Some people have money but no class, some have class but no money and very few have both.
What surprises me the most about mother's expensive friends is not how they live (they don't have a view over Central Park from their apartments, they have several). It's how little they care. Tuesday's gathering over drinks and hors-d'œuvres followed the same predictable pattern: me and Chloe squeezed in between millions of dollars, listening, leaving hours later without having said a word to anyone.
It's only when we're at home thinking back to the conversations that we realize why: they only talked about themselves. They have the means to do and see whatever they want but don't care about any of the things that make the world beautiful. The only true interest they have is their own reflection in the mirror, and that image is, as Chloe puts it, "as flat as a Rothko painting". What a waste.