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"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 h
ad 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."
