Till We Meet Again (15 page)

After a morning of Charles playing tour guide by going to the New Orleans Jazz collection in the Louisiana State Museum, we ended up along the Mississippi River. There were several riverboats with paddle wheels just off the shore. They looked like riverboats from back in the 1800s. I could picture the cast of the play “Showboat” on the decks. There were tourists standing on line to get on each of the boats for a tour. But there was one boat that had no line. And yet it stood out among the rest. The name on the boat was, “The Creole Sun.” It looked freshly painted and the wood freshly polished. It gleamed in the sun.

Charles and I walked up the plank of the boat where a man seemed to be waiting.

     “May I help you?” said the ruddy-faced man sarcastically.

     “Yes, I’m Charles Dupree. I called about seeing the boat.”

Suddenly changing his attitude, “Oh yes, Mr. Dupree. Welcome. I’m Captain Boyette.”

Charles gave him a stiff nod. “Are you ready for us?”

     “Yes, sir. Right this way.”

As we followed the captain around the top deck of the boat I noticed the mahogany railings polished to perfection. He gave us a tour of the ship describing each room and giving us a brief history of the riverboat.

     “The Creole Sun,” the captain said, “was a luxury floating casino that only catered to the gentleman of the finest families in the area.”

Hmmm just as I thought, I said to myself.

     “Because gambling was illegal in the towns back then, the ship would dock off shore and have their ‘clientele’ brought out in a dinghy for a night of gambling and fun.”

The tour took us completely around the ship where we ended up in a small dining room. There with floor to ceiling mahogany walls was a dining room table set for two positioned against the window for a beautiful view of the river.

     “I thought we’d have a casual lunch here,” Charles said with a smile.

     “That is a great idea,” I smiled back.

He held my seat out for me to sit as I realized the boat was now moving.

     “Oh we’re taking the boat out?”

     “Hope you don’t mind,” Charles said with a wink.

I leaned over and kissed him. “Never,” I said.

The young waiter took our drink orders. Being that Charles had preordered our lunch the waiter let me know what we would be having today.

     “To start we will be serving you a Mache salad with Creole vinaigrette. Your main entrée will be Andouille sausage and shrimp with Creole mustard sauce. And for dessert, we will serve bananas Foster. It’s caramelized bananas served over vanilla ice cream.”

     “Oh boy that sounds delicious,” I exclaimed.             

     “Believe me it is,” Charles smiled.

We watched the Mississippi River go by as we drank our wine and began eating our lunch.

     “I decided to have lunch here because I wanted to give you a bit of history on this boat,” Charles said.

Curious I said, “But the Captain already did that.” 

     “Yes, but not the complete history.”

Even more curious I sat my fork down. “Ok.” I said noticing that Charles was fidgeting.

     “Remember I said to you once that my great grandfather and his brothers made money in a way that no one in the family speaks about?”

     “Yes,” I said remembering the conversation with him and me in his parents’ parlor.

     “Well, between my grandmother and Miss Sophie I learned why. And this is it,” Charles said throwing his arms open to include all that we could see and more.

     “What?” I said. “Are you saying that the Dupree family ran a gambling boat?” Surprised but recovering quickly. “Ok no big deal.” I said picking up my fork and taking a bite.

     “I’m saying that and more.”

I put my fork back down, “What do you mean?” I asked.

     “I’m saying my family ran this gambling boat as well as the brothel in it,” Charles said looking me straight in the face.

All I could do was stare at Charles.

     “Yup, that’s right.” With an edge to his voice he continued, “When my grandfather bought the picture of my grandmother and stole her away from the artist, it was because he wanted her for himself. Not to marry her but to have and own her. He was young and was not ready to marry yet. He thought he’d keep her as his mistress. My grandmother thinking that he was in love with her and was going to marry her went along willingly.”

I was in shock. I couldn’t say a word.

Charles continued, “When my grandfather bought her to his home his brothers wanted her too. One brother wanted her for himself and the other for the business. Being part French, Native American, and a quarter black themselves, the brother thought they could get a lot of money for an innocent dancing Mullato girl. My grandfather refused but being the youngest brother he really had no say in the matter. His brothers kept pressuring him. But my grandfather continued to refuse. His brothers wanted to fight him for her. It got really bad between them. Afraid that it would end in violence my great-grandfather finally called for my grandfather and my grandmother. In front of her, my great grandfather told my grandfather to either marry her or turn her out. Realizing the truth of the matter my grandmother was devastated because she thought they loved each other. She planned to run away that very night as soon as everyone went to bed. But runaway to where she had no idea. She couldn’t go back to the artist after leaving him like that. And neither side of her family wanted a Mullato girl in their midst. She told herself she’d just keep running till she couldn’t run anymore.

But before she could run, that very evening my grandfather realized that he actually did love her and didn’t want to share her with anyone else so he married her and decided to leave the family business. That is when he went to school to become a doctor. He refused to let my grandmother dance anymore even in private for fear someone would see her and be enticed by her as he was.”

In absolute shock I no longer had any taste for the food sitting in front of me. All I could do was think of that young innocent girl in the portrait. All she wanted to do was dance. And after the fear of possibly being turned into a prostitute was over, she had no choice but to give up dance and be a doctor’s wife. No choices at all.

Staring into Charles’ eyes he raised his glass and said with a sneer, “That’s the Dupree pedigree.” And chugged down his drink. Something I’ve never seen him do before.

I held his hand and we sat in silence for a moment or two.

Not wanting to discuss it any further Charles asked what the plan was for the afternoon. I had one more surprise up my sleeve but given our conversation I wasn’t sure if I should go through with it. And then thinking that maybe it could help heal I decided to continue with my plan.

Still in the French Quarter we took a horse drawn carriage (because I love them) to a house on the outskirts of the French Quarter. The upper levels of the house had recently been turned into a condo. But the bottom floor remained the same. Feeling a bit like a southern belle I waited while Charles climbed out of the carriage and then reached up to help me out.

As I landed on my feet he said, “What’s this…where are we?” Charles smiled.

We stood outside the light pink house set up on a hill. The outside of the house looked freshly painted. The landscaping was immaculate.

     “Well,” I began, “Through a local historian I was able to locate the dance studio where your grandmother’s portrait was done. I held my breath waiting for Charles’ reaction.

With no emotion he said, “OK.”

I explained to him that the second and third floors were condos now but the 1
st
floor was still a dance studio, it was being used by a local retired dancer who ran a dance studio for young girls.

We walked up the porch stairs and inside the house. The hallway of the house was freshly painted but that’s where the paint ended. When we walked through the door of the studio the first thing that hit us was the musky damp smell and the sight of the dull, dirty, paint chipping walls. Charles looked at me. It looked like the studio hadn’t seen a fresh coat of paint since before Charles’ grandmothers’ painting was created.

Then we saw five beautiful little girls ranging from about ages 8 to 12 years old of various ethnic groups standing on their toes. They concentrated on each movement as Chopin played through the old crackling sounding speakers. Dressed in old warn leotards they watched their movements in the mirror as their teacher gave them instructions. The same mirror where Jacqueline LeClair watched every move she made. In their reflections I could already see the beginning signs of falling in love with the art of dance.

Charles squeezed my hand as the girls twirled, stumbled and twirled again. I think he felt it too. There was a look of determination on each of their young faces. The oldest girl standing closes to the window looked up at us through the mirror. Through the mirror I could see the weeping willow in the meadow from Jacqueline’s painting. The same tree where I imagined young Jacqueline having picnics with her artist lover before the world was turned upside down for them. Looking into this girl’s eyes through the mirror I caught my breath. She looked just like Jacqueline or how I would picture her at that age. But unlike Jacqueline’s portrait there was a sense of sadness in her eyes as well as a hardness about her.

At that point the instructor saw us in the mirror and turned to look at us. She looked to be in her early 60s with her cocoa brown smooth skin and dancer’s body. As she walked toward us I noticed a slight limp. “Hello,” she said with a French accent, “May I help you?”

Seeing the emotion in Charles eyes I spoke for him. “Hello, we’re sorry to disturb you. My name is Simone and this is Charles.”

Charles nodded at the instructor.

     “We didn’t mean to interrupt your lesson but Charles’ late grandmother use to dance here as a young girl. We were in town for the weekend and we wanted to take a look.”

Looking at Charles she seemed to understand his emotions and his silence. “I see,” she said looking at her watch. “Well the lesson is just about over.” Addressing the girls, “OK ladies, your rides will be here at any moment. Please get ready to go. And remember to practice your plies as much as possible. Remember I will know if you have not been practicing.”

Addressing Charles and I with one eye on the girls, “I am Madame Gabrielle Gano.”

     “Very nice to meet you,” I said.

Finally seeming to find his voice Charles began to speak as he walked around the studio. “How long have you been teaching here?”

     “Almost ten years,” she answered.

     “Do you own the school?” he asked

     “Yes, I do,” she answered again.

     “How many students do you have?” he asked again.

     “About 20,” she answered him but looking at me with a confused look.

     “Are your classes usually this small?” he said pointing to the girls.

     “I tried to keep it small in order to give them undivided attention,” she said as the last girl in the group left with her ride.

     “Do you rent this studio?” Charles asked.

     “Yes. May I ask what this is about,” she seemed to be getting annoyed.

I have to admit I was confused to. Why was he interrogating her this way? She had every right to kick us out. She had no idea who these Yankees were.

     “Does your landlord not paint this studio,” Charles said asking a rhetorical question while ignoring Madame Gano’s question.

     “He has no intention of cleaning this place up. He wants us out of here.”

Charles quickly turned his head to the instructor. “What do you mean he wants you out?”

     “I give dancing instructions to underprivileged girls basically free of charge. Everything I put in this school is with my own money. And since I have been retired from dance for many years I have to be careful with every dime. So I am how you say…frugal.”

She turned off the music. “The original owner of this house, the father of the current landlord, liked what I was doing for these girls so he gave me a 10 year lease. In the 10 years they could not raise the rent for the school for more than $25 each year. The original landlord never raised the rent but he died about two years ago and left the house to his greedy son who does nothing but turn these beautiful homes into condos.” Madame Gano sighed.  “My 10 years are up in a couple of months. He has informed me that the rent will be doubled. Doubled! The bastard,” she said under her breath.

     “Madame Gano do you like what you do here?” Charles said standing directly in front of her.

     “I love what I do and I love my girls,” she said with her chin up and the same look of determination I saw in the girls. 

     “Is this something you want to do for a long time to come?” Charles asked again.

     “With my very last breath,” she answered.

     “Good,” Charles said nodding his head.

     “But that stupid landlord is doubling the rent because he knows we can’t afford it. He wants to turn the studio into a condo like the ones upstairs. We will have to find a place to move to but the girls and I just love this place,” Madame Gano looked longingly out the window. “I love the light from the windows and the weeping willow.” Shaking her head. “I will miss it.”