Blue Heaven (6 page)

I agreed that Moira was not one to miss a chance to flaunt status symbols and that her secrecy regarding the trust was, as such, baffling.

After some reflection, though, it began to seem less so. Moira may be New York's most indefatigable social climber but she's also its biggest sponge. Wide knowledge of the fund would have done much to cramp her style. A girl known to have two hundred grand in the bank is not a girl to whom any starving author is going to loan twenty dollars "just until Friday."

Which left only the third question: Why was Moira so distressed by Mummy's insistence that she liquidate the fund?

"Christ," said Gilbert. "You know Moy-she's probably been itching to get her hands on that money from the minute the fund was set up."

"Oh, God."

"What?"

"What if she did?"

"Did what?"

"Got her hands on it! Maybe that's what's wrong. Mummy's asking her to spend money she's already gone through."

Gilbert apparently concurred as to the probability of this scenario, for he rose in silent fury, seized a stuffed Lhasa apso and drop-kicked it into the next room.

"Hold on!" I said. "We don't
know
that's what she did! I mean, how could
anyone
do it? The risk! The legal obstacles! You'd have to be . . ."

"Moira?" offered Gilbert, and within a moment we were standing at the doorway to her bedroom demanding she unlock the door.

"Go away!"

"This trust fund-you ripped it off, didn't you!"

The door opened. Moira stood there in a bathrobe, a towel knotted around her head.

"I don't have the vaguest idea what you're talking about."

"No?" he said. "Then why were you trying so hard to get your mom to pay for the wedding another way?"

Moira stared at him tight-lipped then, turning away, slumped back to the bed and sat. She pulled a pink cigarette from an ashtray and puffed moodily.

"Moira," I asked gently, "just tell us-is there any left at all?"

She burst into tears and buried her face in the pillows.

"Cut the boo hoo shit," snarled Gilbert. "You just call Mummy back and tell her you'll need more money!"

"I
cant,
you idiot!" she cried, rising. "If I do she'll know the trust is gone! I can't ever let her know I spent that money!"

"Well, brilliant, don't you think she's going to figure it out when she gets here and sees the reception's at fucking Burger King!"

"Oh, Philip!" she cried, hurling her arms about me and sobbing onto my sweater. "Was he this mean to you when you two were together?"

Not having realized the story of our little romance had reached a broad audience I could only stammer incoherently till she looked up from my chest and said, "But of course he was-he gave you crabs!"

"You tactless bitch!" said Gilbert.

"Moira," I said, "you really spent
all
of the money? Two hundred thousand dollars?"

"Well," she sniffed, "it's not as if I squandered it all on
la dolce vita!"

"Oh,
nor
sneered Gilbert.

"Sure, maybe a few thousand, forty or fifty. But the rest I invested. I thought I was going to make
a fortune
with that money! Then everything came crashing down and I was left completely penniless, and I don't get any sympathy from either one of you!"

"Look," hissed Gilbert sympathetically, "why don't you just call Mummy right now and tell her about the money? The sooner you get it over with the longer she'll have to cool down before the wedding."

"Gilbert, you are such a naïf! You heard her just now-she's still beating me over the head with dresses I wore two years ago. How soon do you think she's going to cool down over two hundred thousand dollars? She won't even
come
to the wedding, never mind give me anything!"

I glanced at Gilbert. It was clear that the prospect of entering into a marriage of convenience with Moira in which he would be the sole
generator of income they'd agreed to split down the middle did not sit well with him.

"Moira," I asked, "how did you even manage to do this? And how have you managed to keep it from her? If she set the fund up doesn't she keep tabs on it?"

"Oh that," she said airily. "That's all taken care of by my trust administrator, Winslow. Winslow sends her a nice little statement every month saying it's all still there and I got my monthly interest check."

I stared, aghast.

"This man works in a
bank?"

"Well, of course."

"And he's helping you defraud your mother?"

"Well, he hasn't got much choice!" said Moira, smiling girlishly. "He's the one who helped me get the money in the first place. See, about two years ago he'd written a play about these gay people who go to Guyana with Jim Jones. No one would touch it, but I thought it was fabulous and I told him I'd put up the money for a little showcase if he'd just fix it so I could get into my trust without Mum finding out."

"But, my God-didn't he realize what trouble he'd be in if she ever did find out?"

"Yes, he was concerned. He's that type, you know. High strung. But I told him a little white lie about Mummy having inoperable bone cancer and since control of the fund would revert to me when she died there wouldn't be any trouble. So, he got me the money. Then the show closed in New Mexico. And Mum's still in remission. He's been very sweet about sending her the statements."

"Jesus, Moy!" said Gilbert. "Is there anything you won't stoop to?"

"Oh please! Talk about the pot and the kettle!"

They continued in this vein for some time and I was about to tiptoe away from the wreckage when an unhappy thought struck me. If a way wasn't found out of this mess then the syndicate's income would be cut in half. Such a drastic reduction in the profit margin would certainly lead Gilbert to make a cold-eyed reappraisal of the entire budget, with particular scrutiny given to such items as perks for the best man. I could hear his arguments already: "Did Shakespeare have a computer? Did Chekhov?"

"Enough!" I shouted, interrupting a comment Gilbert was making
about Moira's hair. "The question is, how do we keep Mummy from finding out about the fund and at the same time get
her
to pay for the wedding?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" sighed Moira. "We just get the money from somewhere else. Then when Mummy reimburses me for what 'I' spent, we reimburse whomever."

"So," Gilbert concluded, "all we gotta do is find someone willing to loan you the money."

Silence fell as we pondered our circles of acquaintance, searching for someone possessed of both the vast wealth and profound stupidity prerequisite to granting a loan of this size to Moira. The silence continued for long minutes, such people being neither plentiful nor, as a rule, unsupervised. At length, though, Moira brightened and said: "Of course! It's so simple-Winslow! I'll just throw it all in his lap!"

"You think he'd be willing to help?"

"Well I should think so! If Mummy finds out about our little shenanigans I may be in the dog house, but Winnie! He'll really have his fanny in the Cuisinart!"

"Does he have that kind of money to lend?" asked Gilbert.

"No, but he'll know where to find it. God, I should have phoned him before I even told you about it. I could have spared myself a lot of abuse."

"And you could have spared me a goddamn heart attack!" said Gilbert.

Moira, deciding a little rapprochement was in the best interest of the syndicate, fixed Gilbert with that same lost penitent look which has, over the years, melted the hearts of so many store detectives.

"Oh Gilley, you're not really mad at me, are you? I mean, you don't
hate
me? I couldn't bear for us to be married if I thought your feelings toward me were-"

"Yadda, yadda, yadda! Just get your bloodhound of a mother off the scent and make sure she gives us a bundle and I'll love you till the day we divorce."

"Oh, you're so sweet when you want to be! Say-I have just the best idea! Let's all go grab dinner at Burma Burma then dance it off at the Abbatoir."

"You think we can get in?" asked Gilbert eagerly.

"Pina gave me passes! Whaddaya say? Dinner's on me!"

While the phrase
dinner's on me
is one to which I usually respond with Pavlovian swiftness, I felt in this case that celebration was not only premature but counterproductive. This was, you'll recall, just two days before the duchess had been due to arrive, and Maddie had invited us all to lunch the next afternoon to plan her reception.

According to Gilbert, Maddie had wanted to get started with every-thing the very moment she'd heard the joyous news. The only thing that had kept her from doing so was her knowledge that traditionally the bride's family, in addition to footing the bills, supervises all planning and preparation. Now, with the duchess laid up, Maddie would waste no time in appointing herself surrogate and storming Fifth Avenue with her platinum card clenched between her teeth. How could we let this happen before we even knew how Maddie would be reimbursed?

"I'd love to party, too, but don't you think we should prepare a little? Call Winslow? Give him time to work something out?"

"For God's sake, Philip, we're not meeting Maddie till one o'clock. Winslow's at the bank every day at nine. I'll have plenty of time!"

"I've been dying to go to that club!" said Gilbert.

"You're such a worry wart!"

"It's been
days
since I've gone dancing!"

"Trust me! Winslow's brilliant!"

"What should I wear?"

"He'll think of something!"

He did.

Six

G
ilbert glanced at his watch again.

"I'll kill her."

"Calm down."

"Well, how's it going to look! Mom'll be here any minute . . . 'Gilbert, where's Moira?' 'Oh, gosh, Mom, she's at the bank, blackmailing her corrupt gay trust officer and you know how long
that
can
take!' "

We were nursing light beers in the bar of Maddie's favorite restaurant, Trader Vic's. We'd been here since twelve-thirty, the hour at which Moira had promised to meet us for a pre-Maddie debriefing on Winslow's plan of attack. Hopes that such a debriefing might yet occur were remote, and Gilbert's feelings toward Moira had grown darker than the bar itself. Not that I blamed him for being in a surly mood. Just twelve hours earlier he'd drained the bitter cup and the aftertaste still lingered.

During our celebration at the Abbatoir, our table had been visited by Erhart Lund. Erhart is an incredibly handsome blond model within whose pants Gilbert had for years campaigned to establish a beachhead. Erhart informed us that he'd broken up with his lover, then proceeded to make it abundantly clear through both word and gesture that any assault Gilbert might now care to launch would meet with swift and unconditional surrender. However, the immediate presence not only of Moira but of Billy Tengrette and Fay ("Marie's Courage") Milton, two of Holly's most cherished informants, left Gilbert with no choice but to give Erhart the cold shoulder, a mere fraction of what he'd have preferred to offer.

"Lighten up, Gilbert. I still say you're making a mountain out of-"

"Erhart Lund! Erhart Lund had his tongue in my ear and I had to sit there pretending to be
annoyed
while holding hands with that controlled substance I'm engaged to until he-! Well it's about time!"

I turned and there was Moira standing at the entrance to the bar adjusting her eyes to the gloom. She was wearing one of Vulpina's creations, a gaudy orange number with huge black polka dots and a tattered hemline.

"Oh, God! She looks like Wilma Flintstone!"

She spotted us and hurried to the table. Our hopes for a conference on the trust-fund conundrum were immediately laid to rest by the arrival, right on Moira's heels, of Maddie Cellini.

She sauntered in, spotted us immediately and waved as ebulliently as a shipwrecked islander greeting a rescue party. She wore a low-cut, rather festive black dress with a matching hat and veil. She started for our table but was intercepted by the hostess who embraced her as though they were not only the oldest and dearest of friends but had each till this moment assumed the other to be dead.

"Where the hell were you!" hissed Gilbert to Moira.

"Where the hell do you think I was?" said Moira, beaming and waving back at Maddie. "I was with Winslow."

"Did he have any ideas?" I asked.

"Yes! It's all taken care of. I love your mother's dress."

"And just
how
the fuck is- Hi Mom!"

"Hi, kids! Don't you two look wonderful! I was just telling Kungshe about you. I said, 'Can't you just tell they're in love?' and she said yes, she could. Philip, honey! Mwah! It's been ages but you look just as handsome as ever! It's a wonder some nice girl hasn't snapped you up, too! Or has one?"

"Not yet!"

"Too bad. You be patient, dear. How's your writing going?"

"Great!" I lied.

"How wonderful! I wish Gilbert here would get on the stick and finish his book. I have dozens of friends who can't wait to read it."

"Young friends, I hope."

"Mrs. Cellini!" gushed a sarong-clad waitress materializing by our side.

"Lelani! How nice to see you! How's your little boy?"

"He be six years old next week!"

"Well, you tell him happy birthday for me! We're here for lunch,
hon, but I think we'll have us a nice cozy drink in the bar first. Just bring me something with a gardenia. How about you youngsters? Oh my goodness, boys! You can't drink beers at the Trader's! Not when there are so many more fun things you could have! Let me order, okay?"

We nodded in cheerful assent and she asked for a couple of Stinkers.

"And you, Moira, what'll you have, dear? And don't tell me Perrier! This is a party, you hear!"

"Whatever you're having will be fine with me, Momma Cellini." Lelani departed but not before Maddie had introduced us all and volunteered the information that Moira's mother was, could you believe it, a real live duchess, which had to be the first time in Moira's life anyone had beaten her in the race to convey this to an uninterested stranger.

"I'm so sorry I came in this gloomy dress but I just couldn't help it. I had a funeral this morning and there wasn't time to run home and change."

"Another one?" asked Gilbert.

"Yes!" said Maddie, her eyes widening. "Isn't it amazing! I don't know what it is but ever since I married Mr. Cellini I go to more funerals!"

"Oh?" I asked..

"Yes! And always on his side of the family. I swear, Philip, they are the most accident-prone people in the whole country! There are some can't even operate a car without driving it off a cliff! This fella today, Joey Sartucci-very sweet man, cousin of Tony's-would you believe he drowned in a bowl of soup? I said to Tony, 'Tony, how could such a thing happen!' Tony said he fainted while he was eating his lunch and by the time his wife got home it was too late-the minestrone had gone right into his lungs! It was awful hard on her coming only six months after her brother Frank got run over by that runaway cement mixer. And just two weeks ago there was Tony's poor dead brother's oldest boy, Robby!"

"Robby died?" asked Gilbert, scanning the horizon for our drinks. "Well, he might as well have!" said Maddie. "No one
can find
him! I saw his mother at the funeral. The woman's a wreck!"

"Uh, tell me, Maddie," I asked, trying to sound as casual as possible, "what business is Mr. Cellini in?"

"Tony? Oh, he's an entrepreneur. I must say the money's awful good but I wish the hours were more regular. As it is now he gets phone calls at three and four o'clock in the morning and the poor thing has to get dressed right that minute and run to some warehouse. 'Tony,' I say to him, 'for God's sake, you're the big cheese, can't you make someone else go!' But he always says no, it wouldn't be responsible. He's very responsible, Tony is, and very bright, too. All his relatives give him their money to invest because he can always tell just which stock is going to go up real quick. It's a gift he has. Oh, look! Here come our drinks! Aren't they beautiful! Thank you so much, Lelani! Oh, Gilbert, Moira, guess who says hi?"

"Who?"

"Freddy Bombelli!"

Moira looked puzzled briefly, then her eyes lit up in recollection of the man's age and economic status.

"Freddy! He's that rich that
sweet
old man we met at the wedding!"

"I saw him at the funeral. Isn't he something? Eighty-six years old and never misses a burial! Anyway, he sends you both his regards."

"Well, how nice!" said Moira, and if we'd been in a cartoon her head would have turned into a cash register, the drawer sliding out of her mouth with a
ching!
as big dollar signs popped in her eyes.

She asked Maddie to convey her warm regards to the old gentleman and Maddie said she could convey them herself at her annual Christmas bash on December 12. We were all cordially invited.

Maddie toddled off to ask the bartender how his divorce was going and I clutched Gilbert's wrist, wondering which of a thousand questions to ask first. Before I could decide, though, he turned to Moira with a few of his own.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What did Winslow say!"

"I told you-it's all taken care of," she said and giggled. "Winslow had the most fabulous idea! Take it from me, we're sitting even prettier than we were before."

"I'm sorry to butt in here, Gilbert, but how much do you really know about these people?"

"What people?"

"The Cellinis!"

"What about them?"

"Well, c'mon! Don't the things Maddie's been saying kind of suggest something about their line of work?"

"Philip!" said Gilbert, his lips blossoming into an incredulous smirk, "are you saying you think my mom is married to some . . . some
mobster
!"

"It's not funny!"

"Not funny? It's a hoot! Do you believe him!" he asked Moira.

"C'rnon, Moira, you heard her, too. Runaway cement mixers, people disappearing . . . What do you think?"

"Dear Philip," she said drily, "you must stop reading so much Elmore Leonard. Why, you haven't even met the Cellinis! I have and I can tell you they are some of the warmest, most civilized people I've ever known."

Gilbert echoed the sentiment and before I could argue any further Maddie relumed. I was annoyed but not really alarmed, as the dispute seemed purely academic. If Gilbert and Moira chose to believe Tony's family was one hundred percent thug-free, despite compelling evidence that it's a rare Cellini who departs this life unassisted, that was their right. A naïve conclusion, to be sure, but was there any real harm in it?

Yes, as it turned out. Buckets.

Upon her return Maddie ordered a second round and said how much she was looking forward to meeting the duchess the next day. Moira. smiling bravely, broke the sad news about the duchess's riding accident. Maddie, gasping and clucking, offered Moira her deepest sympathy, adding that, if it were any consolation, it sounded to her like "just about the classiest accident anyone's ever had." She assured Moira she'd be delighted to assist with any details the incapacitated duchess would now be unable to see to and Moira, brushing aside a tear, accepted the offer. Then, in a maneuver completely unforeseen by Gilbert and me, she departed violently from the script, revealing the exact scope and nature of Winslow's plan.

"Gosh, Momma Cellini," she said, lowering her gaze, "there is one little thing 1 suppose we should discuss."

"What's that, dear?"

"Well ... oh gosh! I was going to leave all this to Mummy. She has this absolutely divine sense, of tact. Me, I never know how to put things."

Maddie patted her hand and spoke in a gentle nunlike tone. "Spit it out, honey."

"Well, you see, Mum is proud, very proud-and very determined to do things the traditional way. So she absolutely insists that she and the duke pay for the wedding. Everything."

Moira paused.

"And?" prompted Maddie.

"I just hope you understand it will have to be a very small wedding."

"How small, dear?"

"Oh, just the immediate families, I guess, and a few close relatives and friends. Best man, of course," she said gesturing toward me, "and I'll have my friend Pina as Maid of Honor. But no bridesmaids or ushers. Just a small quiet affair in the best affordable taste."

"Moira, dear," said Maddie slowly, "I'm assuming the problem here-and you stop me if I'm putting my foot in anything-is money troubles."

Moira nodded tragically.

"When Mummy married the duke she knew she wasn't getting as much as people thought she was. Just a title, Trebleclef, and the man she loved. You know how the taxes are over there."

"No, how are they?"

"Oh they're criminal! And what with estate duties, and this special Duke Tax, there's never much to spare at all. Oh, they get
by.
They open the house to tourists and that brings a little in. Though, last year they were reduced to renting Trebleclef to dreadful people who filmed a horror movie in it. Did you see
The Thirsty?"

Maddie shook her head and clucked sympathetically.

"Anyway, even with all that, they were determined to make it a big wedding, no matter how many jewels had to be sold. But then came this accident and ..." She paused a moment as though struggling to hold back an impending torrent of tears. "Oh, she's
okay,
really she is! She'll walk again. With a cane. But the treatment, you see, it's the best money can buy. The duke insisted. So, we had a talk about the wedding and the duke and I agreed it would have to be small. Mummy was furious! 'How will it look!' she kept saying. But we finally convinced her her spine just had to come first and she agreed that a small wedding was for the best. I'm so sorry to bring all this up at such a festive luncheon. But I did think it had to be said
right at the beginning so there wouldn't be any misunderstandings." I'd seen Moira's performances before, and with the exception of those actually given on a stage, they'd all been very professional. This latest piece of work, though, transcended the lot. The warmth, the sadness and filial devotion all seemed so genuine, so sincere. It was terrifying.

Maddie wiped her eyes with a cocktail napkin and Gilbert took the opportunity to fix Moira with a stare of bug-eyed fury.

"I'm glad you told me this," said Maddie. "Now, honey, you'll forgive me for some plain speaking but all the tact I've got you could stuff in an olive and still have room for the pimento."

She took Moira's hands in her own and smiled beatifically. "All I have is one son. I always wanted to have a daughter, too, but after a while I got over the hump, and I knew then the only daughter I'd ever have would be the girl Gilbert decided to marry- if he ever did, which I used to worry about on account of he was shy. So, I've been waiting for Gilbert's wedding for years and years. And it'd just about kill me not to be able to share it with all my old friends and my new family. Now, darling, you said yourself your mother was all in favor of a big wedding before that lousy horse knocked her silly. So, if a big wedding's what your people want, and it's what our people want, too, what difference does it make who pays for it?"