Sudden Death (26 page)

The early matches went her way. Trouble in the person of Susan Reilly lay in wait at the semifinals. Not that Carmen’s quarterfinal match was a shoo-in. Justine Haverford, the English player, was good on this goo. Carmen’s draw was tough, but Page Bartlett Campbell had Rainey Rogers in the semifinals, assuming they would both reach the semifinals, and of that there seemed little doubt. Harriet and Carmen were relieved Rainey was on the other side because facing Rainey for an eternity could knock Carmen down for Page in the finals. Carmen would need all her strength for Page, whose coolness was as hard to play as her game.

Page and Jeffrey Campbell, darlings of the European as
well as American media, bore it with good grace. Page liked the publicity more than she would admit, but then Page never admitted anything to anybody. The virtues of intimate silence covered up by general conversation were well-known to Page. At twenty-seven, she glanced over her shoulder and witnessed an army of little girls sporting two-fisted backhands, pigtails or pageboy haircuts, and questionable manners. Page worried about the manners. If these tykes were going to slavishly imitate her, they could also imitate her manners.

Page would always be mysterious to Jeffrey, because he had difficulty looking beneath the surface. Page, however, realized within the first year of her marriage that she tied herself to an extraordinary-looking man with an ordinary mind. She was more ambitious and brighter, more cynical. She cloaked the cynicism, but she’d observed enough to know what you see is not what you get. Jeffrey worried constantly: about her, about his football career, about money. Page was not one to hide from life or to puff off responsibilities, but she liked to have a good time. She rarely could meet anyone who didn’t talk about tennis. She longed for association with exciting people. In short, she married a man who was not her equal. He loved her. He was honest, sober, and decent. She’d done better than eighty percent of this world. However, odds don’t make up for the lack of mental stimulation and spontaneity. Page was a little lonesome. Given that their marriage had been trumpeted as the love match of the century, she certainly could talk to no one about her misgivings. Given the insularity of both the tennis world and the football world, she was in no position to make close friendships with people outside the sports world. Right now, Jeffrey would be hurt if she took any energy away from him. Their schedules were tight enough already without introducing new friends, new obligations. So she concentrated on her game. The French Open was her introduction back onto the circuit and she meant to win it.

Justine Haverford, fortunately for Carmen, was sluggish on the court. Carmen rolled over her, six-two, six-three. Next came Susan Reilly. Carmen needed to pull together for that one. It remained to be seen what would happen between Rainey Rogers and Page.

The larger the tournament the more wired Carmen became. Little things grated on her nerves. The tone of Harriet’s voice could make her tremble with rage. Traffic infuriated her. The weather heightened her emotional state. Nothing was worse than having a match called during play because of rain, except perhaps losing the match. She’d get psyched up, then have to let down. Sitting in the locker room waiting for the weather to clear felt like waiting to be called to the tumbrels.

Lavinia, although she had no power on the European circuit, was much in evidence. She nipped at Carmen’s heels and saw to it that Carmen was photographed in restaurants with a variety of men. Miguel stuck so close to Harriet, he could have been a sand spur.

A small blue vein throbbed over Lavinia’s temple. With difficulty she maneuvered Siggy Wayne and Seth Quintard out of this meeting. Seth could care less about Carmen thanks to Miguel but Athletes Unlimited wanted no trouble in women’s tennis. Men lack the finesse for this kind of operation, she thought to herself. No one hailed her idea as brilliant for the simple reason that what she was about to tell Carmen Semana was done all the time. She’d been working up to this.

Lavinia picked up a tennis shoe; the bottom looked like a lunar landscape. Different treads were used for the different
surfaces—grass, clay, carpet, and Deco Turf. As far as Lavinia knew, no one was planning a tournament on the moon. She laid the shoe down on its side on the floor. She was superstitious; it was bad luck to put a shoe on a table or chair. She’d need good luck today.

A knock on the door brought her to her feet. She crossed the room with a worn magnificence. “Carmen.”

Carmen slipped through the door and sat across from Lavinia. The shoe on the floor did not escape her notice nor was it intended to.

“Would you like a beverage?”

“No, thank you.” Carmen’s hair was cut shorter than usual.

“When did you do that?” Lavinia pointed to Carmen’s head.

“Yesterday. I got sick of blow drying my hair. I’ll let it grow back after the Grand Slam.”

“M-m-m.” Lavinia thought Carmen’s dream of the Slam perfectly impossible. “I’ll come straight to the point, Carmen. This lesbian scandal must stop.”

Carmen listened mutely.

Lavinia continued. “My left ear is red from the phone conversations I’ve had with tournament promoters, sponsors, and Howard Dominick who is sick, just sick. Women’s tennis can’t afford this.”

“Neither can I.”

“Miguel left his own legacy. You know, of course, you’re going to have to pay off the Jaguar dealer in Chicago or perform a gratis advertisement for him.”

Carmen shifted in her seat. She knew nothing about it.

“He got a white Jaguar, twelve-cylinder, in exchange for your services.”

“I never saw it.”

“He shipped it back to Argentina and probably sold it on the spot.”

Carmen groaned.

“You’re in a spot. I remember what these big four tournaments are like.” How the old girl loved to go back into time. Like actors, athletes seemed incapable of moving beyond their applause. Perhaps Lavinia had no future, but Carmen still had one, at least until her game slowly eroded. Lavinia was addressing that future, or so she thought. “You know I liked the French Open. Most Americans don’t, but I always did and still do. There’s an ambiance, don’t you think?”

“Yes. But then I’m not an American.”

“Can’t be helped.” Lavinia smiled her ermine smile. “You could get bounced right out of America with this mess. If you admit to being homosexual.”

“I don’t think your government will pick on me. I’m not scared,” Carmen bluffed.

Lavinia eyed this youngster. Homosexuality bothered her only slightly. What these girls did with one another was beyond her imagination. Seemed like such a waste, really. “Why take the chance?”

“I haven’t said I am a lesbian.”

“That will save you. There is a way out of this. You can save yourself, help women’s tennis, and the sponsors and promoters will be happy, too.”

“What’s that?”

“First, can you give up Harriet?”

“I love Harriet.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Carmen shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“I’ve known you since you were sixteen, Carmen.”

Her face burning, the player replied, “What does that mean?”

“Homosexual relationships don’t last. You people seem to have revolving doors to your bedrooms. If you leave Harriet, you’ll find someone else.” Lavinia was close to insult.

“I do not have a revolving door to my bedroom!”

“Well, your relationships don’t last long, do they?”

“Harriet and I have been together three years.”

“That’s when the getting-to-know-you stage is over. You can’t shift gears into the next level of love. I don’t know any homosexuals who can. Is that how you want to live your life?”

“Lavinia, what I do is my business.”

“You’re wrong. What you do is everybody’s business, most especially mine. My solution to this problem is simple. You are going to get married.”

Carmen sat stunned. She reached over and took a swig of Lavinia’s ever-present vodka. “Go on.”

“Others do it.” Lavinia discreetly avoided naming names.

“You have someone in mind?” Carmen’s voice didn’t sound like her own.

“Yes. An American boy. That will help you if things ever do get difficult at home. Oh, not just homosexuality, although marriage will take care of that; I mean politics.”

Carmen listened as Lavinia told her how unstable Argentina was. Americans are all alike when it comes to South America, Carmen thought. It’s hard not to hate them. “Who is this person?”

“He’s the son of an old friend of mine. He lives in Los Angeles where he’s a struggling actor. He’s terribly good-looking and well-bred. He’ll be perfect at social functions, and he’s a nice person.”

“Why would he agree to this? Is he gay, too?”

“I never asked. His profession is notoriously unstable. You will buy a house and run it. The prenuptial agreement will state that he cannot touch your money but aside from the new house which you’ll own jointly, its running costs, and a car for him, you will provide him with sixty thousand dollars a year, adjustable for inflation. That’s a cheap way out of your problems if you think about it.” She paused. “He has good taste for his age. He’ll help you make a beautiful house.”

Carmen thought she already had a beautiful house, except
that she owned it with Harriet. Lavinia, tireless in her devotion to tennis, offered Carmen a perfect solution. Carmen was not as strong as she thought she was. Her career had to come first. That’s what everyone told her.

“When do I meet this man?”

“First week back in the States. You will like him. I think you should plan to get married on Christmas Day. Right after the Australian Open.”

When Carmen finally left Lavinia, she walked back to her hotel. She didn’t know when or how she would tell Harriet. She stopped on the corner, as she realized she hadn’t even asked his name. The street lamp framed her head like a rancid halo.

Susan Reilly liked clay no more than Carmen did, but she figured she could outgut Carmen. Susan held that opinion about all her opponents. She was often correct.

Alicia settled herself in the stands. Craig and Lisa would come over for Wimbledon, so until the last week in June, she had Susan all to herself. Susan shrunk from the world during a major tournament. Her every waking moment was spent honing strategy and studying the psychology of her opponent, her body, the weather. Unlike most players, she didn’t watch television. She’d watch it during minor tournaments, but not during any Grand Slam event. Her trance lasted until she lost or won.

When Susan was a girl, playing in junior high school and high school, she loved the game. She hated losing, but she loved winning. She skipped college because the women’s tour was established at the perfect time for Susan. Billie Jean King, Betty Stove, Virginia Wade, and others took the big risks. Lavinia Sibley Archer masterminded the tour; the players put
their bodies on the line. Susan never took any risks except on the tennis court. There was nothing wrong with capitalizing on the labor of others. We all live off the work of the dead and of the living, older generations. She attended no meetings of the Players Guild. She sponsored no children for tennis camps; she taught no camps or clinics. Her entire being revolved around competition. Susan did only what was good for Susan.