wait to see the expression on her face when she comes face-to-face with you.'
'I can,' I said, and turned away.
'I'll just run in and tell them you were here and you're running away,' he threatened. 'Someone will come after you and it will all be far more embarrassing.'
'You wouldn't,' I said.
'Of course I would,' he replied, smiling. 'So you might as well do it the right way.' He held out his hand. I looked back at the house and then at him. His eyes were friendly, although a bit impish. Reluctantly, my heart thumping so hard I thought it would take my breath away and cause me to faint before I reached the front door, I took his hand and let him lead me back to the gate and up the walk to the grand galerie. There was a tile stairway.
'How did you get here?' he asked before we reached the door.
'The bus,' I said. He lifted the ball and hammer knocker and let the sound echo through what I imagined, from the sound of the reverberation within, was an enormous entryway. A few moments later, the door was opened and we faced a mulatto man in a butler's uniform. He wasn't short, but he wasn't tall either. He had a round face with large dark eyes and a somewhat pug nose. His dark brown hair was curly and peppered with gray strands. There were dime-size brown spots on his cheeks and forehead and his lips were slightly orange.
'Good evening, Monsieur Andreas,' he said, then shifted his gaze to me. The moment he set eyes on me, he dropped his mouth. 'But Mademoiselle Gisselle, I just saw you . . .' He turned around and looked behind him. Beau Andreas laughed.
'This isn't Mademoiselle Gisselle, Edgar. Edgar, I'd like you to meet Ruby. Ruby, Edgar Farrar, the Dumas' butler. Are Mr. and Mrs. Dumas in, Edgar?' he asked.
'Oh, no, sir. They left for the ball about an hour ago,' he said, his eyes still fixed on me.
'Well then, there's nothing to do but wait for them to return. Until then, you can visit with Gisselle,' Beau told me. He guided me into the great house.
The entryway floor was a peach marble and the ceiling, which looked like it rose to at least twelve feet above me, had pictures of nymphs and angels, doves and blue sky painted over it. There were paintings and sculptures every-where I looked, but the wall to the right was covered by an enormous tapestry depicting a grand French palace and gardens.
'Where is Mademoiselle Gisselle, Edgar?' Beau asked.
'She's still upstairs,' Edgar said.
'I knew she would be pampering herself forever. I'm never late when it comes to escorting Gisselle anywhere,' Beau told me. 'Especially a Mardi Gras Ball. To Gisselle, being on time means being an hour late. Fashionably late, of course,' he added. 'Are you hungry, thirsty?'
'No, I had half of a poor boy sandwich not so long ago,' I said, and grimaced with the memory of what had nearly happened to me.
'You didn't like it?' Beau asked.
'No, it wasn't that. Someone . . . a stranger I trusted, attacked me in an alley on the way here,' I confessed. 'What? Are you all right?' he asked quickly.
'Yes. I got away before anything terrible happened, but it was quite frightening.'
'I'll bet. The back streets in New Orleans can be quite dangerous during Mardi Gras. You shouldn't have wandered around by yourself.' He turned to Edgar. 'Where is Nina, Edgar?' he asked.
'Just finishing up some things in the kitchen.'
'Good. Come on,' Beau insisted. 'I'll take you to the kitchen and Nina will give you something to drink at least. Edgar, would you be so kind as to inform Mademoiselle Gisselle that I've arrived with a surprise guest and we're in the kitchen?'
'Very good, monsieur,' Edgar said and headed for the beautiful curved stairway with soft carpeted steps and a shiny mahogany balustrade.
'This way,' Beau said. He directed me through the entryway, past one beautiful room after another, each filled with antiques and expensive French furniture and paintings. It looked more like a museum to me than a home.
The kitchen was as large as I expected it would be with long counters and tables, big sinks, and walls of cabinets. Everything gleamed. It looked so immaculate, even the older appliances appeared brand-new. Wrapping leftovers in cellophane was a short, plump black woman in a brown cotton dress with a full white apron. She had her back to us.
The strands of her ebony hair were pulled tightly into a thick bun behind her head, but she wore a white kerchief, too. As she worked, she hummed. Beau Andreas knocked on the doorjamb and she spun around quickly.
'I didn't want to frighten you, Nina,' he said.
'That'll be the day when you can frighten Nina Jackson, Monsieur Andreas,' she said, nodding. She had small dark eyes set close to her nose. Her mouth was small and almost lost in her plump cheeks and above her round jaw, but she had beautifully soft skin that glowed under the kitchen fixtures. Ivory earrings shaped like seashells clung to her small lobes.
'Mademoiselle, you changed again?' she asked incredulously.
Beau laughed. 'This isn't Gisselle,' he said.
Nina tilted her head.
'Go on with you, monsieur. That t'aint enough of a disguise to fool Nina Jackson.'
'No, I'm serious, Nina. This isn't Gisselle,' Beau insisted. 'Her name is Ruby. Look closely,' he told her. 'If anyone could tell the difference, it would be you. You practically brought up Gisselle,' he said.
