House of Rougeaux(32)
At supper Martine tells them they are expecting some special visitors afterward. Rosalie supposes there will be some more relatives, maybe from Auntie Didi’s late husband’s side, or maybe elders from their church. Martine goes to answer when the bell rings. Rosalie and Junior are helping to clear the table, while Didi is at the sink and Virginia makes coffee. But it isn’t any church elder who enters the room following Martine, as Rosalie is startled to see. It’s two girls in stylish dresses and a tall boy in a suit with a skinny tie. More relatives, yes, on that point she was right. Estelle and Berdine are Marc-Pierre’s daughters, Martine’s granddaughters, and Jean-Louis, who reminds Rosalie of Nelie’s husband Cal, is a cousin on their mother’s side. “We thought you young people might like to go out for the evening,” says Martine with a knowing smile.
Virginia glances anxiously at Rosalie, but Junior, who has perked up considerably, says, “I’ll look after her for you, Momma.” And Didi adds that these are good children, Very good children.
The new cousins say a respectful goodnight to their elders and whisk Rosalie and Junior down the stairs, and out into the night. Berdine clutches Rosalie’s arm. She’s an inch or two shorter, but she’s twenty-one and miles more sophisticated. “We’re going to show you the real Montreal,” she says, and the three of them break into sparkling laughter.
“Here’s our taxi,” says Jean-Louis at the curb, opening the doors of Marc-Pierre’s blue and white Edsel. “Girls in the back!” He shoves Junior into the front seat and jumps behind the wheel.
“Café Villenueve, first,” says Estelle. “It’s still early.”
“Our cousins are American,” cries Berdine. “We’ve got to start them off slowly.” Which causes everyone to giggle and guffaw all over again. Jean-Louis flips the car into gear and pulls away more than a little too fast. If this is slowly, thinks Rosalie, squeezed between Berdine and Estelle, I can’t wait to see what’s next!
* * *
The place is alive with soft jazz and conversation, tinkling glasses, cigarette smoke, and all the glamour of a Harlem nightclub. Rosalie notices, as she will the whole night, faces of many colors mixed in together. Even the band, with its beautiful lead singer, has a white drummer. Berdine leads the way to a table where they’ll sit and get acquainted.
A waiter with a little round tray approaches the table, and the cousins order drinks in French. When the waiter looks to him, Junior, who has never ordered a drink in his life, clears his throat and says, Bond style, “A martini, shaken not stirred.” He winks at Rosalie, who smiles and then blushes, suddenly aware of five pairs of eyes intently upon her.
“Coca-Cola, s’il vous plait,” she squeaks and everyone bursts out laughing again. Jean-Louis and Junior are soon engaged in a conversation about automobiles. Estelle and Berdine want to know everything about life in Philadelphia, though they turn out to be extremely well-informed. Friends of theirs pass by to say hello, whom they greet easily in English or French, always introducing Rosalie and Lionel, their American cousins. The band plays a captivating version in French of that popular new song, “The Girl from Ipanema.”
Before long they’re off in the Edsel to another club, a bigger one, close enough to the first place that it hardly seems worth it to drive. This is the place for dancing. The hour grows later and the crowd denser. The music swirls around them, intoxicating. A young man asks Estelle to dance and they take the floor, followed by Berdine with Junior and Jean-Louis with Rosalie. The young man Estelle is dancing with leans over to say something close to her ear. Estelle smiles and shakes her head. He says something else and she laughs. Rosalie wouldn’t mind if Jean-Louis paid her that kind of attention, or if somebody else nice did, but that familiar pang of disappointment is soon washed away by the thrill of the music.
“Look at Little Sister!” shouts Estelle, noticing Rosalie’s moves. Berdine claps and Jean-Louis shouts out “Ouais!” Rosalie feels as though she could go on dancing forever. If only tomorrow didn’t ever have to come.
Somewhere around midnight they hit another venue, the smaller downstairs of Rockhead’s Paradise, where the music is decidedly Bluesier, and later still, finally end up at a diner, where they order ham sandwiches, famished from all that dancing.
At last, they pull back up to the curb in front of the Aunties’ home. Jean-Louis turns off the motor and no one speaks for a minute.
“Little Sister,” says Estelle, “you need to save your money and come back next summer.” Rosalie thinks that is a marvelous idea. Maybe she and Loretta could come. Maybe even drive up with her beau. Charlie likes to drive and would do anything Loretta asked him to.
“What are you doing next weekend?” Jean-Louis says to Junior.
“No plans,” he says. He has never had fewer plans.
“Alright,” says Berdine. “We’ll take care of that, don’t you worry.”
* * *
Too soon it’s morning, time to get ready, time to go.
Rosalie opens her eyes after just a few hours of sleep. The colors of dawn steal in through the lace curtains. Turning over she sees the other bed empty, the blankets folded and the stripped sheets in a little bundle next to them.
She tiptoes past the parlor where Junior is still fast asleep and over to the kitchen where she hesitates on the threshold. Momma and Auntie Martine are there at the table, warming their hands around their coffee cups and speaking in low voices. For all Rosalie knows they have been up most of the night as well.