Page 98 of Swan Song

The membership committee of the Field and Oar Club is Nantucket’s own version of a secret society. There are nine members on the committee, each serving a nine-year term with three terms allowed. Some of the members on the committee—Busy Ambrose, Lucinda Quinboro, and Penny Rosen—are in their third term, and one, Talbot Sweeney, is in his final year of service (much to his dismay). Blond Sharon and Phoebe Wheeler are at the start of their second term, which makes them relative newbies. The committee is rounded out by Helen Dunsmore, Larry Winters, and Rip Bonham.

They meet on the second Wednesday in August to vote so that the newly elected members can be welcomed at the Commodore’s Ball on Labor Day weekend. The meeting is held, not up in the Governor’s Room, as many believe, but in the club’s snack bar at the unusual hour of eleven p.m. By that time, service has ended and the staff are gone, leaving the club deserted, dark, and locked up. The members gather around Busy Ambrose on the front porch like they’re teenagers on a caper; as commodore, Busy is the only member with a key.

Blond Sharon has always loved the rituals of the membership committee meeting: the late hour, the hushed passage through the front hall and the ballroom to the snack bar, where they push two tables together and sit in white molded chairs. The meeting is BYOB. The past few years, Phoebe has brought a bottle of Sancerre, Talbot a bottle of Bushmills, Rip a cooler of Cisco beer. Busy traditionally serves as short-order cook (she learned a few tricks from her long-ago summer love). She prepares chicken strips and French fries that she serves in plastic baskets lined with wax paper.

Once Busy has served the snacks, she sits down to conduct the meeting. “Has everyone read the applications, the nominating letters, and the seconding letters?”

Everyone nods yes, though they all know Larry Winters never does the reading and Rip does maybe half (he recently took over his father’s insurance business and has three little kids at home). Talbot does the reading but can’t remember any of it. (Is it surprising that the weak links are all men? Not to Sharon.)

This year there are spaces for six couples, and there are five legacy couples at the top of the list. Legacies are always admitted unless there are problematic issues, and this year all five couples are from wonderful families in good standing at the Field and Oar; they all sail and play tennis and have three or four children apiece, ensuring a solid, vibrant future for the club. These applicants breeze through and are unanimously accepted.

Then it’s on to the rest of the list. The list has long been misunderstood by club members and nonmembers alike, and the committee prefers it that way. It’s common knowledge that the Field and Oar has a “ten-to-twenty-year” wait list—but the truth is, as soon as couples submit their full applications, they’re eligible for admission. In fact, the committee does not start at the bottom of the list, with the people who have been waiting the longest, but at the top.

Busy clears her throat. “The first couple up for our consideration are Bull and Leslee Richardson.” Busy beams. “I like them so much, I wrote their nominating letter. And Phoebe wrote one of their seconding letters.”

Helen Dunsmore says, “They live out in Pocomo? Do they sail or play tennis?”

Does Helen Dunsmore live under a rock? Sharon wonders. Has she not heard about the Richardsons’ parties this summer?

“Sail,” Busy says. “They have a yacht called Hedonism.”

“Hedonism!” Larry Winters says. “Now, that’s something I can get behind.” Larry used to own a popular nightclub in Key Largo. He’s the kind of eighty-year-old who always makes a point of checking out Sharon’s cleavage.

“Where are these people from?” Lucinda Quinboro asks. Lucinda is also a member of the old guard. She and Penny Rosen both got married at the Field and Oar Club during the Kennedy administration. “It says here… Perth, Australia?”

“That’s a mailing address,” Busy says. “They’ve recently spent time in Aspen and the Caribbean, but they’ve made Nantucket their home.”

“My company insures their house,” Rip says. “They told me Nantucket would be their primary residence. Bull said he was planning on having the house winterized, though to my knowledge, he’s made no move to do so.”

“There’s no way Leslee Richardson will be able to tolerate Nantucket in January,” Sharon says. “Or, worse, March.”

“These are the people who throw the parties?” Talbot says.

“Yes,” Busy says. “They’re very social and extremely philanthropic and I think they’ll make a wonderful addition to the club. Shall we take it to a vote?”

Voting on non-legacy members has its own protocol. Busy must go around the table and get a yea or nay from each committee member, and the applicants must have a two-thirds majority, or six votes, to be accepted. Busy goes first: “Yea.” Then, thankfully, she turns to her right, which means Sharon, to Busy’s left, will go last. By then, Sharon is fairly certain her vote won’t matter.

Lucinda offers an uninterested yea and Penny, who always votes as Lucinda votes, is also a yea. Helen Dunsmore is a yea; she’s the least discerning (or, as she claims, the most inclusive) among them; she would let in someone who moved here yesterday. Talbot is a nay but Sharon could have predicted this; Talbot hasn’t approved a non-legacy member in twenty-seven years. Rip is a nay—he always complains there aren’t enough year-round families at the club and apparently the Richardsons’ failure to winterize has rubbed him the wrong way. Larry Winters is a yea because he has a long-standing beef with Talbot.

There are five yeas and two nays when it comes around to Phoebe, and Sharon thinks, This is over, the Richardsons are in. But Phoebe drops her head into her hands and moans.

Busy says, “You can hardly be deliberating, dear. You wrote one of the Richardsons’ seconding letters.”

“I know,” Phoebe says. “But…”

“Didn’t Leslee tell me she donated to Tiffin Academy on your son’s behalf?” Busy asks.

“That’s not supposed to matter,” Rip says.

“Membership at this club can’t be bought,” Talbot says. “Any idea how many bribes I’ve been offered over the years? And I’m proud to say I refused them all.”

“You’re right,” Phoebe says. “Leslee didn’t offer money to me personally; she donated it to my son’s first-choice boarding school, but I believe that was as a favor to me.” Phoebe spins the diamond stud in her ear. “I should abstain.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Busy says. “Give us an answer.”

“That is my answer,” Phoebe says. “I’m abstaining from the vote.”

“So the Richardsons have five yeas and two nays,” Talbot says. “Sharon, it seems their fate lies with you.”

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