All That Glitters

"You're right," he finally said. "Let's take it an inch at a time. I have to learn to control my excitement."

  "I'm sorry, Beau. I didn't mean . ."

  "No, you're right. It's okay. I shouldn't be greedy. I have no right to ask for any more. I have no right to ask for this." He turned to kiss me softly and we smiled at each other again. "Hungry?"

  "Starving. I forgot to eat lunch."

  "Great. I know a wonderful little cafe close to here where they make the best po'boy sandwiches in New Orleans."

  "Afterward, I do have to see Dominique," I said.

  "Of course. I'll go with you, if you want."

  "I think I should just go myself. Dominique has met Paul and . ."

  "I understand," Beau said quickly. "Let's get dressed and go eat."

  Beau was right about the po'boy sandwiches. I had one with the works, sauteed shrimp, cheese, fried oysters, sliced tomatoes and onions. We sat out on a patio where we ate and watched the tourists with their cameras parading by and gawking at the architecture, the novelty shops and restaurants. Afterward, we went for a walk and I returned to the hotel to call home to see how Pearl was doing. Mrs. Flemming told me everything was fine. I called for my car and brought the Confederate series over to Dominique, who thought the pictures were wonderful.

  "There is no question you are ready to be formally introduced to the New Orleans art world," he told me, and we began to plan my art show. Afterward, I returned to the hotel to shower and change to meet Beau for dinner. I had a message from Paul waiting, telling me how to reach him.

  "How is it going?" he asked when I phoned.

  "Fine. You were right. Dominique thinks I should have a show. We're setting it up," I said, making it seem as if that was all I was doing in New Orleans.

  "That's wonderful."

  "And your meetings?"

  "Going better than I expected, but I'm sorry I'm not with you," he said.

  "I'm all right. I'm going home tomorrow sometime in the late morning. Dominique and I are having breakfast together," I said. The lie nearly got stuck on my tongue. Paul was silent.

  "Good," he said after a moment. "Have a safe trip back."

  "You, too, Paul."

  "See you soon. 'Bye."

  The receiver felt like a stone in my hand. My eyes glistened with tears and my chest ached. Grandmere Catherine used to say that deceit was a garden in which only the blackest weeds grew, and those who sowed their seeds in it reaped disaster. I hoped this wasn't something I had planted in Paul's future. There was no one I would want to hurt less than him.

  Beau knew a quaint little French restaurant close to Jackson Square. I took a cab to our love nest and from there we walked. We had a wonderful meal of quail in wine followed by cups of rich coffee and orange creme brulee. Afterward, I insisted we take a long walk.

  "I'm stuffed," I moaned.

  We held hands and walked slowly through the French Quarter, which was bustling with its nightlife. There was a different sort of excitement in the Quarter after the sun went down. The women who stood in the doorways and alleyways were more scantily dressed and heavily made-up. The music had a deeper wail, some singers sounding mournful, full of blues and tears. In other places where younger tourists flocked, there was upbeat jazz and the shrieks, shouts, and laughter of people letting down their hair, looking for the ultimate excitement, whatever that might be. All the novelty shops and souvenir shops were brightly lit. Drifters, poor musicians, lined the sidewalks. There was someone at every corner pleading for a handout, but no one resented them. It was as if they were meant to be there, part of what made the Quarter unique. Scam artists hovered about, searching for easy prey.

  "'Scuse me, sir, but I bet I can tell where you come from exactly. If I don't, I'll give you ten bucks; if I do, you give me twenty. Here's my ten. What'dya say?"

  "No, thank you. We know where we come from," Beau responded with a smile.

  It was exciting walking here with him and I thought, yes, I could have another life, a secret life with him here. We would make our love nest comfortable and we would enjoy the city, the food and its people, and we would cheat Fate.

  We circled until we returned to the small apartment, where I made an impulsive decision to spend the night with him. We made love again, this time turning to each other the moment we closed the door behind us. Before we reached the bedroom, we were both naked. He lifted me in his arms and put me down gently on the bed and then he knelt beside the bed and began kissing me from my toes up. I dosed my eyes and waited for him to reach my lips, which by that time were burning with desire.

  As we made love, we heard the music and the murmuring sounds of people talking in the street outside, a constant flow of voices and laughter. It was intoxicating and I held Beau close to me, whispering his name, whispering my undying love, actually coming to tears when we reached our sweet climax and lay beside each other, pleasantly exhausted.

  In the morning we rose early and went to the Cafe du Monde for coffee and beignets. Then he walked me back to my hotel. We had planned to meet again in a week's time when I returned to complete the arrangements for the art show and bring Dominique some more of my work. I kissed him good-bye and hurried into the hotel to get my things.

  I was afraid I would find a message indicating Paul had tried to reach me the night before, but there was nothing. I was in and out of the hotel quickly, and in minutes, back on the highway that would take me home. I felt full of life, restored, blossoming, just as Beau had said. But my elation was to be short-lived. It ended the moment I drove up to the house.

  The dark expression on James's face when he came down the front steps to help me with my things told me immediately that something terrible was wrong. My first thoughts went to Pearl.

  "What is it, James? What's happened?"

  "Oh, it's Mrs. Flemming, madame. She's had some bad news, I'm afraid."

  "Where is she?"

  "Upstairs, waiting for you in Pearl's nursery."

  I hurried into the house, practically charging up the stairway to find Mrs. Flemming sitting in the rocking chair, her face white, her lips pale. Pearl was asleep in her crib.

  "What is it, Mrs. Hemming?"

  She lifted her hands, seeming to wipe away invisible cobwebs, and pressed her lips together. Then she nodded toward Pearl and got up quietly to join me in the hallway.

  "My daughter in England," she said, finally finding the strength to speak. "She was in a car accident and she is very badly hurt. I have to go."

  "Of course," I said. "How dreadful. I'll help you with the arrangements."

  "I've already taken care of most of it, madame. I was just waiting for your return."

  "Oh, Mrs. Flemming. I'm so sorry," 1 said.

  "Thank you, dear. I hate to leave, you know. You've made me feel like part of the family. I know you're very excited about your artistic career and need me to help with Pearl."

  "Nonsense. You must go. I'll pray for you and your daughter," I said.

  She pressed her lips together and nodded, the tears streaming down her face. "It's sad how it takes bad things to bring loved ones closer," she said. I hugged her and kissed her cheek.

  When James brought my things up, he brought hers down. She had a taxicab on order.

  "Kiss the little one for me every morning," she said.

  "I know she'll miss you terribly. Please, let us know how things go and what we can do for you, Mrs. Flemming."

  She promised and then left. It was as if a hurricane had come and blown my happy home apart. I couldn't help wondering if capricious Fate had decided to punish those close to me for any sins I might commit.

  Nina Jackson, the Dumas cook, used to tell me that maybe a long time ago someone burned a black candle against us. Grandmere Catherine, being a spiritual healer, kept the evil away, but after she died, the devil, Papa La Bas, started coming around again, peeping in on my life, waiting for an opportunity.

  Had I just given him one?

  10

  P
icture Perfect

  .

  Paul phoned that night from Baton Rouge and I

  told him about Mrs. Flemming.

  "I'll come right home," he said.

  "You don't have to, Paul. We're all right. I'm

  just very sad for her and for her daughter."

  "I like to be with you when you're sad, Ruby. I

  don't like your being alone at times like this," he said. "You can't protect me from every little storm

  that befalls me, Paul. Besides, I didn't have a nanny

  helping me when I lived in the shack and things were

  twice as difficult, did I?" I replied, my tone of voice

  harder than I had intended.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to suggest you couldn't

  do everything for Pearl yourself," he said in a small

  voice.

  "You don't have to be sorry, Paul. I'm not

  angry. I'm just . . . upset about Mrs. Flemming." "Which is why I should be home," he insisted.

  "Paul, do what you have to do and then come home.

  I'll be all right. Really," I said.

  "Okay. I should be able to leave here before

  lunch tomorrow anyway," he said. There was a short pause and then he asked how things went in New

  Orleans.

  "Fine. Dominique and I made all the

  arrangements, but I think I'll postpone it until things

  get calmer around here."

  "We'll begin a search for a new nanny as soon

  as I come home," he said. "There's no need to

  postpone your show, Ruby."

  "Let's not talk about it now, Paul. Suddenly

  that's not as important to me anyway, And I don't

  want to go out and get a new nanny just yet. Let's wait

  and see what happens with Mrs. Flemming and her

  daughter."

  "Whatever you want."

  "Besides, I think I can be a full-time mother

  and an artist at the same time."

  "Okay," he said. "I'll be home as soon as I can." "Don't speed, Paul," I warned. "We don't need

  another car accident."

  "I won't," he promised. "See you soon. 'Bye."

  "Goodbye, Paul."

  The day's ride on an emotional roller coaster

  exhausted me. After I put Pearl to sleep, I crawled

  into bed myself. I lay there for a while with my eyes

  open debating about calling Beau. I just dreaded the thought that Gisselle would find out I was calling, however, and I decided against it. I would wait for him to call me. I shut my eyes, but despite my fatigue, I tossed and turned, fretting in and out of nightmares, some of which had terrible things happening to Paul and some had terrible things happening to Beau. How fragile our lives were, I thought. In seconds, everything we had, everything we learned, everything we built, could become dust. It made me question what were really the most important things and what

  were not.

  I knew Paul must have driven fast despite his

  promises, because he was at Cypress Woods very

  early in the afternoon the next day. When I accused

  him of it, he swore he had been able to end his

  meetings earlier than anticipated. I was just finishing

  my lunch and having coffee on the patio. Pearl was

  beside me in her playpen, sitting comfortably and

  coloring with her crayons. She couldn't stay within the

  lines, but she was content smearing the colors over the

  faces and figures, pretending she was doing what

  Mommy did. Occasionally she would stop and raise

  her eyes to see if I was watching and admiring her

  work.

  "Another artist in the family," Paul declared

  when he sat down.

  "She thinks she is. Did your meetings go well,

  then?"

  "I signed a new contract. I don't want to tell you

  the numbers. You'll tell me they're obscene, just like

  you did the last time."

  "They are. I can't help feeling guilty about

  making so much money when there are so many

  people in need of the simple, basic things."

  "True, but our industrious work and clever

  arrangements will create hundreds of new jobs and

  provide employment, opportunities, and money for

  many people, Ruby."

  "You're beginning to sound like a big

  businessman, all right," I said, and he laughed. "I suppose in my heart I always was.

  Remember when I was only ten and I had my roadside

  stand, selling my Cajun peanuts, the dried shrimp,

  from my father's cannery?"

  "Yes. You were very cute, dressing yourself

  neatly in your shirt and little tie, having your cigar

  box of change."

  He smiled at his memories. "I never wanted to

  charge you and your grandmere Catherine when you

  walked by and stopped, but she wouldn't take it for nothing. 'You can't stay in business that way,' she told

  me."

  I nodded, remembering.

  Paul gazed at Pearl for a moment and then

  turned back to me. There was a deep dark look in his

  blue eyes. I could see the hesitation, too.

  "What is it, Paul?"

  "I don't want you to think I was checking up on

  you. I just called to see how you were."

  "Called? When? Where?"

  "The night before last, when you were at the

  hotel in New Orleans," he said.

  My heart throbbed in triple time as I held my

  breath. "What time?" I asked softly.

  "After eleven. I didn't want to call too late for

  fear I might wake you, but . ."

  I turned away.

  "As I said," he continued, "don't think I was

  checking up on you. You don't owe me any

  explanations, Ruby," he added quickly.

  Over the cypress trees that walled the swamps,

  I saw a marsh hawk lift itself and float downward,

  probably to pluck some unwary prey. It caused a half

  dozen rice birds to scatter. Beyond the trees, a ceiling

  of bruised clouds made its slow but determined journey in our direction, promising torrents of rain before the day ended. I felt a cloud burst within me, releasing drops of ice over my heart. They streamed down into my stomach and into my legs, filling me

  with a cold numbness.

  "I wasn't in the hotel, Paul," I said slowly. "I

  was with Beau."

  I turned quickly to catch the confirmation in his

  face. He was caught in a tug-of-war of emotions. He

  had known, but I knew he didn't want to know; and

  yet he did. He wanted to face reality, but he was

  hoping it wasn't the reality he dreaded. Pain flashed in

  his eyes. I shrank into a tighter ball.

  "How could you do that? How could you be

  with that man after the way he deserted you?" "Paul. . ."

  "No, I'd like to know. Don't you have any selfrespect? He left you to have his baby while he went

  off and enjoyed Paris and who knows how many

  Frenchwomen. Then he married your sister and

  inherited half your wealth. Now you go running back

  to him, sneaking in the night."

  "Paul, I didn't mean to be deceitful. Really . . ." He turned quickly to me. "That was your real

  purpose for going to New Orleans, wasn't it? It wasn't the paintings, your art career. It was to run to his arms

  again. Have you planned other sneaky rendezvous?" "I was going to tell you," I said. "Eventually." "Sure," he said. He sat back and pulled up his

  shoulders. "What have you two decided to do?" "Decided to do?"

 
"Is he going to divorce Gisselle?"

  "No such proposal was discussed," I said.

  "Except we both know what our religious beliefs are

  and how divorce is not an acceptable option,

  especially to his family. Besides, I can't imagine

  Gisselle being cooperative, can you?"

  "Hardly," Paul said.

  "Just the opposite would happen. She would

  feed on the scandal. She would help write the

  headline: One Twin Steals the Other's Husband. You

  can just imagine what it would do to Beau and his

  family in New Orleans, and . . . it wouldn't be fair to

  you, Paul. These people here . ."

  "Really?" he said with a smirk.

  "Paul, please. I feel dreadful about this. There's

  no one I want to hurt less than you."

  He looked away so I wouldn't see the tears and

  anger in his face. "It's nothing I haven't brought on

  myself," he muttered. "Mother said it would happen

  eventually." He was silent.

  "Don't just sit there like that, Paul. Scream at

  me. Throw me out."

  He turned slowly. The pain in his face was like

  a sword in my heart. "You know I won't do that,

  Ruby. I can't stop myself from loving you."

  "I know," I said sadly. "I wish you didn't. I wish

  you could hate me," I said.

  He smiled. "You might as well wish for the

  earth to stop spinning, the sun to stop coming up in

  the morning and going down at night."

  We gazed at each other and I thought how cruel

  it was for Fate to cause him to have such unrequited

  passion for me. Fate had turned him into a thirsty man

  forever hovering above cool, clear water, but

  forbidding him to drink. If only there were a way to

  get him to hate me, I thought with irony. It would be

  painful for me, but it would be so much better for him.

  Between us, like a raw wound that refused to heal,

  lingered our regrets and sadness.

  "Well," he said finally, "let's not speak of

  unhappy things right now. We have too many other

  problems at the moment. You're certain about us not

  seeking another nanny?"

  "For the time being, yes."

  "Okay, but I hate to see you put your career on

  hold. I'm supposed to be married to a famous Cajun