The Social Climber of Davenport Heights Read Free

know.”
    She spoke from experience. The former love of her life had lifted more skirts than a strong west wind. She finally caught him with his pants down, literally. At a dinner party in her own home, she’d walked in to find him getting a blow job from the wife of one of his junior partners. These days Lexi was the third wife to an older man. She may not have loved him as much, but she was definitely a lot happier.
    “I don’t really care,” I told them, which was mostly true. After a while you can develop a callus on nearly any muscle, including the heart. “The thing with David,” I said, “is that no matter where his penis might be, his heart is on the golf course.”
    The absolute truth of that statement brought a round of distinctly unladylike guffaws. I used the humor as an uneasy segue.
    “So who looks probable among the candidates,” I asked.
    “Mr. and Mrs. DigiTool are the favorites,” Teddy said.
    We all laughed again. It was a joke.
    DigiTool was a local software company that had made its college-geek founder wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. He contributed heavily to local causes, but nobody would ever seriously consider him “country club.”
    “I saw them at the symphony,” Tookie said. “Birkenstock sandals with hairy feet. What was he thinking?”
    “Oh, you meant him,” Lexi chimed in. “For a second I thought you meant his wife.”
    That snide remark evoked more snickers.
    “Seriously,” I said, “who may have a chance for membership?”
    “Dr. and Mrs. Rubenstein look good this year,” Teddy said. “She’s been so visible at the art museum and they’ve given him a chair at the medical school.”
    Tookie tutted and shook her head. “They are very Jewish,” she said.
    “You’re Jewish,” Teddy pointed out.
    Tookie gave a huff of incredulity and rolled her eyes. “We’re only bar-mitzvah-and-sitting-shivah Jewish,” she stated. “The Rubensteins actually go to temple.”
    “Well, that’s all right with me,” Lexi said. “Less crowding at the juice bar on Saturday morning.”
    We all giggled naughtily.
    “Daisy and Thorn Whittingham are back on the board,” Tookie said.
    I was surprised. “I thought that after the last time they were blackballed they had huffed off and said they’d never try again.”
    “Never say never when it comes to the country club,” Lexi philosophized.
    “I suppose you’re putting the Brandts’ name in again,” Teddy said.
    I nodded. “Millie and Frank are adorable people,” I toldthem. “And I’m not saying that just because I’m an associate in their real estate brokerage. They are just a darling couple.”
    “They are,” Tookie agreed. “Everyone loves them. I thought they’d get in two years ago. I can’t believe they were rejected again last year.”
    I shook my head sadly.
    “I wonder who it is that keeps voting against them?” Lexi asked, looking around the room as if hoping to spot the offending person.
    “I haven’t any idea,” I said.
    Of course, I knew exactly who kept voting against them. I did. As long as I was the person trying to get them into the country club, I was in a great position in the company. The last thing I wanted was for them to not need me anymore.
    The evening dragged on in this manner. The four of us chatted together, gossiping about friends and assassinating the reputations of enemies. It was still early when I made my exit.
    “The Beemer convertible?” the young, good-looking parking attendant said to me as I stepped out on the porch.
    I nodded, not bothering to correct him. True aficionados know that the nickname Beemer actually refers to the BMW motorcycle. Bimmer is the correct nickname for the automobile. But Beemer just sounded so much better, I used it myself. Ignoring what you know is not the same thing as ignorance.
    “You headed home already, Jane? The party’s just getting started.”
    I turned to see Gil Mullins in the shadows of the patio. The middle-aged ne’er-do-well