The Swans of Fifth Avenue(23)

Anyway. Bill and Elsie Woodward had the one son, Billy. Well, Billy is a charmer, but, you know, there were rumors….

(“Gay,” Pamela whispered apologetically to Truman.)

(“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Truman replied, with just a hint of ice.)

(“No, no, that’s not what I meant—oh, well—”)

Anyway. Billy married Ann. Just like that! Out of the blue. She was the father’s mistress and then she became the son’s bride. Well, Bill, even if he had been the one to fall for whatever charms she had—

(“Now, now, Ann is attractive,” Babe protested, inclining her head toward the corner table where Ann, in black, wan and very blond and very slender, sat staring into her lap while her mother-in-law removed her gloves and placed them next to her plate. Neither woman seemed able to look at the other.)

Yes, attractive, sure, if you like ’em cheap and blowsy, which she was back then—

(“How much weight do you think she’s lost?” Slim mused. “Because I should try it. Although I don’t think I want to kill Leland. Yet.”)

(There was an uncomfortable silence; Pamela dropped a knife on the floor, and bent to retrieve it. The hairs on Truman’s neck stood on end, like fine-tuned antennae.)

Anyway. Attractive Ann may have been, but still—a radio actress, marrying a Woodward? Bill and Elsie (“Poor Elsie,” whispered Pamela) were not pleased. But they tried to make the best of it, for Billy’s sake, and to stave off any gossip.

But gold digger Ann wasn’t so happy, once she married into the family. She and Billy began to have operatic screaming matches. It was because no one—absolutely no one—would be seen with them. Not even for poor Elsie’s sake. Ann was very vulgar, very crass. She simply couldn’t be taught—or wouldn’t learn. Elsie had to be taken to her room the evening Ann wore red shoes with a blue evening gown at one of her dinner parties.

(Babe gasped. Truman sighed. “Tacky, tacky,” he said.)

But for some reason, you know, the Duchess of Windsor took a shine to her. Of course, vulgar knows vulgar. The Duchess of Windsor liked Ann, and had Ann and Billy over frequently. In fact, it happened the night of one of their dinner parties. Apparently, Billy and Ann were drunk and tearing into each other and it got to be so bad that even Wallis asked them to leave.

Now, this was out in Oyster Bay, you know. And there had been some talk of prowlers around. Somebody breaking into people’s houses even when they were there. Not even taking much, just there, in the house, making a mess and then leaving. People were a little jumpy.

(“I remember it so well,” Gloria whispered. “Billy and Ann weren’t the only ones who slept with a gun in the bedroom.”)

(“Yes, but honestly, Gloria. Did you sleep with a loaded gun?” asked Slim.)

(“No, but I did put my jewels in my pillowcase. I didn’t get a wink of sleep, it was so lumpy!”)

(“Like the princess and the pea,” Truman exclaimed, clapping his hands.)

Well, even though we all knew about them, Ann made a point that evening to mention the prowlers several times, and how nervous they made her. It was almost as if she was preparing her alibi.

So that night, then, after she and Billy went home early, banished by Wallis because of their fighting—

(“Bang!” whispered Pamela.)

(Truman, his eyes round as an owl’s behind his glasses, jumped in his seat and squealed, clutching Babe’s hand to his heart.)

Ann shot him. She shot him in the dark, turned on the light, called the ambulance—and called her lawyer, too. And sat there, working herself up to some convincing hysterics by the time the ambulance arrived. Oh, my poor Billy! Oh, my poor dear! I heard a noise and thought it was that prowler, that horrible prowler! Oh, what have I done! Apparently, the actress was quite effective. The police later said she ought to have been in movies.

(“She’d calmed down by the time the lawyer arrived,” Slim observed, lighting up a cigarette. “She was perfectly clear-eyed, and wondering how quickly Billy’s life insurance might pay up.”)

Now, Elsie (“Poor Elsie,” Truman said), the grand dame—Bill Senior died a couple years ago, remember?—was heartbroken. Not just for herself but for her grandsons, Ann and Billy’s two boys. So Elsie did what any respectable grand dame would do. We can’t imagine Mrs. Astor could have done it any better. Elsie opened up the vault and paid everyone off—we mean everyone! The police, the judge, the jury, the reporters. Ann gave a statement to the grand jury, and—miracle of miracles!—they determined there was no reason for a trial. It was an accident, pure and simple. Ann mistook her husband—who slept in a bedroom down the hall, away from her, conveniently so in this case—for a prowler.

And so now Ann and Elsie are the two Woodward widows, and Elsie makes a show of inviting Ann to dinner, to lunch—

All of them turned to stare at the two women in black, seated across from each other, barely eating, not speaking. There was the sense that some invisible alarm clock was set, and the two were only waiting for it to ring before they could escape their shared ordeal.

Elsie takes her everywhere, parades her about, and Ann is utterly miserable—oh, she hates Elsie (“Dear Elsie,” acknowledged Babe), of course—but what can she do? She’s forever in her mother-in-law’s debt, if she doesn’t want to go to prison.