The
Black Knight Squash Fiction League Match #2
The Handouts versus The Tin Ringers
EAST
SIDE A
Collaborative Novel
Chapter 5
The Devil in the Detail by Kathryn Dysart
“Why did you marry a Shrewish American Princess? She sounds awful. No wonder Kate severed ties,” said Yvette.
Hank nursed a glass of his favorite scotch, a fifteen year old Balvenie.
He shredded his cocktail napkin into tiny pieces while telling Yvette
about Kate. Margaret was not the main character in this recounting of
his estranged relationship with his daughter although somehow instead
of arousing sympathy for his plight he managed to distract the
conversation away from Kate and on to Margaret.
On arriving at Mckeown’s a booth had opened up and Hank grabbed it
thinking it would be conducive for what he wanted to propose to
Yvette. She had ordered her new “favorite drink,” Widow Jane
neat, rocks on the side. All excited, she told Hank that putting a few
drops of water into the bourbon would change the taste a “slight bit”
and on adding the rocks it would change it even more. She
insisted he taste all three states of her drink.
The mood shifted when Hanks told Yvette he was worried about his
daughter. All thoughts of planning a farewell club bash vanished. The
alcohol-fueled chat seemed to spike Hank’s pain over his daughter’s
dismissal of him. Yvette’s probing questions were not helping; although
they seemed genuine, they left Hank feeling vulnerable. Looking her
straight in the eye, he asked. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes, Margaret seems so different from you. I can’t imagine the two of
you together, much less raising a child under the same roof. How did
you end up with her?”
Hank sat there for several seconds looking down at his drink. “We were kids. I got her pregnant.”
“But, I thought you grew up in Florida? How did you get a Lawn-Guy-Land girl pregnant?”
Hank wondered if Yvette’s direct carefree nature was due to her youth
or her being French. On the court she wore a bright pink cotton bandana
loosely tied around her neck. Hank got a kick out of hearing, “Merde!”,
when she missed a tough shot. He had become somewhat of a
Francophile over the last ten years, ever since he took that one game
off Thierry Lincou in 2004. It was the highlight of his professional
career. He felt a camaraderie with Lincou due, in his mind, to
their closeness in age and the fact that neither had grown up playing
squash as so many of the elite players had done. Nor had either gone to
prep school.
“I did, Gainesville. My parents had a friend who owned a frozen custard
shop in Key West on Duval Street. I worked there one summer so they let
me return on my spring vacation, junior year in high school. Margaret’s
grandparents rented a house there that winter and her mom sent her to
visit them over her spring break. She came in the shop, ordered
peanut butter custard and gave me her number. I called her the
first chance I had and asked her to meet me on the beach after work.
The rest is history.”
“Just like that? Did you date? What was the attraction? You were so young,” Yvette said.
“Yep, too young,” Hank said.
He looked up from his drink and over at Yvette who was staring at him with a concerned look on her face.
“I’m sorry Hank.”
“Don’t be, she got a serious sand burn on her ass that night and Kate is a great kid.”
“Wait a minute. You fucked once and she got pregnant,” Yvette said.
“I thought you had a hankering for a cigar?”
“I do, but Hank, this is important. This girl, your ex, changed the
direction of your life before it had a chance to get off the
ground. When did you start playing squash and how did you end up
in New York?”
Yvette had only taken a few sips of her third drink. Hank got the waiter’s attention and ordered another Balvenie to keep her company while contemplating how much to reveal.
He did not want to seem like a complete sap and yet he was feeling a
connection with her. It had been years since he had discussed this with
anyone. Hearing himself talk about meeting Margaret felt
different than how he remembered. This time he spoke as observer rather
than as a victim of his early life, which in the past brought up anger
and resentment toward Margaret. He had used that anger on the
court when he was competing on the circuit. It gave him the power and
focus he needed to win against opponents whom he imagined had the
advantage of years of coaching and training. Hank was self taught, a
natural athlete who worked hard. Using a strategy of patience
during a wicked fast game, shot after shot, he would wait for his
opponent to slip up before making an irretrevable shot.
“Margaret said her mother wanted her to have an abortion. The only
reason they told me was to get money. I was a kid, a romantic; I
wanted her to keep the baby. I was relentless, calling and calling
until she began to have second thoughts. Her mother, of course,
was against the idea. She said if she wanted to keep the baby she would
have to move out. She was not going to be responsible for feeding
another ‘mouth’. Margaret ended up moving to my parent’s home in
Gainesville. I finished high school and she worked as a cashier at
Wal-Mart’s until Kate’s was born.”
“Quelle domage!”
“What,” said Hank.
“Oh, I just feel bad for you.”
“Don’t feel bad. If it wasn’t for Kate, I’d never have become a squash player.”
“What do you mean?”
Hank told her about strolling with Kate to Chapman’s Park to give
Margaret some time to herself. On one of their first visits he heard a
whipping sound come from an outdoor cement court. He pushed the
carriage around to the back of the court where a four foot back wall
allowed him to watch. Two men were playing what he learned was the game
of squash.
Strolling to the squash court became routine. Kate slept and Hank
watched people play. Between games he asked the players questions.
After about a week an older man, who later became his mentor, gave him
a used racquet. His first missed shot intrigued and hooked him. It was
during Kate’s infancy that he learned the game.
Over the next five years, Margaret worked at Wal-Mart, which had great
insurance, and Hank enrolled at the University of Florida. With the
support of his parents he spent every free minute playing squash.
Margaret didn’t mind. Watching him play was her recreation. His world
began expanding, not only from school and becoming a proud father, but
it seemed there was no end to the life lessons he could learn from
playing squash. The metaphors among his squash friends were bandied
about as seriously as they took their wins and losses.
After graduation, Hank’s mentor encouraged him to move to New York to
pursue squash professionally. There would be more clubs and better
players for practice. Squash was the vehicle that took Hank, Margaret
and Kate to New York.
In front of McKeown’s Hank hailed a cab. They climbed in the back
seat. Yvette said, “I’d like to meet your daughter.” As
they drove off he said, “I was hoping you might help me find her.”
A retired squash enthusiast, Kathryn Dysart
lives in Katonah, NY where she is currently building a sustainable
"green" home on a country road. She is a hobby bee keeper, a local food
advocate, and in recent years she has spent more time with squash
vegetables than squash racquets.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
