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"I do. I swear," he said, and kissed me. "I'll see you in the morning. Bye." He was eager to escape. Daphne's looks were like darts sticking into his facade of innocence.
After he left I sat down for a moment. The events of the last hour seemed more like a dream now. It wasn't until I got up and looked at the drawing I had done of him that I realized none of it was a dream. I covered the picture and hurried out, feeling so light, I thought I might just be carried out an open window by a passing breeze.
Gisselle didn't return home in time for dinner. She phoned to say she was eating with her friends. Daphne was very upset about it, but quickly hid her displeasure when our dinner guests, Monsieur Hamilton Davies and his wife, Beatrice, arrived. Monsieur Davies was a man in his late fifties or early sixties who owned a steamboat company that took tourists up and down the Mississippi River. Daphne had let me know that he was one of the wealthiest men in New Orleans, who they were trying to involve with some of my father's investments. She also let me know in no uncertain terms that it was very important I be on my best behavior and make a good impression.
"Don't speak unless spoken to and when someone does speak to you, answer promptly and briefly. They'll be watching the way you comport yourself so remember everything I taught you about dinner etiquette," she lectured.
"If you're worried about me embarrassing you, maybe I should eat earlier," I suggested.
"Nonsense," she said sharply. "The Davies are here because they want to see you. They're the first of our friends I've invited. They know it's an honor," she added in her most haughty, arrogant tone.
Was I some sort of trophy now, a curiosity she was using to enhance her own importance in the eyes of her friends? I wondered, but dared not ask. Instead, I dressed as she told me to dress and took my place at the table, concentrating on my posture and my manners.
The Davies were pleasant enough, but their interest in my story made me uncomfortable. Madame Davies, especially, asked many detailed questions about my life in the bayou with "those awful Cajuns," and I had to make up answers on the spot, glancing quickly at Daphne after each response to see if I had said the right things.
"Ruby's tolerance for these swamp people is understandable," she told the Davies when I didn't sound bitter enough. "For all of her life, she was led to believe she was one of them and they were her family."
"How tragic," Madame Davies said. "And yet, look at how nice she's turning out. You're doing a wonderful job with her, Daphne."
"Thank you," Daphne said, gloating.
"We oughta get her story into the newspapers, Pierre," Hamilton Davies suggested.
"That would only bring her notoriety, Hamilton dear," Daphne said quickly. "The truth is, we've shared these details solely with our dearest friends," she added. The way she smiled, batted her eyelashes, and turned her shoulders at him made his eyes twinkle with pleasure. "And we've asked everyone to be discreet. No sense in making life any more difficult for the poor child than it already has been," she added.
"Of course," Hamilton said. He smiled at me. "That would be the least desirable thing to do. As usual, Daphne, you're a lot wiser and clearer thinkin' than us Creole men."
Daphne lowered and then raised her eyes flirtatiously. Watching her in action, I felt confident I was watching an expert when it came to manipulating men. All the while my father sat back, a smile of admiration, a look of idolization in his eyes. Even so, I was happy when dinner ended and I was excused.
A few hours later, I heard Gisselle return home and go to her room. I waited to see if she would knock on our adjoining door or try it, but she went right to her telephone. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but I heard her voice drone on well into the night. She seemed to have a slew of friends to call. Naturally, I was curious about what she gossiped, but I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of going to her. I was sti
ll very angry over the things she had done.
The next morning, she was all brightness and light, just bubbling over with pleasantness at the breakfast table. I was cordial to her in front of Daddy, but I was determined to see her apologize before I would be as friendly as I had been. To both Beau's and ray surprise, she had Martin pick her up for school. Just before she skipped down the steps to get into his car, she turned to me and offered the closest thing to an apology.
"Don't blame-me for what happened. Someone else told them we had gone to Storyville and I had to tell them about your friend," she said. "See you at school, sister dear," she added with a smile.
Before I could reply, she was rushing off. A few moments later, I got into Beau's car and we followed. He was still worried about Daphne.
"Did she say or ask you anything else after I left?" he wanted to know.
"No. She was worried only about pleasing our dinner guests."
"Good," he said with visible relief. "My parents have been invited to dinner at your house next weekend. We'll just have to cool it a bit," he suggested.
But cooling things down was not to be my destiny. As soon as we entered the school, I sensed a different atmosphere about me. Beau thought I was imagining it, but it seemed to me that most of the students were looking my way and smiling. Some hid their smirks behind their hands when they whispered, but many didn't try to be discreet. It wasn't until the end of English class that I found out why.
As the class filed out, one of the boys came up beside me and bumped his shoulder against mine.
"Oh, sorry," he said.
"It's all right." I started away, but he seized my arm to pull me back beside him.
"Say, are you smiling in this?" he asked, holding out his hand and unclenching his fist to reveal a picture of me naked in his palm. It was one of the pictures that had been taken at Claudine's slumber party. In it, I had just turned back and wore a look of shock on my face, but most of my body was clearly exposed.
He laughed and hurried on to join a pack of students who had gathered to wait at the corner of the corridor. The collection of both girls and boys gazed over his shoulder to look at the photograph. A kind of paralyzing numbness gripped me. I felt as if my legs had been nailed to the floor. Suddenly, Gisselle joined the group.
"Make sure you tell everyone it's my sister and not me," she quipped, and everyone laughed. She smiled at me and continued on, arm and arm with Martin.
