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Show 42, Jeffries, Islamorada * * * Diamond's father had the sudden wealth of a Venetian, without the appropriate religious or artistic outlets. Diamond was a little bitchy and a bit of a brat. He'd seen this before-the cultivated touchiness of the rich girls. Archie's difficulties as Veronica went up on the tote board the prohibitive favorite against Betty. The opera box. "Dory we're getting a loge at the Coliseum. Yeah and writing it off to the company." A cotillion, lawn tennis and satin sheets. The great proportioned silences of that house. He'd catnap up there with her, never quite certain that Old Griffin wouldn't slide open a panel in the wainscoting and pop in at them, the way the servants brought the food at Schoenbrunn Palace. There sat her Hitchcock hope chest. One hell of a five-year plan she had for him. Sometimes it seemed so easy, the way she explained things. That the rich girls needed to get married, too. "Dory we're rich! Opulent! With lush, sumptuous money!" They had a copy of the draw for the tennis. "That was some fast talking you did," Diamond pretended to pout, "to get to play with her. Well, maybe the way it's set up, you have a chance. Are you," Diamond's green eyes widened, "are you getting a crush on my beautiful Mommy?" Well he was, but then Diamond had explained that they all did. |