I interrupted and asked, "What is bauxite?"
"It's… it's like… an important… I guess you'd say mineral…"
"It's aluminium ore. Hardworking men dig it out of the ground so people can have beer cans."
"Who cares? I told you, it's ten and a half today, a two-year low, and there's talk of a takeover bid by American Biscuit. They're a hot company. They make quality sporting goods."
"Who makes biscuits? U.S. Steel?"
"USX. That's U.S. Steel now. They make… steel."
"Leave the Lauderbach account alone, Lester, or I'll pull it from you" He mumbled something, then before I could hang up, he said, "Listen, John, let me return to the other thing for a moment. I want to talk to you about that. Just between us."
"Talk."
"First of all, I think you owe me an apology."
"For what?"
"For what you said to me at the club."
"I think you owe me an apology for having the audacity to try to involve me in swindle."
"I don't know what you're talking about. I want you to apologize for telling me to go fuck myself."
"I apologize."
"Oh… okay… next thing. The Bellarosa thing. I have to tell you, John, twenty years ago you'd have been asked to resign for that little stunt. We're all a little looser now, but by the same token, we're all a little more concerned about all these new people moving in. We don't want the club to get a reputation for being a place where these people can come, even as guests. We certainly do not want it known that a notorious Mafia boss is a regular at The Creek." "Lester, I have no desire to cause you or other club members any distress. I am as big a snob as you are. However, if John Sutter wishes to sup with the devil at the club, it is no business of yours or anyone's as long as no club rules are broken."
"John, damn it, I'm talking about common sense and common courtesy, and yes, common decency -" "And if you or anyone wishes to propose a house rule regarding alleged underworld figures, or the devil, I will probably vote for it. The days of gentlemen's agreements and secret protocols are over, my friend, because there are no gentlemen left, and secret protocols are illegal. If we are to survive, we had better adapt, or we had better get tough and get a plan of action. We cannot stand around any longer complaining because it's hard to dance on the deck of a sinking ship. Do you understand?"
"No."
"Then let me put it this way. My prediction is that by the end of this century, Frank Bellarosa will be on the club board, or perhaps there won't be a Creek Country Club. And when it's a town park or a shopping mall, everyone can go there, and we can complain about tight parking and rowdy kids." "You may be right," said Lester unexpectedly. "But until then, John, we would appreciate it if you didn't bring Mr Bellarosa in as a guest." "I will think about that."
"Please do," Lester said. "My best regards to Susan."
"And my regards to Judy. And Lester…?"
"Yes?"
"Go fuck yourself."
I had decided to avoid The Creek for a while, partly because of my conversation with Lester, but mostly because I prefer to spend July at The Seawanhaka Corinthian Yacht Club.
So on a Friday evening, the day after Edward came home, and two days after Carolyn came home, Susan and I took the children to the yacht club for an early dinner, to be followed by a three-day sailing trip.
We took my Bronco, piled high with beer, food, and fishing gear. It was just like the old days, sort of, except that Carolyn was driving, and Edward wasn't bouncing all over the place with excitement. He looked instead like an adolescent who had things on his mind; probably the girl he left behind at school. And Carolyn, well, she was a woman now, and someone, not me, had taught her to drive a stick shift. Where do the years go?
Anyway, we entered the grounds of The Seawanhaka Corinthian Yacht Club. The club, founded by William K. Vanderbilt, is located on Center Island, which is actually more of a peninsula, surrounded by Oyster Bay, Cold Spring Harbor, the Long Island Sound, and an aura of old money. A no-trespassing sign would be redundant.
We approached the clubhouse by way of a gravel drive. The house is a three-storey building of grey cedar shingle and white trim, with a side veranda and gabled roofs. The building dates back to the 1880s and was built in a unique architectural style, which, on the East Coast, is called the American Shingle style. This is a sort of hybrid, combining native cedar shingles with classical ornamentation, though the classical touches are not of marble, but of white-painted wood. The clubhouse in fact had mock wooden pilasters all around, their capitals vaguely Corinthian, hence, I suppose, the club's second name. The Seawanhaka are an extinct tribe of Long Island Indians. Thus, the club's name, while as odd and hybrid as its architecture, has as its unifying theme the evocation of extinct civilizations, which may be fitting. Anyway, it is a beautifully simple building, unpretentious, yet dignified, a combination of rough-hewn Americana with just a bit of frivolity, like an early settler in a homespun dress with imported ribbons in her hair. Carolyn parked the Bronco and we climbed out, making our way to the clubhouse. The dining room faces out onto Oyster Bay, and we took a table near the large, multi-paned window. I could see our boat, the thirty-six-foot Morgan, at the end of a distant pier. The boat is named Paumanok, after the old Indian name for Long Island.
I ordered a bottle of local wine, the Banfi chardonnay, produced on a former Vanderbilt estate that nearly became a housing tract. Perhaps, I thought, we could save the Stanhope estate by planting an expensive crop, maybe figs and olives, but I'd need a lot of sunlamps. Anyway, I poured wine for all of us and we toasted being together.
I believe that children should start drinking early. It gets them used to alcohol and removes the mystery and taboo. I mean, how cool can it be if your mother and father make.you drink wine with dinner? It worked for me, and for Susan, too, because neither of us abused alcohol in our youth. Middle age is another matter.
We talked about school, about Carolyn's trip to Cape Cod and Edward's reluctance to leave St Paul's, which indeed had something to do with a girl, specifically an older girl who was a sophomore at nearby Dartmouth College. I fear that many of Edward's life decisions will be influenced by his libido. I suppose that's normal. I'm the same way, and I'm normal.
Anyway, we also talked about local happenings and about summer plans. Edward, on his third glass of wine, loosened up a bit more. Carolyn is always tightly wrapped, drunk or sober, and you don't get much out of her until she's ready to talk. Carolyn is also the perceptive one, like her mother, and she asked me, "Is everything all right?"
Rather than pretend that it was, or be evasive, I replied, "We've had some problems here. You both know about our new neighbours?" Edward sat up and took notice. "Yeah! Frank the Bishop Bellarosa. He threatening you? We'll go knock him off." He laughed.
Susan replied, "Actually, it's quite the opposite problem. He's very nice and his wife is a darling."
I wasn't sure about any of that, but I added, "He's taken a liking to us, and we aren't sure how to react to that. Nor do other people. So you may hear a few things about that while you're here."
Edward didn't respond directly because when he has his own agenda, he doesn't want to be sidetracked. He said enthusiastically, "What's he like? Can I meet him? I want to say I met him. Okay?"
Edward is an informal boy, despite all his private schooling and despite the fact that most of his family on both sides are pompous asses. He's sort of a scrawny kid with reddish hair that always needs combing. Also, his shirttails always need tucking in, his school tie and blazer are usually spotted with something, and his Docksides look as if they were chewed on. Some of this is affected, of course: the homeless preppie look, which was the fashion even when I was up at St Paul's. But basically, Edward is an undirected though good-hearted boy with a devil-may-care attitude. I said to him, "If you want to meet your new neighbour, just knock on his door."