Southern Charm (22 page)

It read:
Headed to the racquet club. This is bullshit. I love you.

The racquet club, is that right? I thought. Here I am barely able to hail a cab because I am so humiliated and Tripp is burning calories.

Yes, I could have gone home. I could have retreated back to my perfectly appointed apartment and fielded calls from my mother, who was probably still dealing with her own backlash in Charleston, where for whatever reason many people we knew seemed to read the
Post
these days.

“Take me to Fifty-third and Park.”

I'd never been to the Racquet and Tennis Club on Park Avenue before. Tripp often went there after work to play racquetball and go swimming, but it was an old-school club. Meaning, women were technically not allowed.

Nonetheless, I walked right up the steps and into a main room
that looked like it had been decorated by an old white man. There was a lot of white marble, leather furniture, maroon paint, and brass fixtures. Granted, I still had my sunglasses on and was sporting a less-than-fresh hairdo, but pretty much everyone in the room turned to look at me as I walked up to the reception desk.

“Yes?” A man in a white coat and bow tie glared down at me like I was the pizza delivery guy.

“Hello, sir,” I began, my southern manners kicking in. I took off my sunglasses. “I was wondering if you could help me. You see my boyfriend—my fiancé, excuse me—is a member here and I'm desperate to speak to him. It really is quite the emergency situation or I wouldn't be bothering you, you see.” I almost curtsied at the end, I was so wrapped up in the role of damsel in distress.

“Your fiancé?” he repeated. “Last name, please?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “du Pont.”

The man stared back at me. Then he looked down at a board in front of him, which listed all of the members' names. Then he looked back up at me again.

“Of course,” he said. “Mr. du Pont the Third, I imagine? Both the elder and the younger are currently in the club.”

“Yes, the third,” I said.

“I see.”

He picked up the receiver of his phone.

“If you don't mind waiting, miss, I can put in a call to Mr. du Pont and let him know you are here.”

You see, that wouldn't do. The whole point of my coming to the racquet club in the first place was that I wanted Tripp to be taken off guard. I wanted him to feel uncomfortable. And since I'd felt the depths of humiliation as a result of his actions, whether they were criminal or not, I wanted him to have a taste, as well. I wanted him to know what it felt like when someone you loved and cared about truly let you down. In a very public way, no less.

“Hmmm,” I said. “You wouldn't happen to know if he's playing racquetball, would you?”

The man, distracted by an incoming call, barely looked at me.

“I believe he's taking a swim,” he said, picking up the receiver and greeting the person on the other end of the line with a grim hello.

A swim, I repeated in my head. Perfect.

My behavior in the following moments is not advisable. For one, I had the perfect opportunity. The stuffy guard was tied up on an important call. I'd lingered long enough in the foyer for the original gawkers to lose interest, so no one was so much as glancing in my direction. Not to mention, I am not the most imposing person in the world. I stand five foot four on a good day. I knew it was going to be a challenge to make my way up to the top floor (Tripp had mentioned once that the pool facilities took up most of the top floor of the building) but it wasn't impossible.

I slunk toward an empty elevator, which I boarded just as the doors were closing. As far as I could tell, no one took notice. I pushed the button for the fourth floor. At that point, I didn't have a plan. All I could think about was finding Tripp.

The doors opened and two men stopped short and gaped at me. Suddenly I felt very self-conscious.

“Minty! What are you doing here?”

Tripp was standing just inside the entrance to the pool. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and was drying his hair with another towel. I walked over to him with my hands on my hips.

“There are no women allowed on this floor, Minty,” he said in a hushed voice. “We really need to take this somewhere more . . . private. I'm going to get in trouble for this.”

He put his hand on my shoulder but I swiped it away.

There was a minute where I felt slightly guilty and thought maybe I should leave. But then I remembered I had been humiliated in one of the most widely read newspapers in the country. Tripp could stand being humiliated in front of a few old guys in a pool.

“You know what, Tripp? I don't care!” I said. “I spent the whole day basically wanting to
die
because of you.”

Some of the men stopped swimming to listen. Tripp placed his hand back on my shoulder and started guiding me toward the exit.

“It's bad enough that you might be cheating on me with that . . .
slut
. But I have to read about it in the newspaper on top of it? You can't even be honest with me?”

There was complete silence. Not even the trickling of water or the slightest splash. That is when I noticed there was something off about this pool. It wasn't just the fact that it was small or a little steamier than most. It wasn't that it was populated by all men, most of them in their twilight years, no less, and that I was the only female in their midst. No, there was something else. I glanced around me. The men who had been hanging around the deck of the pool when I walked in were each holding something—a kickboard here, a flipper there—in front of their nether regions. They were definitely looking at me strangely, as if I'd interrupted something private, something sacred. And—oh—there it was. How could I not have noticed? Behind the kickboards and the flippers there was nothing.

“Oh my God,” I said. “Is everyone naked?”

That's when Tripp started pushing me toward the elevator bank.

“Minty, we need to get you out of here,” he said.

“Get your hands off of me!” I shrieked. I squirmed and struggled. “Why is everyone naked?”

“Minty,” he said, still holding me by the shoulders. I'd never seen him so mortified. He could barely breathe. “They're naked because they're supposed to be. It's a tradition. That's why they don't allow women up here.”

I'd not only managed to break into one of the most exclusive clubs in New York, I'd probably just laid eyes on some of the most powerful you-know-whats in the city, as well. And I'd barely even noticed because I was so busy yelling at Tripp.

I started laughing. No, I
really
started laughing. Like, huge, hearty, bellowing, no-holds-barred laughter. I laughed so hard that I had to steady myself against Tripp, who was pretty wet and slippery.

He just shook his head. “We've got to get you home,” he said.

More laughing.

“Listen.” He shook me gently, but enough that I gulped and stared up at him. “You make your way down to the main hall and I'll be there in less than five minutes. Got it?”

I nodded, stifling a huge grin.

“I just have to put some pants on,” he said.

“I'll say,” I squealed, snorting inadvertently. I burst into another fit of laughter. I couldn't help it. I'd flipped a switch.

And, anyway, it was Tripp's fault to begin with. So there.

I agreed to wait for Tripp in the foyer under the condition that he prove that the “Page Six” article was an unfounded, nasty rumor and nothing else. He was furious about the spectacle I'd made, yes, but what could he say? I had reason to be angry. And when I got angry (which was not often, mind you), I committed to the role.

“T
hank you for taking care of my fiancée, Jim,” Tripp said to the man behind the front desk as he retrieved me.

Jim responded with a withering smile. However, several men whom I recognized from the pool walked by (fully dressed, thankfully) and actually nodded and waved at me!

Tripp suggested we walk to my apartment.

“Listen,” he finally said after several silent blocks. “First and foremost, you have to believe me, none of this stuff is true. I'm going to fix this, but I need a moment to regroup. I'm going to drop you off at your place and we'll meet up for dinner at Philippe at nine o'clock.”

I began to protest. I was in no mood for a romantic dinner.

“Please, Mints,” he said, “give me a chance to explain.”

I groaned. I was so exhausted, all I wanted to do was curl up in bed, but if Tripp promised this dinner was going to make things right, then, I decided, I might as well give it a shot.

Philippe was the restaurant Tripp took me to on our first “real” date, a few nights after the ambush coffee date my mother managed to arrange. There are several things I love about Philippe, besides the fact that it reminds me of Tripp and me. It's dark, romantic, and decorated in shades of deep red, white, and black. The food is
so
yummy. They have the most amazing lobster spring rolls I've ever tasted.

I walked in a few minutes after nine (southern girls are never exactly on time for a date, but never more than fifteen minutes late!).
I was wearing a little black Diane von Furstenberg dress I'd had for ages. It was one of my favorites, just short enough without showing too much leg. I'd paired it with four-inch silver metallic Brian Atwood pumps and a colorful Miu Miu clutch. I kept the jewelry simple. I didn't want any piece competing with the real point of my being there in the first place: my engagement ring.

Tripp was seated at “our table” toward the back of the restaurant. It was pretty late and a Sunday night so it wasn't very crowded. Seeing him for the second time that day was confusing. He looked so handsome that my first reaction was to run away and hide; I couldn't believe I'd made such a fool of myself at the racquet club! But he deserved it, didn't he? Even if the rumor wasn't true, Emily had seen him with Tabitha. There was something going on, and if Tripp and I were actually going to go ahead with this marriage, I needed to know that he was capable of telling me the whole truth.

“Hey,” I said, sitting down.

“You look a little better than this afternoon,” he said, laughing.

I scoffed.

He laughed again. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“By the way,” he continued, “I'm pretty sure every guy at that pool went home smiling tonight. Most of them probably can't remember the last time they were naked in front of a chick.”

“Eww.” I groaned. “I didn't know they were going to be naked!”

“Sure,” he said, “sure.”

Our waiter came over and took our drink orders.

“I know what I want to eat,” I said. “Should we just order now?”

Tripp waved the waiter away. “Let's wait a minute,” he said. “I need a moment to try to redeem myself here.”

“A moment?”

“Okay, more than a moment, but just hear me out, all right?”

“Fine.”

“I already said this in the five thousand text messages I sent this morning, but, first and foremost, the ‘Page Six' thing is a lie,” he began. “Obviously, this isn't the first time they've printed something
about me that's unfounded and just mean, but it's starting to look suspicious.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What are you saying?”

“I know you're kind of new to this game,” he said.

I rolled my eyes.

“But,” he continued, “‘Page Six' doesn't just make things up. They have sources. So, nine times out of ten if they keep going with a certain rumor, it's coming from a person who they believe to be a reputable source. And the only person I could think of who has both the means and the will to trash me like this is Tabitha.”

“Well,” I said, “duh.”

Tripp looked at me and shook his head. He was bouncing his right leg up and down so feverishly the table was rattling.

“Mints,” he said, “I've always been honest with you about Tabitha. Yes, there was a moment in time where we casually dated. But, like I've said in the past, it was never serious and it ended the second I saw you.”

I admit it: that part melted me just a little.

“The thing is, May Abernathy had some people at her apartment and Tabitha showed up. You were working late for Ruth and I spent the whole night wishing you were there.”

There it was! Okay, maybe he
was
planning on telling me the truth.

“I didn't speak to her all night. In fact I actively avoided speaking to her. I didn't want her to get the wrong idea. I didn't want anyone at the party to get the wrong idea.”

“Okay.”

“So, when it came time to leave, I slipped out without anyone noticing. Or at least I
thought
no one noticed. But as I was waiting for the elevator, Tabitha came over with her coat on and it was clear that she wanted to come with me. I told her absolutely not. I reminded her that I was engaged to you and she had to respect that.”