People Like Us by Dominick Dunne Page A

Nolte. He knew it was what was on Lord Biedermeier’s mind everytime Lord Biedermeier saw Ruby. He wondered if Lord Biedermeier had told other people what he had said, because he knew he would have told if Lord Biedermeier had said the same thing to him about some girl he was involved with.
    “What Ruby and I thought was that I would donate the profits from the book and the paperback sale to the homeless of New York, or to the families of victims of violent crime, or something we think up, as a sort of public-relations pitch.”
    “What a good idea, Elias. There’s that young police officer who was paralyzed by the drug dealer. You could give him something. The public eats up that sort of thing.”
    “Oh, shit,” said Elias.
    “What?” asked Lord Biedermeier.
    “I dropped some of this goulash you ordered on my new suit.”
    “Quite dashing haberdashery you are wearing,” said Lord Biedermeier.
    “Don’t you like my new suit?” asked Elias.
    “Pale blue gabardine was never one of my favorites.”
    “Oh.”
    “But I prefer it by far to the rust-colored gabardine you had on at the office yesterday.”
    “I’m all wrong. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
    “I think with your growing position in the city, you should give more thought to your clothes. Dark grays. Dark blues. And the subtlest pin stripes. You must let me take you to my tailor,” said Lord Biedermeier. “While we’re on the subject, what manicurist do you use?”
    “Blanchette, at my office,” said Elias.
    “You must tell Blanchette at your office to buff your nails. That glossy polish is frightfully common.”
    Elias, bewildered, stared at his fingers. He wondered if he would ever learn all that he was supposed to learn.
    “I don’t get it,” said Elias, looking over at the entrance of the restaurant, where Chick Jacoby was turning away some customers whose look did not appeal to him.
    “What don’t you get, Elias?” asked Lord Biedermeier.
    “This place. Clarence’s. Why do people fight to come here?”
    “It’s cheap. That is Chick Jacoby’s secret.”
    “That’s what I don’t get.”
    “My dear Elias. It’s something you will learn. There is nothing the rich enjoy more than a bargain, especially a bargain that is reserved exclusively for them.”
    “Why can’t Ruby learn that? She only likes it if it costs the most.”
    “Oh, look who’s coming in,” said Lord Biedermeier, whose eyes were riveted on the door where Chick Jacoby was welcoming some arriving guests, with flourishes, to signal their importance.
    “The man with Jamesey Crocus is Dimitri Minardos. Some people call him Mickie Minardos.”
    “Who the hell is Dimitri Minardos, for Christ’s sake? Ruby knows who all these people are, but I never do,” said Elias, buttering a roll.
    “He designs shoes.”
    “Shoes? That’s a big deal? Shoes?” asked Elias, unimpressed.
    “Dimitri Minardos is the name on every lip this week,” said Lord Biedermeier.
    “What did Dimitri Minardos do?”
    “The fascinating Loelia Manchester has fallen madly in love with him, and be assured that Ruby knows who Loelia Manchester is.”
    “Damn, I wish Ruby was here,” said Elias.
    Ruby at that time was occupied with Cora Mandell on the redecoration of the vast apartment that she and Elias had recently purchased from Matilda Clarke, who, even before the death of Sweetzer Clarke, had not been able to afford to live there any longer.
    “Those drapes must have been pretty in their day,” said Ruby, “but I bet they haven’t been changed since the nineteen fifties.”
    “Those curtains were hung in nineteen fifty-eight,” said Cora Mandell.
    “How do you know?” asked Ruby.
    “I did this room in nineteen fifty-eight for Sweetzer Clarke’s mother, before Sweetzer and Matilda were married.”
    “I’m glad I said the drapes were pretty,” said Ruby.
    “I had those curtains made up from some antique damask that Sweetzer’s mother found in the Fortuny