Till We Meet Again

by Sylvia Crim-Brown

  “Are you OK?” Charles asked taking my hands.

  “Yes,” I said nodding my head.

  “You have to be careful,” he said. “You’re not use to this type of food.”

  “You’re telling me,” I laughed.

  Once I got my head and taste buds ready for the hot and spicy gumbo I was able to enjoy the meal.

  “So,” I said, “you know Jacques through the club?”

  “Ah, through the club and my grandmother.”

  “Your grandmother?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he answered. “Jacques is a distant cousin to my Grandmother Jacqueline.” Charles continued, “Her maiden name was LeClair. Her grandfather had disowned her father when he fell in love with a freed slave,” Charles said nonchalantly.

  I remembered then Grandmother Jacqueline’s portrait and the fact that she was Mullato. It couldn’t have been easy for her. Especially back then.

  “Oh I see.”

  “Jacques’ dad originally owned this cafe. And then Jacques inherited it. He and Josephine together, made it what it is today,” he finished.

  The piano player started playing “Gone So Long.” With him tickling the ivories, and the drummer and base player doing their thing, it was hard to sit in your seat.

  “Let’s dance!” Charles said grabbing my hand.

  We danced and danced from one song to another. I had so much fun. Finally being a little winded we decided to sit back down at our table. The band leader announced that this was their last song of the night and that after them would be another band.

  After a while the second band warmed up and began to play. It consisted of a piano player, a drummer, and a guy on the trumpet. I watched Charles as he watched the trumpet player play. He watched so intensely. I could see he was itching to get up on that stage.

  After two or three songs I looked around and found Jacques and Josephine sitting at the bar across the room. Jacques turned and looked at me and we nodded at each other. He said something to Josephine. She turned to me and nodded. Jacques got up and walked toward the stage holding a black case. The stage hand walked over to Jacques and took the case as Jacques whispered to him. The stage hand put the case down on the stage out of the spot light. He nodded to the piano player.

  After the song was over the piano player began to speak. Charles was holding my hand with one hand and drinking his drink with the other. “Excuse me” the piano player began, “If I can have your attention please.” He said to the audience. “We are very lucky to have a special guest in our audience today. Some of you may remember him from his younger days when he used to visit the area as a kid. His lovely lady had someone contact us to let us know he’d be here tonight celebrating his birthday weekend. And through a covert operation,” he laughed, “they were able to deliver his trumpet to us today. So there are no excuses, man,” he said looking at Charles. “Let’s give a New Orleans welcome to Mr. Charles Dupree. Come on up here Charles!”

  Charles looked up at me immediately. “What did you do?” he said as if shocked.

  “I had Caroline send your trumpet to the hotel and they had it delivered to the club,” I smiled.

  The people in the club began to clap. “Happy Birthday baby,” I smiled.

  Charles leaned over the table and kissed me. As he got up and walked to the stage he looked over and saw Jacques and Josephine standing at the bar. Josephine’s eyes glistened. Jacques had his arm around her. They both smiled at Charles. Jacques kissed Josephine on her forehead and pulled her into a hug.

  As Charles got up on the stage and the clapping died down I felt like my heart was beating out of my chest. I was both excited and nervous for Charles. It had been a long time since he played in front of other people. Was he a bit rusty? When it was all over would he be pleased with my surprise or pissed off?

  The piano player played a little tune as Charles pulled the trumpet out of the case and quickly put it together. He examined the trumpet. Please God don’t let there be any damage during shipping. Please! I thought to myself. Seeming satisfied with what he saw, he put the trumpet to his mouth. Whew!

  He played a few notes as if to warm up. Then he nodded to the piano player to let him know he was ready. He looked down at me and winked.

  The piano player began to play another song. After a few notes the drummer joined in and then so did Charles.

  As I watched and listened to Charles play “It Never Entered My Mind” something changed. I felt as if Charles was transported to another place and time. I closed my eyes. I swear it sounded like Miles Davis was on that stage. When I opened my eyes I looked at Charles. He seemed so intense and relaxed at the same time. I’d never seen him like this before. The love for the music was evident on his face. And in his face I saw his Grandmother Jacqueline and the love she had for dance. Now, I understood when Charles said, “he could never imagine not being able to do something you loved so much”. He wasn’t just talking about his grandmother’s dancing but also his playing the trumpet. I could see it now. It was a part of him. Without it something inside him would die.

  As Charles started to play “The Good Life” I felt like it was only he and I in the room. It seemed like the notes from the trumpet were fingers circling the room that eventually found its way to me. They seemed to pull me closer to Charles. But instead of cold fingers they were warm and comforting.

  In the middle of him playing “When I Fall in Love,” I began to cry. It was as if he was playing the song for me. The warmth of his love seemed to reach me from the stage. Like a security blanket, it gave me a sense of comfort; a sense of protection I never felt before. By the time the song was over, I had fallen more in love with Charles than ever before. A love I never felt before. A love I could not describe. A love that engulfed every part of my being, a love I would have run away from several months ago. Instead, now I wanted to run to it. It was at that moment and time I knew. I knew I was ready to spend the rest of my life with Charles, to be his wife now and forever.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The next day, Saturday, was Charles’ birthday. Since Charles was so anxious to show me the city he loved, we decided to get out early and have breakfast at Café du Monde in the French Quarter. Famous for its beignets, a sweet French square donut, Charles insisted we had to go there for beignets and café au lait. It was the first time I had beignets and I was now addicted. I wondered if I could sneak any on the plane when we go home Sunday night. I better not. Having them for breakfast every morning will cost another ½ hour, at least, of working out every day. And since I didn’t want to be there anyway there was no need of spending more time in the gym than was already necessary.

  After a morning of Charles playing tour guide by going to the New Orleans Jazz collection in the Louisiana State Museum, we ended up along the Mississippi River. There were several riverboats with paddle wheels just off the shore. They looked like riverboats from back in the 1800s. I could picture the cast of the play “Showboat” on the decks. There were tourists standing on line to get on each of the boats for a tour. But there was one boat that had no line. And yet it stood out among the rest. The name on the boat was, “The Creole Sun.” It looked freshly painted and the wood freshly polished. It gleamed in the sun.

  Charles and I walked up the plank of the boat where a man seemed to be waiting.

  “May I help you?” said the ruddy-faced man sarcastically.

  “Yes, I’m Charles Dupree. I called about seeing the boat.”

  Suddenly changing his attitude, “Oh yes, Mr. Dupree. Welcome. I’m Captain Boyette.”

  Charles gave him a stiff nod. “Are you ready for us?”

  “Yes, sir. Right this way.”

  As we followed the captain around the top deck of the boat I noticed the mahogany railings polished to perfection. He gave us a tour of the ship describing each room and giving us a brief history of the riverboat.

  “The Creole Sun,” the captain said, “was a luxury floating casino that only catered to the gentle
man of the finest families in the area.”

  Hmmm just as I thought, I said to myself.

  “Because gambling was illegal in the towns back then, the ship would dock off shore and have their ‘clientele’ brought out in a dinghy for a night of gambling and fun.”

  The tour took us completely around the ship where we ended up in a small dining room. There with floor to ceiling mahogany walls was a dining room table set for two positioned against the window for a beautiful view of the river.

  “I thought we’d have a casual lunch here,” Charles said with a smile.

  “That is a great idea,” I smiled back.

  He held my seat out for me to sit as I realized the boat was now moving.

  “Oh we’re taking the boat out?”

  “Hope you don’t mind,” Charles said with a wink.

  I leaned over and kissed him. “Never,” I said.

  The young waiter took our drink orders. Being that Charles had preordered our lunch the waiter let me know what we would be having today.

  “To start we will be serving you a Mache salad with Creole vinaigrette. Your main entrée will be Andouille sausage and shrimp with Creole mustard sauce. And for dessert, we will serve bananas Foster. It’s caramelized bananas served over vanilla ice cream.”

  “Oh boy that sounds delicious,” I exclaimed.

  “Believe me it is,” Charles smiled.

  We watched the Mississippi River go by as we drank our wine and began eating our lunch.

  “I decided to have lunch here because I wanted to give you a bit of history on this boat,” Charles said.

  Curious I said, “But the Captain already did that.”

  “Yes, but not the complete history.”

  Even more curious I sat my fork down. “Ok.” I said noticing that Charles was fidgeting.

  “Remember I said to you once that my great grandfather and his brothers made money in a way that no one in the family speaks about?”

  “Yes,” I said remembering the conversation with him and me in his parents’ parlor.

  “Well, between my grandmother and Miss Sophie I learned why. And this is it,” Charles said throwing his arms open to include all that we could see and more.

  “What?” I said. “Are you saying that the Dupree family ran a gambling boat?” Surprised but recovering quickly. “Ok no big deal.” I said picking up my fork and taking a bite.

  “I’m saying that and more.”

  I put my fork back down, “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I’m saying my family ran this gambling boat as well as the brothel in it,” Charles said looking me straight in the face.

  All I could do was stare at Charles.

  “Yup, that’s right.” With an edge to his voice he continued, “When my grandfather bought the picture of my grandmother and stole her away from the artist, it was because he wanted her for himself. Not to marry her but to have and own her. He was young and was not ready to marry yet. He thought he’d keep her as his mistress. My grandmother thinking that he was in love with her and was going to marry her went along willingly.”

  I was in shock. I couldn’t say a word.

  Charles continued, “When my grandfather bought her to his home his brothers wanted her too. One brother wanted her for himself and the other for the business. Being part French, Native American, and a quarter black themselves, the brother thought they could get a lot of money for an innocent dancing Mullato girl. My grandfather refused but being the youngest brother he really had no say in the matter. His brothers kept pressuring him. But my grandfather continued to refuse. His brothers wanted to fight him for her. It got really bad between them. Afraid that it would end in violence my great-grandfather finally called for my grandfather and my grandmother. In front of her, my great grandfather told my grandfather to either marry her or turn her out. Realizing the truth of the matter my grandmother was devastated because she thought they loved each other. She planned to run away that very night as soon as everyone went to bed. But runaway to where she had no idea. She couldn’t go back to the artist after leaving him like that. And neither side of her family wanted a Mullato girl in their midst. She told herself she’d just keep running till she couldn’t run anymore.

  But before she could run, that very evening my grandfather realized that he actually did love her and didn’t want to share her with anyone else so he married her and decided to leave the family business. That is when he went to school to become a doctor. He refused to let my grandmother dance anymore even in private for fear someone would see her and be enticed by her as he was.”

  In absolute shock I no longer had any taste for the food sitting in front of me. All I could do was think of that young innocent girl in the portrait. All she wanted to do was dance. And after the fear of possibly being turned into a prostitute was over, she had no choice but to give up dance and be a doctor’s wife. No choices at all.

  Staring into Charles’ eyes he raised his glass and said with a sneer, “That’s the Dupree pedigree.” And chugged down his drink. Something I’ve never seen him do before.

  I held his hand and we sat in silence for a moment or two.

  Not wanting to discuss it any further Charles asked what the plan was for the afternoon. I had one more surprise up my sleeve but given our conversation I wasn’t sure if I should go through with it. And then thinking that maybe it could help heal I decided to continue with my plan.

  Still in the French Quarter we took a horse drawn carriage (because I love them) to a house on the outskirts of the French Quarter. The upper levels of the house had recently been turned into a condo. But the bottom floor remained the same. Feeling a bit like a southern belle I waited while Charles climbed out of the carriage and then reached up to help me out.

  As I landed on my feet he said, “What’s this…where are we?” Charles smiled.

  We stood outside the light pink house set up on a hill. The outside of the house looked freshly painted. The landscaping was immaculate.

  “Well,” I began, “Through a local historian I was able to locate the dance studio where your grandmother’s portrait was done. I held my breath waiting for Charles’ reaction.

  With no emotion he said, “OK.”

  I explained to him that the second and third floors were condos now but the 1st floor was still a dance studio, it was being used by a local retired dancer who ran a dance studio for young girls.

  We walked up the porch stairs and inside the house. The hallway of the house was freshly painted but that’s where the paint ended. When we walked through the door of the studio the first thing that hit us was the musky damp smell and the sight of the dull, dirty, paint chipping walls. Charles looked at me. It looked like the studio hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint since before Charles’ grandmothers’ painting was created.

  Then we saw five beautiful little girls ranging from about ages 8 to 12 years old of various ethnic groups standing on their toes. They concentrated on each movement as Chopin played through the old crackling sounding speakers. Dressed in old warn leotards they watched their movements in the mirror as their teacher gave them instructions. The same mirror where Jacqueline LeClair watched every move she made. In their reflections I could already see the beginning signs of falling in love with the art of dance.

  Charles squeezed my hand as the girls twirled, stumbled and twirled again. I think he felt it too. There was a look of determination on each of their young faces. The oldest girl standing closes to the window looked up at us through the mirror. Through the mirror I could see the weeping willow in the meadow from Jacqueline’s painting. The same tree where I imagined young Jacqueline having picnics with her artist lover before the world was turned upside down for them. Looking into this girl’s eyes through the mirror I caught my breath. She looked just like Jacqueline or how I would picture her at that age. But unlike Jacqueline’s portrait there was a sense of sadness in her eyes as well as a hardness about her.

  At that point the instructor saw
us in the mirror and turned to look at us. She looked to be in her early 60s with her cocoa brown smooth skin and dancer’s body. As she walked toward us I noticed a slight limp. “Hello,” she said with a French accent, “May I help you?”

  Seeing the emotion in Charles eyes I spoke for him. “Hello, we’re sorry to disturb you. My name is Simone and this is Charles.”

  Charles nodded at the instructor.

  “We didn’t mean to interrupt your lesson but Charles’ late grandmother use to dance here as a young girl. We were in town for the weekend and we wanted to take a look.”

  Looking at Charles she seemed to understand his emotions and his silence. “I see,” she said looking at her watch. “Well the lesson is just about over.” Addressing the girls, “OK ladies, your rides will be here at any moment. Please get ready to go. And remember to practice your plies as much as possible. Remember I will know if you have not been practicing.”

  Addressing Charles and I with one eye on the girls, “I am Madame Gabrielle Gano.”

  “Very nice to meet you,” I said.

  Finally seeming to find his voice Charles began to speak as he walked around the studio. “How long have you been teaching here?”

  “Almost ten years,” she answered.

  “Do you own the school?” he asked

  “Yes, I do,” she answered again.

  “How many students do you have?” he asked again.

  “About 20,” she answered him but looking at me with a confused look.

  “Are your classes usually this small?” he said pointing to the girls.

  “I tried to keep it small in order to give them undivided attention,” she said as the last girl in the group left with her ride.

  “Do you rent this studio?” Charles asked.

  “Yes. May I ask what this is about,” she seemed to be getting annoyed.

  I have to admit I was confused to. Why was he interrogating her this way? She had every right to kick us out. She had no idea who these Yankees were.

  “Does your landlord not paint this studio,” Charles said asking a rhetorical question while ignoring Madame Gano’s question.