Paula Morris (26 page)

Aurelia had also whispered that Aunt Claudia always took a plastic
cup with her, half filled with bourbon and Coke. It was legal to drink in the
streets in New Orleans, Rebecca knew, as long as people drank from a plastic
cup or

225

a can rather than a bottle. But the thought of her aunt guzzling
bourbon in the street seemed both bizarre and hilarious. It was another reason
to look forward to her first Mardi Gras.

"Are you going to the parades this weekend?"

Rebecca was so unused to anyone talking to her, she ignored the
question at first.

"Rebecca?"

It was Marianne Sutton, standing right behind her in the line,
smiling wanly.

"Oh! Sorry. Yes," Rebecca burbled. "I didn't
realize you were ... talking to me."

"It'll be kind of cold," said Marianne, with a little
sigh. "Though you're probably used to the cold, being from New York and
all."

"Yup." Rebecca grinned. Their exchange was, again,
almost civil. In fact, it
was
civil. Just as Jessica was much nicer
without Amy around, Marianne seemed to be sort of human without Helena's
influence.

"I'm not used to anything real cold," Marianne was
saying. "In December it snowed that one day. It's only snowed here three
times in my entire life."

"I missed it," Rebecca said, not sure if she should
explain that she'd flown back to New York the day after the Bowmans' party. She
was so out of the habit of just
talking.
It was all lies, secrets, and
accusations these days. Chatting about the weather with Marianne, even if it
was just for a few minutes, made Rebecca feel like a normal person again.

That day after school, Rebecca walked home past the cemetery,
letting her fingers drift along the rough iron bars of

226

the Prytania gate. She hadn't caught even a glimpse of Lisette in
days and days. Possibly she was lying low in the cemetery or hanging around the
Bowman mansion driving Helena out of her wits. Or maybe she was avoiding
Rebecca, for some reason. After all, if Lisette wanted Rebecca to see her, all
she had to do was sidle up to one of the gates. It wasn't as if Rebecca could
break into the cemetery or hang around the Bowmans' front porch.

Rebecca paused for a moment, peering through the bars and into the
quiet cemetery. The breeze blew an unidentifiable piece of litter along the
main avenue, and the trees rustled, papery and agitated, as the wind picked up.
Rain was coming: Rebecca could almost smell it in the air. She'd learned this
trick here in New Orleans, learned to interpret the strange colors of the sky.

"Rebecca?"

She turned her head sharply, guiltily dropping her hands from the
bars, though she'd been doing nothing wrong-- not chatting with a ghost, at
least. Marianne stood a few feet away, swinging her leather schoolbag. Rebecca
couldn't help feeling nervous. The last time she'd been confronted by a member
of the Sutton family outside the cemetery, it hadn't gone very well.

But Marianne was smiling again. That was the hardest thing to get
used to, Rebecca thought. Apart from acting like a decent person to Marianne
that day in the library, Rebecca hadn't done anything to deserve all this
friendliness, any more than she'd done anything to deserve the hostility of
last semester. She was the same old Rebecca. It was Marianne who'd changed.

227

"I think it's going to rain," said Rebecca, hoping that
Marianne wouldn't ask her why she was staring into the closed cemetery.
"It's pretty windy already."

"I guess." Marianne shrugged. "As long as it
doesn't rain
next
Friday night, I don't mind."

Rebecca smiled at her but said nothing. There was only so much
weather she could discuss.

"You
will
be here, won't you?" Marianne
continued. Her blue eyes widened. "For the Septimus parade?"

"Oh, sure," said Rebecca. She was kind of looking
forward to it, despite herself. Jessica had told her that the costumes were
amazing, and that the special throws were as sought-after as the hand-decorated
shoes bestowed by the Muses krewe, or the famous Zulu painted coconuts. None of
this meant much to Rebecca yet, but she got the general idea: You could catch
good stuff at Septimus.

"Great!" Marianne beamed at her. "Because I had
this idea and ... and I don't know what you think about it, and I know it's not
much notice, but ..."

Rebecca followed Marianne's gaze. She was looking over at the
Bowman mansion on the other side of the street. There was no sign of Helena in
the window today, Rebecca was relieved to see.

"What?" she prompted. The oak trees shook in a sudden
burst of breeze, and the noise seemed to break the spell; Marianne snapped back
to attention.

"My mother and I were talking, and I was telling her how
you're a really similar height to Helena."

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. Where was Marianne going with this?

228

"And usually, it's a superbig deal to be picked as a maid,
because you get to go to all these parties and the queen's luncheon, and things
that have already happened. So it's not really fair for a girl to just get
asked at the last minute like this, because then she's missed ninety percent of
the honor. But then we thought that may be
you
wouldn't mind, because
you don't really go to the balls or anything, do you?"

"No," Rebecca replied, puzzled, not sure what she was
agreeing to, or disagreeing with. Marianne wasn't making herself very clear.

"That's what I thought." Marianne looked relieved.
"You're just visiting New Orleans and all, right? So it's not as though
you could get this chance again."

"This chance to do what?" Was Marianne really asking her
to be a maid -- to be Helena's stand-in? Marianne went a little pink, swinging
her bag even harder.

"Would you like to ride on the float with me next week? You
just have to stand there and wave and throw beads. There'll be someone to hand
you the beads, because you won't be able to move much -- they have to anchor
our gowns and headdresses, because they're so big and heavy. You'll see. Maybe
you could come over now to take a look? We have our own dressmaker, and she's
been working on the two costumes at our house for, like, months. She's there
right now -- that's why I thought it would be a good time to ..."

Marianne was talking on and on, which was just as well, because
Rebecca didn't know what to say. She and Marianne appeared to be walking along
the street together, back in the direction of Temple Mead. This was the most
bizarre

229

turn of events. She, Rebecca, would be riding in the Septimus
parade. Wearing Helena Bowman's costume. And right now she was walking to the
Suttons' house for some kind of fitting.

"I'm not sure about this," she told Marianne, her heart
thumping. "I've never even been to a parade before. I don't know that I
could do ... whatever it is I have to do."

"Oh, you'll love it," Marianne said, picking up her
pace. "It's going to be so much fun!"

"But I thought you had to belong to Septimus? I mean, that
your father or grandfather or whoever had to be a member. And doesn't it cost
thousands of dollars to get your daughter onto a float like this?"

Some of Amy and Jessica's tutorials had stuck in her brain.

"They can waive the rules." Marianne sounded completely
unconcerned. "And Helena's father has already paid for her costume and
throws and everything. He's hardly going to ask y
ou
to pay him
back."

This sounded a little ruder than maybe Marianne intended, Rebecca
thought, loping along the sidewalk toward the Sutton house on First Street.

"The costumes are just amazing," Marianne was saying.
"My mother's going to be so happy you said yes! I told her I was going to
ask you. We've been totally racking our brains about who could step in."

"Your mother's home now?" Going to the Suttons' house
might mean seeing the vile Toby, and Rebecca didn't want to be under the same
roof as him. But she couldn't say this to Marianne.

230

"My mama and our dressmaker. Toby's at soccer practice."
At this, Rebecca almost wheezed out a sigh of relief. "So we've got the
place to ourselves."

And some place it was, Rebecca thought, climbing the pristine
white front steps. The Suttons' house was as grand as the Bowmans' and more
beautiful in some ways, painted a rich terra-cotta, with black cast-iron
gallery railings as ornate as fine lacework. The garden surrounding the house
was subtropical, like a lush jungle, though it wasn't messy and overgrown like
Aunt Claudia's. And inside the house, with its dark wooden floors, soft rugs,
and dark green walls, Rebecca felt as though she was in some orderly, peaceful
sanctuary, like the Temple Mead library on a much larger scale.

"This must be Rebecca!" A thin, middle-aged woman with
smooth platinum blonde hair -- a much more fake version of Marianne's blonde
mop -- came padding out of another room. She wore slim-fitting velour
sweatpants and a soft-pink sweater, and Rebecca thought she recognized her
vaguely from the Bowmans' Christmas party, though Mrs. Sutton was
interchangeable with any number of the mothers who lined up in their cars
outside Temple Mead or dropped into the Café Lafayette for a skim iced latte.
They had perfect tans, taut faces, big diamond rings, even bigger shoulder
bags, and cars as large as studio apartments in New York.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sutton," Rebecca said, suddenly
a little bashful.

"You just call me Miss Karen," said Marianne's mother,
flashing a giant crocodile smile. However warm she was acting, there was
something chilly about her. The look in her ice blue eyes wasn't truly
friendly, Rebecca decided. She

231

was appraising this new friend of her daughter's, looking her up
and down as though Rebecca were an item on sale in a store.

"Wasn't I right?" Marianne dropped her bag onto one of
the silk-cushioned chairs, but Rebecca was hesitant to follow suit. All of this
furniture looked expensive and breakable, kind of like Miss Karen. "She'll
fit Helena's costume,

I'm sure.

"Well, let's just see about that right away." Miss Karen
gestured toward the stairs, and Marianne bounded up. There was nothing to do
but follow her. "Shirley has everything set up and waiting for you.
Rebecca honey, I hope you're not shy!"

At the top of the stairs, Marianne raced down a long corridor and
disappeared into a room at the back of the house. It overlooked the broad back
garden, though it was some time later when Rebecca even thought to look out at
the view. There was far too much to look at in the room itself. Not furniture,
because there was nothing in there aside from a small writing desk and a couple
of gilt-edged chairs. Not decoration, because it was a fairly plain room, with
butter yellow walls and white moldings, the cream-colored curtains heavy and
tied back with simple cords. And not people, because the only person in there
was the dressmaker, Shirley, who was dressed in unflattering mom jeans and was
busy crawling around on the floor picking up pins.

What was transfixing in this room were the two costumes, standing
upright as though worn by invisible models. Both were dazzling, awash with
sequins and fake jewels, their ball gown--style skirts falling to the floor and
fanning out like

232

glorious flower petals. One of the dresses was a dramatic black
and silver; the other was made up of vivid reds, oranges, and golds. Against
one wall lay vast feathered objects, which at first Rebecca thought might be
giant fans; just as she was wondering how they'd be able to pick them up,
Marianne told her they were headdresses.

"They'll be fixed to stands, honey," Miss Karen said.
"So they don't crush your poor little skull! And show her how the dress
works, Shirley."

Shirley hastily stuck her fistful of pins into the black
pincushion she was wearing like a bracelet and explained that Rebecca would
have to show up that day in leggings and some kind of glittering leotard top.
She wouldn't step into the dress itself until she was on the float: It was
easier to get those over-the-top constructions in place and have the girls
climb in, rather than ask them to negotiate the steps while in costume.

"It's perfectly safe," Miss Karen reassured her.
"You just want to make sure you take one more powder-room break before you
get onto that float. Because once you're in, you're in. And you're not getting
out until someone lifts you out!"

"Which one is mine?" Rebecca whispered. She'd never worn
something so extravagant and ridiculous and extreme before in her life. The
idea of wearing it in public, while traveling on some kind of lurching float,
was both exciting and kind of scary.

"The red one," Marianne said. "The theme for this
year's parade ... Mama, can we tell her?"

"It's top secret," Miss Karen said with a wink.
"Can we

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trust you, Rebecca? You can't say a word to any of your friends at
Temple Mead."