The Real Deal

"A killa bitch from hay-ell," Betty said in her Louisianan accent when she had introduced me to one of her admirers in New Orleans in 2007.  This Betty uttered with a beatific smile on her face, as the woman walked from our table.  We were at the 'Mad Hatter's Luncheon', a charity event that no self-respecting Louisianan matron would dare have missed, and Betty held court at Table Number One. 

My Friend, Betty, was the Queen of New Orleans, her father-in-law having been a governor of that lawless state.  She died today.  What can I say about Betty?  We met her at a mutual friend's cottage in 2003 and she was utterly simultaneously charming and disarming.  I fancy myself able to entertain a gathering, but I was not a patch on Betty.  "Are you finished?" she would ask, after I thought I had completely outdone myself with some amusing tale or other.  "Mah turn," she would say before proceeding to knock everyone's socks off.

"Nayancy,  Ah want yoooou and Briiiyin to visit me in Nawlins," she drawled one afternoon.  "Oh, that would be fabulous," I replied, thinking she was just being polite.  That September, when we had returned to Ottawa, the phone rang.  "Nayancy, this is Betty Noe.  When are y'all comin' to Nawlins?"  Oh, she had been serious!?  So we went in March, 2004 and had an absolutely unbelievable visit.  I don't even know where to begin, but I'll try. 

Firstly, she had her chauffeur pick us up at the airport.  Did I mention she was filthy rich?  Then, when we arrived at her home, we were met by the staff and treated to a sumptuous dinner of shrimp "etouffee" and champagne.  Did I mention that along with the chauffeur she had a maid, a cook, a secretary and a gardener?

We decided to take a bus tour of New Orleans.  Guess who's house was on it.  Yep.  Betty's.  Hers was a superb example of an "Anti Bellum" mansion, said the tour guide.  You could not make this up, Betty's house was actually on the tour! 

Next, she took us to the opera, where she and Jimmy had special seats.  I hate the opera, but suffered through it, Betty being so happy to show it all off.  After Sunday Mass the next day, she took us to her golf club, where I ate the best crab cakes ever.  At her parish, Betty forked out about $200,000 to have the organ repaired.  And who's photo was in the foyer?  Brother Andre of Montreal.  Amazing. 

One morning I spotted Betty in her bedroom, talking into a drawer.  "What the h-ll are you doing, Betty?" I asked.  "I'm trying to talk to Jimmy.  Maybe this time he'll listen to me," she replied.  Can you imagine that??!!  She was talking into his hearing aids which he had left in the drawer!

Another day she talked about her jewellery.  "I'll take anything you are throwing out," I laughed.  "Well, come with me," said Betty.  At that, she opened a drawer and pulled out about 10 ring boxes.  Diamonds, emeralds, saphires, rubies......you name it.  We had the pick of the batch.  I chose a sapphire and diamond dinner ring.  Who does that??!!  Betty, that's who. 

Betty had no idea of money.  She didn't realize she was so rich.  Her late father-in-law had discovered oil on his vast land holdings, but instead of selling the land, he leased it.  That meant that many cheques arrived in the post every day and were stacked on the hall table.  "What are those envelopes," I asked.  "Oh, those are the monthly cheques Mr. Noe gets," said one of the maids.  Seriously!!??  When Jimmy died, Betty had no idea of his wealth.  When she figured it out she yelled, "I'm rich!!"  What a scream.

Betty had five children, three girls and two boys.  We only met two, the others living elsewhere.  "Honey, you're not gay, you're miserable," she told me she had said to one of her sons when he had 'come out' to her.  "Mom, I'm gay," he had said.  That was when she delivered her "miserable" punch line.  But she loved him so much.  He was one of the sons we met.

"Is there anything that woman can't do," she asked when she saw me driving the boat from the island to the boathouse, about five kilometres away.  I had had to go into Ottawa to deal with a personal matter and our host -- who never let anyone drive his boats -- had actually allowed me to take one of his.  I was flattered that, a) he allowed me and b) Betty complimented me.  As a matter of fact, he didn't even let his own wife captain the boat he allowed me to take.       

We visited Betty once more in 2007, just after the hurricane.  It was another fabulous visit.  Jimmy had died, but we still had a wonderful time.  I will miss her bright-red lipstick, her rigid makeup and her perfectly-in-place hair. 

Rest in Peace, dear Betty.