"Stay away from her."
"Don't push me or I'll make you regret it."
His hand closed alarmingly tightly on the back of my neck; I started to become frightened. Councilman Hartmann still watched us over the heads of the crowd. He must have known something was going on, and was wondering whether he should intercede. A sudden impulse rose in me to struggle in Brand's grip, to hit at his face, to cry out for the councilman's help — for anyone's. Which would have been disastrous at a time like this. I knew how to handle Brand; why was I getting so panicked?
Besides, Councilman Hartmann had looked away by that time, so I was on my own. I took a deep breath and relaxed in Brand's grip. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I breathed a gentle breath in his ear.
"I can't help being jealous. You're such a powerful, attractive man that other women won't be able to resist your charms. I couldn't bear it if you got involved with another woman."
He loosened his grip a bit and drew back to give me a suspicious look, but I had my most sincere face on. After a moment he said, "All right, then, but no more public displays."
"You have my word."
He let me go, so suddenly I stumbled. "All right. Go get yourself a drink and find Patricia. I have business."
"I'll come with you."
"No you won't." The I can't trust you not to make a scene was implicit in his expression.
Hurt, I turned my back on him and went over to the bar. I'd intended to drop a few hints into Councilman Hartmann's ear about my husbands inexcusable behavior, but he had wandered away.
By the time I found him he had become embroiled in a heated political discussion with the mayor, Governor Rockefeller, and several other men. When it became clear that nobody was going to take particular notice of me, I went in search of Patricia and my circle, to pass the evening with martini in hand, exchanging gossip about those of our circle not present, along with other unfortunates whose names arose in idle conversation.
Brand spent most of the evening with Marilyn. I comforted myself that the husbands of most of the women in my circle also paid court to her. But Brand was clearly a favorite, and they went off together at least twice, before I got too drunk to notice.
Patricia began throwing me pitying looks, which reminded me in an unfortunate way of Dr. Isaacs's expression earlier. I'd be a target for nasty rumors as soon as my friends gathered without me. I wasn't the only predator in my social circle.
The rest of that evening fades into obscurity in my memory, but one other incident stays with me. New York politics and high society were always weird and paranoid, and one got used to not knowing what was going on. But this seemed different.
The party had thinned out so it must have been quite late. In the past couple of hours I had managed to sober up a bit. On my way out of the ladies' room I happened to hear Brand's voice, quite low but recognizable. It came from within a cranny around the corner, where the pay phones were.
I started to enter the cranny but paused at the corner when I heard Dr. Rudo's voice. He spoke in a soft and reasonable tone that nevertheless managed to sound as though he expected unquestioning obedience.
"It would be preferable for you to avoid her altogether."
Brand sounded a bit chilly. "Let's leave my personal life out of this, shall we?"
"Your involvement with her could complicate matters. It's easy to underestimate her, but I've known her a long time. She's seductive and she can be cunning."
Brand scoffed. "Oh, come now. There's not a ruthless bone in that lovely body."
"I don't think you understand me. She is one of ours."
Brand's voice was shocked. "She's a Card Shark?"
"Mmmm. She holds a key position in Hollywood and is an important player — even if she is inept."
"Then … if she's one of us, why the secrecy?"
Dr. Rudo's voice was sharp. "Think about it."
A pause, then a gasp. "Of course. She's compromised."
"Seriously so. We've kept her completely out of the picture. But it's my guess she's gotten wind that something's up. She'll learn eventually — she probably knows we're up to something right now — but it's important she doesn't find out What we're about too soon. Otherwise she might try to stop us."
Somehow, call it a Woman's intuition, I knew that they were talking about Marilyn. And that Brand had fallen for her. The rest made no sense to me, but it all sounded so odd that I decided to take notes in my address book, in case I needed details for emotional blackmail later.
I wrote down "Card Sharks." I thought they were playing one of those silly conspiracy games one hears about, played by men old enough to know better, who don silly hats and pass secret codes and hand shakes back and forth.
"She'll need someone, then."
"Don't be a fool, van Renssaeler. She's using you. She knows you're involved. And if not now, afterward she'll certainly know."
"Nonsense. How could she?"
"I imagine my organization has sprung a leak. And I intend to locate it. In the meantime, I suggest you stay away from her."
Perhaps I should have taken some comfort from the fact that Dr. Rudo was warning Brand off Marilyn, but I knew Brand too well. He had never listened to his father, never listened to me, and he wasn't going to listen to this Dr. Rudo person, either, if he could help it.
A noise, like a chair bumping the wall, made me flee to the bathroom, heart racing. I put away my address book with shaky, sweaty hands, and then made a commotion coming out again. But they had already headed down the hall to rejoin the party.
Though I could have caught up with them I didn't feel I could face Brand right then, so I went in search of friends — only to learn that Patricia and most of my social circle had left.
I headed straight for the bar and ordered a highball, And another. And another. But the alcohol didn't dissolve the indigestible knot that had formed in my stomach.
The sun was rising by the time Brand finally blurred into view and announced that it was time to go home. As he hailed us a cab I remember hugging myself, looking at Brand, wondering if he'd already taken her someplace and had her — someplace filthy like a stairwell. Or perhaps he'd thought to rent a room. A tear or two trickled down my face. I rubbed my belly again.
With that artificial clarity that comes as drunken euphoria collapses into toxicity and illness, I recall thinking as Brand bundled me into the cab that all I'd have to show for this night was a terrible hangover and a lot of trouble.
***
Incidently, I can't help but notice that you're feeling the heat a bit. I would turn down the thermostat but you would find me talking ve-e-ery slowly.
Do feel free to remove as much clothing as you need to, to remain comfortable. It's just us ladies here tonight and as you can see, all I wear any more is my scales.
Tuesdays, at promptly nine-thirty A.M., Patricia and her car and driver would arrive at our apartment. I would rush down, climb into the back of her grey Mercedes limousine, and we would descend upon the upper class midtown stores. Our sweep usually encompasse Chanel, Bergdorf's, Di Laurenta, Jaeger, and the higher quality midtown boutiques along 5th Avenue. We'd hand our purchases to the driver as we went along, to dump into the trunk of the limo.
Afterwards we would send him on his break and eat a late lunch at the Russian Tea Boom on 57th Street near Broadway, where we would pull out some of our smaller, choice pieces to croon over, and look for Igor Stravinsky. The famous composer ate chicken-with-giblets soup at the Russian Tea Room every Tuesday afternoon. He was a friend of my parents, and it wasn't unusual, if we ran into each other, for him to join us for lunch. Often, though, Patricia and I got there too late. More rarely, we had a chance to dine with Salvador Dali as well.