All That Glitters Read online

artist. I did a great deal of bragging in Baton Rouge.

  There are at least a dozen rich oil men eager to buy

  one of your paintings."

  "Oh, Paul, you shouldn't do that. I'm not that

  good."

  "Yes you are," he insisted, and rose. "I have to

  stop at the cannery and speak to my father, but I'll be

  home early."

  "Good, because I invited Jeanne and James to

  dinner. She called earlier and sounded like she wanted

  to see us very much," I said.

  "Oh? Fine." He leaned over to kiss me, but he

  was much more tentative about it and his kiss was

  much more perfunctory: a quick snap of his lips

  against my cheek, the way he would kiss his sister or

  his mother. A new wall had fallen between us, and

  there was no telling how thick it might become in the

  days and months to follow.

  After he had left I sat there on the verge of

  tears. Although I was sure it wasn't his intention, the

  more he demonstrated his love for me, the more guilty

  I felt for loving and being with Beau. I told myself I

  had warned Paul. I told myself I had never made the same sort of vows he had made, marrying myself to some pure and religious idea of a relationship that rivaled a priest or a nun's marriage to the church. I told myself I was a full-blooded woman whose passions raged through her veins with just as much intensity as any other woman's and I could not quiet

  them down nor shut them away.

  What's more, I didn't want to. Even at this

  moment, I longed to be in Beau's arms again, and I

  longed for his lips on mine. Filled with frustration, I

  sucked in my breath and swallowed back my tears. It

  wasn't the time to weaken and sob on pillows. It was

  the time to be strong and face whatever challenges

  malicious Fate threw my way.

  I could use some good gris-gris, I thought. I

  could use one of Nina Jackson's fast-luck powders or

  Dragon Blood Sticks. Some time ago, she had given

  me a dime to wear around my ankle. It was to bring

  me good luck. I had taken it off and put it away, but I

  remembered where it was, and when I took Pearl up

  for her afternoon nap, I found it and fastened it around

  my ankle again.

  I knew many would laugh at me, but they had

  never seen Grandmere Catherine lay her hands on a

  fevered child and cause his or her temperature to go down. They had never felt an evil spirit fly by in the night, fleeing from Grandmere Catherine's words and elixirs. And they had never heard the mumbo jumbo of a Voodoo Mama and then saw the results. It was a world filled with many mysteries, peopled by many spirits, both good and bad, and whatever magic one could conjure to find health and happiness was fine with me, no matter who laughed or who ridiculed it. Most of the time, they were people who believed in nothing anyway, people like my sister who believed only in their own happiness. And I, better than most people my age, already knew how vulnerable and how

  fleeting that happiness could be.

  That night I saw how eager Paul was for us to

  have an enjoyable dinner with his sister and her

  husband. He wanted to do all that he could to drive

  away the dark shadows that had fallen between us and

  lingered in the secret corners of our hearts. He

  stopped by the kitchen and asked Letty to make

  something extra special and he served our most

  expensive wines, both he and James drinking quite a

  bit. At dinner our conversation was light and

  punctuated by many moments of laughter, but I could

  see Jeanne was troubled and wanted to have a private

  talk. So as soon as dinner ended and Paul suggested we all go into the living room, I said I wanted to show

  Jeanne a new dress I had bought in New Orleans. "We'll be right down," I promised.

  "You just want to skip our political talk, that's

  all," Paul accused playfully. But when he looked at

  me closer, he saw why I wanted to take Jeanne

  upstairs and he put his arm around James and led him

  away.

  Jeanne burst into tears the moment we were

  alone. "What is it?" I asked, embracing her. I led her

  to the settee and handed her a handkerchief.

  "Oh, Ruby, I'm so unhappy. I thought I would

  have a marriage as wonderful as yours, but it's been

  disappointing. Not the first two weeks, of course," she

  added between sobs, ,"but afterward, when we settled

  down, the romance just seemed to die. All he cares

  about is his career and his work. Sometimes he doesn't

  come home until ten or eleven o'clock and I have to

  eat dinner all alone, and then when he does arrive, he's

  usually so exhausted, he wants to go right to sleep." "Did you tell him how you feel about it?" I

  asked, sitting beside her.

  "Yes." She sucked in her gasps and stopped

  sobbing. "But all he says is he's just starting his career

  and I have to be understanding. One night he snapped at me and said, 'I'm not as lucky as your brother. I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth so I would inherit oil-rich land. I've got to work for a

  living.'

  "I told him Paul works for a living. I don't know

  anyone who works harder. He doesn't take anything

  for granted, right, Ruby?"

  "Paul thinks there are twenty-five hours in

  every day, not twenty-four," I said, smiling.

  "Yet somehow he manages to keep the romance

  in your marriage, doesn't he? A person would just

  have to look at you two together and he or she would

  see how devoted you are to each other and how much

  you care about each other's feelings. No matter how

  hard Paul works, he always has time for you, doesn't

  he? And you don't mind his being away so much,

  right?"

  I shifted my eyes away quickly so she couldn't

  read the truth in them and then I folded my arms

  across my chest in Grandmere Catherine's way and

  filled my face with deep thought. She waited

  anxiously for my reply, her hands twisting in her lap. "Yes," I finally replied, "but maybe that's

  because I'm so involved in my art."

  She nodded and sighed.

  "That's what James said. He said I should find

  something to do so I don't dote upon him so much, but

  I wanted to dote on him and our marriage. That's why

  I got married!" she exclaimed. "The truth is," she

  continued, dabbing at her cheeks with the

  handkerchief, "the passion is already gone."

  "Oh, Jeanne, I'm sure that's not so."

  "We haven't made love for two straight weeks,"

  she revealed. "That's a long time for a husband and

  wife, right?" she followed, fixing her eyes on me for

  my reaction.

  "Well . . ." I looked down and smoothed out my

  skirt so she wouldn't see my face again. Grandmere

  Catherine used to say my thoughts were as obvious as

  a secret written in a book with a glass cover. "I don't

  think there's any set time or rate of lovemaking, even

  for married people. Besides," I replied, now thinking

  about Beau, "it's something that both have to want

  spontaneously, impulsively."

  "James," she said, gazing at her entwined

  fingers, "believes in the rhythm method because he's

 
such a devout Catholic. I have to take my temperature

  before we make love. You don't do that, do you?" I shook my head. I knew that a woman's body

  temperature was supposed to reflect when she was most apt to become pregnant, and that was considered an acceptable method of birth control, but I had to admit, taking your temperature before sleeping

  together would diminish the romance.

  "So you see why I'm so unhappy?" she

  concluded.

  "Doesn't he know just how deeply unhappy you

  are?" I asked. She shrugged. "You should talk to him

  more about it, Jeanne. No one else can help you two

  but you two."

  "But if there's no passion . . ."

  "Yes, I agree. There must be passion, but there

  must be compromise, too. That's what marriage is," I

  continued, realizing how true it was for Paul and me,

  "compromise --two people sacrificing willingly for

  the good of each other. They must care as much for

  each other as they do for themselves. But it works

  only if both do it," I said, thinking about Daddy and

  his devotion to Daphne.

  "I don't think James wants to be like that,"

  Jeanne worried.

  "I'm sure he does, but it doesn't happen

  overnight. It takes time to build a relationship." She nodded, slightly encouraged. "Paul and you

  have certainly spent a long time together. Is that why

  your marriage is so perfect?" she asked.

  A strange aching began in my heart. I hated

  how one lie led to another and then another, building

  one upon the other until we were buried under a

  mountain of deceit.

  "Nothing is perfect, Jeanne."

  "Paul and you are as close as can be. Look how

  the two of you were toward each other from the first

  day you two met. The truth is," she said sadly, "I was

  hoping James would worship me as much as Paul

  worships you. I suppose I shouldn't compare him to

  my brother."

  "No one should worship anyone, Jeanne," I said

  softly, but the way she viewed Paul and me and the

  way others saw us made me feel ever so guilty for

  loving Beau on the side. What a shock it would be if

  the truth were to be known, I thought, and how

  devastating it would be to Paul.

  Talking like this with Jeanne made me realize

  that my relationship with Beau would go nowhere. It

  might even destroy Paul little by little. I had made my

  choice, accepted his kindness and devotion, and now I

  had to live with that choice. I couldn't be selfish

  enough to do anything else.

  "Maybe I will have another long talk with James," Jeanne said. "Maybe you're right--maybe it takes time." "Anything worthwhile does," I said

  softly.

  She was so involved with her own problems,

  she couldn't see the longing in my eyes. She seized

  my hands in hers. "Thank you, Ruby. Thank you for

  listening and caring."

  We hugged and she smiled. Why was it so easy

  to help other people feel happy, but so hard to help

  myself? I wondered.

  "There really is a new dress to show you," I

  said, and took her to my closet. Afterward, we joined

  Paul and James in the living room and had some afterdinner cordials. Jeanne smiled at me when James put

  his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. He

  whispered something in her ear and she turned

  crimson. Then they announced they were tired and

  had to go home. At the doorway, Jeanne leaned over

  to thank me again. From the look in her eyes, I saw

  she was excited and happy. Paul and I remained on

  the gallery and watched them go to their car and drive

  away.

  It was a rather clear evening, so that we could

  look up at the star-studded sky and see constellations

  from one horizon to the other. Paul took my hand. "Want to sit outside awhile?" he asked. I

  nodded and we went to the bench. The night was

  filled with the monotonous symphony of cicadas

  interrupted by the occasional hoot of an owl. "Jeanne wanted some big-sister advice tonight,

  didn't she?" he asked.

  "Yes, but I'm not sure I'm the one she should

  have been asking."

  "Of course you are." After a pause he added,

  "James asked me for advice, too. Made me feel older

  than I am." He turned to me in the darkness, his face

  cloaked in the shadows. "They think we're Mr. and

  Mrs. Perfect."

  "I know."

  "I wish we were." He took my hand again. "So

  what are we going to do?"

  "Let's not try to come up with all the answers

  tonight, Paul. I'm tired and confused myself." "Whatever you say." He leaned over to kiss me

  on the cheek. "Don't hate me for loving you so much,"

  he whispered. I wanted to hug him, to kiss him, to

  soothe his troubled soul, but all I could do was shed

  some tears and stare into the night with my heart

  feeling like a lump of lead.

  Finally we both went in and up to our separate bedrooms. After I put out my light, I stood by my window and gazed into the evening sky. I thought about Jeanne and James hurrying home after a wonderful meal, wine, and conversation, excited about each other, eager to hold each other and cap the

  evening with their lovemaking.

  While in his room, Paul embraced a pillow, and

  in mine, I embraced my memories of Beau.

  Shortly after Paul left for work the next

  morning, Beau called. He was so excited about our

  next rendezvous, barely squeezing in a breath as he

  described his plans for our day and evening, that at

  first I couldn't get in a word.

  "You don't know how this has changed my

  life," he said. "You've given me something to look

  forward to, something to cheer me through the most

  dreary days and nights."

  "Beau, I have some bad news," I finally

  inserted, and told him about Mrs. Flemming's

  daughter. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to postpone

  things."

  "Why? Just come in with Pearl," he pleaded. "No. I can't," I said.

  "It's more than that, isn't it?" he asked after a

  pause.

  "Yes," I admitted, and told him about Paul. "Then he knows about us?"

  "Yes, Beau."

  "Gisselle has been very suspicious lately, too,"

  he confessed. "She's even uttered some veiled threats

  and some not so veiled threats."

  "Then maybe it's best we cool things down," I

  suggested. "We must think of all the people we might

  hurt, Beau."

  "Yes," he said in a cracked voice.

  If words had weight, the telephone lines

  between New Orleans and Cypress Woods would sag

  and tear apart, I thought.

  "I'm sorry, Beau."

  I heard him sigh deeply. "Well, Gisselle keeps

  asking to go to the ranch for a few days. I guess I'll

  take her next week. The truth is, I hate living in this

  house without you, Ruby. There are too many

  memories of us together here. Every time I walk past

  your room, I stop and stare at the door and

  remember."

  "Talk Gisselle into selling the house, Beau.

  Start new somewhere else," I suggested.


  "She doesn't care. Nothing bothers her. What

  have we done to each other, Ruby?" he asked. I swallowed back the throat lumps, but fugitive

  tears trickled down my cheeks. For a moment I

  couldn't find my voice.

  "We fell in love, Beau. That's all. We fell in

  love."

  "Ruby . . ."

  "I've got to go, Beau. Please."

  "Don't say good-bye. Just hang up," he told me,

  and I did so, but I sat at the phone and sobbed until I

  heard Pearl wake from her nap and call to me. Then I

  wiped my eyes, took a deep breath, and went on to fill

  my days and nights with as much work as I could

  find, so I wouldn't think and I wouldn't regret. A quiet resignation fell over me. I began to feel

  like a nun, spending much of my time in quiet

  meditation, painting, reading, and listening to music.

  Caring for Pearl was a full-time job now, too. She was

  very active and curious about everything. I had to go

  about and make the house child-proof, placing

  valuable knick-knacks out of her reach, being sure she

  couldn't get into anything dangerous. Occasionally

  Molly would look after her for me for a few hours

  while I shopped or had some quiet time alone. Paul was busier than ever; deliberately so, I

  thought. He was up at the crack of dawn and gone some days before I came down for breakfast. Sometimes he couldn't get back in time for dinner. He told me his father was doing less and less at the

  cannery, and talking about retirement.

  "Maybe you should hire a manager, then," I

  suggested. "You can't do it all."

  "I'll see," he promised, but I saw that he

  enjoyed being occupied. Just like me, he hated leisure

  because leisure made him reflect on what his life was

  really like now.

  I thought it would go on like this forever until

  we were both old and gray, rocking side by side on

  the gallery and looking out at the bayou, wondering

  what life would have been like had we not made some

  of the decisions we had made when we were young

  and impulsive. But one night after dinner toward the

  end of the month, the phone rang. Paul had already

  settled himself in his favorite easy chair and had the

  journal opened to the business pages. Pearl was asleep

  and I was reading a novel. James appeared in the

  doorway.

  "It's for Madame," he announced. Paul looked

  up curiously. I shrugged and rose.

  "Maybe it's Jeanne," I suggested. He nodded.

  But it was Beau, who sounded like a voice without a body. . . a wisp of himself, so soft and stunned, I