Dying for Mercy

by Mary Jane Clark

  Valentina and Innis Wheelock were greeting their guests in the spacious entrance hall.

  “Eliza!” Valentina’s still incredibly beautiful face broke into a broad smile. Her blond hair was perfectly coiffed, swept up in an elegant French twist. Her makeup was expertly applied, making her skin appear smooth and creamy, her eyes a clear, brilliant blue. Sapphire earrings dangled from her lobes. She wore a simple but beautiful black cocktail dress and carried a martini glass in her left hand. Valentina extended her right one to Eliza, drawing her close, kissing her on the cheeks, and then putting her arm around Eliza’s shoulder.

  “I’m so glad to see you, darling,” Valentina announced. “You look absolutely wonderful.”

  Valentina was known for her tact, diplomacy, and keen sense of what was appropriate and what wasn’t. Those qualities, her years as chief executive of the Empire State, along with sizable donations and fund-raising parties given for the winning presidential candidate, had earned her the ambassadorship to Italy, the first woman to hold the post since Clare Boothe Luce did so during the Eisenhower administration.

  “Look who’s here, Innis,” said Valentina, steering Eliza by the arm toward her husband. “Our new neighbor.”

  “Soon,” said Eliza. “We get the place starting next weekend.”

  Eliza was taken aback as she looked into Innis Wheelock’s face. His skin was sallow, his eyes bloodshot. He looked so much older and thinner than the last time she’d seen him. He was gaunt, really. When Eliza gripped his hand, she could feel a slight tremor.

  “So good to see you, my dear,” he said as he leaned forward and kissed Eliza on the cheek. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”

  “I’m happy to be invited,” responded Eliza, smiling. “I’ve never been to a party for a saint before.”

  Innis smiled weakly. “To tell you the truth, neither have I,” he said. “But I thought there was no better time to gather the people who have meant something to me over the years to honor someone who has changed my life.”

  “You’ll have to tell me all about it, Innis,” said Eliza.

  “Yes, I would like that, Eliza,” said Innis solemnly. “I want you to understand.” He glanced over at the doorway and saw there were guests still arriving. “Excuse me now, dear,” he said. “I’ll catch up with you a bit later.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” said Eliza.

  As she began walking away, Valentina called after her. “And thanks so very much again, Eliza, for agreeing to be part of our Special Olympics event next Sunday. People are terribly excited about your being there.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” said Eliza. “You know how I feel about supporting such a good cause.”

  Proceeding into the central room where the party was being held, Eliza wondered if Innis was ill. What else would account for the weight loss, the poor coloring, and his trembling?

  She went to the bar and asked for a glass of white wine. While she waited, she surveyed the cavernous space, milling with people. Antique furniture was carefully placed throughout the room, creating different seating areas. The oil paintings on the walls were lit to their best advantage. Candles glimmered from crystal and silver candlesticks arranged on glistening wooden tabletops, while fresh flowers burst from porcelain vases and bowls. The rear wall was made up of floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed a spectacular view of Tuxedo Lake below.

  “Thank you,” she said as the bartender slid the glass of pinot grigio across the bar.

  “You’re welcome, ma’am,” he said.

  Eliza took a sip as she observed the guests socializing in the lush surroundings. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she murmured.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I guess you go to many of these things,” said Eliza.

  “If you call working at them ‘going to them,’” answered the bartender with a melancholy smile, revealing a gap between his front teeth. “I’ve been working parties here in the park for many years.”

  “What are you doing, Bill?” asked a man dressed in a dark suit who walked up to the bar. “You know you shouldn’t be bending this lovely lady’s ear.”

  Eliza felt immediately uncomfortable, and she could tell from the flush rising in the bartender’s fair-skinned cheeks that he was embarrassed.

  “I was bending his ear, not the other way around.”

  “Well, I’m Peter Nordstrut,” said the man as he held out his hand. His grip was strong. His face was a bit puffy, and he wore horn-rimmed glasses. The deep lines at the corners of his eyes and across his brow suggested he spent a lot of time in the sun, though any tan he had picked up over the summer had already faded. His hair was blond with gray running through it. Eliza judged him to be in his mid-fifties.

  “Eliza Blake,” she said, returning his handshake.

  “Yes, I know. I’d say everyone in this room knows who you are.”

  Eliza smiled politely. “How do you know the Wheelocks?” she asked.

  “From the club,” answered Peter. “I’ve been trying to teach Innis to play court tennis, but I’m afraid it’s a lost cause.”

  “Isn’t court tennis the kind hardly anyone plays?” asked Eliza.

  “Well, it isn’t the number of people who play, it’s the quality of the people who play that counts.”

  He said it with a smile, but Eliza sensed he was an unmitigated snob.

  “Real tennis, royal tennis, court tennis—whatever you want to call it—it’s not for the masses,” he continued. “Lots of complicated rules. In fact, there are only about thirty-five existing courts for real tennis in the entire world.”

  “And Tuxedo Park has one of them?” asked Eliza, trying to sound interested.

  Peter nodded. “I’d be happy to show it to you. Even better, come over to the tennis house sometime, and I’ll teach you how to play.”

  Eliza laughed. “If Innis can’t learn, I’m sure I couldn’t either.” She glanced across the room. “Speak of the devil,” she said, hoping her relief didn’t show, “here comes Innis now.”

  After a few minutes of small talk among the three of them, Innis took Eliza’s arm. “Will you excuse us, Peter?” he asked. “I want to introduce Eliza to some of our other guests.”

  Innis led her off.

  “Couldn’t wait to get you away from that guy,” he said as he guided her through the crowd. “Peter Nordstrut is a pompous know-it-all, and God help me, I’ve had way too much to do with him over the years. He’s a crackerjack political operative, but not a very nice human being. Now, if you don’t mind, I want to talk with you alone before I share you with anyone else.”

  Eliza followed Innis out through the French doors that led to the side garden.

  “Only you, Innis, would have a reproduction of Bernini’s fountain,” said Eliza as she admired the small bronze tortoises and reached out to rub one of their shells.

  “It was one of my favorite places in Rome,” said Innis. “I could gaze at it for hours. Though I was disappointed to discover that Bernini may not have designed the fountain, only the turtles.”

  The night air had grown cooler, and Innis offered Eliza his jacket.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” Eliza said. Innis didn’t look as if he could afford to be chilled. He seemed so frail that a heavy cold could lead to something fatal.

  “Are you really fine, Eliza?” Innis asked with genuine concern. “I remember when we received kidnapping threats about Russell when Valentina was governor. She could barely function.”

  “I’m just trying to put it behind us now, Innis,” said Eliza. “That’s why I’ve rented the carriage house on Clubhouse Road. Janie and I can get up here easily on the weekends. It feels so protected and serene, as though nothing bad could ever happen here.” Eliza shook her head. “You know, we still have people driving by our house in Ho-Ho-Kus and gawking at us. You’d think we’d be old news by now.”

  “It was a horrible thing, Eliza. They say time heals all wounds, don’t they?” he asked pensively. “But there are
some things one never gets over.”

  Eliza gave him time to continue.

  “It’s no secret that I changed while we were in Italy, Eliza,” said Innis as they walked slowly around the fountain. “While Valentina was conducting embassy business in Rome, I filled much of my time walking the streets of the Eternal City and, later, traveling throughout Italy. I spent hours and hours at the Vatican, drinking in the magnificence of the Sistine Chapel and those incredible frescoes of Michelangelo.” Innis shook his head in wonderment. “The majesty of them was beyond description, Eliza. Have you ever seen them?”

  “Yes. But not since they’ve been cleaned. I hear they are so brilliant and vivid now. I have to get back to Rome and see them again.”

  “You must, you must,” said Innis. “They’ll take your breath away. There are so many glorious, unbelievable things to see in Italy. Not to mention some of the most delicious food in the world. Don’t get me started on the food.”

  Eliza smiled. “Few would disagree with you there, Innis,” she said.

  “There will be some wonderful ravioli alla norcina and gnocchi with black-truffle cream on the buffet tonight, Eliza. Make sure you try some of both.”

  “I will,” she said. She was waiting for Innis to get to the point.

  He gestured at a bench, and they sat down. Gazing at the spouting water, Innis continued. “After the Sistine Chapel, I discovered other churches in Rome. The Basilica of St. Mary Major, where the Bethlehem manger is kept, and St. Paul Outside the Walls, where the apostle was buried—even Sant’Andrea della Valle, where the first act of Puccini’s Tosca takes place. Then I went on to Florence and fell in love with the Baptistry, and Orvieto’s striped Duomo. In the process I became fascinated with the ceremony and history of the Roman Catholic Church. But it was when I went to Assisi that I was moved on a deeply personal level. Studying the frescoes of the life of St. Francis in the basilica, I became so ashamed of myself.”

  Innis grew quiet and looked down at his hands.

  “Ashamed of what, Innis?” Eliza asked gently.

  “Of the life I’ve led,” he answered, his head still bowed. “St. Francis was a man from a wealthy background, a guy who was set to inherit the family business and live out his days in a lavish lifestyle, a guy a lot like me. But unlike me, he gave everything up and lived his life without creature comforts, helping his fellow human beings. Then he established a religious order that has helped even more people.”

  “Somehow I don’t see you in a homespun robe, walking barefoot down the road, Innis,” said Eliza, trying to get him to lighten up. “Or in some sunless, airless monastery sleeping on the floor.”

  Innis smiled slightly. “No, I don’t see that either. And I’ve never been overly fond of animals, and St. Francis was crazy for them. There’s no way I’d have been able to talk that wolf out of eating those villagers.”

  “I’d forgotten all about that story,” said Eliza, smiling. “Think it was true?”

  Innis shrugged. “Who knows? But the essential story of his life is valid. This was a man who did things that truly mattered, and now, at the end of my life, I want to unite myself with him in the most vivid way possible, and to do my part in putting the past to bed and saving the future.”

  Eliza wasn’t sure what he meant. “You certainly have done things that mattered, Innis,” she said.

  He looked at her incredulously. “How can you say that? Be honest, Eliza, what about my life is there to admire?” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “No real accomplishments of my own, no good works to speak of—”

  Eliza interrupted. “That’s not true. You’ve donated generously to many charities.”

  “Anyone at my stage of the game can write a check, Eliza. But what have I done to make a difference in somebody’s life? The truth is, I’ve hurt many people, damaged them, ruined them along the way. Politics is a dirty business. And I’ve finally admitted to myself that some of the things I told myself were necessary to get Valentina elected governor were done out of pure ambition. And now it’s too late to take those things back.”

  “Innis, why are you telling me all this?” asked Eliza.

  “Because I know how my world works, Eliza. Ugly things happen, cruel things, and they never see the light of day. And people get away with things that should never be gotten away with. That isn’t right. You know it isn’t right. You care about right and wrong. I know you do.” His voice cracked.

  “What are you talking about, Innis?”

  “You’ll see, Eliza. You’ll see,” he said, rising from the bench. “And I know you’ll do what needs to be done. You’re shivering now, dear. Let’s go back inside and join the party.”

  CHAPTER 8

  There you go, sir,” said Bill O’Shaughnessy as he put a glass of vodka down on the bar. “Good health to you.”

  The guest lifted the drink and walked away without saying a word to the bartender. With no one else waiting to be served, Bill sliced another lime. Wiping his hands, he looked up and saw Innis Wheelock walking in from the garden with that woman from morning television.

  This was some party. The Wheelocks had invited lots of people from inside the park along with many city people who had come out from Manhattan. He didn’t really understand the reason for the celebration; nobody he knew ever threw a party for a saint. But the wealthy were a different breed as far as Bill was concerned. Over the years he’d witnessed rich people trying to outdo one another in coming up with new themes for their parties. He had to give the Wheelocks credit for originality with this one.

  Bill bent down behind the bar to open another bag of ice. When he straightened, Valentina Wheelock was waiting for him. As he looked at her, Bill knew she must be in her sixties now, but he thought she was still ravishing. He suspected he would always think so. For Bill, some wrinkles and lines didn’t diminish her great beauty.

  “How are we doing?” she asked. “Everyone enjoying themselves?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered.

  “We have enough of everything?”

  Bill nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I think we’re in good shape.”

  “Good,” said Valentina. She turned partially and looked out at the room. “Nice party, isn’t it, Bill?”

  “Very nice, Mrs. Wheelock.”

  “Do you think St. Francis would approve?”

  Bill felt he should be cautious with his answer. You never knew how they were going to react. It wasn’t a good idea to joke, because too many of the people he worked for didn’t have much in the way of a sense of humor. Bill knew they didn’t think of him as being on their social level and that a joke or a criticism or a display of any sort of familiarity would not go over well. He was the hired help, and his job was to be respectful and pour the drinks.

  “I couldn’t say, Mrs. Wheelock,” Bill answered. He could feel his face flush.

  “Oh, yes, you could, Bill,” Valentina urged. “You won’t hurt my feelings. This was Innis’s idea, and I just went along to keep him happy. Go ahead, go out on a limb and tell me what you think.”

  Bill wished she wouldn’t do that, push him, tease him, encourage him. She had done that from the very beginning. He remembered the first time he saw her when she walked into the Black Tie Club on another October night almost thirty years before.

  The Fall Ball was always held on the third Saturday of October. One legend had it that at the first Fall Ball back in 1886 the grandson of Pierre Lorillard, along with some of his friends, showed up at the party in cutoff tailcoats, and the tuxedo was born. The presentation of debutantes at the Fall Ball was the start of the New York social season for over eight decades.

  Bill was new to working at the club back then. His father, who earned his living as a gardener there, had gotten Bill the job. He could recall how nervous he’d been. He hadn’t felt comfortable, didn’t feel like he belonged. And he didn’t. He could only observe the people in Tuxedo Park and marvel at their world.

  But it wasn’t the young ladies his
age, in their frothy white gowns, making their debuts, who had intrigued Bill that evening. It was a woman fifteen years older than he who caught his attention. When Valentina walked in on Innis Wheelock’s arm, Bill and every other man in the room had eyed her with admiration and Innis with envy. When she took to the dance floor in her blue gown, her blond hair long and loose, it had seemed to Bill, stealing glances as he served food and cleared dinner plates, that Valentina moved as if she and the music were one. She mingled with the other guests, confident and regal.

  Bill, exceedingly unconfident, had wanted to disappear under one of the damask-covered tables when his shaking hand spilled a few drops of wine on the sleeve of Valentina’s dress. She noticed it immediately, though no one else at the table had. Instead of commenting, she just looked up him, winked, and covered the spot with her napkin. At that moment, as his face flushed bright red, he fell in love.

  Later she had pulled him aside. “Don’t worry about the dress,” she said. “Accidents happen.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’m so sorry, really sorry. Maybe I could have it cleaned for you?”

  Valentina smiled. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I really appreciate that you didn’t make a big thing about it at the table or mention it to my boss.”

  She looked over at her table. “They wouldn’t have taken it very well, would they?”

  Bill shook his head. “No, and I need this job.”

  “Are you doing this while you go to school?” she asked.

  “No,” said Bill, blushing again.

  Valentina instantly understood. “Maybe you should think about that. College can make a big difference in somebody’s life.”

  Bill had watched her walk off across the room, and in that instant he stood taller. For a week or two, he had actually considered Valentina’s suggestion, but before he could broach the idea of college with his parents, his father suffered a severe heart attack. That was the end of Bill’s brief flirtation with higher education, but his fascination with Valentina lived on.