Roses, Burgandy and Lust in Storyville

Storyville, Louisiana, was known for who lived there and who visited. It was mostly townhomes with lovely interior gardens. The homes were as beautiful as some in the French Quarter.

Francine twirled in front of the oval full length mirror, admiring herself. She had her French Papa's striking blue eyes. Her long shiny hair was black but not kinky, laying in soft curls down her back. Even her light coffee cream skin, which whispered her heritage to the knowing, was unblemished. Her facial features were a perfect small perky nose, sun-kissed cheeks and a sensual mouth with lovely lips. Her eyelashes and brows were black and well shaped.

She had perfected the look that only some women have. Half smile and a pouty mouth was one that cries out for a strong male's protection. Her red satin gown had a low neckline showing the lovely half moons of her full breasts. It had been custom made in Paris. Her Papa, Philippe, had wonderful taste. The lace edging on the gown was all hand made with seeded pearls.

Even his "white" daughters didn't wear anything this beautiful. Of course, they could not wear red; the color of red roses, burgundy wine, and lust. They weren't allowed to wear anything this low cut either.

It didn't really matter though, the song played the same no matter how it was sung. These daughters were "sold" to the most promising gentleman, whether they were white or any shade of dark, octoroon or quadroon. They were a reflection of their Father's wealth and station in life.

Her Mama placed the garnet and diamond necklace around her slim proud neck.

Kissing the nape softly she whisered, "You are beautiful, my babe, any man would be a fool not to desire you".

Mama was giving her last minute instructions about proper behavior at her first Quadroon Ball. She wasn't listening; she had heard this all her life.

Her behavior was a reflection on her mother. Philippe would be very angry at Mama if Francine's manners were less than perfect.

Although you would never know, Francine was nervous as a cat. Mama had taught her all the tricks to make a man happy, but she wasn't sure she was ready to entertain the spoiled young white men of New Orleans. The thought of the wrong man pawing her was repulsive.

This would be her entrance to their society, an elite privilege for a woman of color. She was an octoroon, with only an eighth of black in her blood.

Almost white, she was probably the closest of any young woman at the ball. She had gone to school, and lived in a nice home in Storyville with books and music, thanks to her Papa.

Philippe, of course, had his white family. Francine had seen them in the marketplace. She thought she was prettier than his white daughters.

Her own Mama was a beautiful intelligent woman, coffee cream in color with her own French heritage and education.

Of course, Papa's white daughters had been to Europe and given everything. They would inherit the land and lovely plantation home when Papa died and they married.

There was no son. This was a very sore subject with her father. That fact brought him to her mother, Celina, many nights. Celina had his son but he lived only two years, in spite of the best physicians.

Papa had just left their apartment. He wouldn't be at the ball but wanted to see her.
He had smiled and nodded his head in proud approval but didn't touch her. He wasn't an emotional man.

She knew her future, always caught in the middle of two worlds, never quite belonging to one or the other. It was her fate, she sighed. A white man would select her, probably with a white family already. She would be considered lucky if he was kind and wealthy

Hopefully he would put her up in a nice apartment with a generous allowance. She would not be able to see other men. He would keep her for his sexual pleasure and possibly, even become her friend and confidant.

If children should come along, he would see to their needs, but not acknowledge them as his issue. In certain circles, it would be known but not openly.

After the lovely ball was over, her feet ached. Soaking them, she thought of dancing with many handsome men who paid her compliments. There were also some that resembled toads, she laughed. She was not allowed to turn a man away and being pretty, there were many men interested.

She had looked around and noticed the other people there. She was as white as any man present. She had often thought about her scheme, but feared the consequences to her Mama if it didn't work.

But now, it was starring her in the face. If she believed and was smart enough, she could change her life.

In a few weeks, after careful secret preparation, and nerves of lace wrought iron, Francine Dubois would pass. She would be known as Melanie Wright, a lovely educated white woman in the North.