Sudden Death (11 page)

“A case in point against socialism!” Mr. Knipe loved Jaguars, MG’s, and the other cars but dealing with the English drove him wild at times.

“I quite agree. We have our own troubles at home. The inflation rate is terrible, terrible. Have you any idea what one of your cars would cost in Buenos Aires?”

“Why, no, I never thought about it.”

Miguel smiled his dashing smile. “Today it would cost one hundred thousand dollars. Tomorrow?” His hand spiraled into the air.

Mr. Knipe smiled. He was getting the picture.

Harriet gave vent to a sudden urge to rearrange the cut flowers in their hotel room. It was the night before the finals.

“What are you doing?” Carmen was propped on the bed, working a crossword puzzle. Her English was better than that of most Americans.

“I’m throwing out these long-stemmed red roses. They’ve wilted.”

“What’s another word for misinformation?”

“Try bullshit.”

Carmen smiled. “Nope. Not enough boxes for that one.” She glanced up from her puzzle. “What do you think about when you’re not with me?”

“History. I love history. Cat best-sellers. Baby Jesus is working on another one.”

“What?”

“
Caterpillar
. This one’s about kitty architecture.”

Carmen laughed, but she was secretly miffed that Harriet hadn’t answered the question seriously—seriously meaning that Harriet shouldn’t think of history but of her. Harriet missed a lot of romantic cues. She was too honest to be romantic.

A few minutes of silence dropped on the room. The pencil scratched on the paper.

“Are you mad?” Harriet was a little bewildered.

“No.”

Harriet rubbed Carmen’s shoulders. She knew she’d said something wrong, but she didn’t know what. “I was thinking about Rachel and Lawrence Burns today.”

“Ugh.”

“How do you think people get that way?”

“Practice.” Carmen felt better. The massage improved her pout.

Rachel and Lawrence Burns were a middle-aged couple who lived in Cazenovia. Rachel wanted children but was never able to give birth to anything but a dermatoid cyst, a ball of unformed eyes, teeth, and hair. She kept this horror in an industrial mayonnaise jar, placed a Mets’ baseball cap on top, and named it Gene. When you talked to Rachel she invariably brought up her “boy” and his love of baseball. Clearly someone shot the dots off Rachel’s dice, but she was harmless enough.

“Odd, though.” Harriet moved her thumbs between Carmen’s shoulder blades. “People who perform the duties of life are apparently normal, but they all harbor a crazy streak.”

“You haven’t got both oars in the water when it comes to that ancient cat.”

“I never said I was sane when it came to Baby Jesus.”
Harriet kissed Carmen’s cheek. “How do you feel about sex the night before a tough match?”

“You should have asked me that five minutes ago. It’s too late to ask me now.” They embraced, and Harriet bit Carmen’s lower lip.

Carmen wrapped one leg inside Harriet’s legs. Her arms, as strong as the average man’s, locked around Harriet’s waist. She licked Harriet’s ear, her neck, and then returned to her mouth. She unbuttoned Harriet’s blouse with one hand, a difficult feat. Using her leg, she rolled Harriet over on her back. She slipped her hand under her skirt. Carmen loved for Harriet to wear skirts. Following the curve of a thigh under a skirt was much more exciting than over a pants leg. With her index finger, she traced the edges of Harriet’s silken underpants, then unexpectedly slipped her hand under the material.

Carmen liked surprises, especially when she was the source of the surprise. The palm of her hand slid over Harriet’s wetness. Carmen plunged her tongue in Harriet’s mouth and shoved herself inside her lover. She didn’t have the time for a long night of lovemaking. She tightened her grasp around Harriet’s legs and moved in synchronization with her. Slowly at first, then faster, she ground into her lover’s bones.

When they came, they were as two moths caught in brightness. Finding the flame, they burned their wings and quickly fell to earth.

Two floors below Harriet and Carmen, Alicia Blinker, she of the valiant vagina, was slinking stealthily down the hall. Two sharp raps and a door opened.

“Where the hell have you been?” Susan asked.

“I fell asleep reading.”

“You’ve been sitting in your room reading? I’ve been sitting here biting my fingernails to the core. Do you know what time it is?”

“Uh, no,” Alicia said, “I lost track of the time.”

“You’re two hours late!”

“Susan, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? I’ve got to play Hilda Stambach tomorrow, and you’re sorry. I need you here with me.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“What did you read that was so important?”

“If we believe in Jesus, all our sins will be washed away.”

“I heard that in first grade.”

“I’m confused. Jesus loves me, but homosexuals are sick.”

“I wish you wouldn’t use that word.”

“What do you want me to say? Lesbian?”

Susan’s body went rigid. “That’s worse. I don’t want you to goddamned say anything. We’re not lesbians, and we’re not homosexuals.”

“Then why do I have to sneak into your room each night? Why do I have to pretend we’re just close personal friends? Why do I have to melt into the woodwork every time Craig and Lisa appear? And how come they’re always just in time for the television cameras?” Alicia, formerly malleable, surprised Susan. Susan was not accustomed to being argued with.

“Because he is my husband and she is my daughter. I
am
a married woman.”

“And you’ve had a lot of woman lovers.”

“Life’s lonely on the road. I’m not a lesbian. Except for you, the very few women I have been with, uh, have been mistakes.”

“Will all Susan Reilly’s mistakes please stand up?”

Susan slapped Alicia across the face. Alicia began to cry,
and Susan suddenly collapsed into repentance. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You made me do it. Alicia, don’t cry. You know how keyed up I get. I’ve got to win tomorrow.”

Alicia wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yeah, I know.”

“Besides, honey, it isn’t just Craig and Lisa. Think what it would do to women’s tennis. We’re so young professionally, if you think about it. We can’t afford any scandal. This would kill us.”

Alicia didn’t know whether public reaction would be negative or positive, but she certainly didn’t want to find out. On the other hand, if love felt so good, why should she hide it? Why would God make her a homosexual and then forbid it? She didn’t understand. “Uh-huh.”

Susan plucked a tissue out of the box. Alicia blew her nose.

“I’ve got to rest. Let’s not fight. If you love someone you don’t fight with them.”

Susan didn’t quite know what was happening but she recognized a sense of loss. She slammed that feeling back into the darkest part of her brain. She was Susan Reilly, the world’s greatest tennis player. Those other women were mistakes. She thought only about tennis, and people had to realize that tennis was her life. Those other women didn’t understand her. They made demands. They were mistakes. After all, she wasn’t perfect. She should be allowed her mistakes.

The trouble with Susan was that she made the same mistakes repeatedly. She’d fall in love with a woman and consume her. Susan thought that her mere presence was enough. What more was there to give? When she tired, usually after a year or so, she’d find another woman.

Unfortunately, Susan didn’t remember what Jane Fulton once said. “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results.”

A cigarette tray, gagging with lipstick-smeared butts, competed with a vodka bottle for space on the small coffee table. Lavinia, on her third vodka gimlet, was regaling Siggy Wayne with her version of her career. He’d heard it all before.

“Do you know one time we had a water balloon fight at Forest Hills? Oh yes, quite rocked the old fogeys. Those were fun days.”

“Those were poor days.” Siggy knocked back a Cutty Sark. His bottle squatted beneath his chair.

Lavinia’s eyebrows, nearly bowed tonight, registered the remark.

“I think I’ve got the Chrysler deal.” Siggy rolled the Scotch on his tongue. He was very proud of himself.

“Really?” asked Lavinia.

“Next year after the Tomahawk Circuit, we’ll do a Citrus Circuit in Florida. Four cities in four weeks. It’s good for Florida, too, since that will cover April. The tourist season slacks off a bit after March, and this can bring them down.”

“I suppose cars go with the prize money?”

“We’re working all that out, Lundy Grenshaw of Chrysler and myself.”

“Do you think Chrysler is the right image? They’re losers, to be frank.”

“Old people stick to the old ways. They’ll buy American cars in Florida. It’s right. The players won’t like the cars, but that’s not an issue.”

“How will it look for us to be backed with the taxpayers’ money?” Lavinia didn’t miss much.

Siggy paused a moment, and then said, “Tennis is a better bet than the cars.”

They laughed and let the subject ride. When contracts were on the table, Lavinia would worry, consider, reconsider, and then do what she thought was best for the game.

Siggy poured himself another Cutty. His shirt sleeves were rolled up; his shoes were off. Over the years, his relationship with Lavinia evolved into an informal friendship. He appreciated what she’d done for the game and what she’d done for him. He made a percentage on every deal plus his salary. He pulled in enough for one lovely wife in Southport, Connecticut, and one loving mistress in New York City. He lived beyond his means, but that was the great American way.

Lavinia kept her cards close to her proverbial chest. Wendell left her well cared for when he died. She showed a flair for the stock market, and she made her own deals with sponsors. Lavinia was loaded, but she was never showy, never loud, and she’d die before she’d wear anything purchased at Gucci. She was a Peck & Peck woman, except there was no longer the old Peck & Peck or Abercrombie and Fitch, but there was Lavinia Sibley Archer. The future of shirtwaist dresses was secure as long as Lavinia Sibley Archer lived.

“Siggy, can you think of anything that would queer the deal with Chrysler?”

“Funny you should use that expression.” His weasely smile appeared. “A homosexual scandal could hurt.” He waved his hand a little. “Drugs could hurt. We faced abortion years ago, although with the New Right, it could become an issue again.”

Lavinia rocked her glass back and forth to hear the ice cubes tinkle. “Yes, yes, we’ve seen a lot. But you think homosexuality would make them hesitate?”

“Not just Chrysler. I think Tomahawk might balk.”

“Never! Howard Dominick and Tomahawk would never pull out on me, on women’s tennis. Their image is cemented to our own.”

“That’s what I mean. Suppose a lesbian scandal did hit us? Tomahawk doesn’t want their cosmetics, their image, associated with dykes. At least, that’s how I see it.”

“Lesbians use cosmetics, too.” Lavinia raised her glass.
“You might be right, Siggy, you just might be right. Still, I can’t believe Howard Dominick would chicken out.”