Swifty entered the room without knocking, then paused with his hand on the latch. “I know the dress code says black tie, kid, but I doubt this is what they meant.”
Helen affixed tennis racquet-shaped cufflinks to the sleeves of her pressed white shirt. “Too much?”
“Not if you’re trying to look like Marlene Dietrich in Morocco. In that case, you look perfect. Dietrich looked more comfortable kissing a woman in that picture than Gary Cooper did.”
Helen buttoned her double-breasted tuxedo jacket and ran a hand over her slicked-back hair. “I’ve never had any problems in that department.”
Swifty folded his arms across his chest as he leaned in the doorway. “I know. I’ve seen you in action. But if you insist on wearing those duds, I might be seeing you in handcuffs instead. This isn’t Hollywood, kid. And it sure as hell isn’t Harlem or wherever you picked up those two broads I saw you with at the Ritz-Carlton the morning that fed came to see you.”
Helen swallowed the bitter aftertaste of her meeting with Agent Paul Lanier. She had given Swifty the bare bones of her meeting with Lanier, but she hadn’t filled in all the details. If she told Swifty everything she had been asked to do, she would feel like an even bigger crumb for agreeing to do it.
She told herself she was doing what was best for her country, but in reality she knew she was only trying to save her own hide. Unconventional though it might be, tonight’s outfit could be explained away with a wink and a smile or a fanciful lie. Lanier’s pictures, however, left no room for doubt. If they fell into the wrong hands, her career would be over and her life would never be the same.
When her parents had caught her kissing her female friend from two doors down, her father had tried to beat the predilection out of her and her mother had tried to pray it away. Neither method had worked, so they had chosen to give up on her instead. But Helen had refused to give up on herself. One day, she had vowed, she would have everything she had ever wanted. Everything her parents said she didn’t deserve to have. That day was almost here.
She had worked too hard for too long for her dreams to go up in smoke now that she was on the verge of making them come true, but she had to be true to herself. She was walking a fine line—and the line was getting narrower each day.
“We’re hundreds of miles from shore, Swifty. What’s the captain going to do when he sees me dressed like this, turn the boat around so he can hand me over to the boys in Gotham’s vice squad? If I don’t make it to Adelaide on time, he’ll be hearing from the USLTA, followed pretty quickly by my lawyer.”
“You don’t have a lawyer.”
“I don’t need one when I have you.”
Swifty rubbed the heel of his hand across his stubbled chin. His beard was so thick he usually developed five o’clock shadow well before noon, but his head was as smooth as Daddy Warbucks’s.
“I’m glad I’m bald. If I had any hair left, you would have turned it gray by now. On second thought, you’re probably the reason it all fell out in the first place.”
“And you love me for it.”
“I love you like you were my own daughter. That’s why I wish you’d told our favorite fed to stick his offer where the sun don’t shine. You’re a tennis player, kid, not a spy. You’re not cut out for what he wants you to do.”
“You worry too much, Swifty.” Helen patted his cheek to assuage the concern she heard in his voice. “I’ll be fine.”
“As long as you get the results Lanier wants. What happens if you don’t come up with anything? Will he give you a pat on the back and say, ‘Nice effort,’ or does he plan to leave you holding the bag?”
Helen hadn’t considered the possible consequences if her mission didn’t go as planned. Would she end up in the slammer, her career brought to a premature end and her reputation ruined by a morals charge? She would face those obstacles when the time came. At the moment, the only questions she wanted answered concerned the big galoot she’d seen Meike with on deck a few hours earlier. Who was he and why was he plastered to Meike’s side?
Helen had never seen a Nazi in person, but she was pretty sure Oskar Henkel was one. He looked just like the brainwashed, uniformed hordes she’d seen heiling Hitler on all the newsreels. Which made her wonder why one of the Führer’s toadies was acting as Meike’s chaperone. Had Meike, as Lanier suspected, become one of them or were they keeping her on a short leash until she did? Either way, it didn’t look good.
“Are you sure about this?” Swifty asked as they made their way to the dining room.
Helen didn’t know if he meant spying on Meike or wearing a tuxedo in public, but it didn’t matter because she had already made up her mind about both. “I’m positive.”
She heard the sounds as soon as she and Swifty walked into the dining room. Gasps of recognition followed by murmurs of disapproval. She had grown immune to the former. The latter still affected her much more than she wished they would. She told people she didn’t care what the press wrote about her tirades on the court or her antics off it. In truth, she took everything that was said about her to heart. On the outside, she was an internationally famous tennis star. On the inside, she was still just a girl from Cannery Row.
The women at the dining tables were dripping in jewels, their shoulders protected from the chill by luxurious fur stoles. The men were just as polished, their gold and sterling silver accessories shining even brighter than the cut crystal chandeliers overhead. Helen might not have been born into this world, but she was here now and she was willing to do whatever it took to stay there. Even if it meant betraying a friend.
“The porters must have made a mix-up with the luggage,” she joked after a high society matron looked at her and rolled her eyes. “Right now, some unlucky fella is trying to figure out how to squeeze himself into a size eight evening gown.”
“Nice move, kid,” Swifty said under his breath. “Always leave them laughing. It works every time.”
“Usually,” Helen said, remembering how her fondness for cracking jokes had often clashed with Meike’s dour demeanor. Making Meike laugh for the first time had been an accomplishment even greater than winning a Grand Slam title. And making her come remained a feat beyond compare.
The men at the captain’s table stood to greet her, though Oskar Henkel was noticeably slow to rise from his seat. “If the organizers of the Australian Championships plan to have a mixed singles competition,” he said in German as she and Swifty claimed the last pair of available seats, “she would win every match six-love, six-love.”
Meike frowned with disapproval, but her doubles partner, Liesel Becker, and their coach, former player Inge Kreuzer, tittered in amusement. Meike seemed to be about to speak, but Helen silenced her with a subtle shake of her head. She didn’t need Meike’s help. She could fight her own battles. She always had. She always would.
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit, Oskar,” she said as she spread her napkin in her lap. “I’m sure you would manage to win at least one game against me.”
Helen’s German was rusty, but based on Oskar’s stunned expression, she had managed to get her point across.
Meike raised her linen napkin to her lips to hide her smile. Her whispered, “Brava,” held a hint of pride. It should have. She was the one who had given Helen German lessons in the first place. One of many things Meike had taught her over the years.
“Don Budge and Gene Mako are playing jazz albums on a portable phonograph in their room every night, and I have you lovely ladies sitting at my table.” Captain Ruston Kelly took a sip of red wine as formally attired waiters brought out the first of six courses. “How did I manage to have so many stars from the tennis constellation on board my ship?”
“You’re just lucky, I guess,” Helen said.
“Since you have so many valuable commodities on board, make sure you steer clear of any icebergs.”
Swifty’s joke provoked a round of nervous laughter. Tales of the Titanic’s sinking had faded into history, bu
t the disaster’s effects still lingered twenty-five years later. Helen would keep an anxious eye on the water until the Southern Star pulled into port several weeks from now, and she felt certain many other passengers would be doing the same, but she doubted any of them wanted to talk about it over caviar and smoked oysters at the captain’s table. She tried to lift the mood, which had quickly turned from lighthearted to leaden. “If you’re sitting here next to me, Cap, who’s doing the driving?”
“My second in command. I get all the acclaim,” Captain Kelly whispered conspiratorially, “but Staff Captain Hardwick does most of the work.”
“Is that how you felt when you and I played doubles together, Meike?” Helen asked.
“You were a more than capable partner,” Meike said in heavily accented but perfect English. “I had to work hard to hold up my end of the partnership.”
“Now she makes me carry the load,” Liesel said.
Helen laughed politely because she knew what Liesel had said couldn’t possibly be true. Meike could win a doubles match by herself if she wanted, but Liesel couldn’t even win in singles without help.
Liesel was a good player but not a great one. She was solid and didn’t make many mistakes. Playing her was like playing against a backboard. She got every ball back. She allowed her opponents to defeat themselves because she didn’t have the offensive weapons to do it on her own. Her ability to do everything equally well made her an excellent doubles player, but it didn’t do much for her singles game. She had no problems defeating the players ranked below her, but she struggled against the ones ranked above her. She might give the top seeds a scare if they were having an off day, but she wasn’t a serious threat to pull off the upset. Off the court wasn’t much different. She was pretty, but, unlike Meike, she wasn’t a classic beauty. Then again, few were.
The first time Helen had played Meike, she had been so taken by the view from across the net, she had barely managed to win points let alone games. Despite the lopsided final result, she must have made a good impression because Meike had asked her to be her doubles partner at the next week’s event. Unless representing her country, Helen hadn’t played with anyone else for the next four years. She had thought they would be partners for the rest of their careers. Then, without warning, Meike had pulled the plug. Despite their excellent track record, Meike had pushed her away because she “needed some distance.”
Helen had had trouble accepting the explanation then, and she wasn’t buying it now. Now she needed to convince Meike it wasn’t distance they needed but proximity. And tonight was the perfect time to start.
*
After dinner, Meike took a stroll on the promenade deck to walk off a few of the courses from the lavish meal and to escape the thick cloud of cigar smoke that had begun to fill the dining room almost as soon as the dessert plates were cleared from the tables. She heard the band warming up in the showroom on the lido deck two floors above, but she didn’t plan to partake in the evening’s entertainment. Because tonight she didn’t feel like dancing.
When Helen had announced she planned to become a professional player, Meike hadn’t expected to see her again. Yet here she was. What were the odds they would book passage to Australia on the same ship? After not seeing each other for several months, they would be forced to see each other every day for the next several weeks. Even longer if they both reached the final in Adelaide. They had both ended the season playing so well Meike didn’t expect anyone to get in their way. Except, perhaps, each other.
Just like old times.
Seeing Helen on deck this afternoon had left her feeling grateful for a friendly face. For the possibility of having someone to converse with freely and openly without the heavy burden of self-censorship. Seeing Helen tonight, however, looking so dapper in her tuxedo and coming up with such a clever rejoinder to Oskar’s crass comment, had left her feeling shaken.
According to press speculation, she had stopped playing doubles with Helen because of their budding rivalry in singles. She didn’t want to spend too much time with Helen, they wrote, because she didn’t want Helen to pick up on the secrets of her game and use them to defeat her. She had never commented on the speculation because it was too dangerous for her to try to separate fact from fiction. In order to retain both her privacy and her freedom, she needed to be circumspect about her private life, not make it fodder for public consumption.
The reason she had ended such a successful partnership was a simple one. It was also deeply personal. She had stopped playing doubles with Helen because she found it increasingly difficult to control her attraction to her. They were together so often it was only natural for the warm feelings between them to deepen into something more meaningful, which made playing against each other a contest of will as well as skill. A contest Meike didn’t think she could win. As a result, their personal relationship had suffered as well.
When she had looked across the net during their singles matches, she hadn’t seen a nameless, faceless opponent trying to prevent her from accomplishing the goals she had set for herself when she first took up the sport. What she saw was the face of a woman she had started to love. In the end, she had been forced to choose between personal happiness and professional success. Sometimes, she wondered if she had made the wrong choice. But in tennis, the only place for love was on the scoreboard. And in Nazi Germany, love had no place at all. Which meant Helen could never be part of her life again.
“Careful of the ice, Miss von Bismarck,” Oskar said as he followed a short distance behind her. “We wouldn’t want you to fall overboard.”
Snow had been falling steadily all day, covering everything in a blanket of white. Dozens of the ship’s workers toiled diligently to keep the walkway clear and to knock ice off the railings and various metal surfaces, but several slippery patches remained.
Meike trailed a gloved hand along the railing, ready to grab hold in case she lost her balance. Even though she didn’t consider Oskar’s words a threat, she reflexively tightened her grip. Life would be much easier for him if she were to meet with an unfortunate accident. He could return to Berlin and protect someone who agreed with his ideals, not stand watch over someone who didn’t.
“No,” she said. “We wouldn’t want that.”
He glanced at the steadily darkening sky. “Miss Becker has already turned in for the evening. Perhaps it is time you did the same. It has been a long day. You need to get plenty of rest if you want to play your best tennis in Australia.”
Meike turned to face him. Startled by the move, Oskar pulled up short. “I didn’t know you were a fan, Oskar. I thought you would prefer to see me lose rather than win.”
The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile strangely devoid of mirth.
“A victory for you is a victory for the Fatherland. I celebrate your accomplishments, Miss von Bismarck, even though I vehemently disagree with your lifestyle and your choice of…friends.” Meike’s face must have betrayed her shock because Oskar’s smile grew even more malicious. “Yes, I know about your predilections. I have read your file. With some disgust, I might add.”
Meike wanted to defend herself, but she knew there was nothing she could say to change his mind, no matter how eloquent her argument.
“I know how much the American meant to you. I know she was much more than your doubles partner. Have you discussed our situation with her?”
“I haven’t discussed our ‘situation,’ as you describe it, with anyone. Who you are and why you’re here is of no concern to anyone but me.”
She didn’t want to involve anyone else in her troubles. Not Friedrich, not her family, and especially not Helen.
“Good. For Miss Wheeler’s sake, I mean. Even if you did tell her about me, your situation would remain unchanged. If the cowardly Americans won’t do anything to save the lives of thousands of Jews, do you honestly think they would lift a finger to save yours? You are two things politicians hate the most: an aristocrat and a homosexual. Aristocracy has its pl
ace in the new Germany, but homosexuality must be eradicated at all costs.”
Meike felt renewed fear. Not only for herself but the friends she had left behind. Friends like Friedrich, for whom freedom came at a price much steeper than the one that had been placed on their heads.
“You are too valuable to be punished at the present, but if your value were to diminish…”
Even though Oskar didn’t finish his sentence, Meike heard the words he didn’t say. The words the Austrian had made explicitly clear the last time she had been taken to Nazi headquarters to see him. She was safe as long as she continued to win tennis tournaments and garner positive press attention for Germany. But if she began to lose more matches than she won—perhaps even if she lost only one, provided the tournament was important enough—she would spend the rest of her life in a concentration camp.
Her goals for the upcoming tennis season needed to change. Next year was no longer about trying to secure her place in history. It was about trying to stay alive.
Chapter Three
December 1937
The Atlantic Ocean
Helen stood on the edge of the crowd as she watched Meike conduct a practice session with Liesel Becker under the watchful eyes of Inge Kreuzer and Oskar Henkel. Meike had kept to herself for the past several days, taking her meals in her room and only venturing out to practice for two hours a day on the indoor tennis court on the sports deck or to pace on the veranda outside her suite. Helen’s sightings of her were just like this one. From afar.
“She’s looking good,” Swifty said after Meike whistled a forehand winner past Liesel’s outstretched racquet.
“I know,” Helen said, watching Meike’s smooth calves flash beneath her long tennis skirt as she glided along the baseline.
Helen went on twice-daily walks around the promenade deck to stay in shape during the trip, but she had taken the court only twice this week. She had played one practice set against Don Budge and another against his doubles partner, Gene Mako.
Break Point Page 4
