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suspicious?”
    “Always.”
    “What does DeDe think?”
    “You’re assuming she knows how to.”
    “She’s a tad thick, but she does pay for your Wilkes Bashford addiction … and she’s got a nice box.”
    Beauchamp frowned.
    “At the opera, Beauchamp.”
    “Very funny.”
    “I thought so.”
    “I didn’t come here to talk about my wife, Peter.”
    “Hmm … that’s funny. Everybody else did.”
    Silence.
    “Sorry. Cheap shot. Wanna hear about the Bachelors Ball?”
    “Do I look like I do?”
    “Well, we missed you, anyway. Actually, we missed your Navy dress whites. They were always just the right touch. Very Gilbert and Sullivan.”
    “Thank you.”
    “The Prune Prince wore his great-uncle’s opera tails this year.”
    “John Stonecypher?”
    “The one. Are you ready for this? He spilled a bottle of amyl in the breast pocket.”
    “C’mon!
    “While he was dancing with Madge!”
    “What did she do?”
    “Oh … she just kept waltzing around like a Cotillion deb, presumably pretending that all her dance partners smell like dirty sweat socks…. You’re going to her do tonight, aren’t you?”
    “Shit!”
    “Forgot, huh?”
    “DeDe will shit a brick!” He downed his drink. “I’m off.”
    “More than likely,” said Peter.

The Wrath of DeDe
    D EDE WAS SITTING AT HER LOUIS QUINZE ESCRITOIRE making notations in her Louis Vuitton checkbook.
    “You forgot about Madge’s party, didn’t you?”
    “I hauled ass to get here.”
    “It starts in half an hour.”
    “Then we’ll be late. Pull in your claws. Your old man’s been bitching at me all day.”
    “Did you make the Adorable presentation?”
    “No. He did.”
    “Why?”
    “Why don’t you tell mei”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “He was pissed, DeDe. Royally.”
    Silence.
    “You know why, of course.”
    DeDe looked down at her checkbook.
    Beauchamp persisted. “He was pissed because his darling daughter called him up last night and told him I was a son-of-a-bitch.”
    “I didn’t do anything of …”
    “Bullshit!”
    “I was worried, Beauchamp. It was after midnight. I tried the club and Sam’s and Jack’s. I … panicked. I thought Daddy might know where you were.”
    “Of course. Little Beauchamp doesn’t make a fucking move without checking with the Great White Father!”
    “Don’t talk about Daddy like that.”
    “Oh … fuck him! I don’t need his permission to breathe. I don’t need him for a goddamn thing!”
    “Oh? Daddy would be interested to hear that.”
    Silence.
    “Why don’t we call him up and tell him?”
    “DeDe …”
    “Me or you?”
    “DeDe … I’m sorry. I’m tired. It’s been a bitch of a day.”
    “I’ll bet.” She moved to the hall mirror and made last-minute adjustments to her makeup. “How’s Little Miss Whatshername?”
    “Who?”
    “Daddy’s secretary. Your little … after-work amusement.”
    “You’ve gotta be kidding!”
    “No. I don’t think so.”
    “Mary Ann Singleton?”
    “Is that her name? How quaint.”
    “Christ! I hardly know her.”
    “Apparently that hasn’t stopped you before.”
    “She’s your father’s secretary!”
    “And she’s not exactly an eyesore.”
    “I can’t help that, can I?”
    DeDe pursed her lips to blot her lipstick. She looked at her husband. “Look … I’ve had it with this. You dropped off the face of the earth last night.”
    “I told you. I was at the club.”
    “Well, quelle coincidence! You were at the club when you stood me up for the reception at the de Young last Wednesday and last Friday when we missed the Telfairs’ party at Beach Blanket Babylon.”
    “We’ve seen it five times.”
    “That isn’t the point.”
    Beauchamp laughed bitterly. “You are too much. You really are…. Where in God’s name did you dig this one up?”
    “I’ve got eyes, Beauchamp.”
    “Where? When?”
    “Last week. I was shopping with Binky at La Remise du Soleil.”
    “How very chic of