I was especially drawn to a painting of a young Mullato girl dressed as a ballerina in a white flowy mid length dress. She was in front of a mirror at a dancing studio. In mid-twirl she was on her toes…so graceful…with a look of love on her face reflected in the mirror. The look did not seem to be the look of love for a suitor but for the pure pleasure of dancing. Through the mirror in the painting I could see the reflection of a window. The window showed a tall full weeping willow in a meadow. It looked so peaceful and calm. The sun was shining bright. But inside, the walls of the studio looked old and dingy. The paint was peeling off. But it didn’t seem to matter to the dancer. She wasn’t there for the décor she was there for her true love, the art of dance. I don’t know why but the painting moved me. There was something about the painting and the girl in the mirror. Despite her surroundings, despite her circumstances she was going to bloom.
“This is just beautiful,” I said pointing to the painting. Not being able to take my eyes off of it.
“Do you like it?” Charles asked.
“I love it!” I exclaimed. “I can actually feel the look of love and passion on her face. A love for doing something for the simple pleasure of doing it; not for the money.” I wanted to reach out and touch the face of the young girl in the painting but thought better of it.
“The young girl in the painting is my grandmother, my father’s mother, as a teenager.”
I turned to Charles…shocked!
“My family is originally from Louisiana, of Creole descent. My grandmother grew up outside of New Orleans. She loved to dance more than anything. The artist who painted the picture was a young man who was in love with my grandmother. When my grandfather saw the painting, he instantly fell in love with her. Some would say he became obsessed with her. He bought the picture from the starving artist for a small fortune and stole my grandmother away from him, practically the moment the artist turned his back to count the money.” He said with disgust in his voice. “Who would think that the young girl in that painting would one day be the wife and then mother of a doctor?”
Charles looked thoughtfully at the painting. “Did she continue to dance?” I asked.
Charles shook his head. “They were married right away. She immediately became pregnant and never danced again. My grandfather came from a lot of money. He was used to getting his own way. No matter what the cost.”
“You said your grandfather was a doctor, right?” I asked.
“Yes, but his father and uncles had dealt in some other lucrative business that no one ever speaks about. Being a doctor was the ‘clean’ side of the family money.”
Looking at the painting again I said, “She had to have missed dancing. Look at her. She loved it.”
Almost to himself Charles said, “Money can change everything.” He shook his head, “I can’t imagine not being able to do something you love so much.” Sadness for his grandmother filled Charles’ eyes as he reached out and touched the face of the young girl in the painting.
Just then Charles’ parents came into the room. My first thought was what a stunning couple. Dr. Dupree stood about 6’2”, the same height as Charles. With the same build and curly hair as Charles, his light brown eyes seemed to twinkle against his café au lait complexion. His high cheekbones and strong slim nose reflected the Cherokee and Creole mix of the Dupree heritage Charles previously mentioned. Dr. Dupree wore a tan sports coat over a polo shirt and tanned dress trousers.
Mrs. Dupree had smooth cocoa skin that was flawless. Not a wrinkle was on her face. Wearing very little makeup one could easily see she was a natural beauty. She looked nothing near her 70 plus years. Just above her shoulders, her hair was cut into a stylish bob with a streak of gray in front, parted on the right side. She wore a cream colored silk blouse with brown pants, along with a pearl necklace and matching earrings.
As they walked into the living room Charles’ dad said, “Hello Simone.” He shook my hand. “It’s very nice to finally meet you.”
My hand seemed to be swallowed up as Dr. Dupree embraced my hand in both of his. “Thank you, Sir. It’s nice to meet you as well,” I said trying not to show my nervousness.
“Oh please, call me Lawrence,” he said with a warm smile causing me to like him instantly.
He then introduced me to Mrs. Dupree. “This is my wife and Charles’ mother, Elizabeth Dupree or Lizzy, as family and close friends call her.” With the stone look on her face I couldn’t imagine anyone calling her Lizzy.
Although Charles had the same eyes and mouth as his mother, there was an air of intimidation around Mrs. Dupree. Remembering that she is a retired attorney, I should not have been surprised that her steely stare made me feel like I should be confessing all my sins. I swallowed hard as I said, “It’s nice to meet you Mrs. Dupree.”
Since she did not make a move to shake my hand I kept my hands to the side.
“Hello. Welcome,” she said stiffly.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. And even more nervous than I was when I first walked in.
Charles came up from behind me.
“Hi Mom,” he bent down and kissed his mother on her check.
Only then did I see warmth in her eyes. Warmth she seemed to only have for her son.
Oh, oh, I thought. Is she one of those mothers who thinks no woman is good enough for her only son?
“Hi Sweetie,” she said with a smile, that actually reached her eyes, while she reached up and brushed her hand on his cheek. A gesture I recognized as one I do with my own sons. Mrs. Dupree sat down on one of the matching upholstered high back chairs.
As Dr. Dupree stood on the side of his wife’s chair facing Charles and me, I saw him put his hand on Mrs. Dupree’s shoulder. Almost absentmindedly she reached up, put her hand on his, and gently squeezed as if they were giving each other strength. Strength for what, to meet me? What kind of person did they think I was?
Before my brain could register what I just saw, Dr. Dupree offered to make us all drinks.
“Let me help you with that Dad,” Charles said as he looked over at his mother and me.
Glancing down at me he asked, “Wine?”
“Yes, please,” I said wishing I drank scotch.
Looking at his mom and me again, Charles kissed my cheek and gave a look to his mother. She smiled at him and shrugged her shoulders.
Not understanding what that unspoken communication was about I felt even more nervous as Charles and his dad went to the bar on the other side of the room.
I sat down on the couch across from Mrs. Dupree’s chair. Careful to sit up straight and “lady like” I tried to break the ice.
As a classical piece of music I recognized began to play, I said to Mrs. Dupree, “This music is lovely.”
“Yes, it is,” she answered in a monotone voice. “Do you like classical music?
“Yes, I do. Actually, I really love this one…‘Claire De Lune’ by Debussy.”
She raised an eyebrow as if to say, “I’m surprised you knew that!”
“I used to play violin as a child,” I continued. “My grandfather, a lover of different types of music, made sure we were well rounded.”
“I see,” she said. And as if an afterthought she continued. “And what did your grandfather do for a living?”
“He was a business man,” I answered.
“What type of business?” she questioned.
“He started with a family run catering service. And then grew it into a large catering business and a real estate development company.”
“I see,” she said again.
Feeling like I was being interrogated I waited for the next question. Thankfully Charles and his dad walked over with our drinks.
Charles handed me my wine, looked me in the eye and asked, “Is everything OK over here?”
Before I could say anything his mother said, “Yes. Simone and I are just getting to know each other.”
Surprised she even remembered my name; I decided not to let her questions
get under my skin.
Charles and his dad walked over to the fireplace and held their own conversation.
I took a sip of the wine; again wishing it was something stronger. The surprisingly delicious crisp taste got my attention.
“This wine is very good. May I ask what this is?” I asked Mrs. Dupree.
“It’s OPUS One Napa Valley 2009. From our private stock,” she answered with her head held high.”
“It’s lovely.” I hesitated, “Speaking of lovely, this is a beautiful home you have here,” I said.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Dupree said stiffly. Looking around the room she continued, “This house has been in the Dupree family since the late 1800s. Dr. Dupree’s father was a doctor as well. And my father and grandfather were attorneys. Charles comes from a long line of professionals.”
“Yes, I’m aware.” I said.
I could hear Charles and his dad discussing a real estate deal. I was on my own.
“So Charles said you’re from upstate?”
“Actually not really upstate. It’s Northern Westchester County. A small town called Quaker Ridge…about an hour north of New York City.”
Mrs. Dupree put her drink down. “I know that town…very well actually.”
“Do you?” I asked.
“Yes, Dr. Dupree and I have some friends in that live there. The Douglas’…do you know them?”
“Ahhh, I went to high school with a Tara Douglas. Her dad owns an engineering company.”
“Yes…yes,” Mrs. Dupree said sitting up in her chair and smiling at me for the first time. “That’s a lovely town.”
“Yes, it is.” Then thinking to myself I said, “So I’m not the ghetto snipe you thought I was.”
“How long has your family been in Quaker Ridge?”
“My sister and I started there in Elementary school. My family was there for over 30 years.”
“I see,” she said taking a sip of her drink. She put her glass on the small table between her chair and the one I assume was Dr. Dupree’s.
I looked over at Charles and his dad. They were still in an in depth conversation.
“So tell me, do you like the work you do?” Mrs. Dupree asked turning my attention back to her.
“Actually I do,” I answered. “Although working in the finance field was not something I had planned I am very happy I landed there.”
“Landed?” Mrs. Dupree asked with an eyebrow raised. A gesture I recognized from Charles.
“Yes, landed.” I answered. “I was an English major in college. I thought I’d write ‘the great American novel.”
We both laughed.
I continued, “But when my marriage didn’t work out I needed to do something that was going to make a good life for me and my sons. I prayed…hard…consistently and ended up working for a financial firm. I fell in love with it and have been in the business ever since.”
“Hmmm,” Mrs. Dupree said thoughtfully. “I understand what you mean by ‘falling in love’ with your career. My dad was an attorney and so was my grandfather. If I were a boy it would automatically be assumed that I would follow in their footsteps. But being the only child and a female, my mom and dad tried to push me into teaching. Mind you, there is nothing wrong with being an educator but I had no passion to be one.”
Mrs. Dupree continued with a faraway look on her face, “I remember visiting my dad and granddaddy at their office when I was a kid. I would sit at my dad’s chair at his desk…my feet didn’t even touch the floor yet but I knew…I knew in my heart that this was where I wanted to be…studying law. At 10 years old, I was reading my dad’s law books like a child reads Dr. Seuss. I couldn’t get enough of it. At night when I’d said my prayers, I prayed to one day be a lawyer like my daddy and granddaddy.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, Mrs. Dupree, how did you get your dad and grandfather to agree with you becoming an attorney.”
She laughed, “My granddaddy was putty in my hands. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for me. Even still he was totally against me becoming an attorney, but I was relentless. Somehow I convinced my father and Granddaddy that the best way for me to find the ‘right’ husband was by going to an Ivy League college. So they let me enroll in Princeton.”
“Oh, I know what you mean,” I interrupted. “We called those girls going for their M.R.S. Degree.”
“M.R.S. Degree,” Mrs. Dupree repeated and shook her head. “I like it!” She laughed. “I continued to work at my family’s law firm during the summers and Christmas breaks. I continuously prayed that they would take notice. It wasn’t till I received A’s in all my pre-law classes that Daddy and Granddaddy started really noticing my talents. I would work on cases with them and they would be shocked with my knowledge and interpretation of the law. It was only a matter of time before I ‘beat’ them into submission and became a part of the Firm. And the funny thing is even though I did meet my husband at an Ivy League school it would be years before I even started dating him. I was focused on the law. That was all I could think about. I was so grateful that my dream was coming true.”
“Never doubt the power of a praying woman,” I said with a smile.
“So true,” Mrs. Dupree smiled back.
At that time Charles and Dr. Dupree walked back over to us.
“So how are we girls doing over here?” Dr. Dupree asked.
“We are doing just fine,” Mrs. Dupree smiled.
As if on cue Mrs. Dupree and I both raised our glasses in a silent toast to each other.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Entering the formal dining room, through the arched mahogany pocket doors, I felt like royalty. The dining room walls were a light gray with white wainscoting and elegant crown molding. There were hardwood floors and double glass doors that lead down to a large brick walled garden. A crystal chandelier hung over the dining room table that was set with fine china, linen, and stemware. All I kept thinking was, I hope I don’t eat with the wrong fork.
The dining room table was small enough for the four of us to have an intimate dinner. There were matching dining room chairs off to the side, which lead me to believe they had taken some of the sleeves out of the table in order to make it smaller, like we use to do occasionally at my grandparents’ house. Dr. and Mrs. Dupree sat at each end of the dining room table while Charles and I sat across from each other.
I’m so happy I listened to Charles and only ate a light breakfast and nothing for lunch. Sophie served us a four-course gourmet meal. To start we had roasted carrot soup with pancetta and croutons, and then a garden salad with Roquefort dressing. As a main course we dined on Lobster Thermidor (a French dish with a creamy mixture of cooked lobster meat, egg yolks and brandy) accompanied with mini beef wellington in a red wine sauce, roasted asparagus, and potatoes au gratin. All so delicious I wanted to cry. And for dessert we had my favorite, a molten chocolate soufflé. The oozing chocolate, seriously to die for, melted in my mouth. With every course I was convinced that the Dupree’s had stolen Sophie from a five star restaurant.
“So Simone,” Dr. Dupree said over cappuccino and dessert, “I understand you have two sons.”
“Yes, I do,” I said after swallowing a piece of the soufflé. “They are about a year or two out of college respectively.”
“Oh, and what do they do?” Dr. Dupree asked.
“My oldest son, Thomas, is a Financial Counselor.”
“Oh he’s in the same business as his mother,” Mrs. Dupree interjected.
“Actually, I’m afraid not,” I smiled. “Thomas is a Financial Counselor with a non-profit organization where they teach ‘ordinary people’ about financial responsibility.”
“I see,” both Dr. and Mrs. Dupree said in unison.
“Actually what Thomas is doing is very commendable,” said Charles. He continued, “Thomas had every intention of becoming a Financial Advisor for one of the big firms. But during the fall semester of his senior year in college he had a reawakening.”
“Oh,”
said Dr. Dupree, “What happened to him?”
Before Charles could continue I answered, “Nothing actually happened to him. It was more like everything he had been taught throughout his life had come to a culmination. Thomas spent a semester abroad traveling to about 10 different countries. Although he met wonderful people and saw beautiful sights, the trip also opened his eyes to real poverty. He realized it is our responsibility as human beings to help others who are not able to help themselves. Unfortunately, our school systems does little to teach children about financial responsibility. If it is not taught in their homes they grow up as adults who are financially ignorant.”
Dr. Dupree shook his head. “That’s true…so true.”
“Very good,” Mrs. Dupree smiled. “And as for your youngest son?”
“He works for a Sports Management firm,” I answered. “He’s also a Personal Trainer for several athletes.”
“Oh really?” Dr. Dupree’s ears seemed to perk up. “I have season tickets to the Knicks. Maybe we could go to a couple of games together.”
Before I was about to say “hell yes!” (Or maybe not quite those words) Charles jumped in “Simone’s more of a football fanatic…especially when it comes to the New York Giants,” he laughed.
Forgetting where we were I stuck my tongue out at Charles while he and I laughed. Suddenly remembering Charles’ parents I turned to them embarrassed and apologized.
“I am so sorry,” I exclaimed. “That was just a joke between Charles and me.”
I looked at Charles for help but he kept laughing. I looked at his parents. They both wore a serious face. The moment of silence was overwhelming.
Then Dr. Dupree said, “That’s ok. Lizzy sticks her tongue out at me all the time.” Both his parents began to laugh.
After dessert, Dr. Dupree suggested we go to the living room. As we all got up from the dining room table Mrs. Dupree touched my forearm. “Simone, why don’t you come with me? I’d like to show you our garden.”
No longer feeling comfortable I looked back at Charles who gave me a non-committal smile and shrugged his shoulders.
“Of course,” I said to Mrs. Dupree and followed her through the glass doors and down the iron stairs to the garden/solarium. Motion lights came on as we went down the stairs.
Till We Meet Again Page 8
