Too Much Money (27 page)

Back in the room, Ruby gathered up her things and moved toward Elias’s bed. “Excuse me, everybody. Let me get near my husband for an instant. Elias, my darling, I’m going to have to leave to get ready for Max Luby’s testimonial.”

“You’re going to Max’s testimonial?” asked Elias, delighted.

“It’s my welcome-back-from-the-coma present for you,” said Ruby.

“Thanks, babe.” They smiled at each other.

She leaned in to kiss him good-bye. In a voice heard only by Elias, she said, “Tell me one thing before I go.”

“What?”

“Who does Perla Zacharias want to meet through you?” She knew Perla was one of the first people her husband had called after regaining consciousness, his curiosity piqued after reading her card.

“Lord Biedermeier, my former publisher.”

“About what?” asked Ruby.

“About your friend Gus Bailey, I suppose. She didn’t like the way Gus wrote about her in
Park Avenue
, and she was right. And now she’s worried about his book. She saw in the
Post’s
profile of me that I had a book under contract with Biedermeier before I went to the facility and she asked me to introduce them.”

“My husband needs a shave,” said Ruby to Tammi Jo as she was going out the door. “What’s that nice orderly’s name? The good-looking one with the shaved head? Oh, yes, Sidney. Ask Sidney to shave him first thing in the morning. I’ll call his barber, Toshi, to come up tomorrow afternoon to cut his hair here.”

Ruby took the elevator down from the tenth floor of the Adele Harcourt Pavilion. She was on her cell phone with Jenny, starting to make a list of the things she had to do. When the elevator stopped on the third floor, Gus Bailey stepped in. Each was surprised to see the other.

“Well, I certainly know where you’re coming from,” said Gus. “How is Elias? Is he still in the coma?”

“No, the most marvelous thing just happened. He has just within the last couple of hours come out of the coma. What are you doing here?”

“My annual checkup,” Gus said, shifting uncomfortably. This was not lost on Ruby, who had always been quite perceptive. It had served her well as she and Elias had made their climb to the top. She let Gus’s tentativeness slide for a moment and changed the subject.

“I just read your piece on Adele Harcourt’s funeral in the new issue of
Park Avenue
, or on the return from prison of Elias Renthal, depending on how you look at it,” said Ruby.

“One of the embarrassing things about writing about people you have dinner with is that inevitably you’ll run into the person at a party or in an elevator,” said Gus.

“I’m not unhappy with the story, Gus. It happened. You saw it. That’s what you do for a living. And you were nice not to say that Elias and I crashed Adele Harcourt’s reception, which we did. It sounds so trashy to crash a high-society funeral reception on your first day out of prison. But, as you probably remember, I used to be pretty trashy before I married Elias.”

Gus laughed. The elevator doors opened and the unlikely duo moved through the lobby to the sidewalk.

“You look nice when you laugh, Gus. You ought to do it more often. Tell me something. Did you just lie to me in the elevator about getting a checkup? Did the doctor with the office on the third floor just give you some bad news?”

Gus was silent for a moment before answering flatly, “Yes, he did, as a matter of fact. What in the world prompted you to ask me that? Does it show?”

“I felt it. You have a different look in your eyes. You seem different. Haunted, almost. It must be very serious. You just found out that you have cancer, didn’t you?” said Ruby.

“I didn’t know you had such a spooky side, Ruby,” said Gus. “I haven’t had time to think about it yet. When I’m ready to talk about it, I’ll give you a call. First I have to get used to having it again.”

“What’s he going to do?”

“Dire things, I suppose. No chemo for me, by the way.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I tune out when he talks to me and nod my head as if I’m listening.”

“I care, Gus,” said Ruby, reaching out and grabbing his hand.

“I know you do,” he replied, giving her hand a squeeze back. “Sorry it didn’t work out for us to stay friends.”

“The least I can do is give you a ride back to your apartment.”

“Okay,” said Gus. “I saw that dark green Mercedes-Benz limousine at Adele Harcourt’s funeral. Yeah, I’d like a ride in that.”

“D
O YOU
still live in that divine little penthouse I once saw in
Architectural Digest?”

“I’ve been there for years,” said Gus.

“What are you doing tonight, Gus?”

“Not much. Why?”

“How would you feel about getting into black tie and taking me to a testimonial dinner in Brooklyn for Max Luby, my husband’s money manager, that Elias asked me to go to practically the very instant he came out of the coma?”

“That is my idea of a really rotten invitation,” said Gus.

Ruby laughed. “Are you turning me down?”

“Of course I’m turning you down. You should call Addison Kent. That’s the sort of thing he likes to do.”

“I bet you didn’t know that Max Luby handles Perla Zacharias’s money too,” said Ruby, dangling Gus’s favorite subject in front of him like a carrot on a stick.

“I didn’t know that, but it’s not enough of an enticement to get me to go to his testimonial dinner in Brooklyn,” said Gus.

“I just thought it might take your mind off things,” said Ruby. “Well, here’s something else that might interest you. Perla just sent a thousand-dollar orchid plant to Elias.”

“And Addison Kent, Perla’s walker, probably delivered the note on the blue stationery that accompanied the orchid to Brucie, the florist at the Rhinelander,” said Gus. “The music goes round and round, as they used to say in my day. Here’s where I get off.” He sighed wearily.

“You should ask me up one day to see your terrace,” she said as he got out of the car.

Gus turned back to her. “Come forsythia season, I’ll call.”

Reaching out to him as he started to walk away, Ruby called to Gus.

“Listen, Gus, I don’t know what I’m talking about, but we used to be friends, and God knows we have a very deep connection. I think that thousand-dollar orchid plant to Elias from Perla has something to do with you,” said Ruby. “Be careful.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I don’t know. Just be careful. You’ve pissed off some very important people, Gus.” said Ruby.

W
HILE
R
UBY
was having her nails done by Frieda, and her hair done by Bernardo, and was being helped by her maid Blondell into her yellow satin dress that Karl Lagerfeld had made especially for her at the behest of Baroness de Liagra, she was talking on the telephone to the baroness herself in Paris on a three-way hookup with Simon Cabot in London. Each was urging her to take advantage of the dreaded testimonial dinner by going to the microphone and thanking Max for his years of duty to her husband.

“But I can’t stand the guy,” said Ruby.

“Well, tonight you love him,” said Simon. “And don’t forget that for a second.”

“This is what I’ve been telling you about,” said the baroness. “Think of it as a rehearsal for what you’re going to be. Use what happened to you. Don’t hide it.”

“This is a perfect way for you to start becoming the new Ruby Renthal,” said Simon. “Tell them that Max visited your husband every weekend at the facility in Las Vegas,” he suggested.

“Tell them about the clank of the prison door,” said the baroness.

“Don’t tell about Elias cleaning the toilets,” said Simon.

E
LIAS HAD
assured Ruby that she was to be seated at the head table, but Ruby soon realized that she had been demoted to a lesser table by Sylvia Luby, who never could stand her. It was the sort of slight that Ruby understood and smiled at. Sylvia was fuming at the head table as she watched Ruby, whom she had expected would complain about her seating, in deep conversation with her dinner partner, a charming Brooklyn resident named Joe Carey whom Ruby, an expert conversationalist, soon discovered was a friend of Gus Bailey’s.

“So you know Gus Bailey,” said Ruby. “Small world.”

“We had a Zacharias connection,” said Joe.

“I’ve heard the name,” said Ruby. They both laughed. “Actually, I just saw Gus this afternoon. I ran into him at the hospital. He’d just been to his doctor. I think he’s sick.”

“I was afraid of that the last time I saw him. He didn’t look well.”

Ruby and Joe talked about Gus for a while, how they each met him and their favorite Gus Bailey stories. They were both surprised at how easily they got along.

“You’re a nice guy, Joe Carey,” said Ruby.

“And you’re a beautiful woman,” replied Joe. His gaze lingered on her face for a moment, searching for an opening.

“And a married one,” said Ruby. “Hey, I’m on. I forgot to tell you I was going to speak.” She rose from her seat.

Like Ruby, Sylvia Luby was dressed in yellow, but from Loehmann’s in Brooklyn, not Karl Lagerfeld for Chanel Couture in Paris. Sylvia’s dress was a large size with long sleeves and a thick white belt that called attention to her substantial waistline. It had been her turn to speak about her husband of almost fifty years when Ruby Renthal unexpectedly rose from her table—“dazzling, simply dazzling,” as Max said to Elias the next day at the Adele Harcourt Pavilion. She walked up to the microphone at the head table and introduced herself to the sold-out hall of people she had never seen before and probably would never see again, except for her dinner partner, Joe Carey.

No one had to ask the audience to quiet down. She walked like a movie star going up to collect her Golden Globe. She loved the feeling that came over her as every eye stared at her.

“My name is Ruby Renthal,” she began. She spoke in the throaty voice she had learned all those years ago when she had been riding high and was good friends with Loelia Manchester Minardos, from whom she learned all about class.

“My husband is Elias Renthal. He was recently released from the federal facility in Las Vegas, Nevada, where he served seven years, following a grossly inappropriate charge. During that painful time, his great friend and financial partner Max Luby, with whom he has been friends since they were young men in Cleveland, flew out every weekend to visit my husband at the facility. Max knew the terrible sound of the facility door clanking shut behind him, and still he went every weekend, leaving poor Sylvia so he could meet with his old friend. Oh, thank you, darling Sylvia. My husband said it was something he would never forget. The first thing he thought of when he came
out of his coma this very afternoon was Max Luby. His first words were, ‘This is the day that Max is going to be honored.’ Thank you, dear, darling Max. You have always had the place of honor in our hearts.” At that moment she believed the lie she had just told. She knew that he had kept tabs on her when Elias was in prison and had reported to Elias about her. She turned to Max and kissed him on both cheeks. Then she turned back to the audience. “Thank you very much for allowing me to speak.”

Everyone in the room rose, except the people in wheelchairs, and gave her a standing ovation. She loved the feeling of the applause. Max, who liked her as little as she liked him, was astonished by her star power. He had never realized how beautiful Ruby was until he saw her in the glow of her success. As the crowd cheered, Max took Ruby over to say hello to Sylvia.

“Oh, Sylvia, how pretty you look,” said Ruby, leaning forward to kiss her, but Sylvia did not respond, despite the flashing bulbs of cameras the guests had brought going off in their faces. “And we’ve both picked yellow. I love your belt. You must come and see the new house on East Seventy-eighth Street. I’ll send the car over to pick you up one afternoon and we’ll have tea and catch up.”

By the time Sylvia Luby got to the microphone to tell about her almost-fifty-year marriage to Max Luby, a speech she had rehearsed over and over in front of the bathroom mirror, the caterers had begun to serve the prime rib main course on thick white plates that clattered when they hit the table, and no one was listening to poor Sylvia, who knew she’d lost her audience, except for Max, who had heard her speech several times before and laughed in the right places. Everybody was talking about Ruby Renthal, who had already left for Manhattan in her green Mercedes limousine, with her chauffeur, Jacques, at the wheel.

A
DDISON
K
ENT SERVED HIS PURPOSE AT
M
AISIE
Verdurin’s dinner party a few weeks earlier, just as Gus and Lil and Maisie had planned. After giving Sylvia Luby a fake compliment on her yellow evening dress from Loehmann’s with the belt around her ample waist, he ignored the poor woman completely and never said another word to her, as he was far more interested in listening to the conversation of Lil Altemus and Gus Bailey to his left. He leaned in toward Lil to listen to Gus tell her about the copies of the sixteen letters Perla Zacharias once had written to the man who was to become her third husband. He got a lot of information before he clumsily spilled his wine all over Lil Altemus.

P
ERLA KNEW
it was true. The letters had been written by Perla to a gigolo she briefly had been married to during an earlier phase of her life. She remembered writing the letters in her own hand. She had placed her much younger brother, Rocco, from the last of her father’s five marriages, into an alcohol and drug rehab center in Johannesburg. She could remember writing her lover that her brother had told his drug counselor at the rehab a very different version of the death of the second of her four
husbands than hers. Perla was a smart woman. She didn’t need Simon Cabot to tell her that it would not do at all to have a story like that in circulation at a time when she was finally starting to be invited to the top houses in New York, London, and Paris because of her enormous and much-publicized philanthropy. She had learned from Konstantin when to attack and, more important, when to back off in a situation. She didn’t give a fuck about Kyle Cramden, and if this ruined his case, so be it. She had other cards to play. It would be okay to let Gus think he had won this round. It would be better and more devastating to get him later, when he started to feel secure, breathing a sigh of relief that this lawsuit was over. That’s when she would strike. As long as she had the money to stop it,
Infamous Lady
, the book that he’d been telling people around town was the thing he lived for these days, was never going to happen. She wanted to squash that asshole like a bug.