(“She’d calmed down by the time the lawyer arrived,” Slim observed, lighting up a cigarette. “She was perfectly clear-eyed, and wondering how quickly Billy’s life insurance might pay up.”)
Now, Elsie (“Poor Elsie,” Truman said), the grand dame—Bill Senior died a couple years ago, remember?—was heartbroken. Not just for herself but for her grandsons, Ann and Billy’s two boys. So Elsie did what any respectable grand dame would do. We can’t imagine Mrs. Astor could have done it any better. Elsie opened up the vault and paid everyone off—we mean everyone! The police, the judge, the jury, the reporters. Ann gave a statement to the grand jury, and—miracle of miracles!—they determined there was no reason for a trial. It was an accident, pure and simple. Ann mistook her husband—who slept in a bedroom down the hall, away from her, conveniently so in this case—for a prowler.
And so now Ann and Elsie are the two Woodward widows, and Elsie makes a show of inviting Ann to dinner, to lunch—
All of them turned to stare at the two women in black, seated across from each other, barely eating, not speaking. There was the sense that some invisible alarm clock was set, and the two were only waiting for it to ring before they could escape their shared ordeal.
Elsie takes her everywhere, parades her about, and Ann is utterly miserable—oh, she hates Elsie (“Dear Elsie,” acknowledged Babe), of course—but what can she do? She’s forever in her mother-in-law’s debt, if she doesn’t want to go to prison.
(“I do wonder,” Slim mused, narrowing her feline eyes, “what they talk about. Don’t you? What in heaven’s name do those two talk about, sitting at the best table for all to see, putting on such a happy—well, at least inscrutable—face?”)
(No one had an answer to that.)
Soon, though, Elsie’s sending Ann to Europe. Away, leaving those two little boys with Elsie. Ann may have escaped trial by jury, but trial by mother-in-law is just as damning. Meanwhile, here they sit, just like us. Lunching at La Pavillon. Putting on brave faces for the photographers. A united front. So no one will gossip.
“I understand that,” Babe said with a quiet sigh. “I really do. I don’t know if Ann is guilty or not. I’ve never been close to her. But I think poor, sweet Elsie did the right thing.”
“I think Ann should rot in jail,” Slim declared. “Elsie should think about justice for her son, not about how the family Christmas card will look.”
“No, but think how painful it would be for Elsie to admit that—that her son had made a mistake. That she had made a terrible mistake. To know that everyone is talking about you in that way—”
“But we are, anyway, Babe! Elsie may drag Ann along to lunch, and keep inviting her over for dinner and family gatherings, but we all know what happened, and we’re still talking about it, so why even bother? Why not let Ann get what she deserves?”
“I don’t know.” Babe frowned, her eyes darker than usual. She put a cigarette in her long ebony holder with a shaking hand, allowing Truman to light it for her. “It’s not easy, you know, trying so hard to—to act as if everything is just fine. To put on a united front in the face of such gossip. I simply admire Elsie so much, for trying to keep it all quiet, for being loyal, in her way, to her daughter-in-law, who, after all, is family, the mother of her grandsons.”
“Even if that daughter-in-law murdered her son?”
“Of course that’s terrible and tragic, and I’m not sure—I don’t think—it’s a private matter. That’s all. Between them. None of us should see anything untoward in Elsie’s behavior. No one should suspect the truth between them, because it’s only that. Between them.”
Truman put a warm hand on Babe’s arm, soothing her.
“Bobolink, you’re a dear. A sweet, na?ve dear, and I love you.” He kissed her cheek, and Babe put a hand to his face, briefly, claiming him. “We’ll talk later,” he promised quietly, but Slim heard, and bit her lip, studying how grateful Babe suddenly looked, the eagerness in her eyes as she nodded at Truman and grasped his hand, like a lifeline.
But then Truman grinned slyly at the rest of them and held up a card. “Breast job,” he whispered, nodding toward Ann, and the table erupted into laughter once more. Even Babe smiled wanly.
However. After lunch, on their way to the powder room, they all stopped by Ann and Elsie Woodward’s table to say a kind word to Elsie, and to cut Ann cold. Except for Babe; Babe alone put a hand on Ann’s shoulder in greeting.
Truman, too, acknowledged Ann, as Slim, hanging back and rummaging in her handbag for some change, happened to see. After Babe and the others passed on, Truman turned around. He and Ann locked gazes; Ann’s lip curled up sardonically. Truman pointed his fingers at her and whispered, “Bang! Bang!”
Slim gasped; Truman heard her. He shrugged nonchalantly as they continued on their way toward the lounges, where they parted and Slim pulled Babe aside, ostensibly to see if she could borrow a dollar for the matron.