23 23Laurance Van Degan accepted the astonishing news without astonishment. It was not for him to register shock, or surprise, or fear, in front of a servant, although, strictly speaking, Miss Mae Toomey could not exactly be classified as a servant. Laurance Van Degan’s consciousness of his superiority did not desert him during the fifteen-minute encounter with his father’s nurse. However, when Laurance Van Degan imparted that same news to his sister later in the day, in his office, it was almost more than Lil could bear. Their father, Ormonde Van Degan, the head of the family—although stroked, incontinent, and possibly senile—had made it known to Miss Toomey that he intended to elope with Dodo Fitz Alyn.
Lil, weeping, said, “But, surely, Laurance, there can be nothing intimate in their relationship.”
“Don’t be too sure of that, Lil,” said Laurance.
“What do you mean? The man is eighty-four.”
“She runs dirty videos for him.”
“Oh, Laurance, for God’s sake. It’s too ridiculous.”
“It’s also true.”
“How do you know that?”
“Miss Toomey.”
“Who’s Miss Toomey?”
“The nurse.”
“Oh, yes, of course, Miss Toomey. I always called her Mae.”
“And then she jerks him off.”
“Miss Toomey jerks Father off?”
“No, Lil, for God’s sake. Don’t be so dense. Dodo jerks off Father when he looks at the dirty videos.”
Lil shuddered. “After all we’ve done for Dodo Fitz Alyn, Laurance. No one wanted her. Reared among all those peculiar people. Her father went to prison for tax evasion. Her mother ran off with one of those awful Orromeo brothers. Her uncle jumped off the Queen Elizabeth after doing whatever unspeakable act he did with that Cockney sailor. And we, poor fools, took her in and gave her a home and paid for her education.”
“I know her history, Lil.”
“Next thing I suppose she’ll expect to figure in Father’s will?”
“More than that.”
Lil stiffened. In matters of inheritance and heirlooms, Lil Altemus always became alert. “What do you mean?”
“Up front. Dodo wants money up front as well.”
“How much money?”
“Twelve million.”
She laughed at the absurdity. “I can’t believe any of this, Laurance.”
“Plus,” he added.
“What do you mean plus?”
“She wants the house in Southampton to be put in her name.”
“Mother’s house?” asked Lil, aghast.
“And she wants the Romney picture of Lady Rushington to be hers. And the Fabergé eggs to be put in her name as well.”
“But those were Mother’s things, Laurance,” said Lil.
“Now they’re going to be Dodo’s,” answered Laurance.
“But Mother always said they were to be mine. You know that. You heard her say it a thousand times, Laurance.”
“She didn’t put it in writing, though. She just assumed Father would leave them to you in his will.”
“All this time we thought ‘poor Dodo’ was pushing around his wheelchair, she’s been taking inventory?”
“So it appears.”
“And you’re going to allow this, Laurance? You of all people? The strength of the family. You’re going to let this fat orphan dictate those terms to us? Stand up to that sneaky bitch. Show her who’s boss. What’s she going to do if you tell her no, absolutely no?”
“She’s going to stop jerking off Father. That’s what she’s going to do. And, apparently, Father likes to be jerked off.”
Lil, crestfallen, began to gather up her things. “I always thought—” she said and then stopped midsentence.
“Thought what, Lil?” asked her brother.
“I always thought Dodo was a dyke.”
Laurance looked at her. “What’s a dyke?” he asked.
“A Daughter of Bilitis,” said Lil, in explanation.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Lil,” said her brother.
“Like Aunt Grace Gardiner.”
“Oh,” said Laurance, understanding at last. “A lezzie, you mean. Do you know something, Lil? I always thought Dodo was a lezzie too.”
They looked at each other and started to laugh. Within seconds they became helpless with laughter. Laurance rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window looking down on the street below, and shook with uncontrollable laughter. Lil fell backward onto the sofa and stared upward, shrieking with laughter. Images of their octogenarian father being jerked off by fat Dodo Fitz Alyn brought fresh torrents of laughter.
Only the appearance of Miss Wentworth, Laurance’s secretary, entering without knocking, quelled their near hysteria. Lil reached again for a handkerchief in her handbag and blew her nose and wiped her eyes. In charge of herself once more, she wondered why Miss Wentworth dyed her hair so very black. She considered offering Miss Wentworth a free appointment with Bobo, to have her hair colored and frosted correctly, and then abandoned the idea.
“Yes, Irene,” said Laurance, collecting himself.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Van Degan, but I rang and you didn’t hear me.”
“What is it, Irene?”
“Elias Renthal is on the telephone. He says it’s important.”
“Oh, yes, thank you, Irene.” Laurance Van Degan was back to business again, his momentary lapse into mirth already forgotten. He picked up the telephone. “Hello, Elias,” he said, with the sort of cordiality he usually reserved for cabinet ministers. It was only later that Lil remembered that note of affability in her brother’s voice as he spoke to a man she still considered the most vulgar man in New York.