Barnegat Bay - 11. Chapter 11

Still, when – besides the occasional early breakfast – could Claire see Spence? When did either of them have time? He was tied to the beach and the finally steadily sunny weather, and Claire wanted to be at the lumber yards whenever she could, mainly taking time off for one of her charities. Though for a couple of weeks in late August, that seemed to focus on one beneficiary – Mary. And instead of trying to lecture Spence, Claire chose to demonstrate.

“It was like a experiment,” she later explained. “I had an idea – kind of a hypothesis – and I considered the possibilities, trying them out. When one didn’t work, I’d choose another. And if one succeeded, I’d try variations.”

“Poor Spence. A bug. With a pin through his chest.”

“Insect,” Claire corrected. “Most people can’t tell the difference. And I was never mean.”

She wasn’t mean at all, and she took the simplest approach. Remembering the little basic physics she’d had, she didn’t try to push a rock uphill. Not when there was iron in it. She simply used a powerful magnet.

She didn’t flirt with Spence – not conventionally. She couldn’t vamp or be a coquette and would have been embarrassed to try. And she certainly didn’t throw her education at him. Even with his good City College coursework, Spence would be lost with Rimbaud or Baudelaire. For that matter, so would I.

Instead, she attracted him with his strengths. “I’m trying to work something out,” she began. “My father’s been buying hard wood – walnut and oak – for years from the same supplier. But I think we can get better stock – less expensive and more dependably – from a different dealer. But I can’t check his references.”

“Why not?” Spence asked, logically.

“It’s stupid, really. Dealers are used to talking with my dad. And they don’t seem to trust his college girl daughter.”

“Have you thought about writing letters?” Spence suggested. “I’m sure you have business stationery. That way they won’t know who they’re from,”

“I’ve done that already,” Claire admitted. “I even signed with my first initial and last name, trying to confuse them. And I got answers. But how do I know that what they’re writing is true – without meeting with them? How can I be sure they’re not doing favors for friends? Or worse – hiding their losses?”

“Everyone does favors,” Spence acknowledged. “It’s the way business works.”

“I don’t mind that. I’ve done them myself. It builds good will.”

“And reliability – that’s what matters most. When you’ve worked long enough with a particular person – or a company – you have their trust.” Then Spence laughed. “Or so I’ve been taught. For me, it’s all theory – stuff Mike, Larry, Al, and I have done for school projects. We pretend to be established businesses – with credit and money – and try to make good decisions.” He hesitated. “Remember money – and credit?” And he laughed again.

“Whatever you learned has to be more useful than my Liberal Arts.”

“That doesn’t stop you from going to the library and reading business books. There’s a handful of standard texts.”

“I’ve probably taken them out. I’ve even bought some – second hand. When that was the only way they were available.”

“Well, yeah – I’d expect that here. I don’t know about Toms River.”

“It’s not much better.”

“And I have the New York Public Library – the guys and I do.”

“I’m jealous.”

Next, Claire and Spence compared sources.

“You’ve done pretty well,” he assured her. “You’ve read almost everything we have in class – especially the useful ones. Some of our texts are so outdated you’d think they were copied by monks. But they were only written before the Crash. The guys and I don’t even buy them anymore. We find a used one and pass it around.”

“Still, you’ve probably had a dozen classes,” Claire said. “I was only able to take one. And like your monks, this one could’ve been called ‘Business Practices of the Victorian Age.’ When clerks sat on high stools and wore green eyeshades.”

“And wrote with quills?”

“Just about... Meanwhile, you had a whole department of teachers explaining their views. And other students, asking questions about things you missed.”

“Or forgot about. Or overlooked.”

“Or just didn’t realize were so important.”

“Take another class,” Spence advised. “A better one. Take all you want.”

Claire laughed at that. “That might be easy for you – living in the city. First, I’d have to get into New York – or Philadelphia. Then I’d have to go almost every day. And most schools still don’t allow women.”

“I’ve been lucky there – I’ve never seen that. There are women in almost all my classes.”

“Not a lot, I’ll bet.”

“No – but I figured the rest weren’t interested. And I think the ones who are, enroll in grad school. Then they register for undergrad stuff.”

“There’s a good idea. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Always glad to help,” Spence said, smiling.

“Still, there also might not be women because they found it too frustrating. Not the work,” Claire went on, as Spence started to object. “But knowing they can learn and do what men can and still can’t get jobs.”

Spence simply laughed at that. “No one can find jobs. That’s what we all talk about – all the time.”

“I know. It’s why my brothers may come back to Toms River. But that’s at least a couple of years off.”

“Then you could try to get to the city once a week. I have classes that only meet that often – three hours for one night. And at City, all you need is time – since it doesn’t cost anything. Except for books.”

“I could manage both, now that I’m finished with Holyoke. My father isn’t wealthy, and he still has to pay for my brothers’ schools. But there’s money.”

“I’ve never thought about your family – how well off it is. I have nothing to compare it to.”

“My father does. That’s the main reason he lets me work – to save a few dollars. If I didn’t do his paperwork, he’d have to hire someone. But in so many ways, I’m holding a place for my brothers – for one or both of them, if – as you say – after they graduate, there are no better jobs.”

“How long do you have?”

“As I said, at least two years – we’re that far apart. I just graduated, my middle brother will be a junior, and my younger one’s just starting. Our older sister simply got married.”

“You can learn a lot in two years. You’ll be way ahead.”

“And if the older of my brothers goes to law school – as everyone expects – I’ll have four years. My younger one’s interested in business but maybe not one as small as ours. And my father will encourage him.”

“What kind of company does you brother want?”

“He’s not sure yet – but he doesn’t need to be. Though after spending four years near Boston, he may find Toms River a bit remote. But if there aren’t jobs in the cities, he’ll have to come back.”

“That’s what I don’t want to think about,” Spence admitted. “Going back home. And I don’t have four years. I’ve got less than ten months.”

It was that kind of conversation that helped change Claire’s mind about Spence. He didn’t see Mary any less, or miss one of their daily lunches on the beach. And they didn’t wander any less far when Claire and I chaperoned them in the evenings. In many ways, nothing had changed.

But Spence’s mind was working differently. He wasn’t dancing every night for distraction – or baby-sitting kids and weak swimmers during the day. Some of his thoughts had gone back to school early, and he seemed to welcome that. He was happy to help Claire solve her problems.

In return, she no longer saw him as a threat to Mary – a good-looking, smooth dancing one, but not a man to be trusted. Spence was now someone Claire could talk with on a level she liked. And he was more available than I was.

Being a lifeguard pretty much meant giving up your summer, from dawn till after sunset, seven days a week. The season started slowly, but by August, the beaches were filled. Though somewhere in there, around both Claire’s work and Spence’s, they managed to meet.

It sometimes happened after Mary had to be in – on nights her aunt was in Barnegat, and Mary honored her curfew. Mary would come to the beach when the store closed, usually by eight, and stay around Spence’s chair till he was finished. Then they’d walk to the crowded cottage the guys shared, where he cleaned up, and either stop at one of the many house parties for free food or walk on the beach or to the dock where my boat was tied up – anywhere quiet, to eat what they shared for dinner. They wouldn’t take my boat out – I’m not sure any of the gang really knew how. Occasionally, one of my cousins would borrow it to fish, so every weekend, I made sure the engine would still run. But Spence and Mary mainly used the dock for privacy.

Afterwards, once Spence walked Mary back to her apartment over the store, he’d go to Jenkinson’s. It would still be busy – though it often was just ten o’clock – but it was usually slower and less noisy than on weekends. Claire would meet him then, and she was able to stay without limits. They’d dance and make conversation, generally with the guys, who were there with their summer girlfs. But if Claire wanted to talk business, she and Spence would move to one of the side porches. By soon after one, Claire would be back at her parents’ house, and Spence would be off somewhere sleeping – the cottage, the dock, my boat, or even an upright lifeboat. He and Claire never walked on the beach. In fact, they were never seen alone – she was very careful about that. Even on Jenkinson’s cooler side porches, there were always people around. Mainly, she and Spence seemed to be enjoying what was left of their summer – like everyone else. And who could blame them?

Near the end of August, Claire told me she was comfortable letting what had happened on Barnegat simply end for Mary and Spence. She no longer worried about anything bad occurring and admitted that Spence was the nice guy I’d been telling her. She even accepted that something might continue past September. But there seemed a better chance the friendship would gently fade – even if Mary wrote Spence every day, and he made time to write back. Claire also felt that eventually they’d find other people – more acceptable or just nearer by – and she felt good about that happening without her interfering. She’d done her best for Mary, she was still close to me, and I’m sure she’d told Mary everything that had been done in her behalf.

Meanwhile, the rest of the gang danced on. The guys seemed to be slowly pulling back from their summer girlfriends, or maybe the girls were sensibly doing that for them. Still, the six of them were making plans to meet in the fall.

“We should get together in the city,” Larry suggested. “There’re always things to do.”

“Yeah,” Mike groused. “Expensive things.”

“Not all of them.”

“Well, all the good ones cost money – like dancing or going out to dinner. Or seeing a show.”

“Much too expensive,” Al agreed.

“We could go to museums,” Larry offered.

“Oh, great,” Mike replied. “Dead things. And stuffed.”

“What about the zoo?”

“Live things. Trapped. And haven’t you lived with enough animals this summer?”

“He doesn’t mean the rats and roaches,” Al explained.

“Mice. I know rats, and those aren’t close.”

“No. These animals are hairier and walk upright.”

“And they want our girlfriends,” Mike added, quickly smiling at his.

“Mike can’t wait to get back home,” Larry told us. “Where his mom and sister do his laundry.”

“At least, I’ve always made my bed. Which is more than I can say for either of you.”

“And when’ve you washed your sheets?”

“As often as I’ve slept on them.”

“Now what’s that mean?” Larry asked.

Mike simply shrugged. “I have no idea. But I had to say something.”

That made everyone laugh.

“I still think we could go to museums,” Larry persisted. “And walk around the park. Go on picnics.”

“Watch ships come in on the Hudson,” Al suggested.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I like ships.”

“I always wish I was on one.”

“Where would you go?” Mike joked. “You can’t even afford to stow away.”

“That’s free, dummy.”

“Not if you’re caught.”

“Now I wish you were on one,” Al said.

“Hey! No ganging up!”

“Still, these aren’t things the girls’ll remember,” Al went on.

The “girls” were just standing by.

“But they’re things I’ve done all my life,” Larry defended. “And they are fun.”

“For kids maybe – little kids. Maybe it’s time to grow up.”

“When I make grown-up money. And wasn’t that the problem to start with?”

“Who can remember Mike’s problems? They go back to original sin.”

“Hey! Keep my family out of it!”

“Also, in the fall, we won’t have paychecks every week. We might not have anything regular till June.”

“When I hope to heck we’re not broiling on the beach.”

“Scratchy and half-naked. What a way to be a man.”

“But it’s nice having money.”

“Comparatively.”

“Not Rockefeller money.”

“We make barely enough to feed the gulls.”

“Those damn birds.”

“We can still get together in the city,” Larry pushed on.

“And who’s gonna pay for the girls’ train?”

“You wouldn’t chip in? Like the nice guy you are?”

“Supposed to be. I’ve never seen it in writing.”

“The girls’ll probably have more money than we will anyhow. They’ll be living at home.”

“And where’ll we be?”

“Maybe we should all come to Barnegat,” Al suggested.

“That makes sense,” Mike admitted. “Since we met here.”

“We didn’t,” Larry pointed out, indicating Mike and Al. Spence was also standing by, but somehow stayed out of it.

“No, you and I go back to first grade – kindergarten. Now that would be fun – taking the girls to see our old, tiny, carved-up desks.”

“And I met you in the caf at City,” Al reminded them.

“Ducking the politics. Listening to those impossible debates.”

“Endless.”

“Stupid.”

“Now there’s something we could do for free.”

“The girls would go home Marxists.”

“Anyway, the girls won’t be on Barnegat in the fall. Will you?”

Since Larry suddenly included them, the girls politely shook their heads.

“See? So if we get together here for Christmas...”

“Christmas? How about something sooner? Like October?”

“Halloween!”

“We’d never make it to Christmas.”

“Thanksgiving!”

“The city makes more sense. Everything’s there.”

“Except the girls.”

“Maybe we should put this all off till next month – when we’re closer to leaving.”

“The girls might not even be interested.”

“You could ask them. I hear they’re standing real close.”

“I think they want to dance.”

Actually, everyone was having fun. And we’d gathered a small crowd, part of which we didn’t even know. Still, Mary and Spence were already trying to ease away, and once Claire saw that, she wanted to follow. Even Al was looking at the girl he’d been seeing and rolling his eyes. She simply giggled. Finally, the crowd began to break up, and the girls led Mike, Larry, and Al to the dance floor, losing their final wisecracks under the music. But there was clearly a feeling that everyone wanted to get together – and somehow stay together – and it was finally agreed that if some of us didn’t manage that before New Year’s, we’d all meet on Barnegat then.

No one was really sure Jenkinson’s would be open, since it was largely a summer business, like Mary’s aunt’s store. But it sometimes reopened for holidays – when enough people had money to spend. And New Year’s Eve was definitely an occasion.