Southern Ruby by Belinda Alexandra

enough but I was worried about the low pay despite the tips I earned. Maman’s physician, Doctor Monfort, was an old family friend who treated her for free, but the medicines he prescribed were expensive. I had to find a better-paid job, but what?
    One morning when there weren’t any customers in the parlour and I was in the kitchen scrubbing down the benches, I heard a familiar voice.
    â€˜Well, of course her husband spends all his time on Bourbon Street looking at the girls. She doesn’t know how to control him.’
    It was a nasty, droning voice that drained you of energy the moment you heard it. A voice like that belonged to a nasty, droning person: Aunt Elva!
    I peered through the round window in the kitchen door and saw her taking a seat at the counter with some other matronly ladies, including Lisette Rombeau. Aunt Elva wiped down the stool with her handkerchief before placing her ‘too good for theordinary world’ derriere on it. I’d never expected to see people Maman knew in the parlour. It wasn’t close to where Aunt Elva and Lisette Rombeau lived in Metairie. What were they doing here?
    â€˜Service, please!’ Aunt Elva called, turning to look at the kitchen door.
    I ducked down, my heart racing. This was a disaster. I was the only waitress scheduled for that morning, and Mr Silvetti was out on an errand. I didn’t even want to imagine the consequences if I went out and served those women. I was proud of myself for doing something to help our situation, but if Maman found out she would be ashamed — and worse, mocked and shunned by the other high-society Creoles. Her weekly ladies’ bridge club was one of the few social pleasures she had left.
    â€˜Service, please!’ Aunt Elva called again. ‘Is anybody even here? What’s taking you so long?’
    I heard the sound of a chair scraping. She was coming to investigate. There was nothing to be done but make a run for it.
    I grabbed my clothes and fled into the storeroom, out the delivery door and into the laneway. It wasn’t until I reached home that I fully realised what a close call it had been. I couldn’t go back to the ice cream parlour. It was too risky. I quickly changed out of my uniform behind a palm in the courtyard and threw it into a garbage can. When I entered the apartment, I heard voices and found Maman entertaining Babette Pélissier, the only friend who still called on her, with tea and cake. And what a cake it was! The icing was butter cream formed into a bouquet of pink and white roses. Mae must have bought it from the exclusive French patisserie across the street. Of course it was all for Babette: Maman wouldn’t be able to touch it because of her diabetes.
    â€˜Babette has the most wonderful news!’ Maman exclaimed, indicating for me to sit down next to her. ‘Georgine is getting married! To Harvey Boiselle!’
    While Babette still called on Maman, I hadn’t heard from her daughter in over a year. Still, it pleased me to think Georgine had stolen one of Eugenie’s beaus. Aunt Elva must be fuming! It was hard to keep the smile from my face despite what had happened at Avery’s. Maman seemed to have forgotten that Aunt Elva had spoken about Harvey Boiselle in relation to her own daughter, otherwise she might have been more circumspect. Maman was forgetful of quite a few things these days. Doctor Monfort said it was the progression of her disease.
    â€˜Your mother has been telling me the most delightful story about the history of the house in Rue Ursulines,’ said Babette, adjusting her fashionable demi-chapeau. ‘I’d forgotten how good she is at relating a story.’
    If there was one talent appreciated above all in New Orleans it was the ability to tell a good story. Why, it was as impolite to tell a story badly as it was to not greet an acquaintance on the street. Visitors said the reason it took so long to get things done in New