Neal stood in the wide, cool entryway of the Winderfeld mansion. The place was as quiet as a church. The mansion, built in the late 1800’s, was four floors of massive, old world glam on the city’s Upper East Side, and it had been unoccupied for years. It was owned by condiment heiress Gingerleen Winderfeld (just Gin to friends) who’d never stepped foot in the place. Gin was an ‘ancient morphine addict’ living in Paris, Albert had explained. Albert had spent boyhood summers with the heiress in Venice. She ‘adored’ the idea of a naughty gay wedding in her home, but vanished three months before the event. After weeks of absolute chaos, she resurfaced with a note of blessing to Neal scrawled in French, promising twenty of her staff to “dust up” the place. Albert made a pre-wedding gift of a di
