Southampton Spectacular (27 page)

The club operated year-round, but summer hours were reduced – especially on the weekends – owing to the practical reality that most members were simply nowhere near the city on a summer weekend. There was Southampton to consider, after all. Not to mention Bermuda, Chalon-sur-Saône, and Switzerland. To name a few.

Austin glanced at the clock on the dashboard as they drove into the city. It was nearly nine o’clock, which meant they would need to wait another two hours at least before trying to go into the club. It was a Friday, so the doors had been officially locked at eight, but the cleaning crew would be working for another two or three hours after that.

Devon was looking out at the lights of the city, enjoying the ride. Now they were heading over the 59th street bridge, and she could see the Roosevelt Island Tram on their right.

“We’ve got some time before this adventure,” Austin said. “Should we get some food and head to the park first?”

Devon nodded.

They drove to Lexington and parked in a garage at 60th, and then they stopped in at an all-night deli for snacks. Sandwiches and drinks and cookies. They walked the three long blocks to 5th Avenue and entered the park from the south-east corner. Austin was holding the plastic bag with their food, and they were eating as they walked. Like most native Manhattan residents, they both knew that Central Park was safe after dark, provided you kept to the well-lit walkways near the main drive. There were police cruisers stationed at key intersections and tall electric lights everywhere.

They walked and ate, and they spoke very little. They stayed near the south end of the park; paused at the overlook of the massive Wolman Rink; walked over the bridge to the duck pond. They stopped for a long moment to look at the line of horses and carriages near Columbus circle, waiting to take tourists on rides around the lower loop.

Now they were ready to rest, but it was almost eleven o’clock.

“Here we go,” Austin said, leading her south. They walked out of the park the way they had come, then past the Apple store and the building where FAO Schwartz had been for so long, then down Madison for a few blocks, and then finally to Park Avenue at 53rd. Here was the Racquet Club, dark and silent. Park Avenue was nearly deserted at this hour. The few cars still on the streets were mostly cabs and livery limousines, cruising for customers who would never appear.

Devon glanced at Austin. “Tell me one more time how this is going to work.”

It had all sounded fun and vaguely exciting back in the car, but now she wasn’t so sure. Her own father was a member of the Racquet Club, and the no-women-allowed rule had been so thoroughly drummed into her head that she wondered if she would be able to bring herself to disobey. To step across the threshold.

Austin smiled. “Same way it worked at the talent show,” he said. “Bribes.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “You
paid
those kids to put Spain in their acts?”

“Not with money,” he said. “I told their parents I’d give them some free swimming lessons. Or that I’d baby-sit. Whatever I had to offer.”

Devon nodded. She realized they hadn’t yet actually talked about his little behind-the-scenes extravaganza. But a lot had happened since then.

“You noticed,” he said, clearly pleased.

“I did.”

“And you’re coming to visit me in Spain next month.”

“That’s still under consideration.”

“What’s to consider?”

She gave him a stern look.

“What?” he said. “This is a two-week vacation I’m talking about. How will it be any different from you visiting me at Dartmouth this coming year? I’m not asking you to elope.”

Devon waved her hands above her head as though swatting invisible flies. “Stop saying things like that, please.”

“We can talk about it later,” he said, as they approached the blue awning.

Devon tried to move on. “You’ve bribed the night watchman or something? Not with swimming lessons, I assume.”

“No. And I didn’t do the bribing.”

“You made one of your phone calls?”

“To Mr. Berducido. Jobs at the Racquet Club pay well, and they have great benefits; Mr. Berducido helped a lot of these guys get their spots here.”

Devon stopped walking. They were right outside the entrance to the club, but now she was worried. “This is your future employer we’re talking about?”

“Right.”

“What does
he
get out of this arrangement?”

“An assurance that I’ll work a little longer for him in Spain next summer. He asked me if I was sure, and I told him absolutely. I told him I wasn’t worried about being there, because the girl who was sitting next to me at the tennis tournament was going to come visit me from time to time.”

Devon shook her head at him. “I’m trying to get
away
from this topic, do you understand?”

Austin didn’t seem to hear her. “And when I told Mr. Berducido, he said, ‘
that
girl, the one you were talking to on the porch?’ and I said, ‘exactly,’ and he said, ‘excellent.’”

“That’s a wonderful story,” Devon said with a sigh. “Let me ask you this: is there anyone in the
world
you haven’t told about this? Is everyone I know already plotting to send me to Spain with you?”

“Not your parents,” Austin said, without missing a beat. “I’m saving them for last. They might be a challenge.”

She huffed at him. “Excuse me.
I’m
the challenge.”

Austin took a step closer to her. She realized they hadn’t been this close since their date down at Agawam. “No,” he said. “You’re easy.”

“Shut – ”

She tried to be angry with him, but he kissed her under the awning, and she felt herself weakening. Too much of this, and she would again be ready to agree to anything. He pulled back from her a few inches. “Who am I going to hang out with when I’m there otherwise?” he asked “A bunch of curvy, smooth-skinned Spanish women?”

She stepped back from him. Crossed her arms. “That is
not
nice.”

“I’m asking you to visit me,” he said. “Like a good friend would. Isn’t that nice enough?” He held out a hand to her. Beckoned her.

She threw up her hands. “Let’s go into the club already,” she said suddenly. Her hesitation from before was gone. Maybe because she was now desperate to change the subject. But maybe because it seemed possible that there would be plenty of privacy in there. “I’ve always wanted to see what’s actually inside this stupid place,” she said, trying to sound irreverent. Trying to sound as though she weren’t thinking about looking for another place he could kiss her.

He nodded, and they headed up the stairs and through the door on the right.

The one that had been conveniently kept unlocked for them.

3

Austin nodded silently at the man sitting behind the front desk. The man nodded back once, and he rose to bolt the door they had just entered. He didn’t nod at Devon. He didn’t even seem to see her.

“This is weird,” she whispered.

“Just keep walking.”

Devon saw elevators on the right, but Austin steered her toward a wide set of stairs. “One floor at a time,” he whispered.

They walked up the staircase, which was huge and marble and seemed to be set into the corner of the building itself. It was covered in a wide blue runner of thick carpet, and there were sconces with vases of flowers set into the wall at intervals along the way.

“Already this is absurd,” Devon whispered. “Who’s replacing these flowers every day?”

Austin shrugged. “Gnomes. Wait until you see the second floor.”

They arrived at the landing, and Devon had to stop for a moment. She almost didn’t want to go any farther. “Who designed this?” she said in a tone of wonder. “Why is the ceiling so high?”

Austin shrugged again, and he shook his head. Nothing about the Racquet Club made any sense unless you pretended you were a king. Or at least a duke. In which case it all felt just about right. He led her into the main sitting room, which was in semi-darkness now that the club was officially closed. It was an immense space with a huge central table and the biggest oriental rug Devon had ever seen. Along the walls were large paintings of horses and fox hunts and men in tuxedos, and near the walls were leather easy-chairs and backgammon tables and racks of the day’s newspapers threaded into portable reading bars. On the central table were magazines organized by category and huge, silver trays and tea canteens for the 3 PM daily service. At the far side of the room were two enormous doors that opened out onto a balcony. Devon walked up to these doors and looked out, and then Austin was at her side, opening one of the doors.

“Wait, someone might see – ”

He ignored her and pulled her along. Now they were standing out on the balcony, high above the street despite being only on the second floor, looking south across Park Avenue. The building across the way had been built back from the street, leaving space for a fountain and a public square; the extra breathing room made their view from the balcony seem not just privileged, but regal. Oratorical. As though they had come out to address their subjects in matters of state.

A single cab sped under them on the street below.

“Okay,” Devon whispered, as though fearful of being discovered at any minute. “Back inside.”

Austin closed the doors behind them. “This is the main hall,” he said, as though narrating a tour. “During regular hours, no one’s allowed on the second floor without a suit. Or at least a coat and tie. The library and dining room are over there, and the restaurant is over here.”

They went first to the restaurant, which was even darker than the main room without lights on. But Devon could still see the large tables, the leather-upholstered booths, the long, polished bar.

They walked back past the main room, and then they were headed for the dining room and the library. Austin took a quick left through a set of doors, flicked a switch, and suddenly they were in a huge pool hall. Eight green-felt-covered tables sat in the silence, waiting. Pool cues lined the walls, each with a name stenciled carefully above it. Above the cues were boards with rows and rows of gold-painted names.

Austin saw Devon looking up at the boards. “Champions from each year,” he said. “They take their tournaments pretty seriously around here.”

Devon nodded and looked back down at the pool tables. She realized there was something wrong: most of the tables had no pockets.

“How do you play pool on these things?”

“It’s billiards, not pool. You just use three balls. You try to make the cue ball hit both of the others in one shot.”

Devon paused, waiting for more. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. There’s Bottle Pool and Cowboy and a whole mess of other variations, but it’s basically all the same thing.

“Do you play?”

“Nope. I’m a racquet man.”

“Ah, yes,” Devon said. “How could I forget? Captain of the team. You must do well around here.”

“So-so. There’s no tennis here. Not that kind, anyway.”

She frowned at him. “We’re in the Racquet and Tennis Club, right?”

“Right, but hold on a second.” He flicked off the lights and led her out of the billiards room. “This is the dining room, and this is the library. Just so you can say you’ve seen the
whole
club.”

Devon took a quick look. Two more immense rooms. Ceilings so high you could fly a kite. Beautiful, arch-topped windows, and paintings along the walls that looked as though they had been taken from the Metropolitan Museum. She blew air out of her mouth, trying to sound unimpressed. “Is there going to be any kissing on this tour?”

“There is.”

He drew her close and kissed her, and she was aware of the complete silence around them. So strange in the middle of New York City. They stood in a silent, twenty-foot-ceilinged room with gilded moldings and infinite space, and  enjoyed a kiss in a club where no women were admitted.

It was a delicious kiss, Devon decided.

“As you know, women
are
allowed to come in here sometimes,” Austin said after he had released her. “But that’s just for parties and events now and then.” He gave her another quick kiss. Then another. As if to make sure her lips were properly placed, like a fastidious painter putting the finishing touches on a favorite piece. “But women are never,
ever
allowed on the third floor.” He paused and grinned at her. “So let’s get going. There’s something I want to show you up there. You’ll like it.”

She didn’t bother arguing. She followed him to the stairs, and they headed up.

4

Peter Hall would have been surprised to learn that his daughter was about to visit the third floor of the Racquet Club, though not especially concerned. If asked, he would have said that the no-women rule there was equivalent to the one in a men’s bathroom. Granted, the Racquet Club was no bathroom. But in the end it was still just a big building where boys could congregate and talk to each other. Like a very large, very well-appointed tree house.