CHAMPAGNE BLUES

by Nan

  “Clifford.”

  “Dwight.”

  “Lily.”

  “Clifford.”

  “Emma.”

  “Dwight.”

  “Well, here we are,” Lily said. “Off to see Daddy War-bucks with Sandy and Little Orphan Annie.”

  “I don’t know why I can’t get this damn door locked,” Clifford said, turning the key noisily.

  Dwight approached Clifford, who held up his hand and gestured No, thanks. As she waited for Clifford to lock the door, Lily entwined her arm in Dwight’s. “I am so pleased we ran into you right at the start. I’ve been absolutely dreading it, Emma dear. Oh, the sleepless nights! Worrying where, oh, where will we meet them? Will they have just been caught shoplifting? Or sneaking into a theater? Or snatching the waiter’s tip from someone’s table?” Her smile began to fade as she watched Clifford battle with the door. “It’s such a relief, my darlings, to come across you here. Here, where we can spend a few amusing hours together while Clifford locks the door.”

  “At least you’re getting some mileage out of the meeting,” Emma said. “I wouldn’t want your tongue to rust.”

  Lily laughed. “I always knew you were the clever one, Emma. I’ll bet you can lock a door just like that!” she said, snapping her fingers.

  “Jesus,” Clifford muttered as he continued to fumble.

  “You’re looking very well, Dwight,” Emma said, turning away from Lily.

  “Never better, thank you.” He looked at Emma’s khaki skirt and blouse. “Good to see you haven’t let success go to your head.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Lily said. “Of course she has. She’s wearing shoes!”

  Clifford stood up. “Look, as you may have noticed, I am having some difficulty with this damn door. You don’t have to wait. We’ll see you downstairs with Murphy.”

  “Desert a chum?” Lily was shocked. “Never! Besides, I’d hate to leave just when you’re getting really rattled and angry.”

  “I am not getting rattled and angry,” Clifford yelled. “I am just trying to lock this fucking door!”

  “And so you will, my darling,” Lily cooed. “You will! I have every confidence that someday you will lock that door.”

  “Cliffy . . .” Emma moved toward him.

  “No,” he said sharply. “I’ll do it myself!”

  “Let me try!” she said between clenched teeth.

  “Why don’t you go downstairs with them? I’ll meet you.”

  “Nonsense!” Lily said. “The days are simply flying by. Besides, someone will eventually come searching for us. It’s not as though we’ll be spending the rest of our natural lives here.”

  “Got it!” Clifford said, finally removing the key from the lock.

  “Bravo!” Lily cheered, striding across the corridor. “And as a reward, Clifford, we’re going to let you press the elevator button all by yourself.” Emma held tightly on to Clifford’s arm as he pressed the button. “Hoo-ray,” Lily articulated slowly.

  As they waited for the elevator, Dwight said, “It is ironic we four should be together again. Opposite ends of the spectrum.”

  All eyes watched as the floor indicator moved toward 5. “Rather like the pits and the pendulum,” Lily mused.

  The elevator doors opened, and all four stood in place. Clifford and Dwight moved back slightly to allow Emma and Lily to enter. But Emma and Lily hesitated.

  “Is it to be age before beauty, or pearls before swine?” Lily asked.

  Emma sighed and took hold of Lily’s arm. They walked in together. Clifford got in last, turned to the operator and said, “Three.”

  From the back of the elevator, Lily added primly, as though reproaching an ill-mannered child, “S’il vous plaît!”

  MURPHY rented Suite 300 because it had a conference room. Tan and trim in his Cardin striped blazer, he checked the buffet table with Etienne while Sid, Eddie, Daryll, Chuck, Norman and Fred filled their plates.

  “Magnifique!” Murphy said. “The cheeses will be perfect with the wines.”

  “Especially the Roquefort,” Etienne said. “You know, it is a national treasure as valuable as those in the Louvre.”

  “Hey, Murph, you just gotta try this triple crème,” Daryll said with his mouth full. “It’s the best goddamn Boursault I’ve ever had!” Daryll was licking the soft white cheese from his fingers. “Jesus,” he said wondrously, “that is every bit as good as my wife!”

  “I should be so lucky!” Sid said. “I married a Cheddar.”

  “Say, what is this? Is this a Pont-l’Evèque I see before me?” Eddie asked. “No, wait a minute. Wait one fucking minute. This is no Pont-l’Evèque! Holy shit! This is a Maroilles!”

  Norman cut a piece of the Camembert. “I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time,” he said to Chuck. “Do you really believe Marie Harel invented Camembert?”

  Chuck sighed. “You know, Norman, I’d like to enjoy just one meal without your getting me all churned up.”

  Norman held up his hand. “All I want is a simple yes or no.”

  “Well, goddamn it, there is no simple yes or no, Norman. I want very much to believe that in 1790 Marie Harel invented Camembert. But, let’s face it, old buddy.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t think the world will ever know for sure.”

  “Maroilles! Unbelievable!”

  “I’ve never tasted Maroilles.”

  “What are you? Some kind of Korean orphan?”

  Murphy nodded proudly as his men enthused over the cheeses. Smiling, he selected a bottle of Lafite-Rothschild ’45 from among the dozens of fine bordeaux, burgundies and champagnes. “I don’t know how you French kids first learned about ‘Vive la différence,’ but when I was old enough to know, my Dad took me aside. He never tried to make me feel guilty about wanting to go one way or another. He just told me the facts and let me decide for myself.” Etienne nodded. “That smart old son of a bitch didn’t even hesitate. He just looked right down at me and said, ‘A Bordeaux bottle has shoulders.’ Jesus, I can remember as though it were yesterday.” Murphy laughed. “But the real corker is that my kid never came to ask me at all. Goes to show you how times change. Goddamn if he didn’t just walk right into the sauna and ask his mother.”

  “Roquefort is generally recognized as the King of Cheeses,” Etienne said. “I hope the Simons and the Benjamins are prepared to recognize the natural affinity of cheese and wine.”

  “Listen, Et,” Murphy said with a broad grin, “you can count on them. I hired those jokers because they’re the best money can buy. Real pros.”

  There was a knock at the door. “My God, both at once?” Murphy exclaimed. “How the hell can I tell both of you you’re the most beautiful woman in the world?”

  “Why don’t you just tell it to me?” Lily said, turning a cheek for him to kiss.

  “Because, you gorgeous creature, you’ve heard it so often!”

  “And for so many years,” Emma added.

  “My sweet Emma.” Murphy put his arms around her. “Not even a hint of jet lag in those baby blues.”

  “Expense accounts bring the roses to my cheeks,” she said, kissing him.

  Etienne walked between Emma and Lily and took them inside. “Did you know the caves of Roquefort are as picturesque as the caves of Champagne?”

  “I must say I like your blazer,” Dwight told Murphy. He felt the lapel. “Very good work, that.”

  “Would you believe it’s off the rack at Cardin?” Murphy leaned over and whispered, “Why don’t you just go in there and pick one out? Put it on my account.”

  “Very generous of you, old man.”

  Murphy smiled. “Yeah.” Then he turned to Clifford and shook his head. “What the hell am I going to do with a crazy kid like you?” he asked. “You think I don’t know all about that monkey business at the airport?”

  Clifford sang, “I gotta be me!”

  “You are some kind of guy, Clifford. I want you to know how much I admire a man of integrity.”


  “Does that mean I don’t get a free blazer?”

  “You get whatever you want, old buddy.” Murphy smiled and put his arm around Clifford as they walked into the conference room. “Dwight, Lily, Emma, have you met all the guys yet?”

  “No,” Lily said. “The only name I’ve heard so far is Marie Harel.”

  “Guys, as though you didn’t know, here are Lily and Dwight Simon, Emma and Clifford Benjamin. The superstars of our show.” The men applauded. “And now, I want the dirty half-dozen to introduce themselves to you. Eddie?”

  “Eddie O’Casey. I’m head of NAA’s Package Component Group. I coordinate the efforts of all these other guys and work with our Commercial Sales Head and Direct Sales Head.”

  “Norman O’Connell. Within the Package Component Group, I’m Executive in Charge of Hotels. I’ll be working with the hotels you select to make certain they adhere to your standards.”

  “Daryll O’Brien. I’m Executive in Charge of Sightseeing. I’ll be scheduling tours, indoctrinating the guides and making sure all ground transportation is up to snuff.”

  “Chuck O’Hara. Exec in Charge of Meals. I’ll be the liaison with the chefs at all hotels and restaurants to make certain your menus are followed.”

  “Fred O’Toole. Executive in Charge of Optional Extras. I work with the other guys here to make arrangements for special side trips, room supplements, extended tour packages.”

  “Birnbaum. Sid Birnbaum. What do I do? I run from one country to another like a chicken without a head. I’m the conniver who makes all the contacts with England, with Holland, with Italy, Switzerland, Spain and, God forgive me, with Germany to sell the land portion of the tour to foreign wholesalers. If my name was O’Birnbaum, I’d have a desk job too.”

  Murphy stood up. “The cream of the industry,” he said, gesturing toward his staff. “The best money can buy. Thoroughbreds. Each champing at the bit for you to give him the signal. One month from today, with your reports in hand—”

  “We have six weeks” Emma said.

  Lily nodded. “A contract is a contract.”

  Murphy shrugged. “Okay. So I’m anxious. You know how much we all have riding on you guys. I tell you, I’ve never seen the tail wag the dog as furiously before. All we had to do was announce COME TO FRANCE—YOU’LL EAT IT UP! AN A LA CARTE OR PRIX FIXE TOUR OF THE WINE COUNTRY WITH THE SIMONS AND THE BENJAMINS.”

  Emma smiled. “That’s easy for you to say.”

  Murphy raised his glass. “Let’s drink a toast. To the reoccupation of France!”

  “I wouldn’t put it into print quite that way,” Dwight said.

  “I’m not going to put it into print, I’m gonna light up the sky with it!” Murphy snapped his fingers. Eddie and Daryll opened a closet door and wheeled out what appeared to be a sculpture covered by a large cloth. “A toast!” Everyone raised his glass. Murphy pulled away the cloth and shouted, “To the Hotel Simon-Benjamin!”

  A small battery-operated pink neon sign flashed, SIMON-BENJAMIN, SIMON-BENJAMIN atop the model of a green-tinted glass building. There were little cars and little buses and little people and little trees in front.

  “Jesus,” Clifford muttered.

  “My God,” Lily moaned.

  “I knew you’d love it!”

  Dwight leaned across the table toward Emma. “Did you know about this?”

  Emma sighed. “If I had, I would have insisted upon Benjamin-Simon, Benjamin-Simon.”

  “I give up. What is that thing?” Lily demanded.

  “Lily, it’s our way of saying Thank you. New York has given me the go-ahead on buying the old Hôtel Monopole . . .”

  “That fleabag?” Lily asked.

  “Too overpriced,” Clifford said.

  “. . . to be renovated as the flagship in our fleet of hotels.”

  “You cannot use our names without permission,” Lily said.

  “My contract doesn’t say anything about this!” Clifford yelled.

  “Guys,” Murphy pleaded. “I just want you to listen to me for a minute. Just listen.” They nodded. “This hotel will be the first night’s stay in Paris for your people.”

  “Whose people?” Dwight asked.

  “Yours!”

  Murphy pointed from Lily to Clifford. “Both of yours. Together.”

  Lily cleared her throat. “Murphy, darling, there’s something I’d like to say to you in private.”

  “Me too,” Clifford said.

  “Go right ahead.” Murphy smiled at his team. “They’re all family.”

  “Not my family,” Lily corrected. “Alone, Murphy!”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Guys?”

  Lily walked to the buffet and poured herself another glass of champagne. Clifford waited until they all had left and closed the door. Emma slumped back in her chair. Dwight cleared his throat and said, “Let us pray.”

  “We’ve already been preyed upon,” Lily said.

  “You can’t do it! Legally, you cannot do it!” Clifford shouted.

  “Not without your approval,” Murphy said. “I know that.”

  “Good.” Lily sat down. “Then have the Executive in Charge of Neon Signs change it.”

  “To what?”

  “Have him change it to the Hotel Leopold and Loeb!”

  “Lily! Clifford!” Murphy began to pace. “Give me a chance! Give me a fighting chance!”

  “Let’s give the kid a chance,” Emma said. “Let’s give Murphy just enough rope. We might as well be democratic about it.”

  “Dear Emma,” Lily oozed. “One can always count on you for the common touch.”

  “Go ahead, Murphy. Hang yourself!” Clifford said.

  “The plan is to renovate the first two floors into efficiencies. No frills. A series of no-nonsense motel units. The upper three floors will be fully restored to their former elegance. Fireplaces. Crystal. Satin. TV. The works. I want to create a hotel that reflects the very essence of this tour.”

  “You have, darling,” Lily said. “The Hôtel de la Merde.”

  “It’s a stupid idea!” Clifford yelled.

  Emma folded her arms and looked at Murphy. “What he’s saying is ‘Let my people go’! ”

  “By all means, let them go!” Lily urged. “I won’t have theirs staying in the same place as ours!”

  “It’s simply out of the question,” Dwight said.

  “Not to mention what they’ll do to the hotel. Good God, you’ll end up with graffiti over the fireplaces and the bar will be filled by riffraff with shopping bags ordering Harvey Wallbangers. I won’t be party to that!”

  “Cool it, Lily!” Clifford shouted. “At least we’re not in business just to tell fat dowagers where they can find clean toilet seats.”

  “I feel faint,” Lily said.

  “Some champagne, darling?” Dwight got up.

  “I drank all the ’66. What’s left?”

  “The ’73.”

  “What the hell! It’s an emergency.” She drank it in one swallow and then tore up her copy of the itinerary. “You have breached our contract. It was made patently clear during those endless legal sessions that we would have total autonomy and that our names—which, as you have already conceded, are major factors in wagging the tail of, as you so aptly put it, this dog of a tour—would not be used in connection with recommending any hotel or restaurant that did not meet with our approval.”

  Dwight stood up. “Under such conditions, you will not be entitled to a return of the advance already paid, and we shall, in addition, sue you for misrepresentation.”

  Clifford stood up. He crumpled his itinerary. “Same here. You’re not going to create a schizophrenic hotel with my name behind it, much less over it. The whole purpose of what I’ve been doing all these years is to teach my readers they don’t have to take second best.”

  Emma stood up. “As far as I’m concerned, you can have your damn advance money back. Clifford’s right, you know. I’ll have some of that champagne, Dw
ight.”

  “Of course, my dear. What a shock this must be. Even to someone like you.” He handed Emma a glass. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s vintage.”

  Murphy leaned back in his chair. He put his feet up on the table. “And now, are you all through?”

  “You’ll be hearing from our lawyers,” Clifford said angrily.

  “I won’t be hearing from anybody’s lawyers.” Murphy lit a cigar. “Now I suggest you four park your asses on the velvet and listen to the Norwalk facts of life. Your contracts call for services in the provinces of Champagne, Burgundy and Bordeaux. Your job begins when you leave Paris.” One by one they sat down. Murphy continued calmly. “You don’t have shit to say about where anybody stays in Paris. I happen to like this idea for a hotel. I want it. I’m gonna get it. New York has approved my plan, which, as you will find on rereading your contracts, is exclusive of the area covered by your services.”

  “We must have some recourse,” Lily said.

  “Lily, you said it all before,” Murphy reminded her. “A contract is a contract is a contract. You got six weeks. Count ’em. Starting the day after tomorrow. You’ve got no say on where they stay in Paris, what color planes we use or the grade of toilet paper we put in the can. We’re paying our big bucks to hear you talk about the wine country. Period.”

  Clifford got up. “The Penny Pincher’s Guide is not required to endorse any establishment on the wine tour.”

  “Nor is ours!” Lily said. “And you may be certain every future edition of Simon Says will urge readers to avoid Murphy’s Monstrosity like the plague—which, with its new clientele, will more than likely break out there.”

  “Goddamn it, Lily,” Clifford yelled. “Cut that crap!”

  “Oh, shut up, you tawdry twerp! You’re the one whose fault this whole thing is. You and your band of cheap gypsies.”

  “Stow it!” Murphy said, banging his fist on the table. “You weren’t hired to approve what we do in Paris! You don’t want us to pay for your name? To hell with you!” He took out the batteries and removed the sign. Then he pointed at Lily. “I don’t want your kind of people staying here.” He pointed at Clifford. “And I don’t want your kind either. I want my kind. People who don’t read. And there are a helluva lot more of them than both of you have put together.” He reached in back of the model and plugged in a new sign. CHATEAU NORWALK, CHATEAU NORWALK. He spoke softly. “I don’t give a fast fuck what you write in your books about my hotel. The Dumbos who take our tours don’t read books. If they did, they wouldn’t take our tours.”