CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
SYLVIA
Sylvia walked hand in hand with Walter into the club. They had an end date now: May 9, 1956. One month to either make their late mortgage payment on the club or the bank would repossess it. Now that Walter had handed over the last of the money he owed for interest on the gambling debt, there was no way they would make it. They had thirty days to shut things down with as much dignity as they could muster. Sylvia insisted on working alongside Walter; no more solo missions, she’d told him. From here on out they would together tackle the challenges that came their way. She volunteered for the hideous job of letting all the staff know, one by one, that their jobs would be ending.
As she walked through the hallway, past the restaurant and ballroom, she wished they could have had more time. She had so many ideas that she’d planned to share with Walter. Weddings, for one, could have been a big draw. She could have handled that part of the business—working with the brides and their mothers to arrange the décor and menu, bringing in local florists and bakeries. It could have been a profitable venture for both the club and the local business owners. They could have done Easter brunches and Christmas dinners. Her mind flooded with possibilities now that the possibilities were gone. She squeezed Walter’s hand and kept her chin up as they made their way toward his office.
“I can have a desk set up for you over here,” Walter said, pointing to an open corner in his office. “Or we can find you your own space, if you’d prefer.”
“With you is perfect,” she said, thinking it would be easier if they could talk through all the arrangements that needed to be made in private.
He provided her a list of all their employees, their schedules, and salaries, and since it wasn’t a huge staff, she planned to explain that the club would be closing to each person individually. Next, he gave her a stack of invoices for suppliers to call. She’d let them know they would no longer be needing their products and services.
“Walt,” she said, “what happens to all the money we collected for memberships?” She thought of all her friends and acquaintances she’d encouraged to join, and Milly, whose hand was shaking when she’d handed over the check for the entire year.
Walter sighed. “We don’t have the money to pay it back, so it depends what the bank does with the club. If they keep it as a club, then the members, I would think, would keep their memberships. But if they shut it down, sell it, knock it down and build some houses here instead, then there’s nothing we can do.”
Sylvia put her head in her hands and groaned.
“I’m sorry,” Walter said quietly.
Sylvia forced herself to stand, walk over to Walter, and kiss him on his head. “We’ll get through this,” she said.
By noon she was weighed down with sadness and went outside to stretch her legs and take a breather.
As she walked past the pool and admired the turquoise water sparkling in the midday sun, she thought about the letter she’d sent her mother earlier in the week, letting her know that they were considering a move inland to the desert, possibly to Barstow, and asking if she had any recommendations on where to stay until they got settled. She knew it would come as a surprise to receive a letter in early April; after all, they usually only sent each other Christmas cards once a year with a brief “Merry Christmas, Hope you are all well” kind of greeting, butshe couldn’t bring herself to tell her mother about their misfortune or to ask, flat out, for a place to stay. She didn’t have addresses for her half-siblings; in fact, she had no idea where they lived or how they lived their lives. She had never wanted to be part of a family that hadn’t wanted her, and now, she thought, she didn’t want to look desperate, but she did need to provide some kind of stability for Judith until they found their way out of this mess, and that desire rose above her pride.
She wandered over to the courts, past Robbie rallying back and forth with one of his regulars, and on to the back court where Adele was teaching a group of four women. Sylvia pulled up a chair and watched her in her element, feeding the ball, then calling out instructions on how her students should respond. She noted the satisfaction in Adele’s face when her guidance resulted in a point or a win, and Sylvia hated that she was going to be taking this away from her, both the place to coach and the community of women she was building around her.
“Looking good out there, ladies,” Sylvia said as the class ended, and the women filed off the court.
After they left, she approached Adele.
“Hey there,” she said.
“Bonjour,” Adele said, taking a drink of water.
“I wanted you to be the first to know,” Sylvia said, “we have a date now. The bank’s going to take the keys from us in one month. I just wanted you to have time to find something, somewhere else, maybe, to coach.”
“There’s nowhere else that will take me, but it’s all right,” Adele said. “I know how much you love it here and I’m sorry it’s come down to this. But I have an end date too.”
Sylvia studied her friend. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve decided to do the stupid interview with Rutherford and get him out of everyone’s hair. Now that he’s found me, he’s going to do the piece with or without me; I know how these journalists work. I might as well have a say in it. But you know as well as I do that once I do and everyone knows who I really am, I’ll be shunned. No one will want to train with me.”
“Not necessarily,” Sylvia said. “The women love their lessons with you. Look what you’ve given them.”
“Maybe so, but it doesn’t matter,” Adele said. “I’ve seen scandals play out before. It’s bad for people’s reputations to be any part of it. And it was a scandal. You don’t know the whole story, but I ruined a young woman’s life. Margery Horn was a skilled athlete who would have gone far if it weren’t for my jealousy, my fear of losing. I did a terrible, terrible thing, and I went from being a beloved tennis star to the most hated woman in Europe and even the United States.”
“Well, you’re loved around here; I hope you know that,” Sylvia said.
Adele gave a slight nod and put her racket in her bag. “Thank you,” she said. “Not just for saying that. For the chance to coach here. Rutherford was going to find me one way or another, but it was nice to have all this back, even if just for a few weeks. Even if it’s all going away and if everything else is falling apart—it has been nice to feel the way I felt, to immerse myself in the thing I love most, for a little while. And I have you to thank for that, for giving me a chance.”
Sylvia put her arm around Adele’s shoulder and pulled her toward her. “That’s not a hug,” Sylvia said. “That’s just a squeeze.”
Adele rolled her eyes and smiled. “Would you come with me to the interview?” she asked. “I’m sure it will be a whole production with all the television equipment and people fussing around. It would mean a lot if you and Milly could be there when he rips me to shreds for all the world to see.”
“Of course,” Sylvia said. “And we would never let him humiliate you on live television.”
“Well, you might not have a say, but at least you could be waiting with a whiskey on hand.”
“That I can do,” Sylvia said as she linked her arm in Adele’s and they walked off the court.
