The Swans of Fifth Avenue(7)

So naturally, she felt she should show him hers, as well. A scar for a scar; an eye for an eye.

A story for a story.





CHAPTER 3


…..




“Once upon a time…” With Babe, there was no question. She was a princess, a walking fairy tale. There was no other way to begin her story.

“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Babe,” Truman said, prompting.

“Once upon a time,” Babe admitted, smiling shyly, ducking her head. “I suppose.”

It was that—her reticence, he decided. That was what elevated her from woman to goddess, from merely stylish to perfection itself. Her stillness, her grave smile, her quiet voice, her beautiful dark eyes that glittered only to show understanding or reveal some secret hurt, never pride or flirtatiousness. Or even, he thought sadly, wit. No, Barbara Cushing Mortimer Paley was not a great intellectual.

But then, she hadn’t been brought up to be one.

“I was raised to marry well,” Babe finally said, with a simple, elegant shrug. “My mother was a force of nature, although not like yours. She would never have abandoned us. We were her life’s work.”

“What was she like?”

“Gogs. That’s what we called her, after our own children were born. Gogs Cushing. I loved her. That’s all.”

“But what was she like?”

“She loved her family. She made a wonderful home for my father, who was always away at work—he was a brain surgeon, you know. He pioneered it, actually. And she taught my sisters and me that if we all stuck together, nothing could stop us. Or harm us.”

“But, Babe—what was she like? A pill-popper, like Nina? A whore, like Gloria’s mother?”

“Truman!” Babe frowned, disapproving, as was only proper—but then she grinned slyly. “Gloria? Gloria Guinness?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know all about that! Honey, La Guinness was not exactly legitimate, shall we say. Her mother worked the streets in Mexico. Of course you know that!”

“Truman, Gloria’s my friend. My dear friend,” protested Babe with a gentle shake of her head.

“But, Bobolink, darling—you don’t mind if I call you that, do you? I have pet names for all my dearest friends! I can’t stand formality when the heart is involved, can you?”

And Babe—who had not been called by her real name for years, yet despised the nickname by which she was so well known—shook her head, touched. And delighted.

“Now, Bobolink, how can we be friends if we don’t gossip together? Just a little? Isn’t that the most fun ever? Of course we love Gloria—La Guinness! She’s divine! But isn’t she just a trifle more interesting, knowing that her mother was a whore? Don’t you admire her just a bit more when you see how far she had to come to get here?”

“Truman, I’ve always admired Gloria. She’s—well, she’s—”

Detecting the slightest bit of hesitation in Babe’s not-quite-so-sympathetic eyes, Truman pounced. Like a kitten, dainty claws unsheathed, on a caterpillar. “What? She’s what? Oh, do tell, Babe-a-licious—oh, that’s even better! Do tell! What did Gloria do to you? What did she say?”

“Nothing. Gloria’s a dear friend, as I said. But—well, she does have a habit. It’s endearing, when you think of it. It shows she’s still a trifle uncertain of herself. But when she invites Bill and me to join her and Loel on their yacht, every summer, she plays this little game.”

“Yacht! Oh, take me! Take me!” Truman bounced on his knees, clapping his hands, rumpling the perfection of the satin bedspread so that Babe bit her lip and practically sat on her own hands to prevent them from immediately restoring it to order.

“Of course! We’ll take you this summer! You’ll go with us, Bill and me. It will be tremendous fun.”

“What game? What does Gloria do?” Truman immediately sat back down, serious.

“It’s nothing. It’s amusing. But she’ll tell me, a week before we go, ‘Babe, dear, this year we’re going to be completely casual. No dressing for dinner. For anything! We’ll be windblown and fancy-free!’ So that’s how I’ll pack. Only casual clothes, leaving most of the jewelry behind. And then, the first night, there I’ll be in linen pants and a silk blouse, and Gloria will arrive in the latest Balenciaga gown, draped in jewels from ear to ear. Stunning, of course. And she’ll announce that we’ve been invited to a very formal dinner onshore. And I’ll feel like a hobo. Then the next year, I’ll fool her. I’ll bring only formal clothes, and sit down to dinner so elegant, you could die. And Gloria will show up in pants and a blouse, her hair tied back with a scarf, and she’ll say, ‘Why so formal, Babe? It’s a yacht, not Maxim’s! Where do you think you’re going?’?” Babe laughed, a good, hearty chuckle, completely at odds with her porcelain perfection.

But Truman detected the exasperation in her eyes. And his own gleamed with catty delight.

“That’s priceless! And horrid! Yes, it shows how insecure she must be, despite all of Loel’s fabulous wealth.”

“Gloria’s my friend,” Babe reminded him. His heart thrilled to her voice; it was so low, gentle, soothing. Nothing could ruffle it, he thought. Nothing could ruffle her.