But then Devon glanced over at Jerry Dunn, who was still wearing that deep, burn-headed frown. And she reminded herself that there were still unbalanced forces at work.
Man without his mistress, she thought. Pissed off. And soon to be not only pissed off, but newly drunk as well.
How was Mrs. Dunn going to handle that side of the equation?
Devon didn’t know.
5
The rest of her friends arrived together, as though they had come in one car. She expected Austin to go right to his laps – he seemed very behind schedule today – but instead he came straight toward her; he plopped down in a chair and pulled right up next to her chaise. He sighed and adjusted his weight in the chair, tipping his head back slowly in the sun. As though this were exactly what he did every day. Plenty of lounging. Not a care in the world. Then Florin and Nina came over. Florin took a moment to ogle Devon’s hand-wrap.
“Why’d you think locking your finger in a vice would be a good idea?”
“Just curious, I guess.”
“Don’t worry,” Nina said, standing back and appraising Devon with a critical eye. “You can barely even see it. It doesn’t look like you’re walking around with a huge white oven mitt on. Not at all.”
Barnes headed straight for James. He went to the side of the pool and splashed at the water until James came up for air and saw him. James pointed at Ned, and Barnes went to sit down next to him. They began chatting about something at once, and Devon wondered what sort of conversation Barnes would be having with an eleven-year-old.
See that NASCAR race this weekend? Unbelievable with the pile-up on lap 187, right? Talk to me.
Devon studied her friends for a minute, saw the way they were distributed around the pool, and allowed herself a little smile.
Bodyguards.
She turned to Austin, and she gave him a look. “I thought I was quite clear,” she said, in a confidential voice.
He was about to respond, but then Florin tapped Devon on the shoulder. Her face had turned very serious, and she spoke in a whisper. “All we know is, Pauly-girl broke your finger. We don’t know how it started or why, but we don’t care. We’ve been given clear instructions. Protect but do not retaliate.” She nodded once at Austin. “Good thing we like this guy. We just do what he says. Nina and I are supposed to sit next to you all day.”
“Not such a tough job,” Nina added. “So we’re not complaining.” Nina pointed at Barnes. “And what, you don’t think Barnes would normally be hanging out with his best friend? We’re just making sure everybody stays safe.”
“We don’t want to mess anything up,” Florin said. “But we’re not about to let anything happen to you. Or to James or Ned.”
Austin made a harrumphing sound. “Satisfied?”
Devon considered. “I guess. But that’s still more than I wanted anyone to know.”
“Please,” Nina said. “You didn’t expect people to buy the ‘bent it back in a door’ story, did you?”
“My parents believed me,” Devon said. “I hope.”
Nina scoffed. “Parents will believe anything that makes them feel better.”
6
Barnes got up from talking to Ned, and he came walking over to join the group. “Nice glove,” he said, nodding at Devon’s hand.
“Thank you.”
“Caught it in a wheat thresher?”
“Yup.”
“Thought so.” He clasped his hands together primly, as though preparing to address a classroom of small children. “Good,” he said brightly. “So let’s discuss revenge plans. Austin? The next time we see that bitch, you and I can stuff her into a garbage can. All right?”
Nina coughed quietly.
“What?”
“We’re not allowed to mess with her,” Austin said. “Remember?”
Barnes was taken aback. “Sure, but that was before we’d actually seen Miss South-paw here. Look at that hand. That’s not like something you get when you’re going up for a rebound. That’s full-on assault. That’s ridiculous.”
Austin nodded. “I’ve seen it. I saw it when it happened. It was – ”
Devon held up her uninjured hand, cutting him off. “Barnes, there’s other stuff going on. Just give us some time to work something out first.”
“Oh, come on,” he said. “Enough of this. We could just find a nice, big dumpster, the kind you see outside construction sites, and then we could – ”
“Don’t,” Devon repeated.
Barnes dropped his head and kept silent. He didn’t look happy.
“We need to do something, I agree,” Devon said. “But it has to be something organized.”
Although I have no idea what that means, she thought.
“We could frame her for something,” Florin said eagerly. She sounded as though she were suggesting a surprise party.
They all looked at her. They were desperate enough to consider the idea, but it was difficult to take Florin seriously. This was the same girl who had cheerfully paraded her dog across the talent show stage only two nights ago; she liked tying ribbons in her hair; her favorite food was strawberry ice cream.
“Fine,” Florin said, sounding dejected. “Someone else come up with a plan.”
“It doesn’t have to be right away,” Devon said. “We’ve got some time to think of something. Pauline’s not coming to the club today, and she might not be coming for a while.”
“Oh, well yeah,” Barnes said, looking up again. “That’s true. Ned was just telling me. His mom’s on the warpath.”
“What?” Devon put both her hands up now, as if reminding everyone to be discrete. “First of all, how did you get anything out of Ned? I feel like I’ve barely ever heard him speak.”
Barnes shrugged. “I’m a guy. Not some scary woman.”
Devon looked insulted. “Who are we talking about? I’m not scary.”
“But you’re attractive,” Nina pointed out. She shifted in her seat. “He’s an eleven-year-old boy. He’d probably have an easier time talking to the Terminator than to you.”
“Exactly,” Barnes said. “Whereas I’m just another dude. Having a chat. Shooting the shit.”
Devon relented. “Fine. James was saying something about his mother earlier, but it was confusing. What did Ned say?”
Barnes thought for a moment, as if taking the time to translate Ned’s garbled transmission into intelligible data. “I got the sense there was lots of yelling last night at the Dunn house. Same thing this morning. Sounds like Ned’s dad got an earful. Pauline, too. I guess Mamma Dunn’s starting up a whole new deal. And she’s keeping Pauline and Frankie home.”
“For how long?” Devon said.
“Beats me. Ned said his mom was doing things she never does. Making a bottle for Frankie. Showing Pauline the right way to change him. Mom stuff.” Barnes looked back over his shoulder at Ned, who was now engaged in an elaborate game with his fingers and knees. He seemed to be putting on a little play. “Good kid,” Barnes said, turning back to them. “He’ll be okay.”
Devon looked thoughtful. No one said anything. James emerged from the pool, dripping and happy.
“Everybody’s here!” he said, as if this weren’t the exact same cast of characters that congregated every single day in this precise spot. He was breathing hard after his swim; he looked better than he had in weeks. Florin stood and went over to him, and she hugged him before he had a chance to dry off.
“What’s that for?” James asked. Though he didn’t seem to mind.
Florin ignored the question. “What kind of ice cream do you want?”
Barnes turned away with a little smile. “I’d better go back to hanging out with Ned.”
Devon glanced at Austin. Suddenly the good cheer in the air was too much to ignore. “Shouldn’t you be proposing another date with me?” she asked.
“Tip of my tongue,” Austin said. “Local or far-off? Standard or weird?”
“Far-off and weird, please.”
/> Nina pouted. “You’re abandoning us?” She tried to make it sound like good-natured ribbing, but there was real disappointment in her eyes.
“We’ll be right back,” Devon assured her. She turned to Austin. “Right?”
He thought about this. “You’ll be back. By tomorrow morning, anyway.”
Devon raised her eyebrows at him. “What’s the plan?”
“I have to do a couple of days of work in the city,” he said.
“We’re driving to New York? Just for a restaurant?”
“Not really a restaurant,” Austin said. “But you said you wanted weird.”
She looked sideways at him. “Not too weird.”
Austin shook his head. “No worries,” he said. “Your dad knows the place. Trust me.”
The Name On The Wall
1
Cynthia and Peter Hall did not bat an eyelash when Devon told them Austin was taking her to dinner in the city; they just seemed happy to be kept in the loop.
“Drive safe,” her father said.
Which she promised to do. So that evening at seven o’clock she handed Austin the keys to her red, two-door BMW and simply said, “Slow, please.” She left him standing there, not willing to entertain his protests that he didn’t want to take the driving away from her, that he was happy to have a woman drive, that he was sure she was probably a better driver than he would ever be –
“I’m sure of that too,” she said, and meant it. She climbed into the passenger seat and moved it back for more leg room. “But you can see this, right?” She held up her Mummy-hand. “I can drive one-handed, but what’s the point? It’s your job today.”
Austin got into the car, adjusted the seat and mirrors, and then paused before keying the ignition. “Do you want to know where we’re going?”
“Is it a strip club?”
“No.”
“Then you can show me when we get there.”
He started the car and backed it out of the driveway. They went slowly down First Neck Lane, slowly down Hill Street, and slowly onto Montauk Highway. They made it all the way to the Long Island Expressway without the speedometer going over 50. Austin merged with the traffic and pulled into the far right-hand lane, still just crawling along. After two minutes of this, Devon spoke up. “All right, not that slow.”
He pulled to the left and let the BMW’s engine open up a bit. It was a Friday night, and they let themselves take the time to appreciate the near-total lack of traffic in this direction, a rarity on the L.I.E. After only an hour and a half they were nearly in the city.
Devon glanced in the visor mirror to adjust her hair. “Okay,” she said, turning to him as though they had been in the middle of a conversation that had been only briefly interrupted. “So where are we going for dinner?”
Austin smiled. “You know the Racquet Club?”
“Is there a good restaurant near there?”
“I don’t think we’ll be eating particularly well. I was planning on more of a picnic-style meal. Something from a deli.”
“I thought we were going on a date.”
“We are. To the Racquet Club.”
Devon tilted her head. “You know as well as I do that women aren’t allowed in there except during special events. Charity balls and things like that. And I don’t think our date qualifies.”
“You’d be surprised what you can accomplish with a few calls.”
Devon sighed and sat back in her seat. “I’d like to know who’s on your contacts list,” she said.
2
Like the Beach Club, the Racquet Club in New York had a more formal name: The Racquet and Tennis Club. This title made it sound vaguely like any number of public institutions in the New York metro area: The Health and Racquet Club, for example, or the New York Tennis Club. But the Racquet Club was not public, and it was unlike any athletic club in the city. Or anywhere. A wide, low building of gray stone surrounded by towering glass skyscrapers, it sat on Park Avenue between 52nd and 53rd street. The main entrance was under a large, dark blue awning past a short flight of stone stairs. The façade did not invite passersby to investigate; it was not welcoming. It was incongruous, and mysterious, and grand. Initiation and annual membership fees at the Racquet Club were nominal, considering the facilities and services provided, but joining the Racquet Club was a multi-step process. You had to be nominated by a current, non-junior member; you had to secure five letters of recommendation from five other current members; and you had to survive the board of directors’ new-membership deliberation process. The deliberation itself was performed behind closed doors, without your knowledge or input, and it was highly subjective. New members were evaluated not only based on nomination and recommendation letters, but on any number of hearsay anecdotes, rumors, and second-hand perceptions of standing in the community. There were few explicitly stated qualifications for membership; the board ruled at it saw fit. But besides proper schooling, a reputable family, and a good income (or a healthy trust fund), there was one sine qua non characteristic of an incoming member: you had to be a man. It also didn’t hurt to be Episcopalian. Or Protestant. Or no religion at all.
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.”
Southampton Spectacular Page 19