X

Thirty-three years ago, my then husband Bill and I belonged to the Racquet Club in Palm Springs.  In those days every vacation we took revolved around tennis.  I didn’t play but I didn’t mind.  While he was on the courts, I spent my mornings sunning, reading- grateful to be out of the Chicago winter.

A few days in I noticed three couples laughing up a storm.  I figured that they were from Los Angeles.  Most of the RC members fell into this category.  I didn’t pay them much attention but, somehow, I caught theirs. And one morning one of the guys tossed a wise-ass comment in my direction.

I whirled around and gave back as good as I got.  The group laughed appreciatively and beckoned me over.

I found myself doing “stand up” in front of total strangers. And we all kept on talking. They were a good audience, my hubby was still on the courts- so what the heck?  This was California casual and no introductions were made.  I knew I’d never see them again so why bother?

And then, somehow, the talk innocently turned to other clubs.  I kidded that my brother in Chicago belonged to a country club so exclusive it had an unlisted membership.

The atmosphere changed immediately.  They were, as one, electrified

“What club does your brother belong to?” one of them asked.

“Who’s your brother?” asked another at the same time.

Uh-oh.

Maybe these strangers weren’t Californians.  Could they possibly be members of the same country club as my brother?  (Who had married into it.  His wife’s family had been part of its founding fathers.)  I clammed up, and although they spent the rest of the trip trying to find out who I was, I just smiled and kept omertå.  We left Palm Springs and I never saw any of them again.

Until a year later.  There at my table at a charity “addressing,” stamping and sealing her heart out, was Joan, one of the ladies from my Racquet Club debacle.

“Oh, my God, it’s you!” she exclaimed. “My husband has been trying to find you for a year!”

The jig was up.  I had to come clean.  And yes, they did all belong to the same club.

“Now that I’ve found you again, you have to come out to dinner with us,” she smiled. “Henry will be so pleased.”

And that’s how I met my very great friend, Henry X.  (The X is not an initial.  Or an attempt to conceal his identity.  It was his official middle name.)  The four of us went to the Ninety Fourth Aero Squadron and by the time dinner was over, I adored her but was in love with him.

You’d never think to look at us that Henry and I were soul mates- separated at birth.  He was portly.  I wasn’t.  We were of two different generations, backgrounds, viewpoints.  I was just a kid of the sixties who had invented herself along the way.

He was very much of the old school- to the manor born.  Smart, funny, courtly, generous with his time and talents, (he was a gifted photographer and expert local historian) insatiably curious, intensely loyal to his friends, and invested with a noble sense of right and wrong.

And he was a real curmudgeon- the North Shore’s answer to Andy Rooney.  Imperious, regally arbitrary, he had a decided point of view on everything.  Nothing wishy-washy about his opinions.  But always there to help a friend at a drop of a crown.  And he was always there to stick up for me.

Everything Henry did or said fascinated me.  Or challenged me.  Or made me want to learn more.

I always thought of him as some kind of a monarch.

Joan was very tolerant of my crush.  She thought I amused him.  On the other side, Henry and my ex never really hit it off that well.  Henry thought he was a boring blowhard and my ex was never very interested in anyone who didn’t want to make more money than Warren Buffett.

But Henry and I just bonded.  There was no real explanation for it.

So when my sister-in-law asked if I wanted to join this very club that had started all the fuss, Henry instantly agreed to be my sponsor.  Mary Lu’s grandfather graciously offered to be the other one.  (I still had to convince my husband to pony up.  Before we met, he had never even set foot in the place and he did not “get” it at all.)

But you needed more than sponsors and money to join.  The club had a social conscience, and to get on its radar screen, it was expected that all its members would give back to society.

And that fell into place, too.  Remember that addressing I told you about?  I was already working for the Medical Research Institute Council of Michael Reese Hospital.  In fact I was so preoccupied with my fundraising, that my toddler son’s very first two sentences ever were, “Throw my macaroni and cheese in the garbage.  I have to call Michael Reese!”

With all this going for me, we were admitted in 1982.

And how I loved it.  I had my regular spot on the deck by the hot tub and I parked there all the time.  The people, the pool, the swim, tennis and golf lessons for the kids, the parties, the holidays, my brother and sister-in-law, my newfound friend Herbie and the other like-minded dedicated M.R.I.C. board members-  and of course, Joan and Henry.

Fast forward to 2012.

Henry died last year, to my ever-lasting sorrow.  I’m gone- can’t afford the assessments any more.  The other guy at the Racquet Club- the one who started our friendship with his wise-ass comment- also dead way too soon.

And my ex- “Mr. Coattails?”  He’s still a member!  A glitch in the by-laws allowed him to stay on after our divorce.  My family, my sponsors, my friends, my hard work- all down the pool drain.  All that’s left of us now is the guy who never even heard of the joint.

Quelle irony.

My champion, King Henry, with his unerring sense of fair play, would have clapped him in the Tower for this lese-majesté.  But alas, the great Henry X is gone and can’t help me any more.

The King is dead.  Long live the King.  That’s how it goes, right?

But for his darling Joan, his devoted daughters, Nancy and Polly, his precious grandson, Julian X- and for all the rest of us who love and honor and remember him- there will never be an Henry XI.

Farewell, my king.

Now here’s the trailer from a movie that I watched with Henry.

Enjoy. He did.