The Players (6 page)

After leaving the Fleet Street office of Worldwide Publications Paula Teal hurried to her flat in Chelsea to change clothes and perform any necessary repairs to her makeup. She wanted to look especially good tonight, though she couldn’t have said exactly why.

Mike Wilder was, after all, only one of a number of men who had shown an interest in Paula since her divorce from Eric. And why shouldn’t he? Paula was an attractive girl, above average in intelligence, with no serious bad habits. It was not surprising that men desired her company. It just happened that there hadn’t been any one particular man since Eric. So what was special about this Mike Wilder?

Maybe it was the way he didn’t push things last year in New York. Paula strongly disliked the grope-and-pant school of romance. This was most difficult to explain to men in the liberated 1970s. These days sex was as common as fish and chips, and if you held anything back you were labeled a prude or worse. Paula felt she had sound reasons for holding back, reasons she did not feel called upon to explain, Mike had acted remarkably civilized when she had demurred at sex on their first meeting. He had even made good on his promise to write her.

As her taxi pulled to a stop in front of Caesar’s Paula tried to fix in her mind exactly what Mike looked like. What a shame it was that she had lost the picture he’d sent her. Strange the way that happened. She would have to tell Mike about it. Still, she found she had no trouble remembering him. Taller than average, dark brown hair with a touch of gray, nice hazel eyes that looked at you a little out of focus because of his obstinate refusal to wear his glasses. She found the silly point of male vanity rather endearing.

Paula paid off the driver and walked up to the entrance of the discotheque. Solid waves of sound hit her as she pushed open the door, and she wondered if this place had been such a good choice. Perhaps subconsciously she had not wanted too intimate a setting for their reunion. Intimacy, if there was to be any, could come later.

Standing on tiptoe she saw Mike sitting across the packed room at a table with Christy and several young men. Trust Christy Noone to gather men about her.

Paula walked carefully between the tables toward them. Christy was the first to see her, and stretched up an arm to wave. Mike turned and peered myopically in her direction, and Paula smiled to see he still would not wear his glasses.

Mike stood up when she reached the table, and Paula moved naturally into his arms. The short embrace was a bit more intense than she had been prepared for, and Paula stepped back a little breathless.

“I’m awfully sorry to be so late,” she said.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Mike told her. “You look absolutely terrific.”

“I hope you didn’t worry about your gentleman friend, Paula,” Christy said. “I’ve been taking excellent care of him, haven’t I, Mike.”

“First rate,” Mike said.

“Naturally, I did try to get fresh with him, but he wouldn’t have it. He’s a man of iron, Paula.”

Mike introduced the young men at the table, who turned out to be tennis players. Two of them were pleasant Australian boys who excused themselves almost at once and went off to join some friends at the bar. The third, an American named Tim Barrett, remained at the table apparently unable to keep his eyes off Christy.

“Come on, Timmy, let’s dance and give these people a chance to talk to each other,” Christy said. Tim allowed himself to be taken by the hand and led away toward the dance floor.

Left suddenly alone, a momentary embarrassment overcame Paula and Mike.

“What did you think of Christy?” Paula asked.

“As you said, she’s something of a knockout. It looks like she’s abandoned me for a tennis player, though.”

“Being faithful to one man is not part of Christy’s makeup.”

“As long as I know it wasn’t just me.”

“Seriously, Mike, it’s so good to see you.”

“You too,” he said. “You’re doing your hair differently.”

“I’m wearing it a bit longer than I was in New York. Do you like it?”

“Love it.”

Mike ordered drinks, and for a time they stopped trying to talk above the din from the dance floor as the amplifiers strained to deliver the last agonizing decibel. At a break in the music Christy and Tim Barrett returned to the table flushed with their exertions.

“The music is really super tonight,” Christy said. “Aren’t you two going to dance?”

“Not I,” said Paula. “I bruise too easily.”

“The last time I tried one of those dances I spent a week in traction,” Mike said.

“Look, would you mind awfully if Timmy and I left you?” Christy said. “There are ever so many places I want to show him.”

“Go ahead,” Mike said. “Well try to survive.”

“Good, then, we’ll be off.”

The young couple rose together and Tim said, “Good night, Mike, Paula. Nice to meet you.” With an embarrassed grin he hurried after Christy.

“They make one feel a hundred years old, don’t they,” Paula said when she and Mike were alone at the table.

“If so, you are the best looking hundred-year-old lady I ever saw.”

Paula felt a flush of pleasure creep into her cheeks, and hoped it hadn’t sounded as though she were fishing for the compliment.

“You’re very kind,” she said.

“Is there any reason why we have to stay here?” Mike asked.

“Not really. Would you like to go somewhere else?”

“Some place a little quieter, maybe, where us elderly folks can talk about the good old days.”

“It’s all right with me.”

Mike signaled for the waitress and paid the check. He led the way through the crowd and back outside where the night air washed over them like a refreshing wave. A taxi moved up along the curb and stopped in front of them.

“Where to?” Mike asked. “This is your city, and I put my fate into your hands.”

“We really needn’t do all our night-clubbing tonight. If you like, we could go up to my flat.” Paula stopped suddenly, surprised at her own words.

Fer a moment Mike hesitated, looking at her curiously. “Do you have a view?”

“I’m afraid not,” Paula said, angry with herself for feeling flustered, “but it’s quiet there and we can talk.”

“It sounds great,” Mike said. He held the door of the taxi for her and they got in. Paula gave the driver her address.

She leaned back in the seat while Mike made small talk that she really didn’t hear. She could hardly believe she had actually asked a man up to her flat. It was the first time since her divorce from Eric.

In the first months after their breakup she’d let Eric come up several times. In those days he was still trying to talk her into a reconciliation, but it was obvious to Paula even then that it would never work. As Eric grew steadily more irrational Paula at last forbade him to come again. Since then she had kept her little place as a sanctuary where she could isolate herself from bad news and from business and from men. Now she was bringing Mike Wilder into her private life. Paula hoped she was not making another mistake.

Paula Teal’s flat was on a quiet, elm-shaded street of sturdy old apartment blocks.

“I’m on the first floor,” she said to Mike when the taxi stopped out in front. “Christy lives just above me.”

They walked together up the short path to the entrance. Paula unlocked the door and started up a flight of stairs just inside.

“I thought you were on the first floor,” Mike said.

“You Americans,” she said in mock exasperation. “You really could use some instruction in the English language. We are now on the ground floor. One flight up is the first floor. After that the second, and so on.”

“I should have remembered that,” Mike said. “It’s like saying petrol for gasoline and crumpets for doughnuts.”

Paula smiled at him. “I can see we’ve some work to do on your translation. Come along.”

Paula snapped on the light in her flat and Mike stepped inside and looked around. It was small, furnished in muted colors, and very clean.

“Nice,” he said.

“It’s a bit on the quiet side, I suppose, but then that’s my nature. It’s not much like New York here, is it?”

“Not much. For one thing there’s no security guard downstairs. Don’t you have crime in London?”

“Oh, I’m afraid we have our share. Not as bad as I hear New York is, but just last month I had a burglary right here.”

“What did he take?”

“That’s the odd thing, nothing was missing except some of my personal papers. Including my letters from you, as a matter of fact, and your picture.”

“Now there’s a burglar with peculiar tastes,” Mike said, grinning. “So you kept my letters, did you?”

Paula turned away in sudden embarrassment. “May I get you a drink?”

“That sounds good.”

“Whisky and water?”

“Fine.”

Why, Paula wondered, did she feel so terribly nervous? Anyone would think she’d never been alone with a man before. Well, the truth of it was there hadn’t been all that many.

“Is anything wrong?” Mike asked, following her to the door of the tiny kitchen.

“Wrong? No, of course not. Why?”

‘The way you dashed out here like something was after you.”

Paula put down the glasses she had’ taken from the shelf and walked over to stand before Mike. He put his arms around her and drew her close. He kissed her, and his kiss was blessedly gentle. She liked the warmth of his hands on her back.

She said, “I was just asking myself what I was so nervous about. I had hoped to be very blasé and sophisticated, but actually it’s quite an event for me to have a man in my rooms.”

He grinned down at her. “It’s an event for me too. Now how about mixing those drinks? Do you have a record player?”

“Yes, out in the sitting room.”

“I’ll pick out something seductive while you’re pouring the booze.”

Paula felt herself relax as she heard Mike sorting through the records. He really was awfully understanding. Carefully she poured the two drinks—lighter on the whisky for hers. She was not accustomed to drinking much, and she wanted to be clear-headed for whatever was to happen tonight.

When Paula returned to the sitting room Mike had an album of Cole Porter on the record player. He stood up and smiled as he took the glass from her hand.

“Shall we sit over here?” Paula asked, indicating a settee across from the record player. Why, she wondered, did everything she said tonight sound so schoolgirlish to her own ears? She so wanted everything to go well. Please, she thought, don’t let anything ruin it.

“Have you lived here long?” Mike asked.

“Three years. When I was married we had a house in Belgravia.”

“That’s a pretty classy neighborhood, isn’t it?”

“It was costly enough, but Eric could afford it.”

“Your ex?”

“Yes. His father is Sir Oliver Teal. Old family, old money. They have a place out toward Henley—seventeen rooms on about twenty acres. A private lake and all that.”

“Nice cottage.”

“Quite. But I didn’t mean to bore you talking about my former husband.”

“I don’t mind. I might learn something about you that way.”

“You might at that. It’s odd, but I do feel like talking about Eric. I was twenty-two when I married him. Just ten years ago. I thought he was quite the most glamorous, romantic, exciting man I’d ever met. His parents were so upper class, and that estate of theirs … well, it was ovemhelming for a girl whose father spent his entire career as a government clerk.”

“Pretty exciting, was it?”

“Rather. For the first two years. It was all sailing and riding, with skiing in Switzerland and cruises on the Mediterranean, and hardly a quiet moment to catch our breath. Then Eric began to have moody spells. It seems he had suffered a head injury in an auto racing accident some years before I met him, and he was subject to periods of deep depression. No one saw fit to tell me about that before we were married.

“Over the next few years he got worse, his behavior becoming steadily more bizarre. He would have flashes of violence in which he threatened to attack me, and other times he would be on the verge of suicide.”

“How long did you stay married to him?” Mike asked. “And why?”

“Seven years, altogether. He wasn’t always bad, you see. There were periods when he was quite his old self, and I always thought, hoped maybe, that he’d finally recovered. However, it didn’t work that way. His rational periods grew shorter and further apart. Finally, after one particularly bad spell I moved out and filed for a divorce. Not long after that his parents put him into a private hospital, and that’s the last I’ve seen of Eric. I’ve always felt that his parents blamed me for Eric’s final breakdown. At any rate, they haven’t spoken or written to me since.”

“It sounds like you’re well rid of the whole family.”

“Yes, I can see that now.” Paula shook, her head to clear away thoughts of her former husband. “But see here, I’ve talked entirely too much about me. Let’s hear some of your secrets for a change.”

“No secrets. I’m an open book. Had an uneventful, well-fed childhood. Graduated from college without distinction. Tried marriage, but wasn’t very good at it. Wrote one novel that didn’t work either. Now I make a pretty good living writing about men who play games.”

“Don’t you like your job, Mike?”

Mike took a long swallow from his glass before he answered. “I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining. I’d a lot rather be writing sports than, say, chopping cotton. Still, sometimes I get the feeling that sportswriters are among the world’s utterly dispensable creatures. Like tree toads and child actors.”

“I don’t know about that, I think tree toads are kind of cute.”

“You’ve got a point. It’s just that the whole world could be blowing up and I’ll still be asking questions like, What kind of a pitch did you hit for the home run, Slugger? Does anybody really care?”

Paula saw that this turn of the conversation was putting Mike into a mood. She suspected he was also a little drunk.

“Was your wife pretty?” she asked, then wondered why the devil she’d said a thing like that.

“Sure she was pretty,” Mike said, returning to a lighter tone. “Pretty women are the only kind I get involved with. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“It just popped out. Woman’s curiosity, I suppose.”

Mike carefully set his glass down on the end table and drew Paula into his arms. He kissed her. It started out easy and friendly, but quickly got serious. Paula could feel her body moving against his without any conscious effort.

She disengaged from the kiss and leaned back to look into his face. There was no mistaking the hunger in his eyes.

“Oh, Mike,” she said, “I want you.”

Who said those words? Was that Paula Teal, cool, confident, self-sufficient British working girl? Some foreign person seemed to have taken possession of her body and her tongue. It was not that the emotions were false, she
did
want Mike Wilder. She wanted him physically, and she wanted him now. It was just that Paula Teal would never have spoken or acted so brazenly.

He was kissing her again. She could feel his tongue against her lips. For an instant her nerves tightened, then she yielded and her mouth opened under his. Their tongues met and caressed each other.

His hands moved over her back. Down now, massaging her waist and over her hips. Gently he kneaded the firm flesh of her buttocks through the thin material of her dress. Then his hand was under her dress. Paula shivered as his fingers slid along the nylon length of her inner thigh. He found the soft mound of pubic hair. He touched between her legs, and Paula felt herself grow moist there.

“Oh, yes, Mike. Yes!” she said against his mouth. Her own hands were busy on his body, caressing the firm muscles of his back.

“The bedroom?” he said.

“Yes, it’s this way.”

Paula rose and walked toward the bedroom, feeling idiotically clumsy in her movements. Mike followed her. She could not help noticing that he took a last sip from his drink before he stood up.

Once in the bedroom, so feminine and private, Paula’s nervousness grew. The bed, with its coverlet turned down so invitingly, seemed a great naked beast waiting to devour them. Mike remained standing in the doorway, watching her. She gave a little laugh and skinned the dress off over her head.

“Last one in bed’s a rotten egg.” Now wasn’t that silly. She was thirty-two years old and acting like a giddy schoolgirl. She must get control of herself.

Somehow she got out of all her clothes and slipped into the bed. How cold the sheets were. It took Mike longer to undress. She wanted to look at him, but she could not. In the darkened room she kept seeing that other shadow of the man coming toward her to do unspeakable things. Things she let him do in hopes it would help him, but he only got worse. She tried to force the thought away from her.

Mike got into bed and moved over next to her. She flinched.

“Hey, it’s only me,” he said.

Paula laughed. It sounded shrill and unnatural to her. Mike did not seem to notice. He rolled onto his side and reached across her body to draw her against him. She could feel his sex, hard and erect against her thigh. Mike’s hand moved to her breast. His touch was insistent as he squeezed gently and drew his fingertips across the nipple.

She rolled over in bed to face him and searched for his mouth with her own. She kissed him with her eyes shut tight. Kissed him fiercely, hungrily, with her tongue stabbing deep into his mouth. Her lower body moved urgently against him.

Paula willed her mind to shut out all but the physical sensations. She must not think those other thoughts. Not this time. Please, not this time.

Mike’s breathing was harsh and hot against her ear. She was acutely aware of the faint rasp of his beard against her cheek. With one hand he gripped her shoulder and eased her over onto her back. Then he was above her, lowering his body onto hers, starting to enter her.

Paula froze.

“No!”

“What? What is it? Did I hurt you?” Mike’s words were uneven, broken by his ragged breathing. “No. Just don’t, that’s all.”

“Don’t?”

“Please.”

For several seconds that were an eternity Mike remained above her, supporting his weight on his elbows. His eyes searched her face. Paula turned her head away so she would not have to look at him.

“Jesus,” he said. He rolled over heavily to lie on his back beside her, but not touching her.

For several minutes they lay like that, in the same bed but miles apart. Slowly Mike’s breathing returned to normal. Paula’s nerves twitched and snapped like live electric wires. She could feel the man’s tension transmitted to her through the mattress. It was up to her to speak. She had to say something, somehow try to alleviate the awful humiliating thing that had happened.

“I suppose it would sound trite to say I’m awfully sorry.”

“Yes, it would.”

“Well, I am sorry. I did want it, Mike. I did want us to … to …”

“Sure.”

“Can I do something to help?”

“Let’s just forget it, shall we?”

Oh God, she thought, forget it. If only I could. Forget the things that were done to me in the name of love. But she could not.

“I suppose we might as well get up,” she said.

“Right.” Mike swung out of bed and began to dress at once. Paula got out on the other side and put her clothes back on. Neither of them looked at the other.

“Would you like a drink or anything?” Paula asked when they were back in the sitting room.

“No thanks. I’ve got to do some work tomorrow, and I want to get an early start.”

“Yes, I see. Well …”

“Well …”

As the awkward moment stretched out unbearably there was a knock at the door. Paula hurried to answer it, grateful for any intrusion.

Christy Noone stood in the doorway looking jaunty and fresh. “Hi, you two,” she said. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything exciting. But then if I were, you’d not have answered the door, would you.”

“Hello, Christy,” Paula said.

Mike nodded, but said nothing.

Christy looked from one to the other. “Look, maybe I’ll just paddle along to bed. I just thought that if you weren’t actively engaged in some sort of fun I’d pop by for a moment.”

“Come in, Christy,” Paula said. “Mike was … about to leave.”

“Was he now?” Christy gave Mike a mischievous grin. “You’re a fast one, aren’t you?”

“Can I get you something?” Paula asked.

“Perhaps a cup of coffee for beddie-bye. You’re sure I’m not interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Mike said, his tone unconvincingly hearty. “I’ve really got to be running along. I’ll see you later.” He went out the door and closed it firmly behind him.

“How was your date?” Paula said, anxious to distract Christy from Mike’s hasty departure.

“Simply smashing. We went just everywhere. But Paula, you’ll never believe this, when he brought me home Tim just kissed me goodnight at the door and went away. Imagine, he just went away without even making a pass.”

“Maybe you didn’t appeal to him that way,” Paula said.

“Oh yes I did,” Christy laughed. “He held me close enough for the goodnight kiss that I could tell he was interested. He’s a slim lad, but let me tell you he’s big enough down where it counts.”