The Swans of Fifth Avenue

The October 1975 afternoon at La Côte Basque draws to a slow close. The swans threaten to turn on each other, but Marella reminds them that their common enemy is Truman. They think back to the ball, which Pam describes as one of the final “elegant times”—times that have been sorely missing ever since. Gloria wonders about the meaning of it all, why she and the others put up with boorish, cheating men, why Truman put up with terrible men, and why they put up with Truman. But, of course, they put up with Truman because he listened to them, even if he stole the stories later. As the swans leave the restaurant, they are greeted by the camera flashes of photographers. Yet the paparazzi are quickly distracted by the arrival of Mick and Bianca Jagger.

New York City went into a decline, characterized by strikes, dirt, and crime in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Not all of this affected the swans, but their influence waned. Truman experienced a decline as well. The gay liberation movement that followed the Stonewall riots left him dissatisfied. He is “puffier” and lax about writing. Jack’s absence leaves him untethered, and the swans find him “unstable” and “untrustworthy,” though they don’t share those thoughts with Babe. For their part, they attempt to cling to their usual ways of doing things, while Truman starts chasing fads in 1970s fashion and feuds with people like Gore Vidal and Norman Mailer—the latter of whom won the Pulitzer Prize over Truman the year In Cold Blood came out.

While Truman isn’t writing, he has become famous. He’s a regular guest on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, valued for his outrageous and scandalous pronouncements. One night, Babe is watching him on television when he tells Carson about his plans for Answered Prayers, his “comic” portrait of high society. The title derives from Saint Teresa of Avila, who said, “There are more tears shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones” (399). The news of this novel—and the fact that Truman compares himself to Marcel Proust—unnerves Babe even more than a “crude” story about signing a woman’s breasts. She and Bill don’t think he’s written a word of the novel, and she feels like Truman has become a caricature of himself. He still comes to her when he’s in a crisis, but she worries about who will take care of Truman when she’s gone.

Babe was diagnosed with lung cancer in 1974, but the person most dramatically changed by this news was Bill. Babe still puts on her makeup and maintains her composure with him. Bill, on the other hand, has no idea what to do or how to face the idea of a life without her. He is also suddenly wracked with guilt. Truman is one of the first people who comes to console him. Bill calls himself a “bastard” and confesses his sins to Truman. Specifically, he talks about how, in the St. Regis days, he’d had sex with a woman who was on her period. Since Babe was coming home that night, Bill had to clean the sheets himself. Truman agrees that Bill is a “goddamn bastard,” but that has never stopped him from liking him—even if Truman always hated how he treated Babe. He tells Bill to pull himself together to support her.

Truman finds Babe pacing around her bedroom, which is filled with mementos from their friendship, including a paper flower from Jamaica. She claims to be fine, and asks about Bill, but she goes on to admit that she worries about not having done enough with her life—that she had been too consumed by maintaining her beauty. On that day, Truman vows to be there for her throughout her treatment.

However, Babe reflects, that has not turned out to be the case. She keeps up appearances with her friends and society, wearing a wig when the radiation causes her hair to fall out. But the cancer is always there, even when no one is talking about it. People are kind, but treat her as something fragile. And, earlier in 1975, she had more bad news: There is another tumor. Bill has been devoted, even if from guilt. Truman seems to be on a downward spiral. Before she does to sleep, she considers her ravaged appearance in the mirror—something not even Truman has seen. For a “vindictive moment” she wishes she could show this to her mother.

Truman struggles to compose the quilt of “scathing commentary” that he plans to call Answered Prayers. He is consumed by the ugliness of the world, wondering what happened to it—and to himself. Societal advancement meant the breaking down of barriers, but with freedom came chaos. He thinks about how that chaos and ugliness had always been there. Everyone made sordid deals, himself and the swans included. They left behind messes for other people to clean up. Babe is sick, his friends are dying, and he can feel his talent slipping away as he tries desperately to keep up with what people want from him. He knows he has to write something, but he’s terrified of publishing anything. He sits down and starts writing out the juiciest, most scandalous stories he knows.

The first excerpt from Answered Prayers, a story called “Mojave,” appears in the June 1965 issue of Esquire. The critics love it, and the swans approve, seeming not to notice that the female protagonist is based on Babe. Still, Babe feels briefly uncomfortable when she finishes the story, even though the feeling is quickly subsumed by the physical toll of her treatments. Mostly, she is glad to see Truman working, and, if asked, they both would declare that they were as close as they had always been.  

Truman shows his next Esquire piece to Jack, who is horrified. It’s not very good, Jack says, dismissing Truman’s taunts that he is just jealous. More than that, he worries that the story will make his swans angry. Truman displays no sympathy—after all, those “dumb bunnies” told him these stories, even when they knew he was writing about society. This is partly a performance from Truman—he doesn’t want to show Jack how scared he is that he doesn’t seem to be able to write much anymore.

On October 9, 1975, Ann Woodward feels “like hell.” Her life has been a “cage” ever since she murdered her husband and had it hushed up by his mother. Someone has left a copy of the November Esquire in her mailbox with a note that she should look at Truman’s new story. She doesn’t really care, but there’s not much else to look forward to. She goes over the events that led her here: the accident—and it was an accident, she says—where she shot Billy, and the years spent living under the control of her mother-in-law. She has come to realize that she isn’t good at playing the game of being rich; neither, she thinks bitterly, is Truman. They have more in common than Truman has with Babe and her set. It’s just that Truman hadn’t killed anyone. She pours herself a drink and starts to read the story. The next day, her glass is empty, and she is dead.