Still Me
Page 32
‘I am.’ I swallowed. ‘I also know Agnes is a good person. Smart. Kind. Cultured. And not a gold-digger. As you say, these things are rarely clear-cut.’
Her eyes met mine in the glass. We stood for a few seconds longer, then she closed her handbag and, after a last glance at her reflection, she gave a tight smile. ‘I’m glad Leonard is well.’
We returned to the table just as the plates were being cleared. She said not another word to me for the rest of the afternoon.
The desserts were served alongside the coffee, the conversation ebbed and lunch dragged to a close. Several elderly women were helped to the Ladies, their walking frames extricated with gentle commotions from chair legs as they went. The man in the suit stood on the small podium at the front, sweating gently into his collar, thanked everybody for coming, then said a few words about upcoming events at the club, including a charity night in two weeks, which was apparently sold out (a round of applause greeted this news). Finally, he said, they had an announcement to make, and nodded towards our table.
Agnes let out a breath and stood, the room’s eyes upon her. She walked to the podium, taking the manager’s place at the microphone. As she waited, he brought an older African American woman in a dark suit to the front of the room. The woman fluttered her hands as if everyone were making an unnecessary fuss. Agnes smiled at her, took a deep breath, as I had instructed her, then laid her two small cards carefully on the stand, and began to speak, her voice clear and deliberate.
‘Good afternoon, everybody. Thank you for coming today, and thank you to all the staff for such a delicious lunch.’
Her voice was perfectly modulated, the words polished like stones over hours of practice the previous week. There was an approving murmur. I glanced at Mrs Gopnik, whose expression was unreadable.
‘As many of you know, this is Mary Lander’s last day at the club. We would like to wish her a very happy retirement. Leonard wishes me to tell you, Mary, he is so very sorry not to be able to come today. He appreciates everything you have done for the club and he knows that everyone else here does too.’ She paused, as I had instructed her. The room was silent, the women’s faces attentive. ‘Mary started here at Grand Pines in 1967 as a kitchen attendant and rose up to become assistant house manager. Everybody here has very much enjoyed your company and your hard work over the years, Mary, and we will all miss you very much. We – and the other members of this club - would like to offer you a small token of our appreciation and we sincerely hope that your retirement is most enjoyable.’
There was a polite round of applause and Agnes was handed a glass sculpture of a scroll, with Mary’s name engraved on it. She handed it to the older woman, smiling, and stood still as some people took pictures. Then she moved to the edge of the platform and returned to our table, her face flashing relief as she was allowed to leave the limelight. I watched as Mary smiled for more pictures, this time with the manager. I was about to lean over to Agnes to congratulate her when Kathryn Gopnik stood.
‘Actually,’ she said, her voice cutting across the chatter, ‘I’d like to say a few words.’
As we watched, she made her way up onto the podium, where she walked past the stand. She took Mary’s gift from her and handed it to the manager. Then she clasped Mary’s hands in her own. ‘Oh, Mary,’ she said, and then, turning so that they were facing outward: ‘Mary, Mary, Mary. What a darling you’ve been.’
There was a spontaneous burst of applause across the room. Mrs Gopnik nodded, waiting until it died down. ‘Over the years my daughter has grown up with you watching over her – and us – during the hundreds, no, thousands of hours we’ve spent here. Such happy, happy times. If we’ve had the slightest problem you’ve always been there, sorting things out, bandaging scraped knees or putting endless ice packs on bumped heads. I think we all remember the incident in the boathouse!’
There was a ripple of laughter.
‘You’ve especially loved our children, and this place always felt like a sanctuary to Leonard and me because it was the one place we knew our family would be safe and happy. Those beautiful lawns have seen so many great times, and been witness to so much laughter. While we’d be off playing golf or having a delicious cocktail with friends there at the sidelines, you’d be watching over children or handing out glasses of that inimitable iced tea. We all love Mary’s special iced tea, don’t we, friends?’
There was a cheer. I watched as Agnes grew rigid, clapping robotically as if she wasn’t quite sure what else to do.
Emmett leant into me. ‘Mary’s iced tea is quite a thing. I don’t know what she puts into it but, my goodness, it’s lethal.’ He raised his eyes to the heavens.
‘Tabitha came out specially from the city, like so many of us today, because I know that she thinks of you not just as staff at this club, but as part of the family. And we all know there’s no substitute for family!’
I dared not look at Agnes now, as the applause broke out again.
‘Mary,’ Kathryn Gopnik said, when it had died down, ‘you have helped perpetuate the true values of this place – values that some may find old fashioned but which we feel make this country club what it is: consistency, excellence and loyalty. You have been its smiling face, its beating heart. I know I speak for everyone when I say it simply won’t be the same without you.’ The older woman was now beaming, her eyes glittering with tears. ‘Everyone, charge your glasses and raise them to our wonderful Mary.’
The room erupted. Those who were able to stand stood. As Emmett clambered unsteadily to his feet, I glanced around, and then, feeling somehow treacherous, I did too. Agnes was the last to rise from her chair, still clapping, her smile a glossy rictus on her face.
There was something comforting about a truly heaving bar, one where you had to thrust your arm through a queue three deep to get the attention of a bar-tender, and where you’d be lucky if two-thirds of your drink remained in the glass by the time you’d fought your way back to your table. Balthazar, Nathan told me, was something of a SoHo institution: always jammed, always fun, a staple of the New York bar scene. And tonight, even on a Sunday, it was packed, busy enough for the noise, the ever-moving barmen, the lights and the clatter to drive the day’s events from my head.
We sank a couple of beers each, standing at the bar, and Nathan introduced me to the guys he knew from his gym, whose names I forgot almost immediately but who were funny and nice and just needed one woman as an excuse to bounce cheerful insults off each other. Eventually we fought our way to a table where I drank some more and ate a cheeseburger and felt a bit better. At around ten o’clock, when the boys were busy doing grunting impressions of other gym-goers, complete with facial expressions and bulging veins, I got up to go to the bathroom. I stayed there for ten minutes, relishing the relative silence as I touched up my make-up and ruffled my hair. I tried not to think about what Sam was doing. It had stopped being a comfort to me, and had instead started to give me a knot in my stomach. Then I headed back out.
‘Are you stalking me?’
I spun round in the corridor. There stood Joshua Ryan in a shirt and jeans, his eyebrows raised.
‘What? Oh. Hi!’ My hand went instinctively to my hair. ‘No – no, I’m just here with some friends.’
‘I’m kidding you. How are you, Louisa Clark? Long way from Central Park.’ He stooped to kiss my cheek. He smelt delicious, of limes and something soft and musky. ‘Wow. That was almost poetic.’
‘Just working my way through all the bars in Manhattan. You know how it is.’
‘Oh, yeah. The “try something new” thing. You look cute. I like the whole …’ he gestured towards my shift dress and short-sleeved cardigan ‘… preppy vibe.’
‘I had to go to a country club today.’
‘It’s a good look on you. Want to grab a beer?’
‘I – I can’t really leave my friends.’ He looked momentarily disappointed. ‘But, hey,’ I added, ‘come and join us!’
‘Great! Let me just tell the people I’m with. I’m tagging along on a date – they’ll be glad to shake me. Where are you?’
Her eyes met mine in the glass. We stood for a few seconds longer, then she closed her handbag and, after a last glance at her reflection, she gave a tight smile. ‘I’m glad Leonard is well.’
We returned to the table just as the plates were being cleared. She said not another word to me for the rest of the afternoon.
The desserts were served alongside the coffee, the conversation ebbed and lunch dragged to a close. Several elderly women were helped to the Ladies, their walking frames extricated with gentle commotions from chair legs as they went. The man in the suit stood on the small podium at the front, sweating gently into his collar, thanked everybody for coming, then said a few words about upcoming events at the club, including a charity night in two weeks, which was apparently sold out (a round of applause greeted this news). Finally, he said, they had an announcement to make, and nodded towards our table.
Agnes let out a breath and stood, the room’s eyes upon her. She walked to the podium, taking the manager’s place at the microphone. As she waited, he brought an older African American woman in a dark suit to the front of the room. The woman fluttered her hands as if everyone were making an unnecessary fuss. Agnes smiled at her, took a deep breath, as I had instructed her, then laid her two small cards carefully on the stand, and began to speak, her voice clear and deliberate.
‘Good afternoon, everybody. Thank you for coming today, and thank you to all the staff for such a delicious lunch.’
Her voice was perfectly modulated, the words polished like stones over hours of practice the previous week. There was an approving murmur. I glanced at Mrs Gopnik, whose expression was unreadable.
‘As many of you know, this is Mary Lander’s last day at the club. We would like to wish her a very happy retirement. Leonard wishes me to tell you, Mary, he is so very sorry not to be able to come today. He appreciates everything you have done for the club and he knows that everyone else here does too.’ She paused, as I had instructed her. The room was silent, the women’s faces attentive. ‘Mary started here at Grand Pines in 1967 as a kitchen attendant and rose up to become assistant house manager. Everybody here has very much enjoyed your company and your hard work over the years, Mary, and we will all miss you very much. We – and the other members of this club - would like to offer you a small token of our appreciation and we sincerely hope that your retirement is most enjoyable.’
There was a polite round of applause and Agnes was handed a glass sculpture of a scroll, with Mary’s name engraved on it. She handed it to the older woman, smiling, and stood still as some people took pictures. Then she moved to the edge of the platform and returned to our table, her face flashing relief as she was allowed to leave the limelight. I watched as Mary smiled for more pictures, this time with the manager. I was about to lean over to Agnes to congratulate her when Kathryn Gopnik stood.
‘Actually,’ she said, her voice cutting across the chatter, ‘I’d like to say a few words.’
As we watched, she made her way up onto the podium, where she walked past the stand. She took Mary’s gift from her and handed it to the manager. Then she clasped Mary’s hands in her own. ‘Oh, Mary,’ she said, and then, turning so that they were facing outward: ‘Mary, Mary, Mary. What a darling you’ve been.’
There was a spontaneous burst of applause across the room. Mrs Gopnik nodded, waiting until it died down. ‘Over the years my daughter has grown up with you watching over her – and us – during the hundreds, no, thousands of hours we’ve spent here. Such happy, happy times. If we’ve had the slightest problem you’ve always been there, sorting things out, bandaging scraped knees or putting endless ice packs on bumped heads. I think we all remember the incident in the boathouse!’
There was a ripple of laughter.
‘You’ve especially loved our children, and this place always felt like a sanctuary to Leonard and me because it was the one place we knew our family would be safe and happy. Those beautiful lawns have seen so many great times, and been witness to so much laughter. While we’d be off playing golf or having a delicious cocktail with friends there at the sidelines, you’d be watching over children or handing out glasses of that inimitable iced tea. We all love Mary’s special iced tea, don’t we, friends?’
There was a cheer. I watched as Agnes grew rigid, clapping robotically as if she wasn’t quite sure what else to do.
Emmett leant into me. ‘Mary’s iced tea is quite a thing. I don’t know what she puts into it but, my goodness, it’s lethal.’ He raised his eyes to the heavens.
‘Tabitha came out specially from the city, like so many of us today, because I know that she thinks of you not just as staff at this club, but as part of the family. And we all know there’s no substitute for family!’
I dared not look at Agnes now, as the applause broke out again.
‘Mary,’ Kathryn Gopnik said, when it had died down, ‘you have helped perpetuate the true values of this place – values that some may find old fashioned but which we feel make this country club what it is: consistency, excellence and loyalty. You have been its smiling face, its beating heart. I know I speak for everyone when I say it simply won’t be the same without you.’ The older woman was now beaming, her eyes glittering with tears. ‘Everyone, charge your glasses and raise them to our wonderful Mary.’
The room erupted. Those who were able to stand stood. As Emmett clambered unsteadily to his feet, I glanced around, and then, feeling somehow treacherous, I did too. Agnes was the last to rise from her chair, still clapping, her smile a glossy rictus on her face.
There was something comforting about a truly heaving bar, one where you had to thrust your arm through a queue three deep to get the attention of a bar-tender, and where you’d be lucky if two-thirds of your drink remained in the glass by the time you’d fought your way back to your table. Balthazar, Nathan told me, was something of a SoHo institution: always jammed, always fun, a staple of the New York bar scene. And tonight, even on a Sunday, it was packed, busy enough for the noise, the ever-moving barmen, the lights and the clatter to drive the day’s events from my head.
We sank a couple of beers each, standing at the bar, and Nathan introduced me to the guys he knew from his gym, whose names I forgot almost immediately but who were funny and nice and just needed one woman as an excuse to bounce cheerful insults off each other. Eventually we fought our way to a table where I drank some more and ate a cheeseburger and felt a bit better. At around ten o’clock, when the boys were busy doing grunting impressions of other gym-goers, complete with facial expressions and bulging veins, I got up to go to the bathroom. I stayed there for ten minutes, relishing the relative silence as I touched up my make-up and ruffled my hair. I tried not to think about what Sam was doing. It had stopped being a comfort to me, and had instead started to give me a knot in my stomach. Then I headed back out.
‘Are you stalking me?’
I spun round in the corridor. There stood Joshua Ryan in a shirt and jeans, his eyebrows raised.
‘What? Oh. Hi!’ My hand went instinctively to my hair. ‘No – no, I’m just here with some friends.’
‘I’m kidding you. How are you, Louisa Clark? Long way from Central Park.’ He stooped to kiss my cheek. He smelt delicious, of limes and something soft and musky. ‘Wow. That was almost poetic.’
‘Just working my way through all the bars in Manhattan. You know how it is.’
‘Oh, yeah. The “try something new” thing. You look cute. I like the whole …’ he gestured towards my shift dress and short-sleeved cardigan ‘… preppy vibe.’
‘I had to go to a country club today.’
‘It’s a good look on you. Want to grab a beer?’
‘I – I can’t really leave my friends.’ He looked momentarily disappointed. ‘But, hey,’ I added, ‘come and join us!’
‘Great! Let me just tell the people I’m with. I’m tagging along on a date – they’ll be glad to shake me. Where are you?’
