I dosed the door softly and left the suite. Beau was waiting at the foot of the stairs.
"I've already spoken to Jeanne and Toby," he said. "They'll look in on Pearl until we return."
"Good," I said. Beau didn't ask what I had gone upstairs to get. We drove to the hospital and inquired at the nurses' station for directions to Gisselle's private room. The nurse Paul had hired was sitting in a chair near the bed crocheting. She looked up with surprise, her mouth agape.
"Mr. Tate told me his wife had a twin sister, but I've never seen so identical a set of twins," she said, regaining her composure.
"We're not so identical," I said sternly. Gisselle would have said something like that and would have made her feel uncomfortable. The nurse was happy to excuse herself while we visited. I wanted her out of the room anyway.
As soon as she left, I went to Gisselle's bedside. She had the oxygen tubes in her nose and the IV bag connected to her arm. Her eyes were closed and she looked even smaller and paler than when I had last seen her. Even her hair had grown dull. Her skin had the pallor of the underbelly of dead fish. Beau stood back as I held Gisselle's hand and stared down at her. I don't know what I expected, but there was no sign that she had any awareness whatsoever. Finally, after a sigh. I took out the pouch of five-finger grass and put it under her pillow.
"What's that?" Beau asked.
"Something Nina Jackson once gave me. Inside the bag is a plant with a leaf that is divided into five segments. It brings restful sleep and wards off any evil that five fingers can bring."
"What? You're not serious."
"Each segment has a significance: luck, money, wisdom, power, and love."
"You really believe in this stuff?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. Then I lifted the cover and quickly tied my good-luck dime around Gisselle's ankle.
"What are you doing?"
"This, too, brings good luck and wards off evil," I told him.
"Ruby, what do you think they'll say when they find this stuff?"
"They'll probably think one of my Grandmère's friends came around and did it," I said.
"I hope so. Gisselle would certainly never bring anything like this. She made fun of these things," he reminded me.
"Still, I had to do it, Beau."
"All right. Let's not stay too long, Ruby," he said nervously. "We should return to New Orleans before it gets too late."
I held Gisselle's hand for a moment, said a silent prayer, and touched her forehead. I thought her eyelids fluttered, but maybe that was my hope or my imagination.
"Good-bye, Gisselle. I'm sorry we were never real sisters." I felt a tear on my cheek and touched it with the tip of my right forefinger. Then I brought it to her cheek and touched her with the wetness. Maybe now, maybe finally now, she's crying inside for me, too, I thought, and turned quickly to run out of the room and rush away from the sight of my dying sister.
Paul had still not risen when we returned, but Pearl was up and playing with Jeanne and Toby in the study. Her eyes brightened with happiness when she saw it was me. I wanted to rush to her and hold her dearly in my arms, but Gisselle wouldn't have done that, I told myself, and I kept a check on my emotions.
"We've got to get back to New Orleans," I said abruptly.
"What was it like at the hospital?" Toby asked. "Like talking to yourself," I said. Ironically, that was the truth.
The two sisters nodded with identically melancholy faces.
"You can leave the baby with me," Jeanne suggested. "I don't mind."
"Oh no. We couldn't do that," I said. "I promised my sister I would look after her."
"You? Promised Ruby?"
"At a weak moment," I said, "but I have to keep the promise."
"Why? You're not crazy about children, are you?" Toby asked disdainfully.
I looked at Beau for help.
"We've already hired a nanny," he said. "Everything's arranged and in place."
"An aunt is better suited to look after her than a nanny, isn't she?" Jeanne retorted.
"What do you think I am, chopped onions?" I snapped. When it came to holding on to Pearl, I could be as firm and as stinging as my sister.
"Well, I just meant . . . it's no problem for me."
"And it's no problem for me," I retorted. "Pearl." held out my arms and she ran to me. "Tell Paul we'll call him later," I said.
I hurried out with Pearl in my arms and Beau at my side before there could be any further discussion. My face was flushed, my eyes wide with near hysteria.
"Take it easy," Beau said when we were all in the car. "You did fine. Everything's all right."
I didn't calm down until we were well on our way. The rain that had hovered in the clouds all day kept its promise and fell in a constant downpour during the whole trip back to New Orleans. The sky over the city was ripped with seams of lightning and the thunder rolled so loud and hard, it shook us even in the car. I was happy when we finally arrived at the house. Aubrey greeted us with a list of phone calls and we saw that Bruce Bristow had called frequently.
"I see I'm going to have to get tough with him to get him off our backs," Beau said, and crumpled the messages in his fist angrily. At the moment I couldn't care less about those problems. Pearl was too groggy from the ride to eat anything, and I was emotionally exhausted. I put her to bed and then took a hot bath and crawled into bed myself. Hours later, I heard Beau come up, but I barely acknowledged him when he crawled into bed beside me, and minutes later, he was asleep, too.
I was filled with nervous tension and great anxiety during the next few days. For me the hours were like days and the days like months. I would stop myself and gaze at the clock, shocked that only minutes had ticked by. Every time the phone rang, I jumped and my heart skipped beats and pounded, but it was usually one or another of Gisselle's friends calling. I was short with all of them, and soon most of them stopped bothering to call. One afternoon Pauline phoned to tell me I was losing all my friends, driving them away one by one.
"Everyone says you've become more stuck-up than ever," she informed me. "They say you think you're too good to speak to them on the phone and you haven't invited anyone to the house."
"I have more important things to worry about right now," I snapped.
"Don't you care if you lose all your friends?"
"They weren't really my friends anyway. All they care about is what they can get from me," I told her.
"Does that include me?" she asked petulantly.
"If the shoe fits, wear it," I said.
"Good-bye, Gisselle. I hope you're happy in your own world," she said with disgust.
In weeks I had driven away most of Gisselle's friends, people I never liked anyway, and I had done it in character so no one thought anything unusual about it. Beau was amused and happy. It was practically the only bright spot in the gloomy days that followed our visit to Cypress Woods.
Whenever I called, either Toby or Jeanne came to the phone. Paul was always unavailable. They were very short with me, too. Gisselle's condition remained unchanged. Toby, who could be more caustic than Jeanne, said, "It's only a matter of time. I hope your sister's death doesn't interfere with anything you've scheduled. I know how important your social calendar is to you."
I thought to myself that Gisselle deserved such reprimands, and kept my lips sealed, but it hurt nevertheless. At the end of the last call, she said, "I don't know why my brother doesn't insist you bring Pearl home, where she belongs, but I think you should."
How could I tell her that Paul couldn't ask me to bring home the child who wasn't his?
"Worry about yourself, Toby. It seems to me you have enough there to occupy you," I snapped, and ended the conversation. I felt absolutely dreadful about it, and when I told Beau he nodded sadly.
"It's the way things have to be for now," he offered, but that wasn't enough.
"Sometimes I feel like I've put myself into a spider's web, Beau. The more I twist and struggle, the more I entrap myse
lf."
"It will come to an end soon and we'll go on with our lives. You'll see," he assured me; however, I didn't have his confidence. Life had clearly shown me that it could take twists and turns when we least expected it.
Two days later one of those twists occurred. I had been doing well in my role as my sister mainly because I had driven away her friends and her boyfriends and stayed away from her usual haunts. Few, if any, were astute enough to see the differences. None expected such a switch of identities, of course. In their hearts they probably thought, who would want to be Gisselle?
My hope was that after a time, I would transform my sister's personality until it resembled my own, and Beau and I would even move to another location, perhaps another city, and start our lives over with far less deceit.
I was in my studio just dabbling with a picture when Aubrey knocked on my door to tell me I had a visitor. Before I could ask who it was, Bruce Bristow appeared behind him. My stepmother's husband looked like he had aged decades since I had last set eyes on him. His dark brown hair was flecked with gray, the temples all gray, and their were dark sacks under his eyes. He had lost considerable weight, too, his face gaunt, those flirtatious eyes now dim orbs. He slouched a bit and wore a creased jacket and slacks, the tie stained and his shirt open at the frayed collar. There was a scuff mark of some sort on his left cheekbone. He smiled coyly and entered. The moment he did, the stench of gin invaded the air.
"What are you doin' in here, tryin' to be your sista?" He laughed. Now that he was closer, I saw how bloodshot his eyes were and understood why he was slurring his words.
"You're drunk, Bruce. Get out of here, this instant," I ordered.
"Not sooo fass," he said. He closed and opened his eyes, swaying for a moment. "You and your hushbun might think you're smoothies, but you better hear me out before you make a decision you'll regret."
"Getting you out of our lives can't be a decision I'd ever regret," I said, and because I meant it, I was able to be as vicious about it as Gisselle would have been.
He snapped his head back, but he smiled again. "Sooo, what are you doin' in here?" He gazed at the canvas. "You can't draw or paint. You're the sista without talent, remember?" He laughed sharply and steadied himself by taking hold of the back of a chair.
"I remember how much I despised you," I said. "You were like a leech, swimming in here when my father died and attaching yourself to the family to suck whatever you could out of it. But that's all over now, and nothing you say, no matter how outrageous it might seem, will get you back. Now, go before Beau returns."
His smile widened and some drool leaked out of the corners of his mouth. "You weren't always so eager to send me away," he said, moving closer. I stepped to the side, the paintbrush still in my hand. I was holding it like a sword between us. He stared at me a moment, his eyes opening and closing with his attempts to focus sharply. And then he looked at the canvas again.
"You don't sheem too upset 'bout your sista bein' in a bad way," he said.
"Why should I? Would she be upset if it was me in the hospital?"
"You know she would," he replied softly, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he snapped them open as if a thought had just made its way into his clogged brain. "Ya don't sound like yourself either." He looked at the canvas again. "Thass too good for you ta have done. Was it here before?"
“Yes."
"I thawt show. I mean, I thought so." He smiled again and then he grew as serious as he could, trying to straighten his tie as he corrected his posture. "I want you ta help me convince Beau he should be a little more reasonable about this family fortune. I know some of the shady tax schemes Daphne did and I'm willing ta go to the government and expose them," he threatened.
"So go. You didn't have your hands clean either, did you? You'd only be exposing yourself for what you were and what you probably still are."
He smiled with confidence and more sobriety. "Yeah, but you know how it is when someone turns state's evidence. He gets leniency. I can see to it that this estate gets some terrific fines. How would you and your high-society husband do then, huh?"
"We'll be all right. Get out, Bruce, before I have Aubrey call the police."
He raked his eyes over me scornfully. "What if I told your husband about the time I came to see you while you were taking your bubble bath? Remember how I washed your back and gave you that massage and then—"
"I've already told him," I blurted.
He stared at me a moment. "I don't believe you."
"So don't. I don't care. Just get out."
My determination and lack of fear annoyed and confused him. "I took some papers out of here. I'm warning you two. I can prove my accusations."
"Then go prove them."
"You're crazy. Both of you are crazy." He stared at me a moment longer and then looked at the canvas again. One of his eyebrows jerked up quizzically. My resistance had sobered him quickly and gotten him thinking.
"That's not an old picture. The paint's still wet. How did you do that? You can't do that." His eyes narrowed into slits that reminded me of snake's eyes. "Something's not right here." His words had the impact of bullets.
"Get out!" I screamed. "Get out!"
His eyes brightened with a possibility. "La Ruby," he said. "You're La Ruby. What's going on?"
"Get out!" I charged at him and he put his arms up. Just then, Beau appeared in the doorway. He lunged into the room and seized Bruce by the back of the neck and turned him roughly toward the door.
"What are you doing in our house! I told you not to come here, didn't I?" He pushed him toward the door. Bruce regained his balance and looked back at us. His face was magenta with rage.
"What are you two up to, huh? This isn't Gisselle. I know Gisselle. She has a harder look in her eyes."
"You're ridiculous," Beau said, but not with enough confidence. Bruce was buoyed. He smiled.
"This is some sort of scam to get you two more money or something, isn't it? I’ll tell everyone."
"Go ahead," Beau said. "Everyone will believe the words of a drunken, pathetic gambler. The whole city's talking about you and the way you've degenerated. You have as much credibility as a convicted serial killer."
Bruce nodded. "All right. I'll get proof, that's what I'll do. Unless you two get sensible and cut me in on what is rightly mine anyway. I'll call you in a couple of days and see if you want to be smart or greedy," he said.
"Get out of here before I break your neck," Beau said, moving toward him. Bruce backed away and started down the corridor. Beau followed him all the way to the front entrance, opening it and pushing him out. Bruce voiced one final threat before the doors closed.
"The whole city is going to know what you're up to!" he cried, shaking his fist.
Beau slammed the door in his face. "It's all right, Aubrey," he said. "Everything is under control."
"Very good, sir." Aubrey retreated and Beau followed me into the living room.
"Don't worry yourself about him," he told me after I sat. My heart was pounding and I felt the blood rushing into my face. "I mean it, no one will give one word he says any credibility. You should hear some of the things they're saying about him now."
"How could Daphne had brought such a person into her life after being married to my father?" I wondered aloud.
"You said yourself she used people and then discarded them like so much baggage," Beau replied. He came to my side and sat beside me to take my hand. "You can't let him get to you, Ruby."
"But how did he know? Of all the people to look at me and know . . . a drunken man?" I looked at Beau and answered my own question. "He was intimate with Gisselle. She toyed with him, I'm sure."
"Probably," Beau said.
"He was always flirting with me, coming right up to me and taking my hands and looking into my eyes. I hated it; he always had some onions or something on his breath and I had to be polite but firm. And it was my painting . . . I shouldn't have let him see my painting. That, more th
an anything, gave it away."
"What difference does it make what he knows and doesn't know, what he did and didn't do? He's a man who's lost respect, and in this town, when you have no respect, you don't have a voice. Believe me, I'll be able to handle him," Beau promised.
"It's no good, Beau," I said, shaking my head. "If a shack's built on weak legs, the first bad flood will wash it away. We're trying to build a new life with a foundation of lies. It's going to come back and haunt us."
"Only if we let it," he insisted. He put his arm around me. "Come on, take a rest. Later you'll feel better. We'll go out to one of the finer restaurants and have a spectacular dinner, okay?"
"I don't know, Beau," I said with a deep sigh.
"Well, I do. The doctor's prescribing," he said, sighing, and helped me to my feet.
Above the marble fireplace, Daphne's portrait still hung, the beautiful ivory face peering down at me with an expression of arrogance and self-satisfaction. My father worshiped that beauty and loved having replicas of her everywhere in the mansion.
Remember, child, the devil in all his forms fascinates us, Grandmère Catherine had warned. We're drawn to him like a child is drawn to the wonder of a candle flame and is tempted to put the tip of his finger into the light, only to get burned.
How I hoped and prayed Beau and I had not put our fingers into the candle's flame.
14
Shadows from the Past
Beau was apparently right about what would happen in regards to Bruce and anything he might do or say. Bruce had lost all his credibility in the business world, and the bank did foreclose on his one major means of making money, his apartment building. Somehow he continued to find money for his drinking, but anything he did tell anyone was considered a pathetic attempt at getting back at the Dumas family. Those who knew him when he was married to Daphne remembered how disdainfully she had treated him. They referred to him as just another ornament on her arm, another piece of jewelry.
All That Glitters l-3 Page 24
