The Players (16 page)

Yuri Zenger perched on one of Mrs. Keith’s tapestry-covered eighteenth-century wing chairs and held the telephone receiver pressed to his ear. He drummed his fingers on the chair arm as the hotel switchboard made connections and he heard the phone buzz on the other end.

A jaunty voice crackled through the instrument. “J. J. Kaiser speaking.”

“This is Zenger.”

“Yuri baby, good to hear you. I loved your match yesterday. You were terrific, just terrific.”

“Yeah. Listen, I can’t come up to your hotel tonight like we planned.”

“You can’t?”

Yuri could visualize the little man’s face sagging with disappointment as he saw a big contract starting to slip away.

He said, “There’s something else I have to do, so how about making it this afternoon instead?”

“This afternoon? You mean right away?”

“Sure. Unless you’re busy with something else.”

“No, no, this afternoon will be fine. Come on over.”

“Everything will be ready?”

“I have the contracts all drawn up.”

“I mean everything else.”

“Geneva will be here. Room 812.”

Yuri hung up for a moment, then quickly dialed another number and ordered a taxi.

That had been easy enough. Not that Yuri had ever doubted J. J. Kaiser would be more than ready to oblige him. The little fool would do anything to get Yuri Zenger’s name on a contract tying in with his cheap line of equipment. Not that Yuri had any intention of signing his name to anything, but J. J. Kaiser didn’t have to know that. At least not until after Yuri had enjoyed the full-blown charms of Geneva Sundstrum. The sheer size of the woman would make bedding her an adventure.

It had been Yuri’s original intention to spend a leisurely evening walloping around on the big blonde’s mattress, and to hell with Mrs. Keith’s dinner party. That was before Mrs. Keith mentioned that one of the dinner guests was to be Lyle Coombes.

Coombes was currently the hottest of the young international set of movie directors. Not only were his films loved by the critics, they made money, so Coombes was never hurting for backers. What concerned Yuri Zenger was Coombes’ reputation as a starmaker. He had already made celebrities of a French barmaid and an American truck driver, neither of whom had had five minutes of previous acting experience. Yuri Zenger’s consuming ambition was to be a world-famous film star.

After he had won Wimbledon—as he had no doubt he would—there would be no higher prize for him to win in tennis. True, there was money to be made in tennis, but he could make just as much and more in films. Tournament tennis was hard work, and Yuri would like to take things easier. Along with the money, he wanted the special kind of fame that comes only to film stars. And the women. Not just the young and underdeveloped tennis groupies that were so easily available now, but real women—actresses, models, dancers. The thought made Yuri’s mouth water.

And the man who could do all this for him was Lyle Coombes. When he learned that the director was a friend of Mrs. Keith, Yuri postponed his plans for dumping the lady. Using her friendship, plus his own powerful personality and arresting looks, Yuri was sure he would be Lyle Coombes’ next star. For that reason he had agreed to attend the dinner party tonight, cutting his time with Geneva back to an afternoon quickie.

Now he paced back and forth on Mrs. Keith’s Oriental rug, wishing the taxi would hurry up. Unspent energy had built up in him like an electrical charge. His first two opponents at Wimbledon had offered little challenge, and he had won both matches without losing a set. When the victories came that easily he could not even enjoy upsetting the other player or arguing with the officials.

The tennis court was not the only arena in which Yuri was not getting enough action. Mrs. Keith, although she was eager enough once they were alone in bed, had no feeling for sex techniques beyond the basic missionary position. This grew old fast for a man like Yuri who delighted in some of the more exotic forms of coupling. Maybe he could indulge himself with Geneva Sundstrum. He smiled at the vision of ripe golden flesh pressing in on him from all sides.

The erotic daydream snapped off as Mrs. Keith entered the room. She said, “I hope you were able to reach that Mr. Kaiser about canceling your appointment tonight.”

“I made it for this afternoon instead,” Yuri said.

“Dear, I do wish you didn’t have to go out today,” she said. “I’d be so disappointed if you’re late to dinner.”

“I won’t be late for dinner,” Yuri said. “This is business. I have to do these things when I have the time.”

“Why couldn’t you have the man come over here?”

“Because he has all his equipment at his hotel, and that’s what our business is about.”

“I suppose Mr. Kaiser’s oversized lady friend is at the hotel too?”

Yuri shot a quick look at Mrs. Keith, wondering if she suspected the real business he planned to transact at the Regency House. Normally he would have told the old crow it was none of her damn business. He hated it when they got possessive. However, he had to stay friendly with the woman, at least until he had gained an in with Lyle Coombes. Once he had achieved that he would no longer need the old bag and he could tell her to fuck off.

He said, “I don’t know where the woman is staying. Who cares, anyway?”

“Are you sure you don’t want Charles to drive you?” Mrs. Keith asked. “He could wait in the car and bring you back here when you’ve finished.”

“No, riding with a chauffeur makes me nervous. Besides, I already called a taxi.” Damn her meddling anyway.

“I’m only trying to save trouble for you.”

Now she’s going into her little-girl-with-hurt-feelings act, Yuri thought. What a relief it would be once he was rid of her for good.

The doorbell chimed and a maid entered shortly to announce that there was a taxi outside. Yuri brushed Mrs. Keith’s talcumed cheek with his lips and hurried out the door.

He told the driver to take him to the Regency House and settled back against the cushions to anticipate the feast of flesh to come.

• • •

In room 812 of the Regency House J. J. Kaiser filled a small vinyl bag with his toilet articles from the bathroom.

“I wonder if I ought to take my clothes out of the closet?” he said.

Geneva Sundstrum stood over by the window watching him. “I don’t think you need to worry about that. The guy’s not going to go poking through the closet. And what if he does? He must know you and me aren’t brother and sister.”

“You’re probably right,” J. J. said. “I just thought we ought to keep up appearances.” Why the hell, he wondered, was he so frigging nervous? Running around like the father of the bride. Jeez.

“What time did you say he was coming up?”

“Any minute now. I better get out of here.”

“What’s the rush? He’ll call from the lobby first, won’t he?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Have you got everything straight now?”

“Sure. First I show him the equipment. The rackets and stuff, I mean. Then I bring out the contract. He signs, then, well … you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make it up to you, Geneva, when we get home. I’ll see that you get a nice bonus.”

“Make what up to me? I’m just doing the job you brought me along for, aren’t I?”

J. J. looked deep into those wide, guileless eyes and wondered if he had detected a faint note of irony in the breathy, little-girl voice. Nah, she was too dumb. That was what he had to keep in the front of his mind—she was just a big dumb blonde.

“You’re doing a fine job,” he said.

The telephone bell shrilled, and J. J. leaped as though he’d been stuck with a needle. He nodded to Geneva, who picked up the instrument.

She spoke briefly into the phone, then covered the mouthpiece and looked over at J. J.

“It’s him.”

“Tell him to come up,” said J. J. in a stage whisper. Geneva passed on the message and hung up the phone.

J. J. took a last look around the room and tucked the vinyl bag under one arm. He said, “I guess I’d better split now.”

“I guess so.”

“Call me after … after he leaves.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be in 803.”

“I know.”

J. J. stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment with Geneva towering over him. He knew the girl expected him to kiss her goodbye, but under the circumstances he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had an idiotic impulse to wish her good luck, which he quickly suppressed.

“Well, I’ll see you.”

He walked away down the hallway. There was no sound of a door closing behind him, so he knew Geneva was still standing there watching him. With an effort he refrained from looking back, and kept his pace steady and casual until he was out of sight around a corner. There he leaned against the wall for a moment and drew in a deep breath. He did not feel good at all. Must be coming down with something. This damn London weather was doing it, most likely.

He set off again for 803, a small room in the back of the building, next to the old-fashioned fire escape. He had taken the room mostly for appearances’ sake on the expense report that would go to the home office. This would be the first time he had been inside.

He walked into the room, slammed the door, and tossed the bag of shaving tools onto the bureau. He looked around at the plain, dull furniture with distaste. Jeez, he was tired of hotel rooms. He had seen far too many of them in his thirty-nine years. He dropped into a chair and tried not to think about what was going to happen in room 812.

• • •

Yuri’s excitement grew with every step he took from the elevator down the hall to room 812. Visions of the naked Geneva that he had conjured up during the taxi ride churned in his mind. He checked the numbers until he found the right door, and rapped twice.

Geneva answered his knock promptly. She wore a satiny white pants suit that clung lovingly to her full, firm breasts and her round womanly hips.

“Won’t you come in?” she said.

“Try and keep me out.”

Yuri entered, and Geneva closed the door after him. His eyes roved around the room, coming to rest on the bed, freshly made with the bedspread peeled back invitingly.

“All the things are over here,” Geneva said, moving toward the other side of the room. “Things?”

“The tennis rackets and balls and stuff like that. You want to look at it, don’t you?”

“Sure, later. Come here.”

“But don’t you at least want to see what we have? Before you sign a contract, I mean.”

“I can see what I want from here.”

Geneva crossed to the desk and picked up a thick envelope. “Here’s the contract,” she said, “all ready for signing.”

“How convenient.”

She spoke as though reciting a memorized speech. “It gives us the exclusive right to use your name in ads. You agree to use our equipment in tournaments, and Gilfillan will produce a Yuri Zenger autographed racket to your specifications.”

“Why are you stalling me?”

“Stalling?”

“That’s what I said. I came here to go to bed with you, both of us know that. I don’t give a shit about your tennis rackets or any of that other crap. You be good to me, and maybe I’ll sign your contract. Now how about it?”

“I think we ought to talk about business first.”

“Then to hell with it. Tell your little friend he better find himself another player. Yuri Zenger is not interested.” He started for the door, confident that she would call him back. These people would not just let him walk away.

“Wait.”

He turned to face her. “Well?”

“You will sign the contract afterwards?”

“We’ll talk about it. After.”

Geneva put the envelope back on the desk and moved to the center of the room. She stood submissively, arms hanging loose at her sides.

Yuri walked back into the room and stopped just in front of her. At five-feet-eleven he was not a small man, and he found it a new and exciting experience to have to look up into the eyes of a woman. What a conquest this was going to be.

He reached around and ran his hands down her back to the yielding mounds of her buttocks. He kneaded the firm flesh and pulled her against him so she could feel his erection.

“Do you like that?” he said.

“Mmmmm.”

“Come to bed now. I will show you what a real lover can do.”

They started toward the bed. Yuri’s eyes feasted on Geneva’s huge breasts. From the way they moved when she walked, he knew the woman was not wearing anything under the white satin. God, what beautiful things they were. He ached to put his hands on them. His mouth.

The telephone rang.

“Don’t answer it,” he said.

“I have to.”

“Why do you have to?”

“It’s the kind of person I am, that’s all. I can’t let a telephone ring. It drives me crazy if I don’t know who’s calling.”

“Jesus Christ, go ahead then.”

Yuri released his grip on Geneva’s arm and sat on the edge of the bed muttering to himself as she walked back to answer the phone.

“If it’s that sonofabitching little friend of yours, tell him to—”

Geneva held up her hand for silence as she spoke into the instrument. She listened for several seconds, then turned to Yuri. “It’s for you.”

“That’s impossible. Nobody knows I’m here.”

“It’s some lady.”

Yuri groaned aloud and pushed himself off the bed. Mrs. Keith. This time the old bag had gone too far. He snatched the phone out of Geneva’s hand and barked into the mouthpiece.

“What is it?”

“Hello, Yuri,” said the calm, cultured voice of Mrs. Keith. “I hope I’m not interrapting your business meeting.”

“You are.”

“I’m sorry, dear, but I just had a call from Lyle Coombes, and I thought you would want to know.”

Yuri swallowed the angry words that were on his tongue. “What did he call about?”

“He won’t be able to come to dinner tonight. He has to make arrangements to leave for Paris in the morning.”

“Not coming? Well, God damn it—”

“So I invited him to tea instead.”

“Tea?”

“Yes. He’ll be here shortly. I know how anxious you are to meet Lyle, and I thought that since this could be your last opportunity, you might want to cut short your business and come back here.”