Frantically Relaxing

My trusty 1882 Webster's defines "status" as a state or condition. "Symbol" is defined as "a sign by which one knows or infers a thing."

Now what do you infer from the following "conditions?" 324? S.O.H.? To me, they imply money, money, money. Old money. Blue-blood money, honey. The kind of money that money just can't buy.

For the no doubt very few uninitiated readers, I shall explain this phenomenon of snobbish local minutiae.

Once upon a time East Hampton was a sleepy little village. So sleepy that up until 1963 we were quite content using operators to connect our calls. This was even 26 years after Amagansett and Montauk went "on dial."

I can almost hear them now: "Annie, could you get Mrs. Edwards on the line? I've lost my recipe for beach plum jelly and I'm up to my elbows in paraffin." Nowadays, you can't even escape the Seafood Shop parking lot without being sideswiped by Biff on his car phone: "Bonita, please tell Mrs. Arlinghouse that they're out of striped bass this weekend and we'll just have to make do with blowfish en croute. I'll be home in four minutes."

As you may have gathered, our town slowly but surely became - Planet Hampton! As the most beautiful village in America grew, the need for a new exchange became apparent. And the number that's feared almost as much as the satanic symbolic 666? 329! Eeeeek! Run for your insecure lives!

Here is this week's alarming but true factoid: Several years ago, a woman rented a 324 exchange for people to R.S.V.P. her 329 "we just come here to relax" party. A rumor persists that the desirable 324 number can be had for $50 from those mercenaries at NYNEX. Not true, according to Miss Jackson, the helpful but humorless home service representative I spoke with. You take your chances, and, if you luck out, you get a 324.

And what's with S.O.H.? Why is this important and where did this obnoxious abbreviation come from? Again, for the likely to be uninformed, S.O.H. stands for South of the Highway. This is a really, really big deal around here. Why, I'm not sure. Some of my best friends live N.O.H. But a real estate friend of mine (nice and successful, an oxymoron; therefore my friend must remain nameless) explained it to me.

In the 1970s, although East Hampton was a decidedly popular resort, most rentals were advertised locally. But Madison Avenue got a whiff of the potential and started coming up with some snappy and sharp lingo to lure mo' money. Yeah, sure, South of the Highway is the ocean side of the highway, but the whole S.O.H. acquisition has become even more necessary than that Saturday night table at Nick and Toni's, where the specialty of the house is apt to be braised Thumper. Why are there so few cottontails around Pauline's property nowadays?

Since whether or not someone possesses these status symbols is not always apparent, here are a few subtle clues. Certain types of status holders don't care about food. A quick bite at the club, or a mayonnaise sandwich washed down with Glenlivet at home will suffice. If Lovey wants to go out, the banquette at Gordon's will do.

The 329s, like lemmings, dine wherever New York magazine's Hamptons issue tells them to. Otherwise, the private chef at home can always whip up a meal of any nationality.

Stickers on cars are a good clue to who's who. If the entire back window is clouded over with stickers running the gamut from Hotchkiss to Harvard, you're following a 324. A 329 knows Land Rovers look terrible cluttered up with stickers. If the car only has a resident recycling permit, don't bother trying to social climb with this bush league player.

For exercise, the 324s take a dip in the ocean, knowing they'll work out later to the musical stylings of wild man Peter Duchin. For 329s it's the Reebok Sports Club in New York, and a personal trainer in the Hamptons.

Last but not least, drinking habits. The 324 bartender knows what you want when you walk in. The 329 sommelier will have decanted the right Bordeaux at the American Hotel before his favorite client roars off Route 114. For a bush leaguer, the bartender at Murph's knows when to cut him off.

So put on your Sherlock Holmes hats, learn how to make these oh so important distinctions, and you're all going to be quizzed at the end of the season!

Pauline Goliard tries hard to subscribe to Diana Vreeland's cryptic dictum "Elegance is refusal."