She arrived at the Beach Inc. complex twenty minutes early. Already the parking lot was filling with Suburbans as scores of high school girls’ teams poured into the main gym, knee pads floating above their socks at their ankles.
Sydney walked through the heavy glass doors and heard the roar of voices, whistles, and team shouts. The air was cool, electric with excitement and purpose. She could feel the competitiveness hitting her flush in the face, and she loved it. Drank from it. Inhaling, she discovered she’d been holding up the entrance, so stepped aside to let several young players and their chaperones enter.
Carly had reserved a sand court, she’d told her. Sydney walked further into the space and noticed the two-story structure had perhaps a dozen traditional indoor courts arranged on both floors. Large expanses of glass divided the playing areas, with skylights bathing the whole interior in natural light. The state-of-the-art facility was impressive.
Several games were in progress. Sounds of whistles, the never-ending “sideout” and team cheers echoed throughout the huge structure. Parents and other team players sat on padded seats on risers instead of the standard metal or wooden benches Sydney was used to.
An Hawaiian-themed snack bar was down at one end of the building, near the four sand courts. Beach Boys and Margaritaville music boomed while two attendants in flowered Aloha shirts helped the customers. A short line of thin giraffe-like girls waited for smoothies and bagels for breakfast. Sydney had been one of them not too long ago. The squeal of an espresso machine pierced the air and surprised her.
Sydney smiled and shook her head. This was not what her growing up had been like. She’d played in hot, smelly gyms all over California, from brand new courts in the Central Valley to dingy inner city courts lined with graffiti and exploded toilets in the Bay Area and LA. She’d attended summer camps at colleges that didn’t have gyms as nice as this one.
“Hey, bitch!” Carly’s voice streamed across the room. “You ready to play, or are you going to go have a smoothie?”
Carly was a more compact version of Sydney’s body type, with long legs and arms, but her height was well below six feet. Her blonde hair was tied up in pigtails, although it was hardly long enough to stay put. The little golden strands looked more like horns. Her skin was paler, which told Sydney she hadn’t been playing outdoor, even grass courts, recently. She was dressed in black, barefoot, and ready to play, holding a burgundy and white striped volleyball.
“Damn, Carly. This place rocks. Who owns it?”
“Believe it or not, a bunch of local businesses got a Title Nine grant. Some of the schools were pissed.”
“I’ll bet.”
“But it’s a nonprofit center. Major benefactor here in Sonoma County left them a ton of dough, and all they can spend it on is youth sports. So the schools can train here, have fundraisers. They even do birthday parties.” She pointed to the second level where a bunch of balloons were tied to one of the open glass doors.
“Wow. I’m seriously impressed.”
“They’ve done a couple more of these elsewhere. It’s great for the girls, and the Beach has a couple of boys’ and men’s league teams as well.”
“This is a serious draw for the community,” Sydney remarked. “I don’t think San Diego has anything close to this.”
“Probably not. I think one’s planned for L.A. Lord knows the schools don’t have the money for anything these days. And the little private schools love it. They don’t have to build a gym at all. I coach a public high school girls’ team, and we have to ask each family to purchase a volleyball so we have enough for practice. It’s that bad.”
Sydney could only shake her head. “So that’s what you’ve been doing, then? Coaching?”
“A little. It doesn’t pay well enough to be full-time. I don’t have a credential, so I’m always on the chopping block. They hire a P.E. or English instructor who can coach and I’m out of a job. Each year it’s the same.”
“You’ve done this more than one season?”
“Second year for Club volleyball. Starting second school year. They alternate, just like when we were growing up.”
Sydney’s mind was flooded with questions. “How are you going to work on the AVP thing if you live up here?”
Carly motioned for them to be seated at the edge of the court. She released the volleyball to the sand. “See, that depends. I can give up the school season if this works out. That comes up this fall. I have camps and some stuff here all summer long, but I’m replaceable. I have a few personal coaching one-on-ones, but”—she shrugged—“I’ll have to give them up.” She looked at her hands, then brushed them together, removing sand. “My assistant might be willing to take the varsity. I have to finish the Club season which ends here in a month.”
“Okay. So what does it look like for us, then? Everything I see scheduled is down south.”
“So we travel.”
“We?”
She turned, extending her arm out, palm up. “This could be our training court.”
“There are no beach games up here, right? I mean real beach.”
“This is real.” Carly scrunched up her nose.
“You know what I mean.”
“There are a few facilities in the Bay Area. San Jose has a complex. They’re building one in Santa Clara. For the beach scene, well, we’d have to drive a couple of hours south. Santa Cruz. There’s also San Francisco, but the training could be here. Only difference, really, is we’d be watching the tournaments from onscreen, not live. We train for the qualifiers next year, Sydney. We give it a go and see where it takes us.”
Maybe that would solve some of the other issues plaguing Sydney. She felt like she was in a fishbowl down south, everyone watching every move she made. The circuit knew she was looking for a partner. Knew it was a long shot she could get qualified to try out for the spots on AVP. She’d only get the points by winning qualifying tournaments. She wasn’t aware of any of them indoors or many qualifiers up in Northern California. But she could get her conditioning done here. She could work on sponsors. She’d have a world-class place to train. She’d be out of the prying eyes of the field in Southern California.
“Okay, Carly,” Sydney said as she lifted her sweatshirt. She drew down her pants and slipped off her shoes. “Let’s see what you got.”
They bumped back and forth over the net, chatting as they warmed up. In between short volleys, Sydney stretched, worked her shoulders, and practiced sprinting and jumping. She had no aches or pains today. Her game body had showed up this morning.
The two of them gave up the soft passes and started placing balls to make each other dive. After several good digs in the sand, Sydney felt the familiar sting in her knees.
Carly asked a couple of Sonoma State girls to join them. They worked across each other for a bit, then Sydney invited her back to her side, and they went two against two. Carly’s hands were good. The players on the other side were young Sonoma State teammates who also worked at the Beach. Although competitive, Sydney had no problem hitting Carly’s sets and getting a kill every time.
“Hey, old lady,” Sydney shouted to her, “Your hands are still nice and soft.”
“Told you, bitch,” Carly hissed back and set another perfect ball for a kill.
They took several five-minute breaks, but Sydney wore them all out, demanding Carly get vocal. They had to work out their play dominance.
Close to noon, Carly held her stomach. “Man, Sydney, you don’t play like you’ve been out for a bit, girl. If anything, I think you’re stronger than when we used to play in LA.”
“Been working out with Jack. He kicks my butt.”
“Well, as long as that’s it, he’s good.”
So the rumors had lingered. “We’re not an item, Carly. Just want to be up front with you. That’s all in the past.”
“I got you,” she said while continuing to catch her breath, leaning forward, her palms resting on her knees. “So, you wanna go get some lunch. The girls have teams
they have to coach, and I think some reffing assignments.”
Sydney checked her Apple Watch. “Good. I could use some food. I definitely need another water.”
The place had premade sandwiches and chili, so it saved them from having to drive. And they could eat as they dressed without being hassled by the general public. Only thing that annoyed Sydney was the noise. Between the beach music and the whistle-blowing, it was hard to understand each other.
“Logistically, how do we pay for this space to train, Carly? I’m not made of money.”
“How do you do it now, Sydney?”
“I have a little I’ve saved from my Dad’s estate. I get my last chunk when I turn twenty-six. Enough to live on for a couple of years, if I’m careful. I’d rather invest it somewhere.”
“Buy a house up here.”
“Not sure I could qualify. I’m not on the tour yet.”
“We could get you something here, if you wanted it. But I guess you’d have to rent some place. I have a studio. Maybe we shouldn’t live together too, if we’re training together. You know the pros and cons of that.”
“I do.”
“Way cheaper than San Diego rents. And if you work here, we can get our court times. Plus”—she held up a key on a ribbon key necklace—“we can train day or night. He who has the keys wins, in this case.” Carly wiggled her eyebrows and with her pigtail horns looked ridiculous.
She made it sound very attractive. She knew Carly was capable of playing pro-level ball, which was dependent on training and working hard. She’d been one of the most competitive players she’d known in college.
“Why didn’t you go on to play more afterward? What brought you up here?”
“My family’s from here. I grew up with my mom in LA, but the rest of my family is up here.” Carly continued on with her story. Sydney thought about her comment about parents living in two places.
Sydney knew about that. Growing up, she’d heard the fights at night between her parents. She used to will it to stop, covering her head with a pillow to drown out the sounds when she was in grammar school and beyond. By the time she began to play volleyball in middle school, the coldness had dug in and her parents never spoke to one another. She became the bridge between two icebergs.
And then came the divorce. Sydney had wished for, and now had, an end to the arguing. But she lost the company of her dad in the process. When her mother went on a serial boyfriend circuit, Sydney requested to go live with her dad. It became the best two years of her life.
Something familiar crept up on her shoulders and added dark weight. The hairs at the back of her neck stood out, then the tingling spread up to her scalp. In just a few seconds, her eyes filled with water.
“Hey, Sydney. You okay? Have you heard a thing of what I’ve been saying over the past couple of minutes?” Carly’s hand was placed against Sydney’s forearm. “Did I say something that upset you?”
There it is again.
“People keep apologizing around me today. Sorry, Carly. It started happening this morning.”
Carly looked off to the side. “Yeah, the past hurts sometimes. Everything okay at home?”
“Home?”
“As in, your family, your love life.”
How could she answer that? “There hasn’t been any family for me since high school. I got a mom somewhere out there. Haven’t seen her in over three years. Even graduation.” Sydney paused because this was more difficult. “As for men? Fuck ’em.”
Carly gave her a high five. “Damn straight, fuck them all to hell! I’m with you there.”
She liked the way Carly picked up on the need for a change in vibe. Something unspoken between them had started already. It was a very encouraging sign.
“So I guess the next thing is, we gotta get you hired here. Would that make it easier for you to get a place to rent?”
“I’m guessing it would.”
“Let’s try it on our own in separate places first. If we have to compromise, we can always do the roommate thing. But we’re going to train hard. We’ll need our space. There are days when I’m not going to like you very much.” Carly’s playful lilt to her voice was a great way of covering some serious boundaries and guidelines.
“Well said. I can see you could be one major bitch.”
“Damn straight.”
Sydney liked her more than she thought she would. “Carly, I’m going to tell you exactly what I think of your play. I won’t sugarcoat it.”
Carly put her hands on her hips. “Another one of those, are you?”
“What does that mean?”
Her new playing partner put a cool towel to her face, then her neck. “What it means is, when you dance, I’ll bet you lead.”
No truer words were ever spoken.
Chapter 13
‡
Alex liked the bright blue sky in Healdsburg, but the air was dry. Blue and white ocean and breaker views were replaced with bright green rows of vineyards looking like cornrows on a young girl. The gently sloping land could easily resemble a woman’s body, all the curves and smoothed ridges and mounds, just like he’d seen in large expanses of African desert he’d flown over during deployments. Something about the land and its shape and shadows reminded him of a woman’s curves and hollows. One particular woman.
A cool breeze caressed his cheek, whispering things as it swirled through the large plate-like leaves of the vines on the hillside they were hiking. Sections were bare or contained brown dying vines, while others remained dark green.
They’d spent the morning creating a very rough business plan, identifying all the decisions they had to make, who would be general partners, how the partnership shares would be divided and how decisions would be made. They left blanks for people’s names to be inserted. They would need a chief executive officer, a chief financial officer, and a board of directors.
Next, Nick told them about the winery and how much work was required, especially taking over someone else’s project mid-cycle. That led to the creation of a chief facilities officer position. Over lunch they discussed what qualifications would be needed for all these job descriptions without mentioning any names. They agreed to fill the positions in-house with the SEALs first, wherever possible. And they knew the CEO and CFOs would more than likely need to be someone who was getting off the Teams. These were not part-time jobs, so a salary would have to be paid, unless the people filling the slots were able financially to contribute their time, recouping it later on when they were making a profit. Nick and Devon would stay on as advisors, and perhaps partners too, depending on their cash situation.
As they drove up to the property, Devon looked in her element, still decorating her hair with bright red clips to hold what didn’t hold up in a crystal comb. With her large belly and rosy cheeks, she didn’t resemble the focused mindset of a star soft-pitch player or all-business attitude of the top-selling saleswoman in Sonoma County.
“I’d want to get Robert Minor from Davis to give us an evaluation,” she said. “He’ll be able to tell us if this is lack of water, or something systemic in the soil.”
“Could it be that virus they talk about? What’s it called?” Alex asked.
“Phylloxera, you mean?” Mark shook his head. “No, we got worse things here. Mildew, fungus. Those are our problems now.” He stopped to examine a turning leaf, showing Alex a white powdery substance that could be scratched off with his fingernail. “When the old dead wood from the prior season isn’t hauled away, it’s a haven for pathogens. Here we got dead fruit, leaves, branches and other things blown in, all mixed together.”
Jake asked the next question. “So the fact that the vineyard hasn’t been properly tended means we have to understand what’s here, what we have to fight.”
“Identifying the enemy!” Coop confirmed.
“Yes.” Mark walked down between the rows, kicking the dirt with his boot, stopping to pick a leaf here and there. He scraped the base of the vines with his toe. “Of cours
e, one thing is for sure, this is prime Dry Creek Valley soil. Some of the most expensive vineyard land in the country. Perhaps the world.”
“Let’s go see the houses, shall we?” Devon asked.
Alex turned to Lucas and Zak. “You guys think you could live up here, do this?” They ambled over to the front door of the big house.
Lucas was first to speak. “I’m not ready to leave the Teams. You’re not, are you, Alex?”
“Hell no. But someone will have to. That is, if we manage the money for the down payment.”
“I’m game. Not sure how much longer they’ll have me,” Zak said. He had taken to wearing his black eye patch all the time, even though Alex knew he could sense some diffused light on occasion. The patch did more to hide the scarring around his eye than anything else.
“I know you’re not the only one, Zak. Shoot, it coulda been me over there on the Canaries.” Alex had always felt lucky his injury was to his leg, and not his face, like Zak. The mission was aborted without loss of life, except for the three would-be assassins against the Secretary of State. The public still wasn’t aware how close they were to losing not only the Secretary, but several of the SEALs and State Department security team as well. Running a vineyard in beautiful Healdsburg seemed like a whole lot safer thing to do, and a pretty darned nice way to make a living.
But he wasn’t ready to detach. Alex knew he’d fight a medical discharge tooth and nail.
They stepped on the large wraparound porch at the main house first. Built near the turn of the century, but Devon said it wasn’t on the Historic Register. “Just some old guy who lived here forever. Think he bought it after World War II.”
Inside, the home was still furnished with 1950’s-style pieces right from a vintage House Beautiful magazine. The overstuffed upholstery still smelled of the man who was only dead a few days. A chill wiggled its way up Alex’s spine.
“You get used to this sort of thing, Devon?” he asked her.
“What do you mean?”
“Looks like he’s coming home anytime now. Just went out to do some shopping and will be back for some lunch and a nap.”
Band of Bachelors: Alex, Book 2 Page 9
