Meadow Club members preferred not to slip.
To accomplish all this maintenance required an army of groundskeepers, all of whom did their court work in the very early and very late hours of the day, when members were not practicing or playing matches. The sheer number of men and women on the groundskeeping staff created periods of down-time from actual court maintenance, especially during daylight hours; as a result, there was scarcely a square inch of property at the club that was not covered either by a perfectly manicured lawn or, more often, by a garden of impatiens and roses and rhododendrons and hydrangeas. There was a garden outside the membership office. Behind the pro shop. Along the path leading to the gables. Next to the mower shed. The garden – where actual functions and dinners were often held – was behind the main clubhouse. It was tall and labyrinthine and, in the opinion of some of the more conservative gardeners, overdone. Nevertheless, members often diverted on their way to court 23 or court 15 or any court at all simply to walk through it.
The Junior Tournament at the Meadow Club was held every year near the end of June, and anyone under the age of 18 was allowed to enter. James Dunn and Otto Barnes had been in the finals for the last two years in a row, and this year was no different. Even in a population of straight-from-the-cradle grass court tennis players, James and Barnes were noticeably better than the rest. James was perhaps the more fundamentally skilled of the two; Barnes had a pure athleticism that often saved him in tight points. They had each won the whole thing once, and each of them was hungry for the rubber match.
The finals were on Saturday, as always, and the main porch beside court number 1 was filled with extra chairs and tables. Meadow Club members liked their tennis, and they liked these two boys. Good boys. Good sportsmen. Gracious and energetic and willing to dive for a ball, which was always fun to see. Many parents were there, including those of other boys who had been knocked out in earlier rounds of the tournament. Even James’s parents were there. It was the finals, after all. And they were sober, since they were aware they would be looked at. With Mrs. Dunn holding Ned on her lap, no less, and treating him like a much younger boy. Ned was not fidgeting; he seemed to relish his mother’s attention, as well as the opportunity to play the role of a toddler. And there was Pauline, too, cradling Frankie on one hip. As though it were something she did all the time.
Devon saw an available seat near the middle of the porch. As she weaved her way through the crowd, she nodded and smiled as nearly every person she passed told her how glad they were to see her, to hear that her father was awake. That he had done such an amazing thing, and that she must be so proud. She paused for a moment with each person, and tucked her hair behind her ear and nodded and said yes, it was wonderful. Yes, we’re so relieved. He’ll be coming home in a couple of days. She smiled at them and made them feel as though they had helped in some small measure, and eventually she made it all the way to her seat.
Once she was sitting, she expected to watch the match essentially undisturbed. Nina and Florin were going to be playing in the girls’ doubles finals later that day – as partners, naturally – and they were both having last-minute private lessons with tennis pros to get sharpened up. Devon had reunited with them yesterday afternoon, and now she was content to let them prepare for their match. As if this were any other summer day. Which it was, really.
Because her father was awake and alive.
The match between Barnes and James was underway, and it was already very good. Both boys were moving well. Within a few games, Barnes was up a break; he was making fewer errors from the baseline than James, and pressing forward at the net more often. An elite player herself, Devon knew that winning net points was an essential tactic on grass.
“Can I sit here?”
She turned to see Austin Riley standing beside her, an empty chair in front of him. But hadn’t there been someone sitting in that chair a moment ago?
He seemed to read her confused expression. “I asked the guy there if he’d mind moving,” Austin explained. “I passed him a note.”
“A note?” She frowned, not understanding. “Saying what?”
“That I was going to ask you out,” he said. “Can I sit down?”
Devon raised her eyebrows at him, and she studied his face carefully.
A joke?
No. He was looking right at her, his brown eyes open and true. He had on that peaceful expression that seemed to be his trademark.
Just hoping to sit down. And ask you out. Simplest thing in the world.
Devon sighed and put out her hand.
“Thank you,” he said, and sat.
She turned her attention back to the court, hoping for a break in the atmosphere. A moment to collect herself. She didn’t want him to say anything else yet.
But there was no tennis going on at the moment. James and Barnes were switching sides, taking a minute to rest in between games. They were each sitting in a chair at the far side of the court, sipping water and toweling themselves off. Barnes looked up, and he raised his hand to Austin. Austin waved back.
Devon turned to him, forgetting herself. “You know each other now?”
Austin shrugged. “Sure.”
“Two weeks ago you didn’t.”
“A lot’s happened since then.”
True. You saved my father’s life, for example. And by the way, what happened to Nina? Surely she’s been parading a series of short skirts across your path. Short skirts and bikinis. Not that I would blame her.
But Austin didn’t elaborate, which Devon was grateful for. She was already feeling very off-balance. A moment ago she had been doing well. Back to normal. And now, all of a sudden, everything was spinning. She felt an overwhelming, almost crippling sense of gratitude toward this boy, who had moved so quickly and so well at a critical moment two weeks ago. And now he was being so simple and direct, and he was already friends with her friends, and obviously he was very good looking, and –
But this is the first conversation we’ve ever had, she thought desperately. In fact, it’s not even a conversation yet.
“But you don’t know me,” she blurted out.
Austin smiled brightly, as if she had just said something very sweet. “That’s why you ask someone out, I think,” he said. “Just in case.”
Devon had no answer to this, so she turned away again, praying that the match was about to resume. James and Barnes were walking back onto the court, but not nearly fast enough. She turned back to Austin and noticed his new clothes. He was wearing a more standard set of Meadow Club attire than the first time she had seen him here. White shirt, white shorts. New Adidas shoes. “Did you enter the tournament?” she asked quickly.
Austin paused, and Devon congratulated herself for having thought of something in which she had the undeniable home-field advantage. “I did enter,” he said slowly, “but as you can see I didn’t make it all the way. Barnes was too good.”
Devon nodded respectfully. Not bad to make it all the way to Barnes, considering Austin was obviously more of a swimmer. And being beaten by Otto Barnes was nothing to be ashamed of. “He’s good,” Devon said.
“Absolutely,” Austin said, sounding relieved for some reason. “It was a good match, and I – ”
But suddenly there was a hand on Austin’s shoulder, and he looked up to see two older men standing behind him. One of them bore an obvious resemblance to him.
Austin stood quickly. “Dad,” he said, adopting a formal tone. “And Mr. Berducido. Very good to see you.”
Both men smiled warmly, and Mr. Berducido gripped Austin by the shoulder as he shook his hand. “So?” he boomed. “Enjoying the day, I hope?”
Austin nodded. “So far,” he said, and managed to avoid looking down at Devon.
The man smiled. “We expect much of you later in the summer,” he said, still in that booming voice. Devon worried that James and Barnes would be distracted from their match; already there were members turning to see who could be causing such a disturbance i
n the middle of a club final. But Mr. Berducido apparently had an internal sensor for such things, and he toned himself down at the right moment. “Even more important, the year after this. And perhaps several years after that,” he added, more quietly now. His voice turned even softer, conspiratorial: “Your father has assured me that you will not be lured away by competing offers during your senior year.”
Austin shook his head. “I’m coming to you, Mr. Berducido,” he said. “At least until I’m hired away by headhunters after two years.”
Mr. Berducido's face broke back into that wide grin. “This is exactly it,” he said. “Good boy. And now, my only remaining question.” He gestured broadly at the court, where James and Barnes were in the middle of a long rally. “Why do we not see you down there?” he said, whispering again. He winked at Austin. “You were the captain at your high school, yes? You could beat these boys with one arm behind your back. And so?”
Austin licked his lips. Again he managed to avoid eye-contact with Devon.
But she was sure he could feel her staring at him.
“I wasn’t feeling very good for the last couple of days,” Austin said, with a little cough into his hand.
Mr. Berducido straightened up. “Well,” he said, and shrugged. “Pity. But please, return to your conversation.” He nodded once at Devon and turned away. Austin’s father gave him a little pat and a thumbs-up, and the two men walked off, down the porch and into the main clubhouse.
Austin sat back down. Slowly.
Devon looked at him, saying nothing. She rubbed her chin in an elaborate pantomime of consideration. She let out a small sigh. “All right,” she said finally. “Your credibility is at risk. You tell me exactly what just happened, right this minute, or I’m going nowhere with you. Not out, not anywhere, not ever.”
Austin nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “Fair enough. That was my father, and also Mr. Philippe Berducido, who I’m going to be working for at the end of the summer, and maybe next summer if things go well, and even after college if everything – ”
“I got all that,” Devon interrupted. “Never mind. Get to the real stuff.”
“Right.” Austin hesitated again. Then he shrugged and plowed forward. “Well, it’s possible Mr. Berducido was right. I did play a lot at Exeter. I might have been able to beat Barnes. On the right day. But he is a very good player. That’s no lie. And I don’t really think it’s something worth – ”
But Devon shook her head, cutting him off. “No, no. What? Why?” She glanced back at the court, suddenly feeling suspicious of Barnes. And James, too. Were the three of them scheming together? After only two weeks of knowing each other? It wasn’t out of the question. Boys were unbelievable sometimes. Who could tell what they were up to?
“Barnes had nothing to do with it,” Austin said quickly, anticipating her. “Neither of them did. Not really.”
“Not really? What does that mean?”
“Barnes told me your dad was doing a lot better yesterday. Before we started our match. He said you were going to be coming back.” Austin put his hands up. “And that’s all. He said you were planning on coming to watch the finals today.”
Devon lowered her head, looking up at him from under her brow. “Right…” she said slowly. She still looked confused. “And so you decided that you would lose to Barnes? Even though you could have been right out there? In the finals? With me watching you in all your glory?”
Austin nodded at her. “Right,” he said. “Watching. But that would mean someone else might be sitting here.” He pointed down at his own chair. “Next to you. Talking to you. Asking you out.”
Devon goggled at him. “What? Who? What are you talking about?”
Austin shrugged. “I heard you’d be watching, and I’d rather be sitting here than playing out there.” He sat back in his chair, looking slightly put out. “So can we stop now? That was pretty embarrassing. Are you going out with me or not?”
Devon smiled. “Yup. I am.”
Austin exhaled noisily. “Good. To dinner?”
“No way.”
He looked at her warily. “What?”
“I heard the carnival is in town,” she said. “That’s where we’re going. All of us.”
“With the whole gang? Doesn’t sound like much of a date.”
“It’s okay, I’ll guard you from Nina.”
Austin smiled. “That’s not what I mean. I’m pretty sure she knows I’m not interested by now.”
“Okay. Then what’s the problem?”
“Nothing I guess. But I already know your friends. They’re great, but I don’t really need a group date with them.”
“Ah, but you don’t yet know the traveling carnival,” Devon said, smiling mysteriously.
Austin huffed. “I know I’ve heard it’s a traveling piece of crap.”
The porch crowd roared with amazement at a passing shot James had just made. It was a good thing, because now Devon was laughing with delight. “Oh, it is crap,” she said, sounding slightly unhinged. “That’s why it’s so fantastic.”
“Uh-huh. Terrific, but that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Don’t worry,” Devon said. “I’ll bring the money for this one. It’s a rip-off, and it’s a piece of crap, and it’s great. I’m taking you out this time. We can go to dinner for the second date, on you.”
“So no dinner the first time around?”
Devon shook her head. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”
Always With The Low Hats
1
It was Peter Hall’s last day in the hospital. Devon went back to be with him as they took the last of the wrapped bandages off, and smiled at him when he asked her how his head looked.
“Atrocious,” she said, as sweetly as she could. “Honestly.” She stood at the side of his bed and had him turn away, so that she could see the broad contact bandage that still protected the newly grafted skin underneath; skin that had been taken from the side of his leg. She knew that another layer down, in place of the sections of cracked skull the doctors had removed during surgery, there was a shaped metal plate.
Devon came back to stand in front of him, and she shook her head critically. “We need to shave the rest of your hair off as soon as we get home,” she said. “You look like a nuclear fallout victim right now.”
Her father nodded. “Mmm, yes. Thank you for that.”
Cynthia Hall was there, too, and enjoying the family time. Enjoying the increasing sense of normalcy. She was grateful to her daughter for not asking about the manila envelope the lawyer had brought to them before. Or about her fainting reaction, which she imagined had been so telling. “How were the finals?” she asked Devon. “Who won?”
Devon turned to her. She seemed about to answer, but then she paused. She opened her mouth, closed it, and put a hand to her forehead. “I’m not sure,” she said at last. “Probably Barnes, based on what I saw early on.”
And then what? she thought desperately. I was there, wasn’t I? And didn’t I congratulate someone?
Apparently she had been distracted. Devon shook her head.
Her parents exchanged a glance, then watched her closely. They waited.
Devon shifted her weight from one foot to the other, an uncommon behavior for her. Suddenly she felt somehow guilty for having been asked out during the brief time she had been away from the hospital. As though she had been simply biding her time here, waiting for the moment when she could get away and get back to chasing every boy who crossed her path.
Not that she had gone looking for this. It had been him, after all. She had only been sitting there.
“Devon?” her mother said.
“We’re all going to the carnival,” she said quickly, hoping that would cover it. Her parents shrugged. Carnival. Fine.
“Who’s ‘we’?” her father asked. Devon cringed. It was an innocent question, but one she had wanted to avoid.
“Florin and James and Austin and Nina and Barnes and I,” she said,
as fast as she could. Why did she feel as though she were suddenly back in the fourth grade?
Her mother spotted it. “Ah,” she said, and tilted her head back a degree. She smiled. “That sounds like fun.”
Peter Hall was slower on the uptake, but he came around. Head wound and all. “Carnival?” he said slowly. “You haven’t been to that thing in years. And who’s Austin? Is he the one who caught me after I got hurt? I didn’t know he was part of the gang. How do you two know each other?”
Devon dropped her head, and her mother stepped in. “That’s too many questions,” she said gently. “Let’s ask her about it in a few days.”
Peter looked confused, but he shrugged and dropped the subject. Women had their own language, and he supposed a traumatic blow to the back of the head was not going to help him decipher it. He would do as his wife suggested, and follow this up later.
2
The traveling carnival that worked its way along Long Island each summer was an anomaly in Southampton summer life, in that it was an attraction neither exclusive, nor refined, nor in any way requiring skill or training or proper upbringing to enjoy. Anyone could come, and anyone did. It was the one place outside the liquor store where farmers and townies and residents of First Neck Lane and Dune Road could come together.
The people who ran the carnival were poorly educated, dishonest, and often rude. And they smelled like hay and horse manure, though there were no animal attractions at this carnival. Every game of so-called skill was designed to deceive, and even the “guaranteed” contests (the water pistol race, for example, in which one out of the ten participants eventually inflated his or her balloon first and was declared the winner) were rip-offs; the few prizes that could be won were cheaply made and, in the unforgiving light of the following day, useless. Without exception, each prize displayed above a game booth was worth less than a single-play fee, so that even a theoretical, win-every-time participant would have found himself behind in the count at the end of the night. Every game at the carnival was worse, in terms of mathematical expected value, than any game to be found at a casino. Far worse. Because even if you won – and 95% of the time, you didn’t – you still came out a loser.
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