"It would be more than that and you know it, Beau Andreas."

"Come on, Ruby. You've done this before, haven't you?" he said with a sharpness that cut into my heart.

"Never, Beau. Not like you think," I replied with indignation. My tone made him regret his accusation, but he wasn't easily dissuaded.

"Then let me be the first, Ruby. I want to be your first. Please," he pleaded.

"Beau . . ."

He continued moving his lips over my breasts, urging and encouraging me with his fingers, his touch, his tongue, and hot breath, but I firmed up my resistance, a resistance fueled by the memory of Daphne's accusations and expectations. I would not fit the image of the Cajun girl they wanted me to be. I would not give any of them the satisfaction.

"What's wrong, Ruby? Don't you like me?" Beau moaned when I pulled myself back and held my dress against my bosom.

"I do, Beau. I like you a lot, but I don't want to do this now. I don't want to do what everyone expects I would do. . . even you," I added.

Beau sat back abruptly, his frustration quickly turning into anger.

"You led me to believe you really liked me," he said.

"I do, Beau, but why can't we stop when I ask you to stop? Why can't we just—"

"Just torment each other?" he asked caustically. "Is that what you did with your boyfriends in the bayou?"

"I didn't have boyfriends. Not like you think," I said. He was silent for a moment. Then he took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply you had dozens of boyfriends."

I put my hand on his shoulder. "Can't we get to know each other a little more, Beau?"

"Yes, of course. That's what I want. But there's no better way than making love," he offered, turning back to me. He sounded so convincing. A part of me wanted to be convinced, but I kept that part under tight wraps, locked behind a door. "You're not going to tell me now you just want to be good friends, are you?" he added with obvious sarcasm when I continued to resist.

"No, Beau. I am attracted to you. I would be a liar to say otherwise," I confessed.

"So?"

"So let's not rush into anything and make me regret it," I added. Those words seemed to stop him cold. He froze in the space between us for a moment and then sat back. I began to fasten my bra.

Suddenly, he laughed.

"What?" I asked.

"The first time I took Gisselle out here, she jumped me and not vice versa," he said, starting the engine. "I guess you two really are very, very different."

"I guess we are," I said.

"As my grandfather would say, viva la difference," he replied, and laughed again, but I wasn't sure if he meant he liked Gisselle's behavior better or he liked mine.

"All right, Ruby," he said, driving us out of the marsh-lands, "I'll take your advice and believe what you predicted about me."

"Which is?"

"If I really want to do something," he said, "I will. Eventually." In the glow from the light of oncoming cars, I saw him smiling.

He was so handsome; I did like him; I did want him, but I was glad I had resisted and remained true to myself and not to the image others had of me.

When we arrived at the house, he escorted me to the door and then turned me to him to kiss me good night.

"I'll come by tomorrow afternoon and we can rehearse some of our lines, okay?" he said.

"I'd like that. I had a wonderful time, Beau. Thank you." He laughed.

"Why do you laugh at everything I say?" I demanded.

"I can't help it. I keep thinking of Gisselle. She would expect me to thank her for permitting me to spend a small fortune on dinner. I'm not laughing at you," he added. "I'm just . . . so surprised by everything you do and say."

"Do you like that, Beau?" I met his blue eyes and felt the heat that sprang up from my heart, hoping for the right answer.

"I think I do. I think I really do," he said, as if first realizing it himself, and then he kissed me again before leaving. I watched him for a moment, my heart now full and happy, and then rang the doorbell for Edgar. He opened it so quickly, I thought he had been standing there on the other side, waiting.

"Good evening, mademoiselle," he said.

"Good evening, Edgar," I sang, and started toward the stairway.

"Mademoiselle."

I turned back, still smiling at my last memories of Beau on the steps.

"Yes, Edgar?"

"I was told to tell you to go straight to the study, mademoiselle," he said.

"Pardon?"

"Your father and mother and Mademoiselle Gisselle are waiting for you," he explained.

"Gisselle's home already?" Surprised, but filled with trepidation, I went to the study. Gisselle was sitting on one of the leather sofas and Daphne was in a leather chair. My father was gazing out the window, his back to me. He turned when Daphne said, "Come in and sit down."

Gisselle was glaring at me, hatefully. Did she think I had told on her? Had my father and Daphne somehow heard about what had occurred at the slumber party?

"Did you have a nice time?" Daphne asked. "Behave properly and do everything as I told you to do it in the restaurant?"

"Yes."

My father looked relieved about that, but he still seemed distant, troubled. My eyes went from him; to Gisselle, who looked away quickly, and then back to Daphne, who folded her hands in her lap.

"Apparently, since your arrival, you haven't told us everything about your sordid past," she said. I gazed at Gisselle again. She was sitting back now, her arms folded, her face full of self-satisfaction.

"I don't understand. What haven't I told you?" Daphne smirked.

"You haven't told us about the woman you know in Storyville," she said, and for a moment my heart stopped and then started again, this time driven by a combination of fear and anger and utter frustration. I spun on Gisselle.

"What lies did you tell now?" I demanded. She shrugged.

"I just told how you brought us down to Storyville to meet your friend," she explained, throwing a look of pure innocence at Daddy.

"I? Took you? But—" I sputtered.

"How do you know this . . . this prostitute?" Daphne demanded.

"I don't know her," I cried. "Not like she's telling you."

"She knew your name, didn't she? Didn't she?"

"Yes."

"And she knew you were looking for Pierre and me?" Daphne cross-examined.

"That's true, but—"

"How do you know her?" she demanded firmly. A hot rush of blood heated my face.

"I met her on the bus when I came to New Orleans and I didn't know she was a prostitute," I cried. "She told me her name was Annie Gray, and when we arrived in New Orleans, she helped me find this address."

"She knows this address," Daphne said, nodding at Daddy. He closed his eyes and bit down on his lower lip.

"She told me she was coming here to be a singer," I explained. "She's still trying to find a job. Her aunt promised her and—"

"You want us to believe you thought she was only a nightclub singer?"

"It's the truth!" I turned to Daddy. "It is!"

"All right," he said. "Maybe it is."

"What's the difference?" Daphne remarked. "By now the Andreas family and the Montaignes surely know your . . . our daughter has made the acquaintance of such a person."

"We'll explain it," my father insisted.

"You'll explain it," Daphne retorted. Then she turned back to me. "Did she promise to contact you here and give you an address of where she would be in the future?"

I gazed at Gisselle again. She hadn't left out a detail. Wickedly, she grinned.

"Yes, but—"

"Don't you ever so much as nod at this woman if you should see her someplace, much less accept any letters from her or phone calls, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." I looked down, the tears so cold they made me shiver on their journey down my cheeks.

"You should have told us about this so we could be prepared should it come up. Are there any other sordid secrets?"

I shook my head quickly.

"Very well." She looked at Gisselle. "Both of you go to bed," she commanded.

I rose slowly and without waiting for Gisselle, started toward the stairway. I walked ponderously up the steps, my head down, my heart feeling so heavy in my chest, it was like I was carrying a chunk of lead up with me.

Gisselle came prancing by, her face molded in a smile of self-satisfaction.

"I hope you and Beau had a good time," she quipped as she passed me.

What possible part of my mother and what possible part of my father combined to create someone so hateful and mean? I wondered.


18

  A Curse

Gisselle and I didn't speak to each other very much the next day. I finished breakfast before she came down, and soon after she did, she went off with Martin and two of her girlfriends. Daddy left, saying he had to catch up on some work in his office, and I saw Daphne only for a moment before she hurried out to meet some friends for shopping and lunch. I spent the remainder of the morning in my studio, painting. I was still uncomfortable living in such a big house. Despite the many beautiful antiques and works of art, the expensive French furniture and elaborate tapestries and carpets, for me the house remained as empty and as cold as a museum. It was easy to be lonely here, I thought as I wandered back through the long corridors afterward to have my lunch alone.

And so I was glad when Beau arrived in the early afternoon and we went into my art studio to practice our play lines. First, he looked at the pictures I had drawn and painted under Professor Ashbury's tutelage.

"Well?" I said when he went from one to the other without comment.