The Winners Circle (12 page)

He didn’t love her, although he questioned the value in it. If he had to recreate the ideal woman, wouldn’t it be like Gina? She was willing, flexible. She wanted to be comfortable. Was that too much to ask?

His pants and underwear bunched around his ankles and shoes. Gina unsnapped her underwear. The straps of the garter belt fell free like the ribbons on a present. Maybe Arlene was right. The good life was an endowment to the truly deserving, although he wondered what he’d done to deserve this.

He pressed her to his chest, working with her, trying to discover her style. He discovered his desire in the mix.

“
That’s it, baby,” she said. “Touch me there.”

He raised his legs, bracing them against the seat, kicking the stereo by accident. Heavy metal music blasted from the console. Gina covered her ears and screamed.

Jerry scrambled to turn down the volume in the dark. He fumbled with the little knobs, first setting the balance and tone, before clicking off the radio. “Sorry about that.”

Gina’s minxish expression resurfaced in the quiet. “Sorry about what?” She took Jerry down across the seat.

In minutes, he was riding the night train through the back roads of New Jersey. Gina cooed beneath him, sliding her hips down the smooth upholstery. He was king of the world again. He did as he pleased. He should have thought of this with Chelsea. She was waiting for him to raise the bar. He was going places he’d never imagined. He was going to screw the world as he pleased.

The driver hit the brakes, and he went tumbling to the floor. Gina screamed, torn from her passion with an elbow to the nose.

She clutched her face. She was bent over the hump on the floor, her limbs entangled with his. “I think I’m bleeding.”

The limo pulled away from the traffic light. The green light faded to a dot.

Jerry panicked, naked, lost in disaster. He stared at the drop of blood welling in her nostril. “I’m sorry.”

Gina wanted no apologies. She stuffed a wad of tissue in her nose and mounted him like a thrown horseman.

“
We’re going to do this right here.” Her voice was nasally, but she started riding him on the floor, bracing herself against the seats. Gina swung her hips, chest bouncing with the potholes in the road. She grabbed hold of Jerry’s shoulders, taking him all the way home.

Jerry let her run. He’d never view Route 27 the same way again.

The limousine navigated as if on autopilot. Gina’s nose stopped bleeding. Jerry saw a thin ring of blood crusting her left nostril.

He helped her dress, slipping the black material over her freckled arms. The floral smell of sex and perspiration lingered in the back seat. Or was it Gina’s rosy perfume?

She tucked the pink garter in his suit jacket. He felt it bunch against his wallet. “What’s that for?”

“
A memento.”

“
Oh.” He wasn’t about to dispose of it in front of her, but her perfume irritated his nose, and she was talking nonstop. He stared out the window, trying not to meet her eyes. He resisted the feeling of revulsion men get after quick and easy sex.

“
The beaches in Aruba are fantastic,” she said.

“
I hadn’t heard.”

“
The people want to wait on you. They want you to be happy.”

Jerry watched the Mercer Oak pass by in the night. The tree stood alone in a field. It was hundreds of years old, struck by lighting and patched together by experts. The iron tie rods that bound the trunk glinted in the moonlight. “There’s the oak.”

“
Who cares about that thing?” Gina said. “I was telling you about Aruba.”

He loathed her tone of voice. “I did once.”

“
What are you talking about?”

“
Chelsea and I used to picnic beneath it. That’s all.” He stopped short of saying it was their special spot. Old memories filled his palate, as he recalled the many meals they’d shared beneath the oak’s sprawling branches.

“
You’re not still thinking about her?” She slid beside him.

He heard her switch on the charm. Her perfume crashed through his memories, turning his stomach. “Yes, I am.”

“
Don’t you have better fish to fry?”

This analogy irked him, especially since he disliked fried fish.

She rubbed his chest. “It’s me I hope.”

He let her touch him. It was easier than asking her to stop. “I want the best.”

“
You should have the best.” Her head nuzzled his shoulder.

He listened to the wheels roll beneath them. A limousine hummed like no other vehicle. Gina was right. He needed someone to share his wealth and time, but she wasn’t it. No doubt about it. Gina was history. Not even iron tie rods could bind this union. He counted the minutes before they said good night.

“
I picture you with a woman of taste and character to match your financial assets.” Carmen Ruiz spoke with Jerry in the discovery room of her Mill Hill office. They sat on streamlined chairs with sloped backs and hard cushions. Video equipment waited in the corner, while Wynton Marsalis played on the stereo. Cool horns blended with Trenton’s brawling daytime traffic.

Jerry took a breath, submitting himself to the interview process. He’d discovered Ms. Ruiz’s matching service in the yellow pages. He noticed her accent over the phone, but in person, he thought that she dressed like a former first lady. Her short black hair shaped her head, and she wore a deep red suit with a contrasting black collar. A diamond stickpin of a heart glimmered upon her chest.

“
May I call you by your first name?” She asked.

“
Yes.”

“
Don’t be embarrassed by your station, Jerry. This is the way it’s been done throughout the ages. A man gathers wealth. A woman refines it.”

“
I never thought of it that way.” He used to hand over his paycheck to Chelsea. Was that the same thing?

“
May I give you some advice?” She pressed her fingertips together, like a divining rod seeking water. She aimed in his direction. “Lose the suit. It’s decades past style.”

His face flushed. Ruiz was forthright and determined. She’d make the tough decisions for him. He was relieved.

“
The things we discuss here, never leave this office,” she said. “I can arrange for you to meet a tailor. He’s excellent. And perhaps a stylist too?”

“
Please.”

“
I’ve put aside some profiles.” She gave him a reassuring glance. “I have many clients in my repertoire, but I’m thinking of one in particular.”

She handed him a thin black binder with a client number on top. “I’ve already spoken to her. She’s interested.”

Jerry placed the binder in his lap, not wanting to seem overanxious, but he differed from no other man on the planet. He hoped for a picture. That was the first thing.

“
She didn’t need to see a video of you,” Ruiz continued, “but now that I’ve seen you in person, I notice that you’re a tall, earthy, and robust man. You are not unattractive, which is a plus. My client won’t be displeased.”

“
Why didn’t she want to see me?”

“
At this financial level, women are not necessarily interested in a man’s natural appearance.”

Jerry opened the binder to a glossy color photograph and a few pages of personal details.

Carmen Ruiz came alongside. “She’s twenty-nine years old, the daughter of an investment banker from the Netherlands. She’s been around the world.”

“
She likes to travel?”

“
She’s ready to settle down. Her name is Scarlett Hydell.”

Jerry called for the valet at the Hyatt to bring his car around. At Ms. Ruiz’s behest, he’d rented a Porsche 912—red with a convertible roof. He plucked his new silk sport coat off the chair and headed for the penthouse door.

Cortez rolled over on the carpet in a patch of sun. The big dog looked heavy and tired. He moaned. His dark eyes focused on nothing in particular. He missed the open space on the farm.

“
See ya, old boy,” Jerry said and shut the door.

The air outside the hotel was typical New Jersey summer sticky. Jerry tossed the valet five dollars and ducked into the Porsche to let the air-conditioning blast his head. He was nervous enough about his date with Scarlett. He didn’t need to arrive at her doorstep with a sweaty face.

He drove to Lawrenceville and up the long drive to the Hydell estate. The house was a stone mansion set beyond view of the main road, and just beyond the barns and greenhouses, several horses gathered beneath the shade of mature ash trees. It impressed Jerry how the rich hid sprawling properties among the regular citizens. He felt as if he should be manning the old pickup truck, with the pitchfork in back and the stink of manure about his boots. A man like himself, whether dressed in designer threads or not, was a step away from hard labor and calluses. It resided in his choice of words. He’d never get the grease out from under his fingernails.

The houseman led Jerry to the garden terrace. Stone urns overflowed with geraniums and ever-blooming begonias. The country smell soothed him. He gazed over the lush lawn, which was cut into a neat grid like a football field. Two Mexicans in baseball caps shaved the far hedges into razor corners. Ms. Ruiz’s mantra replayed in Jerry’s head. You deserve this. You deserve this. You deserve …

Scarlett entered the terrace in a loose-fitting pants suit like pajamas yet tied with a cotton rope. She skirted the edge of the swimming pool. She possessed straight brown hair and eyes the color of old parchment. Her features appeared bleached by the sun. “Hello, Mr. Nearing.”

“
Pleased to meet you.” Jerry searched her expression. Her thin lips formed a thoughtful line. He took her hand but didn’t know what to do with it. He squeezed her fingers and released.

“
You’re my third match,” she said.

“
Ms. Ruiz didn’t mention. I’m new to this. I guess I should’ve asked.”

“
That’s the point which interested me the most.”

“
What point?”

“
Your newness.”

“
I’m new to everything lately.”

“
But it’s good, yes?”

Jerry had read a lot of books, especially as a boy. He enjoyed history and the old fiction classics. Some stories involved warring kingdoms and arranged marriages. They were complete fantasies. He never imagined being part of that world.

“
I’m not going to bite you,” Scarlett said.

He deferred to the list of questions in his head. He wasn’t a great talker and prepared a conversation in advance. “I saw that you went to Vassar.”

“
I specialized in Medieval and Renaissance women’s studies.”

“
What can you do with that?”

She stared at him blankly.

“
Is there a job opening?” he asked again.

She returned the same empty expression. She didn’t appear annoyed. It was like trying to read a brand new sleeve of paper.

He started to sweat. Perspiration burned beneath his armpits. He resisted the urge to take out a handkerchief and wipe his upper lip. “What do you do with your free time?” He figured she owned plenty of that.

“
I just finished sailing around the world.”

“
No kidding.”

“
A group of us took a catamaran from Newport to San Diego, the hard way.”

“
Sounds hard already. Did you enjoy it?”

“
We stopped along the way. Madagascar. Sydney.”

“
How long did it take?”

“
More than a year.”

He peered down on this idle waif. What was he doing last year? Shoveling horse dung, not far from her house. He understood the irony. When she set sail to conquer the globe, he was the very last man on her horizon.

“
Aperitif?” she asked.

They walked to a bar cart by the pool. Jerry accepted a glass of white Burgundy and scooped up a handful of puffy crackers. He didn’t want to eat or drink too much in front of her. He recalled how sick he used to be around Chelsea in the beginning. He was in love then, heart-struck as a puppy.

“
I admit that I’m not much of a sailor,” Jerry said.

“
Can you fly?”

“
If I have to.”

“
I fly ultra lights from time to time.”

“
I’m not much of a flier either. I get motion sickness.”

“
Is it serious?”

“
I’m okay if I pop a pill.”

“
I’d find that a burden.” Sunlight reflected off the pool, rippling across her flimsy outfit.

“
I’m okay while driving,” he said. “When I’m behind the wheel, I’m solid.”

“
That’s good.”

“
Why’s that?”

“
I don’t drive.”

He wondered if she meant
couldn’t
or
didn’t
drive.