The Wrong Kind of Money Page 8

  “It’s called a finger bowl,” Bill Luckman says. “Remove the spoon and fork from the plate. Place the fork on your left and the spoon on your right. Now lift the bowl, and the doily, and place them both at eleven o’clock above your service plate.”

  “Why’s there a flower floating in it?”

  “Ignore the flower.”

  “What’s this? More Yale shit?” He takes a gulp of his wine.

  “Tell me more about your sister Bathy, Mrs. Liebling,” Bill Luckman says, turning back to her.

  “My father adored Bathy. She was the apple of his eye. My father was a famous educator, Mr. Luckman, but I suppose you knew that, since I gather you’re interested in education.”

  “No, I didn’t know that,” he says.

  “My father was Dr. Marcus Sachs.”

  “Should that name ring a bell, Mrs. Liebling?”

  “Well, it would to a lot of people. He ran the Sachs Collegiate Institute. Of course, it died when he died. But he educated the sons of some of the finest families in New York City.”

  “She means some of the finest Jewish families, Mr. Luckman,” Cyril says.

  Ector looks across at Ruth. “You Jewish?” he says. “You didn’t tell me that. I thought you said you was a countess.”

  Ruth merely smiles faintly and lowers her eyes. The key light now comes from the flickering flames of the candelabra.

  “My father believed in discipline,” Hannah says. “He did not believe in sparing the rod.”

  “Like some other fathers I could mention,” Cyril says.

  “And yet he turned out young men who went on to become some of the greatest business leaders in this city, including Bernie Baruch. My father taught that sort. Not someone like my husband.”

  “And you didn’t even love him!” Anne says.

  “That’s not true, Anne. It’s not true that I didn’t love your grandfather.”

  “Then why—”

  “This is Edna’s famous chocolate mousse,” Carol says brightly, picking up her spoon. “It’s made with Demerara rum.”

  “The great Bernard Baruch,” Bill Luckman says. “That really is impressive, Mrs. Liebling.”

  “He went on to become a family friend. Whatever money Papa left to my sisters and me, we have to thank Bernie for his advice to Papa on investments.”

  Bill turns to Carol. “This is all so interesting,” he says. “Tell me about your family, Carol.”

  She laughs. “Not as distinguished as my husband’s, I’m afraid.”

  “On the Sachs side, at least,” Hannah says. “The Lieblings weren’t anybody.”

  “My parents were quite ordinary, small-town people,” Carol says. “My father died”—though this is not quite the truth—“and my mother is in a nursing home in Connecticut.”

  “So you’re able to visit her fairly often?”

  “Not as often as I should, I’m afraid,” she says. “On her birthday, and at Christmastime, and whenever I feel particularly guilty about it. Those visits aren’t easy—”

  Anne giggles again. “Mom tries to think about Granny Dugan as little as possible,” she says. “She even forgets where Granny Dugan is, and has to look the place up in her address book every time she goes up there!”

  “Anne, will you pass that little plate of cookies?” Carol says, to change the subject.

  “You visited her this Christmas, then?”

  “Unfortunately, no, I—do try one of Edna’s delicious almond macaroons.”

  Bill Luckman turns to Anne, on his left, ignoring the cookies. “What a rich mixture of genes you’ve inherited!” he says. “See how much I’ve managed to learn already about the secret rich?”

  “The secret rich?” Anne says.

  “It’s a book he’s writing,” Becka says. “About little-known rich families in America. The Lieblings are going to be one of them.”

  Anne giggles. “This family has plenty of secrets, that’s for sure,” she says, and Bill Luckman gives Becka a look that says: I told you so.

  “We most certainly do not,” Hannah says sharply. “I assure you, Mr. Luckman, that my family will take no part in any such enterprise.”

  Now Mary enters from the living room and goes to Carol. “A telephone call for you, Mrs. Liebling,” she whispers.

  “Find out who it is, and tell them I’ll call them back after I finish dinner.”

  “It’s Mrs. Truxton Van Degan, ma’am.”

  Carol frowns. “Georgette Van Degan,” she says. “I wonder what she wants. I guess I’d better take it. I’ll take it in the other room. Excuse me.” She rises and steps into the next room.

  “The famous Georgette Van Degan,” Bill Luckman says.

  “A typical New York story,” Cyril says. “One day she’s pushing a cart down the aisle of a plane over Salt Lake City. The next day she’s living in a penthouse over Central Park, the toast of New York society. Instant old money.”

  Hannah sniffs. “There used to be some Van Degans in our building,” she says. “We didn’t know them.”

  Ector takes another swallow of his wine. “Hell, I don’t mind if you’re all Jewish,” he says. “I got nothing against the Jews. But it’s just that the way you was all quotin’ the Bible a while back, I thought you was the other way around.”

  “The Bible contains an Old Testament and a New Testament,” Bill Luckman says.

  Ector scowls. “I gotta take a leak,” he says, and pushes back his chair.

  But before he has completely left the room, or is fully out of earshot, Hannah says in a loud voice, “Ruth, where in the world did you ever dig up such a thoroughly unsuitable young man?”

  And Ruth, who has said very little all evening, suddenly bursts into tears. She flings her napkin on the table, jumps out of her chair, tipping it over as she does, and runs after Ector, screaming, “Ector! Ector! Take me home!”

  Noah reaches out and sets his sister’s chair upright again, and her daughter Becka, red-faced with embarrassment, says, “Should I go with her? What do you think?”

  “I’ll see that you get home okay, Becka,” Noah says quietly.

  And in the long silence that follows Ruth’s outburst, Melody Richards says, “I heard a cute joke the other day. It’s about the nervous usher at the wedding. He’s an usher at this big wedding, you see, and he’s very nervous about getting all these people seated in the right seats. So when he sees a woman seated in the wrong place, he says, ‘Mardon me, padam, but you are occupewing the wrong pie. Please allow me to sew you to another sheet.’”

  Noah chuckles at the joke and thinks: Dear Melody! She must sometimes wonder how she got involved with this crazy family.

  “That,” says Bill Luckman, “in case you didn’t know it, is called a Spoonerism, after William Archibald Spooner, 1844 to 1930, who for many years was warden of New College, Oxford. He was famous for his word transpositions, a form of metathesis. He once proposed a toast to Queen Victoria as ‘our queer old dean.’”

  There is more polite laughter among the seven remaining at the table, but Noah Liebling throws Bill Luckman a hard look. He has decided that Ector is just a stupid clod, but Bill Luckman is a wise-ass little prick.

  “Ruth is so touchy,” Hannah says.

  Now Carol returns to the dining room, looking flushed and excited. “That was Georgette Van Degan,” she says. “She wants to take me to lunch next week. I can’t imagine why, I hardly know her. Unless—and this is a really wild guess—unless she’s thinking of giving her Chinese porcelains to the Met. They really have a fabulous collection, including a pair of Lang Yao sang-de-boeuf vases that the museum would practically kill to have. Do you suppose that’s it? I suggested that to her a couple of years ago, and maybe I planted a little seed in her mind. That must be it. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Wouldn’t that be a feather in my cap—if I were the one who helped get the Van Degan porcelains for the Met?” Then she notices the two empty chairs. “What became of Ruth and Ector?” she asks.

  “I
believe they went out to answer a call of nature,” Cyril says with a tight smile.

  “I see,” she says. And then, “Well, shall we have our coffee in the living room?”

  “I’d like to see you for a minute in the library, Noah,” his mother says. “A little family business.”

  And now the little group, reduced to six—Carol, Bill, Cyril, and the three younger girls—has gathered in the living room, as Carol pours coffee. “The Van Degan collection is really fabulous,” she is saying. “There are some eleventh-century bowls from the Sung period, for instance. Wouldn’t it be great if the Met could get it all?”

  “This is a beautiful room,” Bill Luckman says, “and such a wonderful building. I understand that Noah is president of the building’s board. That’s quite an honor.”

  Carol makes a face. “I think he’s finding it more of a headache than he bargained for,” she says. “I think he’s grateful that it’s only for a year.”

  “The architects were Bottomly, Wagner, and White,” he says. “And do you know that after they did River House, they never designed another important building in New York? River House was their Arbeit, and their swan song.”

  “What interesting tidbits of information you have at your fingertips, Bill,” Carol says.

  But despite the attempt at light chitchat, the atmosphere in the room is strained and tense. Becka, Ruth’s daughter, still looks uncomfortable. She would like to ask Carol who, after all, has known her mother longer and better than anyone else in the room, to tell her more about her mother. But somehow, in the presence of non-family members, this doesn’t seem appropriate.

  Perhaps, Carol thinks, Melody senses this. Melody suddenly turns to Bill and says, “Would you like me to show you the rest of the apartment? It’s really awfully pretty.”

  “I’d love that,” he says matter-of-factly, setting down his cup.

  As soon as they have left the room, Becka leans forward and says, “Aunt Carol, can you explain my mother to me?”

  Carol hesitates. Then she says, “I’ve been wondering why you decided to come here, Becka.”

  “I didn’t decide to come. She sent for me.”

  “This is the door to the library,” Melody says, leading him across the long central gallery. “We can’t go in there right now, because Anne’s father and her grandmother are having a meeting in there. So. What did you think of them?”

  “Who?”

  “The Lieblings.”

  He shrugs. “Pretty ordinary. Nothing sensational.”

  “Not sensational enough for this new book you’re writing?”

  “Well, you know what Proust said—happy families are all alike.”

  “It wasn’t Proust. It was Tolstoy.”

  “No, it was Proust.”

  “Have it your way,” she says. “And this is what they call the blue guest room,” she says, holding open a door. “You didn’t tell me you wanted to meet the Lieblings because you were thinking of putting them into a book.”

  He smiles. “I guess I forgot to mention that.”

  “Do you think that was quite fair?”

  “All’s fair in love and war,” he says with a little wink.

  She gives him a sideways look. “Really? You disappoint me, Bill. I’d have expected a more original comment than that from the great writer.”

  His smile fades briefly, then returns. He says nothing.

  “You see, it puts me in kind of an awkward position,” she says. “After all, I asked if I could bring you tonight. The Lieblings are like a second family to me, and I’ve probably already told you certain things about them that I wouldn’t want to see in a book.”

  “I think they’re a little more to you than a second family,” he says. “I think you’re hoping they’ll be your passport to a different sort of life.”

  She ignores this, opening another door. “And this is Anne’s bedroom …”

  “Tell me more about the countess.”

  “Poor Aunt Ruth. She’s had a lot of problems. I’m sorry she ran out like that tonight. She can be quite sweet. But Nana Hannah tends to criticize her.”

  “Does she always wear that thick pearl choker?”

  “Quite often, yes.”

  “She tilted her head at one point tonight, and I could see why. I saw the scars. The countess tried to slit her throat once, didn’t she? See how observant I am?”

  “Her romance with the count was pretty unhappy, I guess,” she says. “It’s funny to hear you call her the countess. She’s always been plain Aunt Ruth to me.”

  “But I think she likes being called a countess, doesn’t she?”

  “I suppose so. But if you’re looking for family scandals, there’s sort of one there. When she married the count, he already had another wife.”

  “I know all about that. That’s not good enough. Too ordinary. Too long ago. I’m looking for real family fireworks. Current fireworks. Current fireworks that have never been written about before. That’s what’ll sell a book.”

  “And I suppose if you can’t find real family fireworks, you’ll simply make some up.”

  He grabs her wrist. “What do you mean by that crack?” he says.

  She twists her wrist free. “Nothing. But I’ve noticed you get very touchy whenever anyone suggests that everything in Blighted Elms isn’t based on fact.”

  “It is fact. Anyway, with the Lieblings I’ve just scratched the surface. I’ll be doing a lot more digging.”

  “Noah didn’t like you. I guess you noticed that.”

  “Who cares? He’s a cipher. It’s obvious the old lady runs the show.”

  “I don’t think Nana Hannah liked you, either. Watch out, Billy boy.”

  He stares at her. “You watch out,” he says. “Don’t start playing any games with me.”

  She opens another door. “And this is Noah and Carol’s room,” she says. “They each have their own separate dressing rooms and bathrooms. Pretty, don’t you think?”

  “You know, I usually like girls your age, Melody.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Because most girls your age have no history.”

  “You think I have no history?”

  “Maybe you do. But I also think you’re busy writing a new kind of history for yourself right now.”

  “Really? And this is the yellow guest room. It’s the one I use. It has a small terrace with a river view. But it’s too cold to go out there tonight.” She starts to turn away.

  “I observed something else tonight,” he says.

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “You’re in love with Noah Liebling.”

  “What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Oh, yes. I can tell. You didn’t say much, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off mein host. Think you’d like to be the next Mrs. Noah Liebling? Is that it?”

  “Nonsense. Noah is Anne’s father, and Anne is my best friend. And I happen to be devoted to Carol.” She feigns a yawn. “You bore me.”

  “What’s that got to do with it? It’s lucky for you that Anne has popcorn for brains. I observed that, too. You know what? I’ll bet you do Anne’s homework for her at college. I’ll bet Anne would have flunked out of Bennington long before this if it weren’t for you. Am I right? But Anne is too useful to you for you to let her do that—right?”

  “Wrong! You’re so off base, Billy boy, that it’s—”

  “Listen. I know why you invited me here tonight.”

  “I invited you because you said you wanted to meet the Lieblings! Now please—”

  “But you had a little different agenda—right? You know that Noah has a little bit of an itch for you. You invited me here to make him jealous. Is there a better way to whip up a man’s interest than to make him a little jealous? You like to use people—don’t you?”

  “Really! You think I want to make Noah jealous of you?”

  “Sure. I’m a hell of a lot younger and better-looking than he is, aren’t I? Aren’t I being called one of Ne
w York’s most eligible bachelors? Aren’t I getting more column mentions than that asshole John Kennedy, Junior?”

  “Your craziness is only exceeded by your vanity, Billy boy.”

  “Sure, you invited me here tonight to build a little bonfire under Noah Liebling. And it worked. Of course he didn’t like me. So this little dinner invitation was a little bit of a quid pro quo, wasn’t it? Something for me, something for you.”

  She turns toward the door. “I’m not enjoying this conversation,” she says. “Let’s go back and join the others.”

  “Not yet,” he says, and closes the guest room door behind them and turns the bolt. “Lucky for us, these old buildings are pretty soundproof.”

  “Soundproof?” She steps away from him.

  He seizes her hand and plunges it against his crotch. “I promised you a nice, big fat reward if you introduced me to the Lieblings. This is it, sweetheart.”

  She pulls away from him. “That’s not the kind of reward I had in mind,” she says.

  “What do you mean? You as much as said so. ‘I expect a nice, big fat reward,’ you said.”

  “I never said that!”

  “Liar!”

  “Well, if I said that, I’ve changed my mind,” she says.

  “This is what you’ve been wanting from the minute we met. You never fooled me once. You’ve been asking for this since you came over to me in the book department at Bloomingdale’s. I read you like a book that afternoon. This is what you’ve been asking for, and now you’re going to get it.”

  “No!”

  “What about all those phone calls when you were trailing me around the country? What was that all about? What about Cleveland and all that dirty talk? Almost every night on my tour.”

  “I told you, I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Don’t hand me that. You got me here. You got what you wanted, and now I’m gonna get what I want. I want my quid pro quo.”

  “You’ve gotten everything you’re going to get from me!”

  “Or are you just pissed off because I figured out what you’re up to? Caught on to your little game with Noah Liebling?”

  “Stop this! Stay away from me!”

  “Not before I fuck you, sweetheart.”

  “Let me out of this room!”