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"I would have gotten an honest man's work. Maybe I would have ended up working for Paul's family or a shrimp fisherman or. . ."
"When there is a baby, a real, live infant, you can't live in a fantasy world," I said, perhaps too harshly and cruelly. Beau swallowed back his dream words and nodded.
"Yes, you're right. Of course."
"Do you want to see my studio here?" I asked quickly. "Very much. Please."
I led him around to the stairway. As we ascended, I rattled on an on about Paul's businesses, the way some state politicians had been courting him, not only for contributions but for a possible political office someday.
"You're very proud of Paul, aren't you?" Beau said at the entrance to my studio.
"Yes, Beau. He was always a very mature young man, years ahead of others his age, and he is an astute businessman. Most importantly, he is devoted to Pearl and me and would do anything to make us happy," I said as I opened the door to my studio.
"I've been buying some of your paintings, you know. I keep them in what is now my office," he said. "I start every day gazing at something of yours."
"As you can see," I said, ignoring his words, "I have a wonderful view of the canals and the grounds from up here."
He looked out the window and nodded. "Now that I see what you look out on every day, I will be able to conjure you more vividly every morning."
"This is my newest series of work," I said, pretending I didn't hear these words either. "My Confederate soldier series."
Beau studied the pictures. "They're
magnificent," he said. "I must have them. The whole se
ries. How much?"
I laughed. "I'm not finished yet, Beau, and I have no idea what they're going to be worth. Probably a lot less than we imagine."
"Probably a lot more. When will you take them to New Orleans?"
"Within the month," I replied.
"Ruby," he said with such force and emotion, I had to turn to look into his eyes this time. He seized my hands and held them in his. "I must explain why I married Gisselle. I had to find a way to stay close to you although I had lost you. Despite the way she behaves, she has her quiet, intimate moments when she resembles you more than you can imagine. She's a very frightened and lonely girl who tries to cover it up by acting snobby and by being selfish. But she's selfish only because she's afraid she will have nothing, no one to love her.
"When she's like that, I think of you. I feel I am holding you in my arms, comforting you, kissing the tears off your cheeks and kissing your closed eyelids. I've even gotten her to wear your favorite perfumes so when I close my eyes, I see only you in my thoughts."
"Beau, thats wrong."
"I know it is. Now I know," he agreed. "She's not stupid. She senses it, too, but she has been willing to put up with it. Until recently, that is. She's . . . reverting to her old self quickly, throwing off the finer things she has learned and the better habits and behavior as if it were spare weight on a sinking ship. She's started drinking excessively again, inviting her old, degenerate friends back for late night parties. . . ." He shook his head. "It's not what I thought it would be. I can't make her into you," he confessed, and then he lifted his eyes to me, "but maybe I don't have to anymore."
"What do you mean, Beau?"
"I've taken an apartment off Dumaine Street in the French Quarter. Gisselle knows nothing about it. I want you to meet me there when you come into New Orleans."
"Beau!" I said, pulling my hands from his and stepping back in astonishment.
"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!"
