The Daughter-in-Law (25 page)

She hired three musical combos, one each for the cocktail party, the clambake, and the late-night dancing. Two of them had platinum records of their recordings. There was a string quartet from Lincoln Center to play during the Sunday brunch, and Billy Joel was performing after the banquet.

The caterers were from the Culinary Institute of America. They would arrive with three refrigerated trucks, their own stoves, two master chefs, four chefs-in-training, and fifteen waiters. The tents would be large enough to house a circus. One would be devoted to the needs of the chefs, a second would be ready to rise over the swimming pool at the first sign of bad weather, and the third would be outfitted as a grand banquet hall, complete with chandeliers, fountains, and live floral gardens.

Lobsters for the clambake were chancy. So Pam had ordered twice what she might need, spreading the order over three separate lobstering fleets. Refrigerated trucks had been hired to whisk the catch from the docks to the Donner party.

The people who did the fireworks for New York City were to provide the pyrotechnic display. A barge, moored in Hempstead Harbor, was being outfitted with over two hundred rockets, shells, and starbursts, and a tugboat was standing by to tow it up to Newport.

The house staff had started work in mid-July. There were new linens on all the beds and new bath towels in all the bathrooms. Windows were cleaned, drapes and curtains taken down, laundered, and reinstalled, rugs dry-cleaned, and floors polished. The chocolates were ready to be placed on every pillow.

Pam had pushed aside the estimates as they arrived and gone right to the contracts. Bills were beginning to arrive covering deposits, down payments, security fees, and binders. The payables, tallied by Jack’s accountants, were already at two hundred thousand. The final figure would easily slip past half a million dollars.

Every invitee had responded with their delights, even two couples who would return from touring the Great Wall of China, and then rejoin their party in Bangkok. Only the invitation to Nicole remained open. It wasn’t until the fireworks barge was taken in tow,
and a flotilla of yachts departed from Long Island and Connecticut ports, that Nicole called Pam to accept. She admitted, confidentially, that she had grave misgivings. But in the final analysis, she thought it was the right thing to do.

FORTY-TWO

S
HE DROVE
herself up from Manhattan, pausing in downtown Newport to catch her breath over a cup of coffee before confronting the family. Pam was there to meet her and hustled her to her room. Best, she thought, to allow Nicole to mingle with the guests rather than force her into a private audience with Alexandra.

Jack knocked on the door as soon as he heard she was in the house, took her hands, and looked into her eyes as he thanked her for coming. “I want you to relax and enjoy yourself,” he told her. “I hope this will be the beginning of a completely new relationship.”

“I’ll try,” was the best that Nicole could promise.

She saw Alexandra out on the lawn when the flotilla of guests appeared on the horizon. They exchanged glances and then forced smiles but neither made a move to cross to the other. Alexandra’s implied excuse was that she was busy with arrangements for the champagne service that would greet guests when they stepped ashore. Nicole pretended that she simply didn’t want to get in the way.

As the boats drew nearer, Nicole could count the masts. There was a gaff-rigged schooner, looking like an eighteenth-century coastal trader, and maybe half a dozen two-masted ketches and yawls. Surrounding them were giant sloops, multidecked cabin cruisers, trawlers, and a European-style motor yacht that would have been a capital ship in half the world’s navies. Apparently seafaring pretensions were one of the diseases that could be caught from too much exposure to money.

As the fleet moved to within firing range, the air force made its appearance. A Jet Ranger helicopter made a deafening approach, and scattered a storm of paper napkins as it settled on the lawn. The two couples that climbed out were in chic casual costume, and they smiled and waved like arriving politicians as they scampered under the rotors. Another chopper circled as it waited for the landing pad
to clear and then made its noisy arrival with four more people that had flown down from Maine. Jack, Alexandra, and Pam were immediately involved with their guests.

Horns sounded as the first cruisers reached their moorings, and the launch set out from the dock to fetch the passengers. They came ashore in nautical chic with brass buttons, gold stripes, and jaunty caps that had been instantly aged by soaking them in brine. The sloops dropped sails and motored to their moorings, ketches and yawls maneuvered with their mizzens, and the schooner dropped lines to its own tender. From the first appearance to the final landing, the entire invasion took less than three hours. D-Day should have been planned as well.

They gathered around the pool in a display of casual wear that was startling even to the photographers from
Vogue
and
W.
At first they were assembled in clusters that constantly rearranged themselves to accommodate new arrivals. Ranks were quickly established with the famous, the scandalous, and ordinary billionaires serving as the focal points of the various gatherings. But gradually the younger guests drifted off to cabanas and rooms and changed into bathing suits. The more reckless among the young ladies simply stepped out of dresses to reveal the cutting edge of swimsuit design. Then the rock group struck up, blaring string sounds through amplifiers that caused waves on the swimming pool. The party began to gyrate to the beat, with some guests in and out of the water while others were back and forth to the bar.

Nicole made her appearance alone, but was quickly attacked by Pam and her friends who brought her to their table. She wore a white, one-piece suit designed more for swimming than sunning, and made modest by a colorful sarong. But still, she turned heads and caused a clatter of camera shutters from the press corps.

Her reception at the table was mixed—warm from those who were sympathetic to her loss and chilly from those who blamed her for stealing Jonathan out of their clutches. But she smiled at all, nodded to acknowledge murmurs of sympathy, and laughed at stories that she didn’t quite hear. She accepted gratefully when one of the young men asked her to dance, but toned down her performance to eliminate any hints of abandon. With that lead, others came over and led her to the dance floor and she found herself genuinely enjoying the affair.

Most of her conversations began with an expression of sympathy. “Terrible about Jonathan. But, you know, that’s the way he would have wanted it to happen, while he was involved in one of his adventures.” Or, “Sorry for your loss. Jonathan took too many risks, but I suppose that was what made him so exciting.” Many of her partners offered advice for her future. “Don’t hurry into rash decisions. Take your time. These things are not easy to get over.” A frequent suggestion was that she should travel. “Just get on a boat and don’t get off until you’ve been everywhere.” Another advised her to “Take a house in the south of France. Most beautiful place in the world!”

Jack brought her to the dance floor. “Please tell me you’re having a good time because you seem to be the belle of the ball.”

“I’m having a very good time,” Nicole answered, “even though I’m not the belle of anywhere.”

He commented on how well she looked, and how tastefully she was dressed. “I’ve been told a hundred times how extraordinary you are. Everyone is beginning to appreciate why Jonathan was so taken by you.”

“Everyone?”

He dodged the question. “Absolutely. And particularly me. If there’s anything you ever need, I’ll be standing by and ready to help.”

When the music stopped she asked, “Is this a good time for me to join Alexandra at your table?”

“Of course. No time like right now!” He put his arm across her shoulders and led her to the table that he and Alexandra shared with assorted guests. Nicole recognized a musical legend who had been guest conductor at the Philharmonic. With a white belly peeking out between his shirt and his shorts, he appeared more a plumber than an artist. Then she was introduced to the chairman of a large bank and his sultry Middle Eastern wife who was about Nicole’s own age. The banker was in a Tommy Bahamas sports shirt. His wife wore a bikini and see-through gown over a perfectly sculpted body. There was a Dutchman, introduced as a ship owner, who smiled at everything but said nothing in reply. His wife was a bit too beefy, and was said to be a pretender to some long forgotten throne. A Swiss banker stood when he was introduced and clicked
the heels of his Birkenstocks. The woman next to him was introduced as his niece. Then there was Joe Tisdale, the real-estate developer who seemed to be Jack’s constant companion. He jumped up, stole a chair from another table, and placed it right beside his own.

Nicole walked around to the head of the table and was surprised when Alexandra got up to greet her. They leaned together exchanging cheek kisses. “You look lovely,” Alexandra said. “I’m so pleased that you decided to join us.”

Nicole returned the compliment, lavishing praise on the party and giving particular note to Alexandra’s outfit, a simple naval jacket over white duck pants. The sleeves showed the rank of rear admiral. There was an awkward moment of smiling silence. Alexandra broke through with her hopes that they would have a few minutes to chat over the weekend. “Maybe this time we won’t be upstaged by an explosion.” Nicole had to admire the aplomb with which her mother-in-law could make light of an attempted murder.

They were all experienced actors. Everyone at the party played roles that even theater critics would admire. The men were knights of the round table, powerful champions of finance and industry, fearless in the defense of market values. Their yachting costumes were worn to signal that, for the moment, they had taken off their armor. They partied confidently, knowing that when they got back to serious business, they would still be on the top of the heap. The women wore many costumes to disguise insecurity and to present themselves as worthy consorts, like the Dutch woman who pretended to royalty, indicating that she was important long before her boorish husband struck it rich. Or the banker’s trophy wife who liked to flaunt exactly what her new husband was getting for his money. Obviously, a great deal of money.

She had noticed that the young men at Pam’s table were remarkably self-assured. The pose was regal, based on an assumed right to rule, and at the same time casual to indicate that they weren’t really caught up in their material excess. The J. Press shirts were worn as beach tops, open to the waist with the sleeves rolled back. Cars were discussed by their marques, with insinuations that even the best were beneath their standards. “The fucking Beamer is in the shop again. I swear I’m going to push that heap off a cliff.” Names of
European watering holes were dropped as if they were local fast-food stops.

The young ladies needed to prove that they were terribly sophisticated, a role that involved frequent references to their promiscuity foul language, and a total disregard for money. They laughed hysterically when they splashed into the pool, ruining a designer original and showing their breasts through wet cotton. It was all “too fun,” as they repeated like a religious mantra. Any show of purpose, or remarks that evidenced ambition, had to be avoided.

Nicole had been exposed to enough reality to know that only nitwits were indifferent to money, and that the girl who thought the ruin of her dress was funny was probably the same girl who had badgered her father for weeks to come up with the money for it.

And then there was Tisdale, who had arrived without his wife as guest on one of the destroyer-size motor yachts and wanted to take her out and show her the ship. His wealth and fame were certainly attractive to women, but he made the mistake of assuming that he was physically attractive as well. He made several suggestions of how he could be helpful to Nicole. “My real-estate contacts can get you any apartment in the city. And if they can’t find the right one, I’ll build it for you.” He hinted that he could introduce her to all of the city’s power brokers. He thought that she might join him in his box at the opera, and knew she would enjoy one of his after-the-performance supper parties.

Nicole glanced over at Jack who was listening carefully to Tis-dale’s advances. He rolled his eyes in comic despair. Even Jack had his stage part. He played the tough but fair, ruthless but honest, financial kingpin who slaughtered his opponents and then prayed for their souls.

Only Alexandra seemed genuine, a person who would say just what she thought to be true, and then let the chips fall. She wouldn’t allow herself to be cajoled by flattery, or swayed by promises of gain. What was right for her family was, by definition, right, and had to be advanced. What threatened her family was wrong and had to be destroyed. That’s what made her so dangerous to Nicole. Alexandra regarded Nicole as a dangerous intrusion into her household. She would go to any ends in order to keep her out, and if all else failed, she might even resort to murder. That was why the two of them were locked in a struggle that no one else could understand.
Not Jack, who pretended and appeased. Not Pam, who wanted Nicole to join in her gallery project. Not even her attorney, who still advised that a tactful deal might be made. None of them, Nicole reasoned, understood Alexandra as well as she did. None of them understood why neither women could compromise.

She went to Pam’s room to change for the clambake, selecting jeans, sandals, and an oversize sweater. She was careful with her makeup and pulled her hair back in a simple ribbon. Pam bounced in, dropped her wet bikini pieces on the floor, and walked directly past Nicole and into the shower.

“Some blast,” she said as she fiddled with the valves. “Hope you’re enjoying it.”

“It’s a great party. You’ve done a wonderful job with all the arrangements. And, yes, I am enjoying it.”

Pam’s voice called above the roar of the water. “Hey, do you want to sleep out on one of the boats? A few of us are going out to that schooner for the fireworks, and then we’re going to stay for the night. You want to come along?”