Landry 01 Ruby

by V. C. Andrews

  Help him?" she said as if I had proposed burning down the house. "You don't help him. He helps you. That's what servants are fore my dear child. I'll see to it that Wendy hangs everything up that has to be hung up in your closet and puts everything else in your armoire and vanity table. You run along and find your sister and do whatever it is girls your age do on your days off from school."

  Having servants do the simplest things for me was one of the hardest things for me to get used to, I thought. Wouldn't it make me lazy? But no one seemed concerned about being lazy here. It was expected of you, almost required.

  I remembered that Gisselle said she would be out at the pool, lounging with Beau Andreas. They were there, lying on thick cushioned beige metal framed lounges and sipping from tall glasses of pink lemonade. Beau sat up as soon as he set eyes on me and beamed a warm smile. He was wearing a white and blue terry cloth jacket and shorts and Gisselle was in a two-piece dark blue bathing suit, her sunglasses almost big enough to be called a mask.

  "Hi," Beau said immediately. Gisselle looked up, lowering and peering over her sunglasses as if they were reading glasses.

  "Did Mother leave anything in the stores for anyone else?" she asked.

  "Barely," I said. "I've never been to so many big department stores and seen so much clothing and shoes." Beau laughed at my enthusiasm.

  "I'm sure she took you to Diana's and Rudolph Vita's and the Moulin Rouge, didn't she?" Gisselle said.

  I shook my head.

  "To tell you the truth, we went in and out of so many stores and so quickly, I don't remember the names of half of them," I said with a gasp. Beau laughed again and patted his lounge. He pulled his legs up, embracing them around the knees.

  "Sit down. Take a load off," he suggested.

  "Thanks." I sat down next to him and smelled the sweet scent of the coconut suntan lotion he and Gisselle had on their faces.

  "Gisselle told me your story," he said. "It's fantastic. What were these Cajun people like? Did they turn you into their little slave or something?"

  "Oh, no," I said, but quickly checked my enthusiasm. "I had my daily chores, of course."

  "Chores," Gisselle moaned.

  "I was taught handicrafts and helped make the things we sold at the roadside to the tourists, as well as helping with the cooking and the cleaning," I explained.

  "You can cook?" Gisselle asked, peering over her glasses at me again.

  "Gisselle couldn't boil water without burning it," Beau teased.

  "Well, who cares? I don't intend to cook for anyone. . ever," she said, pulling her eyeglasses off and flashing heat out of her eyes at him. He just smiled and turned back to me.

  "I understand you're an artist, too," he said. "And you actually have paintings in a gallery here in the French Quarter."

  "I was more surprised than anyone that a gallery owner wanted to sell them," I told him. His smile warmed, the gray-blue in his eyes becoming softer.

  "So far my father is the only one who bought one, right?" Gisselle quipped.

  "No. Someone else bought one first. That's how I got the money for my bus trip here," I said. Gisselle seemed disappointed, and when Beau gazed at her, she put her glasses on and dropped herself back on the lounge.

  "Where is the picture your father bought?" Beau asked. "I'd love to see it."

  "It's in his office."

  "Still on the floor," Gisselle interjected. "He'll probably leave it there for months."

  "I'd still like to see it," Beau said.

  "So go see it," Gisselle said. "It's only a picture of a bird."

  "Heron," I said. "In the marsh."

  "I've been to the bayou a few times to fish. It can be quite beautiful there," Beau said.

  "Swamps, ugh," Gisselle moaned.

  "It's very pretty there, especially in the spring and the fall."

  "Alligators and snakes and mosquitos, not to mention mud everywhere and on everything. Very beautiful," Gisselle said.

  "Don't mind her. She doesn't even like going in my sailboat on Lake Pontchartrain because the water sprays up and gets her hair wet, and she won't go to the beach because she can't stand sand in her bathing suit and in her hair."

  "So? Why should I put up with all that when I can swim here in a clean, filtered pool?" Gisselle proclaimed.

  "Don't you just like going places and seeing new things?" I asked.

  "Not unless she can strap her vanity table to her back," Beau said. Gisselle sat up so quickly it was as if she had a spring in her back.

  "Oh, sure, Beau Andreas, suddenly you're a big naturalist, a fisherman, a sailor, a hiker. You hate doing most of those things almost as much as I do, but you're just putting on an act for my sister," she charged. Beau turned crimson.

  "I do too like to fish and sail," he protested.

  "When do you do it, twice a year at the most?" "Depends," he said.

  "On what, your social calendar or your hair appointment," Gisselle said sharply. Throughout the exchange, my gaze went from one to the other. Gisselle's eyes blazed with so much anger, it was hard to believe she thought of him as her boyfriend.

  "You know he has a woman cut his hair at his house," Gisselle continued. The crimson tint in Beau's cheeks rushed down into his neck. "She's his mother's beautician and she even gives him a manicure every two weeks."

  "It's just that my mother likes the way she does her hair," Beau said. "I . ."

  "Your hair is very nice," I said. "I don't think it's unusual for a woman to cut a man's hair. I used to cut my grandpere's hair once in a while. I mean, the man I called Grandpere."

  "You can cut hair, too?" Beau asked, his eyes wide with amazement.

  "Do you fish and hunt as well?" Gisselle inquired, not disguising her sarcasm.

  "I've fished, helped harvest oysters, but I've never hunted. I can't stand to see birds or deer shot. I even hate seeing the alligators shot," I said.

  "Harvested oysters?" Gisselle said, shaking her head. "Meet my sister, the fish lady," she added.

  "When did you first learn what had happened to you as a baby?" Beau asked.

  "Just before my grandmere Catherine died," I replied.

  "You mean the woman you thought was your grandmother," Gisselle reminded me.

  "Yes. It's hard to think like that after so many years," I explained, more to Beau, who nodded with understanding. "And did you have a mother and a father?"

  "I was told my mother died when I was born and my father ran off."

  "So you lived with these grandparents?"

  "Just my grandmother. My grandfather is a trapper and lives in the swamp away from us."

  "So just before she died, she told you the truth?" Beau asked. I nodded.

  "How terrible of them to keep the secret all these years," Gisselle said. She gazed at me for a reaction.

  "Yes.'

  "Lucky your fake grandmother decided to tell you or you would never have known your real family. That was nice of her," Beau said, which fired up Gisselle.

  "These people she lived with are no better than animals, stealing someone's baby and keeping her! Claudine Montaigne told me about these Cajuns who live in a one-room house, everyone in the family sleeping with everyone else. To them incest is nothing more serious than stealing an apple!"

  "That's not so," I said quickly.

  "Claudine wouldn't lie," Gisselle insisted.

  "There are bad people in the bayou just like there are bad people here," I said. "She might have heard of them, but she shouldn't judge everyone the same. Nothing like that ever happened to me."

  "You were just lucky," Gisselle insisted.

  "No, really . . ."

  "They bought a kidnapped baby, didn't they?" she pursued. "Wasn't that terrible enough?"

  I looked at Beau. His eyes were fixed intently on me, waiting for my response. What could I say? Put-away thoughts. The truth was forbidden. The lie had to be upheld.

  "Yes," I muttered, and shifted my gaze down to my entwined fingers. Gisselle
sat back, contented. There was a moment of silence before Beau spoke.

  "You know, you two are going to be the center of attention at school next Monday," he said.

  "I know. I can't help being nervous about it," I confessed.

  "Don't worry, I'll pick the both of you up in the morning and escort you around all day," he promised. "You'll be a curiosity for a while and then things will settle down."

  "I doubt it," Gisselle said. "Especially when everyone learns she's lived like a Cajun all of her life and cooked and fished and made little handicrafts to sell by the road."

  "Don't listen to her."

  "They'll make fun of her whenever I'm not around to protect her," Gisselle insisted.

  "If you won't be around, I will," Beau declared.

  "I don't want to be a burden for anyone," I said.

  "You won't be," Beau assured me. "Right, Gisselle?" he asked. She was reluctant to answer. "Right?"

  "Right, right, right," she said. "I'm tired of talking about this."

  "I've got to go anyway," Beau said. "It's getting late. Are we still on for tonight?" he asked her. She hesitated. "Gisselle?"

  "Are you bringing Martin?" she countered sharply. He threw a glance my way and then looked at her again.

  "Are you sure I should? I mean . . ."

  "I'm sure. You'd like to meet one of Beau's friends tonight, wouldn't you, Ruby? I mean, you've fished, harvested oysters, chased alligators . . , I'm sure you had a boyfriend, too, didn't you?"

  I looked at Beau. His face had turned troubled and concerned.

  "Yes," I said.

  "So there's no problem, Beau. She'd like to meet Martin," Gisselle said.

  "Who's Martin?" I asked.

  "The best looking of Beau's friends. Most of the girls like him. I'm sure you will," she said. "Won't she, Beau?"

  He shrugged and stood up.

  "You'll like him," Gisselle insisted. "We'll meet you out here at nine-thirty," Gisselle said. "Don't be late."

  "Right, boss. Ever see anyone that bossy in the bayou?" he asked me. I looked at Gisselle, who smirked.

  "Just an alligator," I said, and Beau roared.

  "That's not funny!" Gisselle cried.

  "See ya later, alligator," Beau quipped, and winked at me before starting off.

  "I'm sorry," I said to Gisselle. "I didn't mean to make fun of you or anything." She pouted for a moment and then broke a small smile.

  "You shouldn't encourage him," she advised. "He can be a terrible tease."

  "He seems very nice."

  "Just another spoiled rich boy," Gisselle insisted. "But, he'll do. . . for now."

  "What do you mean, 'for now'?"

  "What do you think I mean? Don't tell me you promised to marry every boyfriend you had back in the swamp." Her eyes turned suspicious. "How many boyfriends did you have?" she asked.

  "Not that many."

  "How many?" she demanded. "If we're going to be sisters, we have to trust each other with the intimate details of our lives. Unless you don't want to be that kind of sister," she added.

  "Oh, no. I do."

  "So? How many?"

  "Really only one," I confessed.

  "One?" She stared at me a moment. "Well, it must have been a very hot and heavy romance then. Was it?"

  "We cared a great deal for each other," I admitted.

  "How much is a great deal?" she pursued.

  "As much as we could, I suppose."

  "Then you did it with him? Went all the way?"

  "What?"

  "You know. . . had sexual intercourse."

  "Oh, no," I said. "We never went that far."

  Gisselle tilted her head and looked skeptical.

  "I thought all Cajun girls lost their virginity before they were thirteen," she said.

  "What? Who told you such a stupid thing?" I asked quickly. She pulled back as if I had slapped her.

  "It's not so stupid. I heard it from a number of people."

  "Well, they're all liars then," I said vehemently. "I'll admit that there are many young marriages. Girls don't go off to work or go to college as much, but--"

  "SO it's true then. Anyway, don't keep defending them. They bought you when you were only a day or so old, didn't they?" Gisselle flared. I shifted my gaze away so she couldn't see the tears in my eyes. How ironic. It was she who had been bought and by a Creole family, not a Cajun. But I could say nothing. I could only swallow the truth and keep it down, only it kept threatening to bubble up and flow out of my mouth on the back of a flurry of hot words.

  "Anyway," Gisselle continued in a calmer tone, "the boys will expect you to be a lot more

  sophisticated than you apparently are."

  I looked at her fearfully.

  "What do you mean?"

  "What did you do with this one devoted boyfriend? Did you kiss and pet at least?" I nodded. "Did you undress, at least partially?" I shook my head. She grimaced. "Did you ever French kiss. . . you know," she added quickly, "touch tongues?" I couldn't remember if that had ever happened. My hesitation was enough to convince her it hadn't. "Did you let him give you hickeys?"

  No.

  "Good. I hate them, too. They suck until they're satisfied and we're the ones who walk around with these ugly spots on our necks and breasts."

  "Breasts?"

  "Don't worry," she said, getting up. "I'll teach you what to do. For now, if Martin or anyone gets too demanding, just tell him you're having your period, understand? Nothing turns them off as fast as that.

  "Come on," she said. "Let's go look at the things Mother bought you. I'll help you decide what to wear tonight."

  I followed her back to the house, my footsteps on the patio a lot more unsure, my heart beating with a timid thump. Gisselle and I were so identical we could gaze at each other and think we were looking into mirrors, but on the inside, we were more different than a bird and a cat. I wondered what, if anything, we would find to draw us together so we could become the sisters we were meant to be.

  .

  Gisselle was surprised by many of the things Daphne had bought me. Then, after she gave it some thought, her surprise turned to jealousy and anger.

  "She never buys me skirts this short unless I throw a tantrum, and these colors are always too bright for her. I love this blouse. It's not fair," she wailed. "Now I want new things, too."

  "Daphne told me she wanted to buy things that were different from the things you had. She thought you wouldn't like it if we had identical clothes to go along with our identical faces," I explained.

  Still pouting, Gisselle held one of my blouses against her and studied it in the mirror. Then she dropped it on the bed and opened the drawers of the armoire to inspect my new panties.

  "When I bought a set of these, she thought they were too sexy," she said, holding up the abbreviated light silks.

  "I've never worn anything like it," I confessed.

  "Well, I'm borrowing this pair of panties, this skirt, and this blouse for tonight," she informed me firmly.

  "I don't mind," I said, "but--"

  "But what?" Sisters share things with each other, don't they?"

  I wanted to remind her of the nasty things she had said on the stairway in the morning when I came upon her returning from the ball, how she would never let me borrow her pretty red dress, but I realized that was before my father had had his conversation with her. It did bring about a change in her attitude toward me. Then I recalled something Daphne had said.

  "Daphne disapproves of girls sharing things. Even sisters. She said so," I told her.

  "You just let me worry about Mother. There are a lot of things she says and then goes and does the exact opposite," Gisselle replied as she went through the blouses to decide if there were any others she wanted to borrow.

  And so for the first dinner we would have together as a family, Gisselle and I wore the same style skirt and blouse. She thought it would be amusing for us to brush and tie our hair into French knots as well. We dr
essed in my room and sat at my vanity table.

  "Here," she said, taking a gold ring off her pinky and handing it to me. "You wear this tonight. wear no jewelry, since you have none."

  "Why?" I asked. I saw the impish glint in her eyes. "Daddy wants you on his left, I imagine, and me, as usual on his right."

  "So?"

  "I'll sit on his left; you sit on his right. Let's see if he knows the difference," she said.

  "Oh, he will. He knew I wasn't you the moment he set eyes on me," I told her.

  Gisselle didn't know whether to take this as something good or bad. I saw the confusion in her face for a moment and then the decision.

  "We'll see," she said. "I told Beau there were differences between us, differences maybe only I can see. I know what," she said, bouncing in her chair. "We'll tease Beau tonight. You'll pretend you're me and pretend I'm you."

  "Oh, I couldn't do that," I said, my heart fluttering with the thought of being Beau's girlfriend, even for a few minutes.

  "Of course you can. He thought you were me the first time he set eyes on you, didn't he?"

  "That was different. He didn't know I existed," I explained.

  "I'll tell you exactly how to act and what to say," she continued, ignoring my point. "Oh, this is going to be fun for a change. I mean, real fun, with it all starting at dinner," she decided.

  However, just as I predicted, our father knew instantly that we had taken the wrong seats at the dining room table. Daphne, who raised her eyebrows as soon as she saw the two of us in my new clothes, sat down, for the moment confused. But my father threw his head back and roared with laughter.

  "What is so funny, Pierre?" Daphne demanded. She had come to dinner dressed formally in a black dress with diamond teardrop earrings and a matching diamond necklace and bracelet. The dress had a Vneck collar that dipped low enough to show the start of her cleavage. I thought she was so beautiful and elegant.

  "Your daughters have dressed alike and conspired to test me at their first meal together," he said. "This is Ruby wearing Gisselle's pinky ring and this is Gisselle in Ruby's seat."

  Daphne looked from me to Gisselle and then back to me.

  "Ridiculous," she said. "Did you think we wouldn't know the difference? Take your proper seats, please," she commanded.

  Gisselle laughed and got up. Father's eyes twinkled with delight at me, but then he turned serious, his expression sober when he gazed across the table at Daphne and saw she wasn't amused.