The Wrong Kind of Money by Stephen; Birmingham

never found her one true love,” she says.
    â€œGranny’s one true love wasn’t Grandpa,” Anne says with a giggle. “Right, Nana Hannah?”
    â€œAnne, whatever are you talking about?”
    â€œYou said so in the car.”
    â€œI said no such thing!”
    â€œNo, but I could tell it was true when you changed the subject, Nana Hannah.”
    â€œAnne, don’t tease your grandmother,” Carol says.
    â€œWhat’s this?” Ector asks as Mary places a finger bowl on the silver service plate hi front of him.
    â€œIt’s called a finger bowl,” Bill Luckman says. “Remove the spoon and fork from the plate. Place the fork on your left and the spoon on your right. Now lift the bowl, and the doily, and place them both at eleven o’clock above your service plate.”
    â€œWhy’s there a flower floating in it?”
    â€œIgnore the flower.”
    â€œWhat’s this? More Yale shit?” He takes a gulp of his wine.
    â€œTell me more about your sister Bathy, Mrs. Liebling,” Bill Luckman says, turning back to her.
    â€œMy father adored Bathy. She was the apple of his eye. My father was a famous educator, Mr. Luckman, but I suppose you knew that, since I gather you’re interested in education.”
    â€œNo, I didn’t know that,” he says.
    â€œMy father was Dr. Marcus Sachs.”
    â€œShould that name ring a bell, Mrs. Liebling?”
    â€œWell, it would to a lot of people. He ran the Sachs Collegiate Institute. Of course, it died when he died. But he educated the sons of some of the finest families in New York City.”
    â€œShe means some of the finest Jewish families, Mr. Luckman,” Cyril says.
    Ector looks across at Ruth. “You Jewish?” he says. “You didn’t tell me that. I thought you said you was a countess.”
    Ruth merely smiles faintly and lowers her eyes. The key light now comes from the flickering flames of the candelabra.
    â€œMy father believed in discipline,” Hannah says. “He did not believe in sparing the rod.”
    â€œLike some other fathers I could mention,” Cyril says.
    â€œAnd yet he turned out young men who went on to become some of the greatest business leaders in this city, including Bernie Baruch. My father taught that sort. Not someone like my husband.”
    â€œAnd you didn’t even love him!” Anne says.
    â€œThat’s not true, Anne. It’s not true that I didn’t love your grandfather.”
    â€œThen why—”
    â€œThis is Edna’s famous chocolate mousse,” Carol says brightly, picking up her spoon. “It’s made with Demerara rum.”
    â€œThe great Bernard Baruch,” Bill Luckman says. “That really is impressive, Mrs. Liebling.”
    â€œHe went on to become a family friend. Whatever money Papa left to my sisters and me, we have to thank Bernie for his advice to Papa on investments.”
    Bill turns to Carol. “This is all so interesting,” he says. “Tell me about your family, Carol.”
    She laughs. “Not as distinguished as my husband’s, I’m afraid.”
    â€œOn the Sachs side, at least,” Hannah says. “The Lieblings weren’t anybody.”
    â€œMy parents were quite ordinary, small-town people,” Carol says. “My father died”—though this is not quite the truth—“and my mother is in a nursing home in Connecticut.”
    â€œSo you’re able to visit her fairly often?”
    â€œNot as often as I should, I’m afraid,” she says. “On her birthday, and at Christmastime, and whenever I feel particularly guilty about it. Those visits aren’t easy—”
    Anne giggles again. “Mom tries to think about Granny Dugan as little as possible,” she says. “She even forgets where Granny Dugan is, and has to look the place up in her address book every time she goes up