Let us begin, as this book does, in November of 1957. We are in Manhattan, New York City, at the home of Rachel and Marty de Groot. The occasion is a $200-a-head charity dinner for the Aid Society. It is black tie.
The guests are a mixture of uptown lawyers, surgeons, CEOs, philanthropist wives, a retired diplomat. The food is elegantly lavish: “A long table has been set up with flutes of Champagne, tiers of profiteroles, ramekins of crème brulee, Belgian chocolates.”
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