Hot Shot

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  "I just know, that's all. It occurred to me at dinner exactly how all this might turn out. If we're very, very lucky, of course."

  "How what will turn out? What are you talking about?"

  He brushed the side of her cheek with his hand in the gentlest gesture she could ever remember receiving from a man, and she looked into eyes that were as wise and compassionate as the eyes of a dime-store Jesus. "You mustn't give yourself to anyone for a while, Paige. Not sexually. It's quite important."

  She slapped away his gentle touch with the flat of her hand. "I'll 'give myself to anybody I like! God, you really are a nerd! From now on, you mind your own goddamn business, do you hear me? Fuck you, mister. Just… fuck you."

  He gave her a sweet sad smile and turned away to watch the waves.

  Susannah made certain she was in bed before Yank and Paige returned from the beach. She couldn't bear the thought of another discussion about leaving. As she plumped her pillow, she remembered Paige's astonishing reaction to Yank's appearance. Her sister's sexual sparring with Mitch hadn't been at all surprising-Mitch was an incredibly attractive man-but Paige had seemed just as captivated with Yank.

  She shut her eyes and tried to relax so she could sleep, but her eyelids kept jumping open. To distract herself, she began to imagine what it would be like to make love with Yank. Try as she might, ail she could picture was Yank getting distracted at the crucial moment.

  And then, to her utter shame, she felt a flash of desire. For the first time it occurred to her that sexual frustration was something she would have to learn to live with. She was a sensual woman, and that part of her wouldn't go away just because she no longer had a husband to satisfy her. At the same time, she was so bruised that she couldn't imagine ever again making the deep emotional commitment that she needed before she could go to bed with someone.

  A picture of Sam hovering over her as they made love took shape in her mind. The pain that accompanied it was so sharp she bit down on her lip. Don't think about it, she told herself. Think about someone else.

  She pondered the bleak sexless years ahead. Once again she tried to envision herself with Yank, but the picture wouldn't take hold. Another picture took its place, one of herself and Mitch. Fantasy was a harmless pursuit, so she gave herself permission to strip off the black trunks that he had worn on the beach. She imagined his shape and size, and her limbs began to feel pleasantly lax. She let him pick her up and lay her down on a blue silk sheet. She conjured up the scent that he carried with him of starched shirt and clean skin. Her body felt heavy and languid.

  She groaned and buried her face into the pillow. As her eyelids squeezed shut, Sam's mouth took shape in her mind. Sam's mouth-hard and determined-whispering a lifelong litany of traitorous love words.

  She got up very early the next morning, still groggy from her awful night. Holding her sandals in her hand so she wouldn't make any noise, she slipped across the front room toward the door so she could get away before Yank awakened. Later she would be ready to face him, but not yet.

  "Susannah?"

  She moaned with frustration as Yank slipped out of his bedroom. His hair was tousled and he had pulled on the wrinkled chinos he had been wearing the night before. The rest of him was uncovered. She didn't realize until that moment that she had never seen Yank without a shirt. His chest was lean almost to the point of boniness, but there was a tautness about his flesh that made his thinness appealing.

  "I'm going into town," she said, anxious to get away before he stopped her. "I thought I'd get some pastries for breakfast."

  "We don't actually need any pastries." He walked over to the kitchen table, where he picked up a ripe peach from a bowl of fruit and bit into it. He chewed slowly, then looked down at the peach as if he had never seen one before. "It would be easiest on you, Susannah, if you simply resigned yourself to going back with me this afternoon."

  "This afternoon? That's impossible."

  "Would you prefer to wait until tomorrow morning?"

  "No, I-"

  "This afternoon, then." He made the statement with ominous finality.

  "Yank, I don't want to go back. Not yet. Don't press me on this."

  "Someone has to press you. I was very disappointed with Mitch. He should have brought you back last week."

  "I'm not a piece of cargo! Listen to me, Yank. The thought of facing Sam-I just can't do it yet."

  "Of course you can. You're quite strong, Susannah. You need to remind yourself of that."

  She didn't feel at all strong. She felt like a little girl with a string of broken balloons woven through her fingers. "Being forced to face Sam a dozen times a day is a little more than I can handle right now."

  "The company depends on you."

  She threw down her sandals. They skidded across the floor and banged into the leg of a chair. "Forget about the company! I'm sick of hearing about it. If we believe the Gospel according to Gamble, SysVal is just as important as Christianity. I don't buy that anymore. We're making a computer, for God's sake. A machine. That's all." She waved her hand toward the ceiling. "See! The sky didn't fall. I spoke blasphemy and nothing happened."

  Yank looked strained, as if being near such an outpouring of emotion had exhausted him. He dropped the peach pit into the waste basket. "SysVal isn't three kids in a garage anymore. It's a company filled with people who have to pay their mortgages and support their families."

  "I'm not responsible for that. All those people aren't my responsibility."

  "Yes, they are. You're essential to SysVal."

  "I'm the most replaceable of the partners, and you know it."

  "You're the least replaceable. I'm surprised you don't realize that. From the very beginning, you're the only one of us who has always been able to see the whole picture. The rest of us only see parts."

  "That's ridiculous. Mitch sees it all."

  "Better than I do. Better than Sam, maybe. But Mitch's business background has given him biases you don't have. And Mitch and Sam give each other energy, but they don't really understand each other. Without you interpreting for them, they can't even talk."

  It was a long speech for him. He began to stare off into space, and she assumed that he had worn himself out. But he was merely taking a few moments to arrange the rest of his thoughts properly. "You're not a visionary like Sam or a marketing strategist like Mitch. You can't design like I do. But you understand people, and you're the one who keeps us on track. If it weren't for you, SysVal would have been lost in chaos long ago. You have this way of keeping order."

  The part of her that wasn't miserable was gratified that Yank thought so highly of what she did. Somehow, his praise meant more to her than any compliments she had ever received from either Sam or Mitch.

  "Mitch wants you to come back when you're ready, Susannah. He told me quite explicitly that I was not to force you to return."

  "I'm a free human being," she said with what she hoped passed for conviction. "You can't force me."

  "That may be, but freedom is relative. I have information that Mitch has ordered me not to divulge. If you knew this information, you would immediately return."

  Although she had known Mitch was keeping something back from her, for the first time she grew alarmed. "What information? What are you talking about?"

  "It's quite disturbing, Susannah."

  "Don't you dare do this to me! If you know something I should know, tell me. I don't care what Mitch says."

  "Oh, I intend to tell you. I was quite surprised that Mitch thought he could bully me like that."

  "What's happened, Yank? What's this all about?"

  Yank wandered over to the window and looked out at the view for a few moments. Then he turned back to her. "A few days after you left, Sam began to lobby our Board of Directors."

  "That's not unusual. Sam is always lobbying the board for something."

  "This time his goal was quite different."

  Susannah felt a chill of apprehension deep in the pit of
her stomach. "What do you mean? What's he done?"

  "Susannah, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but Sam is trying to convince the board to sell SysVal."

  Chapter 25

  When Paige awakened, Susannah told her what had happened and tried to convince her sister to return to San Francisco with them. But Paige shrugged her off, insisting she had already made plans to go to Sardinia. She immediately began the business of closing up her cottage and arranged for a jeep to come and get all three of them. Their relationship was still so fragile that Susannah was reluctant to press her. At the same time, she felt so emotionally intertwined with her sister that she didn't want a lengthy separation. What if they fell back into their old antagonistic pattern?

  Their parting at the airport wasn't as difficult as it might have been because Yank disappeared at the last moment and both of them had to set off after him. Paige found him with a group of passengers ready to board a flight to Marrakech. She took him back to the proper gate just as Susannah had given up all hope of locating him.

  He absentmindedly passed his ticket and boarding pass over to Susannah, then turned back to Paige. "Please remember that request I made when we were on the beach. It's very important."

  Susannah looked at them curiously, trying to figure out what Yank was talking about.

  Paige ran her fingers along her purse strap. "What's it worth to you?"

  "Worth?"

  "Yeah. Are you willing to put your money where your mouth is?" Her eyes swept over him insolently. "And I'll just bet your mouth has been in some very interesting places."

  Yank flushed. "You're suggesting I make the same agreement?"

  "Why not? Misery loves company."

  "I hadn't thought that far ahead."

  "Maybe you'd better."

  "You have a point. Although-"

  "Do you agree?"

  He considered her question for a few moments and then nodded.

  Susannah was mystified by the conversation, but her speculation was stopped short as the loudspeaker announced the final boarding call. Neither she nor Paige seemed to know quite what to say. Susannah smiled shakily. "Thanks. Thanks so much for everything."

  Paige shrugged off Susannah's gratitude. "I owed you one."

  Yank had begun to wander away. Susannah grabbed him and steered him toward the gate. Just before they passed through, she gave Paige a final wave.

  Paige stood in the middle of a bustling crowd of tourists and watched her sister and Yank Yankowski disappear. As they slipped out of sight, a deep ache passed through her like a dark wave on her private beach. Something important was slipping out of her life, and she didn't have the faintest idea how to get it back.

  On the trip from Athens to Heathrow, Yank told Susannah what he knew about Sam's sudden determination to sell the company. He offered the details in his customary systematic fashion, laying out the facts as he knew them and refusing to speculate on anything he wasn't certain of.

  Sam wanted to sell SysVal to Databeck Industries, an international conglomerate. Databeck had offered to buy SysVal a year ago, and at the time Sam had scoffed at them, even though several of the board members had urged that the offer be considered. No matter how hard she searched, she could find only one explanation for Sam's change of heart. He wanted to get back at her for leaving him. The idea that he would sacrifice the company that meant everything to him just to punish her sent a chill to the very marrow of her bones. How could she have thought she knew someone so well and not have known him at all?

  They had to lay over for several hours at Heathrow before their plane left for San Francisco. When they finally boarded, Yank fell asleep quickly, but Susannah couldn't rest. Instead of concentrating on the crisis at SysVal, she kept imagining herself walking into the lobby. Everyone would be watching her. She envisioned the pity in their faces, imagined the whispers behind her back. The images were unbearable, and she forced herself to concentrate on the implications of Sam's turnabout.

  They all had been so certain that nothing like this could ever happen. The four partners each held fifteen percent of the company, giving them a controlling sixty percent. The other board members held the remaining forty. They had always felt so safe with this arrangement. But if Sam could unite the board, and if he then threw his fifteen percent in with them, nothing that she, Yank, or Mitch could do would keep the company from being sold.

  They arrived in California at six in the morning. Even though it was early, Susannah asked Yank to drop her at Mitch's house. He lived in a charming California-style ranch that sprawled over several acres in Los Altos Hills. As he opened the door, she saw that he was clad only in a pair of running shorts. Sweat gleamed on his arms and darkened the pelt of sandy hair on his chest. He looked surprised to see her, but he was so hard to read that she wasn't certain whether he was pleased or not. The strange, erotic fantasy she'd had about him when she was in Greece slipped back into her mind, and for a moment she couldn't quite meet his eyes.

  "Welcome home," he said, stepping aside to admit her. "I just got back from my run." He took her traveling case and led her into the living room. Normally it was one of her favorite places in the house, a happy hodgepodge of Ameri-can Southwest and French Riviera. Chairs and couches were upholstered in nubby, neutral-colored fabrics brightened up with throw pillows printed with colorful geometries. The stucco walls held large canvases splashed with tropical flowers, and tables with curly wrought-iron legs were placed at convenient intervals. But the pleasure she usually felt at being in such cheerful surroundings eluded her.

  He set down her case next to one of the couches. "Give me a minute to take a shower and then we'll talk. There's a pot of fresh coffee in the kitchen."

  She stopped him before he could leave the room. "You should have told me what Sam was doing when you came to Naxos." She hadn't intended to sound so condemning, but there still seemed to be some mysterious strain between them and she couldn't help it.

  "You had plenty of chances to ask questions," he replied. "I don't remember hearing any."

  "Don't you play games with me, Mitch. I expect better of you."

  He picked up a wadded T-shirt from one of the end tables and began to rub his damp chest with it. "Is that an official reprimand, Madame President?"

  A month ago she couldn't have imagined being intimidated by him, but now there was something so forbidding about the way he was looking at her that she had to force herself to hold her ground. "You can take it any way you want."

  He yanked his T-shirt on, then pulled it down over his chest. "I tried every way I knew to talk you into coming back, Susannah, but I wasn't going to force you if you weren't ready. We've got a big fight ahead of us, and your personal problems are going to make it more complicated. If Yank and I couldn't have one hundred percent from you, I wanted you out of our way."

  He was acting like she was an encumbrance. "That wasn't your decision to make," she snapped. "What's wrong with you, Mitch? When did you turn into the enemy?"

  Some of his stiffness faded. "I'm not your enemy, Susannah. I don't mean to be abrupt. Sam's called an informal meeting of the board tomorrow at three o'clock. My guess is that he intends to tighten the screws."

  "Forget it," she said fiercely. "He can call any meeting he wants, but his partners aren't going to be there to see the show. I'm not going to meet with anybody on the board-formally or otherwise-until I've had a few days to ask some questions. Without us, they can't have much of a meeting."

  "We have to confront the board sooner or later."

  "I know that. But I'm taking the ball into my court for a while. Make sure that you're unreachable tomorrow afternoon at meeting time. I'll take care of Yank."

  Mitch seemed to be thinking over what she'd said. "I'll give you a couple of weeks, Susannah, but no more. I don't want anyone to think we're running. That'll hurt us nearly as badly as what Sam is doing."

  She didn't like the fact that he was questioning her judgment, but at least some of his stiffnes
s had dissipated. What was happening to the two of them? She'd grown to take Mitch's friendship for granted, and she couldn't imagine losing it, especially now when she felt so fragile. The burst of adrenaline that had kept her going had begun to fade, and she sat down on the couch.

  He saw that she was exhausted, and went to get her a cup of coffee. As she sipped it, he told her he had reserved the town house SysVal owned for its traveling executives so she had a place to stay until she got resettled. He had also reclaimed her car from the airport and stored it in his garage. His thoughtfulness made her feel better.

  Forty-five minutes later, she climbed the stairs to the town house's second floor, slipped into the freshly made bed and fell into a troubled, dream-ridden sleep. She awoke around noon and telephoned home to make certain Sam wasn't there. When she received no answer, she dressed and drove over.

  She half expected to find the locks had been changed, but her key worked without any difficulty. The house looked the same-cold and uninviting. She went into the bedroom with its steel-framed furniture and gray suede walls. Everything was exactly as she had left it. Everything except-

  Her eyes widened as she saw a small oil painting hanging on the wall between their matching bureaus. It was a seascape in soft feminine pastels that were at odds with the room's cold gray interior. She had found the painting a year ago in a gallery in Mill Valley and immediately fallen in love with it. But Sam had hated it and refused to let her hang it. This was the first time she had seen it since she had come home from a business trip and discovered that he had sent it back.

  She sagged down on the side of the bed and stared at the painting. Tears welled in her eyes. How could he be taking the company away from her on one hand and, at the same time, giving her this painting? The pastels blurred through her tears, swimming together so that the painting seemed to be in motion. The waves of the seascape heaved toward the shore in watery blue and green swells.

  She thought of Sam's wave-the wave of the future he had told her about all those years ago. That wave had swept over them just as he had promised, and just as he had promised, they had been changed forever. She stared at the painting, and the great vat of grief that had been sealed shut inside her opened up, sending dark eddies through every part of her. She hugged herself and stared at the painting and rocked back and forth on the edge of the bed while she truly mourned the death of her marriage.