The Players (24 page)

On the evening following his quarter-final victory Tim Barrett arrived at Christy’s flat in Chelsea with his nerves jumping like live wires. He raced up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, and hammered on the door.

“For heaven’s sake, wait a bit,” called Christy’s voice from within. “I’m coming, you don’t have to knock the door down.” She opened the door and looked up at Tim in surprise.

“You’re a bit early, aren’t you?” she said. “I thought you were coming at eight.”

“Where were you today?” Tim demanded.

“What do you mean where was I?”

“You weren’t at Wimbledon. I looked for you.”

“I don’t recall making any promises that I would be there.”

“I gave you tickets for the entire tournament,” Tim said. “Why didn’t you come today?”

“Really, Tim, I don’t see what difference it makes. After all, I’ve seen you play three times already. What’s so special about today?”

“It was the quarter-finals.”

“Did you win?”

“Yes.”

“There, you see, you didn’t miss me. I’ll come out tomorrow, probably.”

“The men don’t play tomorrow. My next match is in the semi-finals on Thursday.”

“Thursday, then. I don’t see why it’s important to you whether I’m there or not with all those other people.”

“Christy, I thought we had something special together, you and I.”

Her voice softened. “Of course we do, Timmy.” She reached up and touched his cheek, then turned and walked back into the sitting room.

“I do like you a lot,” she said, “but you must remember I have a life of my own.”

“I thought you’d want to be there today,” Tim said.

“There were some errands that I simply couldn’t put off,” she said.

“Not even one day?”

Christy whirled to look him in the eye, and there was a flash of anger in her face that Tim had not seen before.

“No,” she said. “Not even one day.”

Tim felt his control slipping away, but he couldn’t stop the words. “What happened, did your so-called ‘brother’ come in from Brighton again?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Take it any way you want.”

“All right, Tim,” she snapped, “since you’re so keen to know the truth, it happens I
do
have a brother in Brighton, but he hasn’t been to London in six months.”

“Then last Friday …”

“I had a date with another fellow. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Is it true?”

“Yes.”

“How could you do that to me?”

“I didn’t do anything to you except fib a little bit. And I only did that because I was afraid you’d act just the way you’re acting now—like a jealous, possessive fool.”

“Goddamnit, how do you expect me to act?”

“You needn’t swear, you know.”

“Jesus H. Goddamnit Christ, I’ll swear if I want to!”

“Don’t you think that’s rather, childish?”

“What the hell do you know about childish?”

“I know you could learn a few things about being a man from your father.”

Tim jumped on her words. “What’s my father got to do with this?”

Christy looked away. “Nothing, really.”

“Yes, he has, or you wouldn’t have brought it up.” Tim seized the girl’s wrists and pulled her back around to face him. “Now you tell me, what’s this about my father?”

“He came to see me, that’s all.”

“Here? My father came to see you here?”

“That’s right, Saturday morning. Now let go of me.”

Tim released his grip, and Christy stepped back, rubbing her wrists.

“What did he want?” Tim asked.

“He was worried about you. About your tennis.”

“I’ll just bet he was,” Tim said with heavy sarcasm. “What else?”

Christy’s anger flared again. “What else do you think? Do you think he made improper advances to me, is that what? Are you so bloody jealous that you suspect your own father?”

“No, I—”

“Well, if you want to know, it was the other way around.”

“What are you saying?”

“I propositioned him. Yes, I did. He’s a good-looking, full-grown man, and I was attracted to him.”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Tim said.

“You asked for it, mister, you might as well hear it all. I propositioned your father about a roll in the hay, but he wasn’t having any. More’s the pity too, because of the two of you, I’d say he’s the better man.”

Tim could only stand looking at Christy, the pain showing clearly on his face.

The anger passed, and her expression grew more gentle. She put out a hand toward him. “Timmy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …”

He did not wait to hear any more. He turned and fled from the flat, stumbling down the stairs and out onto the street.

Blindly he walked through the streets as the nighttime mist crept up from the Thames. Terrible brain-searing pictures flashed through his mind in spite of his efforts to keep them out. Faster and faster he walked, paying no attention to his direction, until he came to a park. He went a few yards down a path, around a corner, and found himself closed away from the city. He dropped onto a stone bench and put his head in his hands. He felt the tears run down through his fingers, and made no effort to stop them.

Tim had no idea how long he had been sitting there when he was startled upright by a gentle rapping of something wooden against the bench.

“Got some trouble, have you, lad?”

Tim looked up into the round, sympathetic face of a man who wore the uniform and helmet of the London police.

“I-it’s nothing,” Tim said, fumbling for a handkerchief to wipe his face.

“I’m glad to hear that,” said the bobby. “Seem’ you all slumped over the way you were, I thought for a moment I had meself a victim of some foul deed here.”

“No, I was just … resting for a minute,” Tim said.

“Had a tiff with the girlfriend, I’ll wager.”

“How did you …? How could you …?”

“My lad, after being a policeman as many years as I have, a man learns to read people just like readin’ a newspaper. You’ve got all the signs of a young man with girlfriend problems.”

Tim looked down at his hands and didn’t say anything.

“You needn’t be afraid that I’m about to give you a load of advice on how to handle the lady,” said the policeman. “If I was as smart as all that, I’d be in some other line o’ work. I would say, though, that sittin’ here in the park at this hour alone is not a good idea. We don’t get too many bad ones here in Kensington, but there’s no use takin’ chances now, is there?”

Tim stood up. “You’re right, officer, I’ll be leaving now. Am I far from Beverly Court?”

“About half a mile is all. You walk back out this path to Kensington Road, then go left past the Albert Hall. Take Exhibition Road down beyond Brompton, and the second turning after that will be Beverly Court.”

“Thanks, officer. Good night.”

Tim could feel the eyes of the policeman follow him back out the path to Kensington Road. Now that he saw where he was, he knew how to get back to the hotel. He had explored the streets around here in the days just after he and Vic had arrived in the city. He must have walked up side streets from Christy’s flat without paying any attention to his location.

Christy. The muscles of Tim’s throat contracted as he thought of the trim blonde girl he had been so close to. What an ass he had made of himself tonight. He had no business at all getting possessive the way he had. Christy was right in calling him a child.

But damn it, why did she have to bring his father into it? No, that wasn’t right. He went to see her. He must really think he had an idiot for a son.

But wait a minute. It had been three days ago that his father had gone to Christy’s place. Tim had seen him several times since then, and there had been no hint of I-told-you-so in Jack Barrett’s attitude. If anything, their relationship had been freer and more relaxed these past days.

What was it Christy had said?
“You could learn a few things about being a man from your father.”
Maybe he could, at that. Maybe it was time he did some growing up.

A new feeling of calm came over Tim as he walked. There was still a knot of pain in his chest over the scene with Christy, but it was small, and it would pass. Without his willing it, Tim’s thoughts shifted gradually away from Christy Noone and his father. The face he saw now was that of Yuri Zenger. His concentration, like a slowly focusing beam of light, zeroed in on Centre Court at Wimbledon and the man he would meet there in two days. For the first time in many days Tim Barrett was ready to play tennis.

Wednesday at Wimbledon was set aside for doubles play. Thursday would see the men’s semi-finals, and Friday the women’s. On Saturday the champions would be crowned in all divisions.

J. J. Kaiser spent Wednesday in the Players’ Tea Room talking himself hoarse. He managed to get a few vague promises from some of the lesser players, but no contracts. His Wimbledon venture thus far had been a washout. Everything now depended on Yuri Zenger. Tomorrow the Hungarian would go into the semis against Tim Barrett. By that time J. J. had to have him signed, or the big boys from Wilson and Spalding would move in and Gilfillan would be out in the cold.

For that reason J. J. had not been as sharp today as he should have been. He could not keep his attention fixed on the players and the agents he talked to. He kept thinking about Yuri Zenger and Geneva Sundstrum. At J. J.’s insistence the big girl had not come with him today. He told her to take the afternoon and go out shopping, buy herself some pretty things. J. J. did not think of it as any kind of an advance payment, even though this was the night Zenger was coming to the hotel to consummate their deal.

J. J. sat slumped now in their room as Geneva displayed the day’s purchases for him.

“Yeah, yeah, nice,” he kept saying, without really seeing the things she had spread out on the bed. “Very nice.”

“What do you think of this, J. J.?” she asked, holding up a filmy peach-colored garment in front of her body. “Sexy, huh?”

“Sure, sexy,” he said, not looking at it.

“Do you think I ought to wear it tonight when whatshisname comes over?”

“What the hell do I care? Wear whatever you want.”

“Come on, honey, don’t be grouchy with me.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” said J. J. “I had a rough day. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“Did you sign up any players?”

“No. All of them would be happy as hell to get a load of free Gilfillan samples, but they don’t want to do anything for us in return.”

“It won’t matter once we get the Rumanian signed up, will it?”

“Hungarian. No, it won’t matter then.” J. J. shoved himself up out of the chair. “I’ll see you later.”

“Will you be in 803?”

“No, that room makes me itchy.”

“Where will you be, then?”

“I don’t know. I’ll be out. What difference does it make? You can handle things, can’t you?”

“Sure, J. J. I just thought you might want me to call you after.”

“Don’t call me, I’ll call you.” It came out more harshly than he had intended, but he let it stand and banged out the door.

What a shitty trip this one had been, J. J. thought as he rode down to the lobby. The whole thing had turned into a giant bummer. He should have known better than to bring the broad along. He had always worked alone before, and that’s the way he should have kept it.

The door of the elevator rattled open and J. J. stepped out into the lobby. He stood for a moment wondering what the hell to do with himself. Going to the bar was out. His attempt a week ago at dramatically drinking himself into a stupor ended abruptly with him being sick all over the front of his suit Geneva had to come down and help him back up to the room. She mothered him back to a semblance of health, and they made love all night long and most of the following day, despite J. J.’s earlier vow of abstinence.

The rest of the week J. J. and Geneva had concentrated on enjoying each other. The name of Yuri Zenger was not mentioned, yet the Hungarian was never far from J. J.’s mind.

He consoled himself now with the thought that after tonight it would all be over. He would have Zenger’s name on an unbreakable contract and would never have to look at his ugly face again.

J. J. wandered over to the news vendor’s stand off to one side of the lobby entrance. He picked idly through a rack of postcards with color views of Buckingham Palace, the Tower Bridge, St Paul’s Cathedral, Big Ben, and all the other tourist attractions of London that he hadn’t had time to see.

The revolving door from the street whooshed around then and Yuri Zenger strode into the lobby. His silk shirt gaped open down to his navel, letting the curly black hair spill out in front. J. J. ground his teeth as he watched the Hungarian saunter over to the elevator and jab the button with his thumb. He didn’t wait to see any more, but pushed out through the door onto the Strand and hurried away from the hotel.

• • •

As Yuri Zenger waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive, a black anger boiled inside him. The cause of his anger was his friend and benefactor, Mrs. Dorothy Keith. The woman had strung him along, he now saw, with promises she had no intention of making good. Yuri had made the discovery only this morning when, hearing that Lyle Coombes had returned to London, he had gone to the director’s offices on Charing Cross Road. There a reluctant receptionist had been bullied into taking Yuri in to see Coombes.

With icy contempt Coombes had made it clear that he was not now, nor would he be in the foreseeable future, interested in casting nonprofessionals. As for the truck-driver and the barmaid, they were taken on early in his career, and luckily they had worked out. Now he had established stars waiting in line to work for him.

Yuri had raged at the man, called him a sonofabitching queer, and stormed out, his dreams of a film career in fragments. He intended then to confront Mrs. Keith and tell her in plain language that from here on she could literally go fuck herself. However, riding back to the house in Belgravia, Yuri cooled off as the practical side of his nature took over. He decided to say nothing to the old bag until after Wimbledon. At least he had a plush place to stay, with servants to wait on him and whatever he wanted in food and drink. Also, he figured the old bag ought to be good for a couple more of the expensive gifts she liked to thrust upon him.

So when he returned to the house Yuri merely mentioned as though in passing that he had been to see Coombes, and it looked as though they weren’t going to be able to work out a deal. Mrs. Keith had told Yuri how sorry she was to hear that, and had watched him carefully for some more violent reaction. However, Yuri kept his anger bottled up and pretended the whole thing was a closed issue. Mrs. Keith was so relieved she did not object when Yuri told her he was going to see J. J. Kaiser this evening, and he might be out quite late.

Now, as he marched down the hall toward room 812, the suppressed anger seethed and bubbled like a capped volcano. The big golden body of Geneva Sundstrum would give him the outlet he needed for his emotions.

Yuri thumped on the door with the meat end of his fist and waited impatiently until Geneva opened it He pushed past her into the room without bothering about a greeting. He went immediately to the telephone, yanked the instrument from its cradle and dropped it on the table.

“Nobody will interrupt us this time,” he said.

“You can’t do that,” said Geneva, “it’ll just keep ringing down at the switchboard and they’ll think something’s wrong.”

Yuri snatched up the phone, listened for a moment, then barked into the mouthpiece, “We want no calls to this room, do you understand? None!” He slammed the telephone back in place and spun around to face Geneva. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get your clothes off.”

“Goodness, you’re in a hurry, aren’t you.”

“I’ve got no time for bullshit. We both know what we’re here for, so let’s get on with it.”

For an instant the big girl hesitated. A flicker of dislike shone in her eyes just before she reached for the buttons on her blouse. It excited Yuri all the more.

Geneva began slowly to undo the buttons. Yuri stepped forward and batted her hands away. He grasped the material on each side and ripped it apart. Geneva wore nothing under the blouse.

“That’s more like it,” Yuri said, stepping back to admire her. “I like big tits.”

Geneva stood with her arms straight down at her sides, saying nothing.

Yuri reached out his two hands and cradled one of her breasts. “Good and solid too,” he said. “I like that. Now get that skirt off and let’s see the rest of you.”

She unzipped the short skirt at the side and stepped out of it. This left her wearing only bikini panties of pale blue.

“Stop there,” Yuri ordered. “I’ll do the rest.” He ran his flattened hand down over the smooth gentle mound of her belly, tracing one finger along the elastic at the top of her panties where wisps of gold curled out. He insinuated his fingers down under the flimsy material. He squeezed the soft flesh, easy at first, then harder. Geneva gasped.

“You like that, do you?” he said. “Get over on that bed and I’ll give you something to really like.”

Geneva walked across the room to the bed. She sat there with her back against the headboard. No emotion showed on her face. That was all right with Yuri. He’d have her begging for it before he was through.

Keeping his eyes on Geneva, Yuri peeled off the silk shirt. He ran a hand roughly over the matted black hair on his chest and stomach. With his other hand he slowly drew the heavy belt out of the loops of his pants. He doubled the belt and socked it against the side of his leg. He was pleased to see Geneva’s eyes widen at the explosive sound it made. Some of them really liked the belt.

He walked slowly toward her, unzipping the front of his pants. Still holding the belt, he pushed the pants and a pair of jockey shorts down his legs with a single motion. He stepped out of them and straightened up to give Geneva a good look at his erection. It thrust upward, angry and hard, the veins engorged with blood all along its length.

“How do you like it?” he said. “This ought to be enough even for a big woman like you, eh?”

He waited for Geneva to say something. She didn’t. That was all right, he knew she was impressed. Women always were.

He walked up to the side of the bed and stood with his standing organ inches from her face. “Kiss it,” he told her. “See how much you can get in your mouth.”

A sudden pounding on the door snapped Yuri’s head around. He whirled and shouted, “Whoever you are, go away and don’t come back!”

The shouted answer came back through the panel. “Open the door, you sonofabitch, or I’ll kick it in!”

The voice was familiar, but the belligerent tone definitely was not. Yuri looked from the door to Geneva and back to the door. His erection drooped and died.

“I’d better open it,” Geneva said as the pounding grew louder. She got off the bed and took up a filmy robe from where it lay over the back of a chair. “I’m coming,” she called as the door threatened to give way under the battering.

Yuri was fumbling into his pants as Geneva opened the door and J. J. Kaiser stalked into the room like an angry bantam rooster.

“Are you crazy?” Yuri said, still fumbling into his clothes.

“Get the fuck out of here,” said J. J.

“You’re saying goodbye to a million-dollar deal, little man. You know that, don’t you?”

“Get the fuck out of here before I break your face.”

For all his bluster on the tennis court and his loud threats against elderly linesmen and nervous ball boys, Yuri Zenger had no stomach for a fight. Besides, there was a crazy dangerous look in the eyes of J. J. Kaiser that he’d never seen before. Yuri pulled on his shirt, grabbed up his belt, and edged around J. J. to get out the door.

From the relative safety of the hallway he called back, “You just made the biggest mistake of your life,” and hurried toward the elevator.

• • •

When the Hungarian was gone, J. J. and Geneva stood for a long moment looking at each other. Then the anger drained out of J. J.’s face, and he turned to push the door shut.

“Go ahead and say it,” he told her. “I blew the deal.”

“I guess you did, J. J.” Geneva agreed quietly.

“That was really dumb. I mean, that act ought to win an Academy Award for dumb. J. J. Kaiser, the wise guy who knows all the angles, busting in here like some moonstruck pimply-faced high school kid. What do you think of that?”

“I think you’re wonderful, J. J.,” said Geneva. “I think you’re the most wonderful, beautiful man I’ve ever known.”

“You’re crazy, you know that?” he said. “You’re even crazier than I am.”

And then they were in each other’s arms. Geneva let the robe fall open, and she enveloped J. J. in her warm, golden body.

Still locked together, they moved across the room and fell onto the bed. In moments their clothing lay in a tangle on the floor. For the first time since he was a teenager, J. J. Kaiser let himself go completely in his passion and his love. He did love this dumb golden hunk of woman. Damned if he didn’t really love her.

“I love you, Geneva,” he heard his own voice say.

“Do you mean it, J. J.?”

“I mean it, Goddamnit!”

“Oh, my man, my man, you’re all I want in the world.”

There was no more talking then as their passion reached its peak and gushed over them in waves, then slowly subsided, leaving them spent and happy.

After they had lain together in silence for a long time Geneva said, “What are you thinking about, J. J.?”

“I was thinking I just cost us both our jobs at Gilfillan.”

“It doesn’t matter, honey,” Geneva said, nuzzling the top of his head. “I never have any trouble finding a job, and we can live on what I make until you get into something else.”

“We?”

“Sure. You and me are going to be together from now on, aren’t we?”

J. J. Kaiser thought that over. Until a couple of hours ago “together” was a word that had been missing from his vocabulary. He decided his vocabulary, along with a few other things, could use a little upgrading.

“That’s right, babe,” he said. “Together. From now on.”

“And it won’t bother you if we have to live on what I make for a while?”

J. J. gave her a playful swat on the rump. “Are you kidding? Just because I make a chump of myself and fall in love doesn’t mean I’ve turned into Joe Niceguy. I’m not about to turn down a big beautiful broad who wants to support me. There’s a lot of the old J. J. in me yet.”

Geneva laughed. “I’m glad of that.” She reached down and felt the reawakening of his desire. “Yes, I’m really glad of that.”