Pearl in the Mist

by V. C. Andrews

  His hands were under my dress, groping for my panties. I should have stopped him then, but instead I let him slip my panties off, and then I heard him moan and whisper my name as he brought his hard manliness to me.

  "Beau," I cried weakly.

  "It's good, Ruby. It's beautiful. It's meant to be. Otherwise we wouldn't love each other as much as we do."

  I didn't resist. I let him enter me and touch me even more deeply than he had touched me before. I rose and fell, imagining myself in a pirogue near the ocean where the water would ripple with waves. Each time I was lifted, I felt myself become lighter. I thought I would eventually float off like a balloon.

  I don't know how many times Beau cried my name. I can't remember what I was saying, but this time our lovemaking was so intense, it brought tears to my eyes. For a few moments it was as though we had melted into each other. We were that hot. I embraced him so tightly, one would have thought I was afraid of being thrown out of my bed.

  We reached our climaxes simultaneously, ravishing each other with kisses, moving our lips over one another's faces like two people starving for affection, for the touch of another human being, hungry for love. We smothered our cries against one another's neck and shoulders and wound ourselves down with deep gasps, our hearts pounding against one another's, both of us so surprised at our passion we could only laugh.

  "Feel this," Beau said, placing my palm over his heart. "And you feel mine."

  We lay beside each other, our heartbeats tapping against our hands, the rhythms traveling down our arms and back into our own hearts.

  We lay side by side, silent for a long while. Then Beau sat up and leaned over me, gazing down at me.

  "You're wonderful," he said. "I love you. I can't say it enough."

  "Do you, Beau? And will you love me forever and ever?"

  "I can't see why not or how I could stop," he said, and kissed me softly.

  On the radio, the announcer, in a very excited voice, began a countdown. "Ten, nine, eight . . ."

  Beau took my hand and we recited the rest of the numbers together.

  "Five, four, three, two, one--HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

  "Auld Lang Syne" began to play on the radio.

  "Happy New Year, Ruby."

  "Happy New Year, Beau."

  We kissed again and held each other, and for a moment it did seem like nothing in this world was strong enough to tear us apart. I hadn't felt this happy and this contented for a long time. It was a good feeling. I had hungered for it more than I had realized.

  We got dressed, fixed our hair, and straightened ourselves up so that we looked almost as prim and neat as we had at the beginning of the evening. Then we left to go downstairs to see what Gisselle and her friends were up to.

  I wish we hadn't. It looked like two boys had rushed down the corridor to get to a bathroom and hadn't made it. They were vomiting and spitting over the same area, alternating their moaning with stupid laughter. The house reeked from the sickeningly sweet stench of wine and whiskey.

  All of the party decorations had been pulled down in a mad frenzy at the midnight hour. Balloons had been popped and lay everywhere. The living room was a mess. What's more, it looked like--and we later found out this was so--there had been a food fight. Drinks had been spilled on the floor; there was cake and pieces of po'boy sandwiches on the furniture, mustard and mayonnaise smeared on the walls and over the tables; there was even some of it smeared on the windows.

  Some of the party guests were sprawled on the floor, wrapped in each other's arms, laughing and giggling stupidly. Others, feeling their

  overindulgence, sat with their eyes closed, their hands on their stomachs. Two boys were still at the bar, challenging each other with drinks. Naturally, the music had been turned up until it was nearly deafening.

  "Where's Gisselle?" I screamed. Some gazed at me indifferently. Antoinette broke out of the arms of the boy who was sleeping on her shoulder and walked over to us.

  "Your sister left the party about an hour ago with John."

  "Left the party? Where did they go?"

  Antoinette shrugged.

  "Did she leave the house?"

  "I don't think so," Antoinette said, and laughed. "She wasn't feeling any pain. Oh. Happy New Year, Beau," she said, leaning over to kiss him.

  "Happy New Year," he replied, kissing her quickly on the cheek. She backed up, disappointed, and returned to her drunken partner.

  "She didn't go up to her room," I told Beau. "We would have heard her for sure. Daphne is going to be furious when she comes in and sees this. We'd better find Gisselle and have her order these people to clean up and leave."

  "Doesn't look too promising," Beau said, gazing around. "But let's see if we can find her."

  We went through most of the downstairs area, found a couple entwined in Daphne's office and shooed them out, but we didn't locate Gisselle. I ran upstairs to check the other bedrooms and came down to report no one there. We went through the kitchen and even looked down by Edgar's and Nina's rooms.

  "Maybe she went out to the cabana," Beau suggested. We checked but found no one there or around the pool. "Where could she be? She must have left the house," Beau reasoned.

  "There's only one place we haven't checked, Beau."

  "Where?"

  I took his hand and led him back into the house. We stepped over a boy sprawled across the hallway floor asleep and went down to my studio. As we approached the door, I heard Gisselle's giggling. I looked at Beau and thrust the door open. For a moment, neither of us believed what we were seeing.

  -

  John was naked on the sofa and Gisselle, dressed only in her bra and panties, was painting him. She had smeared red and green paint over his shoulders and chest and made long streaks of yellow down his legs, but at this moment she was dabbing black over his private parts. John was obviously too drunk to care. He laughed with her.

  "Gisselle!" I screamed. "What are you doing?"

  She turned and swayed for a moment as she tried to focus on us.

  "Oh . . . look who's here . . . the lovers," she muttered, and then laughed again.

  "What do you think you're doing?"

  "Doing?" She looked down at John, who had his eyes closed and wore a dumb smile on his face. "Oh. I'm painting John. I told him I had just as much art talent as you did, and if you could paint Beau, I could paint him. John agreed." She laughed and poked him. "Didn't you, John?"

  "Yeah," he said.

  "Get your ass off that sofa," Beau commanded, "and get dressed, you idiot."

  John lifted his head. "Oh, hi, Beau. Is it New Year's Day yet?"

  "For you it's the end of the year if you don't get up and get dressed and fast."

  "Huh?"

  "Gisselle, did you see what your friends did to the house? How long have you been away from the party?"

  "How long have you been away, dear Sister?" she countered, smiling licentiously and swaying.

  "They've wrecked the house! There are kids vomiting in the halls. The walls are smeared with food--"

  "Oops. Sounds like an emergency."

  "Beau," I cried. He rushed forward and grabbed John by the arms, pulling him up. Then he shoved him toward the rear of the studio and forced him to start putting on his clothes.

  "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 h
ad 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 Grandpere 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 Grandpere 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 New 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.