The
Black Knight Squash Fiction League Match #2
The Handouts versus The Tin Ringers
EAST
SIDE A
Collaborative Novel
CHAPTER 8
Of Love, Lucre, and Learning By Margot Comstock
Hank’s night at Yvette’s surprised both of
them by being much better than either had imagined. The two were so
compatible. And gentle and passionate—daring and inventive too….. They
finally fell asleep, happily spent, in each others arms.
When Yvette woke, and remembered, she
looked in amazement at the sleeping Hank. He'd been thoughtful and
adept, so good. How did she not see this before?
She disengaged herself carefully, pulled on
a light shift, and went to the kitchen. She started coffee and put
croissants in the oven. Then back to the bedroom and into the shower.
On the way she caught herself in the mirror and laughed. I look
idiotic! No sane person walks around smiling like this! But she didn’t
feel idiotic, or laughable—just really good. Still smiling, she
shrugged off her shift and stepped into the shower.
When she finished rinsing her hair and
opened her eyes, Hank was in the doorway. His smile matched hers, with
a bit of mischief added.
“Company?” he said.
“Yes.”
Hank entered the shower, let the water envelop him, and took her in his arms.
“You were wonderful,” he said. “Magical. So lovely.”
“I feel the same way about you,” Yvette said. “What happened to us?”
“I don’t know, Yvette, but I don’t want it to stop.”
She pulled him to her.
Eventually they dressed and repaired to the
kitchen, drank hot, dark coffee, and ate almond croissants. Everything
tasted special.
At last they set out for the club. Yvette
had planned to work on finding old members for the reunion, but now she
upped finding Kate to her first priority. I can work on both goals at
the same time, she thought.
Hank gave a lesson. He found Jerry waiting when he finished.
******
By the time Kate got home, she was sober.
She thought about the evening. She didn’t like Pike, she realized, and
she was having a strange reaction to Pike’s knowing of Hank. Pike had
met Hank, she could see it, and for some reason, that made Pike
uncomfortable.
She was proud of herself for saying no even when she was a little drunk
And there was something else. The whole
business had made her long to see her father. Why was she so angry at
him? It was her mother who was the problem; it’s hard to dislike your
own mother, but Kate did. She guessed she loved Margaret, in a way. But
she didn’t like her at all, really. Yet even just thinking this made
her feel so lonely.
But Kate was strong, and she knew she was
strong. She would get on with her life—the life she was building—and
yes, Mr. Pike, without drama.
At the very time Kate was eschewing drama, drama was about to arrive at her door.
*****
There were some things Jerry seldom missed.
That Hank’s evening had been good was one of those things. Hank looked
happier than Jerry had ever seen him. And now I have good news for him
too, Jerry thought—well, positive action if not done-deal good yet.
The two men went to the snack bar, found a corner, ordered coffee, and Jerry talked.
“Hank, next week I’ll be going to a zoning
board hearing. There are quite a few issues in dispute; that favors us.
I have a meeting set up with a honcho in the most affected union, and
I’ve identified the top man in the corporation trying to buy and build.
The plans are a matter of record and I see major holes in them.
“In short, I think we have a case, at least a good chance.”
Hank stared and frowned. “How did you do all this?”
Jerry smiled. “It’s what I do. It’s what I enjoy most.”
Slowly, Hank smiled.
“I’m afraid to get my hopes up, Jerry. But it sounds, well, maybe….”
“No, it’s not nearly a done deal. But there’s definitely hope.”
*****
Pike was not so comfortable with the way
his evening had gone. In fact, he was damn disgusted, mad even. It
wasn’t Kate’s turning him down so much—although he hated that! It was
her father—the squash coach, hot-dog bloke who’d caused the fight that
he, Pike, had won. No one wanted the jerk who’d started it around. So
why were they so pissed off at Pike’s solving it? And he’d had to give
up going to that club, not that it wasn’t replaceable; it wasn’t so
great. But it was convenient. And now he wouldn’t be comfortable at his
new club because the creep’s daughter went there and he didn’t want to
see her again. Maybe he should just go back home. There were lots of
good things about New Zealand.
Pike found it easy to direct his mind, and
he’d directed it to forget the trouble with him and New Zealand. Still,
he knew he wouldn’t go home. He’d just have to deal with the problems
here in New York.
Right now, he had a quatrain of dogs to walk. At least you could count on dogs.
*****
This morning, Margaret was still pissed off
at Hank, at Kate, at, well, life. She liked her profession because it
gave her freedom, which she equated with money. And attention. When her
cell rang yet again, she picked it up instantly.
“What the hell do you want now!” she screeched.
“Margaret?”
Shit. It wasn’t Hank.
Margaret changed her voice.
“Who’s calling?” she said in a terrible attempt at a Brooklyn accent.
Silence.
“I must have the wrong number,” her best
client said. “I was just calling to say I couldn’t make our
appointment, and that I wouldn’t be around again.”
And he hung up.
“Oh my god,” Margaret said to herself. “Oh jesus.”
Her fury grew. She pulled over to the shoulder of the road and stopped, trying to think what she could do.
Suddenly there was a car behind her, a
highway patrol officer at her window. She turned on the car and lowered
the window. The officer was a woman.
“Sorry, just having a bad day,” Margaret said, trying to make her grimace into a smile.
But the officer was having none of it, not from this designer-dressed woman driving a luxury car.
“Sorry about that, but you can’t park on
the shoulder unless you're having car trouble.” The policewoman looked
pointedly at Margaret. “Are you having car trouble?”
Margaret glared at her for a long ten seconds. Then,
“Fuck, no!” She turned on the engine,
stepped on the gas. Somehow she managed to stay on the shoulder until
there was enough room to enter the highway. She took the next exit and
laughed nastily when she heard the patrol car, still on the highway,
pass the exit with siren screaming.
Margot Comstock Margot
is a California artist-crossword creator-game designer-writer who
enjoys hanging out with her ancient Viking and cheering on the Los
Angeles Lakers.
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.
