I started to turn away when the door was pulled open and I saw Beau standing there. He wore a soft white cotton shirt and trousers of the finest dark' blue wool. His eyes blinked rapidly as if trying to focus and convince himself I was really standing there.
"Ruby," he said softly, "I'm sorry. I must have fallen asleep in my chair dreaming about you. I thought you wouldn't come."
"I almost didn't, even when I found the address," I said.
"But you're here. You did come. Come in. Please." He stepped back and I entered the small apartment. It was a one-bedroom with a tiny kitchen and a living room that had French doors opening to the balcony. The furniture and the decor were very simple, modern with that slightly worn look found in hotels or motels. The walls were practically bare, only a small print depicting fruits and flowers here and there.
"It's not much," he said, gazing around with me. "Just a quiet hideaway."
"It's quaint. It just needs some warmth."
He laughed. "I just knew you'd apply your artist's eye instantly. Sit down," he said, indicating the small sofa. "Did you have an easy ride into the city?"
"Yes. I'm becoming a sophisticated traveler," I said. It was funny how we were both acting as if we were meeting for the very first time, and he . . . he was the father of my child. But time, distance, and events had made us strangers to each other.
"You're here alone?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes. I checked into the Fairmont. I'm going to bring my new series over to Dominique. He has been talking about this art show he wants to do with me."
"Great. But I warn you, I'm not going to let anyone else buy those pictures. No matter what the cost, I'll get them," he vowed. I laughed. "Would you like something cold to drink? I have some chilled white wine."
"Please," I said. He went out to the kitchen.
"So Paul knows you've come to New Orleans?" he asked while he poured the wine.
"Oh yes. He's gone to Dallas for some meetings." "And the baby?" Beau asked, returning.
"With Mrs. Flemming. She's wonderful with Pearl."
"I saw that. You're lucky to get someone like that nowadays." He handed me my glass of wine and I sipped some while he sipped his, both of us peering over our glasses at each other. "You never looked more beautiful, Ruby," he said softly. "Motherhood has made you blossom."
"I've been lucky, Beau. I could have been the fallen woman scrounging out a meager living in the bayou. . until my trust came through, that is."
"I know," he said. "Ruby, is there any way I can make things up to you? Is there any apology that would sound right?"
"I told you before, Beau. I don't blame you for anything."
"Well, you should. I nearly destroyed both our lives," he said. He sipped some more of his wine and then he sat beside me.
"Where's Gisselle?" I asked.
"Partying with some of her old friends by now, I'm sure. She was different for a while, especially when she came to France. She had me convinced she had grown up because of all the trouble and hardship in the family. She was vulnerable, sweet, and, believe it or not, considerate. The truth is, she conned me, or maybe I. . . maybe I let her. I was very lonely and depressed after you got married. I realized I had let the one person who could make me feel complete slip through my fingers. I felt like a little boy who had lost grip of his kite string and was chasing after it in vain. I could see it drifting away, only it was your face being carried from me in the wind.
"I drank more, partied harder, tried to forget. And then Gisselle appeared on the scene and there was your beautiful face before me. . . your hair, your eyes, your nose, though Gisselle to this day believes her nose is smaller and her eyes are brighter.
"Actually," he continued, gazing down at his glass, "a friend of mine in school in Paris who was studying psychology told me most men fall in love with someone who reminds them of their true love, their first love, someone who impressed them at an early age, someone they couldn't have, but someone they spend a lifetime trying to win. It made sense and I let myself get close to Gisselle again.
"That's my story," he said, smiling. "What's yours?"
"Mine's simpler, Beau. I was alone with a baby, afraid. Paul was always there, helping. Everyone in the bayou knew we were once very fond of each other. Everyone believed Pearl was his child. Paul is devoted to me and, despite my protests, is willing to sacrifice for me. I don't want to hurt him, if I can help it."
"Of course not," Beau said. "He's a very nice man. I enjoyed being with him. I just envy him."
I laughed.
"What?"
"That was what he said to me about you."
"Why?"
I stared into his eyes, falling back through time. "Because he knows how much I love you, how much I've always loved you, and how much I always will," I said.
It was enough to shatter the wall of nervousness and tension between us. His eyes brightened and he put down his glass so he could embrace me. Our first passionate kiss after so long a span of time was like a first kiss, full of fresh excitement.
"Oh, Ruby, my Ruby, I thought I had lost you forever." He brought his lips to my hair, my eyes, my nose. He kissed my neck and the tip of my chin, one kiss following immediately upon another as if he were starved for love, as starved as I was, and as if he were afraid that I was an illusion and I would pop out of his mind any moment.
"Beau," I whispered. His name was all I wanted to say. The sound of it from my lips restored me, filled me with pleasure, assuring me I, too, was really here, in his arms.
He stood up, holding my hand, and I stood up and followed him into the small but cozy bedroom. The afternoon sun poured through the sheer cotton curtains, filling the room with brightness and warmth. I kept my eyes closed while he undressed me. Moments later we were beside each other in the bed, our bodies clinging together magnetically. We moaned, we whispered words of love and promises that went from now to eternity.
At first our caresses were frenzied, but gradually we became calmer, softer. He pressed his lips to my breasts and traced a line of kisses from them to the small of my stomach. I dropped my head to the pillow and felt my body sinking into the soft mattress as Beau brought his body over mine, covering me with his chest and bringing his hard manliness to me. I cried out when he entered me and he soothed me with his petting and his soft words.
Then we moved against each other, drawing love from each other, touching passionate heights time after time until we both reached deeply into our minds and bodies and exploded in an ecstatic crescendo that made everything else but his lips, his voice, his body, disappear. I felt like we were drifting in space.
"Ruby," he said. "Ruby. Are you all right?"
Wherever our lovemaking had taken us was a place I didn't want to leave. I clung to it like someone in a wonderfully pleasing dream refusing to regain consciousness. But my peaceful aftermath frightened him and he raised his voice. "Ruby!"
My eyes fluttered open and I looked up at his concerned face.
"I'm fine, Beau. I was just drifting."
He smiled. "I love you," he said, "and I won't stop."
"I know, Beau. I won't stop loving you either."
"This will be our love nest, our paradise," he said, turning over in the bed to lie beside me. He held my hand and we stared up at the ceiling. "You can dress it up any way you want. We'll go shopping today and find things to put in it, okay? And I'll buy some of your paintings for the walls. We'll get new linens and a rug and--"
I couldn't help laughing.
"What?" he said indignantly. "You think I'm foolish?"
"No, never, dear Beau. I'm laughing at your exuberance. You're sweeping me off and into your dreams so rapidly, I can barely catch my breath."
"So? I don't care. I don't care about anything else." He turned and propped himself on his elbow to gaze down at me. "Maybe you can bring Pearl into New Orleans next time, too, and the three of us can enjoy the day together."
"Maybe," I said, but not confidently.
"What's wrong?"
"I just don't want to confuse her. She believes Paul is her father right now."
Beau's bright smile faded and his face darkened. He nodded and fell back on his pillow. He was silent for a minute.
"You're right," he finally said. "Let's take it an inch at a time. I have to learn to control my excitement."
"I'm sorry, Beau. I didn't mean . ."
"No, you're right. It's okay. I shouldn't be greedy. I have no right to ask for any more. I have no right to ask for this." He turned to kiss me softly and we smiled at each other again. "Hungry?"
"Starving. I forgot to eat lunch."
"Great. I know a wonderful little cafe close to here where they make the best po'boy sandwiches in New Orleans."
"Afterward, I do have to see Dominique," I said.
"Of course. I'll go with you, if you want."
"I think I should just go myself. Dominique has met Paul and . ."
"I understand," Beau said quickly. "Let's get dressed and go eat."
Beau was right about the po'boy sandwiches. I had one with the works, sauteed shrimp, cheese, fried oysters, sliced tomatoes and onions. We sat out on a patio where we ate and watched the tourists with their cameras parading by and gawking at the architecture, the novelty shops and restaurants. Afterward, we went for a walk and I returned to the hotel to call home to see how Pearl was doing. Mrs. Flemming told me everything was fine. I called for my car and brought the Confederate series over to Dominique, who thought the pictures were wonderful.
"There is no question you are ready to be formally introduced to the New Orleans art world," he told me, and we began to plan my art show. Afterward, I returned to the hotel to shower and change to meet Beau for dinner. I had a message from Paul waiting, telling me how to reach him.
"How is it going?" he asked when I phoned.
"Fine. You were right. Dominique thinks I should have a show. We're setting it up," I said, making it seem as if that was all I was doing in New Orleans.
"That's wonderful."
"And your meetings?"
"Going better than I expected, but I'm sorry I'm not with you," he said.
"I'm all right. I'm going home tomorrow sometime in the late morning. Dominique and I are having breakfast together," I said. The lie nearly got stuck on my tongue. Paul was silent.
"Good," he said after a moment. "Have a safe trip back."
"You, too, Paul."
"See you soon. 'Bye."
The receiver felt like a stone in my hand. My eyes glistened with tears and my chest ached. Grandmere Catherine used to say that deceit was a garden in which only the blackest weeds grew, and those who sowed their seeds in it reaped disaster. I hoped this wasn't something I had planted in Paul's future. There was no one I would want to hurt less than him.
Beau knew a quaint little French restaurant close to Jackson Square. I took a cab to our love nest and from there we walked. We had a wonderful meal of quail in wine followed by cups of rich coffee and orange creme brulee. Afterward, I insisted we take a long walk.
"I'm stuffed," I moaned.
We held hands and walked slowly through the French Quarter, which was bustling with its nightlife. There was a different sort of excitement in the Quarter after the sun went down. The women who stood in the doorways and alleyways were more scantily dressed and heavily made-up. The music had a deeper wail, some singers sounding mournful, full of blues and tears. In other places where younger tourists flocked, there was upbeat jazz and the shrieks, shouts, and laughter of people letting down their hair, looking for the ultimate excitement, whatever that might be. All the novelty shops and souvenir shops were brightly lit. Drifters, poor musicians, lined the sidewalks. There was someone at every corner pleading for a handout, but no one resented them. It was as if they were meant to be there, part of what made the Quarter unique. Scam artists hovered about, searching for easy prey.
"'Scuse me, sir, but I bet I can tell where you come from exactly. If I don't, I'll give you ten bucks; if I do, you give me twenty. Here's my ten. What'dya say?"
"No, thank you. We know where we come from," Beau responded with a smile.
It was exciting walking here with him and I thought, yes, I could have another life, a secret life with him here. We would make our love nest comfortable and we would enjoy the city, the food and its people, and we would cheat Fate.
We circled until we returned to the small apartment, where I made an impulsive decision to spend the night with him. We made love again, this time turning to each other the moment we closed the door behind us. Before we reached the bedroom, we were both naked. He lifted me in his arms and put me down gently on the bed and then he knelt beside the bed and began kissing me from my toes up. I dosed my eyes and waited for him to reach my lips, which by that time were burning with desire.
As we made love, we heard the music and the murmuring sounds of people talking in the street outside, a constant flow of voices and laughter. It was intoxicating and I held Beau close to me, whispering his name, whispering my undying love, actually coming to tears when we reached our sweet climax and lay beside each other, pleasantly exhausted.
In the morning we rose early and went to the Cafe du Monde for coffee and beignets. Then he walked me back to my hotel. We had planned to meet again in a week's time when I returned to complete the arrangements for the art show and bring Dominique some more of my work. I kissed him good-bye and hurried into the hotel to get my things.
I was afraid I would find a message indicating Paul had tried to reach me the night before, but there was nothing. I was in and out of the hotel quickly, and in minutes, back on the highway that would take me home. I felt full of life, restored, blossoming, just as Beau had said. But my elation was to be short-lived. It ended the moment I drove up to the house.
The dark expression on James's face when he came down the front steps to help me with my things told me immediately that something terrible was wrong. My first thoughts went to Pearl.
"What is it, James? What's happened?"
"Oh, it's Mrs. Flemming, madame. She's had some bad news, I'm afraid."
"Where is she?"
"Upstairs, waiting for you in Pearl's nursery."
I hurried into the house, practically charging up the stairway to find Mrs. Flemming sitting in the rocking chair, her face white, her lips pale. Pearl was asleep in her crib.
"What is it, Mrs. Hemming?"
She lifted her hands, seeming to wipe away invisible cobwebs, and pressed her lips together. Then she nodded toward Pearl and got up quietly to join me in the hallway.