Too Much Money (22 page)

“That was Gert who cooked? Gert who used to make the fig mousse at Lil’s, and all the guests clapped for her after dinner?” asked Elias.

“Yes, that was Gert,” said Ruby.

“And how did Gert end up in our kitchen, please?” asked Elias.

“I saw her walking wearily down Third Avenue one day burdened with groceries from Grace’s Marketplace, and I gave her a ride in the Mercedes because she had to go back to Clyde’s pharmacy because she’d forgotten to pick up Lil Altemus’s special order. I doubled her salary, gave her a little sitting room, and promised that you’d drop her off in Dublin when you fly on the G Five Fifty to London.”

“No wonder Lil didn’t speak to me,” said Elias.

“I suppose it’s a combination of me stealing her cook and you being an ex-convict, which is what I hear she calls you,” said Ruby.

Elias blushed. He knew that whatever he did in his new life the word
ex-convict
would always be used to describe him. Gus Bailey, whom Elias so disliked, had written in his diary in
Park Avenue
that the word would be in the first line of Elias’s obituary when he died.

“Gert is much better off with me,” said Ruby. “She was wasting her talents in that dinky little kitchen of Lil Altemus’s where Adele Harcourt tripped on the linoleum. With us she has an enormous kitchen and exactly the same stove they have at Le Cirque. A big stove is what she missed most after Lil had to give up the Fifth Avenue apartment and moved to the place on East Sixty-sixth Street. And the maids do the washing and cleaning up. She doesn’t have to do any of that.”

“Why didn’t you buy Lil’s old apartment when she moved out? That would have been a good place for us,” asked Elias, still smarting from the snub.

“Because Lil blackballed us when she was still on the board,” said Ruby. “Maisie Verdurin told me so.”

Lil looked over and waved to Gus, a gesture not lost on Elias Renthal. He loathed Gus. He was still livid that Gus had put on a television show about Elias’s case just at the time Elias was getting ready to leave prison, bringing the whole thing up again,
after most people had forgotten about it after Elias’s seven years of incarceration, or so Elias liked to believe. He flashed Gus a withering look, as if he were expecting Gus to shrink in fear of him. Gus looked at him as if he’d never seen him before. He was also aware that Perla Zacharias was seated directly behind him, but he did not turn in her direction.

“T
HE LAWSUIT’S
changed Gus, don’t you think?” said Lil.

“Tremendously,” replied Kay Kay. “He used to be so funny and full of stories. Now he hardly opens his mouth at dinner; I have to pry information from him. The spark’s gone out. I sat next to him the other night at Maisie’s. Then he pretended he was going to the men’s room and he never came back. He just left.”

“He’s devastated by this horrendous situation. He switched to another lawyer here in New York, after
Park Avenue
hired that woman from Washington.”

“Look, there’s Lord and Lady Cudlip, or Stanford and Mimi, as Christine Saunders called them on her television program,” said Kay Kay.

“I heard he’s going to go belly-up,” replied Lil.

“Oh, no, it couldn’t be. They’re much, much too rich.”

“And overextended. You wait. It’s all going to come out. On one of the rare occasions recently that he did open his mouth, Gus Bailey told me about it the other night. It’s just a matter of time. I heard Lord Cudlip flew out to Las Vegas to visit Elias Renthal in jail again just last week, just as Elias was about to be released, that’s how desperate he was, and asked if he could borrow thirty million dollars, and Elias Renthal turned him down.”

“Oh, look, the bishop, Bishop Kinsolving. Look at those gold vestments,” said Kay Kay.

“The bishop was such a good friend of Adele’s. She always
had him to her big dinners, seated right next to her on her left. He was in my brother Laurance’s class at both St. Paul’s and Harvard. We used to call him Teddy in those days.”

“Look. Lord Cudlip just cut Elias Renthal dead,” said Kay Kay. “No money, no talkee.”

“Oh, listen, Renée Fleming is singing the Ave Maria. Isn’t it heaven? Isn’t it thrilling? Do you think it’s all right to turn around and look up at the choir loft? Adele adored Renée.”

“You already told me that, and I already knew it before you told me,” said Kay Kay.

“N
OBODY CAN
leave the church before Laura Bush,” said Ethan Trescher, speaking to the ushers, who were gathered in the vestibule during Bishop Kinsolving’s eulogy. “Immediately at the end of the service, even before we escort the casket out to the hearse, the Secret Service will take Mrs. Bush out the side door on East Seventy-first Street. I understand she is returning directly to Texas. She will not be coming to the Butterfield for the reception.”

“Ethan?” said Addison Kent. “Is it all right if I go back in? I want to listen to Renée Fleming sing the Ave Maria.”

“Oh, there are the Kissingers,” said Ethan. “They’ve finally arrived. Their plane was late from London. I’ll take them to their seats.”

“Better late then never, I suppose,” said Addison, snidely, who had never met the Kissingers, as he opened the door to listen to Renée Fleming sing.

“Y
OU GOTTA
hand it to the Protestants, when it comes to this kind of service,” said Elias. “I feel like I’m in Westminster
Abbey. Who’s that singing? Good voice on that lady. May I make an observation?”

“If you keep your voice down,” said Ruby through clenched teeth.

“There’s not one man wearing a rug in this entire church. I gotta tell Max Luby to stop wearing his brand-new thousand-dollar rug before his testimonial dinner on the twelfth. Don’t forget to mark that down. Oh, my god, there are the Cudlips,” said Elias.

“They always look so rich,” said Ruby.

“You look pretty rich yourself, with those sable cuffs.”

It was a compliment Ruby loved. It gave her confidence.

“Sometimes you can be very sweet, Elias.”

“Did I tell you he flew out to see me again at the facility in Las Vegas last week?”

“Again? No, you didn’t tell me that.”

“In all the excitement of leaving the facility, I must have forgot.”

“I didn’t know you and he were that close. Did he put you on his board?”

“It wasn’t that kind of visit. He wanted to borrow thirty million dollars.”

“Thirty million dollars?” asked Ruby.

“Don’t worry. I turned him down. Lending him money is like flushing it down the toilet bowl. He’s in big trouble. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he’s not going to the same place I just got out of.”

“I’m shocked,” said Ruby. “They’ve been taking New York by storm. Ormolu Webb just gave a big party for them. What did he do?”

“Turns out he’s just another corporate tycoon charged with criminal fraud, racketeering, obstruction of justice, money laundering. Stuff like that,” said Elias.

The exit of the former first lady was handled with dispatch immediately after the service. People sitting several rows back were not even aware that she was being whisked out a side door onto East Seventy-first Street. The music in the church was triumphant as the ushers, led by Francis Xavior Branigan, escorted Adele Harcourt’s casket down the aisle while the congregation stood. Outside, the crowds clapped courteously for the great lady of New York as her casket was placed into the Grant P. Trumbull hearse. Most people did not notice that the lady sitting in the front seat of the hearse was Dodo Van Degan. Francis Xavior Branigan said, “I hope this won’t make ‘Page Six.’” Within minutes the funeralgoers inside the church began to pour out of the three main doors of St. James’. Some stood on the steps and the sidewalk to greet friends. Others stopped to sign the books inside each entrance.

Although there were eleven hundred people attending the service, only three hundred had been invited to the reception at the Butterfield Club on Fifth Avenue. Photographers, angry that they had missed the former first lady, pushed forward to take pictures of the other celebrities. “Mayor Bloomberg, turn this way.” “Mr. Kissinger, look over here.” “Miss Fleming, look this way, please.” “There’s Elias Renthal. He just got out of prison yesterday.” “Hey, Ruby, look over here.” “What’s it like being out of prison, Mr. Renthal?” “Did you have to wear a striped suit, Elias?” “Did you see Gus Bailey’s television show about you?” “Did you really pay a million dollars to put a new roof on some English castle?” “Is it true you had to clean toilets?”

L
IL
A
LTEMUS
and Kay Kay Somerset made their way to their car, straight-faced as they passed the Renthals being screamed at by the media. “At least they weren’t invited to the reception at the Butterfield,” said Lil in passing, even though she’d already
said it to Kay Kay in the church. “Hello, Gus. Wasn’t it lovely? It was like Adele was there. She planned the whole thing, you know. Would you like a ride to the Butterfield with Kay Kay and me?”

“Thanks, Lil, I think I’ll walk,” said Gus. “I see on my cell phone that my lawyer has called, and I want to return that. I’ll see you there.”

As he walked down Madison Avenue, Gus dialed his lawyer Peter Lombardo’s private number.

“I’ve been to a funeral,” said Gus when Peter answered.

“Adele Harcourt’s. I imagined you were there,” said Peter.

“I’m on my way to the reception at the Butterfield. What bad news on my slander case has happened?”

“I heard from Win Burch.”

“His name sends chills through me.”

“They’ve set the date for the deposition.”

Gus had been a nervous wreck for the last several months, while waiting for the deposition. Strangers who had been cross-examined by Burch in other slander cases wrote or e-mailed Gus letters about the terrifying experience it had been. They said he was called the Pit Bull. This could ruin Gus if it didn’t go his way, not just financially, but it could mean his career was over—and he didn’t have it in him to start again. The whole mess made him feel tired and ill. He just didn’t know if he had the strength for this.

J
ACQUES OPENED
the back door of Ruby’s dark green Mercedes-Benz and Ruby and Elias got in as quickly as possible. Elias was breathing heavily. He leaned his head back on the upholstered seat. He closed his eyes. His mouth hung open.

Ruby looked at him, aghast. “Elias, are you all right?” she asked. “Open your eyes.”

“Yeah, I’m all right,” he said.

“Your heart’s beating a mile a minute,” said Ruby, putting her hand inside his suit jacket.

When Elias spoke, he spoke slowly. “That was a terrible experience, having those reporters screaming at me, asking me questions about the facility. Only they called it prison. Did you see the look on Lil Altemus’s face?”

“Stop worrying about her. Lil Altemus doesn’t even have any money anymore—she takes the Madison Avenue bus—but she still has the hoity-toity attitude,” said Ruby.

“When they write up Adele Harcourt’s funeral in the paper tomorrow, that’s what they’ll write about,” said Elias.

“Yes, it was terrible, Elias,” said Ruby, in a consoling voice. “But at least you didn’t lose your cool; like Simon Cabot said on the telephone yesterday, no matter what they say, don’t get angry. That’s the picture they want to get of you.”

“What about this reception at the Butterfield Club?” asked Elias.

“Simon Cabot couldn’t work that one out. He got us into the funeral at St. James’ through Addison Kent, whom he knows through Perla Zacharias, but he couldn’t get us on the list for the reception at the Butterfield. That’s Ethan Trescher’s list, and I heard he drew a line through our names with a black marker.”

Elias was quiet for a moment, then he leaned toward the front seat and barked, “Jacques, take us to the Butterfield on Fifth Avenue and Sixty-fifth Street, to the entrance on Sixty-fifth.”

Turning back to Ruby, he glared. “I used to be a member of that club. I used to play backgammon there in the afternoon. I used to have lunch there with very important people, like Laurance Van Degan, who was the one who put me up for membership, after a little arm-twisting on my part. He was also the one who wrote me the letter saying in print that I was no longer a
member of the club. I remember going there after the scandal came out in the papers, before I was indicted even; the day that poor young man Byron Macumber jumped out of the window, I went to the club that day for lunch. Not one person spoke to me. Not one. Every one of those snobs turned away from me. They had this old guy there, Doddsie his name was; he’s probably dead now. He’d worked at the club for forty years, and everyone in the club loved the guy. He knew what everyone wanted to drink. Even Doddsie snubbed me, the fucking hired help looked the other way. I’ll always remember that. When I walked out of there for the last time, in that marble front hallway, I let out a fart that they could have heard in New Jersey.”

“Mightn’t it be a little embarrassing for you to walk into the Butterfield to a reception we haven’t been invited to?” said Ruby, checking her makeup for the reception they were about to crash.

“Attitude is everything, as Loelia Minardos used to say to you,” said Elias.

“Yes, Loelia did say that, didn’t she? Well, I’m ready.”

For a man who had been released from prison two days earlier, who had just been taunted by the media as he left Adele Harcourt’s funeral at St. James’ Church, and who was about to enter a club from which he had been asked to resign in order to attend a reception he had not been invited to, Elias Renthal emerged quite smilingly from his dark green Mercedes limousine, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He gallantly held out his hand to help his beautiful wife out of the car. He beamed at her in approval, glad she was wearing an eleven-thousand-dollar suit designed by Karl Lagerfeld with sable cuffs. “You look rich,” he whispered in her ear.

People entered the club around them, giving them looks as they passed. “I didn’t know he was out of prison,” said Herkie Saybrook to Petal Wilson as they entered the club, speaking
about Elias Renthal as if he weren’t standing there waiting to enter. Elias took Ruby’s arm as the door was opened for them by the very much alive Doddsie, the beloved club steward in his blue uniform with the gold piping who had been a fixture at the Butterfield for almost fifty years.