we are. They are different.
—F.Scott Fitzgerald
The difference between new money and old money is the difference between having to earn it, as opposed to just maintaining it over several generations.
My family, the Regals, have accumulated assets totalling in the billions and as the sole heir to the family fortune you might safely conclude I’ve gotten beyond the commercial formula of earning a living, at least, that’s what Mother tells me.
As of the present moment, Alexis Regal is the richest woman in America—and after next Tuesday, when I turn twenty-five, I’ll be the richest man.
“There’s no need for you to slave away at those piano exercises, Frederick—you’re an accomplished pianist.”
“That’s how I stay accomplished, Mother.”
“You know a gentleman should never perspire, Frederick—all that pounding of the keyboard seems unseemly.”
I pushed away from the baby grand.
“It’s passion, Mother—that’s why they compare me to Glenn Gould.”
“Glenn Gould—that eccentric musician with the peculiar mannerisms? I had him arrested in Florida for vagrancy.”
“You what?”
“You heard me. He was sitting on a park bench in eighty degree heat, wearing a black winter coat and gloves—with his long hair, he looked so scruffy, I had him whisked away to jail.”
“Mother, how could you? The man was a genius!”
“Hrmph! He was scruffy, nevertheless.”
The realization that even in her youth Mother had imprisoned one of the greatest classical pianists of the twentieth century totally devastated me. I knew Mother was judgmental and odd in her ways—but having my idol incarcerated? It was too much to comprehend.
“Oh, by the way, Frederick, I arranged tickets for you and Hillary for the opera tonight and, of course, dinner at Coros’ afterwards.”
Hillary Swanson is one of the few women who have passed muster and earned Mother’s seal of approval.
“She’s from our social class and perfect for you,” she once told me.
And that was that, from then on—from Mother’s point of view, that is.
Don’t get the idea I don’t like Hillary—I do. I just find her bland and predictable.
I hate predictable.
Besides, if truth be told, she’s a bit of a snob.
I think Mother likes her for that reason too.
Later that evening back from our date, Hillary and I are trying to unwind, or rather, I'm trying to unwind. Yeah, Hillary can be a handful sometimes
“And how was Rigoletto, my dear?”
Mother set down her martini and sat down opposite Hillary on the love seat. I've come to dread these post-date inquisitions.
“It was magnificent," Hillary replied, sounding just like Mother, even mimicking. her tone. "I just dote on Verdi—don’t you?”
“Oh yes, especially La Traviata—the man’s a genius.”
Mother hesitated and then asked, “And how did Frederick fare?”
“Reasonably well, I suppose. He managed to last until the end without falling asleep.”
“Admirable,” she said drolly, eyeing me and giving a meaningful glare.
“Frederick’s an accomplished musician—I think he’ll come to appreciate opera.”
“Eventually,” Mother grimaced, as she watched me stifle a yawn.
“Between the two us, Alexis, we’ll see to it that Frederick’s acculturated.”
“Ah yes, refine the savage beast,” I quipped, chugging back my martini.
“Don’t be sarcastic, Frederick—it’s not becoming.”
Chastened, I straightened up and said meekly, “Yes Mother.”
“That’s better. Now, I think we should consider next Tuesday—Frederick is coming into his inheritance.”
Hillary’s eyes brightened. “Yes, of course.”
“And I suppose, Frederick, the time has come for you to take to wife.”
I sat back and looked at the two expectant faces before me.
“I think I should decide when that time comes, Mother.”
“Yes, of course,” she replied tersely, “ I’m just reminding you of the times and seasons—not setting a date.”
I wouldn’t put it past Mother to set a date and choose who would join me at the altar—and I have no doubt her choice would be Hillary.
“The time has come for you to take stock of where your life is headed, Frederick.” She smiled thinly, and then added, “and with whom you wish to share it.” She looked pointedly at Hillary.
“Point well taken, Mother—I will give it my profoundest attention.”
I decided to stop then and there and check the sarcasm. The one thing I knew for certain—I had no intention of marrying my mother.