Everything Changes

motorized gate at the foot of the driveway.
    “This place is restricted,” Norm says, shaking his head disgustedly. Norm is one of those Jews who only embrace their Judaism when it can be done heroically in the face of anti-Semitism. He gazes at the building suspiciously, envisioning all manner of Aryan rituals and high-level racist meetings taking place behind closed doors in plush conference rooms. “Fucking Nazis.”
    “How do you know?” I say.
    “I know,” Norm says enigmatically, his tone reflecting some past trauma that, like his supposed alcoholism, probably bears a highly tenuous relationship with reality.
    “Well, with two Jews like you, we’ll never get through the front door,” Jed says, pulling away from the curb. He’s joking, but Norm nods somberly, as if they really might have Jew detectors in the lobby.
    Restricted or not, it’s easier to sneak into a country club than you might think. The key is the golf course, whose porous borders extend into the residential neighborhood, abutting the backyards of the massive Tudors and Colonials of Larchmont Estates. Jed takes the first right past the club, surveying the houses we pass, peering intently down their driveways and into their yards until he finds one that suits our purpose, and then parks the Lexus. “When I was a kid,” he says, leading us authoritatively down the driveway of an impressive Dutch Colonial, white as a wedding cake, and up the stone stairs to the backyard, “we used to sneak onto the golf courses to steal the balls. Then we’d stand down the block and sell them for half price.”
    Behind the shrubbery of the yard is a five-foot-high chain-link fence, easily scaled, and beyond that is the open green expanse of the golf course, glowing emerald beneath the early-afternoon sun.
    “You see,” Norm says appreciatively. “Even as a kid, you were an entrepreneur.”
    “And a thief,” I point out.
    Norm shakes his head. “That’s just a technicality. He identified a need in the marketplace, and figured out how to become the low-cost provider.”
    “We didn’t make any money,” Jed says, flipping himself easily over the fence. “We were just fucking around.”
    “Are you sure about this?” I say to him, hesitantly brushing the fence with my fingers. His brazen manner is making me nervous. “It’s trespassing.”
    “You’re already trespassing,” he points out to me, turning to scan the golf course. “Come on. It’s a victimless crime.”
    I give Norm a boost and Jed helps him down on the other side. Then I climb over. As I land, I feel Norm’s hands on my back, unnecessarily assuring my upright landing, and it triggers a faded memory in me, something sweet and nebulous, from a time when I still thought of him as my father, and my legs go weak for a moment. “You okay?” Norm says, steadying me.
    I shake my head and shrug. “Just got a little dizzy. I’m fine.”
    “Okay, kid.”
    Daddy.
    We’ve come in at the third hole, and the fairway is empty, so we walk up the sloping hill to the next tee. It’s a clear, gusty day, and we close our jackets against the chilly wind blowing in loud waves across the lawn, scattering dead, washed-out leaves in its wake. The grass, still wet from a recent watering, clings in a slippery layer to my soles, the wetness darkening the tips of my suede shoes. I exhale into my jacket, tasting the metal of my zipper, feeling cold and acutely alone, wondering what the hell I’m doing here at all. At the top, the course takes a sharp left, and from our vantage point we can see a handful of fairways. There are scattered golfers and golf carts visible now. As we head down the fairway toward them, something occurs to me. “They’re all wearing white sweatshirts,” I say. “And slacks.”
    Jed nods. “Club dress code.”
    Jed and I are dressed in jeans and leather jackets, and Norm’s got his ridiculous red sweatshirt on. “We’re going to stand out,” I say.
    Norm shrugs, already panting from the walk. “We would have stood out anyway.”
    “Just act like you belong,” Jed says.
    “That’s going to be a bit of a stretch,” I grumble.
    We are now coming within range of the first foursome, two middle-aged men and their wives. “See anyone you know?” Jed says.
    “I hope you’ll recognize him,” Norm says.
    “The man stuck a tube up my dick,” I say. “You never forget your first.”
    The golfers stop to look at us. The women are slim, coiffed, and unnaturally