Too Damn Rich (32 page)

Instead of sending a hostess an
embarrassingly expensive thank you gift, she began searching high
and low for the unique, the tasteful, the inexpensive, and
occasionally, the hilariously vulgar.

She kept a notebook in which she jotted down
everyone's likes and dislikes—be it food, wine, flowers, dinner
partners, friends, and, above all, enemies, so that no two foes got
invited to the same party.

And always, she was refining, honing,
perfecting. Learning to do all the right things.

At 6:45, dressed in her exercise outfit
(fluorescent pink, yellow, and Kermit green Spandex), she rang her
majordomo.

"Yes, madame?" Julio's voice over the
in-house phone sounded sleepy.

"I'm running a bit ahead of schedule." Dina
wasn't in the least apologetic. "We'll take our meeting now." She
paused for two seconds. "In here."

"At once, madame."

When he arrived, she was seated on the sofa
in her adjoining sitting room, sipping coffee Darlene had just
poured from the silver pot.

Julio hovered. "Madame?"

"Thank you, Darlene," Dina said crisply.
"That will be all."

"Yes, ma'am." Her maid half curtsied and
fled.

Julio, sniffing disdainfully, eyed the
departing figure with disapproval.

Dina's knowledge of fine things might have
needed honing, but her claws did not. Fixing him with a sharp gaze,
she said, "Julio. Sit." Sounding like a dog trainer. "No, no, not
in that chair." She pointed. "In that one. There."

Meekly he obeyed.

"Architectural Digest is coming to photograph
this apartment next week," she said, coming right to the point.
"They will be here on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. I expect you
to extend them every courtesy." She paused. "In fact, you are going
to bend over backward for them."

"Yes, madame." He got out his pocket-size
notebook and Cartier pen and scribbled away.

"On Tuesday, Renny is coming to do the floral
arrangements. He or one of his assistants will also be on hand each
of the following three days to freshen up the bouquets. I expect
you to bend over backward for him, also."

"Of course, madame." He made a note of
it.

Dina took another sip of coffee. "Now,
concerning last Sunday's buffet. Must I reiterate that it is casual
for guests only? Last week, I distinctly detected shoddiness on the
part of the staff. You will not permit this to happen again."

"No, madame."

"You were not here last Sunday," she pointed
out.

"I was visiting a sick relative and—"

"You will call on your friends and relatives
on your own time. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly, madame. I'm sorry—"

"See that it doesn't happen again."

They discussed general household matters,
during which Dina consulted a little gold notepad and rattled off a
litany of complaints: Dust here ... smudged marble there ... a
cobweb in a chandelier—a cobweb!

He made a note of everything.

Darlene knocked, announcing that the personal
trainer had arrived.

Dina glanced at the tiny Faberge clock on the
end table. It was seven o'clock; he was fifteen minutes early.
Good.

Dina spent the next twenty-five minutes in
her mirrored, Nautilus- equipped gym, where Scott, her merciless
trainer, put her through rigorous paces.

A soothing bath followed, after which she met
with Gaby.

Personal telephone calls ate up another half
hour.

At nine-thirty, Dina submitted to a robust
massage, and at ten, to her thrice-weekly ministrations from her
hairdresser and manicurist.

Later, dressed in cream Chanel with black
frogging and heavy Verdura pieces-of-eight (necklace, bracelets,
ear clips, and brooch), she interviewed the Pritikin chef (Becky V
had one, why shouldn't she?) and hired him on a trial basis.

Then she sallied forth.

Morning and noon flew by in a blur. One
Sotheby's lecture and a de la Renta fitting later, Dina arrived at
Becky V's.

It was one-thirty, and despite her grueling
schedule, she wasn't the least bit exhausted.

Far from it. Dina Goldsmith had energy to
burn. She was in the fast lane—and loving every damn minute of
it!

"
Merci
, Uriah. That shall be all,"
Becky V told the shaky, beaky-nosed old retainer who set down the
tray laden with sterling: teapot, coffeepot, sugar urn, and
creamer.

"Yes, Madame!" shouted the ancient Uriah,
who, like so many hearing-impaired people, yelled rather than
spoke.

Becky caught Dina's disapproving glance at
the departing servant; reaching for the Limoges cups, she
explained: "Uriah and I have grown quite fond of each other. Did
you know he was with my last husband, poor dear Joaquin, for over
fifteen years? And for thirty years with his father before him?
Oui. Uriah is of the old school. His pride precludes him from
considering retirement. Personally, I think it would kill him."

Tilting her head, she regarded Dina with that
famous, unfathomable smile.

"
Alors
. Uriah and I have an
understanding. He puts up with my eccentricities, and I ignore his
little infirmities. It is as my grandmother taught us: 'First our
servants take care of us, and then we must take care of them.' It
is a sacred obligation. Ou. Look at Uriah. It is a small price to
pay for nearly fifty years of devoted service,
n'est-ce
pas?
"

Dina nodded.

Becky gestured to the tray. "
Alors
.
Would you prefer coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, please."

Becky picked up the coffeepot, fashioned one
hundred ninety-four years earlier by Joseph Richardson, Jr., of
Philadelphia, and tipped the spout delicately toward the cups. She
pressed on the lid with the forefinger of her left hand and kept
the pinkie of the right extended. She poured a thin steaming arc
for each of them and set the pot back down.

"
Au lait?
"

Dina shook her head. "I always take mine
black."

"
Moi aussi
." Becky nodded approvingly,
handed Dina a cup and saucer, and sipped her own strong French
roast as delicately as she had poured it, again with the pinkie
extended.

They were enjoying these apres-lunch coffees
in the shadowy
cabinet d'amateur
of Becky V's penthouse, a
mysteriously seductive cocoon created by the maestro of the world's
most sumptuous interiors, Ren- zo Mongiardino.

The room, which Becky called her
"
cabinet
," was like the inside of a precious Renaissance
jewel casket—an effect conjured through masterful tromp 1'oeil on
all four walls and coved ceiling, every square inch of which had
been painstakingly painted, then poetically mellowed.

A plethora of simulated, "aged," surfaces
abounded. Ebony, tulip-wood, porphyry, agate, scagiola, gilt.

But this shimmering, spectacularly rich
background was not merely decorative. Indeed, a single calculated
purpose lay behind the profligate opulence: to enhance, without
bringing immediate attention to, the sixteen superb miniature Goyas
embedded in the walls like half-hidden gems.

Unable to help herself, Dina found her eyes
constantly roving, enviously eating up the details of this glorious
room in this glorious apartment, which could have come from a
hotel particulier
on the Quai d'Anjou, and reassembled here,
in the heart of Manhattan.

Drunk on this intoxicating atmosphere, Dina
also realized with a pang, that her own nearby duplex, of which she
had been so proud, was nothing if not woefully, hopelessly,
unforgivably
nouveau riche
and just ... well, just too
everything.

But this—Becky V's premeditatedly aged
chateau-in-the-sky, redolent with an air of history, lineage,
titles, and breeding—
this
was what Dina truly hungered
for.

Yes! It was high time to redecorate, and with
the help of a master! Renzo Whatever-His-Name was, who else?
Indeed! Before departing, she would ask Becky for an
introduction.

After all, Dina asked herself, hasn't my
motto always been, "When in doubt, redecorate"? And didn't everyone
know it?

"
Alors
." Becky set down her cup and
saucer.

"Wha—" Dina gave a start. "Oh, dear. I am
sorry. My mind was—"

Becky gestured with a languid hand. "
Point
du tout
. There is no need to apologize. I was only saying that
I have a small confession to make."

"Really!" Dina looked at her raptly, all
thoughts of decor forgotten. "
Do
tell!"

"I had an
arriere-pensee
..." Becky
smiled. "What you would call an ulterior motive ... for inviting
you here. However, I believe you will find it most amusing and
intriguing ..."

"Oh, but I do!" Dina, all ears, was
breathlessly perched at the edge of her seat. "I already do!"

Becky lifted a cautionary finger. "But first,
a warning. Utter discretion is imperatif. This cannot go further
than this room." She raised her chin, her eyes suddenly hardening.
"This must remain our little secret.
D'accord?
"

Dina stared at her. Sharing a secret with
Becky V! Good heavens. Would miracles never cease? She tried to
reply, but to her chagrin discovered she was hopelessly
tongue-tied.

Becky picked up her cup, took another sip of
coffee, and set it back down. "I can rely on your discretion,
then?"

"Er, uh, uhm," stuttered Dina, still at an
utter loss for words. And then, before she could help herself, she
blurted the first thing which popped into her head:
"
Oui!"

As soon as it was out, she placed her fingers
against her lips. Oh, God, she thought, appalled. I've really
blundered now!

But Becky merely smiled. "As this concerns
one of my best friends and one of yours, it is only natural that we
join forces.
N'est-ce pas?
Especially since we are both in
such a unique position to help."

Join forces? With Becky? Dina immediately
warmed to the idea. How extraordinary! she thought. What on earth
can Becky have in mind?

"I see I must explain." Folding her hands in
her lap, Becky gazed contemplatively up at the faux rosettes of the
coffered ceiling. "Prince Karl- Heinz is arriving back in town
tomorrow."

"Is he? I had no idea ..."

"I believe I am the only person who knows."
Lowering her eyes, Becky met Dina's gaze directly. "I shall be
frank,
oui?
"

Dina, still overwhelmed at being taken into
Becky's confidence, didn't trust herself to speak, and merely
nodded.

"Apparently, le vieil Prince's condition has
stabilized. That is not to mean Heinzie's father is healthy; far
from it. He is in a coma which is believed to be irreversible.
However, he is out of immediate danger. And, more importantly—"

Pausing, Becky sat forward and exhaled an
explosion of breath: "He ... is ... legally ... alive!"

Her eyes had widened, the unsurpassed violet
pupils floating in a sea of white.

Dina stared at her with dawning
understanding. So this was it! she thought, feeling something
twitching to life deep inside her. She took a quick gulp of coffee.
Now she had a good idea of exactly why Becky had invited her, and
where this conversation was headed. Together—

—the two of them could bring Karl-Heinz and
Zandra together!

Becky's face shone with an inner light. "Ah!"
She nodded slowly. "So you do know of what I speak,
chere
amie
."

Dina was silent.

"Of course you do."

"Yes," Dina managed, and then, finding her
voice, said in hushed tones: "The prince is your best friend, and
Zandra is mine."

The intensity of her own face seemed to
mirror Becky's.

"Apparently we have both come to the same
conclusion. He needs an heir before his father dies—and Zandra is
the obvious candidate."

"
Exactement!
"

Becky's perfect teeth gleamed moistly, and
for a fleeting instant Dina glimpsed the steel behind the
fathomless da Vinci smile.

"But neither of us can bring this about
alone.
Alors
. We must work together."

"Like two puppeteers?"

"
S'il vous plait
! I prefer to think of
us as ... as wise and well- intentioned friends ... fairy
godmothers, if you will. Would you like some more coffee?"

"Well ..."

"
Un peu?"

"A little, perhaps. Yes. Please." Dina held
out her cup for a refill.

Becky continued talking as she poured,
delicate pinkie extended: "After all, there is no denying that
Heinzie and Zandra are perfectly suited for one another."

"Yes," said Dina, who'd mulled this over ever
since the night of the party at the Met. "But there might be one or
two, er, stumbling blocks."

"Oh?" Becky frowned. "And what might those
be?"

Dina sighed. "Love, for one thing."

"Love!" Becky sat there, unfazed. "What's
love got to do with it?" She laughed softly, chidingly. "Really,
chere amie
. We are speaking of fortunes, birthrights,
bloodlines. We are speaking of one of the largest empires on earth!
And you speak of love?"

"Plus there's their age difference," Dina
pointed out.

"Age!" Becky waved a hand, as at an
irritating fly. "In light of everything Zandra and Heinzie have in
common, that is insignificant. Dit moi: Have not you yourself ...
and I on one occasion ... married older men?"

Dina nodded.

"And are not Zandra and Heinzie both blessed
with that aura of multiplying the other's allure?"

Dina nodded again.

"And would they not make an exceedingly
splendid and dashing couple?"

"Yes," agreed Dina, "that they would."

"
Alors
. There you have it." Becky
regarded her unblinkingly for a moment. "I can count on you, then?
You will help?"