Too Much Money

by Dominick Dunne

  Unable to wait one second more, Elias put his hand over her beautiful red hair and pushed her down to her knees.

  “Don’t forget. We have to go to Adele Harcourt’s funeral in the morning,” said Ruby.

  “Her dying now, just as I get out of prison, was probably her way of thanking me for the couple of million dollars I gave her for the Manhattan Public Library and the Adele Harcourt Pavilion,” said Elias.

  “Let’s not go that far,” said Ruby. “I think her age and her broken hip in Lil Altemus’s kitchen had a little more to do with it.”

  “That’s going to be some funeral, from what I read in the papers. You’re sure we’re definitely invited?”

  “Simon Cabot arranged the whole thing.”

  “I can’t wait to take a swim in the morning in my new indoor swimming pool.”

  CHAPTER 19

  NEW YORK SOCIETY HAD GONE INTO MOURNING. Dinners were canceled. The American Ballet Theater’s opening-night benefit at Lincoln Center was canceled out of respect to Adele Harcourt. Mrs. Zenda, the chairperson, was distressed after seating all those tables, but she understood. Mrs. Zacharias called Simon Cabot in London to arrange for her to be invited to the reception at the Butterfield Club after the funeral. A great deal of the population of New York went into their own sort of mourning, as Adele Harcourt had done more for the city in a philanthropic way than any other person. She had given her entire fortune, which was considerable, to the city of New York over the years. She was possibly New York’s most beloved public figure, a role she cherished, and the New York Times carried the story of her death on the front page above the fold, with a long continuation of her good deeds and strenuous social life on the page before the editorials. Her generosity had made her famous, and her name was as well known in certain barrios and slums as it was on Park Avenue, where she lived and went forth each evening in beautiful gowns and jewels to enjoy her role as queen of society.

  “I was in the room with Adele when she died,” said Lil Altemus, whenever the subject came up between Adele’s death and her funeral at St. James’ Church on Madison Avenue and Seventy-first Street. When she recounted the moment of death, she did not repeat that she had just told Adele that the Manhattan Public Library was to be named after Konstantin and Perla Zacharias because Perla had given a lump sum of a hundred million dollars to the library, which had been Adele Harcourt’s favorite charity. “It was so peaceful,” said Lil. “She had such a lovely smile on her face. Beatific, really, and then she simply stopped breathing.” Addison Kent told Ethan Trescher, who had quietly handled Adele Harcourt’s public relations for so many years, and Ethan passed on Lil’s quote to Kit Jones, the gossip columnist, who led off her column with Lil’s touching words.

  “How in the world do you suppose that got into Kit Jones’s column,” said Lil, who was secretly thrilled, although she always criticized people she knew whose names were in the paper too much. “At least Kit Jones always handles it so well for people like us now that Dolores De Longpre has retired.”

  IT WAS Ethan Trescher who ran Adele Harcourt’s funeral at St. James’ Church. St. James’ was the church of choice for the old Protestant families of New York. Van Rensselaers, Vanderbilts, Van Degans all worshiped at St. James’. It was the church where Billy Grenville’s funeral had taken place after his beautiful wife from the wrong side of the tracks shot him to death as he emerged nude from his shower. It was where the funeral of Hubert Altemus, the son of Lil Altemus, had taken place after his death from AIDS, which his mother had never acknowledged as the cause, even when his Puerto Rican lover had shown up uninvited and had been offered a seat in the family pews by Dodo Van Degan. It was the church where the heiress Justine Altemus, the daughter of Lil Altemus, had been married in a disastrous and very brief union to Bernard Slatkin, the television reporter who was now enjoying great success covering the Middle East for NBC. Justine had moved to Paris to live with a new husband and taken her daughter, Cordelia, by Bernard Slatkin, with her.

  Outside, Madison Avenue in the Seventies had to be closed off with barriers to deal with the throngs of people who simply wanted to watch Adele Harcourt’s casket—covered with thousands of lilies of the valley, arranged beautifully by Brucie, the florist in the Rhinelander Hotel—pass by in the newest of hearses, provided by Grant P. Trumbull’s, the most prestigious mortuary in the city. In the driver’s seat of the hearse sat Francis Xavior Branigan, the assistant funeral director and secret lover of Dodo Van Degan, whose heart beat with excitement at the importance of his position in what he would later tell his friends Brucie and Jonsie had been the funeral of the year. “The spray of lilies of the valley on the casket was bliss, Brucie,” he would say.

  Ethan Trescher stood in the back of the church watching every entrance, waiting to spot the people who were to be given special treatment, making eye contact with the sixteen ushers who were seating people. Ethan Trescher was the master of seating. He was a gentleman of the old school. Adele Harcourt had counted on him for years to arrange her great charity events and to call Dolores De Longpre when it became absolutely necessary to deal with an issue.

  He had instructed the ushers, of whom Addison Kent was one, that dignitaries such as former first lady Laura Bush, as well as the Duke of Chatfield, who was representing Prince Charles, a very special friend of Adele’s, were to be seated in the first row on the left side of the aisle. The mayor, the governor, the two senators, the president of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the president of the Manhattan Public Library—whose board, as Toby Tilden had announced in that morning’s Post, had approved its change of name to the Konstantin and Perla Zacharias Public Library since Perla Zacharias had donated one hundred million dollars in one lump sum. It was a matter causing great dismay in upper-class circles, many members of which whispered thanks that Adele Harcourt had not lived to hear the news. There were also various dignitaries of the city, whom Ethan would recognize, who were to be in the twelve rows behind Laura Bush and Bunny Chatfield, who was accompanied by his duchess, Chiquita. Everyone loved Chiquita.

  “The prince was so sorry not to be able to come and sends you his warmest regards,” said Chiquita to Ethan when he was personally showing the duchess to her seat. Chiquita chatted all the way up the aisle. “Camilla sends her love. She’s been staying with us at Deeds Castle. Diana’s butler, that awful Paul Burrell, shudder, shudder, shudder, is taking the stand tomorrow at that awful trial at the Old Bailey—they say he stole all those things from darling Diana—and the prince simply can’t be out of England, even though he adored Adele.” Ethan, who was used to that kind of conversation, later passed it on to Kit Jones for her column.

  The right side of the aisle was reserved for family and close friends. Under normal circumstances, Adele Harcourt would have lain in state at the Armory on Park Avenue and Sixty-sixth Street, where she had celebrated her ninetieth birthday, but the Winter Antiques Show had booked the space and couldn’t be moved on such short notice. However, out of respect for Adele, who always attended the opening night, the Antiques Show closed its doors for the hour and a half of Adele Harcourt’s funeral.

  “She was like our own Queen Mum,” said Gert Hoolihan, standing in the crowd as the hearse went by, to a young lady by her side. She took a Kleenex from her bag and wiped the tears in her eyes. Gert had cooked many a meal for Adele Harcourt over the years, when she had been Lil Altemus’s cook. “Mrs. Harcourt always loved my fig mousse. She’d come back to the kitchen after dinner to tell me. ‘Gert, you outdid yourself,’ she’d say. No airs from her, like some of these people have, no names mentioned here. Let’s move up closer to the entrance so we can watch the important people go in.”

  Lil Altemus, even when she was still rich, never used limousines, which she thought were vulgar. “They’re all right for movie stars and rock stars and all those new people nobody ever heard of before who have so much money these days and are ruining Southampton,” she often said. Instead, she used her Buick station wagon, which
was driven for years by her chauffeur, Jimmy. After leaving her Fifth Avenue apartment, she had to sell the Buick station wagon and let Jimmy go. She had become dependent on old friends for rides to the theater, to the opera, and to weddings and funerals. On the day of Adele Harcourt’s funeral, she arrived at the church with her friend Kay Kay Somerset in a Lincoln Town Car from a car service, which Kay Kay was paying for.

  “My word, look at all these people,” said Lil as she stepped out of the car. “Did you tell the driver to wait for us and take us to the reception at the Butterfield Club?”

  “Yes, Lil,” said Kay Kay. “It’s the fourth time you’ve asked me that.”

  “This is the biggest funeral they’ve had here at St. James’ since Ann Grenville killed Billy,” said Lil. “Ann was so trashy she wanted to come to the funeral after she shot him with a twelve-gauge shotgun, but Alice simply wouldn’t allow it. Just look at these people behind the barriers. Everyone’s behaving so well. The people loved Adele. It’s really so touching, isn’t it?”

  “End of an era,” said Kay Kay. “I’m going to run over and say hello to Petal Wilson and tell her I can’t go to the matinee tomorrow because my daughter’s coming to town unexpectedly from St. Louis. Something must be wrong with the marriage, I suppose. This is her third marriage, for god’s sake, and she’s only thirty. You’d think she’d learn to get it right eventually. I’ll look for you in the vestibule, Lil. Don’t go up to the seats without me.”

  “Oh, no, I won’t. Addison Kent is saving us places. I’ll look for him,” said Lil.

  “Mrs. Altemus?”

  Lil recognized the voice and turned around to see Gert standing in the crowd. She had not seen or heard from her since Gert’s unpleasant leave-taking to go into the employ of Ruby Renthal, who had offered her more money and a room with a sitting room and free trips to Ireland on Elias Renthal’s G550, which Lil had considered a betrayal. Several times she had felt guilty that she had screamed at Gert, and fired her, and told her to get out of her apartment right then and there after Gert had been with her for so many years, but always the outrage of Gert’s perfidy squashed the competing thought. She firmly believed that Gert had betrayed her by going to work for the Elias Renthals. She had often wondered what she would do if she ran into Gert at Grace’s Marketplace, where Lil now did her own marketing. In her thoughts of the imagined meeting, she snubbed her, walked right by pretending she didn’t see her.

  “Oh my goodness, hellohowareyou?” said Lil, in a distant tone of voice she sometimes used with servants.

  “I had to come, Missus,” said Gert nervously, who understood Lil’s tone of voice from the many years she had worked for her but was determined to go on with what she had to say. “I had to pay my respects to Mrs. Harcourt. She was always so good to me, and she fell and broke her hip in my kitchen. I mean your kitchen, excuse me. I feel that somehow I played a little part in her story.”

  “Yes, I suppose you did,” said Lil. “Knowing Mrs. Harcourt as I did, I’m sure that she would have been very touched that you came. Actually, I was with her when she died.”

  “I read that in Kit Jones’s column,” said Gert.

  As Lil started to move off to the steps of the church, Gert said quickly, “Mrs. Altemus, before you go into the church, I’d like you to meet my niece, and your namesake, Lillian Hoolihan, who has just moved here to New York from Roscommon in Ireland, where the whole family is from.”

  Lil turned toward the young woman, whom she had not looked at before.

  “Hello, Mrs. Altemus,” said Lillian Hoolihan. “My late mother, bless her soul, always said it was Gert who wanted me to be named after you. At home in school, at Our Lady of Sorrows, they called me Lil, just like you. It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am.”

  Later, Gert said to her niece that she thought she had seen the beginning of a tear in Mrs. Altemus’s eyes. “Thank you, Lillian. Thank you. That’s very nice,” said Lil, looking ahead. “Oh, Kay Kay, wait up a second, and we’ll go in together. Addison Kent is an usher, and he knows exactly where I’m supposed to be seated. Third row, right-hand side, directly behind Adele’s nephew and his wife from Wyoming or someplace. Good-bye, Gert.”

  “Bye, Missus.”

  “Wasn’t that Gert you were talking to?” asked Kay Kay Somerset. “I thought you were never going to speak to her again, ever, ever, ever, after she walked out on you to work for Mrs. Renthal, leaving you high and dry.”

  “You can’t imagine what happened. That girl with her is her niece, the one she was always going to Ireland to visit every year, and she’s named Lillian after me, but the girls in her school called her Lil. Don’t you love it? I didn’t know which way to look. I will say that Adele always loved Gert’s fig mousse.”

  “Adele’s butler, George, told my maid that Adele thought Gert’s fig mousse was good for her bowels,” said Kay Kay.

  “Make sure you tell that to Gert on the way out after the service,” said Lil.

  “Oh, hello, Addison. I hope you’ve saved us our seats. Third row, right-hand side, right behind the Wyoming nephew and his wife. I knew you would. You know Kay Kay Somerset, of course. It’s just too sad. It’s too sad for words. I can’t imagine New York without Adele. You were so sweet to her, Addison. Taking her to the movies in the afternoon, all those nice things you did. Do I take your arm to go up to my seat or just follow you?”

  Still rattled by her encounter with Gert and caught up in mourning for darling Adele, as well as excitement over her plum seating assignment, Lil chose to be warm to Addison Kent, whom she normally found contemptible.

  “I have something for you, Lil,” said Addison as he took her arm and walked up the aisle. “Adele asked me to give it to you, and there’s one for Loelia. Here. Just slip it in your purse.” He handed Lil a small leather box.

  “What is it?” asked Lil.

  “An emerald and diamond ring that Adele wanted you to have,” said Addison, happy to be in such an enviable position. “Loelia got the ruby and diamond one. This way there’s no tax and no wait and no family and no lawyers involved.”

  “Well, I certainly hope the police won’t be tracking me down looking for stolen goods,” said Lil, who would have preferred to have received the emerald and diamond ring from a lawyer, saying it had been bequeathed to her by Adele Harcourt, accompanied by a lovely note from Adele on her blue Smythson stationery, telling her the history of the beautiful jewel. Receiving it from Addison Kent in such a manner was furtive, she felt, especially while walking up the aisle to her seat at Adele’s funeral.

  Once seated in the third row, she nodded to the young couple from Wyoming, who returned her greeting. “Topher and Diane Abernathy, this is my great friend Kay Kay Somerset. Topher is Adele’s nephew. Your aunt Adele is watching over us today. You can be sure of that. She told me all about your avocado ranch. Tell me about your mother. She and I were in the same class at Farmington. We called her Ticky in those days. I didn’t make the fiftieth reunion, I’m afraid, or I would have seen her. I read all about it, though, in the alumnae bulletin, and I saw that Ticky was there. Do please give her my love.”

  She settled back into her seat next to Kay Kay and showed her the leather box.

  “What is it?” asked Kay Kay.

  “Oh, look. There’s Laura Bush. She looks good in purple, don’t you think? She’s so much better dressed than when she first came east from Crawford. A little Crawford goes a long way for me. Once Oscar started dressing her, he gave her a whole new look.”

  “What’s in the leather box?” asked Kay Kay.

  Lil opened the box and was overcome by the beauty of the ring. She remembered having admired it many times when Adele had worn her emeralds.

  “Put it on,” whispered Kay Kay.

  “Don’t you think it would be a little much to wear it at her funeral?” asked Lil. She indicated with her head the young relatives from Wyoming and mouthed the name Topher.

  “Just to see how it looks, and then take it of
f again and put it in your bag,” said Kay Kay.

  Lil put it on. “Look,” she said, holding her hand low behind the pew lest anyone see what she was doing and find it distasteful.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Kay Kay. “Why aren’t you more excited?”

  “Do you know what I don’t like about Addison Kent? He’s far too inside for such an outsider, if you know what I mean. Imagine him handing me this ring from Adele when he’s walking me up the aisle at her funeral,” said Lil, abandoning the feeling of kinship she’d had with Addison just moments earlier. “Of course I’m going to keep it, but I wonder how much I could get for it.”

  “Shhh,” whispered Kay Kay, pointing with her finger at the pew in front of them.

  “Oh, listen to that music,” said Lil, shifting the conversation. “Isn’t it heavenly? I hear Renée Fleming’s going to sing the Ave Maria. Adele adored Renée Fleming. She went to every Renée Fleming concert, and she went to every opera she sang at the Met. She used to have her to tea, even. Oh, look at those choirboys in their red cassocks and their white surplices. Aren’t they adorable? Adele planned the whole thing, you know, with a little help from Ethan Trescher, of course, who knows how to run big events like nobody else. Look how beautiful the altar looks. The flowers are to die for. I see the fine hand of Brucie arranging all the flowers. There’s Lita and Otto Aksam. There’s Bunny and Chiquita Chatfield in the same pew with Mrs. Bush. Have you met Chiquita? She’s a riot. She’s his fourth, I think. They must have come all the way from London for the funeral. There are the Sandovals, back together again, thank God. Ormolu and Percy Webb.”

  “Wonderful suit on Ormolu, don’t you think?” asked Kay Kay.

  “It’s Oscar’s. There’s Perla Zacharias with the face-lift of the decade,” said Lil, assuming a look of disapproval. “She has no shame, that woman. She thinks her money can buy her way in anywhere. There’s such a thing as too much money, you know. This business at the library is really too much. I told you Adele’s reaction when I told her. She just died, there and then. Ethan had to invite Perla. Oh, listen. The music’s changing. They’re bringing in the casket soon. I don’t know if I can look at the casket. Poor Adele. I’ll miss her so. I think I’ll just look at the lilies of the valley. Oh, my god, there’s Xavior Branigan, the one walking in front of the casket. He’s the assistant funeral director at Grant P. Trumbull’s.”