The Winners Circle (14 page)

“
Did I mention that I’m a tennis instructor in real life?”

“
This must be my day for athletes.”

“
Why’s that?” Her finger curled in her hair, another winning indication.

“
By chance, I just ran into Karen Leforte.”

“
The gymnast?”

Good deal
. He couldn’t believe it. Suddenly, he was smooth, and he didn’t even know her name. “I’ll give you a lift and tell you about her.”

“
That would be great.”

He swallowed his excitement.
Stay cool
.

She walked with him to board the Porsche but stopped and caught his eye. “By the way, my name is Meg O’Brien.”

A week later, Jerry strolled the aisles of a new super-sized market outside of Princeton. He poked the Brie cheese with his index finger and squeezed the French bread. He sampled the roasted peppers and liver pate, searching for the right flavors to compliment lunch. The main course—prepared to Jerry’s specifications by the Hyatt chef—waited in a wicker basket in the car. Meg O’Brien expected a simple picnic lunch, and Jerry planned to dazzle her.

When the automatic doors to the store parted, Cortez stood up and greeted his master. Jerry watched the big animal twitch his ears in the sun. The dog was tied to a No Parking sign by the curb. The leash was just for show. He’d wait all day without disturbing the smallest child. He was the best damned dog Jerry ever owned.

“
How ya doin’ old boy?” Jerry scratched Cortez behind the ears. The dog rubbed its snout against his thigh. He reached into the shopping bag and tore open a half-pound package of ground chuck.

Cortez gobbled down the bloody treat on the sidewalk, licking his chops with his long wet tongue. Overdressed Princeton housewives pushed past with carts full of groceries, sneering at the carnivorous display. The kids didn’t seem to mind, and Jerry returned their happy grins. Why did adults forget what made them happy as kids? He was as guilty of this crime as the next person, but regardless, his style wasn’t going to be cramped. He had a lunch date with an attractive woman, and Ms. Ruiz had nothing to do with it.

When Jerry reached Battlefield Park, he spotted Meg O’Brien seated by the monument across the lawn. Tall white columns of stone rose at her back. He pulled the Porsche to the roadside and released the dog.

“
Hello.” Meg shouted, waving a hand above her head. She wore a short green cotton dress and white leather sandals. Her hair was tied into a ponytail, and a stray blonde lock spiraled down in front of one eye.

Jerry noticed her tan legs. She was fit, healthy, and perhaps a tad furtive in the way she bunched her mouth to nearly a smirk, but as soon as she spotted Cortez dropping from the car, she came forward and took the dog’s head in both hands.

“
He’s beautiful.” She stroked the fur along his jowls. Some of it was turning gray.

Jerry watched Cortez lick the salt from her bare knee. He gently grabbed a fistful of fur at his hindquarter. “That’s enough, boy.”

“
I don’t mind.” She let Cortez lick her face once and then stood up. “Is he a shepherd?”

“
As far as I know. I rescued him from the A.S.P.C.A.”

Her mouth crumpled in the corner. It was cute. “You’re a rescuer, eh?”

Jerry had to think about that. He’d forgotten about stopping to assist her at the roadside. It was his custom to do so. He didn’t fear strangers. He just preferred not to speak with them unless they needed help. Chelsea used to warn him against both his isolation and bravado.

“
What do you call him?” she asked.

“
Cortez.”

“
That’s a powerful name.”

“
I used to read a lot of history.” He still did, when he had the head for it. It was one way to kill time. It was either that or cooking, but the tiny kitchen in his penthouse suite didn’t inspire many gourmet meals, and he never realized how much he appreciated the approval of a companion until he dined alone.

“
So what’s the history of Jerry Nearing?”

Jerry looked at the pretty lady. They’d chatted by phone during the week. He’d kept it light, making jokes about his career. Once he said he was a butler to a millionaire. Another time he said he’d struck oil on his farm in Hopewell. She laughed, but he knew he’d be faced with the truth eventually.

“
I won the lottery,” he said.

She took it like before. “No, really.”

“
I won the lottery.”

“
Are you serious?”

He saw the surprised look on her face, like he somehow didn’t deserve it. ‘No one does,’ he wanted to say, but he didn’t hold it against her. It’s impossible to envision the other side. “You want some of it?”

“
Sure.” She grabbed hold of the little pocket near her waist. “Stuff it right in here.”

“
I’ll have to remember that later.” He couldn’t believe he’d said that. He felt uncomfortable, until he realized that he’d made her blush. Being rich wasn’t so bad after all.

Jerry set down the lunch basket and threw open the blanket. Across the road, he glimpsed the Mercer Oak where he and Chelsea used to picnic as middle class paupers. A memory or two passed through him like a brief and quiet wind. He didn’t waste time lingering there. “Is this spot fine for lunch?”

“
Yes, fine.”

They began with cheese and crackers. Jerry poured Merlot into paper cups to avoid the ire of the police. He pulled the china and napkins from the basket. The chef had prepared clams on the half shell, light-battered fried chicken, slices of smoked ham, pasta salad with vegetables, and watercress salad with blue cheese and walnuts.

Meg tasted everything, devouring a plate of pasta, chicken, and clams. She wasn’t shy. She sat with her legs tucked beneath her. After a second glass of wine, she laughed louder, and her sense of humor grew more sarcastic. Jerry liked it. He liked it a lot.

“
Let me get that.” She reached with a linen napkin and cleared a spot of raspberry pie from the edge of his lip.

“
Thank you,” he said.

“
If I ever have something on my lip, I want you to tell me.”

“
No problem.”

“
I can’t stand it when people let it sit like a zit on the tip of your nose.”

“
They’re trying to be polite.”

“
Hogwash. They want you to look stupid.”

“
I can do that without the raspberries on my face.”

“
Not you.”

He heard the quickness of her response. He was a different man around her. He was sailing gratefully into unknown territory.

“
What are you going to do now, Jerry Nearing?” She slid a blood red piece of pie into her mouth. The sun shone off her face. He believed that he saw himself in her reflection.

“
I haven’t decided yet.”

“
Will you start a business?”

“
I had the farm, but that’s gone. I guess I’m looking for a new direction.”

“
People would love to be in your shoes.”

He’d heard that remark so many times that he wanted to print up reply cards like: ‘no you don’t’ or ‘maybe you do.’ He glanced about the lawn, thinking of a new direction to spin the conversation.

Cortez was leaving, galloping across the grass.

Jerry stood up. “Cortez!”

Meg cupped her hands above her eyes to block the sun. “Where’s he going?”

“
It’s not like him to run off.” He watched the dog head for the trees. Since leaving Hopewell, Cortez visited few wooded areas. Even this sparse version had to be enticing.

“
Cortez!” Jerry shouted.

“
Coooorteeeez,” Meg called.

“
I better get him, before he’s gone until sundown.”

Jerry stepped after the dog. Cortez’s black frame folded into the lush underbrush. Jerry saw a narrow opening in the woods and sprinted for it.

He entered the tall hardwoods, eyes adjusting to the shade. Several squirrels scattered up the trees, and dozens of sparrows took flight. He felt mosquitoes feasting on his bare calves and slapped at the bugs.

A footpath sliced through the trees. Cortez raced up the path and into daylight. Jerry pursued. A pair of joggers poured onto the path, and he shouldered past and reentered the lawn.

The edge of the woods fanned to the left and right. Cortez wasn’t in sight. Jerry chose the left, gambling that Meg spotted the dog coming from the other direction.

He ran at top speed. He once owned a mastiff that grew senile and had to be put down. It was too soon for Cortez, yet perhaps a summer of hotel living had debased the dog’s psyche or, even worse, compromised its loyalty.

The traffic raced past on Saturday afternoon. Jerry kept glancing at the road, fearing Cortez broke in that direction, but he failed to spot him. He ran to the end of the park before heading back.

He paced himself around the woods, catching his breath before returning to the picnic site. He still clutched the linen napkin in his hands and mopped his face.

Cortez stood with Meg at the blanket. Another blonde woman in white jogging shorts spoke with her, bending over to pat the dog’s head. It took Jerry a few more steps to realize who she was. He stopped moving. His deck shoes planted in the grass.
Damn, it’s Chelsea
. Cortez must have picked up her scent and ran after her. The dog often accompanied Chelsea on her morning jog.

A group of kids tossed a frisbee, laughing and screaming in the background. Jerry considered keeping his distance from Meg until Chelsea disappeared. He felt strange seeing the women together, like he was cheating on Chelsea and had been discovered, even after everything that went down between them. He decided to pick up his pace instead. He didn’t know women very well, but he knew he didn’t want them comparing notes.

Meg eyed him first. “There he is.”

Chelsea turned around. She wore a powder blue tank top that picked up her eyes. Perspiration dampened the elastic ban above her chest. He saw the wetness in the pit of her neck. Hundreds of times she’d sauntered in from a morning jog and slid beneath the sheets to make love before work. She smelled that way now. It was a powerful elixir. “Hello, Jerry.”

“
Hello.” His mouth felt dry.

“
Cortez joined up with me on the trail.”

Jerry wondered how much Chelsea told Meg. Women liked to stake claims that way, and Chelsea was exceptional at it. He typically fell blind to a come-on from another women, yet Chelsea shut it down as soon as she caught wind of it. She once ‘accidentally’ dumped a can of cola down the blouse of a woman who’d gotten a tad too fresh at the hospital picnic.

“
He likes to run.” He conjured an amiable expression, sending it in Meg’s direction.

“
I was talking to your date.” Chelsea glanced at the spent dishes and arrangement of food on the blanket. Her eyes rose to Jerry. “It’s good to see you out and mingling.”

He felt ridiculous. He might have taken Meg to one hundred other places. Why here? He knew what Chelsea was thinking: another blonde, same spot, good wine and food—oh Jerry, how sweet, you still love me. He found the tone of her voice patronizing and accepted it like a mouthful of spoiled cheese.

“
I’m moving on,” he said, a tinge of spite in his voice. He wished she’d vanish. He’d spent months awaiting her return, and now he wanted her to leave the state. No, the country.

“
You look good.”

He noticed she hadn’t modified her looks any further since the divorce. He expected she’d have gone under the knife for something else. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

Her lip drew a slight wrinkle, not that anyone noticed but him. The surgeon didn’t hide everything. She wasn’t entirely flawless. He watched her curl a finger by instinct, but she kept it at her side.

“
Are you living in town?” he asked.

“
I like the trails here,” she said, as if he didn’t already know.

He noticed Meg in the corner of his eye. What was she thinking? She probably didn’t know what to make of this.

“
Thanks for bringing the dog back,” he said.

Chelsea patted the dog’s fur again. “He’s getting heavy.”

“
I’m solving that problem.”

“
Good deal.” She dropped his old phrase, offering her hand like a stranger. “I’ll be seeing you.”

“
Maybe.” He stared at her long fingers—fingers that he no longer called his own, and then he sobered up and shook them. Her hand felt tense. It trembled slightly, totally unlike her.

He let her walk away, careful not to watch. He counted the seconds, estimating the time it took for her to reach the road. Soon the coast would be clear.

Meg watched Chelsea. “She’s gorgeous. How long have you known each other?”

“
A few years.”

“
Old girlfriend?”

He understood that she was fishing for information. “Something like that.”

“
Long time?”