“Oh, it’s Dickey Cranston and Ginny,” Schuyler said. “He was at Saint Paul’s with Tommy and me. Good of him to come. He and Troy are not on the same team. Different parties, you know. Would you like to meet him?”
“I don’t think so, sir. I’d rather scram before they pass the alms plate.”
“Nonsense, it’ll only take a minute. Dickey is going to be an ambassador or something. Big deal.”
Schuyler dragged me into the lion’s den, and at the sight of me Dickey Cranston almost keeled over. I hate having this effect on people; it bruises the ego. The crowd made way for Harry Schuyler as they must have all his life, and we had no trouble penetrating the groupies surrounding Cranston. Schuyler made the introduction, and Cranston shook my hand like I was Typhoid Mary. Suzanne was at the moment showing off her Chanel suit to Virginia Appleton.
“Pleased to meet you,” Cranston lied. “Are you a political enthusiast, Mr. McNally?”
“No, sir. My father was the invited guest and I’m here in his place.”
“That’s right,” Schuyler mumbled. “Prescott McNally did some work for me awhile back and I may need his help again.”
Unable to resist, Tom Appleton left his son, the Givenchy, and the Chanel to join us. “Good of you to come, Dickey,” he said to Cranston while looking at me. “I guess we can’t count on your vote. What’s your party affiliation, Mr. McNally?”
My para-was so — noid I wanted only to run out of the room and into the ocean, never to return. I was at Casa Gran, surrounded by three social-register heavyweights, all giving me the fisheye like the motel clerk who knows damn well you’re not Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Looking at them side by side was like playing the old shell game. Which one contained the pea? These three fools all believed they did.
“I’m an independent, sir,” I told him. “But I promised your son my vote and I will keep it.”
“Mr. McNally is my guest, Tommy!” Schuyler explained. “Lawyer business.”
“I didn’t know you were a lawyer, Mr. McNally,” Appleton said.
“I’m not, but my father is,” I answered. This was followed by an oppressive pause. Appleton and Cranston glared at me. Schuyler looked wistfully at the passing trays of champagne. I smiled in search of sympathy and got skunked for my efforts. It was time for Archy to do the right thing and get out of these guys’ lives while I still had mine.
“I must be going, gentlemen. It’s been a pleasure. Best of luck to your son, Mr. Appleton, and to you, Mr. Cranston, on your appointment.” To Harry Schuyler I said, “I’ll be in touch.”
None of them offered a parting hand.
Nineteen
I could feel their eyes boring into my back as I made my exit. These three not-so-wise guys had broken the cardinal rule of survivaclass="underline" When in doubt, keep your mouth shut. Upon reading that now infamous blind item in Lolly’s column they panicked and blabbed. Trouble was, they blabbed to me which made me as inconvenient as Sabrina and her daughter. Schuyler thought he was speaking metaphorically when he placed me in Sabrina’s camp, but the statement was more fact than fancy. That I had been shanghaied made no difference to the enemy.
I rationalized that if any of these three former classmates were going to take drastic action to keep their secret a secret they would have to do it with their own hand. Out of necessity a hit man would have to go the way of his victim and then you’re dealing with a box of facial tissues pull out one and up pops another.
Of the three, which would be the most likely to act foolishly? My vote went to Cranston. He had the most to lose and, like all ambitious men, I believed he could be ruthless when it came to getting what he wanted.
That day in his limo he had referred to Sabrina being as reliable as a campaign promise. This told you something about his political integrity. And he had a temper. “Don’t ever get wise with me. You tell me what I want to know or…” I never did hear the end of that threat but I have a lively imagination.
Then we have Schuyler, sickly but determined to go to his grave as pure as when he came into this world. He was the only one to openly declare he would kill to keep the secret. Kill me, that is. And by his own admission he had nothing to lose if pushed to the limit. “All I could get is life or the chair. Ain’t that a laugh?”
Appleton was the mildest mannered of the three but I could hear him telling me, “I will go to any length to protect myself and my family from scandal.” Nor could I forget the look he gave me when I horned in on his son’s fifteen minutes. Like they say, If looks could kill.. ”
Due to all of the above I had completely forgotten that Binky and Bianca were dining at the Pelican that evening. Imagine my surprise when I walked in and saw the pair seated at my corner table. It being the start of the weekend, the Pelican was crowded and noisy, but Binky spotted me the moment I walked into the bar area. Too late to run. He and Bianca waved. I waved back and skirted their table in favor of the bar. “Good evening, Mr. Pettibone. What can you give me to make me forget there’s got to be a morning after?”
“They say a good martini can do the trick.”
“Very perceptive, Mr. Pettibone. It’s what I’ve been drinking and father told me never to change intoxicants in midstream. I’ll have the vodka variety, straight up with a twist.”
“You look like you’ve had a tough night, Archy,” Simon Pettibone observed.
“I’ve had better, Mr. Pettibone. I’ve had better.”
Priscilla came up to the bar to place an order and couldn’t wait to tell me, “Binky is here with his new girl. She’s a doll.”
“So I noticed. What are they drinking?”
“Binky is on beer, as usual, and Bianca is drinking rum and Coke.”
My stomach lurched. “What are they eating?” I also had to know.
“Special tonight is crab cakes, but Bianca said they tend to give her gas.”
How infuriating. The girl was impudent. Tonight she wore a lovely cream cashmere cardigan over a lilac blouse. Was she telling Binky about our visit with Tony Gilbert? Pray she doesn’t describe Babette.
Binky has a weak heart.
“They’re having the braised veal chops,” Priscilla said.
My stomach mellowed. “Do you think Leroy could put a little something together for me to nibble right here?” I asked.
“We discourage eating at the bar,” she told me.
“Says who?”
“The Board, that’s who,” Priscilla snapped.
Let me say here that I am not on the Pelican’s Board. I am a member of the more prestigious Founders’ Committee. As the Pelican Club was established as a gentlemen’s lodge, the Founders are all hart pun intended. Later, we made the mistake of admitting women. Connie, like Eve, was the first on the scene. Thereafter I could no longer escort whom I pleased to the club without chancing running into Connie.
Please note: Were it not for that unfortunate decision I would be sharing the braised veal chops with Bianca and a robust Bordeaux from the Medoc region not Binky Watrous. Gas? The nerve of that child.
When Mr. Pettibone placed my drink before me, I complained, Triscilla refuses to serve this starving gentleman at the bar, Mr. Pettibone.”
“Oh, we can make an exception, Pris,” he kindly said to his daughter.
“Archy is tucked away in the corner here and no one will notice.”
“No one will notice?” Priscilla echoed. “That tie-and-hankie combo makes him look like a traffic light. And that’s the biggest pocket square I have ever seen you could have a picnic on it.” Having critiqued my attire, Priscilla picked up her tray and departed.
Reggie Winetroub took up the slack. “Glad I caught you, Archy.” Reggie looked a bit under the weather. He has been known to go from lunch tails to cocktails without taking a work break. “Founders’ meeting next week. Very important that you be there. We’re considering establishing a new charity under the auspices of our “Just Say Yes”
reserve fund.”