"Oh, this," Gisselle said, holding up her glass. "Why this is nothin' compared to what we do in the bayou."
"Oh, yeah," Martin said with interest, "and what did you do in the bayou?"
"I don't want to do anything or say anything that might corrupt you city boys," she quipped. Martin smiled at Beau whose eyes were dancing with amusement.
"I can't think of anything I'd like better than to be corrupted by Gisselle's twin sister," Martin said. Gisselle laughed and extended her arm so Martin could sip from her glass. He sat down quickly and did so. I turned back to Beau. Our eyes met, but he didn't say anything to stop the charade from continuing.
"I'll just mix my own drink. If that's all right with you, Gisselle?" he asked me.
Gisselle fixed a stone stare at me before I could reveal my true identity.
"Of course ills, Beau," I said, and sat back against the lounge. How long did she want to keep this up? Martin turned to me.
"Are your parents going to have the police go to the bayou and get these people?" he asked.
"No," I said. "They're all dead and gone."
"But before they died, they tortured me," Gisselle moaned. Martin's head snapped around so he could face her again.
"What did they do?" he asked.
"Oh, things I can't describe. Especially to a boy," she added.
"They did not!" I cried. Gisselle widened her eyes and shot looks of rage at me.
"Really, Gisselle," she said in her most arrogant, haughty voice, "you don't think! told you everything that happened to me, do you? I wouldn't want to give you nightmares."
"Wow," Martin said. He looked up at Beau who still wore a smart, tight smile on his lips.
"Maybe you shouldn't ask your sister about her previous life," he said, sitting at my feet on the lounge. "You'll only bring up bad memories."
"That's right," Gisselle said. "I'd rather not have bad memor
ies tonight anyway," she added, and ran her hand down Martin's left shoulder and arm. "You've never been with a Cajun girl then, Martin?" she asked coquettishly.
"No, but I've heard about them."
She leaned forward until her lips nearly touched his ear.
"It's all true," she said, and threw her head back to laugh. Martin laughed, too, and took a long gulp from Gisselle's drink, emptying the glass. "Gisselle, can you make us another drink?" she asked me in a voice that dripped with enough sweetness to make my stomach bubble.
It took all my self-control to battle back the urge to throw my own drink into her face and run into the house. But surely, this would end soon, I thought, and Gisselle would be satisfied she had had her little fun, all at my expense. I got up and started to make the drink the way she had instructed. Beau kept his eyes on me. I saw that Gisselle noticed how he was watching me, too.
"I just love that ring you gave my sister, Beau," Gisselle said. "Someday, I hope a handsome young man will think enough of me to give me a ring like that. I'd do just about anything for it," she added.
The bottle slipped out of my hand and hit the table, but didn't break. Beau jumped up.
"Here, let me help you," he said, quickly seizing the neck of the bottle before too much rum spilled.
"Oh, Gisselle, you shouldn't waste good rum like that," Gisselle cried, and laughed again. My hand was still trembling. Beau took it quickly into his and gazed into my eyes.
"You all right?" he asked. I nodded. "Let me finish making the drink," he said, and did so, handing it to Gisselle.
"Thank you, Beau," she said. He smirked at her, but said nothing. "I'm sorry I can't talk about myself, Martin," she said, turning back to him, "but I would love to hear about you."
"Sure," he said.
"Let's take a little walk," she suggested, and rose from the lounge. Martin looked at Beau who simply stared expressionless for a moment. Was he waiting to see how far Gisselle would go? Surely, he didn't believe she was me. Why wasn't he putting an end to it then?