by Roz Bailey
“Only because I’ve exhausted all other options, unless I want to be a camp counselor or volunteer for the Peace Corps.”
“I would love that,” Elle insisted.
“I thought you were happy to be back in the States,” Milo said.
Elle twisted her mouth to one side. “Yeah, I guess I am. Especially since I’m going to be adopted by a Brooklyn family.” She clapped Milo on the shoulder. “I’m so excited.”
I shot Milo a look of horror. “You’re letting her meet your parents?”
“She insisted on it, and I figured it was the least I could do since she got me a free ticket for the matinee. Elle got free Lion King tickets, can you believe it?”
“I’m impressed. That’s a very hot ticket.”
“How do you know this producer, anyway?” he asked Elle.
“Oh, he’s some kind of assistant production something, but we went to university together in England. He’s a fun guy. I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
“You know, between your Uncle Jorge and this producer, you’re starting to look pretty well connected, Elle,” I teased. “Who else do you know? Got any uncles who work as Park Avenue shrinks—maybe a nice Jungian therapist who’s looking for a protégé?”
“Believe me, I know plenty of shrinks, but you don’t really want into the crazy industry, do you?” Elle laughed. “Depression is so depressing.”
“Yes, but being around us, Lindsay must have a deep understanding of neurotic behavior,” Milo added.
I nodded. “And let me say, my family laid a strong dysfunctional foundation.” I wriggled in my seat, trying to keep the skirt of my suit from creasing. “I’m glad you guys are taking a break today. You’ve been working pretty hard on Darcy’s place. Not even taking weekends off?”
“We will,” Milo said. “We’re just on a roll, figured we go with it.”
“And we wanted to finish off the roof before more rain or wind damaged the house,” Elle added. “It doesn’t really feel like work when you don’t have to dress up and answer to a big boss.”
“Hey, I thought I was the boss,” Milo said.
While they argued I unzipped my bag, took out my new cell phone, and checked for messages. It wasn’t like anyone even knew my number, but I enjoyed checking for voice mail, then scrolling through my address book, lingering on one name . . . Bear.
“What’s that?” Elle asked.
I turned to her. “My new cell.”
“I know what a cell phone looks like. What’s that name in your address book—Bear?”
“It’s his cell number. He had a cell phone before any of us, remember?”
“But you just got yours. You programmed his number in?” Elle pressed. “Have you been in touch with Bear?”
“I wish. We’ve talked, like, twice over the winter, and I got a few postcards,” I admitted, but Elle’s intense gaze made me squirm. “So what if I have his number. It’s not like I’m waiting for him to call.”
“Here’s a revolutionary idea,” Elle said. “Why don’t you call him?”
“In Hawaii? I . . . I don’t know if my cell goes there.”
“Bullshit. You’re just afraid.” Elle snatched the small black phone from my hands.
“Elle . . . give it back. I think Hawaii has roaming charges.”
“What do you care? What good is a cell phone if you never use it?” She held the phone back, out of my reach. “What’s the point of having his number if you never call it?”
“Just give me the phone back,” I pleaded. When Elle didn’t budge I turned to Milo.
“I know nothing,” he said, holding his hands up defensively. “I don’t own a cell phone and I met this Bear man, like, once.”
When I turned back to Elle, Bear’s name was on the screen and Elle was pressing the call button. “No!”
With a giggle, Elle listened to the phone a second and handed it back to me. “It’s ringing . . . you can’t hang up now, or he’ll know you chickened out.”
My nerves burned in anticipation as I pressed the phone to my ear and waited through three excruciatingly long rings until Bear answered in a gravelly voice.
“Bear? It’s Lindsay.”
“Hey, Linds.” He cleared his throat. “What’s up?”
He sounded so casual, I felt as if we could instantly pick up where we’d left off. “I’m on my way into Manhattan for a job interview.” I pushed out of my seat and moved down the aisle, back two rows to an empty seat. “I got a new cell phone and I was thinking of you and, I don’t know, just thought I’d call.”
“Cool. How’s the surfing there?”
I told him about an offshore storm that had brought some big waves in last week.
“And what’s it like for you?” I asked. “Is Hawaii really as amazing as they say?”
He groaned. “Even better. It’s really paradise, Linds. You can live in a shack without electricity but you don’t really care because you’ve got this amazing ball of sun and waves that are totally irresistible.”
“Really? So I guess you’re not heading back anytime soon.”
He laughed. “How’s everyone? Your ma?” I gave him an update on my mother, Steve’s new job that was sucking up his time, and how Sal was complaining that the new deliveryman could never find anyone’s address.
And most of all, I miss you, I wanted to say, the words lingering on my lips. But even though I’d turned away from my friends and had ample privacy on the deserted late-morning train, I didn’t know how to make the leap from the mundane to something so personal.
Muffled sounds came from his end of the line. “Hold on a second,” he said, and there was the sound of movement, his voice, her voice. I couldn’t catch the words, but the intonation was clear. Something like: “Is everything okay? Are you all right? Who is it, honey?”
A woman. Bear is with some woman.
“Sorry,” he said, coming back on the line.
“Where are you?” I asked pointedly.
“In bed. It’s pretty early here, and surf isn’t up till afternoon today.”
In bed with a woman.
I felt a wound, deep in my chest, so painful I had to pretend we were going into the tunnel and end the call. The train threw me to one side as I made my way back to my friends. I held on to the seat rail, feeling off balance, knocked out of normal planetary orbit.
“Aren’t you glad you called?” Elle asked as I returned to my seat.
“I’m not so sure about that. I got him out of bed, and I don’t think his girlfriend appreciated it.”
Elle winced. “Crap.”
“At least I know; he’s moved on.” Fighting tears, I focused on the landscape racing past the window, the rows of houses edging up to the train tracks, the cars waiting at streetlights or shooting down a parallel highway, everyone in a hurry.
Like the speeding train, Bear had forged ahead. So why couldn’t I? Why was I the one left behind at the station?
48
Tara
“Whose idea was this, anyway?” Tara asked as she dug through her father’s bag of clubs.
Backtracking, she recalled that Elle had initiated the outing when she learned her mother was still paying for a membership at the Sandy Hills Country Club. And since it was already ten A.M. on a Sunday morning, Tara was fairly sure she’d been stood up by Josh once again. This weekend marked the third time he’d planned to meet her out here but had cancelled at the last minute, and it was all so disappointing. Last time, she’d taken the train back to the city with the plan to blast him for being so rude, but all that fizzled when faced with the logic of their situation, their jobs. Josh was a key staff member and his job was a high priority in his life, and when they were both in the city, their lives together were easy, fun . . . fulfilling on an everyday level. Although she felt slighted about the weekend thing—after all, it was summer and they had such a great chunk of the planet to enjoy out here—she didn’t want to flip out on him.
So golf, she decided,
would be the perfect distraction.
“Oh, the Sandy Hills . . .” Darcy had rolled her eyes, recalling that her father was a member. There’d been an awkward moment or two when the girls had been making tee-off arrangements and one of the staff had pulled Darcy aside for a private chat. Darcy returned, slightly sulky and annoyed.
“What was all that about?” Tara had asked, and Darcy told the girls that the woman felt the need to inform her that her father was “no longer a member of this club.”
Immediately all four girls shot a scowl at the offending woman.
“Well, that really rots,” Elle said, steaming. “Maybe we should just go.”
“Don’t let it ruin our day,” Darcy said under her breath. “I’d especially hate to let that woman think that I give a flying fuck about her membership roster.”
“Good for you,” Tara told Darcy. “You’ve got the power.”
Once they teed off, Tara felt herself notching into competitive gear. Her father belonged to the Shinnecock Hills Golf Club down the road, where she had taken lessons all through high school—lessons that seemed to be paying off, based on her performance today. Of course, that didn’t put her on a level with Elle, who had an amazing follow-through.
Lindsay was the beginner of the group. “I really suck at this,” she said, rocking from one foot to the other as she lined up a shot. She swung, lost her grip, and sent her club flying.
Tara ducked. “Good thing you’ve got surfing down, honey.”
“I can’t believe we’re actually playing golf together,” Lindsay said, hustling back to retrieve her five iron. “And I can’t believe you’re wearing those shoes.”
Elle did a little jig, showing off her high-top Keds that had been tie-dyed purple and red. “Shoes do not make the golfer,” Elle said. “So far I’m shooting below par, and you have yet to keep a ball on the green.”
“What do you expect when my only experience is from playing miniature golf?” Lindsay replied. “I can handle a windmill and I can whack it in between the vampire’s teeth, but what idiot builds a pond in the middle of a golf course?”
Darcy and Tara leaned on each other, laughing. Darcy was crisp and cool in a black, A-line culotte skirt, relaxed despite the downward turn her father’s trial had taken.
“It’s called a water trap,” Elle said. “Now stop complaining and take your swing.”
Lindsay swept her club back to wind up and accidentally knocked the ball, sending it flying behind her.
“Ouch!” Darcy jumped away as the ball bounced off her backside. “Right in the ass, Lindsay!”
“I am so sorry!” Lindsay rushed to her friend and grabbed her arm as the other women huddled close, all staring at Darcy. “Are you okay?”
“Fine!” She rubbed the sore spot, gesturing the girls away. “Quit staring at my butt and take your shot!”
“Maybe I’m better off sitting this one out.” Lindsay pulled the club against her chest. “Or I’ll be your caddy. I can carry your clubs . . . and wash your balls,” she added with a sexy grin.
Tara held up her hand for Lindsay to stop. “Something tells me this is your first time . . . your virgin golf outing.”
“You guys were my first!” Lindsay giggled. “I always knew there was a special bond between us.”
Elle was up next. She wiggled her skinny hips, then swung back and through, sending the ball loping ahead gracefully to bounce a few feet from the ninth hole.
“Where the hell’d you learn to do that?” asked Lindsay.
“Japan. Everyone there was obsessed with golf. We used to go to driving ranges on the rooftops of buildings, all covered with nets. It was like yoga there—gotta do it every day. I guess it just stuck with me.”
“I’ll say,” Darcy said, taking a shot. Hers cut slightly to the left but bounced onto the edge of the green.
Tara stepped up, smoothing down her peach shorts and peach-trimmed golf shirt. Although it was just a friendly game, Tara thrived on competition and at that moment she wanted nothing more than to take the lead from Elle. Focusing on the ninth hole, she tried to imagine her ball arching through the air, straight to a hole in one. Forget the mechanics, forget the shot . . . just plan a path for the ball.
She swung back, made contact and sent the ball soaring . . . right into the sand trap.
“No!” Tara lifted her club toward the sky and went running like a madwoman, making her friends crack up.
“Ach! I feel so much better now,” Lindsay said, hoisting her golf bag onto the cart.
As they rode back to the clubhouse after nine holes, Lindsay couldn’t get over the world of the country club, a phenomenon all her friends were privy to. “All these years, and I thought the best part was that cheesy pool at Shinnecock Hills. When did you guys learn to golf?”
“It’s sort of a lifetime of learning,” Darcy said.
“And how come your mother is a member here?” Lindsay asked Elle. “She hasn’t been in the Hamptons for years.”
“I guess my grandmother got the membership, and Mom just kept it going,” Elle said. “It’s probably all about Grandma’s money. Gram was loaded, and she left very specific orders about what to do with her money. Like her house; my parents kept it for years after she died. I think Gram really wanted us to have a place here in the Hamptons, but it’s just not geographically desirable for my parents.”
“I remember your grandmother,” Tara said, flashing back to when they were kids, eight or nine, and Elle’s grandmother used to take them berry picking. “She would bribe us to sing ‘Frère Jacques,’ always correcting our French accents. If we sang it right, she bought us cones at the Southampton Ice Cream Parlor.”
Elle turned to Tara with a smile. “That was Gram.”
Thinking back, Tara quickly flashed to Elle’s crisis summer, the year she plunged off the jetty into the roiling waters of the Atlantic Ocean. What a difficult time it must have been for her, to have felt so alienated, then plucked from everything she knew to go off to a foreign land, making friends of strangers.
After all that, it couldn’t be easy for Elle to come back here, and yet, sometimes it felt as if she’d never left. “What did we ever do all those years without you?” Tara said suddenly, shaking her head at Elle.
“We were, like, so fucking bored,” Darcy said in her Valley Girl voice. “No multiple body piercings, no unexplained fires. No one even dreamed of tie-dyed sneakers until Elle came around.”
“Shut up, Darcy,” Elle said, her cheeks growing pink, but Darcy just reached forward from the back of the golf cart and grabbed Elle’s shoulders.
“We missed you, honey!” Darcy shouted, her voice ringing out across the golf course, and they laughed as Elle steered back toward the buildings.
Later, in the country club dining room, Tara found her mind drifting away from her friends’ conversation as she tuned into the men who’d sat behind her, their conversation so loud it was hard to miss.
“It’s a pity just a few of them are ruining it for everyone,” the man said. “Last year, when we were looking to host a tournament, one of the national guys told us point blank it wasn’t going to happen if we didn’t change our club charter and accept blacks.”
“There it goes,” his friend said. “And that’s just the beginning. Let them in and the others will come running.”
Tara shot a look over her shoulder at the two men—one bald and rubbery looking, the other a crisp handkerchief that had turned gray with time. They actually had the nerve to smile at her, even as the rubbery man said, “Call me racist, but I like to see a good place like this protected from people like that.”
Tara turned back to the table, her fingernails digging into the linen tablecloth.
“Okay, Ms. Washington,” Lindsay said, “you look like you just saw a ghost.”
Tara darted her eyes to the left. “Tune in on the conversation behind me.”
Trying not to stare, her three friends fell silent and listened.
“None o
f this would be a problem if Tiger Woods hadn’t come along,” said Rubber Man. “It’s too bad, because I wouldn’t mind opening the doors for someone like him, but they don’t write the rules that way. Let him in and you’ve got to let in all the others.”
“Excuse me, sirs?” Elle said politely. “But do you mean that this club doesn’t accept African Americans as members?”
“Members?” Gray Hanky snorted. “We don’t even let them in as guests.”
Tara turned back to her plate, stung. If those men realized her race, wouldn’t they be appalled? And that woman was worried about Darcy playing here, with her father’s lapsed country club dues. The place would be in an uproar when they realized that she was black.
“Really?” Elle blinked at the two men. “And to think they let in dickwads like you.”
The men sucked back, off guard.
Across the table, Darcy let out a laugh. “Nice one, Elle.”
“I’m so disappointed,” Elle said. “Gram must be turning over in her grave. She marched with Martin Luther King Jr. She sponsored sit-ins to protest the Vietnam War.” She looked up at the heavens. “Sorry, Gram. I’ll get your membership dues back, even if I have to squeeze it out of Frick and Frack, here.”
Lindsay was cracking a smile, too. “I’ve sort of lost my appetite for Sandy Hills.” She scooted her chair out. “All this racism is stinking up the place.”
“I definitely have to go.” Tara stood up and slammed her napkin to the table with a scowl for the men. She was tempted to lash out at them, but didn’t think it wise to waste her energy on such a lost cause. “I don’t want to be late . . . for my date with Tiger.”
Seeing their jaws drop in astonishment, Tara smiled. That will give those two old codgers something to think about.
49
Darcy
It would be hard to let this place go.
Darcy sat back in a lounge chair by the pool, one of the many lounge chairs she had scrubbed and buffed with her own hands, and let her eyes wander up the cedar shingles of the house, now stained dark brown, up to the peak that Elle and Milo had repaired, its slate shingles now gleaming in the August sun.
