In the evenings I would tell Daddy about these things. He would listen, his eyes bright with interest and his lips relaxed in a tiny smile. If Mommy was there, too, she would sit back, her eyes full of pride, and she and Daddy would exchange secret glances.
Pierre and Jean were interested only in gory details. Had I seen another dead person? Did I see a lot of blood and broken bones? Most of my days were quite routine without any real emergencies, and in the twins' eyes those days were boring. Of course they were enjoying their summer—swimming in our pool, having their friends over, playing Little League base-ball, collecting insects in jars. I told them not to take these days for granted, that time would flow by quickly and before they knew it, they would have to bear down and work hard to become successful at something. Jean didn't want to hear such advice, but Pierre would nod and give me a knowing look.
In early July Mommy's new exhibition was ready. It was being held at one of the newer galleries in the French Quarter. The impressive guest list for the opening included high government officials, doctors and lawyers, big businessmen, and some entertainers. The twins hated having to dress up and keep themselves spotless on the day of the opening. Mommy insisted that they wear identical dark blue suits with silk ties. She bought them shiny new shoes and Daddy took them for haircuts. They did look handsome, if uncomfortable, confined in their new clothes and forbidden to do anything that would dirty their hands or faces or stain their suits.
Jean kept pulling on his collar and moaning that he was choking to death. 'Dressing up is dumb, Pearl,' he groaned. 'You've got to worry about furniture being too dusty or about brushing up against something greasy, and boys have to wear these stupid ties.'
'You look so handsome, Jean. Both of you do, and you're doing it for Mommy. You know how big a day this is for her,' I explained. Jean nodded, reluctantly agreeing; but a few minutes later he was teasing Pierre by deliberately stepping on his shoes and messing up his hair, then running off through the house. Daddy had to pull them both aside and give them a stern lecture, after which they both sat waiting with their hands folded-in their laps, looking glum.
For a while the music and the excitement at the exhibition kept them amused. Daddy had given them instructions about how they should behave at the gallery, but the moment we all arrived, Daddy and Mommy were surrounded by friends, guests, and the press. The twins slipped away from me and explored. Every once in a while I caught sight of them darting in and out among clusters of people, gobbling hot hors d'oeuvres, and even sneaking a sip of wine. I cornered them a few times and had them sit quietly, but moments later they were gone.
From the comments we were hearing, Mommy's exhibition was being well received. A number of her pictures were sold during the opening. Afterward a party was to be held at Antoine's, one of the French Quarter's oldest and most famous restaurants. We had our party in the private dining room known as the Dungeon and actually used as such during the Spanish period in New Orleans. My waiter, who lingered at my side for a few moments after he served something, was very proud of the restaurant and proud that his name was Antoine, too.
'Oysters Rockefeller, one of our most famous dishes,' he said placing them before me, 'were not created for John D. Rockefeller, you know. They were so named because of the richness of the sauce, and since Mr. Rockefeller was America's richest person at the time . . .'
'Oh, I see,' I said, smiling.
He nodded at a waiter across the table from us who was pouring expensive wine like water. 'Our wine cellar contains over 25,000 bottles, the oldest wine dating back to 1884. We even have a brandy produced in 1811.'
I tried to appear sufficiently impressed, which encouraged him to continue his explanations and boasting with every course he served.
'Princess Margaret called our crabmeat souffle a poem.'
The restaurant went all out to impress our guests and my parents. We were served chicken Rochambeau, crawfish cardinale, Brabant potatoes, and Antoine's famous creamed spinach. However, the twins went right to the desserts.
While we were having dinner, the first of the art reviews was brought in and read aloud because it was so favorable. Everyone applauded and Mommy stood up and thanked the guests. Then she and Daddy kissed.
Every time they kissed, it seemed to me as though they were kissing for the first time. Their faces always radiated excitement, and their eyes were full of the glitter of discovery. How was it possible for me to ever find such love and happiness? I wondered. Mommy, sensing my thoughts, gazed my way and smiled at me, her eyes saying, Don't worry, Pearl. There's someone like Daddy out there for you, too. I'm sure of it.
How I wished I could be as sure of it.
Right in the middle of all the excitement, while people were coming to our table to congratulate Mommy, while music was playing and the great meal was being served, I saw Mommy suddenly stop smiling and turn toward the doorway. Her face drained quickly and became white with concern. I gazed toward the doorway, too, and saw a tall, thin caramel-skinned woman wearing a red tingon. The maitre d' went to greet her, and she nodded in Mommy's direction. He kept her from entering, but because she was so insistent, he brought a message to Mammy. I watched her read it and saw her face grow even paler. She leaned over to whisper in Daddy's ear, and he became visibly upset.
I got up quickly and went to her. 'What's wrong, Mammy?'
'Oh, Pearl honey, this message is about Nina Jackson, my father's cook.'
'What about her?' I looked toward the doorway but the mysterious woman was gone.
'She's dying and has asked for me. I've got to go to her at once, but Daddy doesn't think I should leave the party.'
'It's your party, Mommy. How can you go? Is she going to die any moment?'
'I don't know, honey.'
'Can't you go right afterward?'
'That's what Daddy wants me to do. We're having pictures taken in about a half hour. The mayor is supposed to be here.'
'Then you have to stay, Mommy. But I'll go with you as soon as you can leave.'
'Thank you, darling,' she said, pressing my hands between hers. 'I just feel I should get right up and go. Oh, dear.'
