They call her Dana (12 page)

*Tt's eight o'clock on the dot," I said cheerfully, "and, as you can see, I'm all ready."

"I see," he said.

*' You don't like the dress?''

"It's—uh—hardly the thing I would chose for a seventeen-

year-old giii, but I didn't have much choice in the matter. Do you think you might pull it up a few inches?''

"I tried,"! told him. "This is as high as it goes."

"Jesus," he whispered. He shook his head, resigned. "When we get to the dining room, don't you dare lean over," he cautioned. "Not forflrt>thing. Damn Amelia! I should have known the treacherous wench would do something like this, but then I don't suppose she has anything more conservative."

"This is her dress?"

"I explained the situation to her, and Amelia generously contributed some of the things she had purchased for the trip—she hadn't even taken them out of the boxes yet. Leave the parasol, child. Ladies rarely carry them inside."

"Do—do I look bad?" I asked as we walked down the hall.

"You look quite fetching," he informed me. "Of course, I'll probably have to challenge every man in the room to a duel, but—Lord, how do I get into these situations?"

"I don't have to eat," I told him.

"Don't get snappy," he retorted.

The dining room downstairs was beautiful, all done in blue and gray, with a splendid crystal waterfall hanging from the ceiling and snowy white linen cloths on all the tables. The waterfall, Julian informed me, was called a "chandelier," and I made a mental note of it. Almost all of the tables were occupied with elegantly attired people like those I had seen earlier. They all watched as Julian and I followed a man in a fancy black uniform to a table Julian had reserved for us. I saw Amelia sitting with a distinguished silver-haired gentieman even older than Julian. She was wearing a magnificent purple silk gown with black polka dots and a pair of long black gloves, and she was showing even more skin than I was. She gave Julian a friendly nod, the wry smile playing lightly on her lips. He scowled at her and muttered something very unflattering under his breath.

"That wasn't very nice," I said. "After all, she did give you the clothes for me."

"Slut knew exactiy what she was doing, too. She knew everyone in the place would see you in that dress and think I— assume you—" He cut himself short.

"Assume what?" I asked innocently.

"Never you mind," he snapped.

Julian ordered for both of us ftx)m the large gold and white menus and, giving me a meaningful look, told the man we would do without wine tonight. While this was going on, I was busy feasting my eyes on the splendors of the room: the plush blue brocade curtains, the deep gray carpet with its tiny blue and purple flowers, the chandelier with its dozens and dozens of crystal pendants glittering with rainbow hues in the candlelight. Who would have thought such a palace existed so near the swamp? Julian told me the inn was merely adequate and hardly grand by any standards. I told him it still looked like a palace to me. He sighed and shook his head, looking rather testy, perhaps because of Amelia, perhaps because of all the attention I was getting.

There must have been two dozen men in the dining room, and all of them kept stealing glances at me. A dashing blond youth was sitting at a table across the room with a husky companion, both wearing handsome frock coats and cravats. The blond raised his glass to me, grinned and said something that caused his friend to chuckle. I had a pretty good idea what he had said. They had better manners and wore much better clothes, but they weren't all that different from the louts in the swamp, I thought. Homy as could be. Always on the lookout for another piece of tail, and not just the young men either. Amelia's gentleman friend was looking at me, too. She finally had to tap his wrist with her fan to get his attention back. I smiled to myself as our food arrived.

"Know the proper fork to use?" Julian inquired.

"I ain't a—I'm not a savage," I said airily. "Ma taught me proper table etiquette. Did-ja think I was goin' to eat with my fingers?"

"Nothing would surprise me at this point."

"Why are you being so nasty all of the sudden?"

"Am I being nasty?'*

"Very," I said. "I—I can't help it if all the men are lookin' at me. I can't help it if—if this dress don't meet with your approval."

'"Doesn 't meet with my approval," he corrected.

"And I can't help it if I—if I don't always use the proper words or speak with a tony accent. Not all-a us had the advantage of a fancy education. Some of us had to—" My voice started to tremble.

"If you start bawling, I swear I'll throttle you."

"I ain—I'm not going to bawl!"

"Don't," he warned.

"/have feelin's, too, you know."

"Indeed?"

I longed to stab him with my fork.

All around us was the soft hum of polite conversation, the tinkle of crystal and china, the light clatter of silverware, but Julian and I ate in silence. The food was so delicious I quickly forgot his bad mood, eating with relish. We had hot turtle soup and a wonderful salad of lettuce and artichoke hearts, slices of tender pink ham, small new potatoes cooked in butter, tasty asparagus. There were hot rolls, too. I had three, buttering each generously. Best meal I ever had, no doubt about it, and it wasn't even over yet. After the man cleared our places, he brought bowls of rice pudding with a thick, hot sweet sauce with raisins. Julian didn't touch his, and I looked at it longingly after I had finished my own. He pushed it across the table to me, and it was soon gone, too.

"It was a lovely meal," I said. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure. Coffee?"

"I don't think I could hold any," I replied.

"One cup," he told the waiter.

The waiter poured Julian's coffee and left, and Julian sipped it thoughtftilly, his mind on something else. He might as well have been alone at the table, I thought resentfully. Amelia and her gentleman friend had departed some time ago, and the good-looking blond youth and his friend were just leaving. They were in their mid twenties, I judged, virile lads with the confident swagger of the well-to-do. Planters' sons, probably. The blond

» nodded at me and gave me an exceedingly roguish smile as they left the room. Julian didn't notice it. He was still lost in thought, and several minutes passed before he finally looked up and remembered my existence. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to be rude." it "Do you often go off like that?''

m "When I'm tired, when I have a lot on my mind. It's been a « very long day."

K ''I—I guess I'11 start lookin' for work tomorrow,'' I said. "In B- a town as big as this one, I'm bound to find something."

some money with you just the same, enough to keep you here at the inn for a couple of weeks.''

"You—you don't have to do that," I protested.

"I have a conscience," he reminded me. "I couldn't just leave you stranded with no funds."

"You're a—a very good man," I said quietly.

"But nasty," he added.

"Sometimes. I—I'll miss you."

"I imagine I'll miss you, too," he confessed. "This has been quite an adventure. It's getting late, Dana," he added. "I'd better take you back up to your room."

Julian signaled to the waiter, signed a slip of paper and then escorted me out of the room. Only a few people were in the lobby, the clerk behind his desk scribbling in a ledger, a middle-aged couple sitting on one of the sofas, talking quietly, the blond youth and his husky friend who, hovering over a giggling, flashily dressed young woman and playing her with persuasive words, didn't notice us moving toward the stairs.

' 'What will you do now?'' I asked Julian. "Go back home?''

He nodded. "Tomorrow, at noon, a boat leaves for New Orleans. I intend to be on it."

"New Orieans? You live there?'' I could hardly keep the excitement out of my voice.

"I live in a rather decrepit old house in the Quarter. The Etienne Mansion, it's called, but I fear that's a misnomer. It's something of a landmark, one of the first houses built there, but the grandeur has long since disintegrated into crumbling brick and rusting wrought iron."

Holding my elbow firmly, he led me up the stairs. My heart was palpitating rapidly.

"Take me with you," I begged.

He looked nonplussed. "What?"

"Take me with you. To New Orleans. I've gotta get there, you see. That's where my ma's folks live. I told you about that last night, didn't I? Didn't I tell you I was plannin' to go to New Orleans and find my ma's folks? I originally planned to get a job and earn enough money to get me there, but—if you took me with you, I'd be way ahead."

"Out of the question," he said.

We reached the landing and started down the hall. I wasn't about to accept defeat so easily.

"I'd work for you. You ain't—aren't married, and I'm sure you need a woman to look after you. I'd keep that decrep—that old house-a yours sparklin', and I'd cook for you and take care of your things and—"

' 'I have an aunt who does all that,'' he informed me. "Rather, she supervises the servants. My life is quite complicated enough as is without my taking on the responsibility of—of a headstrong

tand much too nubile young woman." "I wouldn't be no responsibility. I—I'd be helpful/' "Forget it," he said.

We stopped in front of my door. I looked up at him, and I could see he was absolutely implacable. His expression was that of a tolerant adult dealing with a charming but irrational child. ""Why won't you take me?" I asked.

"It would cause a major scandal, for one thing. I'm already considered eccentric and suspect, a shiftless dreamer who spends his time journeying into the swamps, studying plants, failing to uphold the family name. If I showed up with a seventeen-year-old girl, the entire Quarter would be abuzz with talk, my ultra-conservative family leading the chorus. They would believe the worst, and nothing would persuade them differentiy."

»"But-" "For another, my life is very calm, very well organized, and you, my child, would cause major disruptions. I'm terribly boring and terribly set in my ways. When I'm not collecting specimen and data, I'm in my study, surrounded by notes, scribbling, and—" He shook his head. "I couldn't take you to New Orieans and tum you loose—it's no place for a young giri on her own—and I couldn't take the responsibility of seeing to your welfare." I didn't say anything. I couldn't, nor could I meet his eyes.

» Bright hope vanished and disappointment swept over me. Of course he couldn't take me to New Orleans witfi him. He . . . he had his own life, and he didn't owe me anything. He had been kind and very generous, and I couldn't expect ... I lifted my eyes, giving him a brave smile. Julian frowned, looking ^ uncomfortable. M "You do understand?" he said.

K "Course I do," I said with false cheerfulness. "You—you've B done plenty enough for me already. I ain't—I'm not your re-K> sponsibility. I can take care of myself. I'll find a job and—and B I'll get along just fine.''

L

His frown deepened. He took both my hands in his and held them very tightly, looking into my eyes. He seemed torn, seemed about to say something, but he merely squeezed my hands and, after a moment, sighed and released them. When he spoke, his voice was careftilly matter-of-fact.

"I'll leave the money in an envelope for you at the desk," he told me. "I have to organize my papers and label some specimen in the morning, so I won't be having breakfast with you. I've ordered some to be brought up here to your room at eight o'clock."

"That—that was very thoughtful of you."

"I'll stop by to see you before I leave to board the steamboat. ''

I merely nodded. Julian patted my arm.

"Goodnight, Dana."

"Good night," I said.

He left, and I went into my room. The bath things had been removed, and the bedclothes had been turned down. Only one lamp was burning on the bedside table, the flame flickering a hazy yellow-orange inside the glass globe. Shadows brushed the walls. Trying to ignore the sadness, trying to ignore the fear and the loneliness, I undressed and put all my new things away in the wardrobe, and then I climbed into the bed and turned off" the oil lamp. Darkness swallowed me up, it seemed, and gradually a silver mist of moonlight sifted through the window and began to make patterns on the walls and ceiling. The bed was heavenly, so soft, and the sheets smelled of verbena, but I knew I wouldn't be able to go to sleep.

I was wrong. Embracing my sadness, I drifted ofi" to sleep almost immediately and woke up several hours later as early morning sunlight streamed languorously through the window, making hazy yellow-white pools on the carpet, and the sadness was still there, greeting me like a tangible thing. He's leaving today, I thought, and I will never see him again. The thought was more painful than I could have imagined. I had known Julian Etienne for only two days, and yet. . . and yet it seemed that I had known him forever. I stretched my legs, the soft sheets rustling and caressing my nude body, and then I clutched one of the pillows to my bosom and stomach, trying to rid myself of the depression that settled around me like a heavy cloak.

You got everything to be happy about, I told myself. You're

finally free of the swamps, free of Clem and Jake and Randy, and you're going to find work. You'll be on your own, sure, but you knew that from the beginning. He doesn't mean nothin' to you. He's just a very kind stranger who came to your aid, and there ain't no use frettin' because he won't take you with him. Why should he? He's been wonderful, and he's going to leave you some money to tide you over until you get a job. That's more'n you have any right to expect. You'll miss him for a while, yes, but you'll get along. You'll get to New Orleans, too, eventually, and everything will work out and . . . and there's no excuse for you loafin' here in bed, feelin' sorry for yourself.

I finally climbed out of bed and donned my new clothes and brushed my hair, still feeling lisdess and glum, determined to fight it. Breakfast arrived, and it was lavish indeed: fluffy eggs, tasty sausage, grits, a rack of buttered toast, peach preserves, a whole pot of coffee. Although I had little appetite, I forced myself to eat every bite. Heaven only knew when I'd have another meal like this. I sipped a second cup of coffiee, watching the pools of sunlight spread lazily on the floor. It was after nine now, and there was nothing to do but sit here in this room and wait for Julian to come and say good-bye. I felt I would go mad if I did that.