Blue Heaven (32 page)

"No!"

"She's going back to her husband the minute the wedding's over!" said Gilbert. "They're reconciled!"

"Ain't that sweet!"

"There's nothing between her and Freddy! We nipped it right in the bud!"

"Zat-a promise?"

"Absolutely!"

"Well, in that case ..."

He grinned and took an envelope from his pocket. It was a wedding card. He pulled the card from the envelope, removed a check from it and scribbled an amount, presumably generous. He replaced the check and card in the envelope, sealed it, and placed it on top of the others.

"God bless ya!" he smiled and walked away.

"Shit."

"Good news and bad," I said. "Gunther gave Mummy his last copy of the magazine but he's expecting her to-"

"Hah!"

"Hi, Aggie!"

Between the drop-dead black silk dress and the knowing smile, she looked like an Oscar nominee who's having a ménage à trois with Price and Waterhouse.

"Look
at you!" she hooted. "Standing guard on the loot! Fuck, Gilbert, if I had your chutzpah I'd be runnin' this mob instead of feeding it!"

"You wanna keep it down, hon?"

"Well, here you go!" she said, plopping an envelope on the others.

"A grand, baby, and worth every penny for the laughs I'm going to have watching you take my dear greedy family for all they're worth! Have fun!"

We thanked her and dashed for the bridal chamber where Claire, Mummy and Moira were hotly debating the Gunther peril.

"Calm down, Winnie!" said Claire. "You've done very well! You've bought us time that we desperately need."

"Well, what good will it do! I'm not going to stand up in the middle of the goddamn church and denounce Gilley and Philip! And when I don't,
he
will! Or else he'll come back here and start telling everyone!" Winnie was right. The ceremony was due to begin in only fifty minutes. Gunther, confident of triumph, would make no move in that time. But there was no doubting that following the ceremony he would return to the reception and do what damage he could. Fortunately, he was now lacking evidence, but he could still make quite an ugly scene. Our best bet was to get him ejected from the premises
before
the wedding took place. But how to do this without him spilling his nasty beans?

We sat there, stumped and wordless as precious moments slipped away. Then Claire, who was sitting in the window seat, staring down at arriving guests, said, "Oh, is
that
one here, then?"

Suddenly she leapt to her feet and we could almost see the lightning bolts flashing about her cranium. She swiftly outlined a plan which was, to our surprise, a good deal more down and dirty than anything we'd have expected from our own headmistress.

"Yes," she agreed, "I'm not proud of myself for even dreaming it up, but I can't think of anything else. And unless one of you
can
I suggest we get on with it. We've only got forty minutes."

We went over it several times, ironing out the delicate logistics. I suggested several embellishments which Claire deemed sordid but practical. Then the photographer bustled in and asked Moira if she would stand looking thoughtfully out the window for him, and the rest of us raced off on our bold and dangerous mission.

I sought out the guest Claire had spied from the window and soon found him.
"Hi,
Leo!"

"Hi," he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He couldn't decide whether to snub me for having once resisted his youthful generosity, or to make another go for it.

I apologized for my rude behavior when last we'd met, explaining that I'd been in a surly mood and had wrongly taken it out on him. "Hey, that's okay!" "Glad you understand. Say, how about some champagne?"

At the same time, the duchess sought out Gunther and informed him that she'd spoken to Moira, who was now up in her room weeping inconsolably. She was now planning to seek out Gilbert and thrash him soundly. But first, might Gunther consent to do her a small favor?

He was a gay gentleman, was he not? Ah, she'd thought so, though she hastened to add that she could readily distinguish between homosexual gentleman of good character and depraved exhibitionistic gigolos.

The favor was this: a nephew of dear Maddie Cellini's, nineteen years old, rather a good-looking boy, was distressed because he suspected himself to be gay and feared a life of shame and ridicule. What the boy needed, she felt, were a few words of reassurance from a sensitive gay gentleman, someone who could let the young man know that if he did indeed turn out "that way" he could still be a happy and productive member of society. She hated to impose on Gunther, who'd already been
so
kind and helpful, but would he, please, consent to offer the lad a few inspirational words?

Gunther consented and the duchess asked him to wait where he was.

Meanwhile, I'd poured four glasses of champagne into Leo with predictable results. I said I had to go to the bathroom and he leered and said he had to go, too. He followed me to the guest room Gilbert had slept in and immediately got fresh with me. I sat him down and explained, tenderly holding his hand, to observable effect, that, yes, I was gay, but I had a lover to whom I was faithful. Then I went to the bathroom, closing the door and crossing my fingers. When I emerged he had a funny little smile and asked if I didn't mind his staying there a bit "just to think." As he said this he couldn't help glancing at the nightstand where Gilbert had deliberately left the copy of
Himpulse
(minus the damning page) poorly concealed beneath a doily. I pretended not to notice his darting glance and left, racing through the next bedroom and back into the bathroom, where I crouched
peeping through the keyhole to make sure that Leo was perusing the magazine. It was hard to see but I heard the unmistakable sound of a buckle being undone. I stood and, gazing down from the bathroom window, signaled to Gilbert, who signaled to the duchess, who then informed Gunther that the troubled youth was waiting for him in the last room on the left side of the upstairs hall.

Listening at the keyhole, I heard Gunther enter and Leo mumble a frantic humiliated apology.

"But you mustn't stop," said Gunther. "I would like to watch."

"Oh?" said Leo. "What else would you like?"

I rose beaming in triumph that our sordid plan had come to fruition. I signaled to Gilbert, who raced into the house to tell Tony that he wanted a little chat with him before the ceremony. Gilbert leading the way, they strode up the stairs, down the hall and, without knocking, into the bedroom.

"Get out!" hissed Gunther, a request Leo would have seconded had he been able to speak. Tony entered just behind him. I bolted from the bathroom and rushed to the scene of the crime.

"Jesus
Christl"

"What do you think you're doing, Gunther!"

"You fucking child molester!" bellowed Tony, as the mortified pair fussed with belts and zippers.

The duchess, who'd stood at the foot of the stairs, chatting with Freddy while waiting for just such a commotion above, said, "Goodness, whatever can be the matter?" and, taking Freddy's hand, dragged him to the scene.

"You
were behind this, Selwyn!"

"What are you talking about Von Steigle?" asked Gilbert blandly.

"I don't know who you are, mister," said Tony, "but I want you out of my house and I want you out now!"

"Not until I've said what I came to say!"

The duchess and Freddy skittered in.

"I don't think there's any need for you to hear this, Gwen," said Tony, fearful of offending the dowager's delicate sensibilities. Gilbert, who had no such compunctions, announced that this lecherous German, Pina's guest, had been having his way with young Leo. Freddy and the duchess gasped.

"Point no fingers at me, Selwyn!" shouted Gunther. "What about this!" he thundered and thrust the copy of
Himpulse
into Tony's hands, the copy from which our photo had been removed. Tony stared at it in horrified amazement.

"How dare you bring such filth into my house on my son's wedding day!"

"Your son is
in
here, you fool!" said Gunther. He grabbed the magazine back but could not, of course, find the picture. He swore that we'd removed the evidence, then, realizing the duchess was present, pointed wildly at her and said,
"She
knows. She can tell you that I'm right! Tell them!"

"Tell them what, you vulgar man?"

"Tell
them! Tell them about our chat in the garden!"

"I haven't the vaguest idea what you're talking about! Young man," she said, turning to Leo, "you've shown bad manners and deplorable taste."

"He forced me!" whined Leo.

"
I
did not!
Liars! You're all liars!" he screamed.
"You!"
he said, advancing on Winslow.
"You
were the one who sent me to this youth! You knew he would seduce me! You arranged it deliberately!"

A shocked silence fell as Freddy, who had yet to say a word, advanced on the furious Teuton and, himself trembling with rage, said: "This is the woman I love. You are calling her ... a
pimp?"

"That's
exactly
what I'm calling her, you contemptible dwarf!"

"Do you know who you're
talking
to?" said Tony, stunned. "This is Frederick
Bombelli!"

"Who cares! I've never heard of Frederick Bombelli!"

Freddy inhaled sharply and, his nostrils flaring, said, "You have heard, perhaps, of Freddy the Pooch?"

All of us staring at poor Gunther in that electric instant could see that the name definitely rang a bell. The arrogance fled his face, as did the color, and a small strangled sound issued from deep in his throat. I was reminded of a Daffy Duck cartoon I'd once seen where Daffy, confronted with some horrific sight, stared, mesmerized with fear, and his bill fell off.

"Gunther," said Gilbert kindly, "I suggest you leave. In fact, I suggest you move."

Gunther wordlessly picked up his suit jacket and, mumbling an apology to his host, fled the room. We never heard from him again, through there were rumors sometime later that he was teaching English at a boy's school in Salzburg.

Our sense of triumph, however, was not long-lived. For, even with the Gunther menace laid at last to rest, where were we but back where we were before, face to face with the Lunch, Chick, Charlie and Freddy menace?

The Gunther incident was quickly hushed up so as not to sully the beauty and spirituality of the day. Inquisitive guests (and there were plenty) were informed that a guest had gotten drunk, behaved badly and left. And in the excitement of the mass departure for St. Gregory's, the matter was forgotten by everyone. Except Holly, of course, who never ceased pleading for details.

I will not dwell long on the ceremony. It isn't nearly so important to my tale as what followed it. Besides, the details, which hewed scrupulously to tradition, are already familiar to anyone who has ever attended a wedding. I will not even attempt to convey to you the feelings I experienced watching my lover marry the woman who had been blackmailing us for the previous two months. These feelings were, and remain, quite indescribable.

The wedding party spilled ebulliently from the church and, since we were so close to Casa Cellini, decided to eschew the waiting limos and instead walk to the house, Gilbert and Moira leading the merry postnuptial parade. At one point I fell behind a bit and noticed the duchess walking arm-in-arm with Freddy. Chick and Lunch were not far behind and I saw that they, too, noted this public display of coziness and were not pleased. More alarming still, though, was the duchess. She looked oddly different.

"Scoping out Mummy?" asked Claire, sidling up to me.

"Is she okay? She's looking a bit wild-eyed, don't you think?"

"She's drugged half-senseless," whispered Claire. "After the Gunther business she staggered into Moira's room and kicked out the bridesmaids. She said her nerves were shot and she couldn't go on without some Ecstasy. Moira was too busy trying to cover the cut on her lip to care, so she just gave her the vial and said 'Help yourself!"

"Why didn't you stop her!"

"I was in the john! I walked in just as Moira was saying, 'Jesus Christ, Mummy, two's
more
than enough!"

We wondered fearfully what the results of such excessive euphoria might be. We didn't have to wait long to see. Before the party had
quite reached the house, the duchess and Freddy stopped in their tracks and Mummy threw her strong arms about the little mobster and squeezed him jubilantly. He'd proposed. And she'd accepted.

I have spoken before about the notorious efficiency of the Bombelli grapevine, so you can imagine how swiftly a scoop of this juice quotient became widely known. Within minutes, it seemed, everyone was talking of nothing else. Gilbert and Moira's twenty-minute-old marriage was stale news indeed.

Freddy sought out the newlyweds to apologize for this bit of upstaging. We were all in the ballroom just next to the gift table which was now groaning under dozens of gorgeously wrapped boxes and envelopes. It says volumes about the distance Gilbert had traveled that he gave no more than a glance at that gaudy array. Moira, in contrast, could not unglue her eyes from it for more than three seconds at a time. Even now with her life in immediate peril, the spell it exerted upon her was extraordinary to witness.