McNally's Chance (18 page)

“I’m sorry, Binky, but I can’t join you. I have a previous engagement.

Give Connie my love.”

“I’ll tell her, Archy.” Before leaving he said with a contrived show of modesty, “I have to report to Mrs. Trelawney at four. What do you suppose that’s all about?”

That was all about Binky’s housewarming. The participating staff would get there fifteen minutes before four, with their loot, and shout surprise when the new leaseholder entered, all agog. What schmaltz. I had to remember to tell Binky to make a list of who gave him what so when recompense time rolled around in the form of Lucy’s wedding, Moe’s retirement, and little Jason’s bris, he could respond in kind. “You know very well what it’s all about, young man. You will walk into Mrs.

Trelawney’s office bereft of household furnishings and emerge better stocked than Sears. You’ll not get it all into your car in one trip.”

“I rented a U-Haul,” he boasted.

“Don’t you think that was a little presumptuous?”

“You always told me to come prepared, Archy, remember?”

Unfortunately, I do remember. That rash counsel led to Binky purchasing a gross of condoms, which he keeps in the trunk of his car.

If he ever gets stopped and searched I’d like to be present when he explains the cache. “Enjoy your moment in the sun,” I told him.

“You won’t be there?”

“No. I don’t attend office galas; that’s why I brought my gift to your door.”

To Bianca’s door,” he corrected.

“Yes. To Bianca’s door.”

Binky left, momentarily, and returned with, “Who was in the stretch limo, Archy?”

Poor Dickey Cranston. The only person who didn’t know about his car being at the Palm was Her Majesty unless, of course, she had ordered Chinese takeout from the Pagoda. “None of your business, Binky.”

“That’s what I thought. See you, Archy.”

The phone rang. It was Connie inviting me to dinner at the Pelican. I told her, as I had just told Binky, that I had a previous engagement. A business engagement,” I stressed.

“What kind of business?” The ever trustful Connie stressed right back.

“The kind of business that pays the rent, that’s what kind.”

“You don’t pay rent, Archy.”

“It was a figure of speech.”

“Really? Well, make sure that’s the only figure you’ll be doing business with tonight.”

Connie has a way of belying our ‘arrangement’ that gets me right where I live. I told her I was seeing an old friend of my father’s who was eighty-six, in a wheelchair, and thought senile was a river.

“Sounds like fun,” Connie said.

“Not as much fun as dinner with you and Binky. What did you get the boy?”

Two bath towels, two hand towels, and two face cloths. All in royal blue.”

“But his scheme is white.”

“The room is white,” Connie said. “It must be like living inside a giant eggshell. It cries out for contrast.” A moment later she was jabbering, “And have you heard about his new girl? She lives next door. Binky is acting like a schoolboy.”

“I’ve never known Binky to act like anything but. And he’s had crushes before this. In fact he’s seldom without one.”

“But never one right next door, Archy. With Binky it’s usually out of sight, out of mind, but with this one he’ll very seldom be out of sight. He’s going to tell me all about her tonight.”

Not unless I killed him first and hid his body in the U-Haul. Binky would tell Connie how he had so gallantly brought Archy and Bianca Courtney together in the interest of justice. He would bare the saga of the microwave drop-off, the date to visit her former place of employment, etc.” etc.” and
et al.
By the time he finished, Connie would be shredding the royal-blue bath towels with her painted talons.

God help me. But why should he? I’m a cad.

“Connie,” I began, not knowing what would come next.

“Gotta go, Archy. Madam is buzzing. Can you get her a meeting with Sabrina Wright? She keeps asking.”

“Sabrina Wright and I are incommunicado.. .” Click. The line went dead, but not for long. Before I could formulate Binky’s demise it rang again.

“Archy McNally here.”

“You black-hearted swine. You two-timing sod. What happened to my interview with Sabrina Wright? I told my editor it was in the bag and he reserved space. I now have a lot of space to fill and nothing to fill it with except, hopefully, your obit.”

“Lolly, give me a chance…”

“I did give you a chance. I revealed my source in return for a favor and got the shaft.”

“You said your source was an anonymous caller.”

“So I revealed my anonymous source, what difference does it make? What the hell is going on, Archy? Tell me and no McNally finagling or I’ll do you-know-what for you-know-who-to-read.”

I was being threatened with blackmail from every corner. Now I had to placate Lolly, silence Binky, and place him in the U-Haul, call Bianca to do you-know-what, and prevent you-know-who from reading about it.

What’s a Discreet Inquirer to do? There just weren’t enough hours in the day.

“Sabrina’s not speaking to me, Lol. She ended our brief relationship before I could set you up with her. That’s the truth.”

“Sabrina Wright is yesterday’s news,” Lolly’s tirade continued. “She’s at The Breakers, still playing Garbo, but her daughter is all over town acting like a publicity-crazed starlet.”

I was already seated, so I couldn’t collapse into a chair. “What are you talking about?” Did I sound convincing? It made no difference.

Lolly was so excited he wouldn’t notice if I were, nor would he care.

“The girl, her name is Gillian, visits the library daily, and delves into the archives of our local periodicals. She’s interested in any social items that date back decades.”

“How do you know this, Lol?”

“Because she calls my editor and questions him about these items.

Archy, the guy wasn’t born when the stories ran. Colleagues tell me she also calls other rags, from here to Miami, asking the same thing.”

This was the worst possible scenario come to fruition. Those star-crossed lovers didn’t know what they were doing. Palm Beach is not only a small town, it’s a burg that thrives on gossip, be it true, false, or so what? They say a secret whispered over lunch at Cafe L’Europe would be the topic of conversation at every dinner table along Ocean Boulevard that night.

Sabrina must be ready to kill both her daughter and Zack Ward. How long would it be before Appleton got wind of this, if he hadn’t already? With Cranston’s network of informants he probably was told what the pair were about after their first phone call to the press.

What had Cranston said? When people don’t know the truth, they speculate. With Gillian looking for exposure, rather than anonymity, they wouldn’t have to speculate long before hitting on the truth. The boys, I’m sure, were ready to kill Sabrina.

In fact the whole stinking mess had the M word written all over it. But who would take the fall, Gillian, Zack, Sabrina or Archy?

“Did you know the girl’s boyfriend was a news hound for a trashy tabloid? I thought you said they came down here to elope. Looks like they’re investigating something that happened before they were born.”

Lolly didn’t know how close those words came to telling him what he wanted to know.

“It’s what Sabrina told me,” I contended. “And she did mention the girl’s beau was in the writing business. But listen, Lol, I’ll call Sabrina and see if she’ll clue me into what’s going on and then I’ll report what I learn to you over dinner at Acquario.”

That gave him pause. “When?”

As soon as I get through to Sabrina. For all we know, Gillian’s boyfriend is down here on a busman’s holiday, doing research on an old Palm Beach scandal for his paper.”

“I don’t see why she won’t talk to you. Eric told me you two were quite chummy the other day.”

And another county is heard from. Just what I needed. “Who’s Eric?”

“The bartender you practically thrust upon me. You have great taste, Archy.”

“You mean you…”

“I stopped in for a drink, as you urged me to, and invited him to a little social do on Phil Meecham’s yacht. Trish Barnard was all over him, the floozy.”

Trish Barnard? I though she went for preppie blondes and I thought you had sworn off bartenders.”

“It’s summer, Archy, and the pickings are lean,” Lolly described July in Palm Beach. “But it was all providential. Meeting Eric that is.

Phil was looking for a bartender to work his parties and do odd jobs on the boat and Eric auditioned.”

“How odd, Lol?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Okay, I won’t. See you around the hanger, Lol.”

“In case we miss each other I’ll call to remind you. You did say Acquario?”

Fifteen

If “The Man That Got Away’ were a musical composition, we would now be at what I believe is called the crescendo of the piece, with brass, strings, and percussions all at fever pitch. At the crash of the cymbals there would follow an eerie silence before the first soft notes of the next movement would commence. What the new movement would sound like depended upon the composer; for I was beginning to suspect that all that had transpired since Sabrina’s arrival on our shores was being cleverly orchestrated by a person or persons unknown.

After meeting with Sabrina, I had referred to her quandary as a plot outline. Wasn’t it uncanny that every dire consequence that outline begged was about to happen? It was as if someone were manipulating events based on Sabrina’s synopsis, beginning with Opus One, that anonymous call to Lolly Spindrift -the snowball that was on its way to becoming an avalanche.

Who would benefit if the spit hit the fan? Everyone except the fathers-in-waiting. Gillian would get a name both prominent and wealthy. Zack would get a story that could catapult him to fame and riches. Sabrina would get publicity, which she didn’t need, but to those who have it shall be added. Who knew the moment Sabrina had arrived in Palm Beach? Only the staff at the Chesterfield and Sabrina.

Was she truly writing the piece de resistance of her stalwart career and hanging around to see how the last chapter would play out? But Zack Ward was also a writer and didn’t Gillian dabble in the art? Like Phineas Taylor Barnum’s famous three-rings, there was so much going on at once, one didn’t know where to look first. It was like watching a disaster movie from a velour recliner while munching a Milky Way.

My appearance in Mrs. Trelawney’s office was met with rancor, not applause. “Where have you been, Archy; it’s after three?”

“Out buying a microwave oven, as ordered.”

“And where is it?”

“With its owner. I delivered it to Binky’s quarters.”

This did not sit well with the squire’s private secretary. “You were supposed to bring it here. The troops are gathering at four.”

“I know, Binky told me.” With that disclosure she scowled, which suited her mood. “Don’t worry, he’ll act surprised, he’s been practicing all day. And you know I don’t attend office functions.”

“I thought, with your father away, you would make an exception and take his place. Especially since Binky is your best friend.”

“Hobo is my best friend, Mrs. Trelawney, and the only reason my father shows up is because they all take place right here and he has to pass through to get to the executive loo.”

“Nonsense,” she chided. “When Evelyn Sharif had her baby your father gave her a year’s supply of Pampers. Wasn’t that thoughtful?”

I thought it was disgusting but kept it to myself and tried to look contrite as I placed my expense report on her desk.

“Didn’t I just sign one of these?” she protested.

“It’s been an exceptional week,” I explained.

“I hope the microwave oven is not included under “miscellaneous.” Gifts are not reimbursable.”

“It is not listed under miscellaneous, as you can see from the amount.”

It was listed under “supplies.” “And expenses, as you very well know, are my only means of support, thank you.”

“You could try something more honest, like robbing banks.”

“If that is all, Mrs. Trelawney, I will bid you adieu until we meet again in May.”

“May?”

“Yes. May it never happen.”

“You missed your calling, Archy. You should have gone on stage like your grandfather.” Without pausing to gloat she took an envelope from the top of her desk and removed its contents. “I’ve been trying to get you all day. This is addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Prescott McNally and Archibald McNally.” Adjusting her glasses she proceeded: “I hope you can join me for cocktails at Casa Gran tomorrow evening at seven. Very informal. R.S.V.P. regrets only. Hope to see you then. Sincerely, Harry Schuyler.””

“You’re jesting,” was all I could think to say.

“I am not. It came this morning, by hand if you please. Your father did some work for him a few years back and he’s always had his nose out of joint because Schuyler never invited him to Casa Gran and now this comes when he’s away. He’ll be furious.”

Still reeling from the invitation, I thought aloud, “But why me?”

Casa Gran was a Palm Beach showplace on a par with Mar-a-Lago. It was built by Harry’s grandmother in the 1930’s for a reputed ten million bucks depression bucks, that is. Multiply it by at least ten to arrive at today’s price tag. Grandma Schuyler’s father came by way of Detroit and mother via Chicago. It was said that no American could start their car or roast a weenie without giving Dolly Schuyler a buck.

In her prime, Dolly was a friendly competitor of Marjorie Merriweather Post, and it was said that she employed three complete serving staffs, on eight-hour shifts, to cater to the needs of Casa Gran’s residents and guests. If one had a yen for a ham sandwich and beer, or a steak dinner, at three in the morning, all one had to do was ring the kitchen. It was also said, sotto voce, that other needs were thoughtfully catered to at Casa Gran.

After the big war, Dolly’s son and his wife set out to best Scott and Zelda. They succeeded with the purchase of their own beach cottage on famous Gin Lane in Southampton, Long Island’s famed watering hole.

“Thirty-six rooms and ocean vu,” as the summer rental ads tout. The lane’s name says much about summertime in Southampton.