Blue Heaven (31 page)

This led to a bizarre sort of catch-22. How could the problem be solved when no one could quite admit there
was
a problem? Those who killed and sabotaged knew, of course, that
they
had killed or sabotaged, but could never be one hundred percent sure that the death or business setback they'd avenged was not, in fact, the accident it had seemed to be. For this reason they always took meticulous care to see that their retaliation should
also
seem accidental, leaving their victims in the same state of crazed uncertainty. No one admitted to
anything
and it was generally felt the crisis-
What
crisis?!-would not end until Freddy named a successor.

Which Freddy refused to do. For, despite the occasional setbacks suffered, business had never been better. Freddy got richer every day and no one was happier than he to deny that a problem existed. The deadline came and went, and he announced that he was delighted with all three but wanted more time to think. And so the situation continued. After the electrocution of Jimmy Pastore, however, the tension had grown so great that the three underbosses had gone to Freddy and begged him to make a decision. He'd vowed to do so soon, but then he'd fallen for the duchess, further forestalling his decision and leaving Lunch and Chick Sartucci enraged that a woman so closely allied to the Cellinis had snared Freddy's heart. An actual marriage, they feared, would completely force them out of the running, whatever lip service Freddy might pay to fairness. Charlie agreed with this assessment and was, naturally, delighted.

But why had Chick and Charlie chosen
us
to lean on?

We could thank Christopher for that. He was so pissed at my failure
to reciprocate his affection that when the duchess problem arose he informed them both that Gilbert and I were the old girl's closest confidants and advisers, knowing full well we'd find ourselves on the receiving end of their violent and contradictory demands.

So there we were, caught in the middle.

Any advice?

Aggie said that Freddy would probably make Charlie boss. He intended to anyway, and had confided as much to her. Lunch and Chick, whatever they said, would not move against us while Freddy was alive, and once he was dead, Charlie would be so powerful no one would dare touch us. If we sided with Chick, and the duchess jilted Freddy, we'd have
Freddy
against us, for Charlie would be certain to tell him who'd engineered his heartbreak. In the unlikely event that we evaded Freddy's wrath, his successor, Charlie would be equally ill-disposed toward us. Therefore, the safe thing to do was to make sure the duchess married Freddy as soon as possible.

We almost told her but figured, hell, she'd laughed enough for one night.

We imparted this cheery news to Claire and Moira, though not Wins-low, who was not, we feared, in a state to cope well with it.

Somehow the five of us stumbled through that week of final preparations. There were tuxedo and dress fittings and family dinners and a premarital conference for Gilbert and Moira with Father Eddie Fabrizio, who would be performing the service. On Thursday the duchess received a telegram from Nigel informing her that he had failed to find a buyer for the property in Africa. He was now back at Trebleclef, suffering from phlebitis and would not be coming to the wedding.

The night before the wedding there was a rehearsal dinner at Casa Cellini. The wedding party, except for bridesmaids and ushers, stayed over. Gilbert came to my room at two in the morning and sobbed convulsively onto my chest for I don't know how long because I fell asleep. When I awoke he was gone and the dreaded day was upon us.

Twenty-eight

"W
here's Moira?" I asked at the breakfast table.

"Silly!"
said Maddie. "Don't you know the bride never sees the groom on her wedding day till they meet at the altar? It's a tradition! I'm not sure why, but I 'sped it's because their feelings would get hurt if they could each see how nauseous the other one looked. I mean, take Gilbert! Give us a smile, will you! . . . Gosh, hon, if that's the best you can do, maybe
you
better wear the veil! Heee, heee, hee! How about you, Gwen? Were you nervous at your wedding?"

"Only the first one, dear," said Winslow.

"I know just what you mean. Gets easier and easier, doesn't it? No offense, Tony love."

I was deeply grateful for Maddie that morning. Her giddy nonstop chatter eliminated the need for us to say even a word.

The schedule for the day called for the guests and the rest of the wedding party to come by the house at noon for a glass or two of champagne. Then the whole party would traipse en masse over to St. Gregory's, which was only a five-minute walk away. The ceremony would begin at one-thirty. Gilbert paced maniacally about the house all morning, annoying the caterers and the men putting the final touches on the heated tent erected next to the ballroom to accommodate the overflow of guests. A little after twelve, as the first guests were arriving, he pulled me aside and said he could not face the rest of the day without some of the chemical assistance on which Winslow had once relied so heavily. I questioned the wisdom of this but it was hard to deny a dying man his last meager indulgence, so we stole
upstairs to break sacred tradition by conferring with Gilbert's bride/dealer.

We entered the bedroom and found Claire fussing with her hair at the vanity. Moira was nowhere in sight. Claire explained that she was in the john and Gilbert, spying her purse, swooped down on it and began rifling its contents in search of solace. He did not, however, find solace.

What he found was a small envelope containing a key which bore the number 723, the same number as the post office box to which we had mailed our seven thousand dollars in hush money.

The three of us stood, staring wordlessly at the key, our brains struggling to digest this overload of input. We had been blackmailed, not by Gunther, but by Moira, who had herself
chipped in
to divert suspicion. That was why "The Avenging Angel" knew about Freddy, and why Gunther had displayed ignorance and anger when asked to negotiate his demands. Of course our statements would have seemed like pathetic attempts at entrapment! And Moira, fiend that she was, had kept us so busy worrying about how she would retaliate that we had not begun to guess she herself was providing the motive for vengeance.

A long minute passed before we could think of anything to say. The sheer enormity of it defied translation into speech.

"But, I don't understand," said Gilbert numbly. "Gunther himself said he'd gotten our money."

"Yes," said Claire, gritting her teeth, more furious, I sensed, at herself than at Moira, "but he didn't say how
much.
She could have sent him a measly hundred and pocketed the rest!"

"That goddamn fucking sleazy subhuman-"

"Gilleycakes!" said Moira, wafting in front of the bath, wearing her gown, "you're not supposed to see me before the service! It's
bad luck!"

"You bet it's bad luck!" screamed Gilbert, hurling the key at her.

"
Gilley
!" she said, ducking, "what's gotten
into
you!" Then she gazed down at the key where it had landed on the vanity. "Gilbert Selwyn!" she gasped. "You went through my purse! How could you! I'll never trust you
againl"

Gilbert raced toward her, his arms outstretched in a way that left no doubt that strangulation was uppermost in his thoughts. Moira sidestepped him neatly and, hiking up her gown, extended one bare
leg and tripped him. He crashed into the vanity sending brushes, jars and tubes clattering to the floor.

"You vicious
bitchl"
he screamed.

"I will not be spoken to that way on my wedding day!"

"Moira, how
could
you!" said Claire, still stunned.

"I had to! My contract with Winnie calls for me to get my percentage of his profits only if I deliver the seed money by
next week
!
I was afraid I'd come up short and he'd freeze me out. I mean, he's met a lot of rich people lately! If I don't deliver on time he could borrow from them, and all my work will have been for nothing!"

"But Moira," said Claire, "Winnie's not the sort to do that. Cut you out because you came up a little short!"

"I'm sorry," said Moira poignantly, "but like I told you, I have this problem trusting people! Ever since I was a little girl . . ."

This was entirely too much for Gilbert who rose, snarling, to his feet, seized a nail file from the vanity and advanced menacingly on his bride. Moira shrieked and lunged for the bed where her purse sat open. She removed a small aerosol and pointed it at Gilbert.

"You keep away from me you miserable faggot! I've got Mace!"

"I want that money back and I want it now!"

"Tough shit, Nancy! You'll get it back when I make my fortune and not a moment sooner!"

"Stop it! Both of you!" yelled Claire.

Gilbert pounced and Moira sprayed his eyes with cologne. He fell to his knees sobbing and cursing. Suddenly the door opened and Maddie entered. Moira, without missing a beat, flew to Gilbert's side and embraced him tenderly.

"Gilley, honey! Are you okay, baby! My sillv honey, getting perfume in his eyes!"

"Gilbert!" said Maddie. "What are you boys doing here? Didn't I tell you it was bad luck!"

"It certainly was Momma Cellini. He tried to spray cologne on my neck and got it in his eyes! Ooooh! Poor clumsy baby! Let Mummy kiss it!"

She gave him a smooch and backed away suddenly, her lip bleeding.

"Lambkins! Save some for the honeymoon!"

"Couldn't keep away, could you!" gurgled Maddie, wiping a tear from her eye. "Just too much in love to wait!"

She babbled merrily on, but I didn't hear it. I was too busy calculating the ramifications of this appalling development. If it was
Moira
who'd been blackmailing us, then Gunther had not yet made even
a first
move against us! That left only two possibilities: one, that he planned to do nothing, which was hugely improbable, or, two, that he had waited for the ripest possible time to spring his revenge- and what time could be riper than today? I grabbed Claire's hand and begged Maddie to excuse us.

"Sure, kids, you go mingle! Oh, Moira love, your friend Pina's here. That gentleman she's dating is terribly striking in a frightening sort of way."

Eight eyes widened in dread.

"Petey?" asked Moira. "A little Japanese fellow?"

"Oh, no! This one's not Japanese. He's very
tall.
I don't recall the name but it was something German. Gosh-funny, isn't it, how she only dates people we used to be at war with?"

We raced to the bottom of the stairs and there was Pina, dressed in her peach bridesmaid's gown, looking somewhat uncomfortable as it was the first time she'd appeared in public since adolescence not wearing one of her own eye-popping designs. Gunther was nowhere in sight and we prayed for a desperate moment that Maddie had gotten it wrong. No dice.

"Why, yes, I brought Gunther. He told me you weren't quarreling anymore and he wished a chance to patch things up. Pardon my appearance. The sacrifices we make for loved ones."

"Pina," moaned Gilbert, "you said you were bringing Petey!"

"Yes, but he canceled quite abruptly. Then Gunther happened to call and asked if I was free today. He wishes me to design new smocks for his salon. A challenge, no? I am racking my brains for a motif. What an interesting floor this is. Is the mother about? You must warn me so I can avoid her. Our car was followed here. I can't imagine by whom."

We left her babbling to a rather bewildered Sammy Fabrizio, who'd just wandered in, and we raced off to look for Gunther. We found him alone in the dining room. He had a shoulder bag with him.

"Ah, Mr. Selwyn and Mr. Cavanaugh! A big day for you!"

"Gunther, you were not invited!"

"Yes, I was. Vulpina invited me. She is entitled to bring a guest and I am that guest."

"Not in this house, buster!" said Gilbert trying to sound a lot braver than he felt.

"Mr. Selwyn, you would not, I hope, try to prevent me from sharing your day. I might be offended and feel compelled to show your guests
this."

The last thing we'd expected was anything
worse
than what we'd expected, which was that he'd brought prints of the infamous photo. Alas, Gunther had not confined his revenge to such a tame and predictable gesture. He reached into his bag and pulled out a magazine.

It was one of the raunchier all-male magazines, a photo monthly called
Himpulse.
I had, in the course of my studies, become sufficiently familiar with the periodical to know that, while it mainly featured still photos from recent films of interest, it also included a sampling of candid snapshots submitted by the magazine's devotees. Gunther flicked the periodical open to the ManFan page and, just as I feared, there we were-not merely exposed, but
published.
We stood for a long moment, staring at the photo and those surrounding it, our utter defeat only compounded by the sad truth that we were not the most attractive couple on the page.

Gilbert snatched it away and glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one had entered the room.

"How dare you!" said Claire, blushing crimson. "Taking that photo then having it printed! They can sue you for that!"

"It would make a most interesting trial, wouldn't it?" he asked

Gilbert and I were too dazed to be capable of strategic thought, but Claire, even in the wake of two major debacles, still had her wits about her. With one swift gesture she pulled the bag off his shoulder and, barking "Block him!" to Gilbert and me, fled the room

He snatched at the magazine Gilbert held, but Gilbert sidestepped him and ran from the room, closing the door behind him.

"No need to worry, Mr. Cavanaugh." He smiled. "I have another." And he opened his jacket just enough to let me see that another issue was indeed folded snugly in the inside breast pocket. He clicked his smile shut and strode from the room, his eyes ablaze with evil purpose.

I followed, my heart pinballing around my chest, as he sauntered with long strides past the guests in the living room, through the hall
and into the ballroom where waiters were serving champagne. He crossed directly to where the duchess stood regaling Cousin Steffie with fox-hunting stories and whispered in Her Grace's ear. She excused herself, walking out with him through the tent and onto the grounds. I followed at a safe distance.

They stopped at a point near the far end of a long wall of shrubs and small trees, the same wall behind which those ill-fated Magi had made their last trip to Tony's study. I saw that if I could race undetected to the other side of the shrubs I could peek at them through the bushes. I did so and within seconds was spying on their conversation.

"It pains me to be the purveyor of such disturbing news, but I'm sure Your Grace understands that it was vital to prevent this marriage from taking place."

"You're absolutely right, Mr. Von Stroheim!" said the duchess, dramatically. "I've never been so shocked and disgusted in all my life!"

"I knew the man was a depraved fortune hunter, but had no idea
how
depraved until an acquaintance brought that photo to my attention."

"Revolting! Might I see it again? I want to be sure it's really them!"

He handed her the magazine and she studied it intently.

"Shocking! Absolutely shocking!"

"The next page, Your Grace."

"Yes, yes of course," said Mummy, rapt with repugnance. "I want to be
quite
sure . . . Hmmmm . . . Oh,
dear,
oh dear! . . . Well, it's them all right! Might I hold on to this? I think it's best if
I
show it to Moira."

"Of course. You feel she will see reason?"

"She had better! And if she doesn't . . . well, I'll be at that church and when the priest asks if anyone knows any reason why these people should not be married-I shall
speak!"

"Again, my apologies for being the bearer of such sad tidings."

"Mr. Von Stroheim-"

"Steigle."

"Mr. Steigle. You will never know how grateful I am that you came to me!"

And, stuffing the magazine in her purse, she strode majestically
off. Gunther followed and I waited till he'd vanished, then dashed back through the tent and into the ballroom. Gilbert was by the gifts table, his face contorted in an unconvincing smile as Chick Sartucci energetically pumped his hand and patted his back.

"Hey! How ya doon!"

"Great, Chick!"

"Don't you two look sharp! Say, ya mind settin' an old man's mind at rest? I heard how
Her Grace"
-and he spat the words out like bad clams-"had a li'l romannic dinner wit' Freddy at Paradiso. She's not still leadin' the poor guy on, is she?"