Authors: Thomas Kirkwood
Philippe spun to get out of the way, slapping at the ball with his racket and popping it up toward the stands.
Nicole couldn’t believe what happened next. The American was taking no more chances on calls! He went after the ball though it was a good 20 feet out of play, climbing the bleacher steps and smashing a winner dead into the center of the court while he stood between two elderly women. The shower of chalk that went up from the service T dusted Philippe’s razor-cut hair.
The American stopped at the chair on his way back to the court. “If you don’t call them out, I play them. Those are the international rules of tennis, aren’t they?”
Steven had the crowd behind him now, and Philippe seemed to sense that if he didn’t win his third match point he would be in trouble. He took too big a swing and connected poorly.
Nicole could see that Philippe expected a passing shot. He knew he had to gamble and lunged left. But the American must have known he would lunge to one side or the other, so he dinked a short soft return up the middle. The ball landed between the service courts. While Philippe watched helplessly, it made a leisurely bouncing journey across 15 feet of clay before it crossed the baseline.
“How are they going to call that one out?” shouted Jules.
“They can’t!” cried Luc, having come full circle in his change of allegiances.
Now the left-handed slaughter began in earnest. It took Steven seventeen minutes to finish out the second set and a mere nineteen minutes to conclude the third and final set, during which he treated the crowd to a breathtaking display of smashes, topspin lobs, sinking backhands and scorching aces. By the end of the match, Jules, Luc and Nicole were hoarse.
Nicole was glad to see what looked like grudging admiration for the American’s game from the linesmen and ref, and even from Monsieur Denis du Péage. When he presented the trophy he had no doubt planned to give his son, he patted the newcomer on the back, a rare display of humanity from the club director.
“Aren’t you taking lessons from this guy?” Jules croaked.
“Tomorrow,” Nicole whispered, feeling a tremor of anxiety. She had found the stranger attractive when he spoke to her in the restaurant the other night, and she had smiled at him very openly, not once but twice. She hoped she hadn’t given him the wrong idea. She certainly wouldn’t have smiled at him that way if she had known she would be seeing him again so soon, and at such close quarters.
Chapter Eleven
Wayne Jenkins polished the wine glasses with a paper napkin and, satisfied there were no more water spots, returned them to the table. He conducted one last survey of his work, making sure he had remembered all the little essentials he didn’t want to be jumping up for during a romantic dinner – salt, the corkscrew, matches for the candles, Lori’s wooden salad spoons. Everything was ready.
When she came home from taking Sean to his party, he’d put the salmon on the grill and open the wine. From then on it would be clear sailing. He wasn’t much of a cook, but how could you go wrong with hors d’oeuvres from the gourmet shop around the corner, two bottles of expensive Chardonnay and a salmon that had been alive a few hours ago?
He knew Lori would appreciate the effort. His promotion last year to Manager at the Spares Distribution Center had meant a lot of time on the job. She definitely got the short end of the stick when it came to work around the house. It shouldn’t be that way, he thought. She worked full-time, was the mother of a spirited 15-year-old, and her job at the brokerage house, while it didn’t bring in the $127,000 a year of his Boeing gold mine, was probably a lot more demanding.
Now, finally, he had gotten smart and made the only ethical choice: he was coming to the rescue. Starting with this meal, he was going to share equally in the cooking and cleaning. He would break it to Lori over her favorite dessert, Haägen Dasz chocolate ice cream.
The way he saw it, tonight marked a real milestone in their relationship. They had been through hard times together, toughed it out and endured. He was giving up the siege mentality that had served its purpose but was no longer needed. He was going to start relaxing and enjoying family life. There would be some quality time with Lori in the bedroom, too, reminiscent of those peaceful afternoons before Sean was born and his troubles at Boeing began.
On the balcony he lit the grill and lingered at the railing to appreciate the fine view of Seattle. The clouds had broken to the west. It was incredible, he thought. After weeks of rain and sagging gray overcasts, there would be a proper sunset tonight at dinner. It was almost as if God were rewarding him for his efforts at self-improvement.
The telephone rang. He went inside to answer it, hoping Lori had not made other plans.
“Hello.”
“Wayne Jenkins?” inquired a slightly accented voice.
His heart sank. It was a voice from his past he’d never wanted to hear again. “You know who I am, don’t you?” the voice continued.
“I . . . Mr. Hecht?”
“That is correct, Wayne. I would like you to come to the downtown Hilton at once. Your old room, 2715, is booked in your name. We can chat comfortably there.”
Wayne took a deep breath and tried to muster some courage. “Look, Mr. Hecht, this is a little awkward. It’s nothing about you. It’s just that I’m in the middle of cooking for a dinner party. Can’t we do this some other time? Any other time at your convenience?”
“I’ll be here another hour, Wayne. Whether you wish to come or not is entirely up to you.”
“It’s not up to me, Mr. Hecht.”
“Then I’ll look forward to seeing you shortly. Good evening.”
Wayne stared at the receiver for a while, then scribbled a note to Lori about the late dinner he was planning for the two of them. He hurried with a pounding heart down to the garage.
As he drove toward the center of Seattle, he had to struggle keep his BMW in its lane. He thought about causing a bad accident, swerving in front of an 18-wheeler and killing himself. But he had thought the same thought so often it was too stale to motivate him.
***
It had been the year of his first big promotion when he fell into the pit, the year he got a little too full of himself. Lori was pregnant with Sean, and not having an easy time of it. Wayne started to cruise at night. At first he only drove, saying he was tense and needed to get out. But he soon got into the habit of stopping for a drink in one of the bars near the university.
He was 31 years old and somewhat thick around the middle, not trim and in shape like now. His face had become jowly and he was convinced the college girls saw him as a washed-up old man. Then she came out of nowhere and sat down beside him. Her name was Ingrid. She was a Danish exchange student, and talked freely about her problems getting used to life in the States. She said she had expected more of the university, the culture and above all, the Americans.
He told her she wasn’t doing the right things or seeing the right people, and that he’d make sure she did if she’d let him. She was gorgeous, she was vulnerable, he had gotten lucky. He asked if they could get together next week so he could show her a more exhilarating side of America, one he promised she would like. She said she couldn’t imagine anything nicer.
For their second meeting he took her on a drive along the coast and asked her if she wanted to sample the national drug at the time, cocaine. The effect on her was swift and dramatic. She was up for everything. She wanted to make love to him, not out here in the wild but in a big bed in a fancy hotel downtown.
He took her to the Hilton, and for the next three months they continued, on her insistence, to use the same room – 2715.
She was so needy, so beautiful, so hungry for him. He fell in love with her, took her on short secret trips he could not afford and went deeply into debt keeping her supplied with coke. When she complained about not having a car, he bought her a restored MG. She was so ecstatic it warmed his heart. He began to think about leaving his wife and yet unborn child.
One night that winter he came to the hotel and found a very different Ingrid sitting on the sofa where she always waited for him. Her long blond hair was up in a bun, she wore a black evening dress and diamond earrings. She looked stunning, sophisticated and ten years older.
“Ingrid, what’s up? You look terrific. Have you got plans for us I don’t know about?”
“Yes, Wayne. Were you able to buy the package?”
He dug in his raincoat pocket, feeling proud of the forceful manner in which he had conducted the transaction. “For you,” he said, passing her the wrapped parcel and kissing her. She set it aside without bothering to look at it.
“Ingrid, is something wrong?”
“No.” She got up and walked to the phone, dialed a number and hung up. It rang a few seconds later. “Wayne, would you get that please. It’s for you. Talk to him politely. It will make things much easier.”
“How do you know it’s for me?”
Her appearance, her behavior, the package of cocaine she had sent him to buy . . . could she have set him up? No, it was unimaginable. She was in love with him, no way she could have done the things she’d done if she wasn’t. There would be some momentary complication, he thought, like an unannounced visit from her dad. He picked up the receiver.
“Yes?”
“Good evening, Wayne.”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Mr. Hecht. Would you ask Ingrid to play back the videos for you now. I’ll call again shortly.”
The line went dead.
“Did he have instructions for you, Wayne?” Ingrid asked.
“What’s this about videos?”
She pressed the remote button. He noticed a VCR on top of the TV that didn’t belong to the hotel’s movie selection box. He was about to object when he saw himself on the screen, naked with her, doing things he had never done with another woman.
More shots from different evenings, his rage and panic not entirely able to dull their eroticism. At last he thought he had figured it out. She was going to create problems for him at home to make sure his marriage didn’t stand between them.
“You don’t need these, Ingrid,” he said. “This is nonsense. I was going to leave my wife after the birth, you know that. Why would you do a thing like this?”
“You’ll understand shortly, Wayne. It has nothing to do with your wife or the two of us.”
“Ingrid . . . all I understand is that you have no business doing whatever you’re doing. I’m going to take a walk. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“If you leave now, Wayne, the consequences will be needlessly cruel for Lori and, ultimately, for yourself.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he shouted. “I love you. Don’t you love me? Why are you doing this?”
“Watch the television, Wayne. Mr. Hecht will be calling back soon to explain your options.”
He glanced at the screen and winced. There he was, buying tonight’s cocaine. Was she a narc or something? Jesus, what was going on?
He thought of his job at Boeing and shuddered. One picture like that sent to his boss, especially in light of his performance these past weeks, and he would be on the street.
The telephone rang.
“Go on,” Ingrid said. “Talk to him. Your situation will be made very clear to you. It is not so bad, Wayne, once you get over the shock. The others have not had a problem with it, not a single one of them.”