville, Florida the following evening. We were used to working and travelling at night and sleeping during the day, so we had an early dinner on Canal Street and set off around 7 pm, planning to make a few stops along the way. I remember that your father was different that night. He seemed preoccupied with something, not at all his relaxed self. He usually limited himself to one drink a night, but I noticed over dinner that he knocked back at least four or five. Maybe more, I don’t know. The band and I were in the van driving behind your father’s car. The accident happened just after Mobile.’ Glenn glanced down at his hands. ‘I’ll never forget the horrible sight of the car swerving across the road and rolling over the embankment.’

  Tears pricked my eyes. ‘Everyone says my father was a responsible person,’ I said, my voice trembling. ‘But if he was so responsible, why did he drive drunk with my mother and me in the car?’

  Glenn looked confused. ‘He wasn’t driving, Amandine. When the car left the road, it was your mother at the wheel.’

  I couldn’t sleep that night. I played the CD of my father’s music that Elliot had made for me and tried to lose myself in the passionate and elegant rhythms, but there was no solace there. I’d hoped that coming to New Orleans would give me a sense of belonging and offer me some peace. Now, a gaping hole had opened in my heart. My father hadn’t been driving the car when it veered off the road. That was a lie I’d believed all my life.

  My mother’s blood alcohol reading had put her well under the limit. Glenn said no-one knew why she’d lost control of the car. The cause could have been as simple as a momentary loss of concentration, or lack of experience driving on the right side of the road. He’d explained that usually it was my father who drove, but he hadn’t done so that night because he’d had too much to drink.

  I got out of bed and paced the floor, unable to think straight. Outside the window, the moon was a huge luminous globe.

  There was a soft knock at the door and Grandma Ruby stepped into the room.

  ‘Amandine? What is it, darling? Don’t tell me that Elliot hurt your feelings?’

  I was touched by the concern on her face. I shook my head. Elliot had been very worried about me and had pulled over several times on the drive home to ask if I was all right. He’d even offered to stay with me so I could talk the shock out. But I’d told him that I needed to be alone, to digest what I’d discovered. He’d only let me get out of the car when I’d promised to call him the next day.

  ‘Then what?’ asked Grandma Ruby. ‘Tell me what’s upset you so much.’

  I didn’t want to distress her when she was feeling sad herself. But when she sat on the bed and indicated for me to join her, I found myself pouring o
ut my feelings.

  ‘Why did Nan tell me that it was my father who was driving?’ I cried. ‘Did she make it up? Or was she unable to accept that my mother caused the accident?’

  Grandma Ruby shook her head. ‘I thought you knew it was your mother who was driving.’ We were silent for a long time before she spoke again. ‘Perhaps Cynthia convinced herself Dale was driving. She was so angry at all of us. When I learned she was taking legal action to gain custody of you and take you away to Australia, I fought her tooth and nail. After the death of your parents, you and Louise were all I had left. Those days were overwhelming and unbearable and I doubted I would survive. I didn’t stop to consider that Cynthia was all alone too. Instead of appealing to her compassion and coming up with some kind of compromise, I used my lawyers to make a counter-case against her. But she won custody on some international technicalities. I was supposed to be given rights of visitation, but with the hatred she felt towards me, that never happened.’

  Grandma Ruby took my hand. ‘We were fools, Cynthia and I — such terrible fools! We argued about our rights and forgot that you had rights too. The hurt that you’ve endured is unforgivable. Believe me, I would have done things differently now. And I believe Cynthia would have too. She loved you very much, Amandine. Never doubt that. But people do terrible things out of fear — even to the people they love.’

  I was moved that Grandma Ruby could be compassionate towards Nan after all my grandmother had done to hurt her. Finally, I was able to feel the calm resignation that I’d been desperately seeking since I’d returned from Preservation Hall. My parents were both gone, and no amount of twisting my mind out of shape about who was or wasn’t driving could change it. No matter who Nan had blamed, the facts would still be the same. I’d grown up without my parents. Why my mother had swerved off the road, no-one could answer.

  But there was something I still wanted to know, and perhaps Grandma Ruby could tell me.

  ‘My father’s friend, Glenn Neville, said he’d seemed upset on the night of the accident and that’s why he drank so much. Do you have any idea what had shaken him up?’

  Grandma Ruby’s shoulders slumped as if all the air had gone out of her.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s what I’ve been wanting to tell you. But first let me explain to you how close our family was, so you will understand.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Ruby

  The pain of losing Leroy was like hundreds of hands clawing at my heart. The colour drained out of my life. My head spun so much I thought I couldn’t go on. And yet I had to. There was Maman and Mae to look after, as there always had been.

  As soon as I’d discovered that Leroy had been killed, I’d gone to Sam Coppola and told him what had happened. The loss had been so sudden and so shocking that even as I described it to him, I was sure that I must have dreamed it. I had to clench my fists and convince myself that what had happened was real. Leroy was gone. Gone from me forever. That meant Jewel had to die too.

  ‘Jewel needs to disappear,’ I told Sam. ‘She needs to vanish without a trace.’

  He bowed his head. ‘I’m sorry, Jewel. I’d hoped things would turn out for you and Leroy. I’ll cover your tracks. No-one will be able to trace you. And if you ever find out who did this, I’ll settle the score.’

  The Ruby who sat down to breakfast with Maman the following day was nothing but a shell.

  ‘My darling,’ Maman said, ‘I can’t bear to see you so pale. Please tell me, has something happened between you and Clifford Lalande? Even if he is busy in New York, surely he could call?’

  Poor Maman had put my grief down to lovesickness. She had no idea of the turmoil in my heart.

  ‘I lost my job at the telephone exchange,’ I told Mae. ‘I told Maman that Adalie de Pauger was ill with the measles so I wouldn’t be visiting her for a while.’

  Mae nodded. ‘Did you backchat your boss?’

  Despite my grief, I almost wanted to laugh at her assumption. ‘Well, sort of,’ I replied.

  ‘A whistling woman and a crowing hen never come to no good end,’ she said. ‘You are what you are, Miss Ruby. You’re meant to marry a gentleman, not wear yourself out working.’

  To my surprise, Clifford Lalande appeared a few days after Leroy’s death to visit us, bearing charm bracelets from Tiffany & Co. for Maman and me, and a bottle of eau de cologne for Mae. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since Mardi Gras night.

  ‘I’m sorry that business has kept me away from your charming company for so long, Mrs de Villeray,’ he told Maman. ‘But it was unavoidable. I hope I can make it up to you both somehow.’

  Maman’s hand brushed her throat and her cheeks blushed from her nose to her ears. I could tell she was both delighted and flustered at Clifford’s sudden return.

  ‘That’s quite all right,’ she said, linking arms with him and ushering him quickly into the parlour as if she was afraid he might disappear again. ‘There is nothing to apologise for. We could not be more pleased to see you.’

  I followed them in and sat down too. Clifford’s gaze shifted to me. I sensed from the faint lines between his eyes that he was worried about me. He must have found out somehow what had happened to Leroy.

  ‘Did you have a successful time in New York?’ Maman asked him.

  I wondered if Clifford had really been there. He was such an honest person that I wouldn’t have put it past him to have travelled there and back just so he wouldn’t have to lie to Maman. He told her something about a legal case that sounded as if it could be true, but I found the story difficult to follow. My thinking had become slow and muddled.

  I didn’t realise that Maman and he were talking about me until Clifford said with emphasis, ‘I was wondering, with your permission, Mrs de Villeray, if I may take Ruby for a drive this afternoon?’

  Maman blushed again. ‘Oh, that would be delightful. Some fresh air would do her the world of good. She hasn’t been getting out as much since her friend fell ill.’

  Normally Maman would have insisted that she or Mae accompany us, but I could tell from the sparkle in her eyes that she was hoping Clifford had bought more than charm bracelets at Tiffany’s.

  ‘I thought I might take you for a drive to Lake Pontchartrain, Ruby,’ he said once we were out on the street. He opened the door to his Buick for me, then turned and waved to Maman, who was watching us from the gallery, beaming.

  ‘How did you know she would be standing there?’ I asked when he slipped into the driver’s seat.

  He smiled. ‘I knew.’

  I was grateful to Clifford for coming. I had no-one to talk to about what had happened and he was sensitive enough to have realised that.

  We didn’t make further conversation as we drove out of the city, nor as the car bumped and shook along the untarred road to the lake. It was only when Clifford had parked outside a fishing shack on piers that he looked at me.

  ‘It’s a simple place,’ he said. ‘But the food is good and it has a nice view of the water.’

  The hut, converted into a home-style café, was bare bones with a tiny kitchen and Formica tables. I could see the muddy water of the lake through the holes in the splintery floorboards. But it was quiet and the breeze off the water was pleasant.

  Clifford ordered lemonades for us and told the waitress we would eat later. Then he looked into my eyes and said, ‘Ruby, I’m so sorry.’

  I nodded. ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘From some of my contacts in the NAACP. They keep tabs on all racially motivated murders. When I learned that Leroy Thezan was secretly seeing a white dancer called Jewel, I understood immediately who he was.’

  ‘Do they know who did it?’

  ‘No, unfortunately,’ he said, slowly stirring the ice in his drink. ‘There are a number of white supremacists in the city; they might have killed Leroy to get at his brother.’

  ‘Does the NAACP know that Jewel is me?’

  Clifford shook his head. ‘Jewel has disappeared
without a trace.’ He looked at me levelly. ‘She might even be dead herself.’

  I blinked back my tears and nodded towards the lake. ‘I feel like I’m dead. If it wasn’t for Maman and Mae, I would have drowned myself in there.’

  He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. ‘Don’t talk like that, Ruby. Leroy would not have wanted that for you.’ There were only four choices on the menu. We ate fried oyster po’ boys with sides of corn and potato. I’d had the appetite of a sick bird and it surprised me that I ate so well that afternoon. Perhaps it was the comfort I felt in Clifford’s company.

  After we’d finished eating and Clifford had paid the bill, he nodded towards the shore. ‘Let’s go for a walk. There’s something I want to talk to you about.’

  We took our shoes off and walked along the gritty grey sand, before taking a seat on some rocks. The air smelled of brine.

  ‘Listen, Ruby,’ he said, turning to face me, ‘my proposal to you still stands. I love you, and I’ll take care of you and your mother and Mae. You’re grieving now, but I know in time I can make you very happy.’

  A proposal from anyone but Clifford so soon after Leroy’s death would have been insulting. But I knew it was motivated by genuine love and concern. My refusal was as genuine.

  ‘You can’t marry me,’ I told him. ‘I’m a woman with a past. I was a burlesque dancer — and I loved a coloured man. If anyone finds out, you’ll be the laughing stock of New Orleans.’

  ‘A dancer in a club — so what?’ He picked up a stone and sent it skipping across the water. ‘You were beautiful and classy. The fact that you could see a coloured man as an equal human being makes me admire you more.’ He looked at me again. ‘Ruby, the loss you have suffered must be unbearable. I don’t expect you to be the blushing bride. But I do want you to think long term. You can’t go back to dancing, and you have to secure your future. Maybe you don’t love me in a silly romantic way, but perhaps that’s even better. What we’ve got is true companionship. I’m a man who loves you for exactly who you are, and I believe you feel the same way about me.’