“Look at the two of you. Just gorgeous,” a young man with beautiful features broke in. “Miss Gardiner, I presume?”
“Constance, do you know Keith McKeith? The choreographer?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure. How do you do?” Constance extended a lily-white hand.
“I just adore your ‘How do you do.’ So very Palm Beach. Marilyn, you’re really dating up.” He arched a brow. “And I feel like I know you because I am one of your biggest customers.” He smiled.
“Customers?” Constance looked confused.
“Keith is one of the most famous drag artists, dahling,” Tallulah said. “He does me better than me! All the queens use Gardiner, you know … they prefer it over Herz.”
“Yes, it’s cheaper and stays on longer after a blowie.” He laughed.
“I’m not sure what to say.” Constance was reeling.
“Say thank you. He buys your product, dearie.”
“I don’t buy it. James, your brother, gives it to me. He gifts all the queens after we service him.” He laughed out loud and walked away. Constance blushed, clearly uncomfortable.
“Constance, really? This isn’t Palm Beach, it’s Bankheads,” Marilyn whispered. “You must have known.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just not used to this.”
“Here, have another martini”—she grabbed one off a passing tray—“and take the proverbial stick out of your ass. What? You think people here don’t know I’m fucking you?”
“It’s just so … overt?” She tried to find the right words to express her discomfort.
“Well, get used to it, chickadee. We are bunking together, you know.” Marilyn blew her a kiss, and Constance finally relented and laughed.
“You see? I knew you could lighten up like everyone else. There’s a famous story about our hostess. When she first arrived in Hollywood, she went up to Thalberg, can you imagine, and said, ‘How do you get laid in this dreadful place?’ And he said—”
Tallulah broke in to finish the anecdote herself. “And he said, ‘I’m sure you’ll have no problem. Ask anyone!’” Her throaty laughter was contagious, as her guests all laughed with her.
While loath to admit it, Constance hadn’t been mentally or physically challenged or stimulated in quite some time and tried to fit in despite her innate prudishness. However, as much as she tried to laugh and be lighthearted and clever, the initial excitement receded once she had arrived. Now she knew why she never accepted weekend invitations. She always felt somewhat trapped and having to sing for her supper and entertain her hosts. Not to mention the fact that her feelings for Marilyn were actually growing, to her dismay. After a day and a half of witty repartee, country air, and more gin and tonics than she could count, Constance was feeling the claustrophobia of their togetherness, despite being stirred by their closeness. And when Marilyn pulled her near her on a path in the woods and declared, “I’m falling for you, you damn virgin,” Constance froze and walked in front of her and then immediately begged off, claiming a new product meeting in the morning, deciding to leave early. Marilyn was upset and perplexed, since their chemistry in bed was so passionate that the chorus boys in the next room banged on the wall to keep it down, to her horror. That evening, after her thanks to Tallulah and excuses to Marilyn, as the local taxi picked her up and drove down the long tree-lined drive, she was relieved and happy to be away from the bitchy chorus boys, messy leaves, and seemingly growing overt affection between her and Marilyn, which was disquieting.
She breezed into her office on Monday, and Marjorie nodded silently and put her tea service and newspapers on her desk. To her continued dismay, she digested the bold headline about Roosevelt’s win over Dewey, whom she had supported. A fourth term with him again! she griped. Marilyn had been jubilant at the outcome, toasting with the weekend guests to Constance’s stony silence on the subject. The more she praised Roosevelt, the more Constance seemed to retreat. Had she been doing it on purpose to elicit some sort of response?
Marjorie buzzed. “Miss Gardiner, Mr. Wyke is on the phone for you. What shall I tell him?”
Constance hesitated before picking up the phone. She knew if Van was calling, it was either about money or some sort of annoying issue. She wasn’t wrong.
“I’ll take it.” She sighed dramatically “Yes, Van…” She paused. “How can I help you?” She twisted her multistrand pearl bracelet with anxiety.
“Hello, Constance. First things first. I wanted to know if you or I shall be taking Van Jr. for Christmas holiday. I assumed we would,” he said softly.
“We?” Her voice was laced with ice.
“Well, Lally and I. We would have him in Palm Beach for Christmas break.”
“I actually plan on taking him this year. We will be in Palm Beach through New Year’s and you can see him for a few lunches or dinner. I prefer Lally not be there, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” He paused. “I do think, though, you are going to have to get used to the idea, Constance. Lally is my wife now and she has her own children.” He tried to offer up a perk. “Van Jr. might enjoy the company of other kids his age.”
“I am quite aware of that. How else can I help you, Van? I am quite busy.” She paced beside her desk.
“I think it’s time you sent over the remaining two hundred and fifty thousand you owe me,” he finally blurted out. “I only received the first half.”
“Well, that’s just it. I am a bit cash strapped for now, so I will be sending it to you in installments. Five thousand a month.”
“Constance, I think you need to reconsider,” he said firmly.
“And why is that? You’re getting your money, just not all at once.”
“Lally and I just received a dinner invitation from the Louis Kaufmans. They are hosting a celebratory dinner at the Everglades Club for Prince and Princess Orlove, who happen to be at the Breakers for their honeymoon.” He paused. “We are thinking of attending.” He had dropped the bomb and now waited for the explosion.
“I see,” she reflected. “So the one Jewish member is hosting a dinner for her. They do stick together, apparently, their little tribe.”
“Come now, Constance. I am sure Kaufman is advising her. He was president of Chatham Phenex National Bank, on the board of General Motors, and is one of the members that saved the club from foreclosure in the twenties. His daughter Joan, whom you’ve met, was married to George Drexel Biddle. And Mrs. Biddle is also on the host committee, so it will be quite the crowd, I can assure you.”
“I see. Well, it’s all very convenient.”
“Shall Lally and I attend … or send our regrets?”
“Yes. I rather think you should send your … regrets.” She chose her words carefully. “The next installment of one hundred twenty-five thousand will be sent this week.”
“I thought so. It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Constance. I will see you down in PB over the holidays and I will make sure Van Jr. and I spend some good quality father-son time together.”
“Thank you, Van. Best to Lally.” She slammed the phone down.
Of course she was in Palm Beach! It didn’t take that woman five minutes of having a second-rate title to start throwing it around, and on her turf. Nor did it take the conniving duo Van and Lally two seconds to blackmail her with her rival. Outwitted again, she fumed. It did, however, prompt an idea.
“Marjorie…,” Constance called out for her secretary.
“Yes, Miss Gardiner.”
“Can you get me Avery Fisher on the phone? I think it’s time Gardiner Cosmetics got involved in some cultural events in New York. I think we should sponsor the opera this year. You did accept my being on the benefit committee?”
“Yes, and I made clear that you would consider it only if, well … if she was not on it this year.”
“Perfect.” She smiled to herself. “If she is going to play in my sandbox, then it’s high time I played in Herz.” She laughed out loud.
47
NEWLYWEDS
New York City, 1945
The triumphant glow of Josephine’s honeymoon in Palm Beach remained long after her slight sunburn receded and the newlyweds returned to Manhattan. Deep down, Josephine actually preferred the action and nightlife of Miami, but she had been thoroughly pleased by the welcoming staff at the imposing Breakers and the attentions of the cream of Palm Beach society, who were more than happy to overlook certain prejudices when it came to money and exotic titles. Certainly the men were impressed by Josephine’s business savvy and her dark, innate curves and overt sex appeal, which was in contrast to the cool qualities of the languid blondes who occupied the grass tennis courts and charity balls of the island paradise. The women, young and old, were flushed and gaga over Alexei Orlove’s dashing good looks and White Russian title. No one was born to the tuxedo more than the youthful prince, with his broad shoulders and tapered waist, and few women had as impressive a décolletage and famed emerald and diamond parures, which had belonged to the original empress Josephine and been reset by the current one. Most had to admit that despite their reservations, sheer glamour had descended on the insular and lily-white crowd. While many gossiped that she had married him for the title, and he for her riches, it took only a moment in their presence to see how happy they were together. A few bored members of the Palm Beach set even tried to curry favor with Josephine in order to receive an invitation to her famed weekly Manhattan salons, which had gained attention among those looking for more of a mix and a thrill. “Do you know she even hosts black dancers from the Cotton Club?” Women would raise a plucked eyebrow and men would give one another knowing glances, salivating at the thought of a more interesting and looser set.
For her part, Josephine had always been running, running, running … trying to succeed in life and in business, never slowing down to smell the roses. On her oft-delayed honeymoon, which Alexei had convinced her to take, she finally relaxed with him at her side. The ever-present anxiety and intensity receded and she felt calm, centered, and somehow complete. While the trimmings of his youth, good looks, and title were obvious attractions, his easygoing and low-key demeanor worked to soften Josephine’s edges, and everyone found her looking younger, more attractive, and relaxed.
“A new youth serum?” those who knew her asked, and smiled at the refreshed and improved Madame Herz with a hint of youthful ardor. She just smiled. It would, however, eventually lead her to a new treatment line and a fragrance called “Our Love by Princess Orlove.”
“Darling, look what I got you.” Josephine wrapped her lovely, creamy arms around her handsome husband at his drafting table, her crystal-and-diamond cuffs jangling, and handed him a small bag from Gimbels department store.
“If this is what I think it is…” He eagerly opened the present, and his eyes laughed and sparkled. “I cannot believe you got this for me … it’s so expensive, Josephine.” His sea-blue eyes pleaded.
“You had to have one. It’s the latest invention,” she said as he marveled at and inspected the first ballpoint pen available for sale.
“But”—he looked at the receipt in the bag—“it’s twelve fifty … for a pen?!” He looked at her as if she were insane.
“I know, but what do you think—I can’t afford to buy you a pen? You won’t take anything else … and after all, the pen is mightier than the sword.”
He swiveled in his chair and kissed her on her pillow lips.
“You are crazy, you know that?”
“Well, now that the war is over we have to celebrate. What are you working on?” She looked at his renderings over his shoulder. He was drawing a new line of lipsticks called “Victory Rouge.” The color scheme was red and gold, all vivid and bursting with excitement owing to the German surrender. The enemy had been defeated, and the mood in the country was now confident and jubilant.
“That is beautiful,” she commented, studying his product drawings and vibrant watercolors as she ran her well-groomed hands through his dark, lustrous hair. “I never asked you. Where did you learn to draw and paint so beautifully?” She nestled into him. Her outward affection had become deep and uncharacteristic. He looked at her and smiled, putting aside his sharpened pencil to examine the new ballpoint pen.
“I’m not sure I told you, when I was a child I had rheumatic fever and was in bed for months. I had nothing to do for weeks on end, so my mother gave me a drawing pad and some watercolors. Once they were in my hands my health and spirit improved. It changed my life.”
“I didn’t know that. Well, you are very strong now. My handsome prince.…” She marveled at his strong physique.
“They thought I didn’t have long to live, so I drew my way out of it.” He gave a wan smile. Josephine processed the news about his early illness without saying much, only hugging him tighter. She knew that there must have been side effects to his heart but decided not to say anything, just mentally filing it away.
“Come. I’ve decided to take you and Miles to Lüchow’s for dinner.” She was in the mood for some schnitzel and potato pancakes and also wanted to fatten up Miles now that he was fifteen and still skinny like a string bean.
“That sounds like fun. I just need to finish this up and I’ll get ready.” He kissed her. Josephine, for her part, had never been an overly involved mother and trusted Alexei when it came to opinions about Miles. A shy and reserved boy who was deeply affected by his domineering mother and his parents’ divorce, he had developed a stutter and lack of confidence when he turned thirteen. Josephine had no understanding of his condition and often yelled at him to stop stuttering, which only made the situation worse. Now that Alexei was a permanent part of the household, he tried to build Miles’s self-confidence and be a sounding board for the sensitive adolescent. His admonishment of his wife’s unfeeling treatment of her son had moved her. She gave in to him, especially given Jon Blake’s lack of involvement now that he had a new wife and two young children of his own, something she was bitter about after settling so much on him.
For his part, Miles was originally suspicious of the handsome younger man who had stolen his mother’s affections, and shortly after they were married, at a Sunday night dinner, he exhibited a rare moment of rebellion with a caustic remark directed at Alexei. In a fury, Josephine pulled him into her office and instructed him to sit while she went into the wall safe behind the the Picasso portrait of Dora Maar. After cranking the safe dial, she opened the door and threw a sheaf of papers at him.
“Do you know what this is?” She raised her voice as he visibly shrank in his seat. “It is a prenuptial agreement that Alexei signed before we got married. It protects you and me from him getting anything, do you hear me? He gets nothing if there is a divorce or something happens to me. You, you spoiled young man, get everything just by virtue of the fact that you are my son. He wants nothing but to be your friend. To help you. When you are rude to him, you are rude to me. Now you go apologize to him, and if I hear you are rude to him again, I can assure you,” she commanded, “I vill change the vill and he vill inherit. Do you hear me?”
“Yes … M-M-Momma,” he stuttered, looking down.
“Now stop that stutter and get out and go apologize,” she said in a fury.
The dramatic outburst and dressing-down seemed to work. Perhaps Miles needed to see in black and white that he was, after all, the heir to his mother’s attentions, and he softened considerably over the next few weeks. Within the month, Miles and Alexei were closer and co-conspirators, to Josephine’s delight. And while Alexei would never take a penny, the next day there would always be a new Cartier tank watch or a pair of gold-and-sapphire braided cuff links from Verdura on his drafting table. It was her way of gifting him and making sure he knew he was appreciated and loved and that he had a growing list of assets. As they made their way downtown to Lüchow’s in the back of the limousine, Miles filled them in on his tests and studies, and to Josephine’s delight his grades had been slowly improving.
“Good. I will o
nly accept the Ivy League!” she commanded.
At the ornate entrance, they were greeted by the owner, Victor Eckstein, as all heads swiveled. Josephine was something of a local celebrity, and she and Alexei made a stunning couple. “Ah, Prince and Princess Orlove. So good to see you.”
“Say hello to Mr. Eckstein. This is my son, Miles.” Miles shook his hand firmly.
“A handsome boy.” Victor surveyed the clean-cut private school boy.
“We’re in dire need of some schnitzel to fatten him up,” she proclaimed to laughter.
“I’ll send the waiter immediately, Madame Herz. A pleasure.” He kissed her hand in the European style and led them to his finest table.
Dinner was a convivial affair. The awkward silences that had once existed between mother and son were now peppered with animated conversation and laughter, and it made the weekly meals more agreeable and pleasant with Alexei leading the conversation. “He’s only going to be home for two more years before university,” Alexei kept saying, “so enjoy it while he’s still living at home.”
The opulent dessert cart was wheeled over, the layered cakes and torten stacked high like treats in a Turkish bazaar. Josephine ordered a linzer torte and then heaping portions of apple crepes with freshly whipped cream and cinnamon for the boys. Suddenly, a slight, bald-headed man approached the table and gave a short, courtly bow. While he was a stranger, he had the familiar look of a landsman, his Polish Jewish looks comforting to Josephine in a welcoming way.
“Are you Madame Herz? I heard the owner mention your name.” He was tentative and ill at ease, and his emaciated frame was swimming in a suit two times the appropriate size. Josephine was unsure of why he had come over to the table but thought perhaps he might have known her from her childhood.
“A pleasure to meet you. I am Izaak Frydman. I am sorry to disturb your dinner, but I vanted to give you this number,” he said in Polish-tinged English. “I am sure you vould vant it.” He handed Josephine a small, crumpled piece of paper with a tiny phone number scribbled in faint blue ink.
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