After a few minutes, Jil reached for Frankie’s hand. “This drive always reminds me of Fred Astaire and Cyd Charisse when they do ‘Dancing in the Dark.’”

“Yes.” Frankie looked at him blankly.

“You don’t know what I mean, do you?” Jil smiled. “In the movie The Band Wagon, Fred and Cyd go for a late-night ride through Central Park and they stop to dance under the full moon at Bethesda Fountain.”

“Sounds very romantic,” Frankie spoke softly.

“It’s more than romantic.” Jil squeezed her hand. “It’s exquisite!”

The taxi finally exited the park and made its way down Park Avenue. As Frankie felt Jil’s hand still in hers, she thought that her life had never seemed so precarious. She didn’t know if it was the American flags so proudly displayed on every Park Avenue building that made her feel so off-balance, or the now indelible memory of her father on Ninety-second and Madison. But for the first time in her life, Frankie believed there was absolutely nothing pinning her down.

Surprisingly, she found herself looking forward to the enforced formality of Judy Tremont’s dinner party. The butler greeting her at the door, the standing cocktail hour, the seated dinner, the English plates, the silver centerpieces, the obligatory conversation to the gentleman on your right and the gentleman on your left, the after-dinner coffee and port, and the optional cigar in the library would all provide a grounding antidote.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

·CHAPTER FOURTEEN·

Samantha

Samantha thought Judy Tremont’s apartment was basically overdone. For whatever Judy had spent on decorators, architects, and contractors, which Samantha assumed could underwrite a season at the Met, Samantha begrudged the idea that Judy had been taken. To Samantha’s well-trained eye, there was an apparent overabundance of everything, or, more simply, what her mother called “too much of a muchness.” Even in the vestibule, there were brocade window treatments upon brocade window treatments and French Empire chaise longues with matching cashmere throws. Samantha thought to herself, If Robespierre saw this, he’d start another revolution.

“I must say, they have a lot of very good art,” Charlie whispered to Samantha as they climbed the steps to the main living room. The walls were plastered with Degas, Pissarro, and, Charlie suspected, an early Picasso.

When Charlie and Samantha got to the top of the stairs, Judy rushed over to greet them.

“Hello. How are you?” She kissed Samantha on both cheeks. Judy was wearing Yves Saint Laurent red harem pants with a red velvet and gold-embroidered sleeveless vest. A Cartier diamond and a ruby cuff bracelet sparkled on her wrist.

“We’re so happy to be here.” Samantha took her hand. “I love what you’re wearing.”

“Oh, I’m so glad. That means so much coming from you.” Judy’s jewelry and her giddiness gave her an almost incandescent glow.

“I’m a sucker for anything Ottoman Empire,” Samantha smiled.