Blue Heaven (10 page)

But the episode illustrated that, however much Tony wanted to indulge his wife, his generosity was not without limits. They would have to tread cautiously and see how they might compensate for these unwanted economies.

It was in this spirit of tactical extravagance that Gilbert finally laid down the law regarding Vulpina. Whatever you could say about her designing skills, and he said plenty, she did not possess the sort of wide notoriety which could demand a truly exorbitant fee. Moira, in an uncharacteristic show of loyalty, fought this vociferously. It was only when Gilbert threatened personally to phone the duchess, decry Pina's vulgarity and beg Her Grace to talk some sense into her daughter that Moira finally relented.

"I don't see why she made such a big stink about it. I mean, she can blame it all on her mother. Pina knows what the duchess thinks of her."

"Still, they're best friends. Moira can't like having to disappoint her."

"Dear naive Philip! Moira just resisted so
I'd
be the bad one. She'd disappoint Pina six times before breakfast if there were a few bucks in it. So I guess that's-no, wait! I forgot! Guess who Moy and I ran into Wednesday night at Marilyn's Grave?"

"Who?"

"Gunny Von Steigle!"

"No!"

"Yes! We were out dancing there with Nancy and this Dutch model friend of hers, and we were having a break in one of the lounges. Have you been there? It's all tombstones and erotic statues and they pay gorgeous people to walk around naked, covered in plaster. We should go."

"Gunther?" I said, gently easing him back toward the topic at hand.

"Oh, right. Well, we were sitting there having beers-six bucks!- and learning the Dutch for everything, then I looked up and he'd just sort of materialized."

"What'd he say?"

"What do you think? 'Hello Mistah Selvyn.' In that voice of his- you know, Arnold Schwarzenegger auditioning for Henry Higgins. So I say, 'Look cute stuff, I told you if you kept harassing me I'd sue the pants off you.' And he smiled and said, 'I'm not harassing you Mr. Selwyn. It's mere coincidence that brings us together.' Then he looked at Moira and said, 'I take it this is your fiancée?' "

"Did Moira know about it all? You and him and Paris and us meeting him in the park that day?"

"You bet! I told her the whole thing the night it happened. So Moira knew who he was and she was staring daggers at him, just daring him to try something, and he looks at her and says, 'Hello, Miss Finch. Zo joo are engaged to zis homazeggsual fortune hunter?'

"Then Moira stood up and glared at him and said, 'You listen to me, mister-I know everything about Gilbert! Understand?
Everything.
So you can't surprise me with the truth or fool me with lies. But if you try to do either one again I will personally take that sieve you call a face and bash it into the nearest brick wall.
Now beat it!'

"And everyone in the room could hear that, and they just stared at Moira staring at him till he finally just
slunk
away! You should have been there! She was great! I'm so glad to be in such good hands!"

That's what he said on Friday. The Thursday after that I received a call from him at about five.

"You've got to come over here right away!"

"What is it?"

"What do you think it is? It's Moira!"

"What about her?"

"The lousy bitch is cheating on me!"

Ten

H
e'd sounded upset on the phone but I hadn't realized just how upset till I reached God's Country and, entering the kitchen, saw the empty containers of Früsen Glädje butter pecan sitting in the trash. This is Gilbert's favorite treat, and while his obsession with maintaining his boyish figure prevents him from indulging too frequently, in times of great inner turmoil he consumes it by the pint without pausing to chew the pecans.

"The
nerve
of that bitch! After all her snippy little lectures to me about
controlling
myself and making sacrifices for the common good. 'One slip, Gilley Pie! That's all it would take and everyone would know the whole thing was a sham. We don't want that, do we?' And here she is starting some sleazy affair with God knows who!"

I asked if he was that sure she was having a dalliance and he replied that it was beyond doubt.

Moira, he reminded me, had affected great sympathy for Pina after Gilbert insisted she be fired from gown duty. Moira claimed to have spent several nights last week bucking up her friend's shattered confidence. Earlier that day, though, Gilbert had been in SoHo, checking out a shop called Albino.

"Albino?"

"Chichi stationery. One invitation will set you back five bucks. Anyway, it's right around the corner from Pina's shop so I thought I'd bop in and ask if I could take her to lunch. You know, a little conciliatory gesture to smooth things over? So, I waltz in and there's that Chinese boy who works for her. You know, Peter?"

"Real short, real pretty?"

"If that's what you like, yes. I asked him where Vulpina was, and
he said, 'Oh, sorry, Peenie's in L.A.!' That punk group she designs for, the Entrails, they're doing their first video and she's out there to help. 'Well, when did she leave?' I ask. He says,
'Two weeks
ago.' So Moira couldn't
possibly
have fired her, and she couldn't have been busy consoling her all week either. So Petey says, 'She calls in every day. Any message?' I said, 'Yes tell her Mr. Selwyn stopped in to deliver a message from Moira Finch. Miss Finch is sorry but she will not be able to wear Miss Vulpina's bridal gown because Miss Finch's mother, the duchess, would rather see her married in a Hefty bag with arm holes.' The nerve of that bitch!"

"Calm down. So what if she is screwing around? As long as she's discreet about it, what's the difference?"

"Erhart Lund!" bellowed Gilbert. "That's the difference! If I can give up Erhart fucking Lund she can damn well kiss off whatever nearsighted pork roast she's boffing twice a week! There are principles here!"

"Ah."

"You don't know how horny I've been! There's been no one since Paris. No one! Three months it's been! Do you know what that feels like?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Well, it's different with you."

"Thanks a lot."

"Oh, you know what I mean! You're not like me. You're stronger, more self-sufficient. But me, I'm such a-"

"Slut?"

"Romantic, I was going to say. Because I am. Really, Philip, I'm only at my best when I'm in love. I didn't realize it till now because I'd never not been in love for more than a week or so, but these last few months have been just awful!"

We heard the front door slam and a moment later Moira danced in.

"Philip, my angel, it's been days! What have you been up to?"

"Oh, I've had this research project for Milt Miller. And I'm writing a
musical with Claire. Lots of work."

"Work! Tell me about it! I never imagined putting a trousseau together could be so harrowing! I'd rather write a dozen musicals! Gilley dear, please don't be furious but I have to break our date tonight."

"Oh?" said Gilbert, giving me a deceptively casual glance.

"Yes." She addressed me sweetly: "We were supposed to be going to a little early evening cocktail party at Holly's. Were you asked?"

"No."

"Oh, that Holly-I can't imagine what he has against you. Anyway, Gilley, I won't be able to make it. Something's come up."

"What?"

"What is it ever? Poor Pina! She's done some work on her spring line and she wants my opinion. Dash, dash dash! That's all I do! I'll just go take a quick shower then I'll be off. Why don't you take Philip to Holly's? I'm sure he won't mind and if he does, fuck 'im, right? Have fun!" she chirped, and traipsed out of the room.

Gilbert regarded me grimly. We donned coats in silence and left.

I had a fair guess what he was up to. He was planning to hide outside the building and follow her. This struck me as a childish, melodramatic way to deal with the situation and I hoped he'd let me tag along.

As soon as the elevator doors closed he said, "Here's what we do . . ."

"I'm way ahead of you."

Upon exiting the building we gazed about and soon agreed that a spot across the street behind the wall of Central Park would afford a good view of the door and the desired minimum of visibility. We zipped across the street and scrambled over the wall, attracting the alarmed gaze of several respectable citizens who must have considered us either sui- or homicidal to be entering the park after sundown in December.

We crouched there in the darkness, breathing heavily from our exertions and feeling a sense of illicit cunning that was quite agreeable. It was like being plunged into one of those blithely improbable thrillers in which private citizens without a bit of military training elude and ultimately topple hugely sophisticated international crime cartels.

We raised our heads just above the top of the wall and fixed our eyes on the door. About twenty minutes later Moira appeared. She was carrying a large dress box and wearing a trench coat, both of which details gave the proceedings just that extra dash of Ludlum I'd been hoping for. She turned and began strolling briskly down Central

Park West. We followed behind the wall and saw her turn west at Eighty-first Street, which, fortunately for us, was where the wall stopped to permit entrance to the park.

We emerged and attempted to cross the street. Traffic, however, was completely against us, which struck me as monstrously unfair since in a proper thriller passing traffic is always on the side of the good guys, whizzing by at just the right moment to block the arch-assassin's aim and ruin his delicate concentration. We stood there a moment hissing through our teeth, then Gilbert grabbed my hand and, shouting
"C'mon!"
dragged me swiftly across the street amidst a volley of shrill horn blasts, screeching tires and taxi drivers accusing us of Oedipal tendencies.

We reached the sidewalk, slowed to a trot and, by the time we'd reached Columbus Avenue, caught up with Moira. She stopped quite suddenly at the corner, forcing us to dive for cover behind a large column at the entrance to an apartment building.

The scene's resemblance to a hackneyed suspenser was rendered complete by the sudden sight of an immense black limo pulling up directly in front of Moira. Gilbert gasped and I couldn't blame him. From the poker-faced driver to the smoked, presumably bulletproof windows, everything about the car reeked of ill-gotten gains. The sheer length of it was astonishing; I've seen limos with bars in the back seat but this one looked like it had a restaurant.

The driver emerged and opened the back door for Moira. She entered and the car sped off down Columbus.

"How could she?" said Gilbert, his eyes huge with wonder.

"Huh?"

"How could anyone sleep with-with
him
!"

"Gilbert, you know who that car belongs to?"

"Yes! It's Freddy Bombelli's!"

"Freddy Bombelli?"

"Yes!"

"Isn't he a little . . . mature for Moira?"

"Mature! He read the fucking Old Testament in manuscript! My God, I don't
believe
this!"

We turned and began the walk homeward, Gilbert ranting full voice and totally oblivious to the amused or offended stares of passersby.

"Do you believe that rotten little whore? To be willing to fuck a withered old goat like Freddy Bombelli!"

"Uh, Gilbert-"

"You haven't
seen
him! He's about five feet tall, reeks of cigars and has this white toupee that looks like it was made from dead hamsters! No one with an ounce of self-respect would dream of fucking him!"

"
Gil
-berrrt-!"

"Besides, he can't have half a hormone left! He probably can't even
do
anything! He probably sits there drooling while Moira shakes her titties at him and talks dirty-"

"Do you
mind\"

"-And then he's so grateful he probably showers her with jewels and big fat checks, just for being nice to him and letting him look at her and-!"

He stopped in his tracks and emitted a sigh that seemed to rise up from the depths of his soul.

"God," he wailed. "Why couldn't he be
gayl"

Moira returned to God's at twelve-thirty. She greeted us sweetly and, without waiting to be asked, launched into a detailed precis of her evening with Pina (who, having gone through life without a first name, seemed finally to have been given one: "Poor"). Gilbert sat listening in tight-lipped silence. It wasn't until Moira, finally taking note of his expression, asked why he was looking so crabbycakes, that he finally exploded, letting loose a torrent of sexual invective which absolutely stunned Moira, though not me as I'd spent the last several hours listening to him revise and polish.

When he was about done, Moira, seizing the woman's-prerogative in these matters, burst into tears. How could she marry a man who would trust her so little as to follow her in secret and leap to such sordid conclusions on the basis of such flimsy evidence?

Certainly she'd been seeing Freddy Bombelli but she was not, by any stretch of the imagination, his mistress. Their relationship was purely professional. His eyesight was failing and he'd hired her to read to him.

"I read to Freddie three nights a week. He pays me twenty dollars an hour, which, as I'm sure experience has taught you, Gilbert, is not mistress wages. I wouldn't lay a finger on him, even if he asked me to which he wouldn't because he's a complete gentleman which
is more than I can say for a certain rat-faced little snoop I have the misfortune to be engaged to."

Gilbert was not convinced. He replied curtly that a young woman whose chaste occupation it was to read to the aged had no reason to lie about her whereabouts, whereas a mercenary slut, willing to engage in sexual practices which might best be described as necrophilia with consent, would naturally take all steps to ensure that such activities should remain her own nasty little secret. Moira rebutted with an ashtray which missed Gilbert entirely and caught me on the right kneecap.

"You beast!" she cried. "If you don't believe me just ask your mother! She set the whole thing up!"

Gilbert stalked over to where Moira sat and, staring dangerously down at her, asked if she was calling his mother a pimp.

"Oh, cut the melodrama, you Airedale. If you'll just shut up and get me a drink I'll tell you about it."

Gilbert scowled mightily but complied with the request. She took a ladylike sip and began.

She said that the day she'd gone window shopping with Maddie after lunch at Trader Vic's, they'd gotten tired and decided to stop for refreshment at a charming bistro on Fifty-second Street. "It's called Paradiso." "I know. Tony's cousin Aggie runs it."

"We were having coffee and pastry and who should come in but Freddy! Your mother waved to him and when he got close enough to see who we were his face just lit up and he insisted we both come sit at this special table with him and his five lawyers. We had a
terrific
time. I don't know
where
you get your disposition from. Your mother's delightful."

I rose to replenish my drink and Moira continued to wax rhapsodic about the woman from whom she was extorting thousands of dollars. "So genuine! You should have seen the way she charmed those six old men, telling stories and asking about their health and their grandchildren and all that sort of stuff. I kept pretty quiet, as always, but by the end I was chatting away with Freddy. He asked me if I had a job and I told him how I used to be an actress but finally quit because the people were all so insincere. Well, he just got all excited and turned to one of his lawyers and started going on about how it
was
fate
brought me to the restaurant! Then he explained about his eye problems and how he needs people to read to him. He'd tried a few but they turned out to be real duds.
No
expression. But with all my professional experience," (which, you'll recall, consisted of nine previews and one performance of Marlowe Heppenstall's
Bong!)
"I'd be absolutely perfect for the job! So, a few days later I had a little tryout and he hired me. I
read
to him, Gilbert. Period."

Well, countered Gilbert, if it was all so innocent why hadn't she, or for that matter, Maddie, ever mentioned this innocent job to him?

"I asked Maddie to clam up about it. I didn't want you to know I was working. I was going to surprise you with a Christmas gift- something really special and wonderful. Though, just what one should give to a fiance who suspects one of prostitution won't be easy to figure out."