Elise tried not to let her irritation show. Before she could speak, Brenda jumped in.
“Plenty!” she told Annie. “It would just encourage him.” Brenda signaled a passing waiter for a diet Coke, thinking to herself how silly it was, since she was already so fat. ‘We have a way of dealing with blackmailers and rats where I come from. I could call my Uncle Nunzio. Send someone around to break his legs.”’ Brenda smiled at Elise’s discomfort. “Hell get the message.”’ This isn’t helping me at all, Elise realized, feeling suddenly very alone, and very upset. The martini wasn’t helping her, either. As she always did in times of severe stress, she thought of Uncle Bob. I’ll go to see him, Elise thought with relief. He’ll know what to do. And maybe he’ll take care of it.
“Leesie, my dear, how good to see you.” The tiny man stood up, almost stiffly erect, even so, he wasn’t five feet high. He walked toward her, his step brisk as ever. Elise was frightened that someday Uncle Bob Bloogee would begin to decline like her mother had, that she’d see the beginnings of that long slide to death, and once he was gone, she’d be completely on her own. All alone, forever. But reassuringly, he looked much as he always did, thin, bald, tiny, and wrinkled. He must be well into his seventies now, Elise knew, but as long as she had known him, it seemed to her he had looked much the same.
Robert Staire Bloogee was, arguably, the wealthiest man in the United States, perhaps even the world. His mother had been a Pittsburgh Staire and the heiress to both a steel and a coal empire. His father was the notorious Black Jack Bloogee, son of an Oklahoma wildcatter smart enough to tie up the mineral rights to more than eight hundred thousand acres of oil-rich Southwest land.
As a result, his vast holdings dwarfed even the immense ones of Elise.
In addition to their individual fortunes, he had inherited his father’s shrewdness and just for life, and his mother’s love of beauty. If he regretted that his physical stature never echoed his fiscal one, he didn’t seem to show it. After all, Andrew Carnegie, that other rich Pittsburgh boy, had only stood five foot three. It hadn’t hurt his career. Bob Bloogee had long ago gotten the point, life happens once—enjoy it and try to do some good.
Uncle Bob did both in a big way. He made huge contributions to charities-anonymously—and he entertained lavishly and often. He was only Elise’s courtesy uncle, really a distant cousin. Since they’d met, when Elise was seven or eight, “Uncle” Bob had taken her on as one of his interests. He was always there for practical advice, a shoulder to cry on, a friend with whom to celebrate.
And he took care of things for her. He had gotten her first, disastrous marriage annulled and had himself given her away at her marriage to Bill. Now he was helping with her divorce. He was good at divorces, having had so many himself. He never judged Elise and always seemed thrilled by her achievements.
He cultivated a wide diverse circle of friends and was on excellent terms with his previous three wives. Currently he was at work on his memoirs, which he was calling The Autobiography of a Nobody.
Altogether, he was a darling little man.
As always, it was so good to see him, Elise thought as he crossed the big room to meet her. She had to stoop to receive the kiss—a real kiss, no social air-smack—that he planted on her cheek.
“How is your mother?” he asked. ‘I haven’t seen Helena since last month.”
Elise sighed. “She’s as good as she can be. It’s me I’m worried about.”
“Leesie, you didn’t sound well on the telephone, and now, if you’ll excuse me for saying so, you don’t look well. Sit down, dear.”
No one called her Leesie anymore, not even her mother. It was her baby name, the name her father had given her, that only he and her mother ever used. It felt good, comforting, to hear it again. Elise gratefully sank onto a down-cushioned fauteuil. The room, Uncle Bob’s library and office, was lined with his magnificent collection of books, volumes that he actually read. The walls, where not covered by books, were hung with paintings, several of which were important. A Van Gogh self-portrait was over the enormous Gothic fireplace. Opposite his desk was a Vermeer, exquisitely depicting a woman reading a letter, an expression of deep concern on her face. How appropriate, Elise thought as she wordlessly handed Larry’s crumpled note to her uncle.
He scanned it quickly and then looked back at her questioningly. “What is it, dear? What is this piece of himself’ that he sent you?
Something distasteful?”
Elise nodded. She thought of the screenplay and blanched. She knew how pale her face must be. His own paled.
“Not a body part?” he asked.
“Of course not.” The surprise almost brought Elise back to herself.
“No!” She shivered with repugnance.
“These things happen,” Uncle Bob said. He inclined his head toward the Van Gogh. He paused a moment, delicately. Then he cleared his throat.
“So what did he send?”
“A screenplay.” It was worse, in its way, than an ear or a tooth. It was an insult, a demand. Elise knew that.
But Uncle Bob didn’t seem to see it that way. “Was it any good?”
“I don’t know!” she almost snapped. “Uncle Bob, that isn’t the point.
I’m worried about the implied threat.”
“What threat?”
“Well, the tone.”
“What tone?”
This wasn’t going well at all. Usually Uncle Bob picked up on everything. He was usually so very intuitive. Elise sighed. She had hoped she wouldn’t have to explain it, all the sordid details. But she supposed she would.
The whole story tumbled out. Cynthia’s suicide, the funeral, Bemelman’s, and her indiscretion. She laid herself bare. When she was done, she could hardly bear to look at him. “Are you very disappointed in me?”
But he was smiling, beaming at her. “I could never be disappointed in you, Elise. You are wonderful and so talented. I regretted it when you gave up your careen-but not if it was what you wanted.” He smiled at her and patted her hand. “I’m glad you got what you needed when you needed it.”
Elise sighed. She had been so concerned Uncle Bob would judge her harshly. She hadn’t realized until this moment how much like a father he was to her.
”But now, are you afraid that this young photographer-cum-screenwriter has indecent photos?”
”I’m not sure.”
“Do you think you were set up?”
“I don’t know.”
“Unlikely, my dear. Your behavior in the past would make you a long-shot candidate. Do you think your drink was spiked?”’ “No! No, Uncle Bob, it’s nothing like that.” She couldn’t tell him about her drinking—about how often she lost control. She couldn’t tell him that she had simply blacked out, that she didn’t remember getting home.
Anyway, what difference would that make? She tried again. ‘It could affect the divorce.”
“Well, I suppose anything could, but I’ve got Bill in a reasonable position.
He wants to remarry ASAP, so it seems to be in one heir and out the other,’ if you’ll excuse the pun.” He chuckled. “I’m delighted you’re unloading that stiff at last. Frankly, Leesie, he bored me to death.
Always did, the pompous ass. Well, at any rate, I expect we’ll have papers ready to sign by next week.
So what difference does this note make, even assuming it is a threat?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Elise took a deep breath. Perhaps Uncle Bob was right. She wished she could feel more comfortable. She wished her head would stop hurting.
“Listen, dear, if it’s bothering you so much, why don’t I invite the young man up for a little chat? I’ll have my man in McLean, Virginia, check him out a bit, too. And if he’s clean, and I suspect he is, it looks like you have a fervent admirer, that’s all.” Uncle Bob smiled.
“Was he any good?”
She was shocked. Uncle Bob was outspoken, but this … She thought of Larry’s arms around her, his flat, broad chest against hers.
In truth, it was something she thought of often. And the things he had said.
She blushed. ‘Yes. Yes, he was.”
“Then maybe you want to send the screenplay over to my man on the coast.”
“Oh, the screenplay … ,” Elise breathed. ‘No. It’s not … I mean, I haven’t even looked at it. I thought …”
“Elise!” Uncle Bob said, and now he sounded shocked. “What did you think I was asking about? Really!” But his eyes twinkled. He laughed, and she joined him.
“Uncle Bob, there’s one other thing.” She described the First Wives Club to him briefly and talked about their project.
“A worthwhile undertaking, my dear. Sounds like a lot of fun. You know, I’ve always despised men who got stingy with old spouses or women they’d made promises to. And Gil Griffin has been on my personal shit list for a long time. I was friends with Jack Swann, Cynthia’s father.
Good friends.”
Uncle Bob came through again. She should have known she could always count on him.
He sighed. ‘Well, I don’t suppose you’d let me be a member of the club, but you can count on my support.”
“What an idea,” Elise said. “Of course, I’ll have to check with the other women, but you know you have my vote.”
“Well, then. What’s up?”
She told him about their plan. ‘We’ve already gotten a tip on Gil-he’s planning a takeover of Mitsui Shipping. We couldn’t pursuade Lally Snow to keep Gil and Mary out of her co-op, but Annie has blocked Shelby from the Junior League, And Brenda thinks she’s found a way to put the screws to Morty.
Things are moving along nicely, I’d say.”
“Mitsui Shipping, huh? That’s what Stuart told Annie? An odd target, though.”
The old man stood up briskly. “Very interesting.”
She nodded. “What do you say to buying shares in volume while the price is still low? When word gets out that Gil Griffin is interested in Mitsui, the price will go up.” Elise allowed herself a small smile.
“Then we will make money, too.”
“A dangerous ride, but interesting. Like riding a luge,” Bob said.
“But if you’re going to ride a luge, you should first know three important things, what the highest point is, what the lowest point is, and when to bail out.”
Bob paused for a moment, letting this sink in. “People break their necks on luge rides, Elise.”
“I’m aware of that, Uncle Bob. But I’m hardly a novice.”
“That you’re not,” he said, laughing. “You’ve always used common sense in your portfolio.” Then he added, “I’ll get my man on Wall Street to do a little checking and then I’ll throw my weight in, too, if it looks viable. How’s that?”
“Great. Really great, Uncle Bob.” He was so good, so reliable. And he threw around a lot of weight.
“By the way, I’ve heard a piece of news about Bill’s new ladyfriend, Phoebe Van Gelder. Are you up to hearing it? It might be information for your club.”
”llncle Bob, I’m years past being sensitive about Bill and his women.
What’s the scoop?” She sat back to listen. I hope it’s something good, she thought.
“I ran into Wade Van Gelder at the University Club the other day. You know him, Elise. He’s Phoebe’s uncle. Anyhow, he tells me Phoebe’s family is in an uproar over her drug use.”
Elise smiled. “Well, news travels fast.” She had dropped a word with her doctor. ‘In fact, she’s doing so much cocaine that they ought to have her hospitalized for detoxification.”
”That’s what they’re planning to do.” He studied Elise for reaction.
“This is good news. Wait until I tell the girls. Brenda always says, What goes around, comes around.”
” He looked up at her. “Now, I’d like to ask a favor from you. Not a quid pro quo, of course, but something I’d appreciate. Something for my wife.”
“Anything I can do. You know that.”
“Well, Bette is having a hard time with a few of the society babes.
You know, Lally Snow and that set. I don’t know why they continue with the cold shoulder. Lally Snow has sucked more cock than Bette, and to less effect, I’ll bet. Personally, if she’d stop speaking to me, I’d be grateful. But it upsets Bette, and that upsets me. She’s such a sweet girl. And if she wants to chair charity balls, I say she shall.
But those cunts keep getting in her way.”
Elise blinked at the C-word, but she had to admit that it fit Lally Snow. “How can I help?”
“Get Bette her chairmanship and make the thing work. You know all the girls.
Could you do it?”
Bette wasn’t unpleasant, but she was dumb as a plank. Still, Elise would do anything for Uncle Bob. She knew how entrenched these old-guard New York women could be. Well, she would just have to be tough. I’m owed a lot of favors by this crowd. I’ll just call some in, she thought. Bette is special to Uncle Bob. And he’s special to me. “Of course. I’ll do my best.”
”Thank you, dear. I’d appreciate it and so would Bette.” He bent forward.
“You know, dear, getting it up at seventyseven isn’t easy, but Bette does help me manage it almost every night. She’s a gift, and I’d like to see her get anything she wants.”
“Absolutely.” Elise nodded. It was always good to see Uncle Bob. He had such a real set of values.
.
Bil1 Atchison got into the Lincoln Town Car that waited for him outside Bob Bloogee’s attorneys and gave his driver Phoebe’s downtown studio as his destination. He was, of course, being a gentleman about the financial settlement. He’d asked for nothing from Elise. And if all he had was his salary, his clothes, his very valuable collections, and Phoebe, that was enough. More than enough.
He was living with her at her loft in Tribeca now, but tonight they were meeting at her studio in SoHo. Now that he no longer had Elise’s Rolls-Royce at his disposal—and couldn’t afford his own car and driven-he had taken to using his firm’s car service, billing it to various clients. Nothing new, he’d been charging things off for years.
He thought of it simply as extending his income, one of the perks of the profession. And with the huge fees the firm charged, a few extra dinners or nights on the town never registered with clients. It helped make ends meet.
As he settled into the upholstered seat and thought of Phoebe, Carly Simon’s ‘Anticipation” came through the car’s speakers. How appropriate, he thought, for he was filled to the brim with it. He reached for the car phone and punched in Phoebe’s number. He’d called her four times during the day, but he couldn’t wait another minute.