“My father was the governor,” whispered Ormonde.
“Exactly,” said Lord Biedermeier.
“My uncle was the ambassador to France,” he went on.
“My very point,” continued Lord Biedermeier. “You must puff harder on the cigar, sir, for it to catch.”
The old man inhaled the Cuban cigar.
“I thought that the time had come for a biography of your family, from the beginning, right up to the present,” said Lord Biedermeier. “You see, Mr. Van Degan—”
As he coughed after inhaling so deeply, the old man’s body was racked by a heart attack.
When Constantine de Rham asked Lil Altemus to dance, Lil, remembering Consuelo, her greatest friend, replied, simply, “No,” with no reason or excuse, although she was not dancing at the time, nor did she seem to have any prospect of a dancing partner once her brother, Laurance Van Degan, had taken her around the floor. Loelia Manchester also declined Constantine’s invitation to dance, as did Mary Finch. Ruby Renthal, who had been a party to using Constantine’s house on Sutton Place during her affair with Elias when he was still married to Gladyce, said, when Constantine asked her to dance, “Not now,” pleading hostess duties, but Constantine understood her answer to mean not later either.
Looking for a place to sit, Constantine saw Laurance Van Degan place his hand over the seat of an empty gold chair at his table to indicate that it was taken, although it remained empty for the next twenty minutes. Finally, he spotted, sitting alone, a discredited Wall Street financier, Max Luby, an early business associate of Elias’s, who had briefly served time for forgery, and took his place there by him. When Elias invited Max Luby to the party, Max, who felt uncomfortable in society, had said to Elias, “I won’t know what to say to all those people,” and Elias had replied, “Don’t worry, Max, no one will speak to you anyway.” He might have been a foreigner unable to speak the language for all the attention anyone paid him. Presently Max Luby and Constantine de Rham, each happy to finally have someone to talk to, were joined briefly by Gus Bailey.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Mr. de Rham?” asked Gus.
“To be able to say tomorrow that one had been here is what matters,” replied Constantine, who was not enjoying himself.
“Mrs. Lupescu is not with you?”
“Alas, Mrs. Lupescu had other plans for this evening.”
In a lower voice, Gus said directly into de Rham’s ear, “I saw your friend, Feliciano.”
“Yes, yes, I know. He called to check on whether you were good for that much money.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I said that you dined at some of the best houses in New York.”
“That, we both know, is no guarantee of solvency.”
“True, true, but it satisfied Feliciano.”
Just then Ruby walked past and spotted Gus.
“Gus Bailey, do you mean to say you’re not going to ask me to dance?” she said.
“I’m a lousy dancer, Ruby,” answered Gus. Throughout the evening Gus had tried to find a moment with Ruby to tell her about Byron Macumber, and here it was.
“I never believe men who say they’re lousy dancers. Come on.” Ruby took Gus by the hand and led him onto the floor. They danced for a time in silence.
“What do you mean you’re a lousy dancer? You’re not a lousy dancer at all.”
“Look who my partner is,” said Gus.
The music changed. The beat became slower. Gus put his arm tighter around Ruby’s back, and she moved into him, putting her cheek next to his. “I hear you called me this afternoon.”
“I did.”
“What about?”
“Where are you going to be tomorrow, Ruby?” he asked.
“Right here. Can you imagine what this is going to be like, taking this party down?”
“I want to see you tomorrow, Ruby. Just for fifteen or twenty minutes. Alone,” said Gus.
Ruby leaned her head back and looked at Gus. He looked back at her. His face was serious.
“This is not party talk, I take it?” she asked.
“No.”
“Lefty Flint?”
“No, not Lefty Flint. There’s something I think you should know about.”
“Tell me.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Three o’clock. Here comes one of those Albanian princes to cut in on you. Give me a hint, Gus, quick. You’ve got me curious.”
“Byron Macumber,” said Gus.
She thought for a moment but could not place the name and indicated this to Gus with a gesture. The prince cut in on Gus. “Byron Macumber, Byron Macumber, it’s twilight time,” she sang to the tune of the song the orchestra was playing, and the prince twirled her around.
“I’m just a simple guy from the Midwest. Poor family. Worked my way through school all my life, but in the few years I’ve been here in New York, I’ve learned a lot about people like you,” said Elias to Loelia Manchester, as he danced her around the floor of his ballroom. Unlike Mickie Minardos, who went to great lengths to conceal his humble origins, Elias Renthal had taken to exaggerating the hardships of his background, in order to greater emphasize his spectacular rise in the world to the very pinnacle of wealth and power. “Look how even here, with the crème de la crème of the city gathered in my house, everyone breaks up into their own little subgroups. Over there, for instance, all those has-been royals that Ruby’s so mad about, all sitting together at one table. And over there, under that weeping willow tree, there’s all the Old Guard of New York, all together, Lil Altemus, and all the Van Degans, and Cora Mandell, and old lady Somerset.”
“Old lady Somerset is my mother, Elias,” said Loelia.
“Oh, so she is, so she is. No offense meant, of course. Have I put my foot in my mouth?”
“Not this week, Elias. My mother is cutting me out of her will.”
“Oh, she’ll come round in time, Loelia. With people like you, blood is thicker than water. Now look over at that table. You have to say about me that I am loyal to my old friends,” said Elias, observing the lonely duet of Constantine de Rham and Max Luby. “I don’t drop them like everyone else does when they take the wrong turns in life. There is Constantine de Rham, whom people no longer invite. And poor Max Luby, recently released from prison for that stupid forgery thing they say he did, but I don’t believe it for a minute. Very few hosts would have these people, but I do.”
“Perhaps you should think about having them on a night when people like us aren’t here,” said Loelia.
“I take it you don’t approve of my friends,” said Elias.
“I don’t wish to have to dance with them,” said Loelia.
When Lord Biedermeier walked, his posture stooped slightly forward from the waist. Now, in haste to reach Elias with the news, his pince-nez, which he wore on a black string around his neck, fluttered in front of him as he loped across the ballroom, hitting his chest and flying about in all directions.
“Such haste!” said Lil Altemus, pulling in the satin skirt of her elaborate dress, as he brushed by her.
“Ah, Lil,” he said, stopping. “Forgive me.” For an instant he considered telling Lil that her father had had a heart attack in an upstairs room, but at that moment Elias came up to them to ask Lil to dance.
“How kind, Elias,” said Lil, getting up and handing her bag to Dodo to hold for her.
“I must first have a word with Elias,” said Lord Biedermeier, trying to forestall the dance so that he could tell Elias that one of his most important guests, the father of the woman he was about to dance with, was possibly dying upstairs.
“No, no, not until after this dance,” said Elias, taking Lil to the floor.
“This is so gay, Elias,” said Lil, beaming graciousness, as she danced backward, leading.
For an instant, Elias looked at her. “I don’t think that’s quite the right word anymore, Lil,” he replied.
“Oh, no, it’s a word I simply refuse to give up. My fr
iends all know I mean it in the old-fashioned way,” said Lil. As they danced by Laurance and Janet Van Degan, both couples smiled and waved, duty being properly adhered to on all sides.
It was only when Elias returned Lil to her seat next to Dodo that Lord Biedermeier was able to pull Elias aside and whisper to him that Ormonde Van Degan had had a heart attack.
“It’ll ruin the fucking party,” said Elias.
“Yes,” agreed Lord Biedermeier.
“And the First Lady’s about to arrive,” whispered Elias into his ear. Elias had been awaiting the arrival of the First Lady with the same secrecy and suppressed excitement that a newly rich English financier might await the possible arrival of a member of the Royal Family under his roof.
“No!” said Lord Biedermeier, who had not heard that the Renthals were to be so honored.
“You didn’t tell anyone, did you, about the old man?” asked Elias.
“Heavens, no. I almost told Lil and Dodo, but you came along.”
As the two men rushed off together, Dodo Fitz Alyn Van Degan rose and said, “But it’s my turn, Elias. You promised to dance with me after Lil.”
Just then Gus Bailey walked by, and Elias grabbed him by the arm and delivered him in front of Dodo Fitz Alyn Van Degan, with an elaborate gesture of affability to indicate an introduction without introducing him with words, as if he had forgotten Gus’s name, which he had. His mime went further to indicate that the two should dance together and then he turned and rushed off with Lord Biedermeier.
“We met at Lil’s at Easter,” said Dodo.
“I remember,” said Gus. “I’m not much of a dancer.”
“I don’t care,” said Dodo. “I’d hate to have to say that I went to the Renthals’ ball and hadn’t once danced. We don’t have to be Fred and Ginger, you know.”
“That’s true,” said Gus, taking Dodo out to the dance floor.
Upstairs, outside the small room used for cigar smoking and poker playing, Elias and Lord Biedermeier looked in both directions to be sure they were not being observed before opening the door. Inside, Elias locked the door behind him.
“Where is he?” asked Elias.
“He was in that chair,” said Lord Biedermeier.
“My God, he’s on the floor,” said Elias.
“He’s dead,” said Lord Biedermeier.
The two men looked at each other.
“It’s going to ruin the party,” said Elias.
“You already said that,” said Lord Biedermeier.
“How about if we don’t say a word until after the First Lady leaves, and then you come up and discover him, and we’ll call an ambulance and get him down the freight elevator then,” said Elias. “I mean, he’s an old man, for Christ’s sake. It’s not like a big tragedy.”
“Okay,” said Lord Biedermeier.
“Jesus Christ,” said Elias. “He took a shit in his pants.”
“Apparently, they all do,” said Lord Biedermeier.
“Gus, have you seen Elias?” asked Ruby, coming up to him and Dodo on the dance floor. Ruby had changed again, into her third dress of the evening, and she was bespangled with a new set of jewels, this time her rubies, in preparation for the imminent arrival of the First Lady.
“I saw him go upstairs with Lord Biedermeier,” said Gus.
“I’m sure he went up to smoke one of his damn cigars,” said Ruby. “Excuse me, will you, Dodo. I need to borrow Gus for a minute.”
Ruby took Gus by the arm and walked with him toward the door.
“Go upstairs,” she whispered in his ear. “Get him, will you, Gus? The First Lady has left the Rhinelander and we have to be at the door to meet her and bring her in.”
“I didn’t know the First Lady was coming,” said Gus.
“Tell Elias to meet me at the front door.”
Elias unlocked the door that connected the small room with the pool room beyond, and, together, the two middle-aged men carried the body of Ormonde Van Degan from one room to the other.
“Lift him up on the pool table,” said Lord Biedermeier, sweating.
“That’s an antique,” said Elias. “That pool table belonged to Edward the Seventh.”
“Put the carpet on the table, and we’ll lay him on the carpet,” said Lord Biedermeier. “And turn up the air conditioner.”
“And lock the door,” said Elias.
At that moment there was a knock on the door. The two men looked at each other, and Elias signaled to Lord Biedermeier not to reply.
Again there was a knock on the door.
“Elias,” said Gus from the other side of the door. “Ruby wanted me to tell you that the First Lady is arriving and wants you to meet her at the front door.”
“Holy shit,” whispered Elias.
“We better get out of here,” said Lord Biedermeier.
“Stinks in here,” said Elias.
When Elias and Ruby Renthal reentered their ballroom with the First Lady between them, amid musical flourishes from the society dance band, their four hundred guests rose to applaud. What each knew, even those, like Lil Altemus, who found it difficult to accept any of the New People, was that he or she was at the most important party being given in the country, or possibly the world, that evening, and that each was a part of it. The Renthals, whom no one had even heard of only a short time ago, had pulled off the social feat of the decade.
When the orchestra played “The First Lady Waltz,” which Ruby had had specially written for the occasion, Elias took the wife of the President to the dance floor.
“So pretty,” said the First Lady, looking about as she danced, at the weeping willow trees, and the orchids and tulips and lilies that filled the room.
“Just wait,” said Elias, as he twirled her around. “More to come.”
Nearby Mickie Minardos danced with Loelia Manchester, and not a soul who saw them could deny that they were in love. Nowhere was Mickie more at home than on a dance floor, and Loelia seemed to float in the air as she followed every intricate step he led her through. Loelia had never seen Mickie happier, receiving compliments from every direction on the beauty of his artistic designs.
“Is everything ready with the butterflies?” Loelia whispered in his ear.
“At twelve sharp,” whispered Mickie back.
“Where are they?” she asked.
“Hidden in the clouds,” he said. She looked up and saw the billowing clouds made of tulle and silk that swung back and forth on wires from the ceiling.
“You’re a genius, Mickie,” said Loelia.
Just then Ezzie Fenwick cut in on the lovers, and Mickie excused himself to see that his team of workers were at their stations to carry off the job when the hour came.
Although he was stout, Ezzie Fenwick was a superb dancer, and his little feet, encased in black patent-leather pumps with black grosgrain ribbons, could pick up the rhythm of whatever kind of music was played and twirl the prettiest ladies in New York, and very few were as pretty as Loelia Manchester, around the dance floor. When Loelia whispered to Ezzie during their dance, and made him promise not to repeat it to anyone, that the First Lady had been warned not to attend the Renthals’ ball because Elias was under investigation by the Securities and Exchange Commission for financial malfeasance, Ezzie, a consummate actor, hooted with laughter and pretended to consider the matter just as absurd as Loelia considered it. But, at the same time, he had to admit, while not missing a samba beat, that Elias Renthal had accumulated one of the greatest fortunes in America in record time, and the White House would not willy-nilly give the First Lady such a warning unless there were some cause for concern. Although he enjoyed a reputation as a secret keeper, Ezzie Fenwick had never, ever, in his whole life, been able to keep a secret.
“And you know, darling Ezzie, when Ruby asked Mickie to design her ball, Mickie’s first thought was, you guessed it, butterflies, and he said—”
Ezzie’s need to repeat the news that he had just sworn never to repeat was so strong that he c
eased to hear Loelia, to whom he usually listened avidly, going on and on about Mickie’s accomplishments, a subject on which she was becoming quite boring, Ezzie felt. His nimble feet, so alert to all the latest dance steps, felt suddenly clodlike, his need to escape the dance floor and repeat Loelia’s news was so great, even though he knew, from firsthand experience on such matters, that the person he found to repeat it to would swear to him never to repeat it, just as he had sworn to Loelia never to repeat it, and then not be able to contain himself from telling just one person, and that person would tell just one other person, and soon everyone would know that Elias Renthal was under investigation by the Securities and Exchange Commission, even while they were supping on his lobster and sipping his champagne.
“What a dancer you are, Loelia!” he cried. “I’m exhausted!”
Loelia laughed, and they left the dance floor hand in hand.
“That conversation was just between us, Ezzie,” said Loelia.
“Oh, darling, my lips are sealed,” said Ezzie.
At that moment Dolly De Longpre walked by. “Hello, Ezzie, darling,” said Dolly. “Isn’t this all too magical?”
“It’s De Lightful, it’s De Licious, it’s De Longpre,” sang Ezzie, twirling Dolly around, at the same time wondering if Dolly, to whom he sometimes told bits of gossip for her column, should be the recipient of his news.
“Oh, Ezzie, you’re mad!” screamed Dolly, thrilled with his attention. “Help me, Ezzie. You’re so good at these things. Exactly what color would you call the First Lady’s dress?”
“Magenta,” answered Ezzie.
“Magenta. Absolutely. I couldn’t think of the word. I’m counting on you to call me in the morning, Ezzie,” she whispered to him. “You always remember what everyone wore and who sat next to whom.”
“Say, Dolly,” Ezzie said in a confiding voice, so ecstatic with the treasure trove within him that he couldn’t wait until morning to fill her in. Just then he looked up and saw Florian Gray, Dolly’s young rival. Ezzie realized that Florian Gray, still making his name, would run with such a rumor, while Dolly, dear Dolly, everybody’s friend, would cry, “Nonsense!” and dismiss the ugly tale out of hand, or, worse, would first call the White House to check out the story, or even, horrors, ask the First Lady herself if it was true, in a good-hearted effort to show that it wasn’t.
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