Glass Houses(17)

Of course, in Elizabeth’s case, it hardly mattered. Everything Elizabeth wore came out of the L.L.Bean catalogue, even the things she wore to church. Margaret had once seen her come down from the choir loft for communion   with a pair of L.L.Bean hunting boots peeping out from underneath her robe. It wasn’t fair, and it didn’t help that more people tagged Elizabeth as “old money” than they did Margaret. Here was something else that had changed and that she didn’t like. It used to be that people knew who was old money and who was not. They not only recognized all the right people—because those people were constantly in the papers, in the society news, and famous—but they recognized even the ones they hadn’t seen before. There was a code, and a uniform, and everyone followed it. Now nobody cared about anything but who could spend the most money; and the more outrageously you did that, the more likely you were to be looked up to by the people on the street.

“Do you know what Father said to me once?” Margaret asked Elizabeth.

Elizabeth was just getting out of her light spring jacket, pulled from the closet earlier than usual this year because of the weather.

“What did he tell you this time?” Elizabeth asked.

Margaret ignored the implication of the question. It was true she talked a lot about the things Father had said to her, but that was only reasonable. Their father had been the most important influence in their lives. He’d been the most important influence in many people’s lives. Aside from the fact that he was important to her because he was related to her, he had been important to the country. He had been secretary of the treasury under Eisenhower. He’d been ambassador to Sweden before that. He’d have been governor of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania if he’d stuck out his campaign. He hadn’t because he hadn’t liked the way the press went snooping into his private life, just when he was getting married for the second time.

Margaret put the memory of the second marriage out of her mind. “We were talking about Roosevelt,” she said. “Franklin Roosevelt. And I said he was a bad man because he pandered to people and took away the money people had worked hard to earn, just because they’d earned a lot of it. I couldn’t have been more than twelve. Anyway, he said I was wrong, that the New Deal was a good idea, not only because it helped the people who were poor and starving, but because it put a brake on fortune building. Isn’t that odd to think about? The New Deal putting ‘a brake on fortune building,’ as he put it, although what he meant was that it made it harder for people to climb up.”

Elizabeth closed the door to the hall closet and came over to where Margaret was standing next to the archway into the living room. “Whatever are you talking about? What made you think about the New Deal?”

“The clothes,” Margaret said. “I was thinking how hard it was nowadays to buy clothes because you can’t trust the things you used to: designers, better dresses, good department stores. They all sell clothes for the sort of person who has lots of money and no taste, the vulgar people. It’s as if the only people left with money are vulgar people.”

“We’ve got money, Margaret. It’s not the money we’ve got to worry about at the moment. And we’ll have a lot more money when we take Green Point public, more than any of the people you’re worrying yourself about.”

“I know we’ve got money. It’s just that everybody else has it, too. People who weren’t anybody when we were growing up. And they have more of it. And they have no taste. And then there are the music people, you know, with the videos. It’s all trash these days. You have to be so careful not to become trash yourself.”

Elizabeth went through into the living room, sat down in one of the two big armchairs, and put her feet up on the coffee table. Margaret winced.

“Do you think,” Elizabeth said, “that you could come down off whatever fantasy cloud you live on to at least try to deal with the situation we’re in? Our public stock offering is only months away. It’s not going to be helped if Henry is on trial for being a serial killer.”

“I am dealing with the situation we’re in,” Margaret said. “Although I must admit you don’t seem to want my advice for anything. I think it was very wrong of you to employ that young man to represent Henry. We’ve got our own lawyers. They’ve known the family for years. And they’re more—they’ve got more experience. And prestige.”

“They’ve got no experience at all in criminal law,” Elizabeth said, “unless you happen to get indicted for stock fraud. They’d be useless in a case like this. Henry’s being charged with murder. With two murders.”