"Get dressed, Gisselle, and march down to the party. You've got to get them to start cleaning up before Daphne returns."
"Oh, stop worrying about Daphne. Daphne—she's going to be very nice to us now because she wants to marry Bruce and make us look like a happy, respectable New Orleans family. You were always too frightened of Daphne. You're frightened of your own Cajun shadow," she quipped.
I stepped up to her and thrust her dress into her face.
"I'm not too frightened to break your neck. Put on this dress. Now!"
"Stop yelling. It's New Year's Eve. We're supposed to be having a good time. You had a good time, didn't you?"
"I didn't wreck anything. Look at my studio!" I cried. Gisselle had spilled paints, torn canvases, and smeared clay over the tables and tools.
"The servants will clean up after us. They always do," she said. She started to put on her dress.
"Not this mess and the mess in the living room. Even a slave would rebel," I said. But it didn't matter what I said.
Gisselle was too drunk to listen or care. She wobbled, laughed, and got herself together. Beau managed to get John dressed, and then we pulled the two of them out of the studio and marched them back to the party. Even Gisselle was surprised at the extent of the damage. Some of the kids, realizing what had been done, had already left. The ones who remained were not in the best condition to help clean up and restore the living room.
"Happy New Year!" Gisselle cried. "I guess we better try to clean up." She giggled and started to gather up glasses, but she took too many too fast and dropped them, breaking three.
"She's worthless," I told Beau.
"I'll get her to sit down and stay in one place," he said. While he did that, I tried to get some of the kids to help me pick up plates and glasses that were left on the floor. We found some under the sofas, some behind the chairs, glasses on the bookshelves and under tables.
I went into the kitchen and got a pail of soapy water with some sponges. When I returned, I found that more of the party guests had deserted. Those who were left tried to help. Antoinette and I went around the room and scrubbed as much as we could off the walls, but some of the food had made deep stains. It was overwhelming.
"It's going to take an army to fix this, Beau," I cried. He agreed.
"Let's just get them all out of here," he said. We announced the party had ended. Beau helped some of the boys out of the house, making sure the ones who were driving were the most sober. After everyone was gone, we surveyed what was left to be done. Gisselle was sprawled out on the living-room floor by the settee, snoring.
"You'd better go too, Beau," I told him. "You don't want to be here when Daphne arrives."
"Are you sure? I could testify about it and . . ."
"And say what, Beau? That we were upstairs in my room making love while Gisselle and her friends wrecked the house?"
He nodded. "Oh boy," he said. "What are you going to say?"
"Nothing. It's better than lying," I replied.
He shook his head.
"You want me to help you get her upstairs?" he asked, nodding toward Gisselle.
"No, leave her there."
I walked him to the door, where we kissed good night.
"I'll call tomorrow . . . sometime," he said, raising his eyebrows. I watched him leave and then I closed the door and walked back to the living room to wait for the inevitable storm that would soon break and rage over my head.
I sat in the easy chair across from Gisselle, who was still sprawled out and dead to the world on the floor. She had vomited but was too out of it to notice or care. The clock ticked and bonged at two. I closed my eyes and didn't open them again until I felt someone shaking me roughly. I looked up into Daphne's enraged face and for a moment forgot where I was and what had happened. She wouldn't let that moment last long.
"What did you do! What did you do!" she screamed down at me, her mouth twisted and her eyes wide. Bruce stood in the doorway shaking his head, his hands on his hips.
"I didn't do anything, Daphne," I said, sitting up. "This is what Gisselle and her friends call a good time. I'm only a backward Cajun. I wouldn't know what a good time is."
"What are you saying? This is how you repay me for being understanding and kind to you?" she shrilled.
Gisselle's loud moan spun Daphne around.
"Get up!" she screamed over her. "Do you hear me, Gisselle? Get up this minute!"
Gisselle's eyes fluttered, but they didn't open. She groaned and went quiet again.
"Bruce!" Daphne cried, turning to him.
He sighed and stepped forward. Then he knelt down, put his arms under Gisselle, and, not without great effort, lifted her off the floor.
"Take her upstairs this minute," Daphne commanded. "Upstairs?"
"This minute, do you hear? I can't stand the sight of her."
"I'll use the wheelchair," he said, and dropped her in it, disregarding the piece of cake smeared over the back of the seat. She sat limply, her head on her shoulder, and moaned again. Then Bruce wheeled her out the way Grandpère Jack would wheel a wagonful of cow manure, his head back and his arms extended so the stench would be as far away from him as possible. The moment Bruce and Gisselle were out of the room, Daphne was on me again.
"What went on here?"
"They had a food fight," I said. "They drank too much. Some of them couldn't hold their liquor and threw up. The others were too drunk to be careful. They broke glasses, dropped food, fell asleep on the floor. Gisselle told them they could go anywhere in the house but upstairs. I found a couple in your office."
"My office! Did they touch anything?"
"Just themselves, I imagine," I said dryly. I yawned.
"You're happy this happened, aren't you? You think this proves something."
I shrugged. "I've seen people get drunk and sloppy in the bayou," I said, thinking about Grandpère Jack. "Believe me, I have, and drunken rich young Creoles are no different."
"I was depending on you to keep things in order," she said, shaking her head.
"Me? Why always me? Why not Gisselle? She was brought up better, wasn't she? She was taught about all the finer things in life, given all this!" I cried, holding out my arms.
"She's crippled."
"No she's not. You saw she's not."
"I don't mean her legs, I mean . . . her . . . her . . ."
"She's just the spoiled, selfish young lady you created," I said.
Daphne stood there fuming.
"I don't care about making appearances anymore," she said. "When she wakes up, you can tell her that, come hell or high water, you and she are going back to Greenwood. That's final." She looked about. "I'll have to contract with a cleaning agency to come in here and clean and repair this house, and the expense will come out of y'all's spending money. Tell her that too."
"Maybe you should tell her yourself."
"Don't you be insolent." She nodded. "I know why you let this go on. You were probably not even here when it all happened, were you? You and your loverboy were probably somewhere else, weren't you?" she accused. I felt my face turning crimson. It convinced her she was right. "Well, I'm not surprised," she said. "So much for giving people second chances."
"I'm sorry this happened, Daphne," I said. I didn't want her to find a way to blame Beau. "I really am. I couldn't stop it from happening. Gisselle was in charge. These were all her friends. I'm not trying to pass the blame. That's just the way it was. They wouldn't have listened to me no matter what. Whenever I complain about something they do, Gisselle laughs at me and calls me names. She turns them against me, and I have no power or authority over them."
"This is your house too, you know," Daphne said pointedly.
"You've never let me feel that way. But I'm still sorry this happened," I said.
"Just go to sleep. We'll deal with it tomorrow. Up until now, this was one of the best New Year's Eves I've had in a long time."
She started out.
"Happy Ne
w Year to you too," I mumbled, then went up to bed.
Gisselle didn't stir until after twelve the next day, but neither did Daphne. I had breakfast with Bruce.
"She's pretty angry," he said. "but I'll calm her down. I don't think I can keep her from sending you both back to Greenwood, however."
"I don't care," I said. At this point I just wanted to get away. After breakfast, I went out on the patio by the pool and slept in the sun. A little after one o'clock, I felt a shadow move over me and opened my eyes to see Gisselle. She looked devastated. Her hair was disheveled, her face was as pale as a dead fish. She wore a pair of sunglasses and a robe, under which she was still dressed in last night's lingerie.
"Daphne said you blamed it all on me," she said.
"I just told her the truth."
"Did you tell her you were upstairs with Beau all night?" "We weren't upstairs all night, but I didn't have to tell her. She figured it out."
"Couldn't you make something up, blame it on one of our guests or something?"
"Who would believe such a story, Gisselle? What's the difference? You didn't care very much last night when I tried to get you and your friends to clean up. Maybe if we had, it wouldn't have been as bad."
"Thanks," she said. "You know what she said now, don't you? We have to go back to Greenwood. She won't listen to anything I say. I've never seen her so angry."
"Maybe it's for the best."
"You would say that. You don't care: You're having a good time at Greenwood, doing well in your work, enjoying your Miss Stevens and Louis."
"Louis is gone, and I would hardly say I was having a good time at a school where the principal tried to expel me because of something you did," I reminded her.
"So why do you want to go back?"
"I'm just tired of fighting with Daphne. I don't know. I'm just tired."
"Just stupid is more like it. Stupid and selfish."
"Me? You're calling me selfish?"
"You are." She pressed her hands to her temples. "Oh, my head. It feels like someone's playing tennis in it. Don't you have a hangover?" she asked.
"I didn't drink all that much."
"You didn't drink all that much," she mimicked. "Miss Goody Two-Shoes strikes again. I hope you're happy," she moaned. She spun around, but she didn't rush away. She had to walk slowly to keep her head from pounding.
I smiled. Just desserts, I thought; she'd been taught a lesson. Only I knew that whatever promises she had made and however she swore to repent, she would forget it all as soon as her pain subsided.
Two days later we had our things packed for the trip back to Greenwood, only this time the wheelchair was left at home. Gisselle wanted to bring it along, claiming she wasn't confident enough to walk all the time, but to Daphne's credit, she didn't buy the story. She wasn't going to let Gisselle revert to her former ways, drawing on everyone's sympathy, using her condition as an excuse for her bad behavior.
"If you can walk around here, dance and make a mess, you can walk to and from your classes," Daphne told her. "I've already called your housemother and given her the good news," she added, "so by now everyone knows about your miraculous recovery. Now I hope your schoolwork undergoes a similarly miraculous recovery."
"But Mother," Gisselle pleaded, "the teachers hate me at Greenwood."
"I'm sure they hate you here as well," Daphne said. "Remember what I told you: If you misbehave there, it's off to a stricter school, one with barbed wire around it," she quipped, leaving Gisselle standing with her mouth open. That was Daphne's version of a motherly goodbye.
We rode back in funereal silence, Gisselle sniveling from time to time and sighing deeply. I tried to sleep most of the way. When we arrived at the dorm, it was as if we were homecoming heroines—or at least Gisselle was. For the moment it brought a blush of pleasure to her cheeks. Mrs. Penny was out front with the girls of our quad to greet Gisselle and witness the wonder of her miraculous recovery. The moment she saw them, her mood changed.
"Ta-da!" she announced, stepping out of the car. Mrs. Penny clapped her hands together and rushed down to hug her. All the girls gathered around, each firing question after question: How did it happen? When did you first realize? Did it hurt? What did the doctors say? What did your mother say? How far have you walked?
"I'm still a bit weak," Gisselle declared, and she leaned on Samantha. "Can someone get my jacket?" she asked weakly. "I left it on the seat."
"I will," Vicki said, hurrying to do so.
I raised my eyes to the sky. Why was it that no one but me could see through Gisselle's facade? Why were they all so eager to be taken in by her, fooled and made fools of by her? They deserved her mistreatment; they deserved to be taken advantage of and used and manipulated, I thought, and I made a promise to myself right then and there that I would close my eyes to everything but my art.
So it was with genuine excitement that I hurried to class our first day back. I was looking forward to my first session with Miss Stevens. I was sure she would ask me to stay after class and we would talk and talk about our holidays. In my mind and deep in my putaway heart, Miss Stevens had become my older sister. One day soon, I thought, I would even tell her so..
But the moment I entered the building and started down the corridor toward homeroom, I sensed something was wrong. I felt it when I observed the small clumps of girls whispering here and there, all of them appearing to gaze my way as I passed them. Without knowing why, my heart began to pitter-patter, and an uneasiness couched itself in my stomach, making it feel as if a hive of bees were buzzing around inside. I had come to school ahead of the others, so I had some time. It had been my intention to stop by and say hello to Miss Stevens before homeroom anyway. I hurried down to the art suite and rushed through the doorway, expecting to see her standing there in her smock, her hair up, her face full of smiles.
But instead I confronted an elderly man in an artist's smock. He was seated at the desk, sifting through some student drawings. He looked up, surprised, and I gazed around the room.
"Well, good morning," he said.
"Good morning. Isn't Miss Stevens here yet?" I asked.
His smile faded. "Oh. I'm afraid Miss Stevens won't be here anymore. My name is Mr. Longo. I'm her replacement."
"What?" For a moment the words seemed utterly ridiculous. I just stood there with this wide, incredulous smile on my face, my heart still racing.
"She won't be coming back," he said more firmly. "You're an art student, I take it?"
I shook my head.
"It can't be true. Why won't she be coming back? Why?" I demanded.
He sat up. "I don't know the details, Mademoiselle . . ."
"Dumas. What details?"
"As I said, I do not know, but . . ."
I didn't wait for him to finish. I spun around and ran out of the room. I ran down the corridor, confused, the tears streaming down my cheeks. No Miss Stevens? She was gone? How could she do this without telling me? Why wouldn't she tell me? My hysteria grew. I didn't even know where I was running; I was just running from one end of the building to the other. I turned a corner and headed back toward the front. When I was nearly there, I heard Gisselle's shrill ripple of laughter. More girls had gathered around her to hear the story of her miraculous recovery. I stopped running and walked slowly toward them. The group parted so that Gisselle and I faced each other.
"I just heard," she said.
I shook my head. "What did you hear?"
"Everyone's talking about it this morning. Your Miss Stevens was fired."
"That can't be. She's a wonderful teacher. It can't be."
"I guess it wasn't her teaching that got her fired," Gisselle said, and she looked knowingly at the others, who also wore smug smiles.
"What was it? What? Was she fired for helping me at the hearing?" I demanded. I turned on them. "Someone tell me. Who knows?"
There was a moment of silence. Then Deborah Peck stepped forward. "I don't know the exact details," she said, ga
zing back at the others, "but the charge against her had to do with her immorality."
"What? What immorality?" They only smiled widely in response. I spun on Gisselle.
"Don't blame me," she cried. "The Iron Lady found out about her on her own."
"Found out what? There was nothing to find out."
"Found out why she never goes out with men," Deborah said. "And why she wanted to teach in an all girls' school," she replied. There was a titter of laughter. My heart stopped and then started again, this time pounding angrily.
"Those are lies, all lies."
"She left, didn't she?" Deborah said. The warning bell rang. "We'd better get to homeroom. No one wants to get a demerit the first day back."
The group started to break up.
"Lies!" I screamed at them.
"Stop making a fool of yourself," Gisselle said. "Just go to class. Aren't you happy? You're back at your precious Greenwood!"
"You did this!" I accused. "Somehow, some way, you did this, didn't you?"
"How could I do this?" She raised her arms and turned to Vicki, Samantha, Jacki, and Kate. "I wasn't even here when it all happened. See? See how she's always blaming me for everything?"
They all turned and gazed at me. I shook my head and stepped back, and then I turned and ran down the corridor to Mrs. Ironwood's office. Mrs. Randle looked up with surprise as I burst through the doorway.
"I want to see Mrs. Ironwood," I said.
"You have to make an appointment, dear," Mrs. Randle replied.
"I want to see her now!" I ordered.
She sat back, shocked at my insistence. "Mrs. Ironwood is very busy with her work reopening the school at this moment, and—"
"NOW!" I screamed.
Mrs. Ironwood's door opened and she stood there glaring at me.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"Why was Miss Stevens fired?" I demanded. "Was it because she came to my assistance at the hearing? Was it?"
Mrs. Ironwood looked at Mrs. Randle, then straightened her shoulders.
"First," she began, "this is not the time nor the place to discuss such matters, even if it were proper to do so with a student, which it is not. Second, who do you think you are storming in here and making demands on me?"
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