“I believe you, Ms Wright, because there’s an ancient Chinese saying that reminds us that it takes many nails to construct a crib, and one screw to fill it.”
The waiter brought our seconds and Sabrina saluted my retort. “I must remember that one,” she said. “Well, they all made plans to see me again in New York, and each called when he got there. By then I knew I was in the family way, as we used to say in Brooklyn, and passed on the news to my ardent suitors, who suddenly went limp at the news. Pardon the pun.”
“Did you know who the father was?”
She shook her head. “No. How could I? And I still don’t, nor do I care to know. Those bastards all told me they could arrange for a doctor, all expenses paid, and a few bucks for my trouble. I told them it was against my religion. One by one they said I could do as I pleased, but they wanted no part of their own child. They made it very clear that I wasn’t the kind nice young men married. And that, Mr.
McNally, was their undoing. I owed them nothing and they owed me an apology which I proceeded to extract in the only words they understood cold cash.”
She went on to explain how she had cunningly plotted her revenge, dealing with each of the men individually without their ever knowing they were part of a trio.
“These are smart guys,” I said, ‘with family lawyers by the dozens. How did you manage it?”
She sipped and puffed before answering with a smile. “I showed them my birth certificate, Mr. McNally.”
“You did what?”
“Can’t you guess? The spring break was in April. I was eighteen in September of that year. I believe it’s called statutory rape and my heroes had no desire to join the ranks of Charlie Chaplin and Errol Flynn. Oh, the boys did go running to the family lawyers and I got my apology, in spades. The end.”
What a story, and what a woman. “But it’s not the end,” I said. “When men like these make a deal, especially one that puts them on the paying end, they don’t like being crossed. I spoke to all of them and I didn’t like what they had to say. They are angry with you for telling Gillian the truth.”
“Only a part of the truth,” she insisted.
“Enough to get the wind up. What did you tell them, may I ask?”
Another cigarette, hardly smoked, bit the dust. “I told them to go climb the family tree and leave the daughter they wanted to terminate to me. That’s what I told them.”
And that’s what I had feared. “Easy, Ms Wright. I don’t like these guys any more than you do but they are not to be trifled with. They will go to any length to prevent this mess from going public, and they all have good reasons for doing so. Zack Ward’s occupation, by the way, makes them very nervous.”
My caution had her fuming, which put color on her alabaster cheeks. “I know all about their political expectations and their lovely children.
In thirty years, they haven’t changed one iota. Still worried about the family name. Sill crying, me, me, me, my, my, my, and I, I, I. The nerve. The unmitigated nerve.
“Docile Tom runs to New York every chance he gets. You know why, Mr.
McNally? Because he keeps a young lady in a smart apartment on Central Park South. She’s younger than his son. When Dick disappears for a few weeks on business he’s at a posh rehab spa, drying out. Harry couldn’t marry me, but he ended up tying the knot with a lesbian, a nympho, and a tramp. Don’t trifle with them? I’ll step all over them, Mr. McNally.”
I again advised restraint. “It makes no sense to bait them.
Concentrate on getting Gillian and Zack out of Palm Beach no wiser than when they arrived. Harry’s son will be married in a few months, Troy Appleton will know his political future by then, and Cranston will get his appointment. It will take the heat off everyone for a spell and perhaps calmer heads will prevail.”
“Don’t think I’m not trying to do just that. I told you I had offered Zack an interview if he could talk Gillian into giving up the search and going home. He’s very interested. I even took them all out the other evening for a start.”
“So I heard. The Club Colette.”
“Does nothing in this town go unnoticed, Mr. McNally?”
“No, ma’am. The spring break trio will know about this meeting before it’s over.”
She shrugged as if it made no difference at this point. “I am so tired,” she moaned. “I have spent all my life planning and plotting and scheming and working at that damn word processor until my eyes cross to keep my family living in luxury, and what do I get in return?
Crap, that’s what. Ungrateful pups. Now I have to give an interview to a tabloid I wouldn’t use to wipe my feet on to get Gillian to do what I ask. I am tired, Mr. McNally. Very, very tired.”
“Perhaps if you treated them with a little more respect and understanding,” I ventured warily, ‘they would respond in kind.”
She gave me a vacant stare and spoke as if by rote. “Understanding, you say? Gillian falls in love with any man who looks at her twice.
It’s clear what they’re after. Her legacy. Do you think I enjoy playing the party pooper? Well, I don’t, but I must. Robert is always short of cash and long on places to go, like expensive men’s boutiques, cocktail parties, and topless bars. I am the guy who keeps the show on the road and the actors from bumping into the scenery. Now if you don’t mind, doctor, I will get up off the couch and head home. I’m seeing one of Gillian’s fathers tonight. The last of the Mohegans.”
With Sabrina Wright, if at first you don’t succeed, give up. I reached for her cigarettes and helped myself to one. I deserved it. “Do you know, Ms Wright, you are named after an ancient Roman river?”
Tunny, I thought I was named after an Audrey Hepburn movie.”
“Au cont mire Before there was Audrey Hepburn there was the river Severn.”
For my last dinner with Ursi and Jamie in the family kitchen I took more care with my attire than I had been doing since being orphaned.
Casual elegance was the goal. Too formal would put a damper on the party and too relaxed would be rude. Taupe gabardine slacks, a plummy silk jacket over a blue chambray shirt, and black patent-leather gentleman’s pumps. A look in the glass confirmed that a picture is worth a thousand words.
I was delighted to see that Ursi and Jamie had also taken extra care with their apparel, although both would deny that they had done any such thing. Jamie was in summer flannels with a matching jacket, and I could see a print dress beneath Ursi’s apron.
We greeted each other a bit sheepishly before I went into the den and returned with three martinis on a tray. Ursi giggled; Jamie nodded appreciatively and Archy passed out the silver bullets. To us,” I toasted. One sip and we were laughing at our own maladroit behavior.
Reverting to business as usual we plunged into gossip, the homecoming, and Ursi’s feast.
For our last supper, so to speak, Ursi had prepared and now served what I have long considered to be the quintessence of gastronomic delights.
A Caesar salad, a la Ursi only the tender est inner leaves of the romaine lettuce steak au poivre, garlic mashed potatoes, stuffed mushrooms, and tiny green peas in butter.
The steaks had been rubbed with crushed peppercorns, wrapped in paper, and left for hours, allowing the meat to absorb all the peppery flavor.
Minutes before serving them Ursi sauteed the prime cuts in a mixture of hot oil and butter until they were charred on the outside and succulently rare within.
When the steaks were removed from the pan Ursi quickly added butter, shallots, and cognac to the remaining juices to create a sauce for the banquet. Sumptuous is an understatement and you could cut Ursi’s steak au poivre with a fork.
I kept my promise and poured a fine Bordeaux St. fimilion, remembering to thank father for leaving me the key to the wine cellar. Dessert was a strawberry chantilly with Bavarian cream.