sagely at this suggestion and departed, muttering something about having to reach a pay phone and hoping it wasn't too late.
The moment Vulpina was gone Gilbert turned and faced Moira.
"You've got a fucking two-hundred-thousand-dollar trust fund!"
"Yes," she replied curtly, "what about it?"
"You might have mentioned it!"
"Did you ask?"
"How long have you had that little pile tucked away?"
"I don't see that it's any of your business. Now, if you two will excuse me I'm going to lie down. I have a splitting headache."
She turned and walked quickly out of the room.
"I don't get it," said Gilbert. "Why would she be secretive about a trust fund? I mean, she's always bragging about the duchess. You'd think she'd have rubbed our faces in it."
I agreed that Moira was not one to miss a chance to flaunt status symbols and that her secrecy regarding the trust was, as such, baffling.
After some reflection, though, it began to seem less so. Moira may be New York's most indefatigable social climber but she's also its biggest sponge. Wide knowledge of the fund would have done much to cramp her style. A girl known to have two hundred grand in the bank is not a girl to whom any starving author is going to loan twenty dollars "just until Friday."
Which left only the third question: Why was Moira so distressed by Mummy's insistence that she liquidate the fund?
"Christ," said Gilbert. "You know Moy-she's probably been itching to get her hands on that money from the minute the fund was set up."
"Oh, God."
"What?"
"What if she did?"
"Did what?"
"Got her hands on it! Maybe that's what's wrong. Mummy's asking her to spend money she's already gone through."
Gilbert apparently concurred as to the probability of this scenario, for he rose in silent fury, seized a stuffed Lhasa apso and drop-kicked it into the next room.
"Hold on!" I said. "We don't know that's what she did! I mean, how could anyone do it? The risk! The legal obstacles! You'd have to be . . ."
"Moira?" offered Gilbert, and within a moment we were standing at the doorway to her bedroom demanding she unlock the door.
"Go away!"
"This trust fund-you ripped it off, didn't you!"
The door opened. Moira stood there in a bathrobe, a towel knotted around her head.
"I don't have the vaguest idea what you're talking about."
"No?" he said. "Then why were you trying so hard to get your mom to pay for the wedding another way?"
Moira stared at him tight-lipped then, turning away, slumped back to the bed and sat. She pulled a pink cigarette from an ashtray and puffed moodily.
"Moira," I asked gently, "just tell us-is there any left at all?"
She burst into tears and buried her face in the pillows.
"Cut the boo hoo shit," snarled Gilbert. "You just call Mummy back and tell her you'll need more money!"
"I cant, you idiot!" she cried, rising. "If I do she'll know the trust is gone! I can't ever let her know I spent that money!"
"Well, brilliant, don't you think she's going to figure it out when she gets here and sees the reception's at fucking Burger King!"
"Oh, Philip!" she cried, hurling her arms about me and sobbing onto my sweater. "Was he this mean to you when you two were together?"
Not having realized the story of our little romance had reached a broad audience I could only stammer incoherently till she looked up from my chest and said, "But of course he was-he gave you crabs!"
"You tactless bitch!" said Gilbert.
"Moira," I said, "you really spent all of the money? Two hundred thousand dollars?"
"Well," she sniffed, "it's not as if I squandered it all on la dolce vita!"
"Oh, nor sneered Gilbert.
"Sure, maybe a few thousand, forty or fifty. But the rest I invested. I thought I was going to make a fortune with that money! Then everything came crashing down and I was left completely penniless, and I don't get any sympathy from either one of you!"
"Look," hissed Gilbert sympathetically, "why don't you just call Mummy right now and tell her about the money? The
The moment Vulpina was gone Gilbert turned and faced Moira.
"You've got a fucking two-hundred-thousand-dollar trust fund!"
"Yes," she replied curtly, "what about it?"
"You might have mentioned it!"
"Did you ask?"
"How long have you had that little pile tucked away?"
"I don't see that it's any of your business. Now, if you two will excuse me I'm going to lie down. I have a splitting headache."
She turned and walked quickly out of the room.
"I don't get it," said Gilbert. "Why would she be secretive about a trust fund? I mean, she's always bragging about the duchess. You'd think she'd have rubbed our faces in it."
I agreed that Moira was not one to miss a chance to flaunt status symbols and that her secrecy regarding the trust was, as such, baffling.
After some reflection, though, it began to seem less so. Moira may be New York's most indefatigable social climber but she's also its biggest sponge. Wide knowledge of the fund would have done much to cramp her style. A girl known to have two hundred grand in the bank is not a girl to whom any starving author is going to loan twenty dollars "just until Friday."
Which left only the third question: Why was Moira so distressed by Mummy's insistence that she liquidate the fund?
"Christ," said Gilbert. "You know Moy-she's probably been itching to get her hands on that money from the minute the fund was set up."
"Oh, God."
"What?"
"What if she did?"
"Did what?"
"Got her hands on it! Maybe that's what's wrong. Mummy's asking her to spend money she's already gone through."
Gilbert apparently concurred as to the probability of this scenario, for he rose in silent fury, seized a stuffed Lhasa apso and drop-kicked it into the next room.
"Hold on!" I said. "We don't know that's what she did! I mean, how could anyone do it? The risk! The legal obstacles! You'd have to be . . ."
"Moira?" offered Gilbert, and within a moment we were standing at the doorway to her bedroom demanding she unlock the door.
"Go away!"
"This trust fund-you ripped it off, didn't you!"
The door opened. Moira stood there in a bathrobe, a towel knotted around her head.
"I don't have the vaguest idea what you're talking about."
"No?" he said. "Then why were you trying so hard to get your mom to pay for the wedding another way?"
Moira stared at him tight-lipped then, turning away, slumped back to the bed and sat. She pulled a pink cigarette from an ashtray and puffed moodily.
"Moira," I asked gently, "just tell us-is there any left at all?"
She burst into tears and buried her face in the pillows.
"Cut the boo hoo shit," snarled Gilbert. "You just call Mummy back and tell her you'll need more money!"
"I cant, you idiot!" she cried, rising. "If I do she'll know the trust is gone! I can't ever let her know I spent that money!"
"Well, brilliant, don't you think she's going to figure it out when she gets here and sees the reception's at fucking Burger King!"
"Oh, Philip!" she cried, hurling her arms about me and sobbing onto my sweater. "Was he this mean to you when you two were together?"
Not having realized the story of our little romance had reached a broad audience I could only stammer incoherently till she looked up from my chest and said, "But of course he was-he gave you crabs!"
"You tactless bitch!" said Gilbert.
"Moira," I said, "you really spent all of the money? Two hundred thousand dollars?"
"Well," she sniffed, "it's not as if I squandered it all on la dolce vita!"
"Oh, nor sneered Gilbert.
"Sure, maybe a few thousand, forty or fifty. But the rest I invested. I thought I was going to make a fortune with that money! Then everything came crashing down and I was left completely penniless, and I don't get any sympathy from either one of you!"
"Look," hissed Gilbert sympathetically, "why don't you just call Mummy right now and tell her about the money? The
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