dismissal to her list of reasons why she was beginning to despise this unpleasant man she had married.
When young James fell sick with tuberculosis, Vera moved with her two sons to the dry air of Tucson, Arizona. Although she had no more interest in the management of her fortune than she did in the journey made by her veal cordon bleu from pasture to table, she was as much defined by money as if she had a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. Whatever the momentary vicissitudes of her life, she had a way out.
Whereas many young mothers would have accepted the tedium of their days succoring their sickly son while married to a man they no longer loved, to Vera it was a cruel attempt to block her pursuit of pleasure. She needed to have a life full of dramatic romance. She was a beguilingly feminine woman with gentle manners, and a hushed voice that men leaned forward to hear. She had the first of her many affairs in Tucson. Most of the men she loved never realized that the pursued was the pursuer, and that this was an imperious woman who sought her pleasures with single-minded purpose.
As soon as her sons were largely grown up, Vera divorced not only her husband, but everything he valued. She was not a reader of books, and found tedious the palaver of his Hollywood set. She walked away from that former sort of life for good. “My mother equated my father’s ice-cold intellectuality with weakness,” says her son Jeff. “She sought out men who were very different. Having bad taste in men meant choosing men who were anti-intellectual, verbally crude, and with ethics geared more toward the exploitation of women and the harming of men than the uplifting of women and the camaraderie of men.”
Vera turned determinedly toward a life of pleasure. She found fascinating what others would have called only trouble. She liked wild, bad boys, and fancied that other women would have liked them too, if only they dared. Vera married one of the worst, or as she saw it, one of the best: a gorgeous impecunious young Corsican who had the morals of a pirate. That marriage did not last, but it hardly mattered, for there was always a chorus line of men waiting to step forward to whirl Vera around for a dance or two. She was rarely alone.
In 1957, Vera settled upon Philip Lukin as her third husband, a twice-divorced New York advertising man who had the brash aggressiveness that was the next best thing to a true bad boy. She entered into Lukin’s hard-drinking, hard-smoking, blazingly fast world. If one party bored her, they moved on to the next.
When Lukin retired from his New York company in 1970, the couple moved to Palm Beach, where Philip purchased the Palm Beach Social Observer, a society magazine now called Palm Beach Society . The publication held more to advertising than to journalism, and was a natural for Lukin. Nary was a harsh word written about the princes and pretenders of Palm Beach. Having your photo in formal dress in the Social Observer granted immediate status, and there were few limits to what aspirants would pay and do to be in its pages. For the most part, Lukin celebrated many people who invited him and Vera into their homes only because of what he could do for them in his society magazine. And every evening they were part of the endless swirl of parties and balls that made up the season.
When Vera’s two sons came to visit, they could not abide staying for more than a day or two. As much as they loved their mother, they despised everything they believed Palm Beach represented. Their lives became studious critiques of wealth and privilege. Jeff was one of the first Peace Corps volunteers, and after serving in Tanzania, spent most of his life in the African bush either leading wildlife safaris or pursuing academic research. James became a Jungian psychologist, and lived modestly like his brother.
Vera continued to have lovers, and as she grew older she needed them and their confirmation of her beauty even more. Men
When young James fell sick with tuberculosis, Vera moved with her two sons to the dry air of Tucson, Arizona. Although she had no more interest in the management of her fortune than she did in the journey made by her veal cordon bleu from pasture to table, she was as much defined by money as if she had a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. Whatever the momentary vicissitudes of her life, she had a way out.
Whereas many young mothers would have accepted the tedium of their days succoring their sickly son while married to a man they no longer loved, to Vera it was a cruel attempt to block her pursuit of pleasure. She needed to have a life full of dramatic romance. She was a beguilingly feminine woman with gentle manners, and a hushed voice that men leaned forward to hear. She had the first of her many affairs in Tucson. Most of the men she loved never realized that the pursued was the pursuer, and that this was an imperious woman who sought her pleasures with single-minded purpose.
As soon as her sons were largely grown up, Vera divorced not only her husband, but everything he valued. She was not a reader of books, and found tedious the palaver of his Hollywood set. She walked away from that former sort of life for good. “My mother equated my father’s ice-cold intellectuality with weakness,” says her son Jeff. “She sought out men who were very different. Having bad taste in men meant choosing men who were anti-intellectual, verbally crude, and with ethics geared more toward the exploitation of women and the harming of men than the uplifting of women and the camaraderie of men.”
Vera turned determinedly toward a life of pleasure. She found fascinating what others would have called only trouble. She liked wild, bad boys, and fancied that other women would have liked them too, if only they dared. Vera married one of the worst, or as she saw it, one of the best: a gorgeous impecunious young Corsican who had the morals of a pirate. That marriage did not last, but it hardly mattered, for there was always a chorus line of men waiting to step forward to whirl Vera around for a dance or two. She was rarely alone.
In 1957, Vera settled upon Philip Lukin as her third husband, a twice-divorced New York advertising man who had the brash aggressiveness that was the next best thing to a true bad boy. She entered into Lukin’s hard-drinking, hard-smoking, blazingly fast world. If one party bored her, they moved on to the next.
When Lukin retired from his New York company in 1970, the couple moved to Palm Beach, where Philip purchased the Palm Beach Social Observer, a society magazine now called Palm Beach Society . The publication held more to advertising than to journalism, and was a natural for Lukin. Nary was a harsh word written about the princes and pretenders of Palm Beach. Having your photo in formal dress in the Social Observer granted immediate status, and there were few limits to what aspirants would pay and do to be in its pages. For the most part, Lukin celebrated many people who invited him and Vera into their homes only because of what he could do for them in his society magazine. And every evening they were part of the endless swirl of parties and balls that made up the season.
When Vera’s two sons came to visit, they could not abide staying for more than a day or two. As much as they loved their mother, they despised everything they believed Palm Beach represented. Their lives became studious critiques of wealth and privilege. Jeff was one of the first Peace Corps volunteers, and after serving in Tanzania, spent most of his life in the African bush either leading wildlife safaris or pursuing academic research. James became a Jungian psychologist, and lived modestly like his brother.
Vera continued to have lovers, and as she grew older she needed them and their confirmation of her beauty even more. Men
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