The Swans of Fifth Avenue(66)

But over time Truman charmed them and the other citizens of Holcomb and Garden City, Kansas, he and his friend Nelle Harper Lee; and even after it was all over and he went back to New York and he never really had to see them again, he’d stayed in touch. He seemed to need them, in a strange way; he was both fascinated by their midwestern plainness and envious of something about them, too. Marie preferred to think of it as their solid values, God-fearing trust in the land and in their fellow man. Alvin thought it was more like they were simply collectibles for Capote; strange, plain, twangy people to dust off and put on his shelf next to all those socialites, where they couldn’t help but stand out.

But Truman was so generous, he overcame any doubts or fears the Deweys might have had about his devotion. He paid for them to go to Hollywood, where they’d been feted by movie stars—Natalie Wood had danced with Alvin at a party thrown by Dominick Dunne! Steve McQueen had sat at Marie’s feet, asking her for recipes. And Truman brought them to New York regularly, got them tickets to Broadway shows, asked people like the Paleys to throw parties for them. He made them stay with him in his new apartment, that magnificent modern structure by the United Nations.

And now he had invited them to his party! They’d never been to the Plaza before and couldn’t help but gape; it was nothing like the Muehlebach in Kansas City, the fanciest hotel in their previous experience. No, this was a palace, and the ballroom was fit for a fairy tale, with crystal chandeliers, masses of flowers, parquet dance floor, and gilded mirrors on the wall. There was a small orchestra—Truman had whispered, “It’s Peter Duchin!” earlier, but the name didn’t really mean anything to them. And the people—the people! Well, Marie simply had to sit and stare at the beautiful gowns. She was quite pleased with hers, bought from Bergdorf Goodman—oh, she’d never, ever tell Alvin how much it cost! She was going to save the box forever. But the entire effect of gorgeous black tuxedos and white gowns swirling about the ballroom, the jewels that were real, not fake, reflecting the chandeliers, the feathered and sequined masks—it really was like being in a movie.

And everywhere you looked, there was somebody famous! Lauren Bacall! Joan Fontaine, so big on the movie screen but so tiny in person! Margaret Truman and Alice Roosevelt Longfellow and Lynda Bird Johnson, swapping confidences about what it was like to live in the White House!

Of course there were so many Vanderbilts and Astors and Whitneys that the Deweys simply couldn’t keep them straight, so they didn’t try. And Truman’s friends, who were always so kind—the Paleys and the Guinnesses and the Agnellis, all complimenting Marie on her gown, her hair. They’d dined at the Paleys’ before the party and had been stunned by their apartment in one of those fancy buildings overlooking Central Park. It had a real doorman, and a private elevator, and an honest-to-God Picasso hanging in the hallway! It was like a museum, really, but Babe’s kindness had put them at ease. She and Bill made such an elegant couple! They were both so tall and glamorous, and they seemed deeply devoted to each other, but…well, Marie couldn’t quite believe it, what Truman had told her about them.

Truman loved to shock her, that was true; he loved to tell her somewhat salacious tidbits about these rich and famous people who were his friends. So Marie wasn’t sure if she should believe what he’d told her about the Paleys, how they didn’t sleep together, and Bill had many affairs, and Babe had wanted to leave him more than once. Oh, Marie did love hearing the gossip from Truman; he had a way of making her feel like she was his very best friend, part of his world, too. And he was so funny about it, arching his eyebrows and making a great show of whispering while he told her simply awful things! So maybe it was true about the Paleys. But she did hope it wasn’t; why, Babe had lent her a necklace to wear tonight! And Bill had been so nice in introducing them to the CBS cameras outside the Plaza, and Bill and Babe had drawn them in so that Alvin and Marie could have their pictures taken, too, in all the crush; the photographers’ flashbulbs had practically blinded her! They’d fallen on Truman and Mrs. Graham in the receiving line, laughing, hanging on to them for dear life until Babe ushered Marie into a dressing room, where they could adjust their masks, fix their hair, before meeting up with the men and entering the Grand Ballroom, ablaze with light.

And while Alvin was content to sit and watch all night, Marie now wanted to dance. She gazed longingly at the dance floor; Truman was circulating, shaking hands. Most of the masks were off now—although at first it had been stunning, just stunning, to gape at the creations—someone named Billy had on a mask and headpiece that looked just like a white unicorn! But soon people discarded them, so that the tables looked as if they were littered with the corpses of a glittering zoo. And now the dancing was in earnest, and Marie’s toe tapped, her hips shimmied, and she met Alvin’s disapproving gaze with a defiant smirk.

“I don’t care, Alvin Dewey! I want to dance. This is a ball, isn’t it?”

Some young man passing by heard her, turned on his heel, held out his hand, and before she knew it, she was being whirled about in a fox-trot while the orchestra played “The Way You Look Tonight,” spun around and around until she felt her head snap back, and there were many eyes on the two of them, this intense-looking, dark young man with mischievous eyes and herself, plain little Marie Dewey of Kansas, all dressed up and twirling around in the Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel!