55. PURRFECT GAME
CHAPTER 1
Sometimes Marge wondered what it would be like to play with a different partner than her husband Tex. Not that Tex was a bad tennis player, per se, but it could hardly be said that he was a good one either. Even though Tex never failed to mention that he was trained by the great Pete Sampras himself, and had acquired a degree from the highly respected Ross School Tennis Academy, this enviable pedigree didn’t show in his game, which was fair to middling at best.
The couple were enjoying the annual tennis extravaganza organized by Michele Droba, prominent socialite and fellow member of the Riviera Country Club. As Michele saw it, this was simply a fun week spent amongst friends and tennis fans, and the Pooles had been welcome guests for going on fifteen years now. At the moment they were playing a doubles game against Vena and Glenn Aleman, the veterinarian and her bookseller husband. And it had to be said that in spite of Tex’s self-proclaimed tennis prowess, Vena and Glenn were winning.
As usual, Michele had rented an Airbnb on the outskirts of Hampton Cove, the town where they all lived, and this year had brought in a new person in the form of Ona Konpacka, the retired supermodel, who was accompanied by new beau Max Stinger, the well-known plastic surgeon. Rumor had it that Ona’s face had been disfigured to such an extent in a botched procedure that it had ended her illustrious modeling career, and that it was only through the genius talent of the brilliant Max Stinger that her famous features had been restored to some extent.
And it was true that Ona once more looked more or less like her old self. Even though her modeling days were behind her once and for all, at least she was able to leave her apartment again, instead of locking herself in like a recluse. This tennis week was in fact one of the first social occasions for the former model—and so far things were looking well. Ona had written a book about her harrowing experience—From Heaven to Hell and Back Again—and it had quickly captured the imagination of the nation and was now a certified number-one bestseller.
Vena fired off another zinger and Tex, trying to return it, stumbled and fell, soiling his perfectly nice tennis shorts and cursing under his breath. An amiable man under normal circumstances, the doctor displayed a fierce competitive streak when he hit the tennis court. Not John McEnroe level stuff, but still.
“Relax, Tex,” said Marge when her husband shot a distinctly nasty glance across the court in the direction of their opponents, who were exchanging a high five. “It’s just a friendly game.”
“She did that on purpose,” Tex grumbled. “Always aiming for the body.”
“Vena wasn’t aiming for the body,” said Marge as she watched the veterinarian getting ready to serve.
“Not Vena—Glenn! He’s always playing dirty.”
“I don’t think so,” said Marge as she followed Vena’s movements like a hawk.
“Oh, yes, he does.”
“Shush, honey,” said Marge, “and focus.”
It was true, of course, that Glenn Aleman suffered from the same competitive proclivity as Tex, which had caused some fireworks on the court in the past few days. But playing dirty? Nah. They were all friends here, and nobody wanted to risk that friendship just so they could score the winning point.
A loud thwack sounded and the ball came zooming in Marge’s direction at considerable speed. Vena might only be a couple of years younger than Marge, but she had power. Which was par for the course if you extracted foals from horses and calves from cows. With some effort, Marge managed to return Vena’s serve. The vet quickly approached the net, though, and performed a stunning volley, sending the ball hurtling in Tex’s direction at speed. The doctor, taken by surprise, was unable to respond in kind. Instead he hit the ball with the shaft of his tennis racket. The ball ricocheted and shot into the air, then landed on top of Tex’s head.
“Game, set and match to the Alemans!” Michele shouted. Their hostess was acting as the game’s umpire, and took this responsibility seriously. “Well done, Vena and Glenn! Great game, you two. And well played, Marge and Tex!”
“Great game, my foot,” Tex said as he hit the air with his racket a couple of times in an attempt to vent his righteous anger.
“They won fair and square, honey,” said Marge. “Now shake hands.”
“I won’t shake hands with a cheater,” Tex muttered angrily.
“Shake hands, Tex,” Marge insisted. “Don’t be a sore loser.”
“Oh, all right,” said Tex as he joined his wife at the net. They shook hands with their opponents, Tex in a halfhearted sort of way, and that was that.
“Well played, buddy,” said Glenn Aleman, as he clapped the doctor on the back. “Better luck next time, huh.”
“I guess,” said Tex.
“You did good,” said Vena, addressing Marge. “Your game has really improved.”
“You think so?” said Marge. “I have been working hard on my backhand.”
“I can tell. Keep this up and you’ll become a most formidable opponent.” The vet lowered her voice. “Is everything all right with your husband? He looks upset.”
“Tex doesn’t like to lose,” said Marge as she grabbed a towel and draped it across her neck. “Even though by now he should be used to it.” It was true that they hadn’t won a single game since they’d arrived at the house.
“Maybe we have to let him win a couple of times?” Vena suggested.
“Oh, no. He has to win fair and square.”
“Just to improve his mood?”
“Out of the question.”
“Though admittedly Glenn would rather die than throw a game. He’s such a mild-mannered man, always sweet-tempered, but put a tennis racket in his hands and he turns into some kind of psycho maniac. Has to win at all cost.”
“Same thing with Tex. Once he’s on the court he thinks he’s Novak Djokovic.”
And as the two ladies discussed their husbands’ strange quirks, Glenn invited Tex for a drink. And even though the two men had just been ready to drink each other’s blood, now that the game had been decided, they mysteriously morphed back into their customary amiable selves, and soon were chatting pleasantly.
CHAPTER 2
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Relieved from her task as umpire, Michele Droba returned to the conversation she’d been engaged in with her boyfriend Christopher Bonarowski. She still felt odd about calling him her boyfriend, even though of course he was. At some point they might have to make things official, but she wasn’t sure how her kids would respond. It was seven years now since she lost her husband Dean, but Michael and Drew still missed their dad. They liked Chris, but didn’t exactly adore him. Then again, she wasn’t absolutely sureshe adored him. She was fond of him, of course, as he was such a wonderful man—erudite and knowledgeable and oh, so very affectionate, never stinting on compliments and little attentions. It was nice to be adored by such an important man—respected as a publisher and very, very successful. But love? She wasn’t even sure what the word meant. She had once loved her husband, or at least she thought she had. But that was a long time ago.
“So have you seen the manuscript?” she asked, picking up their conversation where they left off. “Has Isobel even shown it to you yet?”
“Not yet,” said Chris as he quickly checked something on his phone. “She says it’s not ready yet, and she wants the thing to be ready before she shows it to anyone—even me, her publisher.”
“Can’t you talk her out of it? I mean, there must be something you can do.”
Chris put his phone down and gave her a quizzical look.“We discussed this, Michele. You know your sister-in-law. Once she has her mind set on something, there’s no talking her out of it. In that sense she’s just like you.”
She bridled to some extent.“I hope I’m not as unreasonable as Isobel. In fact I know I’m not. And I would never humiliate my friends the way she’s doing.”