"In an institution outside of the city. We only see him once a year, on his birthday. At least, that's all I see him. Daddy might go more often. Mother never goes," she said. "How about this blouse?"
She held it up but I was looking right through it. I waited as she put it on.
"Why aren't there any pictures of Jean around?" I asked.
"Will you stop talking about it? Daddy can't stand it normally. I'm surprised he told you anything. There are no pictures because it's too painful for Daddy," she said. "Now, for the last time, what about this blouse?" She turned to look at herself in the mirror.
"It's very nice," I said.
"Oh, I hate that word," she cried. "Nice. Is it sexy?" I looked at it seriously this time.
"You forgot to put on your bra," I said.
She smiled. "I didn't forget. A lot of girls are doing that these days."
"They are?"
"Of course. Boy, do you have a lot to learn. Lucky you got out of the swamps," she added.
But right now, I wasn't so sure I was so lucky.
15
A Tour of Storyville
.
I sat with Gisselle on the patio and ate some
lunch while she nibbled at her breakfast, complaining how sore her stomach still was from all the vomiting she had done last night. She blamed everyone but herself.
"Beau should have stopped me from drinking too much. I was so busy making sure everyone else had a good time, I didn't notice," she claimed.
"I warned you before we began," I reminded her. She smirked.
"It's never done this to me before," she said, but she grimaced in agony.
She had to wear her wide, thick sunglasses because the tiniest light sent ripples of pain up and down her forehead. She had dabbed gobs of rouge on her cheeks and painted her lips thick with lipstick once she saw how pale and wan her complexion was.
The long gray clouds that had made most of the morning dreary had come apart on the journey from one horizon to the other, and a soft sea of blue appeared to accompany the sunshine that rained down upon us to brighten the blossoms of the magnolias and camellias. The blue jays skittered from branch to branch with more spirit and energy, their songs more melodious.
In such a warm, beautiful setting, it was hard to feel unhappy or discouraged, but I couldn't keep the dark foreboding from inching its way into my thoughts. It moved slowly but surely like the shadow of a cloud. Daphne was very disappointed in me. Soon my father would be too, and Gisselle thought it was good for us to lie to both Daphne and him. I felt like going to Nina to ask her to find me a magical solution, some powder or enchanted bone to erase the bad things that had happened.
"Stop sitting there and pouting," Gisselle ordered. "You worry too much."
"Daphne is furious at me, thanks to you," I replied. "And soon Daddy will be, too."
"Why do you keep calling her Daphne? Don't you want to call her Mother?" she wondered. I shifted my gaze away from her and shrugged.
"Of course I do. It's just . . hard right now. Both of our parents seem like strangers to me. I haven't been living here all my life," I replied, and looked at her. She chewed on my answer as she chewed on her croissant and jam.
"You just called Daddy, Daddy," she said. "Why should that be easier?"
"I don't know," I said quickly, and dropped my gaze so she couldn't see the dishonesty. I couldn't stand living with all this deception. Somehow, someday, it was bound to make our lives more miserable. I felt certain of that.
Gisselle sipped her coffee but continued to stare at me as she chewed lazily.
"What?" I asked, anticipating some question or suspicion.