I don't know how many times Beau cried my name. I can't remember what I was saying, but this time our lovemaking was so intense, it brought tears to my eyes. For a few moments it was as though we had melted into each other. We were that hot. I embraced him so tightly, one would have thought I was afraid of being thrown out of my bed.

We reached our climaxes simultaneously, ravishing each other with kisses, moving our lips over one another's faces like two people starving for affection, for the touch of another human being, hungry for love. We smothered our cries against one another's neck and shoulders and wound ourselves down with deep gasps, our hearts pounding against one another's, both of us so surprised at our passion we could only laugh.

"Feel this," Beau said, placing my palm over his heart. "And you feel mine."

We lay beside each other, our heartbeats tapping against our hands, the rhythms traveling down our arms and back into our own hearts.

We lay side by side, silent for a long while. Then Beau sat up and leaned over me, gazing down at me.

"You're wonderful," he said. "I love you. I can't say it enough."

"Do you, Beau? And will you love me forever and ever?"

"I can't see why not or how I could stop," he said, and kissed me softly.

On the radio, the announcer, in a very excited voice, began a countdown. "Ten, nine, eight . . ."

Beau took my hand and we recited the rest of the numbers together.

"Five, four, three, two, one—HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

"Auld Lang Syne" began to play on the radio.

"Happy New Year, Ruby."

"Happy New Year, Beau."

We kissed again and held each other, and for a moment it did seem like nothing in this world was strong enough to tear us apart. I hadn't felt this happy and this contented for a long time. It was a good feeling. I had hungered for it more than I had realized.

We got dressed, fixed our hair, and straightened ourselves up so that we looked almost as prim and neat as we had at the beginning of the evening. Then we left to go downstairs to see what Gisselle and her friends were up to.

I wish we hadn't. It looked like two boys had rushed down the corridor to get to a bathroom and hadn't made it. They were vomiting and spitting over the same area, alternating their moaning with stupid laughter. The house reeked from the sickeningly sweet stench of wine and whiskey.

All of the party decorations had been pulled down in a mad frenzy at the midnight hour. Balloons had been popped and lay everywhere. The living room was a mess. What's more, it looked like—and we later found out this was so—there had been a food fight. Drinks had been spilled on the floor; there was cake and pieces of po'boy sandwiches on the furniture, mustard and mayonnaise smeared on the walls and over the tables; there was even some of it smeared on the windows.

Some of the party guests were sprawled on the floor, wrapped in each other's arms, laughing and giggling stupidly. Others, feeling their overindulgence, sat with their eyes closed, their hands on their stomachs. Two boys were still at the bar, challenging each other with drinks. Naturally, the music had been turned up until it was nearly deafening.

"Where's Gisselle?" I screamed. Some gazed at me indifferently. Antoinette broke out of the arms of the boy who was sleeping on her shoulder and walked over to us.

"Your sister left the party about an hour ago with John."

"Left the party? Where did they go?"

Antoinette shrugged.

"Did she leave the house?"

"I don't think so," Antoinette said, and laughed. "She wasn't feeling any pain. Oh. Happy New Year, Beau," she said, leaning over to kiss him.

"Happy New Year," he replied, kissing her quickly on the cheek. She backed up, disappointed, and returned to her drunken partner.

"She didn't go up to her room," I told Beau. "We would have heard her for sure. Daphne is going to be furious when she comes in and sees this. We'd better find Gisselle and have her order these people to clean up and leave."

"Doesn't look too promising," Beau said, gazing around. "But let's see if we can find her."

We went through most of the downstairs area, found a couple entwined in Daphne's office and shooed them out, but we didn't locate Gisselle. I ran upstairs to check the other bedrooms and came down to report no one there. We went through the kitchen and even looked down by Edgar's and Nina's rooms.

"Maybe she went out to the cabana," Beau suggested. We checked but found no one there or around the pool. "Where could she be? She must have left the house," Beau reasoned.

"There's only one place we haven't checked, Beau."

"Where?"

I took his hand and led him back into the house. We stepped over a boy sprawled across the hallway floor asleep and went down to my studio. As we approached the door, I heard Gisselle's giggling. I looked at Beau and thrust the door open. For a moment, neither of us believed what we were seeing.

John was naked on the sofa and Gisselle, dressed only in her bra and panties, was painting him. She had smeared red and green paint over his shoulders and chest and made long streaks of yellow down his legs, but at this moment she was dabbing black over his private parts. John was obviously too drunk to care. He laughed with her.

"Gisselle!" I screamed. "What are you doing?"

She turned and swayed for a moment as she tried to focus on us.

"Oh . . . look who's here . . . the lovers," she muttered, and then laughed again.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Doing?" She looked down at John, who had his eyes closed and wore a dumb smile on his face. "Oh. I'm painting John. I told him I had just as much art talent as you did, and if you could paint Beau, I could paint him. John agreed." She laughed and poked him. "Didn't you, John?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Get your ass off that sofa," Beau commanded, "and get dressed, you idiot."

John lifted his head. "Oh, hi, Beau. Is it New Year's Day yet?"

"For you it's the end of the year if you don't get up and get dressed and fast."

"Huh?"

"Gisselle, did you see what your friends did to the house? How long have you been away from the party?"

"How long have you been away, dear Sister?" she countered, smiling licentiously and swaying.

"They've wrecked the house! There are kids vomiting in the halls. The walls are smeared with food—"

"Oops. Sounds like an emergency."

"Beau," I cried. He rushed forward and grabbed John by the arms, pulling him up. Then he shoved him toward the rear of the studio and forced him to start putting on his clothes.

"Get dressed, Gisselle, and march down to the party. You've got to get them to start cleaning up before Daphne returns."

"Oh, stop worrying about Daphne. Daphne—she's going to be very nice to us now because she wants to marry Bruce and make us look like a happy, respectable New Orleans family. You were always too frightened of Daphne. You're frightened of your own Cajun shadow," she quipped.

I stepped up to her and thrust her dress into her face.

"I'm not too frightened to break your neck. Put on this dress. Now!"

"Stop yelling. It's New Year's Eve. We're supposed to be having a good time. You had a good time, didn't you?"

"I didn't wreck anything. Look at my studio!" I cried. Gisselle had spilled paints, torn canvases, and smeared clay over the tables and tools.

"The servants will clean up after us. They always do," she said. She started to put on her dress.

"Not this mess and the mess in the living room. Even a slave would rebel," I said. But it didn't matter what I said.

Gisselle was too drunk to listen or care. She wobbled, laughed, and got herself together. Beau managed to get John dressed, and then we pulled the two of them out of the studio and marched them back to the party. Even Gisselle was surprised at the extent of the damage. Some of the kids, realizing what had been done, had already left. The ones who remained were not in the best condition to help clean up and restore the living room.

"Happy New Year!" Gisselle cried. "I guess we better try to clean up." She giggled and started to gather up glasses, but she took too many too fast and dropped them, breaking three.

"She's worthless," I told Beau.

"I'll get her to sit down and stay in one place," he said. While he did that, I tried to get some of the kids to help me pick up plates and glasses that were left on the floor. We found some under the sofas, some behind the chairs, glasses on the bookshelves and under tables.

I went into the kitchen and got a pail of soapy water with some sponges. When I returned, I found that more of the party guests had deserted. Those who were left tried to help. Antoinette and I went around the room and scrubbed as much as we could off the walls, but some of the food had made deep stains. It was overwhelming.

"It's going to take an army to fix this, Beau," I cried. He agreed.

"Let's just get them all out of here," he said. We announced the party had ended. Beau helped some of the boys out of the house, making sure the ones who were driving were the most sober. After everyone was gone, we surveyed what was left to be done. Gisselle was sprawled out on the living-room floor by the settee, snoring.

"You'd better go too, Beau," I told him. "You don't want to be here when Daphne arrives."

"Are you sure? I could testify about it and . . ."

"And say what, Beau? That we were upstairs in my room making love while Gisselle and her friends wrecked the house?"

He nodded. "Oh boy," he said. "What are you going to say?"

"Nothing. It's better than lying," I replied.