And as far as my father went, I sympathized with him because of the tragedy involving my uncle Jean, and I understood why he would take one look at my mother and fall head over heels in love, but he should have thought more about the consequences and he shouldn't have let my sister be taken away- from our mother.
Feeling about as low and miserable as I imagined I could, I finally arrived at our front gate. For a long moment, I gazed up at the great house and wondered if all this wealth and all the advantages it would bring to me was really any better than a simpler life in the bayou. What was it Grandmere Catherine saw in my future? Was it just because she wanted me to get away from Grandpere Jack? Wasn't there a way to live in the bayou and not be under his dirty thumb?
Head down, I walked up the steps and entered the house. It was very quiet, Daddy not yet back from his offices, and Daphne either in the study or up in her suite. I went up the stairs and into my room, quickly closing the door behind me. I threw myself on my bed and buried my face in the pillow. Moments later, I heard a lock opened and turned to see the door adjoining my room and Gisselle's opened for the first time. It had been locked from her side; I had never locked it from mine.
"What do you want?" I said, glaring up at her.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking repentant. It took me by such surprise, I was speechless for a moment. I sat up. "I just lost my temper. I didn't mean to say those terrible things about you, but I lied when I told you I didn't care about Beau anymore and you could have him. All the boys and some of my girlfriends have been teasing me about it."
"I haven't done anything to try and get him to choose me over you," I said.
"I know. It's not your fault and I was stupid to blame you for it. I've already apologized to him for the things I said. He was waiting for you after school" "I know."
"Where were you?" she asked.
"I just walked around."
She nodded with understanding. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I'll make sure no one believes the terrible things I said."
Still surprised, but grateful for her change of heart, I smiled. "Thanks."
"Claudine's having a pajama party at her house tomorrow night. Just a bunch of the girls. I'd like you to come with me," she said.
I nodded. "Sure."
"Great. You wanna study for that stupid math test we're having tomorrow?"
"Okay," I said. Was it possible? I wondered. Was there a way for us truly to become the sisters we were meant to be? I hoped so; I hoped so with all my heart.
That night after dinner we did study math. Then we listened to records and Gisselle told me stories about some of the other boys and girls in our so-called group. It was fun gossiping about other kids and talking about music. She promised she would help me memorize my part in the school play, and then she said the nicest thing she had said since I had arrived.
"Now that I've unlocked the door adjoining our two rooms, I want to keep it unlocked. How about you?"
"Sure," I said.
"We don't even have to knock before entering each other's rooms. Except when one of us has some special visitor," she added with a smile.
The next day we both did well on the math test. When the other students saw us walking and talking together, they stopped gazing at me with suspicious smiles. Beau looked very relieved, too, and we had a good play rehearsal after school. He wanted to take me to a movie that night, but I told him I was going to Claudine's pajama party with Gisselle.
"Really?" he said, concerned. "I haven't heard anything about any pajama party. Usually, we boys find out about those things."
I shrugged.
"Maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment idea. Come by the house tomorrow afternoon," I suggested. He still looked troubled, but he nodded.
I didn't know that Gisselle hadn't gotten permission for us to go to Claudine's pajama party until she brought it up at dinner that night. Daphne complained about not enough notice.
"We just decided today," Gisselle lied, shifting her gaze at me quickly to be sure I didn't disagree. I looked down at my food. "Even if we knew, we couldn't tell you or Daddy before anyway," she whined. "You've both been so busy these last few days."
"I don't see any harm in it, Daphne," Daddy said. "Besides, they deserve some rewards. They've been bringing home some great school grades," he added, winking at me. "I'm very impressed with your improvements, Gisselle," he told her.
"Well," Daphne said, "the Montaigne's are very respectable. I'm glad you've made friends with the right class of people," she told me, and gave us permission.
As soon as dinner was over, we went upstairs to pack our bags. Daddy drove us the three blocks or so to Claudine's home, which was almost as big as ours. Her parents had already gone to some affair outside of the city and wouldn't be back until late. The servants had gone to their quarters so we had the run of the house.
There were two other girls besides Claudine, Gisselle, Antoinette, and I: Theresa Du Pratz and Deborah Tallant. We began by making popcorn and playing records in the enormous family room. Then Claudine suggested we mix vodka and cranberry juice, and I thought, oh, no, here we go again. But all the girls wanted to do it. What was a slumber party without doing something forbidden?
"Don't worry," Gisselle whispered. "I'll mix the drinks and make sure we don't have too much vodka." I watched and saw that she did what she promised, winking at me as she prepared the drinks.
"Did you ever have pajama parties in the bayou?" Deborah asked.
"No. The only parties I attended were parties held in fais dodo halls," I explained, and described them. The girls sat around listening to my descriptions of the food, the music, and the activities.
"What's bourse?" Theresa asked.
"A card game, sort of a cross between poker and bridge. When you lose a hand, you stuff the pot," I said, smiling. Some of the girls smiled.
"We're not that far away and yet it's like we live in another country," Deborah remarked.
"People aren't really all that different," I said. "They all want the same things--love and happiness."
Everyone was quiet a moment.
"This is getting too serious," Gisselle declared, and looked at Claudine and Antoinette, who nodded.
"Let's go up to the attic and get some of my grandmere Montaigne's things and dress up like we lived in the twenties."
It was obviously something the girls had done before.
"We'll put on the old music, too," Claudine added. Antoinette and Gisselle exchanged
conspiratorial glances and then we all marched up the stairway. From the doorway of the attic, Claudine cast out garments, assigning what each would wear. I was given an old-fashioned bathing suit.
"We don't want to see what each other looks like until we all come back downstairs," Claudine said. It was as if there were a prescribed procedure for this sort of fun. "Ruby, you can use my room to change." She opened the door to her very pretty room and gestured for me to enter. Then she assigned Gisselle and Antoinette their rooms and told Theresa and Deborah to go downstairs and find places to use. She would use her parents' room. "Everyone meets in the living room in ten minutes."
I closed the door and went into her room. The old-fashioned bathing suit looked so silly when I held it up before me and gazed in Claudine's vanity mirror. It left little really exposed. I imagined people didn't care so much about getting tans in those days.
Envisioning the fun we would have all parading about in old-time clothes, I hurried to get into the bathing suit. I unfastened my skirt, stepped out of it, and unbuttoned my blouse, quickly slipping it off. I started to get into the bathing suit when there was a knock on the door.
"Who is it?"
Claudine peeked in. "How are you doing?"
"Okay. This is going to be big on me."
"My grandmother was a big lady. Oh, you can't wear your bra and panties under a bathing suit. They didn't do that," she said. "Hurry up. Take everything off, get into the suit, and come downstairs."
"But
. . ."
She closed the door again. I shrugged to my image in the mirror and unfastened my bra. Then I lowered my panties. Just as they were down to my knees, I heard muffled laughter. A flutter of panic made my heart skip. I spun around to see the sliding closet door thrown open behind me and three boys emerge, laughing hysterically, Billy, Edward, and Charles. I screamed and scrambled for my garments just as a flashbulb went off. Then I charged out the door, another flash following.
Gisselle, Antoinette, and Claudine emerged from her parents' suite, and Deborah and Theresa came up the stairway, big smiles on all their faces.
"What's going on?" Claudine asked, pretending innocence.
"How could you do this?" I cried. The boys followed me to the doorway of Claudine's room and stared out at me, laughing. They were about to take another picture. Panicking, I gazed around for another place to hide and charged through an opened doorway into another room, slamming the door behind me and shutting away their laughter. As quickly as I could, I put on my clothing. The tears of anger and
embarrassment streamed down my cheeks and fell off my chin.
Still trembling, but awash in a terrible anger, I took a deep breath and came out to find no one. I took another deep breath and then walked down the stairs. Voices and laughter came from the family room. I paused at the doorway and looked in to see the boys spread out on the floor, drinking the vodka and cranberry juice and the girls around them on the sofas and chairs. I fixed my gaze on Gisselle hatefully.
"How could you let them do this to me?" I demanded.
"Oh, stop being a spoilsport," she said. "It was just a prank."
"Was it?" I cried. "Then let me see you get up and take off your clothes in front of them while they snap pictures. Go on, do it," I challenged. The boys looked up at her expectantly.
"I'm not that stupid," she said, and everyone laughed.
"No, you're not," I admitted. "Because you're not as trusting. Thanks for the lesson, dear sister," I fumed. Then I pivoted and marched to the front door.
"Where are you going? You can't go home now," she cried, charging after me. I turned at the door.
"I'm not staying here," I said. "Not after this."
"Oh, stop acting so babyish. I'm sure you let boys see you naked in the bayou."
"No, I did not. The truth is people have more morals there than you do here," I spit out. She stopped smiling.
"You going to tell?" she asked.
I just shook my head. ''What good would it do?" I replied, and walked out.
I hurried over the cobblestone streets and walks, my heart pounding as I practically jogged through the pools of yellow light cast by the street lanterns. I never noticed another pedestrian; I didn't even notice passing cars. I couldn't wait to get home and march up the stairway.
The first thing I was going to do was lock the door again between Gisselle's room and mine.
17
A Formal
Dinner Date
.
Edgar greeted me at the door, a look of concern
on his face when he took one look at mine. I quickly brushed away any lingering tears, but unlike my alligator skinned twin sister, I had a face as thin as cotton. Any mask of deception I tried to wear might as well be made of glass.
"Is everything all right, mademoiselle?" he asked with apprehension.
"Yes, Edgar." I stepped inside. "Is my father downstairs?"
"No, mademoiselle." Something soft and sad in his voice made me turn to meet his eyes. They were dark and full of despair.
"Is something wrong, Edgar?" I asked quickly. "Monsieur Dumas has retired for the evening, he replied, as if that explained it all.
"And my. . . mother?"
"She, too, has gone to bed, mademoiselle," he said. "Can I get you anything?"
"No, thank you, Edgar," I said. He nodded, then turned and walked away. There was an eerie stillness in the house. Most of the rooms were dark. The teardrop chandeliers above me in the hall were dim and lifeless, making the faces in some of the oil paintings gloomy and ominous. A different sort of panic grew in my chest. It made me feel hollow and terribly alone. A chill shuddered down my spine and sent me to the stairway and the promise of my snug bed waiting upstairs. However, when I reached the landing, I heard it again . . . the sound of sobbing.
Poor Daddy, I thought. How great his sorrow and misery must be to drive him into his brother's room so often and cause him still to cry like a baby after all these years. With pity and compassion in my heart, I approached the door and knocked gently. I wanted to talk to him, not only to comfort him, but to have him comfort me.
"Daddy?"
Just as before, the sobbing stopped, but no one came to the door. I knocked again.
"It's Ruby, Daddy. I came back from the pajama party. I need to talk to you. Please." I listened, my ear to the door. "Daddy?" Hearing nothing, I tried the doorknob and found it would turn. Slowly, I opened the door and peered into the room, a long, dark room with its curtains drawn, but with the light of a dozen candles flickering and casting the shadows of distorted shapes over the bed, the other furniture, and the walls. They performed a ghostly dance, resembling the sort of spirits Grandmere Catherine could drive away with her rituals and prayers. I hesitated, my heart pounding.
"Daddy, are you in here?"
I thought I heard a shuffling to the right and walked farther into the room. I saw no one, but I was drawn to the candles because they were all set up in holders on the dresser and surrounded dozens of pictures in silver and gold frames. All of the pictures were pictures of a handsome young man I could only assume was my uncle Jean. The pictures captured him from boyhood to manhood. My father stood beside him in a few, but most of the pictures were portrait photos, some in color.
He is a very handsome man, I thought, his hair the same sort of blond and brown mixture Paul's is. In every color portrait photo, he had soft bluish-green eyes, a straight nose, not too long or too short, a strong, beautifully drawn mouth that flashed a warm smile full of milk white teeth. From the few full body shots, I saw he had a trim figure, manly and graceful like a bullfighter's with a narrow waist and wide shoulders. In short, my father had not exaggerated when he had described him to me. Uncle Jean was any girl's idea of a dreamboat.
I gazed about the room and even in the dim light saw that nothing had been disturbed or changed since the accident years and years ago. The bed was still made and waiting for someone to sleep in it. It looked dusty and untouched, but everything that had been left on the dressers and nightstands, the desk and armoire was still there. Even a pair of slippers remained at the side of the bed, poised to accept bare feet in the morning.
"Daddy?" I whispered to the darkest corners of the room. "Are you in here?"
"What do you think you're doing?" I heard Daphne demand, and I spun around to see her standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips. "Why are you in there?"
"I . . . thought my father was in here," I said.
"Get out of here this instant," she ordered, and backed away from the door. The moment I stepped out, she reached in and grabbed the doorknob to pull the door shut. "What are you doing home? I thought you and Gisselle were attending a slumber party tonight?"
She scowled at me, then turned her head to look at Gisselle's door. She had a lovely profile, classic, the lines of her face perfect when she burned with anger. I guess I really was an artist at heart. In the midst of this, all I could think of was what it would be like to paint that Grecian visage.
"Is she home, too?" Daphne asked.
"No," I said. She spun on me.
"Then why are you home?" she stormed back.
"I . . . didn't feel well, so I came home," I said quickly. Daphne focused her penetrating gaze on me, making me feel as if she were searching my eyes, maybe even my soul. I was forced to shift my eyes guiltily away.
"Are you sure that's the truth? Are you sure you didn't leave the girls to do something else, maybe something with one of the boys?" she
asked
suspiciously. Really feeling sick now, I still managed to find a voice.
"Oh, no, I came right home. I just want to go to bed," I said.
She continued to stare at me, her eyes riveted to mine, pinning me to her like butterflies were pinned to a board. She folded her arms under her breasts. She was in her silk robe and slippers and had her hair down, but her face was still made up, her lipstick and rough fresh. I bit softly on my lower lip. Panic seized me in a tight grip. I imagined I did look quite sick at this point.
"What's wrong with you?" she demanded.
"My stomach," I said quickly. She smirked, but looked a bit more believing.
"They're not drinking liquor over there, are they?" she asked. I shook my head. "You wouldn't tell me if they were, would you?"
I. . .
"You don't have to answer. I know what it's like when a group of teenage girls get together. What surprises me is your letting a mere stomachache stop you from having fun," she said.
"I didn't want to spoil anyone else's," I said. She pulled her head back and nodded softly.
"Okay then, go to bed. If you get any sicker . . ."
"I'll be all right," I said quickly.
"Very good." She started to turn away.
"Why are all those candles lit in there?" I risked asking. Slowly, she turned back to me.
"Actually," she said, suddenly changing her tone of voice to a more reasonable and friendlier one, "I'm glad you saw all that, Ruby. Now you have some idea what I have to put up with from time to time. Your father has turned that room into a. . . into a. . . shrine. What's done is done," she said coldly. "Burning candles, mumbling apologies and prayers won't change things. But he's beyond reason. The whole thing is rather embarrassing, so don't discuss it with anyone and especially don't discuss it in front of the servants. I don't want Nina sprinkling voodoo powders and chanting all over the house.
"Is he in there now?"
Ruby Page 33