Primal Threat (11 page)

17

May

Z
ak couldn’t help feeling twinges of envy during his first visit to the Seattle Tennis Club. Generally, when the outdoor courts were damp, Nadine opted to play at Seattle U, but this week the custodial staff’s summer floor-polishing program had rendered it unavailable.

After four weeks of getting trounced almost daily, Zak had finally managed to win a few hard-fought points but no games. He suspected his improvement was dispiriting to Nadine, who voiced fears that she was subconsciously allowing him points. The notion that she might be easing up because he was a guy was unthinkable to her. “You do any better, I’m going to see a sports psychiatrist,” Nadine said, joking.

“Don’t worry about it,” Zak said. “I still haven’t won a game.”

“But I haven’t skunked you in a week.”

“You
like
me. I make you nervous.”

“I do like you, but you don’t make me that nervous.”

“Don’t bet on it.” Zak loved her competitiveness and knew the comment would make her try harder.

They played for an hour, during which she became more and more distracted and then finally excused herself. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

Zak took the occasion to get a drink of water and visit the men’s room. When he got back to the court, she still had not returned. After twenty minutes he spotted her near a Coke machine on the far side of a gaggle of middle-aged women who played in some sort of June Cleaver league, all in tennis whites and with three-hundred-dollar rackets under their arms. As he drew closer, Zak saw that Nadine was talking to a man in a baseball cap and dark sunglasses. Scooter.

Zak negotiated his way around the group of women and approached the couple. “What the hell are you doing here?” Scooter asked.

“I
was
playing tennis.” Zak stood close to Nadine. “You all right?”

“Scooter and I were just talking. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Zak turned to Scooter. “Stalking old friends?”

Scooter’s face revolved through a medley of disbelief, disgust, and then antipathy. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you showing up at almost all of our tennis games.”

“Fuck you, buddy.” Glowering at Nadine, Scooter added, “Jesus, pal. My family were founding members of this club. I can be here whenever I want, and unlike you, I don’t have to ride in on someone else’s membership card. And here’s a bulletin for you. Nadine’s way out of your league.”

“She’s better off with a stalker? Is that what you’re saying?”

“You keep this up, I’m going to speak to my attorneys about slander.”

Zak had a feeling they were headed toward a physical confrontation. There was no doubt in his mind that he was fitter and stronger than Scooter—Zak was six feet one, slim, and muscular; Scooter was a few inches shorter and forty pounds heavier, the extra bulk consisting of the kind of baby fat some people carried into their twenties—but according to Nadine, her ex-boyfriend had taken years of martial arts training.

“You broke into her car, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“You heard me. You broke into Nadine’s car at Green Lake.”

Zak knew and hoped Nadine did, too, that the proof of guilt was the way Scooter’s face went through a catalog of feigned reactions. Even behind the dark sunglasses you could tell his eyes were flitting all around the room. He was nervous as a cornered ferret.

“What makes you think I have a key to Nadine’s car?”

“How did you know it was done with a key?”

“You little firehouse fag. When are you going to realize you don’t have anything to offer her? On top of everything else, your family and her family are going to fit together like fine cheese and horse turds. I mean, Jesus, your dad’s working on the pool house like a wetback.”

“Scooter,” Nadine said. “Stop it.”

“I’m not going to stop it. Somebody needs to say this. If everybody in your family’s too polite to tell this guy what they’re thinking, then I’ll just have to step up to the plate. They don’t like you, pal. None of them likes you. Nadine’s parents and Kasey think you’re nothing but a gold digger.” Zak knew from the way Nadine tensed up that Scooter wasn’t inventing these accusations. “We all know you’re after her money. And don’t dare tell me I’m stalking my own girlfriend.”

“
Ex
-girlfriend.”

“
Girlfriend
. I never broke up with her.”

“Scooter,” Nadine said, “I broke up with you, and you know it.”

“The crux of the matter is I’m right for Nadine, I can provide her with the material comforts she needs in life, and you can’t.”

“I’m going to support myself,” Nadine said. “I’m going to be a social worker. And you won’t be around.”

“The point is,” Scooter continued, throwing Nadine a withering look, “I can treat her the way she deserves to be treated, and somebody like you…I mean, do you even know how to order wine or use a salad fork?”

“Come on, Zak,” Nadine said, tugging Zak’s arm. “Let’s go play tennis.”

Scooter and Zak glared at each other for several long seconds without moving. “Nadine, it matters where people come from. Look at his father. And that oversexed sister with the Dolly Parton boobs? Kasey said—”

Zak started toward Scooter, but Nadine pulled his arm and managed to swing him around in a half circle as if he were on a tether. He knew Nadine was strong, but she surprised him with just how strong. Scooter had crouched in a defensive stance. “Come on, motherfucker. Try me.”

“You fool,” said Nadine. “I told you I never want to see you again.”

“You know you love me.” Scooter smiled a smile that in another time and under other circumstances might have been charming.

“Get out,” Nadine said. By now everybody in the corridor was watching, and Scooter, realizing he’d become the center of attention, ambled toward the door with a deliberate slowness and left the building without looking back.

When they got to the court, Nadine said, “I don’t feel like tennis anymore.”

“He was watching us play, wasn’t he?”

“How can I stop him? He’s a member here. Plus, I have to see him socially. He comes to the house to see Kasey.”

After she’d gathered up her warm-up clothes, she started crying. Zak put his arm around her shoulders as they walked out of the court area.

“I’m okay. It’s just…I ran into him at Bellevue Square two days ago. And today I saw him over there by the door while we were playing. He talks about taking care of me, but when we were going together he totally took me for granted unless there was another guy threatening to pay attention to me. He’s so jealous. We hardly ever spent any time talking like you and I do. It was always, ‘Let’s go do something with Kasey and the guys.’ Or, ‘Let’s go to my house and fool around.’”

They ended up on a bench in one of the unused outdoor courts as clouds scudded across the sky at intervals, exposing patches of blue behind them. The spotty sunshine warmed Zak considerably. “I’m sorry I’m such a baby,” Nadine said.

“Does your family really think I’m chasing you for your money?”

“I’m sorry he said that. That was just embarrassing.”

“Do they?”

“They don’t know you like I do. Besides, you didn’t chase me. I chased you. That’s how we became friends in the first place.
I
made it happen.”

“What do you mean?”

She giggled, the laughter a release from the stress and tears. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, I want to hear this.”

“I told Mom to call you for that pool house job.”

“You what?”

“When we were all at your fire station I learned you did remodeling. I told Mom to call you. The only trouble was your father took the job, and he was there for weeks before you showed up. I was still going with Scooter, but I had my eye on you. Maybe it was because you saved me in the wreck. That day you showed up, I got out of the pool, took a super-quick shower, and ran downstairs to meet you.”

“Is any of this true?”

“It’s all true.”

They watched the clouds scudding across the sky.

Zak knew she was working up her nerve to tell him something that had been bubbling beneath the surface every time Scooter’s name came up.

“I don’t even know how I got into this. We were just all of a sudden going together. I mean, we were dating once in a while, and then he wanted me to tell him I wouldn’t see anyone else, and I wasn’t seeing anyone else right then so it seemed like an easy thing to say. And after that he got so he wanted to know where I was all day. At first I was flattered. No guy had ever taken that much interest in me. He used to call my cell phone when I was in class or at practice. I started turning it off, but that only made him mad. And we used to go out on these long dates where he’d drive me somewhere and wouldn’t take me home…”

“Unless what?”

“I didn’t say unless.”

“But it’s there in your voice.”

“Favors, he called them.”

“You don’t have to tell me the rest.”

“No, I need somebody to hear this, and you’re the only person in the world I feel comfortable talking to right now.”

“I’m listening.”

“The whole thing happened in increments. We got into this thing where we would go to his house or if his folks were hanging around we’d go somewhere in his car and he would ask me to touch him. At first I didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t take me home unless I did. He knew I wanted to be a virgin on my wedding night and he said he respected that, but he claimed what we were doing didn’t have anything to do with being a virgin. He said it was a matter of healthy living and if a guy didn’t get some release he could get sick. So I would touch him and then…well…”

“Please don’t tell me this.”

“No, I do. I have to tell somebody. He said every girl he’d ever dated had done it. He said it was what couples did. That it was no big deal. At the time, I was thinking we would eventually get married. He hadn’t asked me or anything, but it seemed to be the place we were headed. I talked to my pastor, who more or less told me any expression of love short of intercourse was okay. When I tried to pin him down on definitions, he got nervous and cut off the conversation.

“It was always this struggle, this big argument, and then I would give in, if only to get some peace, and afterward he would drive me home with this self-satisfied smirk on his face. You must think I’m horrible.”

“I think you did everything you could to remain within the boundaries of your faith.”

“Despite how much he says he loves me, sometimes I feel Scooter really hates me.”

When Zak put his arm around Nadine’s shoulders, she collapsed against him. They sat that way for a long time, breathing in concert.

“One time,” Nadine said, “I was getting the flu, and I told him I could hardly breathe and I was feeling sick and I didn’t want to, but he grabbed me by the hair and forced me. I threw up in his car and then he got really angry. I said I was going to tell my father, and he said if I ever told anybody he would kill them and then he’d kill me. I was so upset and sick I wasn’t sure I was even hearing him right. I’m still not sure that’s what he really said.”

Zak was sure.

18

August

“
R
emember,” said Giancarlo. “It’s wider than it looks, and it’s off camber for the first part.”

“Okay,” Zak said.

As he waited, he could feel the blood pumping in his veins. He couldn’t quite believe how nervous he’d gotten in the past few minutes, or how angry he was at Scooter for slapping Hugh, for his comments about Nadine, for his general air of contempt and superiority. There were a lot of things that could go wrong in a race. He might get a flat tire. He might screw up and fly off the road. Zak was good at descending, but he didn’t have a genius for it like Giancarlo. And Scooter had already had one practice run.

“Get ready, boys,” said Roger Bloomquist, who would be the starter this time. “Remember. It’s a ten-second gap.”

“What?” Zak said.

“Fifteen was too long. He never even saw the bike. Ten’s more fair.”

“That’ll put us too close if something happens.”

“Five, four, three, two, go,” shouted Bloomquist, dropping the makeshift flag.

Stephens, who had been holding Zak upright, merely let go instead of giving him the same shove Zak had given Giancarlo, forcing Zak to push hard on the pedals for ten or fifteen revolutions of the cranks. It wasn’t a lot of lost time, but it was a short race and the start was crucial. They should have talked it over, but Scooter had been rushing things. Now, with the hot wind screaming past his face, nothing mattered except staying on the road and maintaining the highest speed possible. He knew as long as he could keep his fingers away from the brakes, he would be okay.

The key was to stay focused.

He let the speed build on the first slope, marveling at how fast he was traveling, then touched the brakes, scrubbing off more speed than he’d intended. He hit a washboard section and held on for dear life, then was out of it before he knew it, heading down the straights where he could see two blurred figures standing at the top of the first sharp right-hand curve. The road surface was all rock here, off camber, but when he put his weight to the inside and let the bike fly, he felt momentarily as if he were on rails. Vaguely, he could see the logged-off fields below.

The corner was tight and included a steep portion that was like a parachute drop, but he held on and stared at the line he wanted to take, feeling the centrifugal force of his weight carrying him farther and farther to the outer edge of the corner until he thought for sure he was going to smash into the rocks. Still, he did not touch the brakes. The worst time to hit the brakes was in a corner. You did your braking prior to the turn, then trusted your judgment. He could hear excited shouts from the bystanders who’d placed themselves at the apex of the corner. Then all he heard was the wind.

He was out of the turn, surprised that he was still alive, focusing on the next hazard, dips in the road followed by a washboard section he would fly over even faster than the previous one. He had the confidence now and was picking up phenomenal speed. The only thing left to worry about was the gravel at the bottom. And the truck.

As he floated over the washboard, aware that the shocks, both front and rear, were moving like crazy, he realized there was so much wind in his face and behind his sunglasses that his eyes were watering and he was beginning to lose his vision. He was like a kid on a runaway horse. And then he was in the gravel and touched the brakes, felt the rear tire skid, heard the noise, felt the back end kick out, and let off the brakes as the bike wobbled. He could feel himself beginning to crash. It was going to end in a bloody, tumbling wreck.
Don’t crash,
he said to himself.
Don’t do it.
Through sheer force of will, he held the bike upright and picked up even more speed. He could see the bridge now. More gravel patches came and went so quickly he didn’t have time to panic.

He was carrying so much speed he began to veer toward the right side of the bridge and the eight-inch concrete lip that stood in lieu of a railing, and then as he hit the first of the concrete, he saw Kasey’s Porsche parked at the far end, the front end sticking out three or four feet into the roadway. Zak was headed straight for the front bumper. He tried to shift his weight. Tried to straighten out. Was flying. Maybe forty, forty-five. Maybe fifty. It was hard to guess. And that damn Porsche was going to kill him. Wrestling the bars did nothing to change his line, and he knew he was going to clip it. There wasn’t anything he could do but keep on. And then he was past it, had cleared it by a fraction of an inch, shooting up the road into the dust, skidding the rear tire to show off.

When he turned around, the white Ford was nowhere in sight. If they’d really started ten seconds behind, he’d beat them even more handily than Giancarlo had. “Shit!” yelled Kasey, his back to Zak as he watched the white Ford come skittering down the logging road.

The Ford was sliding sideways, overcorrecting and sliding in the other direction. For a second Zak thought it was going to run off the road, but it managed to avoid an accident, and then as the Ford came across the bridge Scooter gunned it, showering pebbles on the spectators and peppering Kasey’s Porsche.

“Nice,” said one of Nadine’s friends sarcastically, as she shielded herself. Instead of asking if everyone was okay, Kasey went directly to his SUV to check for damage.

While the Ford turned around in the distance, Kasey walked over to Zak, who said, “That parking job almost got me killed.” Kasey ignored him. Moments later the Ford pulled up behind the girls, enveloping everyone in another cloud of dust.

“We’re not paying,” said Kasey.

“What do you mean you’re not paying?” Nadine joined the duo. “If you’d won, you’d make Zak pay.”

“He played us. A guy plays you, there’s no money owed.”

“You underestimated him,” said Nadine. “It’s your own fault.”

“How much did I win by?” Scooter asked, scanning their faces eagerly as he strutted toward the gathering. “How close was it?”

“Not close at all,” said Kasey. “The bike won by five seconds.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, it’s not bullshit. He came down that hill like something from Cape Canaveral.”

Scooter turned to Zak. “I’m not paying.”

Zak looked at Kasey and then turned back to Scooter. “Spoken like a true gentleman.”

One of the things Zak had savored about his relationship with Nadine was their ability to spend time together without either of them feeling compelled to speak, and hiking up the hill after the race was one of those times. Zak was exhilarated over winning the race but quickly put it into the past. He was with Nadine now, alone, and happy about it in light of the fact that only two hours earlier he’d been of the opinion he might never see her again. They stopped twice to look at the view and assess the burgeoning sunset. As they approached the Jeep camp, Zak pushing Giancarlo’s bike, they closed in on the white Ford and the group surrounding it.

“How many times can I win the same bet?” Hugh asked, placing his face close to Stephens. He slapped Chuck on the back and approached Scooter tentatively. “I think you owe me something.”

“Fuck off. I wouldn’t give you a wet fart in a windstorm.” Scooter strode angrily across the camp toward the barbecue. The dog began barking after one of the Finnigan brothers teased it with a slab of steak. Zak looked around for some indication of outrage, but he only saw shrugs from the other cyclists and averted eyes from the Jeep crowd.