disgraced. It isn't fair,' she said, shaking her head. 'It isn't fair.'
'No one will know anything from my lips,' I promised. She laughed a short shrill laugh.
'Why should you say anything? Look at all you have now,' she added harshly, and lifted her arms. 'This house, these grounds, this great wealth . . . and a father for your child.' She fixed her eyes on me.
'Madame, Mother Tate, I assure you—'
'You assure me. Ha! I'm sure you cast the same sort of spell over Paul that your mother cast over Octavious. From mother to daughter, only I'm the one who pays for it all . . . not my dear husband, not my dear adopted son. Funny,' she said, pausing. 'I have never used that term once, never; but now, here with you, I can't say anything else but the truth: my adopted son.'
'It's not the truth,' I spit back. 'You love Paul in your heart the same way you would had you been the one to give birth to him, and he loves you that way, too. I will make you one promise, Mother Tate, and that is that I will never do anything to interfere with that love. Never,' I insisted, my eyes narrow and fixed with determination on hers.
She smiled coldly as if to say I couldn't even if I wanted to with all my heart.
'But you should know that Paul loves Pearl as much as he would had she been his from the start,' I warned. 'I hope you will accept that and love her as much as a Grandmere should.'
'Love,' she said. 'Everyone needs so much of it, no wonder we're all so exhausted.' She sighed again and then looked into my room, her face hardening with criticism. 'You should do something nice with drapes on those windows. The sun will be setting on this side. And those colors you were thinking about . . . I thought you were supposed to be an artist. You'll use beige with a little pink in it in here,' she commanded. 'Now, when you get to New Orleans,' she continued as she walked on, 'there's this place I know on Canal Street . . .'
I followed along, grateful for the truce that had fallen between us, even though it was a truce on her terms.
We rose early the next morning for our trip to New Orleans. Fortunately, the morning overcast broke and the patches of blue with the bright sunlight seeping through made the trip more enjoyable. I hated going long distances in the rain. But as we traveled the familiar highway, I couldn't help but feel like someone reliving an old nightmare. I recalled my first trip, when I had run away from Grandpere Jack. I had arrived in New Orleans during the Mardi Gras and was nearly raped by a man in a Mardi Gras mask who pretended to help me find my way through the city.
But that was the day I had met Beau for the first time, too, I remembered. Just as I was about to give up and turn away from my father's house, Beau arrived like some dreamboat stepping off a movie screen. I knew from the first moment I set eyes on him that he was special, and from the way he gazed at me once he knew I wasn't my twin sister, I knew he thought the same about me. When Lake Pontchartrain came into view with its water a dark green and its small waves capping, I vividly recalled my first date with Beau and how passionate we had been even then.
I was so lost in these memories, I didn't even realize Paul had driven us into the city until we pulled up to the Fairmont Hotel. Pearl had slept for most of the trip, but when we stepped out, she was fascinated with the sounds of traffic and people and all the activity around us as we checked into our suite of rooms. Paul had arranged for us to have a room with two double beds that adjoined a room for Mrs. Flemming and Pearl.
After we had a little lunch in the hotel, Mrs. Flemming took Pearl up for a nap, and Paul and I began our shopping spree. I had forgotten how much I loved the city. It had its own special rhythms that changed as the day grew into night. In the morning it could be so quiet. Most of the shops weren't open and the shutters and balcony doors were closed, especially in the famed French Quarter, the Vieux Carre. The shadows were still deep and the streets relatively cool.
By late morning the shops were open and the streets were filling with people. The scrolled balconies above us were bursting with flowers. Hawkers called out their wares; music started to draw the tourists to the doors of restaurants and bars. Then, as the afternoon continued, the rhythm quickened. Street performers took their positions on the corners, tap-dancing, juggling, playing guitars.
Paul had a list of places to go, a list he revealed his mother had prepared.
'She knows a lot more about all this than we do,' he stated, and then he showed me a list of items she had dictated we buy. 'What do you think?' he asked.
'Fine,' I said, although many of the things were not particularly things I would have chosen.
Paul and I went from store to store, buying the furnishings, lighting fixtures, lamps, and tables, as well as accoutrements, his mother had suggested. I began to feel as if I were just tagging along.
'My mother is a woman of great taste, isn't she?' he declared before I had much of a chance to comment.
'Yes,' I said. It was as if she were right there beside us.
Late in the afternoon, Paul and I took a break and went to the Cafe du Monde for coffee and their famous beignets. We could watch the artists at their easels and the tourists marching by, their eyes big, their cameras swinging on their necks. There was a cool breeze off the river, and the magnolia blossoms that lifted and fell in the air seemed particularly brilliant.
'I've made a dinner reservation for us at Arnaud's,' Paul declared.
'Arnaud's?'
'Yes. Mother suggested it. Don't you think it's a good choice?'
'Oh yes, it's nice,' I said, quickly smiling. How was Paul to know that it was to Arnaud's that Beau had taken me on our first formal date? However, to me it seemed as if the city were conspiring to stir up each and every memory I had of living here, whether they be good ones or bad.
We had a wonderful dinner and Pearl was well behaved. Afterward, Paul wanted to sit in the hotel lobby and listen to the jazz. We did so for a while, but the day's traveling and shopping with all its emotional implications had been more exhausting than I believed. I couldn't keep my eyes from closing. Paul laughed and we went up to our room.
This was the first night we spent together sleeping in the same bedroom, and although we weren't sharing a bed, there was an intimacy that at first made me a little uncomfortable. As I stood before the sink and mirror dressed only in my slip and washed the makeup off my face, I saw Paul in the mirror, standing behind me, staring,
