Elin Hilderbrand: The Beach Club

“Let me think about it,” he said.

“Don’t you think it’s time we took the next step? Don’t you think it’s time you got what you deserved?”

“Yes?” Mack said.

“Okay, then,” Maribel said.

Maribel watched from the living room window as Mack walked out to the Jeep and drove away. I want you to feel good about yourself , she thought. I want you to ask me to marry you!

The first thing Jem Crandall thought when he arrived at the Beach Club to interview for the bellman’s position was that it was like a scene from a movie-the ocean, the sand, and then the leading man-strong handshake, sailing-instructor suntan, who called himself Mack, and said Why don’t we interview on the pavilion? The pavilion! Nantucket was the fanciest place Jem had ever been, and he’d certainly never been interviewed on a pavilion before.

The pavilion turned out to be a covered deck with blue Adirondack chairs that faced the ocean.

“This is like a little porch,” Jem said, taking one of the chairs.

“What do you think?” Mack said. He half sat, half leaned on the railing with his back to the water, so he could look at Jem. Jem stared at Mack’s ankle, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. He was wearing deck shoes without any socks.

“It’s fucking gorgeous,” Jem said. He shut his eyes. What had he just said? Fucking? Swearing, in a job interview! “Excuse my French,” he said. “I just meant…”

“I know what you meant,” Mack said. He scribbled something down on his clipboard, probably, Low-class, not right at all for the job . Jem sat up straighter in the chair, but it was hard to achieve really perfect posture because of the way the back of the chair was slung.

“Sorry,” Jem said.

Mack checked his Ironman sportswatch. He was dressed like a J. Crew model-navy cotton sweater, khakis, a Helly Hansen Gore-Tex vest lined with fleece. Jem tried to keep from fixating on Mack’s swinging ankle.

“So you want to be a bellman,” Mack said. “I have two questions. How long can you stay and do you have a place to live?”

Jem arranged his thoughts. In career counseling at William and Mary, he learned that the key to a good job interview was to tell the truth, and not what he thought the interviewer wanted to hear. “I can stay until closing,” Jem said. “I graduated from college, like, last week.”

“Where’d you go to college?” Mack asked.

“The College of William and Mary.”

“Okay, so you graduated. And you don’t have another job to start in the fall?”

“Not lined up, no.”

“What are you planning to do?”

Jem tried to sit up. “I’m going to California. I want to be an agent.” An agent: that was the first time he’d said the words out loud. It sounded okay. I want to be an agent . Jem was afraid to tell his parents about his plans because they would reject the words “Los Angeles” right away. They would argue it was too far from home. Jem’s parents lived in Falls Church, Virginia; they were small-town people. They had to pull out the atlas to locate Nantucket.

“An agent?” Mack said.

“Yeah,” Jem said. His feet itched and he wondered if he’d gotten sand in his socks. He stared at Mack’s bare ankle, then tore his eyes away. “An agent for actors.”

“Do you act?”

“I’m not very good. I modeled a little in college, though. I was Mr. November in the college calendar.” Mr. November: It was a good, handsome picture-Jem in jeans, sitting on a split-rail fence in historic Williamsburg. But now Mr. November sounded ridiculous. Things that seemed okay in college didn’t always translate to the real world. Jem should have kept his mouth shut. From now on, he was just going to answer the questions.

Mack pinched his lips together in a line, as if he were trying not to laugh. “What about a place to live?”

“I have a place to live,” Jem said. Jem rented a room through a college friend’s aunt who had a house on North Liberty Street. The room was fine, but it didn’t have kitchen privileges. When Jem asked the friend’s aunt how he was going to eat, she said, “I usually rent to people in the restaurant business.” Jem’s father owned a bar in Falls Church-an English-style pub called the Locked Tower; if he’d wanted to wait tables, he would have stayed at home. “The room’s decent,” he told Mack. “But it doesn’t have a kitchen. And I need to save money to go to California.” He straightened his spine. “I’m on the lookout for free food in a big way. What I really need is a girlfriend who likes to cook.”

“My girlfriend likes to cook,” Mack said. “And look what it got me.” He patted his gut. “Love handles.”

Jem smiled politely.

“Are you handy?” Mack asked. “Can you change a lightbulb? Set an alarm clock? Do you know what a circuit breaker is? If a guest calls the front desk and says his electricity is out, could you fix it?”

“Probably. I can change a lightbulb and set an alarm clock. I know my way around a fuse box.”

“You’d be surprised how many people can’t set an alarm clock,” Mack said.

“Well, I can,” Jem said. “Like I said, I just graduated from college.” He laughed. Mack scribbled down something else.

“Hopefully, you’ll remember to set your own,” Mack said. “The day bellman needs to be here at eight A.M.”

“Do I have the job, then?”

“I need someone for three day shifts and three night shifts, one day off. There isn’t a lot of sitting around. If you’re not stripping the rooms for the chambermaids or helping a guest with bags, then you’ll be doing projects, assigned by me. Small maintenance jobs, watering the plants, cleaning the exercise room, sweeping up shells in the parking lot. And part of the deal is helping to open the place, from now until Memorial Day. That’s eight to four every day but Sunday. I can offer you ten bucks an hour, plus tips. Do you want the job?”

Tips. A world-class beach resort. Contacts waiting to be made. Jem could have kissed the guy. “Yes, I do. Absolutely.”

Mack offered his hand and Jem tried for a nice, firm handshake that showed he meant what he said.

“You have the job,” Mack said. “Welcome to the Nantucket Beach Club and Hotel. You’ll work with a bellman named Vance Robbins who’s been here twelve years, just as long as I have. Vance will show you the ropes. Come tomorrow at eight, ready to shovel.”

Jem jumped to his feet. “I’ll be here,” he said. He probably sounded way too eager, but it was exciting-getting a job, spending the summer on this island. He couldn’t wait to write to his parents and tell them. But first he had to find a grocery store and buy some bread and a jar of peanut butter and hope it didn’t draw ants.

Mack led him to the front porch of the lobby. “We’ll see you tomorrow,” Mack said.

“Do you own this place?” Jem asked. A seagull dropped a shell onto the asphalt of the parking lot and then swooped down to eat whatever was inside.

“No,” Mack said. He tugged at his vest defensively.

“Oh,” Jem said. “Well, it is gorgeous.”

“Fucking gorgeous,” Mack said. “You’re right. It is.”

Vance Robbins stood six feet and one half inch tall, which was the same height as Mack Petersen. He turned thirty years old on March 22, and so did Mack Petersen. They were exactly the same height and exactly the same age.

“Like twins,” Maribel once made the mistake of saying. Vance and Mack were not twins. First of all, Vance was black and Mack was white. Secondly, Vance was a bellman and Mack was the manager.

Vance had hated Mack for twelve years. Twelve years ago, Vance was a high school graduate on his way to Fairleigh Dickinson in the fall, and he lined up a summer managerial position at the Beach Club with Bill Elliott over the phone. Bill was supposed to be waiting when Vance got off the ferry, but Mack cut in and replaced him. It was pure dumb luck-Mack got off the boat first and he was the right age, he had the right look, and Bill took him to the hotel instead of Vance. It wasn’t until an hour later that Bill returned to the wharf to get Vance-and by then Mack had infiltrated the joint. Bill claimed Mack had better experience because he’d worked on a farm-a farm , for God’s sake-and he wasn’t leaving for school in September, and so Mack got the manager’s job. Vance was Mack’s equal in height and age, but returning to the Beach Club in the spring and seeing Mack made Vance only too aware of how they weren’t equal. Vance was a black sheep, an evil twin, a kid who got off the boat thirty seconds too late. A bellman.