Southern Ruby (23 page)

‘Hello, Miss Ruby,' she said, beckoning me into the semicircular entrance hall. The winding staircase I remembered, but was the Jacobean-striped linen wallpaper new? ‘It's a long time since I've seen you! You were only a girl then; now you're a lovely young woman.'

Indeed, the last time I'd been in this house was before my papa died. Aunt Elva had never invited us here after that.

‘Your aunt is out at a meeting, but your uncle's home,' Millie said, leading me to the parlour. ‘I'll go tell him you're here.'

I was relieved to learn that Aunt Elva wasn't around, but surprised to hear that she was attending a meeting. Aunt Elva was the least civic-minded person I knew.

Like the entrance hall, the parlour had been redecorated since I'd last been in the house. The wallpaper and fabrics were French silk. I sat down on a sofa and rubbed my hand over the cherub-print slipcover. Uncle Rex had been prepared to let Maman die while he lived in luxury! My blood boiled.

It took a long time for Millie to return to take me to Uncle Rex's study. One look at my uncle's tense expression and I could tell he knew why I'd come.

‘Ah, Ruby, please take a seat,' he said, pulling an armchair away from the wall for me, but averting his eyes. ‘What have you been up to?'

I'd intended to stay calm. I'd promised myself to stay calm. But his cheery tone, false as it was, made me bristle. ‘Aren't you going to ask how Maman is?'

He paused for a moment, then moved back to sit at his desk, as if creating a barrier between us would protect him.

‘She had to have a lung removed, and has had a long — and expensive — convalescence.'

His face reddened but he still couldn't bring himself to meet my eyes. ‘Ruby, as I explained to Mae, I've done all I can to help.'

‘Have you?' I said, noticing the way he stiffened at my tone. ‘Well, it seems there is one more thing for you to explain.' I opened my purse and pulled out the deed to the apartment. ‘It seems Maman passed the title to you on the understanding that you would take care of us until I married.' He opened his mouth to say something, but I spoke over the top of him. ‘Don't tell me that you've given even an eighth of what you owe to Maman! We desperately need the rest of the money and we need it now!'

Uncle Rex's head dropped lower and he fiddled with the top button of his shirt. When he finally managed to look up, his eyes entreated me to understand. ‘I can't give it to you,' he said, then added in a strange voice, ‘forgive me.'

‘You can't give it to me?' I waved my hand at the French carved-wood table lamp and the English mahogany and bronze stationery set on his desk. ‘We've been forced to pawn or sell almost everything. We need that money!'

He stood up, agitated. ‘This is all Elva's money,' he said, indicating his luxuriously appointed office. ‘She's kept her inheritance in her name. I'm only paid an allowance.'

His revelation surprised me. It was certainly an unusual arrangement between husband and wife. All my life I'd assumed that Uncle Rex had a fortune of his own.

‘Then we need to see a lawyer together and get the apartment title returned to us,' I said. ‘I will sell it and pay you the amount you've given us. Aunt Elva doesn't even need to know.'

I felt that I'd found the most rational solution to the problem, but Uncle Rex sank back into his chair. ‘You can't sell it,' he said. ‘It's mortgaged to the bank.'

It took me a moment to comprehend what he'd said.

‘Mortgaged for what?' I asked, panic cutting short my words.

Uncle Rex didn't answer me. He picked up the pencil tray from his desk, then pushed it aside.

‘Well,' I said, ‘you're going to have to sell whatever you mortgaged the apartment for and give the money to us.'

A feeble smile came to his face and I knew something was terribly wrong. This nervous and shifty man in front of me wasn't the Uncle Rex I knew; the man I'd held up in my mind as the only responsible de Villeray male. The world was changing around me: things I'd assumed to be true weren't true at all.

‘What the money has been spent on can't be sold,' he said, resting his head in his hands.

The blood drained from my face as fast as if I'd been shot in the heart. I stared at my uncle, at his thinning hair and freckled, pasty hands. He was nothing like my father in looks or charm, but now it was dawning on me that they were exactly alike in character. They were both cheats. Then I remembered the day I'd seen him looking dishevelled in Jefferson Parish. Weren't there several casinos on South Carrolltown Avenue? The full horror of the situation hit me.

‘You've lost it gambling, haven't you?' I cried.

For a few seconds, neither of us moved. Then Uncle Rex moaned with shame.

I stared at him in disbelief. The man who Maman had trusted had squandered our final means of support. Now, not only did I have the bill from the sanatorium to pay but I'd have to pay the bank myself if I wanted to get Maman's apartment back. My heartbeat tripled.

‘I don't care what you have to do, you need to get that money back for us!' I shouted. ‘Or I'll tell Aunt Elva that you've been gambling!'

‘She knows,' he said, without lifting his eyes. ‘She knows.'

So Aunt Elva had been happy for him to gamble away our money as long as he didn't touch hers. It was a good thing she wasn't home when I realised that, for I surely would have strangled her. It seemed that the problem was insurmountable and that every avenue was closed to me.

‘You were our last hope,' I told Uncle Rex. ‘Our last hope!'

He finally lifted his head. ‘You can still marry well.'

The remark was like a slap in the face. How could I ‘marry well' without a dowry? I stared at the pathetic excuse for a man that was my uncle.

‘I will get us out of this mess,' I told him, ‘but it won't be by marrying. I will never, ever rely on a man for anything again!'

As I caught the streetcar home, my mind churned over the only apparent way open to me for saving us. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. The burlesque dancers at the club seemed happy enough, and they were making good money. I'd never be able to be part of Creole society again, but would that be such a bad thing?

I stopped at Saint Louis Cathedral and lit a candle. ‘Dear God,' I prayed, ‘if me becoming a stripper is the only way to help Maman, then give me a sign.'

Folks say God moves in mysterious ways. I'd say he has one big sense of humour too, if what happened that night is anything to go by.

Rolando was distracted that evening, running around the club like a maniac, shouting at the chef and ordering the waiters to straighten each tablecloth. The barman told me that Joe Grimaldi, one of New Orleans' infamous crime bosses, had booked out the club on the spur of the moment for him and his mob to celebrate his sixtieth birthday. In a way, I was relieved that I probably wouldn't be able to talk to Rolando about becoming a stripper at the club that night; but in another way, it drew out the agony because I was going to have to do it sooner or later.

‘You'll have to help Melody,' Rolando told me. ‘She's the only stripper act for the night. Grimaldi doesn't like hostesses selling his men drinks, so I don't need anybody but myself, the Master of Ceremonies and the waiters on the floor.'

I went to the dressing room, where I found Melody sitting before her mirror, plucking her eyebrows.

‘Rolando's working up a sweat,' I said.

‘I don't blame him,' she replied, pressing a fingertip to her browline to calm the redness. ‘Grimaldi can make or break a club. If he doesn't like you, you're done.'

I laid out her costume while she put on her stage make-up.

‘You know, Ruby,' she said, pinning up her hair, ‘you look a lot like Elizabeth Taylor.'

‘So I've been told. But I don't have any beaus, and she's already got a second husband and she's only a few years older than me!'

Melody laughed. ‘Don't be too distressed about it. Beaus can cause a lot of trouble.'

Her costume was a flamenco-style dress with an embroidered bodice and lace bolero jacket. As I removed the jacket from its hanger I wondered about Melody's comment. She might be right about beaus. I had thought Clifford was different from other men, but he'd caused me heartache just the same.

I was about to help her into her outfit when she let out a gasp. I turned to see a man in a suit watching us from the doorway. His eyes were red with drink and he staggered on his feet. I didn't like the look of him. The strippers attracted their fair share of backstage johnnies, but the bouncers were vigilant that they didn't get near the dressing room. They must have been distracted by the preparations.

‘Huey, what are you doing here?' Melody asked.

I relaxed when I realised that she knew him and wondered who he was. A boyfriend? A fiancé? Was he the beau causing her trouble?

Huey squinted at her. ‘You slut!' he said, scowling and moving towards her unsteadily. ‘You said you were staying with your sister!'

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. This guy was trouble for sure. I reached to pick up the internal phone and
call the front desk, but before I could dial, Huey yanked a gun from his jacket. I screamed as he pointed it at Melody's head and fired.

By the Grace of God, Huey staggered the second before the gun discharged and the bullet missed its aim and hit Melody in the arm instead of the face. The impact knocked her to the floor. She clutched her arm and stared at Huey in disbelief. ‘Why?' she screamed, trying to staunch the blood that was seeping through her fingers. ‘Why?' Huey's face was blank but all the veins in his neck were raised and I could see his pulse beating in his throat. He raised his arm to fire again but the gun jammed. Footsteps and shouts rang through the corridor and the next moment the room was filled with people. The bouncers wrestled Huey to the floor while Rolando grabbed a towel to bind Melody's wound.

‘Call an ambulance!' he screamed at me.

With the ambulance came the police, creating the kind of scene that would turn Grimaldi and his men away. Rolando paced the floor, tearing at his hair. ‘Tonight of all nights!' he cursed.

Even when Melody was safely on her way to the hospital and the police had taken Huey to gaol, Rolando still didn't settle down. After Grimaldi and his men arrived, the waiters and the Master of Ceremonies did their best to look after them while the club singer performed all the Italian favourites and encouraged the mobsters to sing along with ‘Ba-ba-baciami Piccina'.

Rolando disappeared into his office for a while, but returned to the dressing room looking dishevelled and anxious. ‘I can't get a dancer at this late notice.'

Grimaldi's men were growing restless. We could hear them complaining to the Master of Ceremonies: ‘Where is the beautiful woman? We were promised a beautiful woman!'

Rolando's forehead beaded with sweat. ‘They are going to turn me into alligator chum!' he said, a tremor in his voice. I had cleaned up the blood from the floor but Melody's robe
was ruined. Not knowing what I could do to help Rolando, I went to throw it in the garbage when he suddenly let out a sharp cry and grabbed my arm.

‘You'll do it, Ruby, won't you? You'll get me out of this spot? You've seen enough acts to know what to do.'

I had already decided to strip but I had not intended my start to be in front of a rowdy group of mobsters! Rolando noticed my hesitation. ‘I'll pay you a hundred and fifty dollars to do it.'

I was so desperate for money, I didn't have much choice. But shrewdness stopped me from agreeing immediately. Rolando looked fraught. If I refused, he was in real trouble. I knew exactly what Baroness de Pontalba would have done in the same situation.

‘Three hundred for tonight,' I said. ‘Then we'll negotiate my weekly salary tomorrow.'

‘Geez, Ruby!' He paced the floor again. ‘That's more than we pay the star acts!'

‘Three hundred and I'll do it,' I said firmly. ‘Take it or leave it.'

He shook his head and threw up his arms. ‘All right! But get ready quickly!'

He turned to leave but I called him back. ‘I need a stage name. I can't perform as Ruby.'

He mulled it over for a moment. ‘I like Ruby, but if you don't want to use it then why not change your name to Jewel? That still sounds classy.'

After Rolando had left, I ran my hands through my hair, trying to calm my nerves.

I sat down at Melody's dressing table and began to put on stage make-up as I'd seen her do dozens of times, but my head throbbed and I felt as if I was splitting into two different people. Then I remembered Maman's favourite saying:
If you must do a thing, then do it graciously
.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. ‘Jewel, if you are going to be a stripper, then be a good one!'