By The Sea, Book Two: Amanda by Antoinette Stockenberg Read Free Book Online Page A

her.
    "Like what?"
    "In order of appearance? Your brother, your
father, your sculpture, your Daniels, your gin, your Bolshie
friends, and most of all—yourself."
    "That's not funny, pal!"
    "I rest my case."
    "You ungrateful—you pompous ass!" She
brought the Speedster to a screeching halt. "Get out."
    "Why do I have this feeling of déjà
vu?"
    "Get out, get out, get out!"
    He did, closing the door gently after him.
"Good night, Miss Fain. I do appreciate your showing me the ropes.
So to speak."
    She roared off and he was left alone and
grinning on a city street next to a small park. Whistling quietly
to himself, he detoured behind a thick bush, where he unfastened
his trousers and let loose with a long, thin stream into the
greenery.
    "I guess I win," he murmured with a
complacent smile.

Chapter 4
     
    Social historians have written that
Newport's Gilded Age ended with the war. For one thing, the
greatest among its grandes dames had succumbed to the very
real pressures of entertaining nonstop. Mrs. John Jacob Astor
("The" Mrs. Astor to the Newport Postal Service) had died years
earlier, an unhinged recluse who'd taken to wandering around
Beechwood, her elegant Newport cottage, talking with imaginary
guests. Tessie Oelrichs, too, continued to entertain long after her
guests no longer came: alone and pathetic, she drifted through the
vast rooms of romantic Rosecliff serving champagne to ghosts of
Society past.
    And poor Mamie Fish. She suffered a fatal
heart attack brought on in part by the frustration of having to
break in yet another butler in time for yet another party. Alva
Vanderbilt Belmont lived to dominate her daughter Consuelo during
her unhappy marriage abroad, but she never returned to Newport or
Marble House. The great white elephant cottages lay empty, having
lost their staffs to the war industry, their hostesses to the
ravages of one-upmanship. What could possibly replace them in the
public's fancy?
    The movies, that was what. D. W. Griffith
had invented the close-up, and the sight of Mary Pickford and
Douglas Fairbanks larger than life on the silver screen proved far
more entrancing than the black and white print of The New York
Times society page. The art of illusion had replaced the real,
decadent thing for Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Citizen. Who cared if the
jewels were fake and the backdrop painted? (By 1919 a Hollywood
feature film might cost $125,000—the price of a ball in Newport a
quarter-century earlier.) Newport Society had been hell-bent on
notoriety, but it was upstaged.
    Not that Newport rolled over and died after
the war, but the most flagrant excesses were over. In June
entourages still arrived from New York, but the motorcades were not
as long. In July balls were still held, but they were more elegant
than extravagant. In August attendance at the Newport Casino during
Tennis Week was still de rigueur, although the national
tournament had long since moved to Forest Hills. The rich in
Newport were more discreet about enjoying their wealth—but it was
definitely still theirs to enjoy.
    Matt Stevenson was a socialite whose sole
occupation was to manage the money he inherited. For that he had an
office in New York and salaried employees; he was free for tennis
and golf most anytime. Not long after he met Geoff at the ferry
landing, he had his friend decked out in plus fours and driving off
the first tee at the Newport Country Club.
    "So you've come all the way over just to
root for the old man and his Shamrock, hey? Well, well, I
won't let it get around."
    "Will I be run out of town if it does?"
Geoff asked, slicing his ball into the rough.
    "From this town, certainly. Lipton
may be the choice of the proletariat in the mill towns, but you're
walking on the hallowed lawns of super-patriots. It's in the air;
has been, ever since the war. "
    "Thanks for the tip."
    The next day found them on the clay tennis
court of Matt's lovely Victorian stick-house at the ocean end of
Newport. Geoff, at a disadvantage