The White Wolf, with his powerful reach, had seemingly informed every law enforcement agency in the US that we were armed and dangerous. At the gates of Tuxedo Park, our entry was blocked and we were unfairly profiled as scummy riffraff. We deployed our cutglass British accents and plowed our way up an intimidating drive lined with fin-de-siècle architectural gems, holding our breath until we reached the reassuringly-named Clubhouse Road (a close cousin of Jamestown’s racquet-shaped Racquet Road). Pro and Former World No 2 Tim Chisholm assumed we could find our own way to the court, and took care of some important telephone business.
Left to our own devices, we enjoyed Tuxedo’s selection of premium monogrammed towels and soaked up the prestige on what was probably our favourite court of the trip. Lacking opponents, we drew on our growing frustration with each other to engage in a competitive doubles battle, unceremoniously discarding partners as they wilted. “Will SOMEONE take Audrey off my hands!” grumbled a hypocritical Clare hyper-critically. (Hippo-what?)
Cursing Sophie’s lack of organisation, the team packed their bags for a deeply unsatisfactory night in a flea-ridden motel. Never one to abandon a chase, Sophie spotted a kindly-looking observer in the dedans and proceeded to ambush him in the parking lot. Within five grasping minutes, she had secured beers, dinner, four beds and a full driving tour of the Park. We were now assured accommodation that was neither hotel, motel nor indeed Holiday Inn. Get Inn!
Archie Gwathmey – cousin of Temple Grassi (watch this space), former Harvard Squash Captain, ardent golfer and an extremely elegant man – directed us capably to his beautiful home in the heights of Tuxedo Park. Clare incapably failed to follow the directions, and after taking several wrong turns careered into his rock garden, sneaking back later to replace several large ornamental stones. Dinner – taken at the Sunnyside Bar and Grill (like it on Facebook or follow it on Twitter!) – was a sight for sore thighs. Keeping on the sunny side, we ordered side after side after side, being treated to complimentary side salads before casting a sidelong glance at the dessert menu. Travis Our Friendly Waiter at the Sunnyside Bar and Grill (of Hayward’s Deli fame) declared vehemently that Cambridge would not have been granted such stellar service. And we can quote him on that (https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=588053504631882&id=392953914141843). As he gallantly urged us on to “smash the Tabs” we racked up a considerable tab of our own. In exchange for tips, Travis gave us his own set of tips on how to break into the enclave of male chauvinist pigs (aka ‘Toads’) at New York Tennis and Racquets Club. It would be a Travis-ty not to give it our best shot, we thought! Sadly, we forgot to make Izzy faint traumatically on the steps of the club, with Audrey taking down the doorman and Sophie and Clare sprinting onto the court for a jubilant selfie. Hypothetically…
We slept the sleep of the outrageously privileged, and White-wolfed down two large bagels each (for the record, this was the only time on tour that we ever got double-bagelled). Eagerly, we took up Anne Gwathmey-McNifficent’s offer of chauffeuring us around the landscaped grounds of Tuxedo Park. After a historical whirlwind of debutantes’ balls, aggressive golfing tournaments, boating on the lake and harbouring Wallis Simpson, the Park may now be under threat from the dirty millions of a Malay casino owner. The end of a Gould-en age?
(Travis: we know it’s hard to read British cursive, but keep plugging away!)
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