A-Splendid-Ruin(22)
And now, this beautiful October day, Goldie had whisked me away on a safety bicycle ride along the oceanside highway.
The view was magnificent. Twice I’d stopped pedaling to stare at waves crashing on a sandy beach and huge rocks dotted with black and shining seals. The fog that had cloaked the morning was now only spun sugar clouds in a blue sky, shifting with the salty, sweet breeze.
“Come on!” Goldie shouted from ahead. The front wheel of her bicycle wobbled as she slowed. “You’ll have plenty of time to look from the restaurant!” Then she turned back again, pedaling fast.
I caught up with her and Thomas O’Keefe, Jerome Belden, and Linette Wall—the group of Goldie’s closest friends I’d met the night of my arrival—just as we reached the Cliff House, a red-roofed, Bavarian-styled resort with turrets and a profusion of spires perched on the very edge of the cliff like an elegant steamer come ashore. The barking seals on the rocks below sounded like a pack of dogs. There had to be dozens of them, and just as many people populated the railed pathway sweeping to the beach, more promenading and picnicking on the sand, some even daring the water.
I came up beside my cousin just as Goldie dismounted. Her skirt caught on the pedal, and she nearly lost her balance. Fortunately, Thomas was right there to catch her. He was sandy haired and long faced and very patrician, with spectacles that made him look the perfect scholar, though his only studies were yachting and polo.
Goldie batted him away with a flirtatious smile. “The next time, I’m going to wear knickers like you and Jerry.”
“Knickers, ha! The next time, we’ll wear bloomers.” Linette, who had been Goldie’s best friend in finishing school, dumped her bicycle on the grass and delicately patted her pinkly glowing cheeks with her handkerchief. Beneath her tam her chestnut hair shone like copper in the sun.
Jerome, who at twenty-five was our senior, made a face and smoothed his dark beard. “Bloomers? Good God, no. I’m afraid I cannot be seen with any woman who wears bloomers.”
“And we should never wear anything of which you don’t approve, no matter how inconvenient,” Goldie said dryly.
“Even beauty can’t keep some things from looking ridiculous.” Thomas freed Goldie’s divided skirt from the pedal.
She gave him a grateful smile and said to me, “It took you forever to catch up.”
“I thought I did well, especially since it’s been ages since I’ve ridden. Not since grade school.”
“I told you, they say one never forgets.”
Jerome pulled at the high neck of his jersey. “Let’s go in. I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving,” Goldie teased.
“You make me ravenous, darling,” he teased back, taking Linette’s arm.
It seemed that nearly everyone in San Francisco had the idea to go to the Cliff House that Sunday—or to the enormous, Grecian-styled Sutro Baths nearby. The oceanside highway had been lively with horses and carriages, other bicyclists, and automobiles, and now they crowded the entrance. Men in their driving and bicycling caps dallied on the huge porch, women with colorful parasols and scarves and tams and, yes, one or two in bloomers.
“We need a table at the west windows,” Goldie said as we went inside. “I want May to see the view.”
The hall was long, the woodwork gleaming, the decor elegant, beautiful, and soothing. Places like this accentuated how truly the Sullivan house unsettled, that a resort should feel more like home.
Pillars punctuated the dining room, which was tastefully ornamented with palms and ferns and hanging lamps. It was indeed crowded, but we were seated promptly at a white-clothed table next to a window overlooking a veranda and the Pacific Ocean. Talk, silver clinking against plate, and the wonderful smells of food and smoke and that underlying, ever-present scent of the sea only added to the stunning view.
“Don’t you love it, May?” Goldie asked. “Aren’t you glad you’re here instead of gloomy old Brooklyn?”
“You know I am. How many times must I say it?”
“If we don’t eat soon, I’m going to collapse,” Jerome said.
“The ride a bit too much for you, was it?” Thomas teased. “I thought I saw you lagging.”
“I wasn’t lagging,” Jerome said in indignation. “I was distracted.”
“By what?” Linette asked.
“By the sight of your lovely ankle.” Jerome threw an annoyed glance over his shoulder. “That woman’s hat keeps hitting the back of my head. Why the hell do they need to be so big? They’re devilishly annoying. Not only that, but they get in the way at the theater.”
“Only last night I had to watch a play through the flock of birds in front of me,” Thomas agreed. “Though, I have to admit it amused me to imagine them pecking the villain to death.”
I smiled, though I was weary of the talk already. Fortunately, the view was worth the boredom I anticipated.
Jerome brought his chair closer to the table, away from the offending hat. “Well, what shall it be, ladies?”
“I’m partial to the baked oysters,” Linette said.
The suited waiter came to take our order. Jerome and Thomas talked over one another to be the one who gave it. “No, let me,” Jerome said finally. “There’s something special I want May to try.”