All That Glitters Read online

  "I'm not suggesting anything horrible, not even sinful, Ruby. We love each other. I know we do, and do completely. I know what sort of arrangement you have with Paul. It's half a marriage, and I'm telling you the truth about my marriage to Gisselle. We can't leave this part of our lives so empty. We can't live with such longing unanswered. Please, Ruby, please come to me," he pleaded.

  For a moment I was speechless. The images his proposal generated in my own imagination were overwhelming. I felt the heat rush to my face. To go to him and throw myself into his arms, to cling to his body and feel his lips on mine, to hear his soft words of love and listen to the beating of his heart, to reach the ecstasy we had known again, had seemed beyond possibility, even be-yond dreams.

  "I can't," I whispered. "Paul would be . ."

  "No one has to know. We'll make perfect arrangements. No one will be hurt, Ruby. I've been planning this for days. It's consumed my thoughts. Yesterday, when I took the flat in the French Quarter, I knew we could do it and I knew we had to do it. Will you come? Will you?"

  "No," I said, stepping toward the door. "We can't." I shook my head. "Let's go down. Paul must have arrived by now," I said.

  "Ruby!"

  I walked out of the studio and started down the stairs, fleeing from my own temptations. Beau finally came after me. I waited for him at the bottom of the stairs,

  "Ruby," he said again, in a quiet, reasonable tone of voice, "if--"

  "There you are," we heard, and saw Paul and Gisselle coming from the patio.

  "I was just showing Beau my studio," I said quickly.

  "Oh," Paul said, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at Beau. He kissed me on the cheek. "Did you see her new series?" he asked, his eyes shifting to me and turning dark.

  "It's fantastic," Beau said. "I've already offered to buy the entire thing, but she cleverly said it's too soon to set a price," he added with a laugh.

  "You paid too much for the ones you have," Gisselle reprimanded. "It's not like she's a famous artist or anything."

  "Oh, but she will be," Paul assured her. "And you're going to be very proud of her, as proud of her as I am," he added, looking at me.

  "Let's get down to some business," Gisselle said impatiently. "I don't need another tour of the swamps."

  "Ah, but you've never really had a tour of the swamps, Gisselle," Paul said. "Please permit me to take you in the motorboat and show you the beauty of the canals."

  "What? You mean go into that?" she said, nodding toward the swamp. "I'll be eaten alive."

  "We have something to put on your face and arms that will keep all bugs away," Paul promised. "You must be a tourist, just for a short while. I insist on impressing you."

  "I would really like to do it," Beau said.

  "Then it's settled. Right after lunch, we all go for a spin through the canals. In the meantime let's go to my office and begin to unravel the legal work."

  "Fine," Beau said. He moved forward and took Gisselle's arm in his. Pleased, she started for the house, and Paul gazed at me.

  "You all right?" he asked softly.

  "Yes. Everything's fine," I said.

  "Good." He took my hand and we followed.

  Gisselle began our meeting by declaring that she thought everything in New Orleans should go to her. "Beau and I are willing to trade other properties and assets that are of. . . what was the word, Beau?"

  "Comparable value," he offered.

  "Yes, comparable value."

  "Ruby?" Paul said.

  "I have no problem with that. I have no interest in owning anything in New Orleans right now."

  "Daddy, or I should say, Daphne, had bought apartment buildings in other places. We're big landlords, right, Beau?"

  "Rather impressive portfolio," he said, presenting the first pages of the documents. "All of the properties are listed here with their appraised values. This land on Lake Pontchartrain is like gold."

  Paul leaned over and studied the list. Soon it became a conversation between the two of them. Gisselle took out an emery board and began doing her nails as we talked. I had no interest in being a landlord and was more than willing to sell commercial holdings.

  "What about Bruce?" I asked after a while.

  "We haven't heard a word from him or his lawyer since his lawyer spoke with ours. I think he realizes that he would only be throwing away in wasted legal fees whatever money he's been able to get."

  "Is he still in New Orleans?"

  "Yes. He has an apartment building of his own and a few other holdings, but nothing like the fortune he might have inherited had Daphne not foreseen the possibilities and blocked them with her lawyers."

  "Why, though?" I wondered aloud. "She certainly didn't want the money and the property to go to us," I said, looking at Gisselle for agreement.

  "That's for sure," she said.

  "Maybe . . . she was afraid of Bruce," Beau suggested. "Afraid? How do you mean that?" Paul asked. "Afraid that if he could get such wealth at her death, he might . . . what should I say, accelerate her death?" Everyone was quiet for a moment, even Gisselle, as we pondered what Beau was saying.

  "She knew what kind of man she had married and the things he was capable of doing," Beau continued. "We came across some of their

  shenanigans together before Pierre died. There were documents forged, false papers created . . . a trail of deceit."

  "Then Bruce isn't getting anything he doesn't deserve," Paul concluded.

  Beau and he continued to go through the details of the holdings. Gisselle, who had demanded the meeting take place immediately, grew more fidgety. Finally we decided to adjourn for lunch.

  We ate on the patio. Paul kept Beau intrigued with his talk of politics and oil, and Gisselle rambled on about some of her old friends, the things they bought, the places they had been. When Mrs. Flemming brought Pearl to see us, I held my breath, expecting Gisselle to make some embarrassing comment, but she held her tongue and performed like the perfect aunt, suddenly taking delight in her niece.

  "I'm going to wait to have children," she declared. "I know what it can do to your figure and I'm not ready for that yet. Beau and I are completely agreed about it, right, Beau?"

  "What? Oh, sure, cherie."

  "Say something romantic in French, Beau. Just like you used to when we walked along the banks of the Seine. Please."

  He looked at me and then he said, "Whenever you come into a room, mon coeur battait la chamade."

  "Oh, isn't that beautiful. What does it mean, Beau?"

  His eyes fell on me for an instant again and then he smiled at Gisselle and said, "Whenever you come into a room, my heart goes bumpety bump."

  "You Cajuns have any French expressions of love?" she asked.

  "A few," Paul said. "But our accent is so different, you'd probably not understand. Well, how about our tour of the swamp. Ready?"

  "I'll never be ready for that," Gisselle complained. "You're going to be fascinated, despite yourself," Paul promised.

  "I don't have anything to wear. I don't want to get any of the clothes I have with me spotted with swamp mud and grease."

  "I have some old pants that will fit you, Gisselle," I said. "And some old shirts. Come on. Let's get ready."

  She whined and complained all the way up the stairs, in the room changing, and back down again. Paul had some bug repellent for her to smear on her face and exposed arms and neck.

  "What if I break into a rash from this?" she whined. "You won't. It's an old Cajun recipe."

  "What's in it?" she demanded.

  "It's better if you don't know," Paul wisely replied.

  "It stinks."

  "So the bugs will stay away from you," Beau said. "As well as everyone else."

  We laughed and, after Gisselle was properly smeared, went down to the boat. Beau sat between Gisselle and me.

  "Laissez les bon temps rouler!" Paul cried. "Let the good times roll!"

  Gisselle screamed when we pulled away from the dock, but in minutes
, she grew calm and interested. Paul pointed out the ropes of green snakes, the movement of alligators, the nutrias, the birds, and the beautiful honey-suckle covering the banks of the canals. He was a wonderful guide, his voice filled with his love of the swamp, his admiration for the life that fed and dwelt within the canals. He cut the engine and we floated over shallow brackish lakes, observing the muskrats busily building their dried domes of grass. He pointed out a cottonmouth sunning itself on a rock, its triangular head the color of an old penny.

  The flutter of wood ducks over the surface of the water caught our attention, and moments later, a large, old alligator raised its head and peered at us, dragonflies circling just above him. We floated through islands of lily pads and under the sprawling weeping willows. Beau asked Paul question after question about the vegetation, the animals, the way to read the canals and know what to anticipate.

  Gisselle was forced to admit she had enjoyed the tour. "It was like floating though a zoo or something," she said. "But I can't wait to take a bath and get this gook off."

  Afterward, we dressed for dinner. We had cocktails in the library, where Paul and Beau discussed New Orleans politics, and Gisselle described the new fashions and the original designs she had commissioned for herself. Letty prepared one of her gourmet meals, and Beau continually expressed his admiration. We all drank too much wine and talked incessantly, Paul, Beau, and myself filling every silent moment out of nervousness more than anything else, I thought. Only Gisselle seemed relaxed and comfortable.

  After dinner we had cordials in the living room. The wine, the good food, the endless stream of conversation, and the emotional tension exhausted us. Even Gisselle was yawning.

  "We should go to sleep and get up early," she suggested.

  "Early?" Beau said, amazed. "You?"

  "Well, as early as possible so we can finish the paperwork and get back to New Orleans. We have that performing arts ball tomorrow night. It's black tie," she said. "You ever go to a black-tie affair, Paul?"

  Paul blushed. "Well, only in Baton Rouge at the governor's mansion," he said.

  "Oh." Gisselle's face drooped. "I'm tired, Beau. I ate too much."

  "We'll go right up. Thank you for a lovely day and a lovely evening," he said. He took Gisselle's arm. She did wobble a bit.

  "Nighty-night, you two," she sang, and let Beau guide her to the stairway. Paul shook his head and laughed. Then he sat down again.

  "Are you happy with these decisions? I didn't mean to interfere in your business," he said.

  "My business is your business, Paul. I'm completely depending on you for this sort of thing. I'm sure you made the right choices."

  He smiled. "If Beau thought he was coming here to deal with some dumb Cajun, he got a big surprise. Believe me, we came out better than they did," he said with uncharacteristic arrogance. "I was hoping he would be more . . ." He smiled at me. "Of a challenge. So," he said, sitting back, "what is it like for you two now?"

  "Paul, please, don't."

  "An accident of birth," he muttered. "A curse. If my father hadn't wandered into the swamp, hadn't betrayed my mother. . ."

  "Paul . . ."

  "I know. I'm sorry. It just seems so unfair. We should have a say in all this, huh? As spirits before we were born, we should have a say. And don't laugh at that, Ruby," he warned. "Your grandmere Catherine believed the spirit was there even before the body."

  "I'm not laughing, Paul. I just don't want you to agonize. I'm okay. We've all had too much to drink. Let's go to sleep, too."

  He nodded.

  "Go ahead up," he said. "I want to finish something in the office."

  "Paul . . ."

  "I'll go up soon. I promise." He kissed me on the cheek and held me tightly to him for a long moment. Then he sighed, turned away, and left quickly.

  With a heavy heart I went upstairs. I checked on Pearl and then I went to my bedroom to go to sleep, knowing that in the rooms beside me there were two men who longed to be at my side. I felt like forbidden fruit, sealed away by ethical, religious, and written law. Years ago my parents listened only to the dictates of their hearts. Despite the prohibitions and the heavy weight of the sins they would commit, they went to each other, thinking about the touch of each other's fingers, the softness of each other's lips.

  Was I built from stronger moral timber? More important, did I want to be, really, deep down want to be? Or did I want to throw myself into my lover's arms and become so drunk on love that no morning after, no days that followed, no nights filled with haunting voices, could ever matter?

  It wasn't our fault; it couldn't be our fault that we were in love and events had made that love sinful. It was the events that were sinful, I told myself. But that didn't make it any easier to face the break of day and the longing that would inevitably follow.

  9

  Forbidden Fruit

  .

  Although Gisselle had whined about her desire

  to wake up early, complete our business, and be on her way back to New Orleans, Paul, Beau, and I were already seated at the table having coffee when she finally floated in, moaning and groaning about her restless night's sleep.

  "I kept having nightmares that some of those swamp creatures we saw were getting into the house, slithering up the stairs and right into my room and into my bed! I knew I shouldn't have gone on that boat trip through the canals. Now it will take months to get those pictures out of my head. Ugh," she said, and shook herself free of a chill.

  Paul laughed. "Really Gisselle, I'd think you would have more to worry about living in a city with all that street crime. At least our creatures are predictable. If you try to pet a cottonmouth snake, he'll give you his opinion quickly."

  Beau laughed, too.

  "Well, it might be funny to you men, but women are more dainty, more fragile. At least women

  in New Orleans," she said, eyeing me when I didn't come to her defense. Then she disclosed that she was too tired to eat very much. "I'll just have some coffee," she said.

  The rest of us ate a hearty breakfast, after which we went into the office and completed the paperwork. I signed whatever documents had to be signed, and Beau promised he would keep us up-to-date on all the proceedings.

  Beau quietly asked to see Pearl before he left, so I took him to the nursery. Mrs. Flemming had just changed her, brushed her hair, and tied a little pink ribbon in it. The moment Pearl set eyes on Beau, she brightened. Without a word, Beau lifted Pearl into his arms and kissed her curls. She was intrigued with his hair and wanted to run her fingers over it.

  "She's very bright," he said, his eyes fixed on her when he spoke. "You can see from the way she gazes at things--how they hold her attention."

  "I agree," Mrs. Flemming said.

  "Take her down with us, Beau. She'll say goodbye along with Paul and me," I told him. He nodded and we walked out and down the stairs. Gisselle was already moving through the front door, warning James to be careful with her suitcase.

  On the gallery, Beau handed Pearl to me and shook Paul's hand. "Thanks for inviting us. It was a very interesting day. I must admit, I learned a lot about the bayou and have grown to respect it a great deal more."

  "You're quite welcome," Paul said, gazing quickly at me, too, a tight smile on his lips.

  "Beau! Are we going to stand here forever saying good-bye? It's getting muggy and hot and the bugs are stampeding from the swamp to the house," Gisselle cried from the car.

  "I'd better be going," he said to us. Paul nodded and went down to kiss Gisselle good-bye.

  "Thank you for a lovely time," Beau said to me. He took my hand in his and leaned over to kiss my cheek, but brushed his lips over mine instead. When he pulled his hand away, there was a small piece of paper left in mine. I was about to ask what it was when his eyes told me. For a moment it felt like I was holding a lit match in my palm. I shot a glance toward Paul and Gisselle and then shoved the tiny note into the pocket of my blouse. Beau kissed Pearl on the cheek and hurried
down the stairs and got into the car.

  "Thanks again," he called.

  "'Bye. Come visit us in civilization when you get a chance," Gisselle called. "Home, James," she said, wav-ing toward the highway, and laughed. Beau shook his head, smiled back at us, and put the car into gear.

  "Your sister is a piece of work," Paul said. "I don't envy Beau one bit when it comes to living with her. When it comes to other things, I envy him more than he'll ever know." He stared at me a moment, but I shifted my eyes away guiltily. "Well, I've got to get to work," he said. He kissed Pearl and me and then hurried to his own car.

  Mrs. Flemming took Pearl from me when I went inside. I didn't feel much like painting, but the quiet solitude I found in my studio was very attractive to me now. I hurried upstairs and closed the door. I stood there for a moment against the door with my eyes closed, reliving the moment downstairs when Beau brought his lips to mine for a quick good-bye kiss. I saw his eyes and felt his love.

  My heart was pounding as I plucked the note out of my pocket and unwrapped it. There was simply an address on it and a date and time. The day was Tuesday of next week. I crushed the note in my fist and went to throw it in the wastebasket under the easel, but it was as if the paper had glue on it now. It wouldn't leave my hand.

  I shoved it back into the breast pocket of my blouse and tried to push it out of my mind when I began to work, but every few minutes I imagined it grew warm and sent a tingle of anticipation down one breast and around the other. It was as if Beau's fingers were there, Beau's lips were there. My heart raced, shortening my breath. I couldn't work; I couldn't concentrate on any-thing else.

  Finally I gave up and went to the window seat. I sat for nearly an hour just staring at the canals, watching the herons fly in and out. With trembling fingers I took Beau's note out of my pocket again and studied the address, committing it and the date to memory. Then I put the note in a drawer in my art supply cabinet. I just couldn't get myself to throw it away.

  Paul didn't return home for lunch. I did a little work, but most of the time I listened to the competing voices in my mind. One voice was softer, pleading, tempting, trying to convince me that I deserved Beau's love and that our love was too good and pure a feeling to be dirty or evil.