Page 27 of Frankly, My Dear

“I come once a year.”

“A year!”

“Men are insufferable,” Selene commented to Reba Cameron later that afternoon as they walked through the French Market gathering supplies from the list James had given the overseer’s wife.

The pale woman’s superfine strawberry-blonde hair hung lankly under her bonnet, onto her flat chest and down to her protruding shoulder blades. It had been obvious to Selene almost from the first moment they’d met that the overseer’s wife was chronically shy. Self-consciously, she kept her eyes lowered and never looked at a person directly, even when talking.

“Men are wh…what?” Reba asked, her wide periwinkle eyes blinking nervously. Reba’s lashes were so pale, they appeared almost nonexistent. Her ankle-length gown of blue-and brown-striped cambric hung pathetically loose on her slim frame, despite the three or four crinolines she must be wearing. Selene had to stop herself from gawking at the woman’s incredible lack of color sense—not just the dull brown and blues of her high-necked and tight-wristed dress, but the ridiculous apricot-colored gloves and frivolous straw bonnet she wore with a profusion of pink ribbons and white veiling. Gawd! It was enough to give a person color blindness.

Selene thought idly that she could do wonders with this young woman with a little makeup, a layered cut to give her hair thickness, a curling iron, and, of course, a color chart. Geez! What was she thinking? Just a short time ago she’d been bemoaning her society’s overemphasis on beauty, and the first thing she noticed about a woman in another time was her lack of it.

“Men,” Selene repeated, calling herself back to Reba’s question. “I was saying that men are real jerks. James keeps harping away about my being too skinny, or too tall, or sharp-tongued, or whatever fault he’s thinking about at the moment. And I heard what your husband said to you.” In a deep voice, she mimicked, “‘Must you always be stuttering about, lassie? And for God’s sake, stand straighter, Reba love.’”

“Fergus is trying to help me,” Reba asserted with the first show of life Selene had seen in the drab woman. “He knows how timid I am, and he’s trying to help me overcome my shortcomings. Sometimes he sounds sharp-tongued, but he’s a good man, and…” Her words trailed off as she realized how strongly she’d been defending her husband.

Selene almost retorted that women of all times had an obligation to fight gender oppression, even when it came from their spouses. But James had warned Selene about discussing her modern notions with anyone, including Fergus and his wife, Reba. They thought Selene had come to New Orleans from some Caribbean island, and Selene had to continually watch every word she uttered for fear of betraying her knowledge of the future.

“I apologize if I misjudged Fergus. I tend to forget that all men aren’t the same. Hey, who am I to criticize? I’ve been tolerating put-downs from Devon for years.”

“Devon?” Reba asked, her curiosity overcoming her innate shyness.

“My ex-lover. We lived together for three years…until recently.”

Reba merely gawked, tongue-tied with surprise.

“Oh, Devon was a master at undermining my self-confidence.” Selene frowned in remembrance. His words still rang in her ears. “‘Selene, aren’t you putting on a little too much weight?’” she parroted his cruel, masculine voice, uncaring of the way Reba looked askance at her. “‘Don’t you think you should have hired a decorator? Don’t just lie there under me like a loaf of bread; do something, for chrissake. No wonder your father left before you were born. No wonder your mother always said you could do nothing right. You’re worthless, Selene, worthless.’”

Reba’s mouth dropped open in fascination. “Ex-lover?” Her attention focused on that one irrelevant detail. “You were a mistress? Oh, my goodness! I don’t think I’ve ever met a real fallen woman before, except for the slaves, of course. Do you think—” She slapped a hand over her mouth in horror at what she’d been about to ask.

Selene smiled. After cartwheeling through time, being mistaken for a black woman, being verbally assaulted by an arrogant Southern “gentleman,” then kissed till her toes melted, she didn’t think anything could shock her now. “Go ahead, honey, ask.”

Reba wrung her hands nervously, still having trouble looking her directly in the eye. She fought to get the words out. “Well, seeing as how you’ve had all this, ah, experience, well, I, oh, tarnation, how can I say this…well, I was wondering if you could tell me…things.” Blinking nervously, Reba’s lashless eyes looked everywhere—everywhere but at Selene.

“Things?”

Reba’s already flushed face turned scarlet, but she raised her chin with determination. These “things” were apparently more important to her than her painful reticence. “About what a husband and wife do together,” she whispered, mortified. “You know, man-woman things.”

“Man-woman things?” Selene choked out. Oh, this was rich. Sandra Selente, the “sexless mannequin of the bedroom,” as Devon had once referred to her, being asked for lovemaking advice.

“Yes, you see, I married Fergus five years ago when I was only fourteen, and—”

“Fourteen? You got married when you were fourteen?”

Reba looked puzzled at Selene’s astonishment. “Yes. My parents died on the ocean crossing. Fergus was a passenger on the same ship. He had been a sugar maker in Santo Domingo with Mister James, but he’d gone home to Scotland for his mother’s funeral. And, oh, he was ever so handsome.” Reba’s face glowed with the obvious love she had for her husband, and she looked almost pretty then. Yes, Selene decided inwardly, the girl had possibilities. She would definitely have to help her with a makeover.

Reba had continued to talk while Selene’s mind wandered. “…and, even though he never says anything, I just know I’m not very exciting. I wish I could please him more. I really do. Can you help me?”

“Reba, I’m the wrong person to ask about sexual tricks. Take my word for it. But I can help you look prettier. Maybe if you had more self-confidence, you wouldn’t have any inhibitions in bed. That might help.” Oh, Lord, Devon would burst a blood vessel laughing at her playing the role of sex counselor.

“Me? You could make me pretty?” Reba asked in an awestruck voice.

“Sure. Also, I did read a book recently…oh, never mind.”

“What?”

Selene clammed up, realizing too late that she really, really, shouldn’t be offering advice to this woman from the past.

“What?” Reba insisted. “Please tell me.”