by Gary Beck
best friend Steve and I finished our junior year of high school
without the usual desperate need for it to be over. He attended
a New York City public high school. I was enrolled in the prestigious
private school that the men of my family had attended for the
last one hundred and fifty years. My academic standing was high
and I was the number one player on the varsity tennis team. Steve
was in the top percentile of his class and was a pitcher on the
baseball team, because the school didn't have a tennis team. He
played tennis almost every day at a prominent tennis club that
sponsored high-ranking juniors.
Steve got off the train our greeting wasn't as urgent as it usually
was. We were both pleased to discover a new maturity in each other
and our ongoing friendship grew even deeper. We automatically
fell into our old daily routine of a morning run and tennis practice,
and we prepared for the eighteen and under regionals. If we did
well, it would improve our national rankings and make us more
desirable at Yale. We were both getting tired of the junior tournament
circuit, which we had been playing since we were seven. Tennis
parents of the other players and hypocritical lectures about good
sportsmanship from people who only cared about winning were becoming
particularly aggravating. We decided that we would at least continue
to play until college. Our admission to Yale was certain, but
it couldn't hurt to bring a sports reputation with us.
sailed on Long Island Sound almost every afternoon with the Germayne
twins, Ginnie and Melody. They were identical redheads, with long
curly hair, green eyes, freckled pale skin and strong athletic
bodies. They were striking rather than pretty, but they were very
spirited. Steve had slept with both of them last summer, but they
weren't jealous or possessive and we had a lot of fun together.
I was still tortuously shy with girls and much too timid to try
anything with Melody, though I really liked her. After a few weeks
we had become inseparable and they accompanied us everywhere.
Our live-in maid, Dahlia, interrogated us with her usual suspicion.
I have to warn those girls about you?"
won't be necessary," I answered placatingly. "We're
they're in trouble."
probably have to protect Randy from them," Steve quipped.
glared at him, but he pretended not to notice and Dahlia didn't
say anything else. The girls had decided to train with us and
they'd meet us in the morning for the two and a half mile run
to the club. For the first two weeks they could only run about
a mile and they'd walk the rest of the way. After that they'd
casually play tennis for a while.
and I would go through our standard drill: fifty backhands, fifty
forehands, fifty forehand and backhand volleys, fifty overheads,
fifty lobs and fifty serves. We'd take a short break, then play
three practice sets. We were still fairly evenly matched, just
as we had been ever since we were ranked in the ten and unders.
Despite years of efforts by Dad and other coaches, winning was
still not as important to us as playing well. This was a fatal
flaw for tournament tennis, where the only thing that mattered
was winning. When we practiced together, we always went all out
and tried to win every point. When we played each other at tournaments,
we'd let whoever needed a boost in the rankings win. A lot of
the juniors hated to play us, because we seemed to play our best
in the early rounds, often beating the top seeds who were supposed
to be better than us. Then we'd generally lose in the next round
to lower ranked players who we were expected to beat. We tried
to explain our attitude to some of the juniors, but they didn't
believe us. They considered us spoilers.
feud with Andy Klassen had gradually faded away, but we had no
fond memories of each other. When we met in tournaments, Steve
and I made special efforts to beat him. He was currently ranked
number 6 in the country in the 18 and unders and his father drove
him harder and harder in the quest to be number one. We had to
admit that he had become a pretty good player. It drove him wild
if we ever managed to win a match from him, because we were ranked
in the 400's. His father would get even crazier if he lost, cursing
us and threatening Andy. Mr. Klassen had never forgotten the confrontation
years ago at the club, when Steve was seven. So for years, whenever
they played, he would hover around the court, doing anything he
could to distract Steve. We always officially protested, but the
tournament officials were either too embarrassed or intimidated
to control him. We never let him upset us any more. We had seen
lots of tennis parents who were even crazier than he was. We cherished
the occasional win against Andy and reminded each other that it
was only a game. Somehow, the Klassens always brought out the
best in us and the worst in them.
and Melody had been playing club tennis since they were seven,
but they never took it seriously. Once they started running with
us, they began to get more interested in improving their game.
After Steve and I finished our practice sessions we gave them
lessons and they improved rapidly. They entered the club tournaments
and actually won some of them. We played mixed doubles with them
and one of our teams got to the finals in almost every club tournament
we entered. Many of the local parents were reassured that we were
too preoccupied with the Germayne twins to get their daughters
into trouble, so a lot of them were much friendlier to us. The
twins drove a red Jaguar convertible and they chauffeured us everywhere
at high speed, which added to our enjoyment and irked the state
troopers who chased us and gave them speeding tickets. The car
was quite conspicuous, which made it easier for others to keep
track of our whereabouts, so we'd take my Ford convertible when
we didn't want to be noticed.
Germaynes had a huge beach house on the Sound and kept a couple
of boats in the water all summer long for their guests. We used
their twenty-eight footer regularly, often staying on the water
after dark. Sometimes after getting underway we'd break out a
joint and get high. Steve would go below with one of the girls
and I'd stay on deck with the other. One cloudy, overcast afternoon
we were really stoned and we weren't paying much attention to
the weather. The girls were listening to Elvis Presley on the
radio and we were teasing them about their taste in music.
you girls really think he can sing?" I asked condescendingly.
number one on the charts," Ginnie answered.
made some suggestive moves. "That's because he shakes his
hips and makes horny girls think about sex."
smacked him playfully. "You have a dirty mind, Steve. Don't
you think so, Melody?"
filthy. If he was a Mexican, he'd be feelthy."
summer storm suddenly blew up. The moderately sedate Sound turned
into the fury of the Atlantic. Before we knew it, we were tossing
up and down in eight-to-ten foot seas that broke over the bow.
We barely managed to keep into the wind, which was getting so
strong that all we could do was run with it. We should have been
terrified. Instead, the thrill of danger was so exhilarating that
we howled at the storm, like wild beasts defying nature. The waves
got bigger and we finally decided to put on life jackets, which
we never did before. Well, except when we sailed with Dad, who
insisted that everyone wear a life jacket, or not sail. It was
too rough to do more than try to run with the wind and hold on
tight. I saw that Steve and the girls were as hyped as I was and
I yelled: "We should sing songs about storms." We didn't
know many and ended up repeating the first line of 'Stormy Weather'
over and over, and cackling like maniacs.
was near zero, rain was coming down in sheets and our best guess
was that we were heading east. We had never moved so fast under
sail and it was exciting. The girls kept shrieking, "Faster,
faster!" Suddenly, a large shape loomed out of the rain and
the Bridgeport ferry zipped by. We had a glimpse of terrified
faces, but before we could even wave they were gone. Most of the
passengers were tourists who only wanted a pleasant boat ride
and a nice day on the beach. They were getting more than they
storm raged on and on. We were still having a blast, but we were
getting tired from the struggle to keep the boat under control.
The sky got a bit lighter and the waves diminished, but it was
still rough. I hadn't been relieved at the tiller and Steve and
the girls kept giving me contradictory orders and laughing like
loons. I ignored them and tried to maintain my dignity, but I
wasn't too successful. Just then, without warning, we slammed
onto the beach. We barely had time to brace ourselves before the
boat broke apart and we were thrown to the sand. We lay there
stunned, too shocked from the impact to move. The rain was still
falling, though it was tapering off. We called back and forth
until we located each other. Once we were together, we checked
each other for injuries. By some weird coincidence we had nothing
more serious than scrapes and bruises.
surf fisherman was standing nearby, frozen in place, with his
eyes bulging and his mouth wide open, surprised at our dramatic
appearance. He watched us examine each other then asked, "Where
did you folks come from?" which we thought was hysterical.
answered him, speaking in a deep, sexy voice, "From the moon."
This struck us as so funny that we fell down and roared with laughter.
This profoundly offended the fisherman, who packed his gear, grumbling
man can't be left alone to fish in privacy, even in a storm."
provoked further gales of laughter from us. Steve finally asked
him,"Where are we?"
continued to pack and mumbled sullenly, "You're on Crane
don't know where that is," Ginnie said playfully, "because
they forgot to give us a map when we left the moon."
you crazies know anything?" he yelled. "It's on the
north shore of Long Island."
laughed wildly when we realized where we were. Ginnie started
going around in circles, searching for something. I asked her
what she was looking for. She answered forlornly. "My mermaid's
tail. I lost it when we crashed on the beach."
fisherman had enough and headed for his car. I asked him, politely,
"Please call the state troopers and tell them to send help."
snorted. "I'll send keepers for you escapees from the loony
felt badly about offending him and I reached into my pocket. "I'd
like to give you some of our wet money."
he refused and drove off, shaking his head, muttering something
about, "The nuts you meet on the beach these days."
had crossed Long Island Sound, the longest sea voyage any of us
had ever taken. Then we were shipwrecked on a foreign shore without
losing a single crew member. Magellan couldn't have done better.
We were wet and cold, but exhilarated. We huddled together, trying
to get warm, until the state police arrived and took us to their
barracks. They gave us blankets and hot chocolate, then called
our families. We hadn't given a moment's thought about anything
since the storm started. It didn't occur to us that our parents
had been frantic with worry once they realized that we were out
on the boat, caught in the storm. They only relaxed after the
state troopers swore we were uninjured after our miraculous escape.
Germayne sent his chauffeur, Tim, to take us home. Tim was thoughtful
enough to stop on the way and bring us dry clothes. By the time
he got there we were driving the troopers mad with our explorations
of their files and games of hide and seek in the barracks. The
girls kept trying to make sexy radio calls on the short-wave system.
When the troopers tried to stop them, they yelled, "Help.
We're being molested." The troopers were very happy to see
the last of us. We said, "No, thank you," when Tim offered
to take the ferry. We had enough sea voyaging for the time being.
We dozed during the long roundabout ride back.
we appeared before Mr. Germayne, Steve and I pleaded innocent
to nautical negligence. The girls swore that they were in charge
of the boat because they were better sailors than we were.
Germayne was skeptical. "Do you expect me to believe that
you girls were in charge?"
never looked more convincing. "Daddy, we handled the boat.
The boys crewed for us."
reluctant to believe you, Ginnie. I think you're trying to protect
at all, Daddy. Call the Coast Guard station and ask them if they
broadcast a storm warning."
will. You better not be deceiving me."
waited nervously to see if Ginnie's Coast Guard explanation worked.
The Coast Guard officer explained that the storm came up without
warning. "They were lucky to escape serious injury or drowning,
Mr. Germayne. We've already had several small boat fatalities
reported." The girls described how well we behaved in the
face of danger, exaggerating our efforts to convince 'Daddy.'
Mr. Germayne decided we were innocent. He shook our hands and
assured us, "You are always welcome in my home." My
family was a lot more difficult to convince.
was very suspicious of our role in the boating mishap. "If
what you say is true, this would be the first time in living memory
that you two were innocent. I find it hard to believe that you
weren't negligent in some way."
I swear we were caught in the storm without warning. We were lucky
to get off the boat alive."
true, Mr. Pierce. We did our best in a difficult situation. Without
the training you gave us we might not have made it."
not kidding, Dad. It was dangerous out there."
you boys drinking?"
sir. We wouldn't do that. You taught us never to drink while handling
do I get the feeling that I'm missing something? Did you leave
anything out, some tiny detail that might reveal that you aren't
the saints you claim to be?"
don't know what else we can tell you, Dad."
Pierce, why don't you talk to Mr. Germayne? He knows what happened."
talked to Phil before you got home. He thinks you're heroes."
sorry that you don't feel that way, Dad."
didn't say that. I just want to be sure, before I give you a reward."
great, Dad. What kind of reward?"
have to discuss it, but it should be something special. Bravery
should always be recognized."
good to us, Mr. Pierce."
and Melody told everyone at the club that we were heroes. Melody
described our epic struggle against the sea in elaborate detail,
lingering on how we climbed the mast to reef the sail and were
almost swept overboard. Andy tried to start a rumor that we deliberately
wrecked the boat to impress people and the weather wasn't really
that bad. But some of the club members had been sailing that day
and they agreed with Melody's description. Coincidentally, someone
on the ferry had recognized us when they passed our boat and they
confirmed our story, even elaborating on the fury of the storm.
This greatly added to the growing myth of our epic voyage across
of course, wasn't the least bit impressed with our nautical exploits.
"Anytime you boys have your parents and those gullible club
members praising you, I know you did something wrong."
said with injured dignity, "Now Dahlia, sometimes you have
a very petty and suspicious attitude."
known you both for a long time. There's no way you could be innocent."
hurt that you won't believe Dad and Mr. Germayne."
may bamboozle them, but you sure won't fool me."
What's that?" Steve asked innocently. " Drunken bamboo
you making fun of the way I speak?"
wouldn't do that, Dahlia," I replied.
nodded agreement. "You know we'd never tease you."
stared at us doubtfully. "Yeah. Only if you thought you could
get away with it."
respect you too much to make fun of you," Steve said.
right. You've always been honest with us and tried to teach us
about social injustice. We wouldn't do anything that would offend
always been a very good friend to me, especially when I first
came here when I was seven years old."
little manipulators. You could charm the skin off a snake."
mean every word of it," I insisted.
about we take you sailing with us, so you can see what it's like?"
last time a white boy asked a Negro to go on a sailboat, my ancestors
ended up picking cotton in the Massa's fields."
laughed. "That's very funny. Did you make that up?"
not too old for me to take down your britches and tan your heinie."
said with mock concern, "If you're thinking about white ass,
you need a new boyfriend, Dahlia."
pretended to be hurt. "This is the thanks I get after all
the years I took care of you."
quickly tried to soothe her. "You know we're kidding. We'd
never hurt you."
family," I added.
looked at us appraisingly and said, "Boys, we should have
a serious talk."
rolled my eyes at Steve. "Can we do it another time?"
Are you going somewhere with those redheaded devils?"
said in their defense, "They're sweet kids."
not what I call them, racing around in that flashy car, smoking
that stuff all the time..."
tried to be nonchalant. "What stuff?"
know what I mean. I don't mind if you pretend you're innocent,
but don't be thinking that I'm dumb."
nodded knowingly. "We could never fool you."
don't waste time trying. I want both of you to spend a little
time thinking about social issues. Next year you'll be going away
to college. You'll be young men with an opportunity to help change
the world. There are all kinds of problems to deal with, but I'd
like you to help my people in the struggle against racism."
do you want us to do?" I asked.
now, learn about the system and how it oppresses the Negro. Then
when you're out of college you'll be able to help."
agreed. "That sounds good to me."
did I. "Sure. We can do that."
smiled sweetly at us. "Not to change the subject drastically,
but you better watch your tomcatting, or you'll get the local
girls pregnant and their daddies will cut your things off with
a dull razor."
imagination jumped. "You have a very graphic way of describing
hope you get the message."
really didn't take that threat very seriously. Steve had been
pillaging the daughters of overly indulgent daddies since he was
thirteen years old. He never came close to getting caught. Somehow,
in our very well-to-do community, parents couldn't imagine what
their children were doing. Mr. Germayne would never believe that
his precious daughters smoked dope and had sexual relations with
young men. Other people's children did things like that, not the
offspring of the wealthy. They were too well protected to do the
things that only happened in less privileged communities. We had
learned that the children of privilege often behave much worse
than poor kids. They rarely get caught because they do it in nicer
places. Steve certainly took advantage of his opportunities and
I was eager to start.
was back from her first year at Finch College, an exclusive New
York City school for the daughters of the wealthy. Finch prepared
young ladies for their future responsibilities. Mother and her
sister went to Finch. So did Grandmama. Mother had given Lorna
a number of good schools to choose from, but she didn't consider
anywhere else but Finch acceptable. Mother was very happy with
the choice, though she worried about how safe Manhattan's Upper
East Side was. Grandmama was also happy, after it was repeated
loud enough for her to understand. It was hard to tell sometimes
if she was losing her hearing or her mind. Mother gave Lorna a
new car and promised to pay for her junior year in France. I compared
the benefits of going to Finch to going to Yale, and I decided
it was time for a serious conference with Mother.
had matured in the last few years. She was slim, blond and as
tall as Mother, with the same glacial good looks that made her
difficult to approach. A year in New York City had made her very
confident and she only dated men who were already established
in a meaningful career. Undergraduates were always stopping by
or phoning, eager to date the aloof beauty, but she wouldn't even
give them a straw of hope. Her favorite line was, "You're
a bit too young for me. At this stage of my life we just don't
have enough in common for us to spend time together."
of her suitors rapidly deflated and slunk off. One pre-med student
from Harvard was quite persistent. He sent flowers, small gifts,
books and tickets to cultural events. In a losing effort to capture
her interest he offered seats on the fifty-yard line for the Harvard-Yale
game. I tried to swipe them for me and Steve, but Lorna wouldn't
allow it. I couldn't help but admire her toughness, because she
wouldn't give an inch. Mother was a little concerned that Lorna
was too arrogant and she suggested mildly, "Perhaps you should
go out with him once, just to find out what he's like."
I know he's like all medical students: ignorant, ill-educated
do you have to be that crude?"
know what I mean. He spends all his time preparing for medical
school. He hasn't the faintest idea about anything except anatomy
and pills. He'll be in school for five or six more years. Then
he'll do an internship somewhere in a ghastly emergency room.
Should I wait for him, mend his socks, or become a nurse?"
not quite what I meant."
But you could just go out and have fun."
shook her head impatiently. "I go out with men who can give
me what I prefer, sophisticated company. I'm not interested in
boys whose only concern is their urgent needs."
you think that's a bit calculating?"
at all. I know what I want. You were the same way."
wasn't that ruthless."
heard me. You knew exactly what you wanted and you didn't waste
time with anyone who couldn't give it to you. That's how you selected
Dad. Didn't he work out satisfactorily?"
But I don't know if I'd phrase it that way... This is the most
direct conversation we've ever had."
it bother you?"
at all. It's refreshing. Let's go somewhere for lunch and we can
continue to get reacquainted."
about the club? I'd like to see how the boys are doing."
fine. But don't call them boys anymore."
been hearing wild stories about them carrying on with the Germayne
hope you won't encourage gossip."
Mother. But I'll find out from my friends what they've been up
and Lorna got to the club and stopped by our court to say hello.
They watched for a while as we finished a doubles match against
two good players. Steve did a little showboating to impress Lorna.
We won the last point on a leaping overhead by Steve, shook hands
and joined the Pierce women. They looked like sisters together.
Steve always had a secret crush on my older sister and he went
out of his way to be pleasant. Mother asked Lorna teasingly, "Shall
we invite them to join us for lunch?"
they know how to use utensils?"
course we do, sister dear. That's what tennis rackets are for."
walked to the terrace and sat down. Lorna started questioning
have you been doing during the past year?"
the usual school work, though I've been reading a lot of American
history. I played baseball for the school team, but I don't think
I'll go back."
coach is really childish. He doesn't teach skills, but he drones
on about 'never quitting.' With a little practice, he could be
a tennis parent.
smiled understandingly. "We have enough of those. Anything
started writing poetry."
three of us looked at him in surprise.
was the first to ask. "What kind of poetry?"
of a romantic style, Mrs. Pierce."
mean like love and girls and breaking hearts?"
More like Byron, Keats and Shelley, though not as good. I've been
very involved in trying to write about the vast and powerful forces
of nature, but it may be a little imitative. I was particularly
influenced by Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage."
was an entirely new side of Steve to all of us. Mother and Lorna
were very involved in art, but they didn't know much about poetry.
Neither did I. They were impressed. The idea of Steve, the wild,
seducing satyr, communing with his muse and writing poetry took
some getting used to.
was looking at Steve differently. "What do you plan to do
with your poetry?"
write it for now, Lorna. Maybe after a while I'll try to publish
some in periodicals. I'm not doing it for a career, or to make
was also trying to understand a new side of Steve. "Why are
you doing it?"
don't exactly know why, Mrs. Pierce. One day some lines just started
going through my head. When they wouldn't go away I started to
write them down. Later I decided it was poetry."
you read some of it to us?" Lorna asked pleasantly.
Lorna. When we've got some time."
about tonight?" she asked.
was agreeable. "If you like."
made it official. "After dinner then, so Dahlia can join
did you know Steve was writing poetry?"
Mother. He's a very mysterious guy. You never know what he'll
getting the feeling that both of you may have your little secrets."
nodded wisely. "They always did, Mother. They're just not
spent most of his adult life as a theater director and worked
as an art dealer when he couldn't earn a living in the theater.
He has also been a tennis pro, a ditch digger and a salvage diver.
His original plays and translations of Moliere, Aristophanes and
Sophocles have been produced Off Broadway and toured colleges
and outdoor performance venues. He currently lives in New York
City, where he's busy writing fiction and his short stories have
recently appeared in numerous literary magazines.
© 2006 by Gary Beck