Sudden Death (31 page)

“An old firehorse.” Ricky shook his head.

“She earned it.” Jane was fair.

“Success recalled may be as sweet as success newly won.”

Harriet curled up behind them, out of range of cameras, and picked up the discarded draw sheet. If Carmen smacked up against Rainey Rogers, then Page Bartlett Campbell would draw Hilda Stambach, assuming the seeds won as expected, but with Susan on Page’s side of the draw, there was a question. Susan could never be counted out. Hilda was vicious on the grass. Her forehand topspin resembled Bjorn Borg’s forehand. On grass you might as well be facing a bazooka.

“Few women have the courage to go all out for achievement. That’s one thing I like about the tennis world. The
women on top aren’t afraid to show their skill.” Ricky rubbed his hands.

Carmen won the match six-three, six-four. Jane noticed Carmen glancing into the stands. Carmen always looked for Harriet that way. Jane watched her awhile. Carmen was sure zeroing in on somebody. Jane hoped Harriet wouldn’t notice, but Harriet noticed before the first set was two-one.

Miguel was ready to substitute Valium for potato chips. His Hong Kong partner flew in for Wimbledon. The news, while not fatal, was depressing. Sales were down. Miguel had made the last loan payment on time, but in three months he would face another one.

Miguel wasn’t cheating Carmen. He planned to set aside ten percent of the profits and put it into her account. He hadn’t gotten around to it, but then he told himself he couldn’t realize a profit until after the loan was repaid.

He hated giving ground to Lavinia, but her plan might save them all. The last thing he wanted to do was tell Carmen what he’d done.

Walking back from a distant court, he spied Ronnie Baldwin. Quick as a cat, he grabbed Baldwin by the arm and pulled him out of traffic.

“Miguel.” The tennis player was scared.

“Why the fuck did you tell Seth Quintard about the coke?”

“Hey, man, I didn’t tell him.”

Miguel, a strong man, tightened his grasp. “The hell you didn’t.”

“Let me go.”

Miguel grabbed his throat. “Why?” Then he released the startled player.

“My game was shit and he was on my tail. So finally I told him—too much blow. It just sort of happened, you know.”

“Baldwin, I’ll break every bone in your body if you don’t shut up.”

“He was the only person I told. Honest.”

“He was enough. I took risks for you, you son of a bitch.”

“I know you did. I know you did, Miguel, and I’ll make it up to you. I will. I swear I will.”

Miguel turned his back in disgust and walked away.

The small change of emotions, the nickels and dimes of love, the kisses on the cheek, the sections read aloud from newspapers, continued unmolested. Carmen woke up each morning, reached for Harriet, hugged her, got up, brushed her teeth, took a shower, and then fixed herself a giant ham sandwich in the kitchen. She’d fix one for Harriet, too. They’d chat after Carmen read her paper. Harriet made up love letters from Baby Jesus and read them. Carmen laughed.

But Harriet sensed weeds growing in her paradise patch. If Carmen had been older or less emotionally erratic, she might have carried on this affair with the dignity they both deserved. Harriet wasn’t fool enough to think Carmen would be faithful physically to her until death do us part. She did, however, believe the companionship and the common goals they shared would cement them for life. Once Carmen, on her knees, sobbed that she’d love Harriet until the day one of them died. Harriet believed her.

A true partnership meant good times, bad times, and in-between times. If one hurt the other, she’d heal. It made little difference whether one married a man or a woman. What made the difference was the ability to love someone when she was unlovable. Marriage eventually thrusts that harsh test upon every partnership. Most don’t make it.

Carmen was sneaking around. Harriet hated that. She knew, her every instinct was heightened. If Carmen slept with another person, she’d live. But she felt Carmen backing out, slipping away, abandoning her. She didn’t know if she could live without Carmen. Harriet was unaccustomed to even the mildest dependence, and that thought slashed through her like a bayonet. And she once laughed at people who felt like dying when their spouse or lover walked out.

“How great that you’ve got a day before Rainey.” Harriet studied the book review section of the
Times
.

“I think I’ll practice twice today. Doubles this afternoon. Might as well stay out there.”

Carmen carried on her life in what appeared to be a routine manner, but already she and Bonnie Marie confessed they loved one another instantly. After being together two weeks at Wimbledon they had mentally bought a house, picked out furniture, and met one another’s friends. No one understood Carmen like this new woman. Carmen quite forgot she said the same thing to Harriet three years ago.

The next day Jane stretched out on the beat-up sofa in Harriet and Carmen’s house. Carmen had a day off before meeting Hilda Stambach, who tipped over Page Bartlett Campbell. Page was suffering from a swollen knee tendon, but she said nothing to the press. Hilda was good and grass was not Page’s best surface. However, Page could win on anything. She’d have to wait another year for Wimbledon and that meant another year of putting off a family. She wondered if it was worth it.

Jane briefly interviewed Page and was telling Carmen and Harriet that Page was staying over a few days after the finals.

“Jane, would you like a drink?”

“Twist my arm.”

Carmen pretended to twist Jane’s arm. “Wine, beer, or hard stuff?”

“White wine. It’s too early in the day to go heavy duty.”

Carmen poured Jane some wine. Jane felt the tension. She knew Carmen; her worry was for Harriet. Ever since Susan Reilly jilted her, Carmen made sure no other woman would do the same. Jane thought of Carmen as a lovely person in many ways, but your basic love junkie.

Jane also thought a little about herself. Change. Life seemed nothing but change, even when the surface was most placid.

As Carmen handed her a glass of wine, Jane asked, “What would you die for?”

“I don’t think about dying.”

“Not during Wimbledon.” Harriet sipped a Coca-Cola.

Jane said, “But I wonder if life is worth living, if there isn’t anything or anyone you would die for?”

“No,” Harriet answered.

“No, what? You have something you’d die for?” Carmen questioned.

“I hope I’d die for you or for a friend; a child, if I had one; my country, depending on the circumstances; an idea, if it were great enough, although it’s easier to die for flesh and blood.”

Carmen didn’t reply.

“Sometimes I think we get up in the morning because we haven’t managed to die in the middle of the night.” Jane fluffed up a pillow.

“It’s easier to live if you’ve got a purpose.”

“The Grand Slam,” Carmen said.

Jane, comfortable now, said, “External purposes fail. Not that they aren’t wonderful, they give us a sense of accomplishment, but it’s not enough.”

“The Grand Slam will be enough for me.” Carmen didn’t cotton to Jane’s line of reasoning.

“I don’t mean it’s not important,” Harriet said. “Sports do give us examples of courage. I guess I was hoping there’s a purpose beyond things, certainly beyond my ability to describe it. Maybe I’m groping for the spirit, for collective consciousness.”

“Wouldn’t that be something?” Jane sipped her wine.

“One planet with one heartbeat.” Harriet clicked her glass against Jane’s. Carmen clicked her Perrier glass with Jane and felt guilty because she put off telling Harriet about Lavinia’s plan.

“To Carmen’s Grand Slam and to revelation,” Jane toasted anew.

“I welcome revelation,” Harriet said. “Logic is too time-consuming.”

Hilda Stambach, a client of Seth Quintard’s, made the finals. Athletes Unlimited should have had both women as clients, except Miguel screwed that. But Seth got his revenge.

The day before the finals, usually reserved as a day of rest for the two finalists, he waited patiently for Carmen as she practiced. A payoff to an English woolens manufacturer guaranteed that Miguel would be out of sight. Miguel and the fake manufacturer were currently discussing Carmen’s possible endorsement of socks.

Seth pounced on her as she left practice. He had the phony Hong Kong clothing with him. When he carefully explained what was happening, she almost passed out. Seth didn’t know about the forged signature for the Amalgamated Banks loan, but he was smart enough to know Miguel had to have gotten the money from somewhere.

Carmen examined the garments in disbelief. Seth reminded her that her name was being misused on a shoddy product, and then he walked off, triumphant

“Miguel!” Carmen burst in upon his meeting.

“Migueletta, how was practice?”

“Excuse us.” She put her hand under her brother’s armpit and lifted him out of the chair.

Protesting, but worried, he was dragged behind her until she jammed him in the car. She tore out of the parking lot, almost forgot to drive on the left-hand side of the road, adjusted, and then flew toward the Thames. She parked the car as close as she could to the river, slammed the door, and pulled him out. From her flight bag on the seat, she produced a shirt and a blouse.