Astor-alongside fellow socialites Mamie Fish and Theresa Fair Oelrichs-upon her death.įurther proving she wasn't afraid of change, Alva eventually divorced Mr. But she didn't just access New York's stuffy society. Vanderbilt built prominent family homes in the city and in Newport, launched her own Opera House and threw lavish balls. So how did the Vanderbilts become one of the most important families in New York City? Well, Alva Erskine Smith married into the family. So it may surprise you that, at one point in the 1800s, the Vanderbilts were outcasts in high society, as they were a part of the nouveau riche thanks to their success in railroads and shipping. The Vanderbilt name is still prominent to this day. So you had these great rivalries between the new families and the old."Īnd though the leading characters in Fellowes' new work-played by Christine Baranski, Cynthia Nixon, Carrie Coon and many others-are fiction, they're inspired by real-life socialites that went toe-to-toe to rule Fifth Avenue and beyond. They started to build these palaces on Fifth Avenue and gradually pushed further north. They wanted to do something bigger and better. But for the new arrivals, that wasn't enough for them. They lived respectable lives, and that was New York society at the time. " were more modest," Fellowes said of the rivalry to Entertainment Weekly. "They were living in houses in Washington Square that were not enormous. 24, HBO premiered the latest period drama by Julian Fellowes and, instead of taking a closer look at the British aristocracy, The Gilded Age shined a light on late-1800s New York City, where old money society fought to keep control from rising robber barons and their equally ambitious wives. The black bat.America finally has its own Downton Abbey, and rightfully so. The thick brocade curtains drawn tightly against the enemy, the night. The bedroom fire stoked like a ship's furnace. "Why isn't he here yet? Where is he?" Big dewdrop pearls of sweat on her skin, a horse nearing the end of a hard race. Fellowes should have been here," Sylvie moaned. The buzzing of a thousand bees in the tiny curled pearl of an ear.
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Little lungs, like dragonfly wings failing to inflate in the foreign atmosphere. She is, with no warning, outside the inside and the familiar wet, tropical world has suddenly evaporated. One shot.Īn icy rush of air, a freezing slipstream on the newly exposed skin. " Für Sie."Īround the table guns were jerked from holsters and pointed at her. Swiftness was all, yet there was a moment, a bubble suspended in time after she had drawn the gun and levelled it at his heart when everything seemed to stop. Her father's old service revolver from the Great War, a Webley Mark V.Ī move rehearsed a hundred times. She dabbed politely at the Streusel flakes on her lips and then bent down again to put the handkerchief back in her bag and retrieve the weighty object nesting there. Lace corners, monogrammed with her initials, "UBT"a birthday present from Pammy. " Entschuldigung," she murmured, reaching down into her bag and delving for a handkerchief. " Sehr gutes Englisch." He was in a good mood, tapping the back of his index finger against his lips with an amused smile as if he was listening to a tune in his head. Everyone else at the table laughed as well. "Yes, it's raining," he said with a heavy accent. " Es regnet," she said by way of conversation. He insisted that she try the Pflaumen Streusel. She placed her handbag, heavy with its cargo, on the floor next to her chair and ordered Schokolade. " Unsere Englische Freundin," he said to the blonde, who blew cigarette smoke out slowly and examined her without any interest before eventually saying, " Guten Tag." A Berliner. The bootlicker who was currently occupying it jumped up and moved away. He smiled when he caught sight of her and half rose, saying, " Guten Tag, gnädiges Fräulein," indicating the chair next to him. The softly repellent body (she imagined pastry) beneath the clothes, never exposed for public view. No wonder he looked so pasty, she was surprised he wasn't diabetic. All those dirndls and knee-socks, God help us. Everyone knew that he preferred his women demure and whole-some, Bavarian preferably. The blond lit a cigarette, making a phallic performance out of it.
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There was a woman she had never seen beforea permed, platinum blonde with heavy makeupan actress by the look of her. He was at a table at the far end of the room, surrounded by the usual cohorts and toadies. A regiment of white-aproned waiters rushed around at tempo, serving the needs of the Münchner at leisurecoffee, cake and gossip. She had come in from the rain and drops of water still trembled like delicate dew on the fur coats of some of the women inside. A fug of tobacco smoke and damp clammy air hit her as she entered the café.