McNally's chance

Nineteen

I could feel their eyes boring into my back as I made my exit. These three not-so-wise guys had broken the cardinal rule of survival: When in doubt, keep your mouth shut. Upon reading that now infamous blind item in Lolly’s column they panicked and blabbed. Trouble was, they blabbed to me which made me as inconvenient as Sabrina and her daughter. Schuyler thought he was speaking metaphorically when he placed me in Sabrina’s camp, but the statement was more fact than fancy. That I had been shanghaied made no difference to the enemy.

I rationalized that if any of these three former classmates were going to take drastic action to keep their secret a secret they would have to do it with their own hand. Out of necessity a hit man would have to go the way of his victim and then you’re dealing with a box of facial tissues pull out one and up pops another.

Of the three, which would be the most likely to act foolishly? My vote went to Cranston. He had the most to lose and, like all ambitious men, I believed he could be ruthless when it came to getting what he wanted.

That day in his limo he had referred to Sabrina being as reliable as a campaign promise. This told you something about his political integrity. And he had a temper. “Don’t ever get wise with me. You tell me what I want to know or…” I never did hear the end of that threat but I have a lively imagination.

Then we have Schuyler, sickly but determined to go to his grave as pure as when he came into this world. He was the only one to openly declare he would kill to keep the secret. Kill me, that is. And by his own admission he had nothing to lose if pushed to the limit. “All I could get is life or the chair. Ain’t that a laugh?”

Appleton was the mildest mannered of the three but I could hear him telling me, “I will go to any length to protect myself and my family from scandal.” Nor could I forget the look he gave me when I horned in on his son’s fifteen minutes. Like they say, If looks could kill.. ”

Due to all of the above I had completely forgotten that Binky and Bianca were dining at the Pelican that evening. Imagine my surprise when I walked in and saw the pair seated at my corner table. It being the start of the weekend, the Pelican was crowded and noisy, but Binky spotted me the moment I walked into the bar area. Too late to run. He and Bianca waved. I waved back and skirted their table in favor of the bar. “Good evening, Mr. Pettibone. What can you give me to make me forget there’s got to be a morning after?”

“They say a good martini can do the trick.”

“Very perceptive, Mr. Pettibone. It’s what I’ve been drinking and father told me never to change intoxicants in midstream. I’ll have the vodka variety, straight up with a twist.”

“You look like you’ve had a tough night, Archy,” Simon Pettibone observed.

“I’ve had better, Mr. Pettibone. I’ve had better.”

Priscilla came up to the bar to place an order and couldn’t wait to tell me, “Binky is here with his new girl. She’s a doll.”

“So I noticed. What are they drinking?”

“Binky is on beer, as usual, and Bianca is drinking rum and Coke.”

My stomach lurched. “What are they eating?” I also had to know.

“Special tonight is crab cakes, but Bianca said they tend to give her gas.”

How infuriating. The girl was impudent. Tonight she wore a lovely cream cashmere cardigan over a lilac blouse. Was she telling Binky about our visit with Tony Gilbert? Pray she doesn’t describe Babette.

Binky has a weak heart.

“They’re having the braised veal chops,” Priscilla said.

My stomach mellowed. “Do you think Leroy could put a little something together for me to nibble right here?” I asked.

“We discourage eating at the bar,” she told me.

“Says who?”

“The Board, that’s who,” Priscilla snapped.

Let me say here that I am not on the Pelican’s Board. I am a member of the more prestigious Founders’ Committee. As the Pelican Club was established as a gentlemen’s lodge, the Founders are all hart pun intended. Later, we made the mistake of admitting women. Connie, like Eve, was the first on the scene. Thereafter I could no longer escort whom I pleased to the club without chancing running into Connie.

Please note: Were it not for that unfortunate decision I would be sharing the braised veal chops with Bianca and a robust Bordeaux from the Medoc region not Binky Watrous. Gas? The nerve of that child.

When Mr. Pettibone placed my drink before me, I complained, Triscilla refuses to serve this starving gentleman at the bar, Mr. Pettibone.”

“Oh, we can make an exception, Pris,” he kindly said to his daughter.

“Archy is tucked away in the corner here and no one will notice.”

“No one will notice?” Priscilla echoed. “That tie-and-hankie combo makes him look like a traffic light. And that’s the biggest pocket square I have ever seen you could have a picnic on it.” Having critiqued my attire, Priscilla picked up her tray and departed.

Reggie Winetroub took up the slack. “Glad I caught you, Archy.” Reggie looked a bit under the weather. He has been known to go from lunch tails to cocktails without taking a work break. “Founders’ meeting next week. Very important that you be there. We’re considering establishing a new charity under the auspices of our “Just Say Yes”

reserve fund.”

“Interesting, Reggie. What do you have in mind?”

“We want to support those we feel have been overlooked, badly neglected, and often maligned.”

“Right on, Reggie. Who did you come up with?”

“Unwed fathers.”

I couldn’t think of a more overlooked, neglected, and maligned group in our United States. “Good choice,” I encouraged. “What services would we provide?”

“A hideaway is what I have in mind,” Reggie said. You had to hand it to him. When he focused in on a project he left no stone unturned.

“Someplace in the desert perhaps,” Reggie mused, ‘where the men can relax and get away from the haranguing of irate females and lawyers. I was thinking of Nevada where bordellos are legal. You know, for the boys’ night out.”

“Reggie, you are a genius, but you might consider Algiers, too.”

“Really, Archy? Why?”

“I’ll tell you at the meeting.”

“How boss,” Reggie chuckled. “See you later. I have to get back to my table, if I can find it.”

“I hope he was kidding,” Mr. Pettibone offered in passing.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Pettibone. You find the new charity unworthy?”

“Heavens no, Archy. I’m opposed to Nevada. Too hot regardless of the amenities. I would suggest Arizona where one can go south of the border for rest and relaxation.”

Mr. Pettibone has tarried too long at the Pelican Club.

Priscilla returned. “Leroy can put together a burger with cottage fries and a tossed salad.”

Tell Leroy I will marry him if he doesn’t forget the pickle spears.”

I lowered my voice and dipped my head. Tell me, are the happy couple enjoying their date?”

“I think so,” Priscilla said. “She keeps saying, “Oh, Binky, how you make me laugh.”

This was worse than I had imagined. The girl was a menace. Poor Binky would forsake his Victoria’s Secret catalogues for reality’s lash. I should make a citizen’s arrest, drag her off to a hallowed shelter, and pray for the redemption of her soul. “Oh, Lord, make her a good girl but not immediately.”

Why do I harbor such thoughts? My precarious position between Sabrina Wright and her three angry adversaries had me on edge and imminent danger activates the adrenal gland, unleashing the steroid al hormone known as adrenaline. In animals this remarkable substance triggers the fight or flight instinct. Perhaps due to a missing gene, in Archy it triggers only the flight half. That’s why I felt compelled to run off to the Kasbah with Bianca Courtney. Steroidal hormones will do it all the time. Clearly, I am a victim of genetic imbalance.

“We gave Binky his gifts last night,” Priscilla announced as if I didn’t know. “Connie said she hopes her bridal shower is as successful as Binky’s housewarming, hint, hint.”

“Tell Connie that Archy hopes his application for the priesthood is looked upon favorably, hint, hint.”

With a nod toward my corner table, Priscilla predicted, “With the way things are progressing there, you may be giving Binky a bachelor party before the year is out. They ordered one chocolate mousse for dessert, with two spoons. Cozy, no?” Priscilla picked up her order and fled.

With that my evening reached its nadir. Remembering that there was always one step further down you could go, I clung to the promise of one of Leroy’s hamburgers, which are a gourmand’s delight, proving that the best things in life are not free. At the Pelican Club they start at fourteen ninety-five and advance rapidly. I would have Mr.

Pettibone pull a dark lager to go with the repast. Why, I was feeling better already.

There were two couples at the bar waiting for tables and after seeing to their needs Mr. Pettibone approached me and asked, “Have you seen your policeman friend, Archy?”

“Not since we lunched here the other day. Are you in need of the law?”

“Thankfully, no, but Pris told us that you told him the Henry Peavey story and he said he would run the name through the police files. I was wondering if he’d turned up anything.”

With all that had been going on since Sabrina, Bianca, and Babette had entered my life I had forgotten all about cousin Lyle and Henry Peavey.

“If he had, I’m sure he would have called me,” I told Mr. Pettibone.

“But I will check with Al and get back to you the soonest. I take it Mrs. Pettibone has heard nothing from California.”

“Not a word, Archy, and it’s on her mind constantly. She’s running up a phone bill with Lyle’s daughter and giving me no rest. Probably all nonsense, anyway. Lyle never did have much on the ball, as I recall.

The man is a modern-day alchemist, his tools being lottery tickets and football pools. He doesn’t have an Oval Office so he works around an oval track.”

“Don’t count him out, Mr. P; he may be on to something this time.”

A couple of new arrivals stepped up to the bar and Mr. Pettibone hastened to greet them. In parting, he called over his shoulder, All I want from him is the cost of the long-distance calls. Keep in touch, Archy.”

“I will, Mr. Pettibone,” I promised.

Now Binky and his date were departing and although I avoided looking their way, they came bounding up to me on their way out. “Pleasant meal?” I inquired civilly.

“Great,” Bianca said. “I can’t wait to come back.”

“No need for an antacid, I assume.”

“Not tonight,” she beamed. “We’re going home to catalogue Binky’s gifts.”

“That’s right, Archy; remember you told me to keep a detailed list for reciprocation. Bianca is going to help me. I got fourteen in all.”

“Sixteen, if you count Priscilla’s and Connie’s,” Bianca reminded him.

“Where is Connie tonight, Archy?”

Oh, she was a piece of work, little Ms Buttons and Bows. “I am not Connie’s keeper,” I answered, ‘and here comes my humble meal so if you will excuse me I will bid you both happy cataloguing.”

“We’re having waffles for breakfast,” Binky said loud enough for everyone at the bar to hear. “Bianca is going to show me how to use my new waffle iron.” He was besotted. If, at that very moment, Mr.

Pettibone had not put my meal before me I would have made my citizen’s arrest to save the boy from both debauchery and indigestion. This is what comes of getting your own pad while still a youth. Why, Binky was just ten years past his teens. Bianca said she was twenty-two, but with witches who knows?

“Night, Archy!” Bianca called and toddled off.

The moment she was out of earshot, Binky poked me in the ribs and whispered, “Don’t come knocking when the trailer is rocking.”

Oh, please.

Dies Saturni, or Saturn’s day, but there was no rest for Archy. I awoke to the sound of a drip, drip, drip, and knew it was a rainy Saturday morn. Good for the merchants on Worth Avenue, bad for the bikini watchers on the beach. I showered vigorously, hot, cold, hot, cold; shampooed my hair and wrapped myself in my hooded white terry robe. Last night, after returning from the Pelican Club, I added an addendum to the last two addenda in my journal, bringing it up to date.

First, “The Man That Got Away,”

second, “The Man That Wouldn’t Go Away third, “And Baby Makes Five.”

After recording in detail my visit to Casa Gran, I had written that Appleton, Cranston, and Schuyler would not rest easy until Sabrina and her daughter departed Palm Beach and disappeared from their lives. In the gray light of a rainy morning I added that this would be only a temporary reprieve, at best. When Sabrina had confided to Gillian the circumstances of her birth she had opened the closet door, exposing the skeleton. It was only a matter of time before someone fleshed out the bones and added a face.

The men would never rest easy until those who could identify Mr. Bones were silenced. Namely, Sabrina and Archy. The kooky part was that neither one of us could make a positive ID. Was it time the men knew this?

I went down to breakfast in shorts and polo shirt. “Do we own a waffle iron?” I asked Ursi.

“I know there’s one someplace, but if that’s what you’re craving this morning, Archy, I don’t have the batter.”

“No, Ursi. I was just wondering. For some reason I woke up with waffles on my mind. Must have been something I ate last night.”

Seeing as the mater and pater were due to dock tomorrow I thought it politic not to mention the number of martinis I had also ingested last night followed by several dark lagers. Before getting into my chariot I had tested my driving capabilities by reciting aloud: Amidst the mists and coldest frosts, with stoutest wrists and loudest boasts, he thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghost.

Needless to say I did not miss a beat, flub a word, or wet my chin, therefore I was not hors de combat. I also drew an admiring crowd in the parking lot and remember hearing Reggie Winetroub call out, “How boss.”

Ursi served me a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and tempted me with, “A cheddar cheese omelet is what I had in mind, Archy, with a helping of chilled honey dew to get you started. Just ripened and sweet as sugar, this one is.”

“I’m in your hands,” I surrendered. “Anything new to report on our visiting novelist and her brood?”

“They say she was at the Club Colette last night with her husband and daughter and her daughter’s beau. They say she looked like a million bucks.”

“They’ was Ursi’s version of ‘a reliable source’ and Club Colette was Palm Beach’s version of New York’s El Morocco in the golden days of cafe society. Sabrina didn’t seem to have any qualms about parading her troops on grounds where an Appleton, a Cranston, or a Schuyler might very well be sampling the bill of fare at the next table, but then restraint was not Ms Wright’s forte. It was time to sit down with the lady and shout in her native tongue, “Enough already.”

“A million bucks? In this town, Ursi, that makes her an also-ran.”

“They say her daughter is very plain,” Ursi gossiped while serving my honey dew.

“Her mother casts a long shadow, Ursi. It must be hard for the girl to find her place in the sun.”

Slicing a thick slab of cheddar and breaking eggs, Ursi sighed, “Poor thing. I hope she finds her true mother?”

The trouble was, she had. Ascertaining that Ursi had nothing new to report on the comings and goings of Sabrina Wright and Co.” I inquired after Jamie to divert her from asking me questions regarding the affair I was loath to answer. I learned that, in anticipation of picking up the seafarers in Ft Lauderdale tomorrow, he had taken father’s Lexus to the car wash for a bit of sprucing up. With the rain now falling, Ursi feared it would all be in vain.

“If they give it a good coat of wax,” I said, ‘it will keep its shine.

What time are they docking?”

“Noon, and I’ll be so glad to see them. I miss your mother, Archy.”

“Not more than I do, I’m sure.” The seigneur was also missed, but as he discouraged overt signs of affection you wouldn’t hear it from us.

Like children unattended for too long, we would all be pleased to get back to the familiar and comforting routine of life with father, and I had much to report to his nibs.

“Would you like a toasted bagel?” Ursi asked, expertly flipping the cheddar omelet in its pan.

“I think not,” I declined. “One piece of rye toast for me. I’m watching my diet.”

“Dry or buttered?”

Dry rye toast was indistinguishable from cardboard. “Buttered, please.

This honeydew is good,” I complimented, ‘and make it two slices of rye toast, Ursi, both buttered.”

Back in my room, and far from Ursi’s gaze, I lit an English Oval and inhaled deeply. My first and last of the day barring unforeseen circumstances that would cause me to seek solace from the winsome weed.

Speaking of which, I dialed The Breakers and asked for Mr. Silvester’s suite.

Sabrina picked up after one ring. Did she monitor all incoming calls personally? I believe she did because there was no telling when she would be assailed by an irate voice from the past imploring her to scram.

“Archy McNally here.”

After a long pause she welcomed me with, “I thought we had concluded our business, Mr. McNally.”

“So did I, Ms Wright, but circumstances require that we meet again one rainy Saturday afternoon. May I suggest the Leopard Lounge at the Chesterfield, say high noon?”

“You may suggest it, Mr. McNally, and you may go to the Leopard Lounge some rainy Saturday at high noon, but I won’t be there. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“Don’t hang up, Ms Wright. This is important. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry in town is talking about Gillian’s hankering for knowledge of things past. Did you hear me? Every Tom, Dick, and Harry.” We shared another poignant moment of silence. She came back on the line with,

“You are a snooping bastard, Mr. McNally.” “And you are a liar, a cheat, and a con artist, Ms Wright.” She must have liked that because she laughed. “Seeing as we understand each other, I will meet you at the Leopard Lounge, but make it a little later. Only mad dogs and Archy McNally go out in the noonday sun.” “It’s raining out there, in case you haven’t noticed.” “I know it is, but I never let reality come between me and a good line. It’s the secret of my success. One o’clock, give or take, Mr. McNally, and now I must run, a marvelous young man is coming to do my hair. He’s all the rage down here and it’s rumored he was discovered by Virginia Cranston. I just love sharing with Ginny Cranston, Mr. McNally I just love it.” She rang off with a titter and had me grinning like a school boy. Sabrina Wright, you may be a liar, a cheat, and a con artist, but you are irresistible. However, I would suggest she temper her arrogance with caution. The boys of summer were not in a frolicking mood — but Archy was. I called Connie to see what we could get up to on a rainy Saturday night. “Archy,” Connie cried, “I was just on my way out.”

“Not working today, are you?” “No. I’m driving down to Miami to see my cousin. She just had a baby.”

That was strange, I thought, and said as much. “Another? Didn’t she have one a few weeks ago?”

“That was my cousin on the Garcia side,” Connie said. “This is a Mendez cousin, on my mother’s side. She had a boy.”

“How many cousins do you have, Connie?”

“Well, my father was one of nine and my mother has three brothers and three sisters, so I have…”

“I’m sorry I asked,” I broke in. Connie could not only name them all, but tell you their birthdays as well. “Will you be back in time for dinner?”

“No way, Archy. I’m having dinner with my cousins. They’re all coming to see the new baby.”

“Both sides?” I exclaimed.

“No, only the Mendez cousins. Would you like to come, Archy? You know you’re always welcome.”

“Thank you, Connie, but I’ll pass.” Being jostled by two dozen Cubans on a buffet line was not my idea of a romantic evening. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again. Why not? I dialed Bianca Courtney.

“Archy here. How were the waffles?”

“Oh, Archy. A disaster. We never had them.”

This was encouraging. “Do tell, Bianca.”

“Well,” she said, ‘we bought a packaged batter and had to mix in eggs and milk. That was okay because Binky now has an electric mixer. It came with a bowl. We heated the iron and poured in the batter, but we must have put in too much because it began to ooze out. Binky went to wipe it up and burned his hand.

I went ballistic and pulled the plug, only I yanked too hard and sent the waffle iron smack into Binky’s groin. Oh, Archy, it was horrible.

Binky was covered with batter and the iron landed on his foot.”

“Are you telling me you killed Binky?”

“No. No. I stuck his hand in cold water and ran to get Sergeant Rogoff.”

“You went to get Al?” I gasped. “Good Lord, what for?”

“He’s a cop, isn’t he? I figured he would know how to treat burns and someone had to get the glop off Binky. It was in an awkward place, if you know what I mean.”

I suddenly remembered that the only job Binky had never held was that of short-order cook. The gods were kind to that boy, in spite of it all. “Did Al help?” I asked.

“Yes. And Mrs. Brewster from across the street. She saw me running for Al and came right over. She put butter on Binky’s hand.”

One hoped that was the only place she put the butter. “A little salt and pepper and you could have had Binky for breakfast.”

“We’re all going to Patty’s Pancake Palace for breakfast. Sergeant Rogoff is driving.”

The episode gave new meaning to the term trailer trash, and Ma Perkins’s Pancake Palace had to be a pit stop for semis. I must remember to tell Binky not to go snoozing when the waffle iron is oozing.

“You certainly had a morning, Bianca. Would you like to step out with me tonight? A movie, perhaps? Dinner? A midnight stroll on the beach?”

“No, thanks, Archy. I’m seeing Brandon tonight.”

And just who is Brandon?” I demanded.

“The basketball player. Remember? A mile high and an inch wide. He’s driving up from Coral Gables just to see me.”

“What happened to the girl who pulled the winning straw?”

“That was over ages ago. I have to go, Archy; Sergeant Rogoff is beeping for us.”

If at first you don’t succeed…

I went back downstairs and asked Ursi, “What are you doing tonight, Ursi?”

“Nothing much, Archy. Just getting ready for the homecoming. Are you going out?”

“No, Ursi, I am not. I decided to stay home and thought we might celebrate our last evening alone. If you prepare the feast, I’ll raid the master’s wine cellar.”

Tine, and how good of you to give up a Saturday night, Archy.”

“My pleasure, Ursi. My pleasure.”