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She stared at me a moment. This woman with her expensive clothing, her well-manicured nails and styled coiffure, her makeup, jewels, and her urban sophistication, was so different from me, we could be speaking different languages, and yet our destinies had crossed and intertwined us in ways neither of us could ever imagine.
"You are a pretty girl," she said in a softer voice after a short pause. "A natural beauty and perhaps not as young as you appear." She leaned toward me, fixing those light blue eyes on me. "Whether we like it or not, pretty girls, beautiful women like us, are often victims simply because we are attractive. Yes, in some ways I am a victim, too. I know I look rich and successful to you, but like you, I find myself in circumstances I would like to change, but can't. Like you, I'm trapped. I'm in a different sort of cage, but nevertheless, I'm not free."
She looked away for a moment, and ray heart, which had hardened against her from the moment I set eyes on her, softened a bit.
"I'd like to be a mother," she said, facing the window and gazing at the darkness across the way. "I'd like to be the mother of my husband's child."
She dabbed her eyes with an embroidered silk handkerchief and then gazed at me. "Will you do it?" she asked. "My father-in-law will give your father the money he wanted, too. It will help your family, your mother. . . ."
"I won't do it because of the money," I said. She nodded. "If I do it, I would do it for Pierre and because . . . because a lot of what you said is probably true."
"Oui. I am sorry. I wish I had given my husband more so he wouldn't have come here to spoil your life, too."
"He didn't," I said, and then felt foolish for saying it.
"Nevertheless, if I would have been able to give him his child, my marriage would have been more successful. It still can be," she said. "You and I can take hold of some happiness and turn something bad into something good, especially for the poor, unknowing child you carry inside you. N'est-ce pas?"
I thought for a moment and then I nodded.
She smiled warmly, beaming with tears in her eyes.
"Merci, mademoiselle. Oh, mademoiselle, merci." She reached out with a hand full of rings to touch mine. I felt as if I were extending my arm from one world into another, from reality to illusion. She took hold, smiled, and then released my fingers.
"Would you like something cold to drink?" she offered, nodding at the bottle.
"No, thank you, Madame Dumas."
"You have given my father-in-law a new lease on life, Gabriel. I can't wait to return to New Orleans to tell him. He's mostly in a state of depression these days. Perhaps you know about my brother-in-law."
"Oui. "
"And my poor mother-in-law, who died shortly after the accident. So you see, rich people have no guarantee of happiness. Money can't buy everything."
"My daddy thinks it can," I said sadly. "And unfortunately, I'm only firming up that belief now."
"Yes, well, I'm sure he will realize the truth eventually. Thank you for listening to me," she added with a tone of finality. I recognized she wanted to leave. The moment my hand touched the door handle, the chauffeur opened it and stepped back. He held it open as I turned.
"Au revoir, Gabriel," Daphne Dumas said. She looked like a beautiful mannequin set in the corner of that long leather seat. "I don't expect we shall see each other again, but I promise to be a good mother."
I simply nodded and the chauffeur closed the door.
"Good evening, mademoiselle," he said, tipping his hat. He went around to get into the limousine. I stood there watching him drive it away, the white automobile moving like a ghost into the darkness. For a moment I wondered, had I really had this
conversation, or had it all been a dream?
I returned to the gallery and sat in the rocker. I was still there when Mama returned from her traiteur mission. Orville Baldwin brought her home in his van. She was surprised to see me waiting up for her.
"I thought you would be asleep," she said as she approached the steps.
"I'm about ready for bed now, Mama."
"Me too," she said, stretching.
"How's Maddie?"
Mama shook her head. "I think she's going to have a hard delivery. I'm worried about the baby, too," she said in a dark voice. Despite the heat and humidity, her words put a chill in my bones. "I'll do what I can, of course," she said, and started for the screen door.
"Mama."
