Back Spin (1997) (8 page)

"I don't know," Myron said.

His tone was insistent. "But you think "

"I don't know what I think," he interrupted. "I'm just checking out every angle."

There was a stony silence. Then: "His name was Lloyd Rennart," Jack Coldren said.

"Do you know where he lives?"

"No. I haven't seen him since the day the Open ended."

"The day you fired him."

"Yes."

"You never bumped into him again? At the club or a tournament or something?" +

"No," Jack Coldren said slowly. "Never."

"Where did Rermart live back then?"

"In Wayne. It's the neighboring town."

"How old would he be now?"

' ' Sixty eight. ' ' No hesitation.

"Before this happened, were you two close?"

Jack Coldren's voice, when he finally spoke, was very soft. "I thought so," he said. "Not on a personal level.

We didn't socialize. I never met his family or visited his home or anything like that. But on the golf course" he paused "I thought we were very close."

Silence.

"Why would he do it?" Myron asked. "Why would he purposely ruin your chances of winning?"

Myron could hear him breathing. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse and scratchy. "I've wanted to know the answer to that for twenty-three years."

Chapter
6

Myron called in Lloyd Rennart's name to Esperanza.

It probably wouldn't take much. Again modern technology would simplify the feat. Anyone with a modem could type in the address www.switchboard.com -a Web site that was virtually a telephone directory of the entire country.

If that site didn't work, there were others. It probably wouldn't take long, if Lloyd Rennart was still among the living. If not, well, there were sites for that too.

"Did you tell Win?" Esperanza asked.

"Yes."

"How did he react?"

"He won't help."

"Not surprising," she said.

"No," he agreed.

Esperanza said, "You don't work well alone, Myron."

"I'll be fine," he said. "You looking forward to graduation?"

Esperanza had been going to NYU Law School at night for the past six years. She graduated on Monday.

"I probably won't go."

"Why not?"

"I'm not big on ceremony," she Esperanza's only close relative, her mother, had died a few months back. Myron suspected that her death had more to do with Esperanza's decision than not being big on ceremony.

"Well, I'm going," Myron said. "Sitting front row center. I want to see it all."

Silence. +

Esperanza broke it. "Is this the part where I choke back tears because someone cares?"

Myron shook his head. "Forget I said anything."

' 'No, really, I want to get it right. Should I break down in loud sobs or just smile a little? Or better yet, I could get a little teary, like Michael Landon on Little House on the Prairie." .

"You're such a wiseass."

"Only when you're being patronizing."

"I'm not being patronizing. I care. Sue me."

"Whatever," she said.

"Any messages?"

"About a million, but nothing that I can't handle until Monday," she said. "Oh, one thing."

"What?"

"The bitch asked me out to lunch."

"The bitch" was Jessica, the love of Myron's life.

Putting it kindly, Esperanza did not like Jessica. Many assumed that this had something to do with jealousy, with some sort of latent attraction between Esperanza and Myron.

Nope. For one thing, Esperanza liked, er, flexibility in her love life. For a while she had dated a guy named Max, then a woman named Lucy, and now another woman named Hester. "How many times have- I asked you not to call her that?" Myron said.

"About a million."

"So are you going?"

"Probably," she said. "I mean, it's a free meal. Even if I do have to look at her face."

They hung up. Myron smiled. He was a bit surprised. _+

While Jessica did not reciprocate Esperanza's animosity, a lunch date to thaw out their personal cold war was not something Myron would have anticipated. Perhaps now that they were living together, Jess figured it was time to offer an olive branch. What the hell. Myron dialed Jessica.

The machine picked up. He heard her voice. When the beep came on, he said, "Jess? Pick up."

She did. "God, I wish you were here right now."

Jessica had a way with openings.

"Oh?" He could see her lying on the couch, the phone cord twisted in her fingers. "Why's that?"

"I'm about to take a ten-minute break."

"A full ten minutes?"

"Yup."

"Then you'd be expecting extended foreplay?"

She laughed. "Up for it, big guy?"

"I will be," he said, "if you don't stop talking about it."

"Maybe we should change the subject," she said.

Myron had moved into Jessica's Soho loft a few months ago. For most people, this would be a somewhat dramatic change moving from a suburb in New Jersey to a trendy section of New York, moving in with a woman you love, etc. but for Myron, the change rivaled puberty. He had spent his entire life living with his mom and dad in the classic suburban town of Livingston, New Jersey. Entire life. Age zero to six in the upstairs bedroom on the right. Age six to thirteen in the upstairs bedroom on the left. Age thirteen to thirty-something in the basement.

After that long, the apron strings become steel bands.

"I hear you're taking Esperanza out for lunch," he said.

"Yup."

"How come?"

"No reason."

"No reason?"

"I think she's cool. I want to go to lunch. Stop being so noisy."

"You realize, of course, that she hates you."

"I can handle it," Jessica said. "So how's the golf tournament?"

"Very strange," he said.

"How so?"

"Too long a story to tell now, sweetcakes. Can I call you later'?"

"Sure." Then: "Did you say 'sweetcakes' ?"

When they hung up, Myron frowned. Something was amiss. He and Jessica had never been closer,their relationship never stronger. Moving in together had been the right move, and a lot of their past demons had been exorcised away of late. They were loving toward each other, considerate of each other's feelings and needs, and almost never fought.

So why did Myron feel like they were standing on the cusp of some deep abyss?

He shook it off. All of this was just the by-product of an overstimulated imagination. Just because a ship is sailing upon smooth waters, he surmised, does not mean it is heading for an iceberg.

Wow, that was deep.

By the time he got back to the table, Tad Crispin was sipping an iced tea too. Win made the introductions. Crispin was dressed in yellows, lots of yellows, kind of like the man with the yellow hat from the Curious George books.

Everything was yellow. Even his golf shoes. Myron tried not to make a face.

As if reading his mind, Norm Zuckerman said, "This isn't our line."

"Good to hear," Myron said. '

Tad Crispin stood. "Nice to meet you, sir."

Myron offered up a great big smile. "It's a true honor to meet you, Tad." His voice reeked with the sincerity of, say, a chain-store appliance salesman. The two men shook hands. Myron kept on smiling. Crispin began to look wary.

Zuckerman pointed a thumb at Myron and leaned toward Win. "Is he always this smooth?"

Win nodded. "You should see him with the ladies."

Everyone sat.

"I can't stay long," Crispin said.

"We understand, Tad," Zuckerman said, doing the shooing thing again with both hands. "You're tired, you need to concentrate on tomorrow. Go already, get some sleep."

Crispin sort of smiled a little and looked at Win. "I

want you to have my account," he said.

"I don't 'have' accounts," Win corrected. "I advise on them."

"'There's a difference?"

"Most definitely," Win said. "You are in control of your money at all times. I will make recommendations. I

will make them to you directly. No one else. We will discuss them. You will then make a final decision. I will not buy or sell or trade anything without you being fully aware of what is going on."