Sudden Death (16 page)

M
adison Square Garden is a good arena for players and good for spectators. Arenas don’t often provide one with the other. Harriet snaked her way through the crowd, a healthy number for an opening night, and sat next to Miguel, who dazzled tonight. He’d received the money from Dennis Parry at Amalgamated Interstate Banks, and he felt on top of the world. Harriet waved to Ricky and Jane up in the booth. Ricky stuck out his tongue. The Garden was full of high society and those merely high. One fellow in the same box as Harriet was so full of pills that if shaken, he would have sounded like a baby’s rattle.

Rainey Rogers was on the first match. She bounced on the court like a graduated pom-pom girl. Lavinia Sibley Archer, shimmering in yet another yellow dress, performed the introductions. She brought it off in under ten minutes, a marvel for Lavinia.

Harriet usually watched only Carmen’s matches. One could OD on tennis even when played at this exalted level. She left midway through the match because Miguel was trying to impress a sponsor with his fathomless knowledge of the game. For some reason, she couldn’t stand to hear it one more time.

Harriet wandered into the locker room.

“Did you call the accountant?” Carmen asked as she did her stretching exercises.

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe they’re going to audit me again. Between your government and mine, I’m lucky I make a penny.” Carmen was keyed up, but that was nothing new before a match.

“Passover’s coming up mid-April. Maybe we could hire the Angel of Death for a return engagement. This time let’s forget the firstborn and concentrate on IRS employees.”

“Yeah.” Carmen rotated her knee. “Know what Ricky told me today? He said Bill Tilden squandered his money producing plays so he could star in them. He also forgot to brush his teeth. Some people swear he never brushed his teeth.” She rubbed her shoulder. “Isn’t that weird? He was the greatest tennis player in the world, but he wanted to be something else.”

“There’s a running thread. He wanted to be looked at, whether on the court or on the stage. He had talent in one field and not the other. That happens a lot.”

“All the halfbacks who go on to comment for ABC and last two shows?” Carmen grunted.

“It’s a tough transition. Once you have all that artificial attention, which isn’t to say you didn’t earn it, it’s hard to let it go.”

“You as in me, or you as in general.”

Harriet considered this. “Both, I guess.”

“I am nowhere near retiring,” Carmen stated quickly and emphatically.

“I never said you were.”

“You can teach forever.”

Harriet sighed. Sometimes the road even got to Carmen, the eternal gypsy. “We’ve had this discussion before.”

Carmen snorted. “I fired Seth Quintard and Athletes Unlimited today.”

The news caught Harriet off guard. “Why?”

“Miguel pointed out to me that they hold my money long enough to make interest on it. And, this I never thought of, I’m one of many to them.”

“Hardly. You’re the best player in the world.”

Carmen acknowledged this with a smile. “Still, Miguel is taking over. With him, I’ll always be number one.”

Disturbed, Harriet said only, “Yes.” She picked up a dog-eared deck of cards and absentmindedly dealt herself a hand of solitaire.

After watching one game, Carmen couldn’t stand the quiet. “What are you thinking?”

As usual when Harriet was worried, sshe resorted to humor. “Oh, I was just stewing.” She snapped the deck together and reshuffled. “Wages are down. Costs and unemployment are up. I can’t find jelly-filled donuts. Gas stations don’t give free glasses anymore. Telephone operators try to listen in on conversations, but discover the government got there first.”

Carmen, her good spirits restored, laughed. She loved Harriet when she made her laugh.

Rainey Rogers’s game was as familiar to Miguel as his own. In analyzing people’s strengths and weaknesses he was superb. Rainey had no glaring weaknesses. While not the quickest, she had speed. While not the strongest, she was tenacious. Her only real weakness was a tendency to avoid the net; the tiniest bit gun-shy, she blinked once too often when balls were rifled at her. Not that she fell apart at the net, but she didn’t usually press home an advantage by swiftly moving in for the ball. She preferred to administer slow death from behind the baseline.

Miguel stayed in the ringside box because he wanted to
avoid Seth Quintard. Seth tromped in, however, sat beside him, and coldly waited for Rainey’s match to end. Her matches seemed interminable but eventually they did finish.

Rainey had just reached across the net to shake the hand of her defeated foe when Seth started. “Mr. Semana, I have reason to believe you encouraged your sister to terminate her relationship with Athletes Unlimited.”

Feigning surprise, Miguel replied, “I am close to my sister, true, but she makes her own decisions.”

Seth leaned over. “It’s a big mistake. We know what every other athlete gets for endorsements. No one can under-purchase her services because we know to the penny what the market value is on everyone.”

“Of course.” Miguel nodded.

“She belongs with us.”

“She feels otherwise.”

“Look, Miguel, cut the bullshit. You told her we invest her commissions and delay payment for the three- or four-month term of those investments.”

Miguel did not appreciate the direct approach. “There is some delay in payments, Mr. Quintard.”

“Even if that were true, and I’m not saying it is, we can do more for your sister than anyone in this business.”

“Perhaps, but from now on I am managing her financial and contractual affairs.”

Furious at losing the account, Quintard exploded. “I don’t know what the brotherly version of a gigolo is, Semana, but you fucking qualify.”

Miguel’s face burned with hatred. He grabbed Seth by the necktie. “Get out.”

Undaunted, Seth Quintard continued. “And furthermore, you slimy spic, I know about the cocaine in the racquet handles.”

Without releasing Quintard’s necktie, Miguel leapt to his feet and dragged Seth up, too. He hauled him outside and hurled him down the back stairs behind the box.

Seth rubbed his neck. He scrambled to his feet and rasped, “You’ll pay for this. If it takes me ten fucking years, you’ll pay.”

Miguel already turned his back and was walking away. Surprisingly few people observed the sordid drama. Those that did were unenlightened fans who assumed two guys had a little too much to drink.

Miguel stormed past the guards and walked outside. How in God’s name did Seth know about the cocaine?

Miguel was a small-time smuggler. It was easy for him to acquire quality coke when home. He would bore out racquet handles and bring the drug through customs. When he accompanied Carmen, he was never searched. He didn’t make a habit of it; it was an occasional sideline. Miguel always knew whom to contact if the right parties were looking. But he had no desire to be a full-time dealer. In fact, he only had two steady customers.

One of his customers, Ronnie Baldwin, a handsome male tennis player, would put the coke in a gelatin capsule and insert it in his asshole. The first set he would play relatively straight while his body heat was melting the capsule. For the second set and part of the third, he would be playing like a maniac. Of course, if his match went to four or five sets, he would be in trouble, so for emergencies he would keep some coke in a cup on the sidelines bench.

Then it hit Miguel. That bastard Baldwin belonged in Athletes Unlimited’s stable. He must have squeaked. Why, Miguel couldn’t imagine. Christ, he’d done this guy a favor by getting him such quality stuff. Someone must have put the screws on him. His game was on the way down. Maybe he lost a contract and was looking for a scapegoat.

Quintard couldn’t have found out from Miguel’s other customer. She was a New York socialite of impeccable origins. Seth didn’t know people like that.

Miguel was shaking. He knew Seth wouldn’t pin a coke rap on Carmen; she knew nothing. He couldn’t pin a coke rap
on Miguel either without jeopardizing men’s tennis. If Seth was bent on revenge, he’d have to be imaginative. And from examining Carmen’s contracts, he feared Seth could be just that.

High above Central Park, ensconced in a friend’s apartment, Susan listened to her lawyer. She had won her match handily, which put her in a good mood. He put her in an even better mood.

“You’re at the office late. I thought everybody partied in San Francisco after sunset.”

“All work and no play makes Jerry a dull boy,” Jerry Hammer explained. “I checked out your problem. In some states where you play, homosexuality is a felony. An alien with a green card must abide by the laws of the state she resides in as well as by the federal laws.”

“Which means what?”

“It means if your friend is caught in a homosexual act in, say, New Hampshire, and her homosexuality is known to the authorities, she could conceivably be deported to Argentina. Of course, you know homosexuality doesn’t sit well in that country either. They’re terrible on the issue. She’s in a spot.”

“She’s only in a spot if people know. Is there any way around a fight if”—Susan halted—“if bad luck should strike her?”

“She could protest it legally, but her chances of staying in this country would be severely jeopardized.”

“That’s too bad.” Susan reeked of concern.

“Susan, I’d be happy to help her out if disaster should strike. Is this a close friend?”

“An old friend.”

“Tell her to be careful,” Jerry counseled.

“I’ll do that. Thanks, Jerry. I appreciate it.” Susan paused. “You want a racquet autographed to Tiffany? I’ll put it in the mail tomorrow.”

“She’ll be over the moon,” Jerry said. “See you next time you’re home.”

“Thanks again.”

“Bye.”

“Good-bye.”

Jane and Ricky suffered a spat, during which he called the women’s movement a home for aging Campfire Girls, and she said men grow old, they don’t grow up.

Jane telephoned Harriet. “When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping.”

Harriet, who knew better than to ask the details, agreed to meet her at 1:30
P.M
. on the corner of 57th and 5th.

Jane greeted her. “He’s such a prick.”

“You, of course, are unimpeachable.”

“Don’t be reasonable, Harriet. I can’t stand it when you’re reasonable. He’s getting like the players, you know? Those people never use toilet paper. Everyone is kissing their ass!” Jane put up her hand. “Don’t say anything. What can we do?”

“We could think of twenty-three ways to decorate our uterine walls.”

Jane struggled now to maintain her bad mood. “Well, I for one am going to spend money. Here, let’s look at what I’ve got.” Jane yanked a fistful of credit cards out of her purse. “American Express, we never leave home without it. MasterCard, Visa, Playboy. He’s such a shit. Sears and Roebuck, can’t use that. Saks Fifth Avenue, goody. I. Magnin, wrong part of the country. Garfinckel’s, nope. Ah, ha! B. Altman.
Our Chase Convenience Card. The jackpot, Bloomie’s! Let’s hit Tiffany’s first. We have an account there.”