The club secretary is sympathetic to my loss. He assures me that I am most welcome to use the club at any time. Later that day, a messenger arrives with an envelope.
Inside the envelope is a key, and a brief handwritten note which reads "Terribly sorry about your loss; perhaps the next meeting at the club will help somewhat to ease your pain." It is signed, simply, "Thor". I work my memory to try and remember someone by that name from my few years in the Club. There was a Thor Chandler, I recall, but little else beside his unique moniker registers.
I busy myself for the next couple days, then make my way downtown to the club. I offer my car to the concerige, and notice an incredibly stunning woman wearing red, and being escorted by two men, entering the building. I remember the club being one of the last of the all-male bastions in the nation; but then, since all other such clubs had changed, maybe the TP had as well. I stop to think for a moment - maybe this is NOT what I should do.
Then I watch a beautiful blonde walk into the building, and my mind is changed. What the hell, I think to myself, take a chance.
I just miss sharing the elevator with the blonde - damn the luck - because I have to ask the security guard how I find the Club's door. He gestures toward the elevator, where the blonde is standing, and gives me a smile. The door slides open, and she confidently strides into the elevator. I try to catch the door, but it slides closed before I can get there.
The elevator is quick to return, and I ride silently and quickly to the 75th floor. The door opens onto a wonderfully-appointed room, filled with many men and a few women. I notice the red dress again - a stunning Oriental women. The two men with her are clearly mesmerized by her, and with good reason. She is as stunning in person as she was from a distance.
For the first time in a long time, I am acutely aware of my appearance. My hair is clearly the longest of all the men in the club; my beard, while trimmed close, is also unique. While most others wear suits, I am in kakhis, a simple white cotton dress shirt, and a blue blazer. I fear being denied access, until the club manager takes note of me. "Mr. DePlay," he says, subtly taking my elbow and moving me into the club proper. "We are so sorry about the passing of your father. May I show you the club?"
I let the manager steer me around the club, while I search in vain for the blonde I saw downstairs. Finally, he takes me into the main ballroom, and leads me toward a distinguished, trim man with curly greying hair. "I shall leave you," he says, "with the Club President, Mr. Chandler. He will be able to tell you more about the club."
Inside the envelope is a key, and a brief handwritten note which reads "Terribly sorry about your loss; perhaps the next meeting at the club will help somewhat to ease your pain." It is signed, simply, "Thor". I work my memory to try and remember someone by that name from my few years in the Club. There was a Thor Chandler, I recall, but little else beside his unique moniker registers.
I busy myself for the next couple days, then make my way downtown to the club. I offer my car to the concerige, and notice an incredibly stunning woman wearing red, and being escorted by two men, entering the building. I remember the club being one of the last of the all-male bastions in the nation; but then, since all other such clubs had changed, maybe the TP had as well. I stop to think for a moment - maybe this is NOT what I should do.
Then I watch a beautiful blonde walk into the building, and my mind is changed. What the hell, I think to myself, take a chance.
I just miss sharing the elevator with the blonde - damn the luck - because I have to ask the security guard how I find the Club's door. He gestures toward the elevator, where the blonde is standing, and gives me a smile. The door slides open, and she confidently strides into the elevator. I try to catch the door, but it slides closed before I can get there.
The elevator is quick to return, and I ride silently and quickly to the 75th floor. The door opens onto a wonderfully-appointed room, filled with many men and a few women. I notice the red dress again - a stunning Oriental women. The two men with her are clearly mesmerized by her, and with good reason. She is as stunning in person as she was from a distance.
For the first time in a long time, I am acutely aware of my appearance. My hair is clearly the longest of all the men in the club; my beard, while trimmed close, is also unique. While most others wear suits, I am in kakhis, a simple white cotton dress shirt, and a blue blazer. I fear being denied access, until the club manager takes note of me. "Mr. DePlay," he says, subtly taking my elbow and moving me into the club proper. "We are so sorry about the passing of your father. May I show you the club?"
I let the manager steer me around the club, while I search in vain for the blonde I saw downstairs. Finally, he takes me into the main ballroom, and leads me toward a distinguished, trim man with curly greying hair. "I shall leave you," he says, "with the Club President, Mr. Chandler. He will be able to tell you more about the club."
