Honorable Men Read Free

second-rate in your parents’ world. But you do not see it as others do. Cholly Knickerbocker speaks of your mother as a
grande dame
of Gotham.”
    â€œBut that’s all tommyrot.”
    â€œIs it?” Gus frowned, as if he were dealing with weighty matters. “Who is to decide? That a considerable body of even ignorant persons believe something to be a fact may be important. To you, anyway. Even supposing your world is rotten and doomed, even assuming it is about to be swept away by a red tide, it is still here and now and part of truth. Maybe a bigger part than you think. Doesn’t Marie-Antoinette take up as many pages in the history books as Robespierre? Is Augustus Caesar more remembered than Cleopatra?”
    â€œMust I get my head chopped off? Or take an asp to my bosom?”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter how you die. It’s how you
live.
Let me give you two examples. First, Theodore Roosevelt. He conceived of himself, dramatically, as a leader of men, and his image of himself gained world acceptance. Now move to our own day. Take Mrs. Neily.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œMrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt. T.R. started with many disadvantages—asthma for one—which he overcame. Grace Vanderbilt was older than her husband and despised by his family, who disinherited him on their marriage. But she conceived of herself as a great hostess, spent whatever she could lay her hands on, and more that she couldn’t, and made the world—or enough of it—see her as she saw herself!”
    â€œBut surely you can’t compare a great President with an addled old party-giver!”
    â€œWhy can’t I? I value the hand one is dealt and the bid one calls. What do I care whether it’s for the White House or for social supremacy in Newport?”
    â€œYou mean they’re equally vulgar?”
    He shrugged. “Or equally valid.”
    â€œVery well, then. What bid shall I call?”
    â€œWhy don’t you become the most famous debutante in America? You have the pale slinky looks that are coming into fashion. You’re a New Yorker, which is essential. And your family can be made to look as grand as we choose.”
    â€œAnd what do we do for money?”
    â€œIt’ll take less than you think. You’ll need a party, of course, but I think Grandma Struthers will come through.”
    â€œGrandma? You’re dreaming, Gus!”
    â€œLeave her to me.”
    â€œAnd suppose it worked. What would I get out of it?”
    â€œFun! You’ll see. I promise.”
    And that was how my fantastic debutante year began.

2. ALIDA
    F OR SOME WEEKS I could not believe that Gus was really serious, but he obliged me in the end, with an almost legalistic formality, to accept or decline his proffered service. Of course I accepted. Even if it was only a game, why should I have denied myself the fun of it? He and I agreed to lunch together every Monday at his favorite restaurant, the Chenonceaux, review what had happened during the past week and make plans for the ensuing one. Our business was largely with the press.
    The first and great commandment, Gus taught me, was never to pretend to a reporter that I was not earnestly seeking publicity. Obviously, they knew I was, or I wouldn’t be talking to them, and they had only contempt for the hypocrisy of socialites who affected to have been surprised or tricked into obviously intentional indiscretions.
    â€œPut your cards on the table,” he told me, “and you’ll find, on the whole, that you’re treated fairly. Not always, of course, for the society reporter is likely to be someone who’s failed to make it on the other pages. A man who’s a sorehead or a woman who feels she’s been discriminated against. Sometimes they’re out to get their revenge on the silly asses whose inane parties they have to cover. But don’t worry. The basic quality of this type of journalist is laziness. And