Chapter 11

Tiger by the Tail

by Jeanne Woods

Kate arrived home with six yards of modern fabric and synthetic knits from Mood Fabrics and several samples of “smart fabrics” in a rainbow of colors, begged and borrowed from her garment district friends and contacts. She was ready to start working on uniform prototypes. Turning her key in the lock she experienced a déjà-vu chill from yesterday’s homecoming.

She had texted Marie—how do I get into apt?--and had misgivings about Marie’s response--lock not changed. better idea. bringing chi food. Marie arrived moments later with the promised Chinese take-out and two large bottles of Tsingtao, while Kate completed a nervous survey of the apartment for signs of further intrusion. Satisfied that there’d been no further mischief in their absence, she entered the kitchen where open boxes released tantalizing aromas.

“Hi Marie, thanks for getting dinner. It smells wonderful.” Was Kate’s greeting, followed by “This is truly creepy. I don’t understand why you won’t change the locks.”

“That was my first inclination,” Marie began, ”but the more I thought about it the clearer it became. I’ve given out exactly two keys since the last time I had the locks changed—one to you and one to the original dog walker, Joe. So unless you’ve given out a key or left the door unlocked…”

“I guarantee you I haven’t passed out any keys and I certainly didn’t leave the door unlocked! Jesus!” Kate interrupted as a wave of unease sweep over her. “And what’s this better idea you have?”

“I didn’t think you had,” Marie went on, “and Joe came highly recommended with a ton of references, but what about the new guy Thomas Pike? I haven’t met him. How was your squash date with him? He’s a pro, right?

“I don’t know about that guy,” Kate began. “He’s not a very good player. I shouldn’t have been able to beat him, and I probably didn’t need to beat him as badly as I did. He assured me he was ‘off his game’. We went out for drinks afterward but there wasn’t a lot of connection. He wanted me to go home with him and seemed a little disappointed when I turned him down. But, my God, he’d have to be a complete nut case to trash my drawings because I didn’t ‘put out’ on a first date.”

“I don’t know,” said Marie. “It was so specific, so directed at you, nothing else touched, no forced entry, and he does have a key. If it was our Mr. Pike he’s quite a piece of work.”

I can’t say it hadn’t crossed my mind” Kate trailed off, slowly shaking her head as piece after nasty little piece of the puzzle drifted into place. “Oh my God, he wants to go to the roller derby with me the day after tomorrow. I was already wishing I hadn’t invited him but now I’m really freaked out.”

“Deep breath, girlfriend.” Marie instructed. “Here’s my plan: I talked to my cousin--you know Artie--about all this. He and Judy have loaned me a set of nanny cams that we can set up to cover pretty much the whole place. We can watch on our computers at work when he comes for Sassy tomorrow and get a sense of just how he behaves in here. Then we can decide whether he gets a new key when we change the locks on Saturday.” After a little more convincing Kate cleared away the dinner things and the dead Tsingtaos then helped Marie set up the remote access nanny cams.

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Marie called Kate from her desk deep in the bowels of the Museum of Natural History, silently screaming “pick up! pick up! pick up!” until Kate answered. “Are you watching this?”

“I’m watching” replied a breathless Kate, who returned to a stunned silence, punctuated with sharp intakes of breath. Her heart was racing.

Pike, sporting an impressive shiner and a very fat lip, had entered the apartment. After a quick look around he went straight to the bottle of decent brandy in the pantry, taking a hearty pull on it. Sassy was under the table, pressed against the wall. He then headed for Kate’s room where he inspected the closet and opened dresser drawers, appraised the lingerie, then checked under her pillow. He gave Marie’s room a much more cursory going-over before proceeding to the collection of racquets in the hall.

He hefted and wielded them one by one, finishing with the venerable old Dunlop Maxply. Pike took it from its press and made several swings, coming perilously close to a lamp. He stopped mid-swing to answer his cell phone, “Yeah, Joe. Yeah, right. OK, OK!” He pocketed the phone, looked hard at the Dunlop and carelessly jammed it into the press.

“C’mon, Sassy, you fat little shit, it’s walkies time!” Sassy remained under the table so Pike reached down and grabbed her collar and, jerking her out of hiding, attached the leash. Both Marie and the dog gave a frightened yelp as Pike muscled Sassy out the door.

“Oh my God!” “That bastard!” “I can’t fucking believe it!” “Jesus!” was the gist of the exchange between the two young women watching powerlessly. “I feel like I’ve just watched myself being raped!” “Poor sweet little Sassy!”

They remained on the phone, cursing, crying, commiserating, oblivious to the sidelong glances each was receiving from her respective workmates. Not ten minutes later the apartment door opened again, activating the cameras. Pike stood in the doorway and removed the leash. Sassy dove back under the table as Pike replaced the leash on its hook and was gone.

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Hank was feeling optimistic about the upcoming Masters as he loped up the front steps of the club. He’d had another lovely evening and morning with Yvette, increasingly finding her bright, kind and beautiful. He’d followed this idyll with stretches, a run to Central Park for an hour of interval training around the reservoir, then a brisk run back from to the club. He felt he’d be able to hold his own in the competition at the very least. Heading into his office before his first Saturday lesson he was stunned by the sight of his trophy rackets lined up against the wall. A note was tied to the grip of the Dunlop with a white ribbon:

“Hi Dad,

It’s time for these to come back to you. I’m sorry I disappeared for so long and I’d like to see you.

Love, Kate.

PS, I’ve been using the Head Competition—hope it’s OK if I hang on to it.”

She had included her contact information at the bottom on the page.

“Yes!” he said and gave a whoop of delight. “Yes indeed!” A quick glance at his watch confirmed there wasn’t time to call her before the lesson. Hank reread the note, savoring each word, the familiar handwriting, drinking in the essence of his treasured daughter, then he bounded off to his lesson with a smile that said “today all things are possible.”

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.