feet in time to the rhythm. “A dance, mademoiselle, in honor of Mardi Gras.”
Laurel now recalled Tony’s mentioning something about a surprise, but she was caught off guard when the woman, who identified herself only as Lulubelle, ordered up a bath for Laurel. Laurel glanced hesitantly at the skimpy-appearing garments that the woman laid on the bed. Her parents had gone to a number of elaborate carnival balls, and she could recall the beautiful gowns her mother had worn, the feeling of heady excitement that had pervaded the house as her parents came down the stairs in their formal regalia, and how awestruck she had been. But she had never attended any dances, and certainly not in costume. In fact, if Lavinia hadn’t arrived with trouble in tow and if Uncle Arthur hadn’t become ill, Laurel knew that she would have been on the arm of Philbert Anderson this very night at an elegant but stuffy affair.
The thought of Philbert with his long, thin fingers resembling the legs of a crab caused her to giggle. If she had to choose between Tony and Philbert as escorts, she would choose Tony any day.
When Laurel had finished her bath and was attired in her costume, she looked at herself in the cheval glass and wasn’t certain she should be seen in public. The costume was fashioned in the gypsy style, and Laurel thought she resembled a woman of loose morals. The skirt fell to just above her ankles in a swirl of lavender-and-gold-printed silk, the hem edged with golden beads, and a split up the side revealed a shapely thigh. Her breasts, usually well concealed, now strained against the thin, cream-colored peasant top and swelled high above the white lace edging of the low neckline. She had never worn such an outfit before and felt indecent.
Lulubelle didn’t catch the shocked look on Laurel’s face as she made clucking sounds of approval and clapped her hands in delight. She then brushed Laurel’s waist-length hair and pulled up the right side and fastened it with a pink rose. Next she clipped large golden loops to Laurel’s ears.
“Magnifique!” Lulubelle exclaimed and stood back to view her handiwork. “Monsieur Duvalier will be so pleased.”
“Are you certain he chose this outfit for me?”
“Oui, mademoiselle. That Tony has an eye for pretty ladies, and you are the prettiest of them all.”
“Monsieur Duvalier has a great many lady friends?” Laurel asked, turning from the mirror.
“Of course. He is a Duvalier, and like his father and grandfather, he is the heartbreaker.” Lulubelle smiled impishly. “I was Tony’s nurse, and I can tell you that he was a scamp even as a child and twisted poor Lulubelle around his finger.”
Laurel wasn’t certain why this news about Tony’s love for the ladies distressed her. She wondered why he had picked such a daring costume for her.
“I can’t wear this,” Laurel told the woman. “It isn’t decent.”
“Pooh, mademoiselle! A lady is a lady, no matter her clothes. A whore will always be a whore even dressed in the finest silks. I have a feeling that you are hesitant about enjoying life. Am I not right?”
Laurel nodded, fastening her eye on her reflection again.
“Then it is time you lived a bit. Here. Wear this and no one shall recognize you.” Lulubelle took a small black mask from a bag that rested on her ample hip. She turned Laurel to her and positioned it on Laurel’s face, then tied the strings at the back of Laurel’s head. “Voilà, look in the mirror again.”
Laurel swung around to see her reflection. The woman in the mirror couldn’t be herself. She appeared so mysterious, so unlike the proper young woman she really was. Seeing herself like this caused a tiny, half-wicked smile to form on Laurel’s mouth. The feeling that had originally possessed her to accompany Lavinia to Texas rose once again within her. A recklessness filled her, a strange wild yearning to taste life, to cast aside propriety. Dare she risk living for the
Laurel now recalled Tony’s mentioning something about a surprise, but she was caught off guard when the woman, who identified herself only as Lulubelle, ordered up a bath for Laurel. Laurel glanced hesitantly at the skimpy-appearing garments that the woman laid on the bed. Her parents had gone to a number of elaborate carnival balls, and she could recall the beautiful gowns her mother had worn, the feeling of heady excitement that had pervaded the house as her parents came down the stairs in their formal regalia, and how awestruck she had been. But she had never attended any dances, and certainly not in costume. In fact, if Lavinia hadn’t arrived with trouble in tow and if Uncle Arthur hadn’t become ill, Laurel knew that she would have been on the arm of Philbert Anderson this very night at an elegant but stuffy affair.
The thought of Philbert with his long, thin fingers resembling the legs of a crab caused her to giggle. If she had to choose between Tony and Philbert as escorts, she would choose Tony any day.
When Laurel had finished her bath and was attired in her costume, she looked at herself in the cheval glass and wasn’t certain she should be seen in public. The costume was fashioned in the gypsy style, and Laurel thought she resembled a woman of loose morals. The skirt fell to just above her ankles in a swirl of lavender-and-gold-printed silk, the hem edged with golden beads, and a split up the side revealed a shapely thigh. Her breasts, usually well concealed, now strained against the thin, cream-colored peasant top and swelled high above the white lace edging of the low neckline. She had never worn such an outfit before and felt indecent.
Lulubelle didn’t catch the shocked look on Laurel’s face as she made clucking sounds of approval and clapped her hands in delight. She then brushed Laurel’s waist-length hair and pulled up the right side and fastened it with a pink rose. Next she clipped large golden loops to Laurel’s ears.
“Magnifique!” Lulubelle exclaimed and stood back to view her handiwork. “Monsieur Duvalier will be so pleased.”
“Are you certain he chose this outfit for me?”
“Oui, mademoiselle. That Tony has an eye for pretty ladies, and you are the prettiest of them all.”
“Monsieur Duvalier has a great many lady friends?” Laurel asked, turning from the mirror.
“Of course. He is a Duvalier, and like his father and grandfather, he is the heartbreaker.” Lulubelle smiled impishly. “I was Tony’s nurse, and I can tell you that he was a scamp even as a child and twisted poor Lulubelle around his finger.”
Laurel wasn’t certain why this news about Tony’s love for the ladies distressed her. She wondered why he had picked such a daring costume for her.
“I can’t wear this,” Laurel told the woman. “It isn’t decent.”
“Pooh, mademoiselle! A lady is a lady, no matter her clothes. A whore will always be a whore even dressed in the finest silks. I have a feeling that you are hesitant about enjoying life. Am I not right?”
Laurel nodded, fastening her eye on her reflection again.
“Then it is time you lived a bit. Here. Wear this and no one shall recognize you.” Lulubelle took a small black mask from a bag that rested on her ample hip. She turned Laurel to her and positioned it on Laurel’s face, then tied the strings at the back of Laurel’s head. “Voilà, look in the mirror again.”
Laurel swung around to see her reflection. The woman in the mirror couldn’t be herself. She appeared so mysterious, so unlike the proper young woman she really was. Seeing herself like this caused a tiny, half-wicked smile to form on Laurel’s mouth. The feeling that had originally possessed her to accompany Lavinia to Texas rose once again within her. A recklessness filled her, a strange wild yearning to taste life, to cast aside propriety. Dare she risk living for the
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