Montauk

by Nicola Harrison

  I wasn’t going to walk out of there with my tail between my legs. I wanted them to feel ashamed of treating another woman that way.

  “Oh, and Jeanie,” I said, before opening the door, “you’re right; that Regine Brenner does wonders in the bedroom. You should give it a try.” I forced a smile and walked out the door. The silence that fell across the store was deafening. I didn’t look back, but I felt their eyes on me as I walked out the door, crossed the street, turned right and kept going.

  It was around noon and it was hot. I walked through the streets and out the end of town and began the ascent up Montauk Highway. It would take me an hour at least to walk all the way to the lighthouse, but I didn’t care. I wouldn’t go back to the Manor yet. I needed to clear my head. I had felt humiliated and embarrassed in that dressing room, but as I walked those feelings left me. Did it even matter who Harry was having an affair with? Did it even matter if he slept with the whole goddamned Manor? I didn’t want him; I didn’t want this life; he could have them all for all I cared. I was shedding my fears, my worries and the insults with each step. By the time I reached the bottom of the big hill with no more turns, no more diversions and roads to take me anywhere but the light, I was smiling. It was ideal, in fact, that the truth was getting out about Harry. It gave me more ammunition to leave him. It gave me a strange sense of hope and determination.

  When I heard a horn honk and the engine of a car pulling up beside me, I was perspiring. It was Patrick.

  “Get in,” he said.

  “Thanks.” I climbed into the front seat.

  “What are you doing walking all this way?” he said. “That’s what the bike is for, isn’t it?”

  “I felt like walking,” I said. “Although I was running out of steam. Are you picking up laundry for Elizabeth?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head. “I’ve been recruited.”

  “For what?”

  He grinned but shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t say,” he said. “But looks like you’re about to find out.”

  * * *

  I saw Thomas first, on the grass, shirtless and sweating, hammering nails into a wooden post. Farther back toward the light was a team of five other men I didn’t recognize, all hard at work, assembling and hammering and measuring.

  “What on earth are you doing?” I asked Thomas as I approached.

  “We’re building something,” he said matter-of-factly, looking up briefly, wiping away sweat from his brow, then going back to the hammer and the post.

  “What do you mean you’re building something? What are these guys doing?”

  “Building a stage. You said you wanted one for the school, right? I recruited some men from Shagwong’s. Told them I’d buy them a round or two of beers if they made this happen in time for your fancy party.”

  “But how do you know what size they need and what the school wants and all the details?”

  Thomas nodded to the group of shirtless, sweaty men behind him. I strained to make out who anyone was in the bright sunlight, so I cupped one hand over my eyes. Mr. Farrell stood up and waved; hairy potbelly and all, it was more than I had wanted to see. I waved back, smiling.

  “We’re building a stage!” he called out.

  “I can see that. Nice work!”

  “We’re going to put it up at the ball and get the kids to perform,” he said. “Then reassemble it at the school in September.”

  “Amazing.”

  I turned back to Thomas. I wanted to kiss him and I had to squeeze my arms tight to my sides to stop myself from throwing my arms around him in front of all these men. “This is incredible, do you know that?” I said in a whisper. “You’re incredible.”

  “You’re the cat’s pajamas yourself,” he said; then he grabbed my chin in his hand and gave me a quick peck on the lips.

  “Thomas!” I stepped back abruptly and looked up to see if anyone had seen, but everyone had their heads down or their backs to us. He laughed and returned to work.

  30

  That weekend, Winthrop Aldrick hosted an outdoor party at the Surf Club. It was to be a casual affair, guests barefoot on the sand and lighthearted, but “casual” was not part of Winthrop’s vocabulary. The gents had their trousers rolled at the cuffs and most of the women knew to wear a shorter hemline, but Winthrop had tables set up on the beach, candles everywhere ensuring a glow even as the sun went down, and a staff of about fifty maids in black serving dresses and white aprons passing hors d’oeuvres and aperitifs before dinner.

  Harry and I entered the gathering walking stiffly, side by side, having been driven there with another couple by George. I was pleased that we weren’t the first to arrive; I wanted our entrance together to be seen—to let the few times that we were together be worth something and put on a good show to keep gossip at bay. Harry led us immediately over to Winthrop. I hesitated at first, because Jeanie and her husband were part of the group talking with him, but Harry barged in.

  “Harry, my friend, so glad you made it.” Winthrop shook his hand and slapped him on the arm. Winthrop was golden brown from the sun, which made his silver hair stand out even more, as well as his perfectly shaped, gleaming teeth. I wondered if he had been an actor. “And what a pleasure to see your beautiful wife.” He took my hand, squeezed it a little too tight and kissed it, his eyes not leaving mine. “Hello, Bethany.”

  “Beatrice,” I said.

  “Beatrice.” He nodded and winked as if we were in on some kind of secret. He was handsome but much better looking from a distance. Close up, if you caught him off guard when he wasn’t smiling you could see the crevices of fine wrinkles where the sun hadn’t managed to tan.

  I looked away and saw Jeanie staring. We hadn’t spoken since the episode in Dolly’s store. “Would you like something to drink?” I asked, turning to Harry, putting my hand on his arm.

  “They’re bringing drinks around,” he said.

  “I know, but I’m parched. I think I’ll go to the bar.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  When I returned with an old-fashioned and a martini, the conversation had picked up. Winthrop and his wife, Gloria, Jeanie, her husband, Cecil, and Harry were all engaged in some topic that was more intense than before I’d left, and while Jeanie seemed excited, Winthrop’s wife looked incredibly bored. Equally suntanned, yet slightly younger than he was, she seemed to have heard all this a hundred times before and was looking out at the other guests as if hoping for someone or something more interesting.

  “If they would take me I’d volunteer myself to fight with the defenders of the Spanish democracy,” Winthrop said. “But in general they want more youthful lads, a bit sprightlier.”

  Jeanie laughed loudly, her round bosom jostling as she did so, and she playfully tapped Winthrop on the shoulder. “Oh, I think they’d be thrilled to have you,” she said. “Don’t you think so, Cecil?” She was talking to her husband but didn’t turn away from Winthrop.

  “Sure, but you’re better off leaving it to the young’uns,” Cecil said. “They are really blasting the heck out of their own country; it’s a damn shame.”

  “Well, somebody’s got to stand up for them,” Winthrop said. “I’m not afraid of being on the front lines. I mean Roosevelt going for neutrality, that’s about as passive as you can get. I’m not a passive kind of guy. What kind of a leader is he if he won’t get involved? What does that say about America as a country?”

  “I agree wholeheartedly,” Jeanie said, placing her hand on her chest as if she were about to sing.

  Winthrop seemed to be boosted by her vote of confidence. “Maybe I should volunteer; maybe I should just show up. I know what war is; I’ve got some more fight in me.”

  Jeanie was giddy as if she’d been drinking all afternoon. Cecil didn’t seem quite as enthralled by everything Winthrop suggested. I hated the way she turned into a completely different person around anyone with deep pockets who could help her out in some way. I hated more that others didn’t find her insincerity
as transparent as I did.

  “Come on, Jeanie,” Cecil said. “Let’s go and find some of those deviled eggs you like; they’re passing them around.” He tried to pull her back from Winthrop a little, but she shook her arm free.

  “I’m not hungry,” she said. I didn’t blame her husband; Jeanie was on the verge of embarrassing herself, throwing herself at Winthrop and his wife like that.

  “Darling, did you know that Winthrop has been nominated by Mr. FDR himself to be the President of the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis?” she said, again speaking to but not turning toward her husband.

  “Oh,” he said. “The March of Dimes?”

  “That’s right: actually, I just accepted,” Winthrop said. “Although it wasn’t the President who asked me to do it, Jeanie. It was one of his people; he’s just involved.” He laughed. “Now I’ve got the job of building the local chapters. I’m actually looking for someone to head up the New York City chapter, a really important one that I’ll be pretty involved with.” Jeanie locked eyes with him and I wondered what she had up her sleeve. “We’re planning to have collection boxes on every corner this Christmas season, so if all those New Yorkers and their kids would drop a dime in the box on their way to and from work we’ll make a lot of money for the foundation.”

  Jeanie stood a little taller and arranged her hair, then looked from Cecil to Winthrop, Winthrop to Cecil. When Winthrop turned to his wife, Jeanie glared at Cecil as if he’d just failed a test.

  “And then, of course, there’re the big parties we’ll be throwing, grand events at the best spots in New York City.”

  Jeanie was smiling nervously, as if waiting to be invited.

  “Of course, you’ll all be at the top of the invite list,” Winthrop said. “And Gloria and I will insist that you sit at our table, won’t we, love?” He gave his wife a gentle nudge.

  “Oh yes, of course,” she said absently.

  “Well, that’s fine work, Winthrop,” Harry chimed in. “Admirable. How are you going to do it all between this and your investments?”

  “Well, I consider this an important investment, too, an investment in the children and an investment in the poor kids who are afflicted with polio and paralysis.”

  “Bravo,” Jeanie said. “It’s wonderful. They need someone like you at the helm.”

  “And what does Beatrice think, that’s what I’d like to know,” Winthrop said, startling me. “She’s a quiet one today. Makes you wonder what’s going on in that pretty little head of hers.”

  I knew it was part of his “charm”—he’d acted the same way on the yacht with Dolly and me—but I really didn’t feel like playing along. Jeanie looked as if she’d just sucked a lemon. I wanted to tell her to compose herself; I was sure she had no idea her face was so contorted. And then she seemed to snap out of it and get back in the saddle.

  “Well, Beatrice, what do you think?” she asked.

  “About what?”

  “Winthrop and his work with the March of the Dimes?” she said, exasperated.

  “Oh, I think it’s very important work.”

  Jeanie rolled her eyes at my vague response and changed the subject.

  Once I began to feel the attention moving off me and onto something else I was relieved and about to excuse myself; that was, until Winthrop drew close to my side.

  “Say, you should consider putting your name in the hat for the New York chapter,” he said rather loudly. “It could be a lot of fun,” he whispered this time, raising his eyebrows. “We could have a lot of fun.”

  For a split second I was flattered but then immediately was offended at his suggestion.

  “Thank you for the…” I hesitated, trying to muster an appropriate response. “For the suggestion, but I’m working with Harry on his business a little and I just wouldn’t have time.”

  “Really? It’s for an excellent cause.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I said, “but Harry and I—”

  “I didn’t think you two seemed all that entwined in business.” He smirked and took a long sip of his drink but kept his eyes on me. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re a beautiful woman; any man in his right mind would want to spend time in your presence. You can’t blame me for asking you to join the March of Dimes. Don’t look at me like I’m a monster.”

  The interaction made me laugh. There was something oddly charming and ridiculous about Winthrop’s blatant advances.

  “Dear God, and now she’s laughing at me.” Winthrop put his hand to his head dramatically.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to laugh; it’s just…” I shook my head.

  Everything was starting to feel like a joke. Of course part of me still cared what other people thought of me and my marriage, it had become habit to care so much, but more and more I felt myself untying the obligation to give a damn.

  Winthrop was looking at me waiting for a response.

  “I didn’t mean to laugh,” I repeated. “I’m flattered, but Harry and I are entwined, Winthrop. For better or worse.”

  He shrugged. “Well, if you ever change your mind you know where to find me, out here or in the city.”

  He handed me a business card, then moved on to another circle. I was still amused; was everyone sleeping with everyone? Had I just been blind to it all this time? I thought of Thomas and immediately wanted to be away from all of this; I smiled just thinking of him. As I looked around the party I felt someone’s eyes on me once again and I knew, before even turning around, that it was Jeanie.

  Tensions between us were at an all-time high. Aside from her getting caught out at Dolly’s store for her foul talking about me to the other women, she was beyond furious that I had taken such a prominent role in the charity efforts. The photograph that Dolly had arranged of the two of us with Elizabeth and Mr. Farrell at the Manor had appeared in The East Hampton Star with a headline about our dedication to raising money for the local kids. Dolly had managed to have the photograph featured prominently and Jeanie was enraged. She had been telling people that Dolly and I were trying to take all the credit for raising the money. I personally didn’t care about getting recognition for it, but I had become passionate about raising money for the school. Knowing there was a deadline and that it would end soon and that the city folk would go back to Manhattan and forget all about Montauk until the next summer made me determined to solicit as many donations as possible before the ball.

  After a few hours at Winthrop’s party I found a seat away from Harry. A couple of men behind me were talking about publishing and a piece that had appeared in The New Yorker and I turned my head slightly to listen in. “I don’t like that Parker woman as much as everyone else does; she writes for female readers.” They must be talking about the most recent Dorothy Parker piece; I had loved it.

  “I’m a fan of the magazine, though,” another man said. “I’ve been talking to Raoul Fleischmann about some other opportunities in publishing,” one man said.

  “We subscribe, don’t we, darlin’?” another called out to his wife. “It’s very funny.”

  “Sophisticated too,” the other man said. “It speaks to our crowd, I think, don’t you? We don’t have the same troubles as the rest of the country. We have our share of problems, but they’re just not the same desperate struggles as the folks in the middle states. I mean there are some manufacturing plants that have shut down, but we don’t rely on coal mines and steel plants; in the city we have diversified our labor. It’s fun to have a magazine more in tune with our interests, something that speaks our language.”

  Harry’s voice joined the conversation. “You’re investing out here, too?” he asked. I stayed where I was sitting, with my body turned away slightly, close enough to hear but not obliged to participate.

  “No, investing in The New Yorker. Why? What are you planning for Montauk?”

  “I’ve got some ideas for Fisher’s old office building in town,” Harry said. “Not a bad spot for a full-floor vacation apartme
nt, don’t you agree?”

  “I wouldn’t turn my nose up at it, but how about a few hotels right along here, overlooking the ocean?”

  “Like they did in Miami? Sure, we’re talking about it,” Harry said.

  That was the first I’d heard Harry speak of hotels on the beach. They went on to talk about the opportunities to make Montauk even better, to pick up where Fisher had left off. I looked out to the vast sandy beach and the ocean, then out to the dunes that ran down as far as I could see, and I marveled at its beauty. How could we be looking at the same stunning vistas, unscathed by development and construction, but see completely different things? When they saw this serene open space, stretching out as far as the eye could see, all they saw were dollar signs popping up as beachfront hotels. When I looked, I saw freedom.

  I was tired of this party. I told Harry I had a headache and asked George to drive me back to the Manor. As I climbed into the back seat of the car I saw Jeanie standing in the parking lot, smoking, watching me. I felt her glare even as we drove away.

  I lay in bed and wrote about the party in a melancholy mood. It should have been a relaxed affair, our toes in the sand, the ocean waves breaking just a few feet from us, everyone leaving their work and worries behind for a few hours. Yet instead the mood had been filled with expectations, greed and entitlement and every time I entered a conversation with the men it was about changing the place we all claimed to love so much.

  Someone should stop them, I wrote. Someone should ban them from lining the sandy beaches with tall, lavish hotels before it’s too late. Someone should stop them from turning the pastures with cattle and wildflowers and winding trails into mansionettes and social clubs. If people wanted a place to escape the concrete city and enjoy nature then they should stop this compulsion to make money out of the untouched and unblemished. Once it was developed and ruined and turned over, there’d never be another chance to return it to its former beauty. There’d be other towns to fall into favor once Montauk was stripped of its unique charm, transformed into another “hot spot.” Everyone would go through the excitement again of finding something new, someplace untouched, different from the rest, with places to walk, to get lost, to find people who are true and hardworking and forthright and kind. And then that too would change until everything became just an unrecognizable dot on the map.