Returning Don’s powerful serves was a challenge for Helen. So was tracking down his fearsome forehand. But she usually managed to direct enough balls to his slightly more vulnerable backhand wing to make the score relatively respectable. Despite the losses, competing against the best male player in the world did wonders for her game.
As for Gene, he hit the ball with so much spin Helen never knew which way the ball would bounce when it landed. He played table tennis the same way. Helen felt like an abject beginner when she played against him, but his constant stream of jokes made the embarrassment worthwhile—and eased the pressure of competing at the highest level. Being around Gene reminded her that, despite the high stakes, tennis was just a game. Something to be enjoyed, not fretted over.
Seeing a man and a woman play singles against each other must have been a rarity for the gathered crowd, but for Helen it was nothing unusual. She, Don, and Gene were all native Californians and had known each other for years. Whenever they played the same events, they always made time to get together to hit a few balls and listen to the jazz albums Don never went anywhere without. San Francisco native Alice Marble sometimes joined them, but not often. Alice’s coach, Eleanor “Teach” Tennant, kept her on such a short leash, all Alice was allowed to do was train, practice, and play. Then again, after losing a year of her career to illness and injury, Alice was lucky to be alive, let alone playing tennis at an elite level once more.
Helen wished Alice, home in Los Angeles nursing an ankle injury, had been healthy enough to compete in Australia. Alice had worked her way back up the rankings and had positioned herself one notch below her in both the national and world standings. Helen wanted a chance to prove herself against Alice in the crucible of a major. And she wanted a chance to prove her critics wrong.
Critics said she had become America’s top female amateur player due to Alice’s absence in parts of 1934 and 1935, not because she had made the necessary improvements in her game.
Going up against Alice would have to wait, however. For the time being, she had to “settle” for the chance to beat Meike instead, a feat she—or anyone else—had not accomplished in far too long. It had been years since Meike had tasted defeat. And once they got to Adelaide, Helen meant to give her a good, healthy dose.
She nodded appreciatively after Meike drew Liesel wide with an American twist serve and won the point with a crisp volley off Liesel’s weak return. Meike didn’t serve and volley often, but her net game was just as efficient as her baseline game. If she decided to play more aggressively, she would be even harder to defeat. Harder but not impossible. When she was serving well, Helen was pretty tough to beat, too.
Swifty moved his unlit cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. “Do you think you can beat her?”
“We’ll see when we get to Adelaide.”
“Why not now? You don’t want to let a perfectly good court go to waste, do you?”
Helen knew she needed to sharpen her skills before the Australian Championships, but the tournament was nearly a month away. It was too soon to concentrate on serious tennis. It was too soon to concentrate on anything except her assignment: getting closer to Meike.
“I would love to see what she’s been working on during the offseason, but I doubt she’d be foolish enough to tip her hand so soon. The next time I’m across the net from her, I want it to be for real.”
“I’ve got money riding on you, kid.”
“Yours or someone else’s?”
Swifty continued to chomp on his sodden cigar. “You heard about my good night at the poker table, did you?”
“How much dough did you fleece out of your playing partners?”
Swifty pulled up his sleeve so she could take a gander at the shiny new watch that had belonged to someone else less than twenty-four hours ago. “Enough to pad my pockets a little and whet the losers’ appetites for an opportunity to win back their stash. I can’t clean them out too soon. There’s still too much open water between me and land if I need to make a quick getaway.”
“You’re not stacking the deck again, are you?”
“I prefer to call it playing the percentages. Isn’t that what you do when you play an opponent who’s better than you?”
Helen stiffened. When it came to winning and losing, she didn’t like coming in second. No matter what the world rankings said, she knew she was just as good a player as Meike if not better. “There’s no one who’s better than I am.”
“Oh, yeah? Prove it.”
“When the Australian Championships start, I intend to do just that.”
Even with Meike in the field, she was going to win in Adelaide. She could feel it in her bones. The grass courts were slick and fast. Perfect for her aggressive game. The slow red clay at Roland Garros better suited Meike’s baseline game, so Helen was prepared to concede her the French Championships, though not without a fight. That left Wimbledon and the US Championships, both played on grass.
If she played her game and didn’t let Meike get under her skin, Helen could win three majors next season and, if she racked up enough titles at smaller tournaments, she had an outside chance of finishing the year ranked number one. Next year could be her year. Then she could sign the contract Lanier had strong-armed her into tearing up. A contract that could have netted her one hundred thousand dollars instead of the fraction Uncle Sam had agreed to pay.
She forced herself to put thoughts of the future aside, however, and concentrate on the present. She had work to do. If she had her way, tonight was the night she finally began to draw some information out of Meike. Information that might put both their lives at risk.
What would the Nazis do to Meike if they thought she was compromised? What would they do to her if they discovered she was trying to find out what they were up to? There was only one thing she could do to prevent either scenario from occurring: not get caught.
“Do you have an extra set of cards, Swifty?” she asked as she watched Meike and Liesel shake hands to conclude their practice session.
“Sure, kid. Why do you want to know?”
“Tonight, I want to play a game of my own.”
*
Meike pushed the remnants of her dinner around her plate. She knew she needed to eat in order to maintain her strength, but her appetite had deserted her the instant Oskar made his pronouncement the week before.
You are too valuable to be punished at the present, but if your value were to diminish…
Meike placed the domed cover over her nearly full plate and held her head in her hands. Had the time come for her to seek political asylum? Should she reach out to the governments of Switzerland, France, or the United States to see if they would take her in? No. If what Oskar said was true, no government officials would be willing to intercede on her behalf. For better or worse, she was in charge of her own fate. If she wanted to stay alive—if she wanted to keep her loved ones safe, she had to keep winning.
On the court, she maintained a semblance of control. Off it, she had never felt more helpless or lost. The Australian Championships couldn’t begin quickly enough. She needed to focus her energy on something tangible before she became completely overwhelmed. She needed a chance to prove her worth. Then, perhaps, she could make demands instead of conceding to them.
Too many thoughts were running through her head. A knock on her stateroom door provided a temporary and much-needed distraction. Instead of the room service waiter come to collect her tray, she opened the door to find Helen standing in the hall, a devilish grin on her face and a pack of playing cards in her hand.
“Do you feel lucky?” Helen asked in a sultry growl.
Meike didn’t know how to respond. Was Helen asking her to rekindle their former relationship or embark on something new? Both options were tempting, though equally doomed to fail. Looking at the pack of cards, she said, “That depends on the game being played.”
Helen’s gray-green eyes twinkled. “What if I said the game was strip poker?”
“May I come in?”
Helen’s voice dropped another octave, falling into a range that made the nascent flame stirring inside Meike burn a little brighter. She knew she should say no. She didn’t need another complication in her already too-complicated life. And no matter what the outcome, there was no way she could win the game Helen was proposing. One night of passion would only provoke even more memories of the past. But thanks to her uncertain future, anything more than one night was an impossible dream.
Putting past, present, and future aside, she opened the door wider and said, “Yes, please do.”
*
Helen examined the cards in her hand and considered her options. Meike had proven to be even more adept at five-card draw than she was at tennis.
They had started the evening wearing the same amount of clothing—Meike in an evening gown complete with the requisite accessories and Helen in a suit and tie. Two games later, Meike was still nearly fully dressed and Helen had been reduced to her boxer shorts, bra, A-line undershirt, and dress socks. The rest of her clothes, including her prized cufflinks, were piled on Meike’s side of the table. The way Helen’s cards looked, the rest of her outfit would be joining the pile soon.
Her hand was crap. Five cards and not a single pair. She had an outside shot at a straight if she traded in three of her cards and pulled the right ones off the deck, but she didn’t like the odds. So she decided to do what she did best: bluff.
“How many cards would you like?” she asked, resting her fingers on the brightly colored deck.
Meike pressed a finger against her pursed lips, then tossed two cards on the table facedown and asked for two more.
Helen dealt Meike the requested cards but didn’t bother to take another look at her own hand. “Dealer stands pat.” She fought to suppress a smile when Meike raised a questioning eyebrow. “What’s your opening bid?” she asked, idly stroking one of the satin evening gloves she had won in the first hand before Meike nearly cleaned her out in the second.
Meike’s brow furrowed as if she was considering where to direct her serve during the crucial stages of a championship match. “I’ll bet…my earrings and necklace.”
Helen regarded the cultured pearl necklace circling Meike’s throat. Meike’s pulse beat slowly and steadily but seemed to quicken the longer Helen’s eyes lingered on the intoxicating spot where Meike’s neck met her shoulder. She could stare at that spot all day. Preferably all night.
She slowly shifted her gaze from the pearl necklace to the glittering diamond drop earrings dangling from Meike’s earlobes. She wouldn’t wear the jewelry if she won it—both the necklace and the earrings were much too fancy for her taste—but perhaps she could keep the pairing as a souvenir or, more likely, present them as a gift to her next one-night stand.
“I will bet you my socks and undershirt and raise you my bra.”
The pulse at the base of Meike’s throat quickened even more. When she spoke, her voice was husky with desire. “Though I would enjoy the resulting view if I were fortunate enough to win this hand, I doubt your bet would be considered a fair trade, even on the black market.”
Helen had two choices: she could attempt to seduce Meike or she could go after the information Lanier had asked her to seek. She made her choice quickly so she wouldn’t have time to second-guess herself.
“Are you familiar with how the black market works? You must be, considering how many people are willing to barter everything they own in exchange for a one-way ticket out of Germany.”
Meike’s eyes narrowed. She parted her lips as if to respond, then quickly clamped them shut. “I’m sure such things occur,” she said after a lengthy pause, “but no one has approached me looking to make any deals.”
“Would you be willing to listen if they did? Or are you allowing Oskar Henkel to speak for you now? Who is he to you, anyway? At dinner my first night on board, I thought he had a soft spot for Liesel. Whenever I see him, though, he’s glued to your side instead of hers. What do you think he’d do if he knew you and I were together right now? Would he be jealous or vengeful?”
Helen remembered how Meike had cowed in Oskar’s presence the day she had encountered them on deck. She didn’t like seeing Meike so docile. So…afraid. She had assumed Oskar had been assigned by the German Tennis Association to keep its biggest star safe, but perhaps he was here to make sure she followed orders. Hitler’s orders.
Meike lifted her steel blue eyes from her cards and focused them on Helen’s face. “Is there a reason you are asking me such questions?” she asked with more than a hint of challenge in her voice.
Because my government wants me to.
“Because perhaps I’m the jealous one.”
“Oskar and I aren’t together, Helen.” Meike lowered her eyes as well as her voice. “Neither, I must remind you, are we.”
“Believe me, you don’t have to remind me. How could I possibly forget?” Helen reached for Meike’s hand, but Meike pulled away before Helen could receive the contact she sought. “Why did you leave me?”
Meike’s eyes shuttered, preventing Helen from peering into her soul. “Do you want me to tell you the truth, or would you prefer me to spare your feelings?”
Helen leaned back in her chair. “I want to know. Why did you break up with me when we were having such a good time?”
Meike smiled sadly. “We were opposites, Helen. We still are. I take everything too seriously and you don’t take anything seriously enough. You drift through life, floating aimlessly from one experience to another. You have no anchor. No stability. I can’t live like that. I need someone I can depend on when times are tough, not someone who trivializes the issue by offering to take me dancing or tell a funny joke.”
Helen wanted to say something in her defense, but she remained silent because she knew what Meike had said was true. “Always leave them laughing” was not only Swifty’s favorite motto but hers as well. Sometimes, she had to laugh to keep from crying, though that wasn’t something she was willing to admit. Who would care, anyway?
“There’s more to life than having fun, Helen.”
“And there’s more to life than tennis, Meike. There are more important things than winning and being number one. Being second best has its spoils, too. If you weren’t so determined to make history, you’d make time to enjoy the present. Relax a little. Have some fun. Like we used to.”
Meike looked almost nostalgic, but only for a moment. “Each of us has a chance to make a mark in history. I don’t want to waste my opportunity. I want to leave a legacy behind. When my career’s over, I want to be able to say I didn’t waste an ounce of my talent.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Helen was used to press and fans questioning her commitment to her sport. They saw her going out at night, staying up too late, and occasionally drinking too much and wondered how much she really wanted to win. But Meike, of all people, knew how hard she worked. How hard she trained. How much she wanted to win. Meike knew her. Didn’t she?
Meike eyed the half-empty bottle of Dom Perignon on Helen’s side of the table. Helen smiled and poured herself another glass.
“Wasting talent is one thing. Wasting good champagne is another.” The corners of Meike’s lips curled upward, easing the tension that had threatened to take the fun out of their game. “I’m glad to see you smile. If I have my way, you’re going to be doing a lot of that this year.”
“Because?”
“I have two goals for the season: to beat you at least once and to get you to lighten up.”
“How do you expect to accomplish your goals?”
Helen sipped her champagne. “I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
“I wish you luck on both counts,” Mei
ke said, obviously trying not to smile, “but did you come to my room tonight to talk about tennis or play cards?”
Helen followed Meike’s lead. The night was young and her assignment had barely begun. She didn’t want to push Meike too far too soon. If she did, she could lose her for good. “Your move,” she said, expecting Meike to fold.
Meike glanced at her cards and rearranged them as if putting them in order. Either she had the superior hand or she was even better at bluffing than Helen was. “I’m, how do you say, all in.”
“Wait.” Helen looked down at her skimpy outfit before looking over at Meike’s nearly intact one. “I think that’s my line.”
Meike leaned forward, obviously waiting for Helen to match her bet or concede defeat. “So I win?”
Even when she knew she was beaten, Helen was no quitter. “Not so fast. I call.” She gathered her cards and prepared to reveal them. “Same time?” Meike nodded and they laid their cards on the table. Helen laughed long and loud when she realized that, like her, Meike had a handful of nothing. Thanks to her ten of clubs, Helen held high card. “My crap hand wasn’t so crappy after all. Looks like I win this round.”
“And I lose.”
“Don’t worry.” Helen sat up straight to get a better view of the upcoming show. “I promise to make losing worth your while.”
With a resigned sigh, Meike placed her earrings and necklace on the table. Then she stood and rested her foot in her chair. After she reached under her dress, she unsnapped her garter, slowly peeled off one of her silk stockings, and tossed it in Helen’s direction. Helen closed her eyes as she passed the delicate fabric under her nose and inhaled the heady scent of Meike’s perfume, but she quickly opened them when she heard Meike switch legs and begin to remove her other stocking.
Helen draped Meike’s stockings around her neck and clenched her hands into fists to keep from reaching inside her boxer shorts to relieve the growing tension in her groin. How could one woman possibly be so beautiful? Her breath caught as she watched Meike slowly unveil herself. She wanted to see more—much more—but she rose from her seat before Meike could give her what she wanted.
Break Point Page 5
