"I don't believe it. You know her?" Gisselle declared.
"I met her on the bus," I started to explain.
"You know a real prostitute," she followed. "And you said you didn't know what was here?"
"I didn't," I protested.
"Little miss goody-goody knows a prostitute," Gisselle continued, addressing herself to the boys. They both looked at me as if they had just met me.
"I don't really know her," I insisted, but Gisselle just smiled.
"I don't!"
"Let's go," Gisselle said.
We walked back quickly, no one speaking for quite a while. Every once in a while, Martin would look at me, smile, and shake his head.
"Where should we go to do it?" Beau asked after we all got back into his car.
"My house," Gisselle said. "My mother is probably off at a tea party and Daddy is surely still at work."
"To do what?" I asked.
"Just wait and see," she said. Then she added for the boys, "She probably knows all about it anyway. She knows a prostitute."
"I told you, I don't really know her. I just sat on a bus with her," I insisted.
"She knew you were looking for your daddy. Sounds like you two knew each other real well," Gisselle teased. "You didn't work together someplace, did you?" she asked. Martin spun around, his face full of laughter and curiosity.
"Stop it, Gisselle," I snapped.
Beau pulled away from the curb and shot down the street, leaving her laughter falling behind us.
Edgar greeted us all at the doorway when we returned to the house.
"My mother at home?" Gisselle asked him.
"No, mademoiselle," he replied. She threw a conspiratorial glance at Martin and Beau and then we followed her up the stairway to her room.
"What are we doing?" I asked when she cast off her beret and opened the windows as wide as they would go. Beau flopped on her bed and Martin sat at the vanity table smiling stupidly at me.
"Close the door," she ordered. I did so slowly. Then she nodded at Martin who dug into his pocket and produced what to me looked like the cigarettes Grandpère Jack often rolled for himself.
"Cigarettes?" I said, a bit surprised and even a bit relieved. I knew some kids in the bayou who had started smoking when they were ten or eleven. Some parents didn't even mind, but most did. I never liked the taste nor the feeling that my mouth was turning into an ashtray. I also hated the way some of my school friends' clothing reeked of the smoke.
"Those aren't cigarettes. They're joints," Gisselle said.
"Joints?"
Martin's smile widened. Beau sat up, his eyebrows raised, a look of curiosity about me on his face. I shook my head.
"You never heard of pot, marijuana?" Gisselle asked.
I made a small O with my lips. I had never actually seen it this close up, but I did know of it. There were some small shack bars in the bayou in which such things were supposedly taking place, but Grandmère Catherine had warned me about ever going near them. And some of the kids at school talked about it, with some supposedly smoking it. But no one I had been friendly with did.
"Of course, I've heard of it," I said.
"But you never tried it?" she asked with a smile. I shook my head.
"Should we believe her this time, Beau?" she asked. He shrugged.
"It's the truth," I insisted.
"So this will be your first time," Gisselle said. "Martin." He got up and passed one of the cigarettes to each of us. I hesitated to take mine.
"Go on; it won't bite you," he said, laughing. "You'll love it."
"If you want to hang out with us and the rest of my friends, you can't be a drip," Gisselle said.
I looked at Beau.
"You should try it at least once," he said.
Reluctantly, I took it. Martin lit everyone's and I took a quick puff on mine, blowing the smoke out the moment I felt it touch my tongue.
"No, no, no," Gisselle said. "You don't smoke it like a cigarette. Are you pretending or are you really this dumb?"
"I'm not dumb," I said indignantly. I looked at Beau who had lain back on the bed and inhaled his marijuana cigarette with obvious experience.
"It's not bad," he announced.
"You inhale the smoke and hold it in your mouth for a while," Gisselle instructed. "Go on, do it," she commanded, standing over me with those stone eyes riveted. Reluctantly, I obeyed.
"That's it," Martin said. He was squatting on the floor and puffing on his.
Gisselle put on some music. Everyone's eyes were on me so I continued to puff and inhale, hold the smoke and exhale. I wasn't sure what was supposed to happen, but soon I had a very light-headed feeling. It was as if I could close my eyes and float to the ceiling. I must have had a very funny expression on my face, for the three of them started to laugh again, only this time, without even knowing why, I laughed, too. That made them laugh harder which made me laugh harder. In fact, I was laughing so hard, my stomach started to ache, and no matter how it ached, I couldn't stop laughing. Every time I paused, I looked at one or the other of them and started in again.
Suddenly, my laughing turned to crying. I don't know why it did; it just did. I felt the tears and the expression on my face change. Before I realized it, I was sitting there on the floor, my legs crossed under each other, bawling like a baby.
"Uh-oh," Beau said. He got up quickly and ripped the marijuana cigarette from my fingers. Then he dropped mine and what was left of his own down Gisselle's toilet.
"Hey, that's good stuff," Martin called. "And expensive, too," he added.
"You better do something, Gisselle," Beau said when he saw my crying hadn't ended, but in fact, had gotten worse. My shoulders shook and my chest ached, but I couldn't stop myself. "The stuff was too strong for her."
"What am I supposed to do?" Gisselle cried.
"Calm her down."
"You calm her down," Gisselle said, and sprawled out on her back on the floor. Martin giggled and crawled up beside her.
"Great," Beau said. He approached rue and took my arm. "Come on, Ruby. You'd better go lie down in your own room. Come on," he urged.
Still sobbing, I let him help me to my feet and guide me out the door.
"This your room?" he asked, nodding toward the adjacent door. I nodded back and he opened it and led me in. He brought me to my bed and I lay back, my hands over my eyes. Gradually, sobs grew smaller and wider apart until I was just sniveling. Suddenly, I started to hiccup and I couldn't stop. He went into my bathroom and brought out a glass of water.
"Drink some of this," he said, sitting down beside me and helping me to raise my head. He brought the glass to my lips and I swallowed some water.
"Thank you," I muttered, and then I started to laugh again.
"Oh, no," he said. "Come on, Ruby, get control of yourself. Come on," he urged. I tried to hold my breath, but the air exploded in my mouth, pushing my lips open. Anything and everything I did made me laugh again and again. Finally, I grew too exhausted, swallowed some of the water, closed my eyes, and took deep breaths.
"I'm sorry," I moaned. "I'm sorry."
"It's all right. I've heard of people having a reaction like that, but I haven't seen it before. You feel a little better?"
"I feel all right. Just tired," I added, and let myself fall back to the pillow.
"You're a real mystery, Ruby," he said. "You seem to know a lot more about things than Gisselle does and yet you seem to know a lot less, too."
"I’m not lying," I said.
"What?"
"I'm not lying. I just met her on the bus."
"Oh." He sat there for a while. I felt his hand brush my hair and then I sensed him leaning over to kiss me softly on my lips. I didn't open my eyes during the kiss, nor did I open them after, and later, when I thought about it, I wasn't sure if it really had happened or it had been just another part of my reaction to the marijuana.
I was sure I felt him stand up, but I was fast asleep before he reached th
e door and I didn't wake up again until I felt someone shaking my shoulder so vigorously, the entire bed shook along with it. I opened my eyes and looked up at Gisselle.
"Mother sent me up to get you," she complained. "What?"
"They're waiting at the dinner table, stupid."
I sat up slowly and ground the sleep out of my eyes so I could gaze at the clock.
"I must have passed out," I said, shocked at the time. "Yeah, you did, but just don't tell them why or anything about what we did, understand?" she said.
"Of course I won't."
"Good." She stared at me a moment and then her lips softened into a sly smile. "Beau seems to like you a lot," she said. "He was very upset over what happened."
I stared back at her, speechless. It was like waiting for the second shoe to drop and then she dropped it. She shrugged.
"I'm getting bored with him anyway," she said. "Maybe I’ll let you have him. Later on, you can do something nice for me," she added. "Hurry up and come down."
I watched her leave the room and then I shook my head and wondered why any boy would like a girl who treated his affection so lightly she could give it away at a whim and look for someone else.
Or was she pretending to give away something she was already losing? And more important, was it something I wanted?
16
Fitting In
A few days later, the holidays ended and school resumed. Despite everyone's assurances, including Beau's solemn promise to be at my side as much as he could, and Nina's giving me another good luck charm, I couldn't help but be apprehensive and terribly nervous about entering a new high school, especially a city high school.
Beau came by to pick up Gisselle and take her to school, but on this, my first school morning in New Orleans, both Daphne and my father were going to accompany me to registration.
I let Gisselle choose the skirt and blouse I was going to wear, and once again, she decided she would borrow one of my new outfits until she had gotten Daphne to buy her a dozen or so of her own.
"I can't save you a seat near me in any of our classes," she told me before rushing down to meet Beau. "I'm surrounded by boys, any one of whom would die rather than move. But don't worry. We'll save you a place right next to us in the cafeteria lunch hour," she added breathlessly. She was hurrying because Beau had honked twice and, thanks to her she said, they had been late for school three times this month with a week's detention hovering as punishment on the next tardiness.
"Okay," I called after her. So nervous I felt numb down to my fingertips, I gazed at myself one more time in the mirror, and then went down to wait for my father and Daphne. That was when Nina slipped me my good gris-gris, another section of a black cat's leg bone. Of course, the cat had to have been killed exactly at midnight. I thanked her and stuffed it deep into my pocketbook, alongside the piece of bone Annie Gray had given me. With all this good luck, how could I go wrong? I thought.
A few moments later, Daphne and my father came down the stairs. Daphne looked very chic with her hair brushed back and braided. She wore gold hoop earrings and had chosen to wear an ivory-colored cotton dress that had a belt just under her bosom, long sleeves with frilly cuffs and a high neck. In her high heels and carrying a small parasol that matched her dress, she looked more like a woman dressing for an afternoon lawn party than a mother going to a high school to register her daughter for classes.
My father was full of smiles, but Daphne was very concerned that I begin school in New Orleans with the correct attitude.
"Everyone knows about you by now," she lectured after we got into the car and drove down the driveway. "You've been the topic of conversation at every bridge game, afternoon tea, and dinner in the Garden District as well as other places. So you can expect the children of these people will be curious about you, too.
"The thing to remember is that now you carry the Dumas name. No matter what happens, no matter what anyone says to you, keep that in the forefront of your thoughts. What you do and what you say reflects on all of us. Do you understand, Ruby?"
"Yes, ma'am. I mean Mother," I said quickly. She had begun to grimace, but my speedy correction pleased her.
"It will be fine," my father said. "You'll get along with everyone and make new friends so quickly your head will spin. I'm sure."
"Just be sure you choose the right friends, Ruby," Daphne warned. "Over the last few years, a different class of people has found their way into this district, some without the breeding or background that Creoles of good standing possess."
A flutter of panic crisscrossed my chest. How would I know how to distinguish a Creole of good breeding from anyone else? Daphne sensed my trepidation.
"If you have any doubts, check with Gisselle first," she added.
Gisselle attended and now I was to attend the Beauregard School, named after a Confederate general about whom few of the students knew or cared to know much. A statue of him standing with his sword drawn and held high had fallen victim to an army of vandals over the years, some of it terribly stained, some of it chipped and cracked. It stood at the center of the square in front of the main entrance.
We arrived just after the first bell announcing the start of the day had rung. To me, the redbrick school looked immense and austere, its looming three floors casting a long dark shadow over the hedges, the flowers, sycamore, oak, and magnolia trees. After we parked and entered the building, we found our way to the principal's office. There was an outer office with an elderly lady serving as secretary. She seemed overwhelmed by the pile of paperwork, the ringing of phones, and the demands of other students who paraded up to her desk with a variety of problems. Her fingers were stained blue from running off multiple copies of messages and announcements on the mimeograph machine. She even had a streak of ink along the right side of her chin. I was sure she had arrived looking prim and proper, but right now strands of her blue-gray hair curled out like broken guitar strings and her glasses perched precariously at the bridge of her nose.
When we entered, she looked up, took in Daphne, turned away from the students and immediately began to primp her hair back until she saw the stains on her fingers. Then she sat down and quickly dropped her hands under her desk.
"Good morning, Madame Dumas," she said. "Monsieur." She nodded at my father who smiled and then she flashed a smile at me. "And this is our new student?"
"Yes," Daphne said. "We have an eight o'clock appointment with Dr. Storm," she added, glancing at the wall clock which had just struck eight.
"Of course, madame. I'll inform him you have arrived," she said, rising. She knocked on the inner office door and then created just enough of an opening to slip herself into the principal's office, closing the door quietly behind her.
The students who had been there retreated from the office, their eyes fixed on me so intently, I felt as if I had a wart on the tip of my nose. After they left, I gazed around at the shelves of pamphlets neatly organized, the posters announcing upcoming sporting and dramatics events, and the posted lists of rules and regulations for fire drills, air-raid drills, and accepted behavior in and out of classes. I noted that smoking was expressly forbidden and that vandalism, despite the condition of the Beauregard statue, was an offense punishable with expulsion.
The secretary reappeared and held the door open for us as she declared, "Dr. Storm will see you now."
Three chairs had been arranged for us in front of the principal's desk. I felt like I had swallowed a dozen live butterflies and envied Daphne for her poise and self-assurance as she led the way. The principal rose to greet us.
Dr. Lawrence P. Storm, as his nameplate read, was a short, stout man with a round face, the jowls of which dipped a half inch or so below his jawline. He had thick, rubbery lips and bulging dull brown eyes that reminded me of fish. Later, Daphne, who seemed to know everything about anyone in any position of importance, would tell me he suffered from a thyroid condition but she assured me he was the most impressive high school principal in the cit
y with a doctorate in educational philosophy.
Dr. Storm wore his pale yellow hair brushed flat with a part in the center. He extended his puffy small hand and my father took it quickly.
"Monsieur Dumas and Madame Dumas," he said, nodding to Daphne. "You both look well."
"Thank you, Dr. Storm," my father said, but Daphne, who wasn't hiding her discomfort over having this duty, went right to business.
"We're here to register our daughter. I'm sure you know the details by now," she added.
Dr. Storm's bushy eyebrows rose like two caterpillars nudged.
"Yes, madame. Please, have a seat," he said, and we all sat down. Immediately, he began to shuffle papers. "I have had all the paperwork prepared in anticipation of your arrival. I understand your name is Ruby?" he said, looking at me for the first time.
"Yes, monsieur."
"Dr. Storm," Daphne corrected.
"Dr. Storm," I said. He held a tight smile.
"Well now, Ruby," he continued. "Let me welcome you to our school and say that I hope it will be a truly enjoyable and productive experience for you. I have managed to place you in all of your sister's classes so that she can help you catch up. We will make an attempt to get her transcripts from her previous school," he said, turning to my father, "and any information you can provide to expedite the matter will be appreciated, monsieur."
"Of course," my father said.
"You did attend school this year, did you not, Ruby?" Dr. Storm asked.
"Yes, Dr. Storm. I always attended school," I added pointedly.
"Very good," he said, and then clasped his thick hands together on the desk and leaned forward, his body gliding up into his suit jacket to fill out the shoulders. "But I expect you will find this educational experience somewhat different, my dear. To begin with, the Beauregard School is considered one of the best in the city, one of the most advanced. We have the finest teachers and we have the best results."
He smiled at my father and Daphne and continued.
"Needless to say, you have a rather unique situation here. Your notoriety, the events of your past, have, I am sure, preceded you. You will be the subject of a great deal of curiosity, gossip, etc. In short, you will be the center of attention for some time, which, unfortunately, will make your adjustment that much more difficult.
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