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 A brief summer sojourn
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| Madison Avenue and 65th Street. 4:35 PM. Photo: JH. |
Wednesday, September 7, 2011. Rain. Big. If you look at the weather map, it started with the storm that hit New Orleans which then stretched in a wide path north up the entire eastern United States to New England and Canada. Yesterday morning’s temperature dropped to the low 60s in New York, announcing that autumn will be in the driver’s seat very soon.
The city is not quite “back” from the summer, but they’re tumbling in quickly. Fashion Week is about to begin, and it will dominate a lot of the town’s social activity for the next ten days. Today the Couture Council of the FIT Museum is honoring Valentino at their annual luncheon at Lincoln Center. |
| Heavy rain washing down the streets. 5:30 PM. |
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This luncheon has become one of the biggest draws of the season for the boldfacers, thanks to the Couture Council’s Liz Peek and her merry band of committee members. Last year, you might remember, they honored Karl Lagerfeld and it was pure theatre. This year the presence of Valentino (and Giancarlo) promises spectacle, as that is what those guys are really good at. Everybody knows this and so Everybody will be there.
After that, the runway business begins in the special tents at Lincoln Center as well as all over town. Many designers are moving their shows downtown for a variety of reasons (like, their showrooms, studios, etc. are there). Ellin Saltzman, who will be reviewing the troops daily for NYSD, has pointed out that although this is cool and hip, it makes getting around more and more difficult for those retail buyers who come to town specifically to see the collections (which ultimately is what this is all about) to get from one show to another to another. The rest of us (non-buyers, social-ites) forget that this is all about business.
Meanwhile the summer communities of the Hamptons are not quite finished up, if the weather (the warm weather that is) holds up.
A brief summer sojourn to Southampton. A couple of weeks ago, a woman friend of mine, a lifelong visitor to SH, once a full time summer resident, had been invited to a big, end-of-season blow-out that a prominent couple were giving at the Meadow Club on a Friday night.
My friend, who has been a member for decades of the Meadow Club and the Bathing Corporation, the two oldest of the private clubs (for swimming, tennis, and private celebrations) has, like many members, belonged all her life, as did the generations that preceded them. End of the season parties such as this are always an opportunity for my friend to see old friends and connect up with the new. |
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| An aerial view of the Southampton Bathing Corporation with Lake Agawam behind. |
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This particular party, which the couple give annually for about 300, is a hot invitation, and includes many of the resort’s Old Guard as well as the young movers and shakers.
My friend had arranged for her and another friend who had also been invited to the party to stay with a woman who has a house in Southampton. Their “hostess” doesn’t belong to the club and wasn’t on the invitation list, although when she expressed interest, my friend offered to see if she could get her invited to the party.
The two women drove out late that Friday afternoon. At that point it was not certain that the “invitation” for their hostess would be forthcoming. The hostess, also in the city, was getting out there even later. She wasn’t even sure if she’d be on time for the party, so she left a key for her two guests, and would, she assumed, meet up with them at the party.
Once there, my friend called the host of the party to check on the extra “invitation.” It was a no-go. The club had notified him that late additions to his guest list could not be added because of club’s capacity and the town’s fire laws.
So, that night, with their hostess still not having arrived from the city, my friend left her a note about the situation and went on to the Meadow Club. |
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| The Meadow Club in the early 1900s. Collection of the Southampton Historical Museum. |
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Later in the evening after the dinner, and as the dancing commenced, my friend (who is in her late eighties) and her friend decided to head back to their hostess’ house to get a good night’s sleep after a long day and a long drive.
When they got back to the house, they found their luggage piled high on the front porch with a note informing them that since they could not find a way to have their “hostess” invited to the big party, they were NOT welcome to stay overnight at her house. So there.
It was after ten o’clock, so this was especially distressing news to my friend who felt it was too late to call on other friends for a bed that night. Also, as it happened, some of her personal items, especially a prescription drug she must take daily, were not in her luggage but still in a dresser drawer in the bedroom she had been initially assigned, and so she had to retrieve them.
In the room she found a man who had since been assigned her bed. He was rather put out that she’d invaded “his” room, albeit for a sensible reason. Personal items retrieved, she and her friend made a hasty exit. |
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My friend, despite her late age (she’s one of those girls who still runs her business everyday, and looks after a lot of friends’ needs) was the only one of the two who could drive. The good news was at that hour the roads to the City were not heavily trafficked. The bad news was that she never would have driven the 100 miles to go to a party if she’d known she’d have to drive another 100 miles to have a place to sleep that night. Thankfully, two and a half hours later, she was home in her own bed.
The pettiness of her hostess was known to her, but my friend is one who tends to overlook people’s foibles, more as a matter of wisdom and natural generosity. Her “hostess,” who did not belong to the Meadow Club, and has a reputation for being a “loose cannon” (never a point for eligibility to any club anyway), has the means to share but generosity does not come naturally to her; instead it comes with a price. Ironically it’s that price that often deprives her of invitations she’s always eager to get. A friend indeed but not in deed. |
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