All That Glitters

'Daddy, or I should say, Daphne, had bought apartment buildings in other places. We're big landlords, right, Beau?'

'Rather impressive portfolio,' he said, presenting the first pages of the documents. 'All of the properties are listed here with their appraised values. This land on Lake Pontchartrain is like gold.'

Paul leaned over and studied the list. Soon it became a conversation between the two of them. Gisselle took out an emery board and began doing her nails as we talked. I had no interest in being a landlord and was more than willing to sell commercial holdings.

'What about Bruce?' I asked after a while.

'We haven't heard a word from him or his lawyer since his lawyer spoke with ours. I think he realizes that he would only be throwing away in wasted legal fees whatever money he's been able to get.'

'Is he still in New Orleans?'

'Yes. He has an apartment building of his own and a few other holdings, but nothing like the fortune he might have inherited had Daphne not foreseen the possibilities and blocked them with her lawyers.'

'Why, though?' I wondered aloud. 'She certainly didn't want the money and the property to go to us,' I said, looking at Gisselle for agreement.

'That's for sure,' she said.

'Maybe . . . she was afraid of Bruce,' Beau suggested.

'Afraid? How do you mean that?' Paul asked.

'Afraid that if he could get such wealth at her death, he might . . . what should I say, accelerate her death?' Everyone was quiet for a moment, even Gisselle, as we pondered what Beau was saying.

'She knew what kind of man she had married and the things he was capable of doing,' Beau continued. 'We came across some of their shenanigans together before Pierre died. There were documents forged, false papers created . . . a trail of deceit.'

'Then Bruce isn't getting anything he doesn't deserve,' Paul concluded.

Beau and he continued to go through the details of the holdings. Gisselle, who had demanded the meeting take place immediately, grew more fidgety. Finally we decided to adjourn for lunch.

We ate on the patio. Paul kept Beau intrigued with his talk of politics and oil, and Gisselle rambled on about some of her old friends, the things they bought, the places they had been. When Mrs. Flemming brought Pearl to see us, I held my breath, expecting Gisselle to make some embarrassing comment, but she held her tongue and performed like the perfect aunt, suddenly taking delight in her niece.

'I'm going to wait to have children,' she declared. 'I know what it can do to your figure and I'm not ready for that yet. Beau and I are completely agreed about it, right, Beau?'

'What? Oh, sure, cherie.'

'Say something romantic in French, Beau. Just like you used to when we walked along the banks of the Seine. Please.'

He looked at me and then he said, 'Whenever you come into a room, mon coeur battait la chamade.'

'Oh, isn't that beautiful. What does it mean, Beau?'

His eyes fell on me for an instant again and then he smiled at Gisselle and said, 'Whenever you come into a room, my heart goes bumpety bump.'

'You Cajuns have any French expressions of love?' she asked.

'A few,' Paul said. 'But our accent is so different, you'd probably not understand. Well, how about our tour of the swamp. Ready?'

'I'll never be ready for that,' Gisselle complained. 'You're going to be fascinated, despite yourself,' Paul promised.

'I don't have anything to wear. I don't want to get any of the clothes I have with me spotted with swamp mud and grease.'

'I have some old pants that will fit you, Gisselle,' I said. 'And some old shirts. Come on. Let's get ready.'

She whined and complained all the way up the stairs, in the room changing, and back down again. Paul had some bug repellent for her to smear on her face and exposed arms and neck.

'What if I break into a rash from this?' she whined.

'You won't. It's an old Cajun recipe.'

'What's in it?' she demanded.

'It's better if you don't know,' Paul wisely replied.

'It stinks.'

'So the bugs will stay away from you,' Beau said. 'As well as everyone else.'

We laughed and, after Gisselle was properly smeared, went down to the boat. Beau sat between Gisselle and me.

'Laissez les bon temps rouler!' Paul cried. 'Let the good times roll!'

Gisselle screamed when we pulled away from the dock, but in minutes, she grew calm and interested. Paul pointed out the ropes of green snakes, the movement of alligators, the nutrias, the birds, and the beautiful honey- suckle covering the banks of the canals. He was a wonderful guide, his voice filled with his love of the swamp, his admiration for the life that fed and dwelt within the canals. He cut the engine and we floated over shallow brackish