tried hard to stamp down her feelings of jealousy and resentment. She knew Grace loved her, that she thought of Honor as her best friend. And yet there were times when Honor Knowles fantasized about her sister having an ‘accident.’ She pictured Grace falling from the high bars, her perfect little doll’s body contorted and broken on the gym floor. Or a car accident in which Grace’s exquisite, model features were ravaged by flames. The flames of my hatred. The fantasies were shameful, but they felt good.
When Honor married Jack, she thought, All that’s behind me now. Now that I’m happy and famous, now that someone wonderful loves me, I can be the big sister Grace always wanted me to be.
It didn’t work out that way. Ironically, it was Honor who had introduced Grace to Lenny Brookstein, at one of Jack’s fund-raisers. Two weeks later, Grace announced they were in love.
At first, Honor thought she was kidding. When she realized her mistake, she felt sick to her stomach. ‘But, Gracie, you’re eighteen years old. He’s old enough to be your grandfather.’
‘I know. It’s crazy!’ Grace laughed, that sweet, tinkling laugh that made all men melt like butter on a stove. ‘I never thought I could feel this way about someone like Lenny but…I’m so happy, Honor. Truly. And so’s Lenny. Can’t you be happy for us?’
‘Darling, I am happy. If it’s what you really want.’
But Honor wasn’t happy. She was furious.
It wasn’t enough for Grace to settle down with some normal, rich investment banker, like Connie had done. Oh no. Madam has to go and ensnare the biggest billionaire in New York. Honor Knowles’s brief moment in the sun was already fading. While she was stuck at home, fat and exhausted like a mother hen, Grace was once more the talk of the town. And now here was Jack, her own beloved husband, comparing her unfavorably to her little sister because she’d gained a few pounds giving birth to his children! It was not to be borne.
And yet Honor did bear it, stoically and in silence. The same way she bore Jack’s neglect of her and the children, his selfishness, his rampant ambition, and most recently, his infidelities. She lost the weight, every last pound of it. As far as the public was concerned, Senator Warner and his wife had a fairy-tale marriage. Honor was not about to disillusion them. The pretense was all she had left, and she kept it up, smiling at Jack loyally during his speeches, giving magazine interviews about her homemaking tips and Jack’s brilliance as a ‘hands-on’ father. Of course, Honor knew full well that the only thing Jack had had his hands on lately were the au pair’s breasts, but she would have died rather than admit it.
The same went for her loathing of her sister. On the surface, Honor Warner remained close to both her sisters, but particularly to Grace. The two women ate lunch together twice a week, in addition to their regular shopping trips and vacations en famille. But beneath the loving, sisterly façade, Honor’s resentment bubbled like scalding magma.
Jack encouraged his wife to strengthen her ties to the Brooksteins. ‘It’s win-win, darling. You get to spend time with Grace. I know how much you love her. And I get some face time with Lenny. If Lenny Brookstein endorses my run for the White House in four years’ time, I’ll be unstoppable.’
Honor thought about it. If Jack runs for president, he’ll have to stop chasing tail. It’s too risky. Plus, if he becomes president, with Lenny Brookstein’s money, I’ll be first lady. Not even Grace can trump that.
Recently, however, Jack’s fervor for his billionaire in-laws had inexplicably cooled. It started with bitchy comments about Grace’s clothes and Lenny’s ever-growing paunch. In the days leading up to the Quorum Ball, it spilled over into something more overt. Jack was drinking heavily. At home, when drunk, he would rant at Honor about Lenny Brookstein’s ‘disloyalty,’ his ‘arrogance.’
‘Fucking prick, who does he think he’s talking to? One of his employees?’ he rambled. ‘If Lenny wants his dick sucked, he should ask John Merrivale or that ass-kisser Preston. I’m a fucking United States senator!’
Honor had no idea what Jack was talking about. She longed to ask, but she was too afraid. Despite everything, Honor Warner still loved her husband. Deep down she was convinced that if she helped Jack’s career – said the right things, wore the right dress, threw the right parties – he would eventually fall in love with her again.
She could not know that Jack Warner had never been in love with her in the first place.
Jack came downstairs in his bathrobe, hunting for some Alka-Seltzer. Roberta, known to her parents as Bobby, flew into his arms like a whirlwind.
‘Daddy!’ Blond and chubby, like a Renaissance cherub, Bobby had always been a very affectionate child. ‘Ilse says if we’re not good, we won’t go to In-tuck-it. That’s not right, is it?’
Jack set his daughter back down on the floor.
‘Don’t pester your father, Roberta,’ said Ilse.
‘But we like In-tuck-it. Even Rose does, don’t you, Rosie?’
Four-year-old Rose was pulling Dior lipsticks out of Mommy’s makeup bag and snapping them in half, rubbing waxy pink mess all over the hardwood floor. Ilse was too busy making eyes at her boss to notice.
‘Can I help you with anything, Senator Warner?’
‘No,’ Jack snapped. Nantucket. I forgot about that. That bastard Brookstein invited us all to his estate last night. Like we’re all such good buddies.
It had cost Jack Warner’s pride dearly for him to go to Lenny Brookstein for help. He’d never have done it if he hadn’t been desperate. But he was desperate, and Lenny knew it. It had started as a sort of stress relief. A few innocent bets here and there, on the horses or the blackjack tables. But as his losses crept up, so did the size of Jack’s positions. Gambling had unleashed a reckless side to Jack Warner that he had never before been aware of. It was exciting, exhilarating and addictive. Recently, his addiction had started to cost him dearly in financial terms. But the real risk was political. Jack had built his entire career on his reputation as an upstanding, Christian conservative. Compulsive gambling might not be illegal, but it would lose him the family values vote in a heartbeat.
Fred Farrell gave it to him straight. ‘You have to stop this, Jack. Right now. Pay off your debts and wipe the slate clean.’
As if it were that easy! Pay off my debts? With what? Honor’s inheritance had all been blown on the house and the children’s education. As a senator, Jack earned $140,000 a year, a fraction of what he used to make as an attorney, and an even smaller fraction of what he now owed – in some cases, to some deeply unsavory characters.
There was no way around it. He would have to tap his brother-in-law. It would be embarrassing, sure. But once he explained the situation, Lenny would help him out. Lenny’s a long-term thinker. When they make me president, I’ll pay him back a thousandfold. He knows that.
It turned out Lenny Brookstein did not know it. Instead of writing a check, he’d given Jack a lecture.
‘I’m sorry for you, Jack, truly I am. But I can’t help. My father was a gambler. Put my poor mother through hell. If it hadn’t been for the enablers, the friends who bailed him out time after time, the nightmare might have ended a lot sooner. As it was, he lost the money that could have paid for Ma’s medical treatment.’
