The
Black Knight Squash Fiction League Match #2
The Handouts versus The Tin Ringers
EAST
SIDE A
Collaborative Novel
Chapter 7
Yvette
by Jeanne Woods
Henry Arthur O’Keefe awoke, only slightly under the weather, in his
tastefully put-together apartment. He wondered if he’d made the wrong
response to Yvette’s oblique invitation. Given the amount of alcohol
they’d consumed, the late hour and the dawning sense that something
special might be afoot, he’d kissed her lightly and said “That’s an
elevator ride I very much want to take, and soon, but let’s savor this
moment. I don’t want to have a hang-over the first time I wake up with
you. Besides, we’ve done my story, now it’s your turn.” He signaled for
another round.
Her immediate reaction was what the
hell…? accompanied by a small wince that she hoped had gone
unnoticed. Turned down for a
headache that wasn’t yet a reality? Tear out the front page!
Then, recognizing his sincerity, she thought this is an actual nice guy I’m dealing
with here. He wants this to be special—cool.
Or, maybe he’s gay. She tried
to imagine Hank in a gay bar. With a guy. With several guys. Maybe... In any case, his response
had migrated from the debit side of her ledger to the credit side.
Hank was finding Yvette more interesting than he’d anticipated. She’d
grown up in Albany where her parents taught at a small private academy.
Monsieur Duval taught mathematics and French, Madame taught art and art
history. While Yvette had followed her brothers through public schools,
all four spoke impeccable French and had undergone considerable
supplemental education at home.
Even by middle school Yvette was clearly focused on becoming an
architect. She fell in love with Alan during her third year at
Columbia. He was a charming first-year architecture grad student. Alan
wanted to get married right off the bat and Yvette agreed. She did
receive her Bachelor of Architecture, but found herself delaying
graduate school to work, “just for a semester,” and then “just until
Alan finishes his degree… his internship...” The same day Alan landed
the job with a prestigious firm, Yvette learned she was pregnant--about
four years ahead of schedule. Within six months Alan had fallen in love
with a leggy blond colleague and left the marriage before Gabrielle was
born.
Enter Yvette Duval, working single mom, devoted to her sweet-natured,
bright and talented daughter. She had been happy enough for the past
twelve years as the lead architectural technician at Roget and
Associates, a good-sized Manhattan firm with an office in Paris. The
boss, Bernard Roget, had liked her and found her indispensible, but he
had recently retired, passing the baton to his smirking son, whom the
office staff privately referred to as “Junior.” Junior had a highly
developed sense of entitlement and a great deal to prove. He was
uncomfortable with the amount of power wielded by Yvette and had set
out to rein her in. Early in her employment there she rebuffed his pass
and he was apparently still stinging from it.
Gabrielle, it seems, had just completed her first semester at Harvard,
thanks to Alan’s urging and largesse. Alan and leggy Linda lived in
Cambridge, and Gabi loved their two boys. Yvette was finally adjusting
to the empty nest and had been considering going back for her M. Arch.
Degree.
----
Hank was thirsty and had to pee too bad to roll over and go back to
sleep. He padded heavily toward the bathroom thinking this is not exactly how we train for the
40s Nationals. It’s four weeks out, Amigo, so let us get our shit
together.
A long, hot shower often led to some of his best thinking; “mulling
time” he called it. Forty five minutes later, shaved and dressed, he
had a plan that began with two aspirin, a pot of coffee and a smoothie
with a raw egg in it. Maybe he’d call Yvette. Then he’d jog to Central
Park where he’d start his quarter mile interval training around the
reservoir, weather notwithstanding. He’d bring it inside for court
sprints on alternate days for the next three weeks then taper off and
concentrate on his ball skills with drills and patterns for the last
week. He needed another trophy like a case of Athlete’s Foot, but his
resume could use the boost.
----
Pike sat thinking about the clever things he’d say next while Kate
tried not to think about her dad. She missed him increasingly, but he
had to have known all along that her mom was prostituting herself. Or
could he have turned a blind eye to the obvious, just as she had? She
hadn’t spoken to either of them since the day she arrived home
unexpectedly, eager to tell her mom about the new job. Margaret was
just getting into a cab, decked out like a high end call girl. Kate
said “God, Mom, you look like a fancy hooker!” and Margaret had
erupted.
“Tell me, Katherine,” she began at a hiss, “do you think you’d have
lived in this beautiful home with your outrageous college expenses and
your precious squash habit with me coaching flabby geezers and bored
house wives in some second rate club?” She had come up several
decibels, “And no thanks to Hank and his “chicken shit squash bum
finances! I notice you’ve been only too willing to spend all the money
I’ve so generously given you, you greedy little bitch.” Shouting now,
“You can shove your moral high ground right up your judgmental little
ass!” Margaret climbed the rest of the way into the cab and, barking a
destination at the cabbie, slammed the door as the cab sped off.
Kate was stunned. She called Marie in tears to see if she could crash
there for a few days and moved out on the spot. The more time that went
by the harder it became for her to call her dad. Margaret could rot in
hell, but she knew her dad would be worried.
“You’re awfully quiet, Pet. Are you sitting there dreaming up togs for
your tattooed dykes on wheels?
“Just tired I guess,” she sighed. “It’s time for me to call it a night.
Thanks for the game and the beer.”
“Fine, I’ll see you home and tuck you in all nice and cozy,” said Pike,
leaning in for a kiss that Kate saw coming and dodged as she stood and
shouldered her squash bag.
“Thanks, Thomas, no need, I’ll see myself home. Goodnight.”
“Hey, wait. What about the Roller Derby thing on Saturday?” he asked,
trying to salvage the moment. Kate shot him a withering look.
“Just like that, then, Luv?” Pike was on his feet, incredulous.
“Yup, just like that.” Kate called over her shoulder. A piece seemed to
fall into place as she exited the bar, but she wasn’t as yet sure what
piece it was.
Jeanne
(2 syllables) Woods is a real estate broker in Sonoma County, an hour
north of San Francisco, whose squash expertise is limited to her avid
gardening and cooking.
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.
