July 15, 2006: Saturday Story--"The Club"--Part Two

The Club--Part Two

In Part One, Lloyd and his best friend Dicky Traub made a date to play golf at one of the public courses in Brooklyn. Dicky, the golden child off the neighborhood’s war-hero dentist, Dr. Sugar Traub and the glamorous Mrs. Trudy Traub, continued to be apologetic that his family had run out of guest passes for the summer because he was so eager to invite Lloyd to their Club on the North Shore of Long Island where the greens were like carpets and all the girls wore tight skirts. So when Saturday arrived, they would have to put up with the crab grass fairways and greens endemic to the municipal links in the southern reaches of Brooklyn. But at least they would have access to Dicky’s mother’s glistening Fiat convertible. And Dicky promised they would not have to wait on an endless line to secure a tee-off time—the man in charge, he claimed, was a close friend. When we left them, they were tooling down Fort Hamilton Parkway with the top down and the radio blasting—How sweet it is to be loved by you . . .

In Part Two, which follows, we . . .

In his mother’s gleaming red Fiat, Dicky and I raced south across the heart of Brooklyn with the top down, the wind slapping at our faces, and the radio blasting. A lot of heads turned as we sped along Fort Hamilton Parkway, leaving behind in our wake a stream of the latest from Motown—

How sweet it is to be loved by you.
How sweet it is to be loved by you.Feels so fine, how sweet it is to be loved by you.

When we screeched into the parking lot at Dyker Beach, Dicky saying how he loved “burning rubber,” it was obvious to me that we would never get a tee time—it was a beautiful day and as I suspected the line of cars with guys still asleep in them stretched all the way out onto 89th Street. Reading my mood, Dicky said, “Not to worry Lloyd, be cool, the starter is a personal friend of mine.” He winked at me. “So just wait here buddy,” he hopped out of the car without opening the door, “put on your spikes and I’ll be right back. As I said, trust me.” And with that he darted toward to clubhouse.

I decided to wait before doing anything; still certain there would be no golf for us that day. Thinking, though, that since we had that car we could have quite a good time tooling around the city, maybe even going over to Rockaway of perhaps all the way out to Jones Beach.

But he was back before I could finish making my list of possible alternative plans, the familiar bounce in his step now more a skip and a hop, his face cut even more deeply by his irrepressible shit-eating grin, displaying those perfect teeth to which his father had shown so much devotion.

“No problemo, buddy boy. We tee off in half an hour. Just enough time to get in a little putting practice.”

“Half an hour?” This was even more than Dick’s usual magic. “But look at all these fellows still lined up. You really do know the starter?”

“Well he knows me now. It’s amazing how a twenty can help make friends!” He roared with laughter so loud that two guys slumped in their cars were jolted from their sleep.

* * *

And in just that half hour there we were perched on the first tee with Dicky and Melvin, the starter, his newest friend, dancing around together, jabbing each other in the ribs with their elbows.

“Give these other two guys a chance, Dicky,” Melvin said with a grin, “I put them in your foursome because they also belong to a country club and thought they’d give you a little run for your money, if you know what I mean.” I couldn’t believe that Melvin already knew so much about Dicky.

Dicky strode over to the other two players to introduce himself. I couldn’t hear what he said but they were already bent over with laughter, exchanging high fives. He then pulled me toward them and told me that Todd was and insurance broker and his “buddy” Herb a cardiologist. “Lloyd here will probably need both of your services before we’re done with our round.” More laughter, now directed at me. “So what were we saying, five dollars a hole; and if we half it we carry that five over to the next hole?” Todd and Herb nodded.

“Dicky,” I whispered to him, “I thought you said it would be only a dollar a hole.” I was thinking how much nicer it would be if we were on our way to Jones Beach.

“I got you covered Kemo Sabe. Just try to keep your balls in the fairway, or in your pants. OK? I’ll take care of the rest.”

“But Dicky,” I sputtered just as Melvin announced, “All set to tee up?”

“Not yet,” Dicky said, “Let the next party pass through. I’m waiting for my caddy.”

“But they don’t have caddies here Dicky,” I again whispered, “You know that. This is a city course, not your club,” I was beginning to feel a little annoyed in general at his breezy behavior. I had been taught by my parents that when in public to be as undemanding and inconspicuous as possible—they saw that as a sign of “good breeding.” And even though I saw it more as their way to preclude disappointment, which in their lives was always lurking, in this circumstance, when paired with a broker and a doctor, as two nineteen year-olds who had barely finished a year of college and had not as yet accomplished very much, I felt it would be more appropriate for him to rein in some of his relentless exuberance and just play golf.

As I was struggling with these thoughts, Dicky’s caddy arrived, saying, “Sorry I was late, Mr. Traub. The busses are slow Saturday mornings.” He looked to be about sixteen. His black skin was already damp from racing to get there.

“That’s all right Ralph.” Dicky knew him too. It seemed as if he knew everyone. “Here, take my bag. The other fellows will tote their own.”

“I don’t mind doing a double. I do that all the time at the club for Dr. Traub and Mrs. Traub, when they play together.” Then he added quietly to Dicky, “I could sure use the money.”

“Not a problem. Here, take Lloyd’s bag. Let him live a little.” He tossed one of his classic winks at me.

“But Dicky,” I protested, “I’d rather carry my own bag. I’m not comfortable . . .”

“Like I told you,” he cut me off, “I got you covered. Come on time’s a-wasting. Let’s get started.” He then rubbed Ralph’s head, for good luck he said. His father always said having Ralph caddy for them brought them good luck.

I was so agitated that I hooked my first drive so severely that it shot to the right at such an oblique angle that it screeched toward the 9th fairway right in the middle of a foursome struggling up the hill toward the green. They needed to scramble to get out of the way as I, with considerable embarrassment, screamed “Fore!” Dicky and Todd and Herb and even Ralph thought it was just about the funniest thing they ever saw and knew immediately that I would keep them entertained all morning.

I didn’t disappoint them.

After nearly beaning with my drive off the First tee, I did manage not only to slice my drive on Three but did so with such perverse precision that my ball did hit someone coming up the Sixteenth, luckily on a bounce so no visible damage was done. Though Herb, the ever-responsible insurance broker insisted that the fellow I hit, Dicky said he worked in a bank, take my name and address in case overnight he developed a headache (I hit him in the leg) or the effects of whiplash from trying to dart out of the way. Dicky assured me again that he had me covered, which prompted more gales of laughter.

And on the short par three Eighth, the only water hole on the course, I drove four balls into the algae-crusted pond, depleting my supply so I had to borrow more from Dicky when I hit one over the fence on the Ninth, almost onto the campus of Brooklyn Poly Prep where Dicky had gone to high school; and when attempting to hit out of a sand trap on Fifteen, thankfully with only three holes remaining, rather than scooping under it so as to explode it onto the green, I slashed my Wedge into the side of the ball with such frustrated force, that I cut the cover so severely that it was useless. Dicky assured me that it was no problem letting me have another ball since he was going to buy two dozen more of the most expensive Pro Titlists with his winnings as he was “taking these guys to the cleaners.”

Herb and Todd did settle up with Dicky and promised to come by the Traubs’ club before the end of the summer to take up Dicky’s offer to meet Dr. Traub—“You know, with the way things are these days dentists can’t have too much insurance.”

* * *

“My mother told me that you have to stay for dinner,” Dicky was behind the wheel again as we retraced our route of the morning, now north up Fort Hamilton Parkway, passed all the Italian pork stores and then, as the neighborhood morphed, the Kosher butchers. “She wants to hear about everything that happened to you at Columbia. She thinks it will inspire me. I nearly flunked out of Muhlenberg. I spent the whole year drinking beer and getting laid. They put me on probation, and if I don’t do better in the fall they are going to kick me out. So she wants you to help motivate me by telling her how wonderful it is to be a pre-med and be on the crew and all that other rah-rah bullshit crap.”

This was the first I heard about Dicky’s troubles at college. He was sounding agitated and cranky, not his usual ebullient self. “I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to straighten things out. You’re good at fixing things. Look how you did again today. You had everyone eating out of the palm of your hand—the starter, those two other guys, everyone.” I didn’t know what else to say to help restore his spirit. “And sure, I can stay for dinner. When we get to your house I’ll call to let my parents know. They’ll be fine with that.” I knew they would be—they liked me to spend time with the Traub’s. Just as Dicky’s mother thought I might set a good example for him, my parents thought some of the Traub “class,” as my father put it, might rub off on me.

* * *

As Dicky pulled the Fiat into the basement garage we heard Mrs. Traub’s fluttering soprano two floors above, “Not those glasses, Ella.” She was directing her maid up on the second floor where the Traub living and dining rooms were placed by their architect, Lorenzo DePlano, expressing what Dicky told me he called an “upside-down motif,” with the bedrooms below in order to emphasize, in DePlano’s words, “the living over the sleeping.”

“We’re having company for dinner, Ella,” Mrs. Traub sang, “Dicky’s friend Lloyd. So let’s put out the crystal.”

To be continued . . . .