Island with my friend Terry. I had asked Mommy if I could go and she had said no. So I vowed to teach her a lesson. I took the subway to meet Terry all by myself. I felt like a big African explorer. It was wonderful. Mommy freaked out when she came to school to pick me up and I wasn’t there. I doubt she called the police, because Daddy didn’t believe in ever calling the police, because it would always backfire and hurt him in some way. So she probably just went crazy for a few hours until I came home. She gave me a lecture on the dangers of the city and what foolish risks I had taken, then confined me to my room for two days. I still loved what I had done.
The next year, Mommy gave up the public school experiment and put me back in private school. Mommy chose Calhoun, a fancy girls’ school on West 74th Street that catered to fancy Jewish girls,like myself, although I still wasn’t fully aware of my heritage. The art collector Peggy Guggenheim had been a Calhoun girl, as had lots of Strausses, Gimbels, and Morgenthaus, all rich German Jewish banking and mercantile dynasties. It was an old money, old Europe, Citron kind of place. Lansky, not.
To me Calhoun was just another school. Public, private, it didn’t really matter. Despite my father’s wish that I could be an academic star like Paul, academic stardom wasn’t in the cards for me. The only place I was happy was at the Aldrich Stables, my home away from home. Eventually Mommy gave up on the ballet and other lessons, and let me devote myself to riding. Even though I had technically hit puberty, I had no thoughts, and no idea, about boys. I was a little nature girl, and Central Park was my domain. I got to know so many of the park’s denizens. My favorites were a pair of squirrels whom I named Oscar and Oscarette.
The only man in my life was my riding instructor John, who dressed like an English country squire. When we rode through the park, I thought we were in some Camelot time warp. I did meet another boy at the stables who would become my first husband eight years later, but you would have never guessed it at the time. This teenager, who was Buddy’s age, had the nerve to steal my horse. Not steal, precisely, but he did take Bazookie out on his own without getting my permission.
His name was Marvin Rapoport. He was tall and fair-haired and snazzily dressed. I hated him. He seemed like a spoiled rich entitled brat, a real Jewish prince. Imagine how upset I was when I got to Aldrich and found Bazookie gone. Mommy was with me that day, looking very regal in her jodhpurs, leather boots, and black riding coat. You would never have guessed she had a care in the world. But she threw a fit at Marvin and gave him a tongue lashing. Marvin smiled and tried to charm Mommy out of her rage, profusely apologizing to her and to me and offering to take me riding, anything I wanted. Mommysaid Marvin’s family was in the restaurant business, so he knew how to soothe the feelings of angry customers. She saw him as insincere, a flatterer, something of a con artist, and I think she scared him to death. Suffice it to say he never touched Bazookie again, and I didn’t notice him for years, until he decided to reappear as my Prince Charming. As it would turn out, my mother was a good judge of character.
Although Daddy vanished from the Beresford, he didn’t by any means vanish from the lives of his children, only the life of his now ex-wife. At first he moved in with Uncle George Wood, the famous William Morris agent, at George’s apartment at 40 Central Park South. George was one of the ultimate playboys in New York, with unequalled access to the top models and ambitious actresses. He was also one of the city’s sharpest dressers. The only thing wrong with him was his filthy mouth, which would have gotten an X rating or a “condemned” by the Legion of Decency.
If fame was an aphrodisiac, George Wood was a one-man Spanish fly dispensary. His legend was that he could make
The next year, Mommy gave up the public school experiment and put me back in private school. Mommy chose Calhoun, a fancy girls’ school on West 74th Street that catered to fancy Jewish girls,like myself, although I still wasn’t fully aware of my heritage. The art collector Peggy Guggenheim had been a Calhoun girl, as had lots of Strausses, Gimbels, and Morgenthaus, all rich German Jewish banking and mercantile dynasties. It was an old money, old Europe, Citron kind of place. Lansky, not.
To me Calhoun was just another school. Public, private, it didn’t really matter. Despite my father’s wish that I could be an academic star like Paul, academic stardom wasn’t in the cards for me. The only place I was happy was at the Aldrich Stables, my home away from home. Eventually Mommy gave up on the ballet and other lessons, and let me devote myself to riding. Even though I had technically hit puberty, I had no thoughts, and no idea, about boys. I was a little nature girl, and Central Park was my domain. I got to know so many of the park’s denizens. My favorites were a pair of squirrels whom I named Oscar and Oscarette.
The only man in my life was my riding instructor John, who dressed like an English country squire. When we rode through the park, I thought we were in some Camelot time warp. I did meet another boy at the stables who would become my first husband eight years later, but you would have never guessed it at the time. This teenager, who was Buddy’s age, had the nerve to steal my horse. Not steal, precisely, but he did take Bazookie out on his own without getting my permission.
His name was Marvin Rapoport. He was tall and fair-haired and snazzily dressed. I hated him. He seemed like a spoiled rich entitled brat, a real Jewish prince. Imagine how upset I was when I got to Aldrich and found Bazookie gone. Mommy was with me that day, looking very regal in her jodhpurs, leather boots, and black riding coat. You would never have guessed she had a care in the world. But she threw a fit at Marvin and gave him a tongue lashing. Marvin smiled and tried to charm Mommy out of her rage, profusely apologizing to her and to me and offering to take me riding, anything I wanted. Mommysaid Marvin’s family was in the restaurant business, so he knew how to soothe the feelings of angry customers. She saw him as insincere, a flatterer, something of a con artist, and I think she scared him to death. Suffice it to say he never touched Bazookie again, and I didn’t notice him for years, until he decided to reappear as my Prince Charming. As it would turn out, my mother was a good judge of character.
Although Daddy vanished from the Beresford, he didn’t by any means vanish from the lives of his children, only the life of his now ex-wife. At first he moved in with Uncle George Wood, the famous William Morris agent, at George’s apartment at 40 Central Park South. George was one of the ultimate playboys in New York, with unequalled access to the top models and ambitious actresses. He was also one of the city’s sharpest dressers. The only thing wrong with him was his filthy mouth, which would have gotten an X rating or a “condemned” by the Legion of Decency.
If fame was an aphrodisiac, George Wood was a one-man Spanish fly dispensary. His legend was that he could make
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