Blue Heaven (16 page)

Dear Duchess,

I am not by nature a meddlesome person but I feel it would be wrong of me not to inform you of certain unsavory facts which have recently come to my attention.

Your unscrupulous daughter, Moira, has squandered all the money in her trust fund (probably on drugs) and is now attempting
to conceal this from you with the help of her sniveling fiance, Gilbert Selwyn. If that's not bad enough, this Gilbert is a homosexual who flaunts this fact to the world by spending all his time in the company of a man named Philip Cavanaugh who is a well-known fag and the author of several disgusting plays. Your daughter and Gilbert have led Gilbert's very rich family to believe YOU have no money at all! They think you and your husband, the Duke, are greedy snobs who expect the groom's family to pay for the wedding and, you can believe me, their opinion of you is PRETTY LOW!

I have always had great respect for British royalty and when Charles married Diana I bought many souvenirs. It would break my heart to stand by and see the reputation of a real American-born royal woman (like Mrs. Simpson) ruined by the disgusting lies of her greedy daughter and a pair of alcoholic pansies!

Yours regretfully,

A Wellwisher

Claire made two copies in a childlike scrawl very different from her own elegant hand. She placed one in a plain white envelope and copied the address of Trebleclef from Gilbert's address book. In the middle of this she stopped and said: "How do I know this?" "Know what?"
`

"The address? How many people know her mother's address? Because if you're the only one, dear, it won't look good for you."

Gilbert thought about it a moment and said that his mother and Tony were the only ones he could be sure of. However, Moira was forever going on about the beauty of Trebleclef and the charm of quaint Little Chipperton. Surely dozens of friends had heard her sing their praises. The address could read simply Trcbleclcf, Little Chipperton, and we could trust the local postman to know that the house was located on St. Crispen Road.

Claire agreed and addressed the envelope.

"There. I'll send it DHL so we can be sure it doesn't get lost and lose us valuable time. Remember to be cheerful about your plan. If she senses you want to bail out it won't be hard to guess who sent
this. Oh, about the job, Gilbert-pardon my frankness, but you loathe work of any sort, don't you?"

"Not at all! I've always been prepared to do a good day's work if the job isn't some tedious-"

"Gilbert," I interrupted, "you know you can't bear working."

"Well, who can? What's the point?"

"The point is Moira
knows
that. So how did you react about her helping you find work? I mean, after the party, when you were alone?"

"Oh. Well, she immediately asked me how it went with Freddy and I said he told me all that bullshit she'd given him-
her
saving
me
from impotence!-and that I'd said it was true 'cause what
could
I say? Then she said, 'Oh, I thought it was ever so clever of me to come up with that story right on the spot when he said he'd heard you were queer.' Then she went on about how she kept meaning to tell me but
I'd
been so nasty lately she'd hardly had a chance. She had no idea Freddy was going to drag me aside for a man-to-man talk about it. Then she said, 'Oh well, all worked out for the best, didn't it?' and I said, 'Yes, thanks for the job, you miserable cunt,' and went to bed."

Claire winced but allowed that this was in the appropriate spirit.

"If you'd said you were glad or actually thanked her she'd have · known you were intimidated because you'd figured out who Freddy really was and were scared of what she might have him do to you."

We agreed there was nothing more we could do till the duchess reacted to the letter. The ball was in her court.

"I hope she kills her!" said Gilbert. "I hope she goes at her with a chain saw and disinherits the pieces! That vindictive bitch deserves every ounce of misery she's got coming to her!"

He paused and gazed up at the clock.

"God, is it two already? I've got to go meet her. We're picking out our silverware pattern."

Fifteen

T
he Christmas season is usually among my favorite times of the year. Many of my friends would scoff to hear me voice such sentiments since I so often grouse about the season's more odious characteristics; the vapid, obligatory cheeriness of TV anchorpersons, the impossibility of finding nice inexpensive presents that don't
look
like nice inexpensive presents and, most of all, those mercenary tree sellers who flash gap-toothed smiles and say, "Seexty dollar! But for you feefty!" in reference to some spindly coniferous eyesore which, prior to being cut down, had been the embarrassment of the whole forest.

And yet every year by the middle of December a certain goopiness steals pleasantly over me. I festoon the apartment with decorations and take out a mortgage on a tree. I put on albums I've held on to since childhood and listen to the likes of Andy Williams and Dinah Shore singing traditional carols, as well as sixties holiday anthems which have, for obvious reasons, failed to achieve perennial status. I check out the Fifth Avenue windows. I send cards. I have been known to mull wine.

Not this year. Oh true, I went through some of the motions. I even purchased a little tree. But none of my efforts to achieve holiday cheer had much effect on my frazzled nervous system. Each day passed in an agony of suspense over what the duchess would do when she received the letter.

Claire had sent it off the Monday after Maddie's party. She'd used DHL, the good folk of which assured her that it would arrive the very next day. So from Tuesday on the three of us lived on tenterhooks. Meanwhile fresh complications descended like so many seasonal flurries.

Tuesday afternoon my phone rang. "Hello?" "Is this Philip?"

"Aggie!" I said, my blood pressure zooming. "How ya doing!"

"Fine. You sound sick, hon. Still hung over from Friday?"

"No, from Wednesday. I haven't even gotten to Friday's hangover yet."

"Poor thing. Have you tried some hair of the dog?"

"Yes. In fact, I just threw up a fur ball."

"Hah!"

What was it, I wondered, about this woman that caused me to wisecrack so desperately whenever I spoke to her? Why did I insist-on walking the wag's tightrope?

"Listen, adorable, I have some bad news about the job." "Oh?" I said, trying not to sound as hopeful as I felt. "I know you were planning on starting this week but Maddie called me and pointed out, lamb that she is, that it would be dreadful of me to fire George and Sylvester the week before Christmas. I hadn't even thought of that but she's right, of course. I'm heartless but I'm not
that
heartless. So, do you mind waiting till January?"

Not a pardon, then, but a stay of execution. I leapt at even this. "Not at all!"

"I'm sorry, but listen-since I'm asking you to keep yourself free till then I think it's only fair of me to put you on a little retainer."

"Aggie---!"

"No, I insist! Really, I do." "I'm not protesting. I'm asking how much."

"Not a lot, hon, but you can buy yourself something nice for Christmas. Gotta run, baby. You have yourself a merry one!"

I sat a while with the phone in my lap, calculating the pros and cons of Aggie's largesse. I could certainly use the money, particularly this close to the holiday, but I couldn't help feeling there were strings attached. And while it was too early to be sure, I couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that Aggie's interest in me was not entirely platonic. Even if this suspicion proved inaccurate, accepting a retainer meant I'd be obliged to stay on the job for more than just the few weeks Claire had suggested. The phone rang. "Hi hi!" said Gilbert. "Guess who I just spoke to?"

"Aggie?"

"You, too? Well,
that's
good news, huh? It's about time we started getting some loot out of this family!"

I expressed my opinion that Aggie's bounty was a mixed blessing since it rendered our early-retirement plan obsolete. Gilbert, of course, hadn't thought of that, but agreed the more generous she was, the stickier it would be to duck out after a mere few weeks on the job.

I rang off and phoned Claire to sound out her views on the retainer conundrum, Claire, with her usual mental prowess, considered the problem for three seconds and offered a perfect solution. I should deposit the check but not spend a dime of it. Then when I quit I could write Aggie a check for the full amount, explaining that 1 could not, in good conscience, keep a retainer for a position I'd held so
briefly.

That night Gilbert, Moira and I attended Holly Batterman's annual Christmas party. Our host greeted us at the door and ushered us into his loft which was decked with boughs of holly.
"Get it?"
he shrieked.

Within minutes he'd dragged me into his bedroom to pump me with questions about Gilbert and Moira. Were they still in love? Were they fighting, as was rumored, and if so, over what? Was I there when Gunther and Gilbert met in the park? Was I, really?
Tell!
Was it
sordid?
Was it true about Moira meeting him at Marilyn's Grave and calling his face a sieve and screaming her lungs out at him with Cher standing not twenty feet away? And Vulpina! Why had Moira fired her? Was it
really
the duchess, or was Moira afraid she'd design something horrendous? Did I know Pina was livid?
Livid!
Almost as furious as Gunther. Why, Holly had considered not inviting
either
of them tonight but it seemed such a nasty thing to do just before Christmas.

"Holly, you didn't!"

"You bet I did! Moira never tells me a thing. I always get it secondhand. If she wants to tear Pina and Gunther's eyes out at least let her do it where I can
watch!"

I ran to warn Gilbert and Moira what lay in store but this proved unnecessary. Both Pina and Gunther had arrived during my interrogation by Holly, whose eyes were now bulging with anticipation. There was no doubting what
he
wanted for Christmas.

Alas for Holly, this simple wish was not to be granted. Although
the delicious tension engendered by such proximity was felt by one and all, the warring parties took advantage of the spaciousness of Holly's loft and kept their respective distances all evening. Gilbert and Moira were cheerfully oblivious to Gunther who glared from a distance with a gaze that reminded me of a vulture flying impatiently over a desert full of indecently healthy hyenas.

Pina made no such overt scowls, nor did she have to, for her dress seethed with a malevolence all its own. It was a full-length sheath with triangular panels of black silk crisscrossing down across her breasts and congealing into a tube that constricted her from midsection to ankle in the style favored by Morticia Adams. Adding to the drama of it were aluminum epaulets which, while rounded, seemed very sharp, like pizza cutters. More lethal still was a huge metal corsage she wore on her hip which looked like a child's pinwheel constructed of Cuisinart blades.

Holly's guests greeted this cunning number with wide stares and an equally wide berth, but Moira and Gilbert pretended to be quite unaware of Pina even when Holly screamed as she tripped and fell, blades first, into his peach velvet love seat. Not even the sight of her standing in the opposite corner chatting with Gunther himself elicited any response. It wasn't till Marlowe, emboldened by drink, demanded the scoop that Moira even acknowledged the situation.

"My, what a gossip you are! We haven't fought at all! It was just that Mummy, you know, the duch-"

"Yes, yes, I
know,
dear."

"She wanted to see me married in something very traditional and froufrou. So, even though Pina offered very graciously to whip up something
fun
, I decided it would be criminal of me to ask her to work within any limitations at all. I'd be the last person to ask her to submerge her design personality!"

Holly had floated by to catch the end of this and swiftly let it be known that Moira's version of events did not entirely coincide with Pina's.
Pina
said she'd been fired in the midst of a second design she was executing to Moira's
specifications,
one which Moira hadn't even
seen
yet, and that, to add insult to injury, the dismissal had come not in person but in a long-distance phone call during which Moira, asked to justify such treachery, had responded with a bad imitation of telephone static before saying, "What, dear? I can't hear you!" and severing the connection.

"Holly, you silly!" said Moira, kindly, "I think Pina was just joshing you. You see, we all know what a gossip you are so we invent malicious things just to see if you'll believe them. And you
always
do! We lie to you all the time and it's terrible and we really must stop! But I love your tree!"

And, having thrust a hot poker into the very soul of her host, Moira laughed lightly and drifted off to sing a few carols round the piano. Some time later after we'd finally convinced a nearly apoplectic Holly that Moira's assertion was unfounded, Gilbert and I found Moira and suggested it was time to go. We were halfway to the door when we ran smack into Vulpina.

"Oh, Pina, love! Were you
here! \
didn't see you! I love your dress. So Christmassy."

Holly saw us and sped over.

"Gosh, kids! Leaving so soon?"

"We'd love to stay really but we're all of us just coming down with
colds, so-"

"Yes, well, before you go, dear, remind me again-my memory's so bad these days-who did you say was designing your wedding gown now?"

"I didn't say at all, dear one."

"See? No memory at all. Who do you
think
though?"

"I couldn't say, Holland. It's quite up to the duchess. She insists on having her way about it. And stubborn! Philip, did you hear she wouldn't even let me use Pina? Pina, darling, I am still
so
sorry about that! You do forgive me, though?"

All eyes were on dear Pina, Holly's aglow with the hope of some withering comment. But Pina only offered a typically incoherent sentiment. "But, dear, it's all perspective. Perspective is like fashion, always changing. How soon everything is different than it was."

"You are
so
right, dear. Perspective! Gilbert, do we have any Contac at home? I'm sure this is going to be a cold."

Aggie's note arrived the next day. It read simply, "See you in the New Year." Enclosed was five hundred dollars.

In cash.

My heart was on a trampoline, leaping and sinking all at once. Such a generous sum and all for
not
working for two weeks! And yet I'd be a fool to spend even a penny of it!

I became pensive.

I'd opened the letter while sitting at my desk and I now found my hand straying to the drawer where I kept my checkbook-not a prudent move since the figures contained there could do little to bolster the moral courage I'd require to leave such a windfall untouched.

I had less than sixty dollars to my name. I checked my wallet, which was hardly necessary. The rich may walk around with no idea how much cash they have on their person but the poor know the exact figure at all times, and I can usually quote the serial number on anything larger than a five. I knew my billfold contained exactly seven dollars in singles, one subway token, and a sixty-dollar check from Milt Miller. The check plus whatever else I could earn from him by the end of the month would cover the rent. Maybe.

And what about Christmas gifts? Cards? The phone bill? Booze! How would these things be paid for

Hmmmmm.

I decided that Aggie's money, unspendable though it was, could at least be pressed into service to keep my account at a reasonable balance so that I could spend every meager penny of my own resources without getting overdrawn. So, I traipsed off to East River Savings to enrich my account by some five hundred and sixty dollars of which, of course, only sixty was ever to be spent.

Or, since it was Christmastime (how pretty the store windows looked), let's say one hundred to be spent. The forty-dollar difference could easily be made up out of pocket when the time came to bid the job adieu.

Actually, I could probably spend even two hundred and still pay it back.

It was with this disastrous train of thought chugging through my head that I reached the bank and, snatching up a deposit slip, took my place in line.

When I returned to my apartment some three hours later the phone was ringing. Hastily depositing my bags and packages on the sofa I snatched it up and murmured a breathless hello.

"Where have you been?" said Claire.

"Out."

"I am getting you an answering machine for Christmas. It's more than my nerves can take these days to listen to your line ring while

I sit here wondering if you're trussed up in Freddy's slaughterhouse." "Must you?"

"Sorry. What's the word from Gilbert? Did the duchess call?"

"I was just going to phone and ask myself."

"What about Aggie's check? Did it come yet?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," I said, guiltily eyeing the cast albums.

"How much?"

"Five hundred."

"Good gracious! Well, you'd better put it in the bank. If you return the same check she'll know you were planning to quit right from the start."