"Whenever I ask you to come home for lunch or meet me somewhere for lunch, you always have an excuse. You're always too busy to interrupt your precious workday. But all of a sudden, you have all this time to spare to arrange for an art instructor for your Cajun daughter," she decried.
Gisselle smiled at me and grabbed my arm to pull me back so we would delay our entrance.
"This is good. I love it when they have a spat," she whispered excitedly. Not only didn't I want to be an eavesdropper, but I was afraid they would say something to reveal the whole truth.
"I always try to make myself available for you, Daphne. If I can't, it's because of something that can't be helped. And as for corning home today, I thought in light of the circumstances, I had to do something special for her," my father protested.
"Do something special for her in light of the circumstances? What about my circumstances? Why can't you do something special for me? You used to think I was someone special," Daphne retorted.
"I do," he protested.
"But not as special as your Cajun princess apparently. Well, what do you think now after I told you what happened?"
"I'm disappointed of course," he said. "I'm quite surprised." It broke my heart to hear his voice so full of disillusionment, but Gisselle's smile widened with glee.
"Well, I'm not," Daphne emphasized. "I warned you, didn't I?"
"Gisselle," I whispered. "I've got to tell—"
"Come on," she said quickly, and pulled me forward to enter the study. Daphne and our father turned promptly to face us. I could have burst into tears at the sight of his sad and disappointed face. He sighed deeply.
"Sit down, girls," he said, and nodded toward one of the leather sofas. Gisselle moved instantly and I followed, but sat away from her, practically at the other end. Our father stared at us a moment with his hands behind his back and then glanced at Daphne, who pulled her head up and folded her arms under her bosom expectantly. My father turned to me.
"Daphne has told me what happened here last night and what she found in your room. I don't mind either of you having wine at dinner, but sneaking hard liquor and drinking it with boys . . ."
I flashed a look at Gisselle who looked down at her hands in her lap.
"It's not the way young women of character behave. Gisselle," he said, turning to her. "You shouldn't have permitted this to happen."
She pulled off her sunglasses and started to cry, emitting real tears from her eyes at will as if she had some sort of a reservoir of tears stored just under her eyelids to be dipped into at a moment's notice.
"I didn't want to do it, especially right here at our home, but she insisted and I wanted to do what you said: make her feel wanted and loved as soon as I could. Now I'm in trouble," she wailed.
Shocked by what she said, I tried to meet her eyes and hold them, but she refused to look at me, afraid once she did, she couldn't look away.
Daphne widened her eyes and nodded at my father who shook his head.
"I didn't say you were in trouble. I just said I was disappointed in you two, that's all," he replied. "Ruby," he said, turning back to me. "I know that alcoholic beverages were common in your household."
I started to shake my head.
"But we have a different view of that here. There's a time and a place for imbibing and young girls should never do it on their own. Next thing you know, one of your boyfriends gets drunk and everyone gets into the car with him and . . . I just don't like to think what could happen."
"Or what young girls can be talked into doing after they've consumed alcohol," Daphne added. "Don't forget that aspect," she advised my father. He nodded obediently.
"Your mother is right, girls. It's just not a good idea. Now, I'm willing to forgive everyone, put this bad incident aside, as long as I have your solemn promise, both of your solemn promises, that nothing like this will occur again."
"I promise," Gisselle said quickly. "I didn't want to do it anyway. I had a terrible headache this morning. Some people are used to drinking a lot of alcohol and some are not," she added, throwing a glance at me.
"That's very true," Daphne said, glaring at me. I looked away so that no one would see how much I was fuming inside. The heat that built itself up in my chest felt as if it could burn a hole through me.
"Ruby?" my father asked. I swallowed hard to keep my tears from choking me and forced out the words.
"I promise," I said.
"That's good. Now then," he began, but before he could continue, we heard the door chimes. He looked at his watch. "I expect that is Ruby's art instructor," he said.
"Under the circumstances," Daphne said, "don't you think you should postpone this?"
"Postpone? Well . ." He looked at me and I looked down quickly. "We can't just turn the man away. He's giving his time, traveled here—"
"You shouldn't have been so impulsive," Daphne said. "Next time, I would like you to discuss it with me before you give the girls anything or do anything for them. After all," she said firmly, "I am their mother."
My father pressed his lips together as if to shut up any words in his mouth and nodded.
"Of course. It won't happen again," he assured her.
"Excuse me, monsieur," Edgar said, coming to the doorway, "but a Professor Ashbury has arrived.
His card," he said, handing the card to my father.
"Show him in, Edgar."
"Very good, monsieur," he said.
"I don't think you need me for this," Daphne said. "I have some phone calls to return. As you predicted, everyone and anyone who knows us wants to hear the story of Ruby's disappearance and arrival. Telling the story repeatedly is proving to be exhausting. We should have it printed and distributed," she added, spun on her heels and marched out of the study.
"I've got to go take a couple of aspirins," Gisselle said, sitting up quickly. "You can tell me about your instructor later, Ruby," she said, smiling at me. I didn't smile back. As she left the study, Edgar brought in Professor Ashbury, so I had no time to tell my father the truth about what had occurred the night before.
"Professor Ashbury, how do you do?" my father said, extending his hand.
Looking like he was in his early fifties, Herbert Ashbury stood about five-feet-nine and wore a gray sports jacket, a light blue shirt, a dark blue tie, and a pair of dark blue jeans. He had a lean face, all of his features sharply cut, his nose angular and a bit long, his mouth thin and smooth like a woman's.
"How do you do, Monsieur Dumas," the professor said in what I thought was a rather soft voice. He extended a long hand with fingers that enveloped my father's hand when they shook. He wore a beautifully hand crafted silver ring set with a turquoise on his pinky.
"Fine, thank you, and thank you for coming and agreeing to consider my daughter. May I present my daughter Ruby," Daddy said proudly, turning toward me.
Because of his narrow cheeks and the way his forehead sloped sharply back into his hairline, Professor Ashbury's eyes appeared larger than they were. Dark brown eyes with specks of gray, they seized onto whatever he was gazing at and held so firmly he looked mesmerized. Right now they fixed so tightly on my face, I couldn't help but be self-conscious.
"Hello," I said quickly.
He combed his long thin fingers through the wild strands of his thin light brown and gray hair, driving the strands off' his forehead, and flashed a smile, his eyes flickering for a moment and then growing serious again.
"Where have you had your art instruction up until now, mademoiselle?" he inquired.
"Just a little in public school," I replied.
"Public school?" he said, turning down the corners of his mouth as if I had said "reform school." He turned to my father for an explanation.
"That's why I thought it would be of great benefit to her at this time to have private instruction from a reputable and highly respected teacher," my father said.
"I don't understand, monsieur. I was told your daughter has had some of her works accepted by one of our art galleries. I just assumed . . ."