Montauk

by Nicola Harrison

  “Apparently not if Jeanie has anything to do with it,” Martine said.

  “Well,” Dolly said, “if she doesn’t pack our schedules, and hers, then God forbid, she might have to take care of her children.” The three of us giggled like schoolgirls in the back row.

  “Do you ladies have something you’d like to add?” Jeanie asked.

  “No,” I said quietly, shaking my head.

  “Ooh, I do,” Dolly said, adjusting her hat to an even more tilted angle. “Don’t forget, ladies, I’ll be hosting a trunk show for my hat collection in a few weeks at the Manor. You can place orders for the fall and I may have a few ready-to-wear summer hats, too.”

  “Wonderful, Dolly, I’ll be sure to add it to the newsletter. Okay, moving on to the End of Summer Masquerade Charity Ball, I know the summer has just begun, but it’s going to be here sooner than you think and we still need committee leaders for raising funds.”

  “What is it?” I asked Dolly.

  “Yes, Beatrice?” Jeanie called out. “Questions can be directed to me.”

  “Oh.” Everyone turned to look toward me. “I was just asking about the charity ball?”

  “Of course; I almost forgot,” Jeanie said. “For those of you who are joining us in Montauk for the first time, the End of Summer Masquerade Charity Ball is a wildly fun evening held on Labor Day weekend where we each invite, and pay for, a member of the Montauk community to attend the party.”

  I squirmed at the way Jeanie announced that we newcomers were joining her in Montauk, as if she owned the place just because she’d summered there before.

  “It’s always quite a mixed crowd and it’s a wonderful chance to thank the locals for making our summer so comfortable,” Jeanie continued. “From the porters at the Manor, to the lifeguards at the beach, to the tennis coaches.” She fluttered her eyelashes and got a few giggles from her audience.

  “We need to form a costume committee so that everyone at the ball will have a mask to wear; that’s what makes it so much fun. Of course we’ll need to find inexpensive options for the locals and I’m sure some of us will be sending out to the city to have our own masks custom-made.”

  “I’ll donate the masks,” Dolly said, raising her hand. “No need for a costume committee, I’ll have them made in the factory in the city and I’ll have them delivered.”

  “Wonderful,” Jeanie said. “But I’d hate for you to go to so much trouble. Perhaps you needn’t bother with such elaborate masks for the locals?”

  “No, I’ll do fabulous for all; it’s easier that way.” Dolly took a sip from her mint julep and the matter was closed.

  Jeanie hesitated a little awkwardly, then moved on to form a fundraising committee.

  “Clarissa, you and I will be in charge of the fundraising. If anyone has any issues with that raise your hand. No? Okay, moving on.” And that was that. “As the secretary of the Junior League in Manhattan it is my duty to continue our charity and volunteerism even when we are on vacation, so that we can fulfill our mission—to put to good use the opportunities afforded to us, and to enrich our members’ lives by improving the living conditions of those less fortunate.”

  “She is really going hard for that President position this fall,” Dolly whispered just a touch too loud. “She’s been passed up four years in a row; there’s no way she’s going to get it this year. Everyone knows she’s just in it for the fame and social aspect—she couldn’t care less about the less fortunate.” Martine laughed and I was petrified that someone would hear what Dolly was saying. Soon the women began to chatter among themselves and everyone started to mingle.

  4

  Tuesday morning was laundry day, so I emptied the laundry hamper, gathered Harry’s dirty sporting clothes and rang downstairs for a pickup.

  “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but the laundry lady has already left,” the front desk clerk said.

  “What do you mean left?” I asked. “I thought the laundry was taken care of right here at the Manor.”

  “No, it’s picked up and taken to the village.”

  “Oh dear, Harry’s going to be furious with me if his clothes aren’t ready for the weekend. When did she leave? Maybe I can catch her.”

  “About five minutes ago,” he said. “She’ll be halfway down the hill by now.”

  I left through the service entrance at the back of the Manor partly because it was closer to the hill that led down to the village and partly because I knew Jeanie and the rest of the women would be meeting up front for their jaunt to Gurney’s Inn any minute. I didn’t know what would get Jeanie worked up more, seeing me with a bag of laundry slung over my shoulder or seeing that I wasn’t ready to join the party.

  I hurried toward the hill as best I could and had to slow down a little when I reached the steep and winding slope. About halfway down I caught sight of her, a petite woman about my age, in a grey smock, attempting to control a top-heavy metal cart full of stuffed laundry bags. When I approached her I saw she was sweating like a man.

  “Excuse me, I’m sorry, can I give you one more bag?” I asked, but as I did so I saw the ridiculousness in my question and I flushed with embarrassment. She looked at the cart, then at me.

  “Of course, ma’am.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, then kicked a metal stand that held the cart in place while she reached for my bag. I considered retracting my request—there was no way she could manage all this laundry by herself—but as she outstretched her hands I let her take it, my mind jumping back and forth between not having clean clothes for Harry and letting this poor woman battle with the overloaded cart. “You’re a guest at the Manor, right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Sorry I missed you. I’m Beatrice Bordeaux.”

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am. I’m Elizabeth.” She took the bag, but as she did the cart started to roll down the hill, the metal stand making a terrible screeching sound on the road. We both reached for it, but instead of stopping it, we tipped it slightly, and the whole thing crashed to the side, sending bags tumbling down the hill a little way. Mine, which I had tied in haste back in the room, spilled out dirty laundry all over the road.

  “Oh no, I’m so sorry,” she said, scrambling to collect the clothes.

  “It was my fault,” I apologized as we hoisted the cart back to an upright position and began to pile everything back onto it. “Why don’t I help you down the hill with all this? It would be terrible if it overturned again and you were all alone.”

  “Oh no,” she said, “I couldn’t possibly accept your help. I can manage from here.”

  I stood and watched her walk away, the cart pulling downhill and the woman struggling to keep control, my conscience telling me that I shouldn’t have let her leave. I felt my mother’s eyes on me, a gentle but disapproving look. “That’s not how we raised you, Bea,” I heard her calm yet confident voice in my head.

  * * *

  Back at the Manor I hurried to select a luncheon-appropriate outfit that wasn’t too warm—I was already perspiring from my trek up the hill and it wasn’t even ten thirty. I opted for a short-sleeved, star-print dress with a wide collar. I belted it but immediately removed the belt when the cotton of the dress stuck to my skin. I asked the chauffeur to drive fast to Gurney’s Inn, which was four miles away on the other side of town.

  It was not good form to show up late and slightly disheveled, but my only alternative was to not show up at all and I was determined to make a good impression at the first luncheon of the season. Luckily, when I arrived guests were still mingling on the lawn and had not yet been seated. Jeanie was talking to a small group of women and I hurried over and stood next to her like a disobedient child waiting for a break in conversation. But there was no break. No one looked at me or opened up the circle and I felt like an intruder, attentive, waiting until someone acknowledged my existence. I smiled at one woman and hoped she’d bring me into the conversation, but as my eyes met hers she quickly turned her focus back to Jeanie. I should have just s
aid something the minute I approached. Jeanie knew I was by her side, she must have, but she remained intently locking eyes with the woman she was talking to until the conversation was completely over, punishing me for my tardy arrival and waning social etiquette.

  “Where have you been?” Jeanie asked, finally, turning toward me. “We waited almost ten minutes for you to come down, I even sent the driver to look for you.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, Jeanie; I took an early morning stroll and lost track of time.”

  “Obviously.” She looked me up and down then settled her eyes on my hair, which I’d pulled hastily into a loose side bun. At the time I thought it looked rather modern, but now I was starting to regret my decision. “Well anyway, let me introduce you to Mary Van de Coop.” She took a step back to present me to the woman next to her. She was stunning—tall, towering above me, and curved, with a full, glamorous demi-wave. She had perfectly shaped eyebrows, a flawless complexion and rose-colored lips. She looked like a movie star. “Mary, this is Beatrice Bordeaux. Beatrice, this is our luncheon host today, Mary Van de Coop, the head of the Tail Waggers’ charity.”

  Mary Van de Coop described the organization’s mission to expand the charity’s reach from New York City all the way to Hollywood. She spoke quickly about the national “Be Kind to Animals” campaign but then rapidly moved on to talk about her own business aspirations.

  “So the idea is to open a hotel for dogs, a trailer of sorts that would allow vacationers, like us here in Montauk or Miami, to bring their dogs along for the adventure without having to actually keep them in the hotel or walk them.” I saw Dolly across the way sitting on a lawn chair, alone and carefree, smoking a cigarette, and I had to force myself not to make my excuses and join her. When I looked back to Mary Van de Coop she had stopped talking and was waiting for my response.

  “So the hotel for dogs is part of the charitable organization?” I asked.

  “Oh no, that’s just my pet project.” She giggled. “I’m an animal lover,” she said. I didn’t quite believe her.

  Jeanie was starting to make her way toward the tables, so I excused myself from Mary Van de Coop and caught up with her.

  “Jeanie,” I said. “Thank you for introducing me to Mrs. Van de Coop; she seems very”—I stumbled a little—“concerned, about the dogs and whatnot.”

  “And beautiful, too,” she added.

  “Yes,” I said, “a real showstopper.” I imagined, for a moment, Mary Van de Coop wearing a ball gown and parading a beautifully groomed poodle around the ring at the Westminster dog show and thought that seemed more likely than opening up shelters. “Actually, Jeanie, I’d love to sit at your table, if there’s space.” The words almost didn’t come out, since the idea of it, with her disapproving glares just moments earlier, was starting to sound positively frightful, but I felt it was right to make the effort. Jeanie knew everyone and if I was to find a group of women who would make Harry’s work life a little easier back in the city it would be worth putting in the time now. I wanted to show him I was capable and worthy, that there was more to me than he’d seen in the last year or so—which was little more than a lonely woman who waited for his attention. Harry still loved me, I thought, but he seemed distant, drifting too far out. I knew as well as anyone that when the wind took you it was easier to keep going with the current rather than swim against it.

  After we lost Charlie I had drifted further and further out until it seemed impossible to get back to the way things used to be. I’d ignored my new college friends, made them feel unwanted and shallow for their socials and dances, which had seemed frivolous to me then. Harry had been my life raft. Though he may not have known it, when he found me I was bobbing away in the swells and he pulled me back to a sense of normalcy, to New York society, to love, to life. I owed it to him to show him the same courtesy he had shown me after I had lost my way and to reel him back in any way I could.

  “The seating arrangements have been made already,” Jeanie said.

  “Oh.” I tried to look disappointed. “It’s just that I took to heart what you said the other day about how I could learn from you and your socializing skills.” My stomach felt unsettled and a wave of nausea came over me. It was hot and I was speaking half-truths, but with ladies like Jeanie, I knew flattery would get me where I needed to be.

  “Really?” She didn’t seem convinced.

  “You are just so graceful at these events.” I laughed a little, nervously. “You seem to know everyone.”

  “Well,” she sighed, “we can probably squeeze you in,” and she put one hand on my shoulder like a schoolmistress and led me to her table.

  There were six of us seated at the Star Fish table: Jeanie, Mary Van de Coop, me and three others who looked like they were in their late twenties. Everyone except for Mrs. Van de Coop and I wore sun hats, and being the latecomer to the seating arrangement, I had to sit with the sun shining directly into my eyes.

  “I hear you’re a Vassar girl,” the brunette named Clarissa said across the table after introductions were made.

  “Yes. I attended, but I left before graduation,” I said, holding a menu up to the sunlight so I could see her face.

  “Well, yes, you probably met your husband and he swept you off your feet; why would you stay?” Clarissa said. I didn’t correct her and tell her I left of my own accord because I couldn’t concentrate on my studies, I couldn’t act normal around people anymore, I felt too guilty to have the opportunity to graduate when Charlie’s life was cut short. “But we must have mutual friends,” she continued.

  She went on to list some names, many of people whom I’d known briefly at some point but hadn’t made the effort to stay in touch with. There were exceptions, of course, where I’d bumped into a few of those girls and their husbands around the city and made promises to meet for tea.

  “Of course,” I said, putting my menu down hoping that my squint in her general direction would put an end to the discussion. “Unfortunately, I haven’t seen many of them since our Freshman year.”

  She gave me a puzzled look. “Most of the Vassar gals I know moved to the city; you don’t see them?”

  “You know how it is—married life just keeps me so busy.”

  Jeanie spoke up and took control of the conversation. “Look at this.” Jeanie gestured toward the ocean several feet below the grassy hilltop where we sat. “It’s so beautiful here, isn’t it?” There were nods of agreement all around.

  “It sure is,” Mary Van de Coop said, “but I can’t help but miss the city a little, too.”

  “I miss having Harry around,” I said, feeling that was the wifely thing to say among women. It wasn’t entirely true. While I missed having someone to wake up to, Harry and I didn’t spend much time together during the week at all. He was out for work dinners most nights and didn’t come home until late, often intoxicated and bumping into things before I’d get up and guide him into bed. One night, late, he fell directly onto our glass cocktail bar and it shattered into pieces around him. I leapt out of bed at the thunderous noise and found him sitting in the middle of it all, laughing, thick jagged chunks of glass surrounding him sticking up at all angles. I was terrified that when he stood up there’d be a piece speared in his side and he’d bleed to death right there in our dining room, but he didn’t even get a scratch. He’d stumbled to the sofa and fallen into a deep, snoring slumber while I carefully picked up the glass, boxed it up, then swept the entire apartment. I found tiny splintered remnants for months after.

  “Yes, but I mean the convenience,” Mary said, bringing me back to the conversation. “I miss the luxuries we are so used to in the city. Like when my maid makes my favorite frozen fruit salad. They try hard out here, but it’s just not the same.”

  “Oh, I agree,” Jeanie chimed in. “I mean the laundry ladies from the village, they just don’t come close to my gal back home, not even close. Cecil has been complaining about his shirts for the past few summers; one is far too starched, the oth
er not starched enough,” she sighed, and the others agreed. “And I told him, ‘Cecil, I have three children to take care of. I cannot manage the laundry lady as well; I simply can’t.’”

  “And don’t get me started about diapers…,” Mary Van de Coop said in a loud whisper.

  “Ugh.” Jeanie took a gulp from her champagne. “Agreed. They really have to sort out a better system. It is such a pain to pack up those dirty, stinking diapers and get the nanny to drop them at the post office.”

  “The post office?” I realized as soon as I said it that it had come out too loud and with more than a tinge of disgust. The table went quiet and all eyes turned on me.

  “Yes, Beatrice, the post office,” Jeanie said.

  “Why on earth would you send dirty diapers to the post office?”

  “Must be nice not to have to think of such things.” Jeanie laughed and a few others joined in, as if I were the crazy one for not being in on the joke.

  “But why?” I asked, more quietly, a little softer this time.

  “To send them back to the city. Who else is going to do it? The laundry girls in the village claim they don’t have time, but personally I think they are just too darn lazy.”

  “They don’t want to get their hands dirty.” Mary Van de Coop rolled her eyes.

  I thought of Elizabeth carrying that enormous mound of laundry down Manor Hill in the heat, with the added humiliation, not to mention the stench, of having to wrestle with a week’s worth of someone else’s child’s dirty diapers. That would be horrific, to have to launder some other family’s soiled diapers. I almost asked Jeanie to clarify how exactly they sent those diapers to the city, in a bag, in a box, were they sent on the passenger train or on the Fisherman’s Special? But my God, they must stink out the entire train car. How repulsive. If you chose to have a child, surely you should have to deal with the nasty and the nice instead of shipping the unpleasant parts back to some poor house girl in the city. I realized I was having this argument in my head and I had to bite my tongue not to speak out loud, knowing it would be bad form to discuss such things any further at a luncheon.