“Actually, I thought we should talk for just a moment. Alone.”
Henry stopped. His gaze mixed curiosity and concern. George hadn’t meant to sound an alarm, but the firmness in his voice gave him away. He had been dreading this meeting all weekend. Although the Lewises would receive official notification from Gail Davis that the Membership Committee had declined to act on their application for membership to the Fair Lawn Country Club, George had wanted to tell Henry in person. It seemed like the right thing to do. He now had the sinking feeling that it would be far worse than he had anticipated.
Henry sat opposite him and crossed his right ankle over his left knee. George couldn’t look straight ahead. He let his eyes drift to the end table and focused on several pictures of the two Lewis girls. Their teeth-filled grins jumped from the silver frames. The images of two children in bikinis with a sand castle in the foreground, of one pushing the other on a swing hung from a tree branch, of both with arms wrapped around their beaming father, were familiar, timeless. No different, these girls are no different from my own, he thought.
“They’re good. Both of them. We feel very lucky,” Henry said.
“How old are they?”
“Eliza is seven and Madeleine will be four in August.”
“They must like it out here.” George stumbled over his own small talk.
“We all do.”
Silence passed between them. George could feel Henry’s gaze fixed on him.
“Are you staying out through Monday?” George searched for conversation. He wanted to ease into the discussion, backtrack from the clear indication he had given moments earlier that something was wrong.
“Louise and the girls are going to stay, but I’m heading back to the city tonight. Memorial Day doesn’t get much observance where I work.” He smiled. “Actually, a transplant candidate is being transferred from a hospital in the Midwest.”
A heart transplant, somebody flown in from halfway across the country to get another man’s heart; the concept was hard for George to imagine.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to bring the heart to him?”
“To her,” he corrected. “But to answer your question, she’s been my patient for quite some time. Her husband wasn’t happy with the care she got in Chicago, and brought her to New York last February. He wants us to see her through.”
“Do you actually do the transplant?”
“I’m part of what’s called a transplant team. I’m one of several surgeons involved, each with a specific role. Let’s say it’s a group effort.” He paused. When he spoke again his voice was matter-of-fact. “Despite my pleasure in seeing you, George, I’m quite confident that you did not give up a Sunday afternoon to come chat about organ transplantation. What’s on your mind?”
George felt his heartbeat quicken and wondered whether Henry’s cardiac perceptions were astute enough to notice. Apparently Henry wouldn’t tolerate further delay. “As you probably know,” he began, “the Membership Committee met last Wednesday.”
“I see.”
“Yes, well, we had to act on a number of applications. It really was a startling number, more than I’ve seen in years.” He couldn’t look at Henry. “Sometimes, I wonder to myself why people are even interested in joining Fair Lawn. I ask myself that question when I’m faced with folder upon folder of people, all really nice, decent people, knowing they may be rejected.” George’s words gathered speed as he rambled. “It’s so hard to make decisions. Many of us wish that we could just admit everyone, open it up to all the wonderful younger families like yourselves wanting to come in.”
“Just say it, George. We weren’t accepted.” The words fell flat.
George inhaled deeply. “Henry, if it had been up to me, you know it would be different, but I’m only one of six. People are very reluctant to let in anyone new, complaints of the club being too crowded, parking problems, you name it.” He hoped that he sounded sincere. “You know how people are. Figure they’re in so they pull the ladder up behind them. In fact, there was a concerted effort to admit only legatees, given the numbers.” As the words escaped from his mouth, George realized his mistake.
“Louise’s parents have been members for years.”
“Yes, yes, that’s right. What am I thinking?” George mumbled. Then he changed his tack. “The issue, Henry, is that Louise is well-known. She grew up here, has been a junior member. People don’t know you in the same way.”
“Come on, George. Don’t bullshit me.”
“I’m not, really,” George pleaded. “I’m optimistic about your chances for admission next time round. You know politics.”
Henry stared down at his folded hands.
“We both know that there are six very different people on the committee. You had Wally, Wally Lovejoy. He’s crazy about you both. You had me. Of course you had me, but for people like Jack Von Furst, Gail Davis, you’re just a name on an application.” George could not bear to identify the true source of the problem. “Maybe Louise could work on Gail, play a little ladies’ doubles, have a drink afterward, you know how it is, talk charities. Isn’t Louise involved in…what’s that charity? YOUTHCORE, that’s it, I knew the name would come to me.” Henry didn’t respond. George continued, “I’m pretty sure Gail volunteers there. Anyway, next time the focus has to be on gathering momentum, getting a real show of support across the board.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“Oh, come on, that’s ridiculous, lots of members have to go two, three years—”
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Henry interrupted. “I’m a black man, a black man married to a white woman, and that won’t change. Not next year. Not any year.”
George sat without moving. He felt numb.
Henry’s voice, low and controlled, resonated. “I shouldn’t be surprised, now, should I?” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. “In fact, as I think about it, Louise and I must have put you all in an awkward position. Here we are, a decent, successful, some might say prominent family, and for you to refuse us, you’d have to admit to yourselves that race is still an issue. That couldn’t have felt too good, now, could it?”
“It wasn’t like that,” George tried to reason, although he knew his efforts were futile.
“What I wonder is, who was willing to admit that? Were you? Were you at least honest?”
George didn’t reply.
“It’s not as if I hadn’t imagined it could happen this way. In fact, if I let myself, I can hear the conversation. ‘We’ll be filled with coloreds before we know it.’ ” Henry mocked imitation. “Was that it? What did they say about Louise, George? Were you all sorry she married me? What did they say about my girls? I want to know what was said about Eliza and Madeleine.”
“Nothing. Not a thing. The girls weren’t discussed.”
“Well, then what happened?”
“There wasn’t a vote,” George whispered.
“What?”
“We abstained. We moved to abstain. So that you could reapply next year.”
“I’m not a fool.” Henry knew the procedures.
George looked down. He hadn’t wanted to explain about the threatened blackball or any other details of the deliberations. He already had breached etiquette by breaking the news to Henry himself. “It wasn’t going that way.”
“Who kept me out?”
“I—I can’t tell you,” George stammered. “The meetings are secret. You know that. My hands are tied.”
“
Tell me!
” The words seemed to boil in Henry’s throat. He had gotten up from his seat on the couch opposite George and walked behind him, out of George’s sight. George wanted to turn around, but his shoulders froze. His torso wouldn’t move. “Tell me who it was.”
George felt his nerves crumbling. He reminded himself that he had been angry. Anger still burned in him over how Henry and Louise had been treated. It wasn’t fair, wasn’t right. He felt ashamed. “Clio, Clio Pratt, Richard’s wife. She was going to blackball you. There was nothing for the rest of us to do.” There, the words were out.
“What’s going on?” Louise Lewis appeared in the doorway. She looked frightened.
“Please, leave us alone,” Henry instructed.
As Louise moved toward her husband, George could hear the pad of her bare feet on the floor. She reached for Henry’s shoulder, but he twisted away, out of reach. He paced the room, seemingly oblivious of George’s presence, immobile and mute, on the couch.
After several moments Louise turned her green eyes to George. “We didn’t get in,” she said.
“I—I,” George stammered again. “I was just in the process of explaining to Henry that it often takes a couple of years, that you shouldn’t be discouraged. I’m sure your parents can tell you that. There’s still plenty of time.”
Louise shook her head.
“You and Henry need to meet people.”
“Don’t patronize me with your strategy for next year.” Henry turned and glared at George.
“Henry,” Louise interjected. “We knew this could happen.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” Henry said.
Louise looked at George, then back at her husband. “We were hopeful, especially given Mum and Dad’s history with the club.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Both of us really wanted it for the girls. You know, it’s a great place for kids. It was for me. Eliza loves tennis already. She’s quite good.”
George smiled meekly.
Louise turned away. When she spoke, her words seemed directed at some distant point beyond the room. “I wanted others to see us as we saw ourselves. That’s all. Just another family.” Her mouth quivered, and she raised her hand to cover her lips. “But we should have known. I should have realized.”
“It’ll happen for you. Don’t give up,” George said.
“Please, stop this. George, I want you to leave. Leave us alone,” Henry’s voice trembled slightly.
Louise exchanged a bewildered look with George.
“I mean it. Now.”
A tear ran down Louise’s cheek, but she stayed silent.
“I’m sorry, Henry. I truly am. You’ve got to know that. I did everything I could,” George almost whimpered.
“I don’t care what you did, or what you claim to have done. How dare your committee sit in judgment of my life, of my family, of me?”
“Stop, Henry,” Louise begged.
“Let me help.”
“I don’t need your help, George,” Henry continued, his voice lowering. “I can handle this myself.” With that he turned his back to George, walked over to the wall, and propelled his fist directly into the plaster. George heard the crack of his knuckles, but Henry didn’t flinch.
George rose cautiously to his feet, wondering for a moment whether they would support him, and walked out. At the door he turned to face Louise. Behind her he could see Henry in the distance, a silhouette in front of the windows to the sea.
Louise pressed her hand into George’s. He felt a slight tremble in her palm. “I thank you for trying. Henry does, too. He just can’t do it right now.”
George wanted to hug her, to make some physical gesture that would indicate how sorry he was. He wanted her to understand that he wasn’t like the others, but he felt paralyzed. He walked slowly to his car, unwilling to contemplate what Henry might do under the circumstances.
As he got into the driver’s seat, George felt sick to his stomach. Perspiration soaked his shirt, and he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. A painful throbbing behind his eyes intensified as he pulled the car out of the driveway. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw Louise, her lanky body leaning against the door frame, the folds of her skirt swaying slightly. He looked away.
As George turned onto Gin Lane, his vision blurred. The pounding in his head prevented him from focusing on the road, and he was forced to pull his car onto the grassy curb. He activated his hazard lights, then leaned forward over the leather steering wheel to rest his head. How could this have happened? What would he do if he were Henry? He couldn’t bring himself to answer.
Aurelia Watson examined the corrugated cardboard box. It had no markings, no indication of when it had been packed, what it contained, or even with what move, out of many in her life, it could be identified. She remembered nothing about it and apparently had not missed its contents. Only the sagging sides, dust, and collection of debris on top revealed the passage of time. It had sat untouched for years.
Aurelia couldn’t explain to herself why she had chosen this beautiful May afternoon to clean out her attic. The idea simply had come to her like forwarded mail as she drank her morning coffee. Holding the warm green mug in both hands, she rocked back and forth in her porch chair, listened to a creak in the floorboard, stared out at the village of bird feeders in the corner of her garden, and felt compelled to purge herself of accumulated odds and ends.
Plus, she needed space. Twenty of her best oil paintings, landscapes on canvases as large as three feet, were arranged on the floor and propped against the furniture in her living room. The day before, her exhibit at Guild Hall, the prestigious East Hampton gallery, had come down after three weeks on display and not a single sale. “It’s a bad time of year. The season hasn’t really started,” the gallery’s director tried to console her as she stacked the colorful array of potato fields, dunes, trees, and flowers into her minivan. She chauffeured them back along Montauk Highway, through Bridgehampton and Water Mill to Southampton, then onto Halsey Neck Lane and into her own driveway. Her tears stopped only when she displayed the images in her home showroom. Then Aurelia surveyed her array of work and felt proud, whether the rest of the world noticed her or not.
At some point, though, the paintings would have to be put away. The living room, her only sitting area, was unusable in its present arrangement.
Light through the circular window cast odd shadows in the attic as Aurelia moved about, crouching. She knew that organization and decision making were not her strengths, so she forced herself to choose what to keep, what to throw away, and what to give to the thrift shop at the First Congregational Church. She did not attend church, never had and never would, but it seemed as good a cause as the next. Sleeping bags, a tricycle, assorted baskets and vases, and a needlepoint bench she designated for the Congregationalists.
The moth-eaten rug, chipped pink teapot, and yellowed newspapers would go to the dump. The aluminum pan would, too. She had read that cooking with aluminum caused Alzheimer’s disease.