She unscrewed the stainless steel flask she had secreted in the shadows of the umpire’s chair, took a sip of brandy for fortification, and put on a brave smile as she watched Meike being presented with the trophy she had hoped to raise for the fourth time. She forced herself to wait until she reached the safety of the locker room before she allowed herself to cry.
She had told herself she could defend her title despite Meike’s presence in the draw and, thanks to her blistering performance at the start of the match, she had put herself one set away from accomplishing her goal. Victory—at a major, over Meike, and against the wishes of all the people who wanted to see her lose—had been in sight. Then everything had fallen apart.
Meike’s change in tactics hadn’t come as a surprise. Her baseline game wasn’t working in the first set. It was only logical she would resort to the more aggressive style of play Helen had seen her practicing on board the Southern Star. Yet, even though she knew what was coming, Helen had been unable to prevent the final result. Her most powerful weapon, her serve, had abandoned her, leaving her defenseless against Meike’s relentless onslaught of return winners.
She sat in front of her locker and draped a towel over her head as she allowed her tears to fall. She had lost to Meike plenty of times before, but never like this. Not when she had been so certain she would win.
Margaret Wilson, Helen’s opponent in the mixed doubles final and her partner in the doubles final, placed a hand on her shoulder. “Pull yourself together. You still have two more matches to play.”
Despite her loss in the singles final, Helen had two more chances to win a title today. Two more chances to redeem herself.
“Give me five minutes. I’ll be right as rain by the time we take the court.”
“Can you speed it up a little?” Margaret looked over her shoulder as the locker room door opened and Meike and Liesel swept in. “You don’t want Meike to see you cry, do you?”
Helen watched Meike cradle the trophy that could have—should have—been hers. She knew from experience that nothing could detract from the joy of a win like the misery of a vanquished opponent. Meike was the better player today. She deserved to enjoy the moment. So Helen plastered on a smile she hoped appeared more genuine than the one she had flashed at the net and joined Meike and Liesel in front of their lockers.
“Meike. Liesel.”
Meike’s smile dimmed a bit but, for the most part, remained in place. Liesel, on the other hand, made a face like she’d been sucking lemons and quickly made herself scarce.
“I didn’t mean to disrupt your preparations for the doubles final,” Helen said. “I just wanted to offer you my congratulations on your singles win. Again. I seem to be doing that a lot lately.”
“Thank you.” Meike’s eyes flicked to the other side of the room, where Liesel and Margaret were holding a whispered conversation of their own. “I look forward to our next encounter.”
Helen glanced at her watch. “You’ll get your wish in about fifteen minutes.”
Meike laughed. “That isn’t the encounter I was referring to. You promised me a rematch, remember?”
Helen’s win at poker had happened much too long ago to offer any consolation against the pain of today’s loss. “I’m not so sure I should give you one.”
“Why not?” Meike’s frown at not getting her way was so endearing it almost managed to brighten Helen’s dark mood.
“Based on today’s performance, I might lose my shirt.”
Meike lowered her voice. “Isn’t that the point?”
Helen felt a flash of desire that made her feel hotter than she’d been at any time during the match. She could feel the wet cabbage leaf on her head turning to sauerkraut as Meike’s eyes bore into hers. “I want to take you for a night on the town,” she said, wondering how Meike would react to the wonders—and temptations—the Big Apple had to offer. “Will you be stopping in New York City on your way home?”
“I haven’t checked the itinerary in a while. If I remember correctly, I think we plan to skirt the coast of Africa, come to shore in Portugal, and take the train from Lisbon to Berlin.”
“Change your plans,” Helen said forcefully. “There’s more to life than tennis, remember? You should take some time to celebrate winning a major tournament instead of preparing for an event in the middle of nowhere. To the victor go the spoils. Let me spoil you.”
“What do you have in mind?”
Helen saw curiosity—and perhaps something more—in Meike’s eyes.
“We could get a room at the Waldorf Astoria, order one of their famous namesake salads, cut into some big, juicy steaks, and top off the meal with a hearty slice of apple pie. Then I could take you to see Bill ‘Bojangles’ Robinson tap dance at the Cotton Club, or if you’re up for it, I could take you someplace else. Someplace we could really let our hair down. Someplace a woman in a suit or a man in a dress wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. What do you say?”
“I would love to, but I’m expected to be in—I’m expected at home on a certain date.”
Helen made note of Meike’s hesitation but decided not to call attention to it. For the moment, anyway. “You’re a big girl. I’m sure your family would understand if you’re a few days late.” But she was beginning to wonder if Meike’s parents were the only ones anxiously waiting for her to return from her long trip abroad. “There’ll be plenty of time for family reunions later, champ. Let me show you a good time first.”
“And if I say no?”
“Why would you want to?” Helen slid the back of her hand along the line of Meike’s jaw. Meike’s face glowed with the thrill of victory and the rush of arousal. She was even lovelier than usual in moments like this. Helen wanted to kiss her, but she didn’t dare. Not here. Not now. Perhaps in New York, where they could be free to be themselves. If she didn’t give Lanier the information he wanted, she might never feel free again. This could be her last chance. Her only chance.
“Why, indeed?”
Meike’s smile almost made Helen’s heart stop. Now all she needed to do was figure out a way to keep her heart from getting broken.
Chapter Five
February 1938
New York City
With Helen’s help, Meike was able to exchange her ticket to Lisbon for one to London by way of New York. The new route meant it would take her longer to arrive in Berlin, but she was in no rush to get there anyway. What was there to go home to? Going home meant she wouldn’t have Oskar glued to her side, but it didn’t mean the surveillance of her would come to an end. After she arrived in Germany, agents would monitor her comings and goings from a distance. Far enough away to give her a semblance of freedom but close enough to be able to take away her liberty whenever they chose. For the past month, freedom had been a reality instead of an illusion. She wasn’t looking forward to having it disappear.
She had waited until the last possible moment to tell Oskar, Inge, and Liesel about the change in her travel plans. Waited until there was nothing Oskar could do to change what she and Helen had already set in motion.
Standing in front of the floor-length mirror in the two-bedroom suite she and Helen had reserved at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, she smiled as she remembered the look on Oskar’s face when he realized she had outfoxed him. When she finally returned to Germany, she knew he would do everything in his power to make her pay for getting the best of him. No matter. During the long ocean voyage from Australia to the United States, she’d had plenty of time to devise her defense. If he tried to make life difficult for her, she intended to return the favor.
Winning the Australian Championships had given her a modicum of leverage and she intended to use it. Oskar, she could argue, was a distraction. Not just to her but to Liesel as well. In Adelaide, she and Liesel had lost the doubles final to Helen and her partner in straight sets. The first set had been close, but the second had been a runaway. Instead of strategizing with Meike to figure out a way to reverse their fortunes, Liesel had spent most o
f the second stanza staring into the stands to gauge Oskar’s reaction to her poor play.
“Do you think Oskar’s handsome?” Liesel had asked as the match began to slip irretrievably from their grasp.
“I really couldn’t say,” Meike had said, thrown by the non sequitur. “He isn’t my type.”
“Well, he’s certainly mine.”
Focused on her unsuccessful attempt at mounting a comeback in the match, Meike had almost forgotten about the exchange. Now, however, she intended to use it to her advantage.
Oskar appeared to have a soft spot for Liesel, and she was obviously harboring a crush on him. When she returned home, Meike planned to tell the officials of the German Tennis Association—and the ones of the National Socialist Party, for that matter—that if Oskar wasn’t assigned to “accompany” someone else during their travels abroad, she would stop playing doubles with Liesel and find another partner. Preferably one from a country opposed to the Austrian’s way of thinking. Since she and Liesel were Germany’s top women’s doubles team, she thought reassigning Oskar was the obvious choice. Time would tell if the officials would see things her way.
While Meike was putting the finishing touches on her makeup, Helen knocked on the bedroom door and poked her head inside. “Ready, champ?”
Meike turned to face her. She had expected Helen to be wearing a tuxedo or one of the many man-tailored suits she had sported on board the Southern Star on the way to and from Australia. Helen was wearing an evening gown instead. A cream-colored one that clung to her athletic body and perfectly complemented her tanned skin. Diamond studs glittered in her ears and a matching choker circled her neck. Helen looked vaguely uncomfortable, which meant the outfit was probably for propriety’s sake, as was Swifty Anderson’s expected presence at dinner. Once dinner was over, however, Meike doubted Helen would continue to abide by society’s rules. Or was that only wishful thinking on her part?
“You look beautiful, Helen.”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised. If Friedrich can look good in a dress, why can’t I?”
Meike laughed. “Isn’t it rich? Two of the people who mean the most to me are a man who wears dresses and a woman who prefers suits.”
“But not tonight.”
“No,” Meike said, giving Helen’s sleek form another long, admiring look, “not tonight.”
A spot of color bloomed in the hollow of Helen’s throat. Meike wanted to sink her tongue into the depression and feel the heat. Taste Helen’s skin. Hear her breath catch when—
“Shall we go?” Helen asked, forcing Meike to put her growing desire in check.
“So soon?” Meike had told herself once that she and Helen had no future. If she believed that, why couldn’t she stop thinking about the past?”
“Swifty already snagged us a table. The best seats in the house. Or so he says.”
Meike followed Helen to the elevator, where the uniformed operator welcomed them with a broad smile and a tip of his cap. “Welcome to New York, ladies.”
Meike had been to New York City several times before. She used it as an embarkation point as she made her way to Forest Hills to compete in the US Championships each year. On this trip, however, she felt as wide-eyed as she had been on her first visit. She found herself amazed by the hustle and bustle of the busy city, the legions of tall buildings that seemed to scrape the sky, and, most of all, the woman who had invited her here in the first place.
She thought she had grown immune to Helen’s charms. What was it about her that proved so hard to resist? Was it her wit, her ebullient personality, or her androgynous beauty? Perhaps, Meike thought with a sigh, it was all those things and more. Helen touched a place in her no one else had been able to reach. Before or since.
When the elevator car reached the first floor, the operator lifted the protective gate and opened the heavy steel doors. “Have a good evening, ladies.”
Meike and Helen stepped into the well-appointed lobby, their heels clicking on the polished marble floor.
“The restaurant is—”
A nondescript man in a boxy brown suit stepped in front of Helen before she could finish her sentence. Startled, Helen took a step back. Her hand fluttered over her undoubtedly racing heart. The man grew instantly apologetic.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss Wheeler, but I’m a big fan of yours. May I have your autograph?”
He thrust a pen and a small piece of paper toward Helen. The paper had writing on it, but the words were too small for Meike to read, though she doubted they were important if the man was asking Helen to scribble her name over them. She noticed Helen’s hand was shaking when she reached for the proffered pen. Hers undoubtedly would have been as well.
“Who should I make it out to?” Helen asked.
Obviously starstruck, the man faltered as if he couldn’t remember his own name. “To Paul.”
Helen glanced at the slip of paper and hastily signed her name. “Here you go, Paul. Thanks for being a fan.”
“Thank you, Miss Wheeler. Bad luck in Adelaide, but better luck next time.”
Helen mustered a half-hearted smile. “From your mouth to God’s ears.”
“It was nice meeting you, Miss Wheeler. You, too, Miss von Bismarck.”
Paul finally glanced in Meike’s direction. Until then, he’d only had eyes for Helen. Meike nodded an acknowledgment of his greeting but didn’t speak. His adoration for Helen made any words from her unnecessary.
“I need a drink,” Helen said once she and Meike were alone.
“Does that happen often?”
“More than you might think.” Helen adjusted the wrap covering her muscular shoulders, making Meike long for another round of strip poker. This time with a much different ending. This time she wanted the show to continue all the way to the end instead of having the curtain come down before the final act was over. “Let’s find our table before Swifty guzzles all the champagne.”
Swifty stood when he saw them approach. Clearing his throat as if preparing to give a speech, he straightened his silk tie and raised his glass in a toast. “To the best—and prettiest—tennis players I have ever met.”
“Aw, Swifty, you say the sweetest things.”
“If I haven’t told you before, Mr. Anderson, you certainly have a way with words.”
He bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the cloth-covered table. “One of my many charms.”
After Meike and Helen took their seats, the waiter brought out three Waldorf salads. Meike loved the contrast between the dish’s various ingredients—the leafy greens, the crunchy walnuts, the tart apples, and the citrus-accented dressing. The appetizer was so good she hoped the entrée wouldn’t suffer in comparison.
“When is your next tournament?” Helen asked after the salad plates were cleared but before the main course arrived.
Until this season, Meike typically began her year with a small indoor event held at the Rot-Weiss Tennis Club in Berlin. But this year was different. This year was about making history. Because this year could be her last.
“I’m entered in an event near the French Riviera next month.” She hoped Friedrich would accompany her on the trip. She hoped even more fervently she could convince him to stay once he arrived. “What about you?”
“I’m heading home for the West Coast swing. After I play a few hard court tournaments and give several celebrities free tennis lessons, I’ll come back East in a few months to sail to Europe for the clay court season.”
“After tonight, I suppose I won’t see you again until the French Championships.” The thought made Meike almost unbearably sad. She didn’t have many friends on tour. Helen was one of them. And at one time, she had been much, much more.
“Depending on my draw,” Helen said with a chuckle, “you might not see me even then. In Paris, my shopping excursions usually last longer than my tournament runs.”
“True, you haven’t made it to the later stages of the French Championships in a few years, b
ut you’re a fine clay court player when you set your mind to it.”
“I have my moments on clay, but not nearly enough of them for my taste.”
“Does that mean you’ll be skipping the Confederation Cup?”
The inaugural event was scheduled to be held on the slow red clay of Roland Garros the week after the French Championships, when most players’ attention would have turned from clay to grass. The tournament’s organizers were touting it as an event that would decide the best tennis nation in the world, but Meike doubted the best players would take part with Wimbledon, the real world championship, looming on the horizon.
“Clay may be my least favorite surface,” Helen said, “but I can’t pass up an opportunity to represent my country.”
“Even if it hurts your chances at winning Wimbledon?” Meike expected to be tired after another grueling run at the French Championships and wanted to be sure she got as much rest as possible before she attempted to defend her Wimbledon title two short weeks after the French Championships ended. Let the Aussies and the Americans battle for world supremacy at the Confederation Cup. She had other goals in mind.
“Some things are more important than individual success. The Confederation Cup is one of them.”
Helen’s passion was admirable, but it didn’t change Meike’s mind about skipping the tournament. “Good luck to you and your team. I shall be rooting for you from the sidelines.”
“I’d rather see you across the net. The Confederation Cup won’t have the same relevance if the top-ranked player doesn’t participate.”
Meike looked away, unable to bear the disappointment in Helen’s eyes. “Perhaps, but surely you can understand why I’m not too keen on wrapping myself in the flag these days. I don’t want to make political statements. I just want to play tennis.”
“You have no choice. Hitler’s made you the face of the new Germany.”
Break Point Page 7
