An Inconvenient Woman

by Dominick Dunne

  “You didn’t know that?”

  “When was that, Friedrich?” She tried to keep a conversational tone in her voice.

  “On the very day of his heart attack. Miss Maple called me to say they would be returned, and that same night I heard from Yvonne Bulbenkian that Jules had had his heart attack.”

  “I see,” said Pauline evenly. She stared in front of her as she continued to walk toward her house. Flo March, she thought, must have stolen the earrings after Jules collapsed in her house. She shuddered. In her mind, Flo March had become an evil woman.

  “Have I said something to upset you, Pauline?” asked the prince.

  “Oh, no, no,” said Pauline.

  Because of the warm night, Pauline had arranged for dinner in the atrium instead of the dining room. Jarvis, her head gardener, had filled the atrium with pot after pot of her yellow phalaenopsis. “It’s too beautiful, Pauline,” said one guest after another as they stood by the long table and admired the sight.

  “You’re next to me, Friedrich,” said Pauline. “I’ve put Faye Converse on your other side.”

  “All my favorites,” said the prince, clapping his hands.

  “You must tell us about the party in Tangier.”

  “A nightmare. An absolute nightmare. Tangier in August! You wouldn’t believe the heat. All those people. And the smells! And no air-conditioning. And long lines for everything. And long faces everywhere. And the placement was a disaster. People like us seated next to people they never heard of and didn’t want to hear of. If you could have seen the look on Lil Altemus’s face when she saw the hotel where Cyrus put us. It was worth the whole trip.” He made a face of haughty disdain, and everyone laughed. “And then she moved out and stayed on Reza Bulbenkian’s yacht. Frightfully amusing, really. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

  Philip Quennell, seated on the other side of Faye Converse, watched Pauline. He had no interest in the party in Tangier, as he did not know any of the people they were talking about, and he had ceased to listen. Instead, he noticed how elegantly Pauline sat at the head of her table, her elbow on the table, her hand cupping her chin in the most graceful fashion, paying her utmost attention to her guest of honor as he recounted anecdote after anecdote about a society party, which seemed of great interest to them all. It occurred to Philip that Pauline was going through the motions of listening, but that her thoughts were elsewhere.

  Dudley also watched Pauline, as he went about his duties. He noticed the tenseness beneath her calm exterior. When she charmingly excused herself from the table to attend to a hostess duty, she entered the kitchen and complained to Dudley because one of the maids was chewing gum while serving her guests.

  “I wasn’t chewing it, Dudley,” said the maid when Pauline returned to the table. “It was in my mouth, yes, but I wasn’t chewing. How in hell did she know?”

  Miss Mae Toomey, the nurse in charge of Jules Mendelson’s welfare, walked into the kitchen in a stormy fashion. “I am at a loss as to understand how there could be a party going on in this house on one floor while a man is dying upstairs,” she said.

  Dudley, ever loyal to the household he had served for so many years, had no wish to engage in a subversive conversation with the efficient nurse, and he had no authority over her to request her silence in front of the other servants working in the kitchen. He looked up and exchanged a glance with Blondell, who was helping Gertie, the cook, arrange green mints on silver dishes for the drawing room after dinner. With Blondell, who had been with the Mendelsons nearly as long as he had, he could engage in such a conversation, but he would not with Miss Toomey. Instead, he moved to the pantry, out of their earshot, and she followed him. Although he did not disagree with what she had said, he went about his chores without as much as a nod to indicate his own feelings.

  When he had finished arranging demitasse cups and spoons on a tray, he looked at Miss Toomey and said, “Is Mr. Mendelson worse?”

  “He will not live through the night,” she said. “The man belongs in a hospital. I want to call Dr. Petrie and have him readmitted.”

  Sounds of laughter came from the atrium, at the completion of one of the prince’s anecdotes, followed by the ringing of the table bell.

  “She’s calling me,” Dudley said, excusing himself from the angry woman.

  “More seconds for the fat prince, no doubt,” said Miss Toomey. She followed Dudley toward the door. “Tell her I must speak to her. Tell her it is urgent.”

  As Dudley opened the door to return to the atrium, another great burst of laughter could be heard. During dessert, Dudley tried to interrupt Pauline to whisper that the nurse had to speak to her on the intercom, but she held up her hand for him not to speak until the prince had arrived at his punch line. Then, after more laughter and appreciative comments, she turned to Dudley to hear his message.

  “Miss Toomey,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I’ll call her after dessert,” said Pauline. “Tell Gertie the grapefruit sorbet is divine. Perhaps you should pass it around again, and the blueberries also. Such a good combination. I don’t know why we haven’t tried that before.”

  Dudley persisted in his mission. He mouthed but did not speak the word, “Urgent.”

  Pauline lifted her damask napkin to her lips and then pushed her chair out. “There’s a call I have to take,” she said to the prince, but she did not leave the table without first seeing to his welfare while she was gone. “Friedrich, have you read Philip Quennell’s book on Reza Bulbenkian? So marvelous. What’s the first line, Philip? Jules was always so amused by that.”

  Philip, who did not enjoy being the center of attention, said, “I can’t remember exactly. It goes something like this: ‘Reza Bulbenkian made one of the great American fortunes by knowing all the right wrong people.’ ”

  “Frightfully funny,” said the prince, who then pulled the attention back to himself by starting on a long story about the social-climbing exploits of Yvonne Bulbenkian, and the fortune she was spending. With her guests in rapt attention, Pauline left the atrium and walked into the house and down the hallway to the library. She crossed to the telephone and pushed the intercom button.

  “Yes, Miss Toomey. Forgive me for taking so long, but I assumed you knew I have guests. Is this something that can’t wait?” asked Pauline.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Mendelson, but I think you should come upstairs immediately,” replied Miss Toomey. The adoring tone that Miss Toomey had previously had in her voice whenever she spoke to Pauline was missing. She was serious and businesslike and made no attempt to underplay the urgency she was communicating.

  Pauline heard and understood the nurse’s tone. “I’ll be right up,” she said. She hung up the telephone and walked out of the library. She was surprised to see that Dudley was standing outside the door in the hallway.

  “Is everything all right, Mrs. Mendelson?” he asked. There was concern in his face.

  “Yes, yes, of course. Go back to the party, Dudley,” she said. “Perhaps serve coffee at the table rather than inside, don’t you think? They all seem quite comfortable. It would be a shame to interrupt the mood.”

  Dudley realized that Pauline was afraid to go up the stairs and was postponing what she had to do.

  “Should I call Dr. Petrie?” Dudley asked.

  “No. Miss Toomey should be the one to do that, and I’m sure that’s not necessary,” said Pauline.

  “I could ask the guests to leave, Mrs. Mendelson. I’m sure they’d all understand.”

  “Oh, no. Please don’t. You’re being an alarmist, Dudley. Mr. Mendelson is going to be fine. Now I must go up. Remember, coffee in the atrium.”

  She walked up the stairway, holding on to the red velvet banister. On the way up, she noticed that the third Monet painting of the water lilies was crooked again, and she straightened it as she passed, without stopping. At the top of the stairs she turned right and walked down the hall to Jules’s room. She stood outside his door for a second,
breathed in deeply, and opened the door.

  At first Pauline could not see Jules. Olaf was on the far side of the bed, leaning over him, and Miss Toomey was on the near side with her back to the door. Hearing the door, they both turned to her.

  “He is very bad, Mrs. Mendelson,” said Miss Toomey. There was a censorious tone in her voice for the lateness of the arrival of the about-to-be widow. “I don’t think he has long.”

  Pauline, frightened, stared at the nurse for a moment and then walked over to the bed. Jules lay with closed eyes. His head was turned to the side, and his mouth hung open. He was breathing in an erratic fashion, with gasping noises.

  “I would like to be alone with my husband,” she said.

  “I’ll call Dr. Petrie,” said Miss Toomey.

  “Not yet,” said Pauline. “Not until you hear from me.”

  “Would you like me to stay, Mrs. Mendelson?” asked Olaf.

  “Come back in a bit. I would like to talk to my husband in privacy. Can he hear me, Miss Toomey?”

  “Ask him,” said Miss Toomey.

  “Jules. Can you hear me, Jules? It’s Pauline.”

  Jules opened his eyes and looked at his wife. His hand moved feebly along the blanket cover, as if he were reaching for her. Pauline turned and looked as both Miss Toomey and Olaf left the room and closed the door behind them.

  “Did you ever think you’d hear me say I’m scared, Pauline?” he asked. His grave illness had weakened the resonance of his voice.

  “No, I didn’t,” she replied.

  “You look very swell,” he whispered. “How’s your party going?”

  “I should have canceled this damn party this afternoon when you came back from the hospital.”

  “If they criticize you, tell them I insisted you go ahead with it.”

  “Oh, Jules,” she said, looking at him. “I feel so helpless. If you were a religious man, I would call for a priest, or a rabbi, or even Rufus Browning from All Saints.”

  “No, no. No last sacraments for me. I’m dying, Pauline.”

  She looked at him but did not reply.

  “No tears, I see,” said Jules, in a voice barely above a whisper.

  “I’ve shed all my tears, Jules,” said Pauline.

  He blinked his eyes.

  “For whatever it’s worth to you, Pauline, flights of angels are not singing me to my rest.”

  “If you’re thinking I want you to suffer, Jules, you’re wrong. I don’t,” said Pauline, looking away from him. She held her elbows in front of her, as if she were cold, although the room was not cold.

  “I remember that night in Palm Beach years ago, when I first saw you at the Van Degans’ dance. You were everything I ever wanted. I’m sorry, Pauline. I really am.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, Jules, please, please, let’s not go down memory lane.”

  “Listen, Pauline.” There was an urgency to his weak voice. “She’s not a bad girl.”

  “I’m not interested in hearing about her virtues.”

  “Take care of her, Pauline.”

  “You must be mad. How could you ask me such a thing?”

  “I’m giving you good advice.”

  “No. I don’t have to take care of her.”

  “It will be terrible for you if you don’t, Pauline. There are things I know about in life. Money is one of them. Trust me in this.”

  The exertion of talking had exhausted him. His head rolled back and fell to the side. Pauline looked to the door. She wanted to leave the room, but an instinct told her not to. She knew that he was about to die. She moved to the bell on his bedside table to call for Miss Toomey. She noticed from the light on the instrument that one of the telephone lines was being used. She wondered if Miss Toomey was calling Dr. Petrie.

  “Don’t ring for Miss Toomey,” said Jules. “I don’t want another reprieve.”

  She picked up the receiver and listened in. She heard Olaf’s voice, speaking rapidly. “I’m sorry, Flo. He can’t talk to you. Missus is in there with him. It’s almost at the end. I think Toomey suspects we were at your house today.” Pauline slammed down the telephone.

  “There’s something you should know, Pauline,” said Jules.

  She could not bear to hear one more word about Flo March. She had never hated anyone before in her life, but she hated Flo March. When she spoke, she sounded weary. “No. There’s nothing more I need to know, Jules. I know everything, about everything, and so does everyone we know.”

  “Kippie killed Hector,” he said, in a voice so low as to be almost inaudible.

  Pauline, stunned, gasped. Their eyes met. “No, no,” she whispered, shaking her head in denial at what her husband had told her, although she knew that what he said was true.

  “Open the safe in the library,” he said. “There is a sealed manila envelope. Hector’s note is inside.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “I took it from Hector’s house before the police got there.”

  “What did it say?”

  “He wrote down the name of his killer.”

  Pauline began to cry, as things fell into place in her mind. Kippie. Kippie did it. Kippie needed money that night, and she had refused him. And Kippie had gone to Hector. And the suicide story that she had never understood was a cover-up by Jules to protect her from knowing that her son had killed her best friend.

  Pauline knelt by Jules’s side, weeping. “Oh, Jules, I’m sorry. Oh, my God, Jules. You did this for me. Oh, Jules, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  She took hold of his hand and leaned over to kiss it. She felt a resurgence of love for him, but the feeling became overwhelmed by a dark thought that leapt into her mind. “Jules? Does anyone else know what you just told me? Please tell me. Does anyone else know what you just told me?”

  Jules’s eyes had started to glaze over in preparation for death, but he was able to forestall that by-now-welcome event for the moment it took to meet Pauline’s gaze. He saw the panic in her eyes, and he could not bring himself to tell her that it was at Flo March’s house on Azelia Way that he had hidden Kippie for the six hours it took until all the arrangements had been made that changed Hector Paradiso’s death from a murder to a suicide. He could not, out of respect for his wife, have the last words he uttered be the name of his mistress.

  “Who, Jules? Please tell me,” begged Pauline.

  But Jules Mendelson was dead. Pauline, born Episcopalian, could be devoutly Episcopalian when she felt inclined toward religion, and at that moment she felt so inclined. Still kneeling by Jules’s side, with her face in her hands, she said the prayers of her youth for her husband, the same prayers she had said for her mother when she knelt at her deathbed so many years before. Then she rose, still in the final stages of the Lord’s Prayer, as the overwhelming thoughts of what she had to do pushed the prayers from her mind. “For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever,” she said in a churchlike whisper, but she was thinking of the obligations of her life. She caught sight of herself in the mirror over Jules’s fireplace. She wished she were not covered in jewels, which she had only worn for the benefit of Prince Friedrich of Hesse-Darmstadt, and which were too glittering by far for the circumstances at hand. But she could not remove them, as she had to return to her guests downstairs, and they would notice and tell afterward, after the story became public that Jules had died while she was giving a party for a prince who was no more than a jewelry salesman.

  When she buzzed for Miss Toomey, the door opened immediately, as if she had been standing outside, and Miss Toomey entered and ran to the side of the bed.

  “He’s gone,” said Pauline quietly.

  “My God,” said Miss Toomey. “Why didn’t you call me?” She was distressed not to have been present at the moment of death.

  “It was very peaceful,” said Pauline. “One moment he was here, and the next he was gone. I wasn’t even aware immediately that it had happened.”

  “I’ll call Dr. Petrie,” sai
d Miss Toomey.

  “I don’t want anyone to know yet,” said Pauline.

  “But I must call the doctor.”

  “There’s not much the doctor can do now,” said Pauline. And then she repeated, with emphasis, “I don’t want anyone to know, Miss Toomey. Do you understand?”

  “Until when, Mrs. Mendelson?”

  “Until I get rid of my guests downstairs. A half hour at most. I don’t want them to know that my husband is dead. It is urgent that the press not find out. Urgent. Just stay here with him until I come back upstairs.” She started toward the door.

  “I’ll call Olaf,” said Miss Toomey.

  Pauline stopped at the mention of Olaf’s name. The tone of her voice hardened. “No, don’t call Olaf. I don’t want Olaf in this house another minute. I do not wish him to see my husband’s body. I blame him for my husband’s death. Get rid of him.”

  Miss Toomey, startled, looked at Pauline. “Yes, Mrs. Mendelson.”

  Pauline walked out of the room where her husband lay dead and up the hallway to the stairs. She stopped to look in a mirror hanging over a chest in the upstairs hall and checked her appearance in the manner she had of looking at herself in the mirror of her dressing table, her face to the left and then her face to the right. Extremely pale, she pinched her cheeks very hard to bring color to them. She opened a drawer and took out a lipstick that Blondell always placed there for her and applied it to her lips. Then she adjusted her hair with her hands.

  Grasping the red velvet banister, she walked down the stairs. She could hear that her guests had moved inside from the atrium to the drawing room. She could tell from the conversational voices that Rose Cliveden was now very drunk and that Friedrich of Hesse-Darmstadt was annoyed by her constant interruptions of his anecdotes. The rest of her guests seemed not to be talking at all. Being a born hostess, she knew that she had been gone from her party for too long a time, and was needed to restore the room to harmony, but when she reached the bottom of the stairs, she turned in the direction of her library rather than her drawing room. She entered the library and closed the door behind her. For an instant it occurred to her that she should lock the door, but she thought it might look suspicious to Dudley if he came looking for her.