Dead Certain

It felt strange to see that there was a whole world beyond LaSalle Street, people going about their business and enjoying the day.
    As I made my way down the familiar tree-lined drive toward the stately Tudor clubhouse, I tried to remember the last time I’d been here. Not that it mattered. The whole point of places like the Lake Forest Country Club was that nothing in them ever changes. No doubt my great-grandfather had driven past these very same elms on his way to play cards with his friends and boast about the hospital he planned on building.
    I pulled up under the big green awning, handed my keys to the valet, and made my way up the carpeted steps to the club’s main entrance. As I pushed through the heavy oak doors I could almost feel time slowing down. As I made my way to the ladies’ card room the grandfather clock in the hall marked out the seconds like a miser doling coins from his purse. This was a place where people came to pass the time, not cram as much as they possibly could into every billable sixth of an hour.
    As such, it was probably an anachronism, though one that managed to be embraced by succeeding generations. Comfortable and serene, it was governed by a set of archaic rules set out in an oft-consulted volume the size of a small-town phone book. There were regulations covering all forms of behavior. There were elaborate dress codes for both sexes and every situation, including a strictly enforced white rule for tennis that meant that members looked like they were batting the ball around in their underwear. There were separate dining rooms for men and women at the lunch hour and a men’s-only grill at dinner where cigar smoking was permitted. Women were allowed on the golf course only during certain hours of the day in order to give the men who presumably Worked downtown preference in the afternoons.
    I sighed and turned the corner into the ladies’ card room, a pink and white trellised space done up as a sort of gazebo. Today it was filled with so many women that
    11 looked like a fire sale at Chanel. They were all sitting at tables of four, filling in the hours until lunch by taking a bridge lesson. They chatted and peered at their cards while a forbidding woman who sounded like a high-class dog trainer trilled out incomprehensible instructions about tricks and trumps.
    I scanned the room and tried to pick out my mother. One thing that I’d never been able to understand is the singular energy with which these rich women simultaneously copied and competed with each other until they I managed to transform themselves into a veritable army of well-dressed clones. No wonder their husbands were forever giving them expensive necklaces, I thought to myself savagely. Like dog collars, they’re the only way to tell them apart.
    I finally spotted her at a table near the front and made my way awkwardly through the room, bumping into chairs, stumbling over handbags, and offering whispered apologies.
    “What on earth are you doing here, Kate?” demanded Mother in an irritated whisper once I finally reached her table.
    “Since when do I need a reason to drop in and see my own mother?” I replied, unable to resist. One look at her face was enough to tell me that she did not appreciate the joke. “I need to speak to you about something,” I continued. “It should only take a minute.”
    “Can’t it wait?” she demanded. “We’re in the middle of playing out a hand.”
    I rose to my feet from my tableside crouch. “That’s all right,” I said. “I’m heading back to my office. You can reach me there whenever you find time in your busy schedule.”
    I made it as far as the hallway outside of the men’s grill before my mother finally caught up to me. I could tell that she was furious.
    “Do you mind telling me what you think you’re doing barging in and embarrassing me in front of my friends like that?” she demanded.
    “You know, it was a nice day and I just felt like taking a ride to the suburbs,” I shot back. “Why do you think I came out here?”
    Mother stared back at me uncomprehendingly.
    “Why don’t you let me give you a hint? I came straight from my meeting with HCC.”
    “Oh, that’s right, I’d forgotten all about that,” said Mother as if I’d just brought to mind an overlooked hairdressing appointment. “How did it go?”
    “Gerald Packman gave me ten minutes of his time,” I continued.
    “And?”
    “And you were absolutely right about HCC. We have to stop