McNeil's Match

by Gwynne Forster

  “What’s open?”

  “The kitchen window’s stuck, and I can’t close it. My kitchen is a river. Thank God you came.”

  “Where’s the kitchen? I was over at Lynne’s, and you wouldn’t get out of my head.” He closed the window. “Do you have a mop and a bucket?”

  “Thanks for closing the window. I don’t want you to mop that up. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  He ignored her. “Give me the mop. It won’t take me but a few minutes.” When she hesitated, he found the broom and storage closet and got busy mopping up the water. “I wanted to telephone you, but talking on phones during an electrical storm is too risky. You need a cellular phone for occasions like this and in case of electricity failure.”

  “I guess you’re right, but aren’t they difficult to master?”

  “No. Get one, and I’ll teach you in two minutes.”

  “I will. I’ll do it tomorrow. I don’t have to tell you that I was scared to death. Who knows how long this thing will last?”

  He emptied the water into the commode, put the bucket and mop back into the closet and looked at the tiny woman whose face had been chalk-white with fear. “The thunder and lightning has about passed, but there’s no telling how long this rain will last. Do you have food essentials in the house?”

  She grasped his hand. “I keep the place well stocked, so I’m not likely to run out of anything but fresh milk, and I can do without that. Can you sit down for a minute? I know you’re wet, but the kitchen chair won’t be uncomfortable, and we can take that to the living room.”

  The plaintiveness in her voice affected him strangely, bringing to his mind the thought that, if his parents were in need and he wasn’t with them, hopefully someone would be kind to them.

  He sat down, took out his cell phone and called Lynne on hers. “You don’t know how glad I am that I came.” He explained what he’d found. “She asked me to stay a minute, and I will for about half an hour. See you then.” When she sent him a kiss, he relaxed. Another point in her favor.

  “I made some drip coffee,” Thelma said, “and I had just a little piece of pecan pie left, so I split it. You eat this and take this other little piece to Lynne.”

  He resisted hugging her because he wasn’t sure their friendship had progressed that far. “Lynne and I are going out to dinner when this wind dies down. Want to come with us? We aren’t going to a fancy place. We can’t because even if I dry, my clothes will look as if I slept in them.”

  Her spoon clattered in the saucer. “You serious? You don’t think Lynne would mind?”

  He stifled a laugh and let the mirth surface as a grin. “Why should she mind? We’re only going to eat.”

  She stared at him for a minute, and then whooped. “You’re a wicked man, but I wouldn’t exchange you for anything. Thanks. I’ll be glad to enjoy a meal in good company.” She rested the cup in its saucer and placed them on the table beside her. “I hadn’t ever thought about this, Sloan, but it has just occurred to me how lucky I am that I’m not a bigot. If I hadn’t gone over and introduced myself to Lynne, I wouldn’t know you. In my heart, I feel that you’re both a blessing to me.”

  “Maybe we’re a blessing to each other. I’d better go. We’ll let you know when we’re ready to leave, and I’ll come over for you.”

  “Don’t you want an umbrella?”

  “Thanks, but it would be a quarter of a mile from here almost as soon as I opened it. Not to worry. I’ll be fine.” He wasn’t given to premonitions, but he’d surely had one about her. He wondered whether he was entering a new cycle of his life.

  “You’re soaked,” Lynne told him when he walked into her house. “I think you’d better put on my old paisley robe while I put your clothes in the drier.”

  “Don’t make jokes. It won’t fit me.”

  “It will. It’s a one-size-fits-all man’s robe that once belonged to my brother. But I liked it so much that he gave it to me. Come on upstairs.” He followed her, and when they reached the landing, she turned to him and said, “You can stay up here until your clothes dry.”

  He laughed. It spilled out of him like water gushing over a dam. “Why do I have to stay up here? I can be a gentleman downstairs, too.”

  She didn’t look at him. “You can also keep such thoughts to yourself. Here’s the robe. I’ll be back in a minute to get your things. And will you please stop grinning?”

  The scene embarrassed her, and that surprised him. After all, she wasn’t a teenager. “I’ll put them beside the door. Okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, then left the room and closed the door.

  He liked the room, although he realized that she hadn’t furnished it. But surely that was her lavender-peach silk cover on the bed. He undressed quickly. “I don’t see the advantage of wet shorts under dry pants,” he said to himself, unwilling to let her dry his underwear. Besides, he didn’t think it polite to give them to her. He put his shirt and trousers outside, took a seat in the flowered, chintz chair—he hated chintz—and waited for her knock. When it came, he realized he had enjoyed a short and peaceful nap.

  “I was asleep,” he told her when he came downstairs, dry and much more comfortable. He went into the kitchen, got a piece of paper towel and wrapped his Jockey shorts in it.

  The rain and wind slackened around seven o’clock and he telephoned Thelma. “We’re ready, if you are,” he said.

  “I’m ready. This is exciting. I haven’t had a dinner invitation in so long I forgot the last time.”

  He waited while Lynne fed Caesar and put him in his house. “He knows where he lives now, so I think you can leave his door open. He won’t stray.”

  He drove up the street to Thelma’s house, parked and knocked on her door. She opened it at once, as if she had been waiting beside it. “You look lovely,” he said of her beige and white checkered linen dress.

  “Thank you. I won’t ask how you got dry,” she drawled.

  He realized that he liked her brand of humor, told her as much and added, “She locked me in the room while she dried them, and since I was practically handcuffed, I caught up on my sleep.”

  They strolled down the cobblestone walk from her house to the car. “I knew she was smart. Nothing like the power of suggestion to get a woman into trouble. A man, too, maybe, but I can only speak from experience.”

  What an enjoyable woman! When he was with her, he didn’t remember her age unless he was looking at her. He opened the back door, helped her into the car and fastened her seat belt. They ate at a roadside restaurant, and although he’d had better food, he enjoyed the occasion.

  “Next time, we’ll do this at my house,” Lynne said.

  “Well, if you have time,” Thelma said. “With your coach planning to start you in tournaments, you might not have much time for a social life, and if you don’t, I’ll understand.”

  The comment reminded him that she might not have time for him, either, but he knew that if she wanted to see him and spend time with him, she would find a way. He walked with Thelma to her door, opened it, kissed her cheek and went back to the woman who lived inside of him.

  “I’m not going inside,” he told her, “because I have to finish working out my payroll before I sleep. A couple of the men are due for a raise. I intend to promote one of them to manager of the station I’ll build in Clinton Hills. If I go inside with you, there’s no telling when I’ll come out of there.”

  She reached over and tweaked his nose. “Don’t let when you’ll leave worry you—concern yourself with getting home after you leave me.”

  “Now wait a minute here!”

  She threw up both hands. “Don’t get riled. No offense intended. What I said makes sense. I’ll see that you leave here, and your job is to drive home carefully.”

  “Sorry. After an evening of matching wits with The
lma, I guess I’m keyed up.” He took her key and opened the door. “Give me a kiss, and please don’t pour it on.”

  “Okay. I won’t.” She stepped close, pressed her body—her soft, luscious body—to him, and the minute he put his hands on her, he could feel the tension in her breasts, arms and belly as she rocked into him. Without counting the cost, his hands went to her buttocks, the rounded, soft and sexy part of her that made him think all kind of things, and he pressed her to him.

  My Lord, he thought, I haven’t even kissed her, and I’m about to explode. He backed away sufficiently to get a grip on his libido. “I’ll see you in a couple of days but, in the meantime, I’ll call you, and you can call me.”

  “You didn’t kiss me,” she said, and he realized that it was a serious complaint.

  “I asked you not to pour it on but you waded into me, and in less than two minutes, I was ready to break out of my skin.”

  “Sorry, but you invite that kind of behavior on my part.”

  “Yeah,” he growled, grabbed her and spread kisses over her face, neck and ears. No more, he thought. If I get my tongue in her mouth, I won’t leave here tonight. She hugged him and pushed him toward the door. “Bye, love.”

  After he left, she wandered around the house, tidying the den, dusting the living room, washing Caesar’s food containers and strolling aimlessly from one place to another. Finally, with nothing else to occupy her time, she telephoned her brother. “Gary wants to enter me in the Western Tournament in Cincinnati, July 18. He says I’m making great progress.”

  “Sure. You’re paying him to say that. Why’re you going into such a small tournament?”

  “Davenport’s the reigning champion. If it isn’t too small for her, it isn’t too small for me.”

  “Well. All right, but I think the whole thing’s crazy. I don’t want you to be disappointed, sis.”

  “Brad, I want you to understand that I’m going to make it to the top, and I’m giving myself two years in which to do it.”

  “What did Tom Breckenridge say about the house?”

  “He said if the title is clear, I should buy it, and I will. After the closing, I’ll start collecting furniture, and I’m going to put in a swimming pool. This is hot country.”

  “Swimming pool’s a good idea. By the way, has your boyfriend stopped greasing cars?”

  She bristled at that. “Brad, for goodness’ sake, don’t be so disrespectful. You don’t know Sloan. And no, I haven’t mentioned it to him.”

  “You’ll be sorry if you don’t. Mark my word. Are you going to ask him? It’s a little thing to do for you if he cares about you.”

  “Yes, I’ll ask him, but the idea doesn’t sit too well with me.”

  “Trust me. I know what I’m talking about.”

  “I’ll see you this weekend, and we’ll talk.”

  After a restful night, she rose early, fed Caesar, hooked his leash to his collar and by seven o’clock she headed up the street with him, deciding to combine her jogging with Caesar’s morning walk, much to the dog’s delight. He didn’t dally among the shrubs and flowers, as he did when they walked, but seemed to relish the brisk run. Back home by seven-thirty, she ate a breakfast of orange juice, oatmeal and coffee, and prepared herself mentally for her trial with Max as she walked around the property, deciding where to put her swimming pool and cabana.

  “I’m on my way,” she said to herself and had begun to practice deep breathing when Max drove up in his red convertible and sauntered toward her.

  “You’re not supposed to do that unless I’m here to make sure you do it right,” he said, and for the first time, she realized that scolding her was his method of control.

  “Are you saying the only time I should breathe is when you’re looking at me?” she asked him, though she knew the question would irritate him.

  “You’re too smart for your own good. Two years from now, you’ll still be number three hundred on the tour. I’m wasting my time.”

  “Really? How inconsiderate of me! I suggest that beginning this minute, you not waste any more of it. How much do I owe you?”

  His face was ashen suddenly, and his knees seemed to nearly buckle. He’d overplayed his hand, and he knew it. “Oh, come on, Lynne, you and I have these...uh, set-tos all the time. What’s the problem?”

  “You are. And I’m fed up with you. How much do I owe you?”

  He glowered at her. “You think you’re hot stuff because you got Gary Hines for a coach. Well, you’re not. You’re a has-been, and that’s all you’ll ever be. I’ll send you a bill.”

  “Thanks. And don’t forget that I can multiply and add.”

  “These heifers make me sick,” she heard him say as he headed for his car.

  She phoned Gary and gave him an account of the incident. “You fired Max?” he asked in a tone of bewilderment. “Really?” Then he laughed. “He must be in shock. The guy treats the players like dirt, and his clients accept it from him because he’s supposed to be the best. Bully for you.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I think Max’s main problem is that he doesn’t like women.”

  “That’s for sure. I think Clive Roberts is free, and he’s about as good as Max. I’ll call him. See you at eleven.”

  She didn’t usually telephone Sloan before noon, because he took emergency calls during that period, so she called Thelma and invited her over for coffee. “This is a hoot,” she said to herself. “My closest female friend is seventy-five if she’s a day.” She thought about that for a minute and concluded that she enjoyed the woman’s company, age notwithstanding.

  “I’ll be right over,” Thelma said. “I just made some scones, and they’re still hot.”

  She made the coffee, set the table on the deck, cut a cantaloupe and gave each of them half. Minutes later, Thelma rang the doorbell. “I hope you’re planning to marry Sloan,” she said without preliminaries. “He’s about the nicest, most considerate and most decent man I ever got to know. If you let him slip through your fingers, you will live to regret it. That kind of man is hard to find.”

  Lynne blinked at her. “I only met him three months ago.”

  “So? I knew my dear Lloyd exactly six weeks before we married, and we lived together happily for fifty-one years. I thanked God for him every day of those fifty-one years. You’d better wake up. You hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I hear you.”

  “What’re you going to do about it?”

  “Uh...I’ll think of something,” she said, barely aware of her words.

  Chapter 5

  Thursday morning, July 3, Lynne flew to Baltimore and, because both her brother and her sister-in-law were at work, traveled the fifteen miles to Ellicott City by airport shuttle bus. She let herself into the house, called her brother and then undressed and crawled into bed, but she couldn’t sleep.

  Thelma’s words lashed at her. Was she so immature that she didn’t understand her feelings for a man? She adored Sloan, but was that the same as caring for him, the kind of caring that developed into love? Admittedly she was happier with him than she remembered being at any time in her life, and until he had her in his arms, she hadn’t known what it was to need a man; she’d only thought she did. He’d said he was patient, and he was. She wasn’t ready for sex with him, and he didn’t pressure her. Thelma said a man like him was hard to find, and she believed her. But what was she to do? If she fell in love with Sloan, her thoughts would be on him, and not on her goal. She didn’t see the fairness in it, if indeed there was any. She suspected that, if Sloan walked out of her life, she’d be too depressed to focus on her tennis game. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.

  Lynne sat up in bed, stunned, as realization hit her. Was she reluctant to make love with Sloan because she had never succeeded at it? Because six years of disappointm
ents with her husband had conditioned her to a life without sexual fulfillment?

  She got up, put on a blue knee-skimming sundress and her espadrilles, went out on the back porch and sat in the swing. She’d been cheated in more ways than one, and one of these days, she would confront Willard Marsh with his inadequacies. And Lord, how she was going to enjoy that moment!

  “Hey, girl,” Debra called from the hall as she headed for the back porch. “I got stuff for a barbecue or a boring ordinary meal. Which do you prefer for dinner tonight?” Debra seldom provided preliminaries to any action or question. She seemed to assume that you followed her thinking, whatever that was. The only woman she knew who wore gloves and a hat as a fashion statement; not even the debilitating heat deigned to wilt Debra Thurston, who always looked as if she had just finished dressing. Lynne listened to the clicking of her sister-in-law’s spike heels on the beige tile hallway and shuddered at the thought of what they did to the woman’s feet. Still, she had to admit that Debra—tall, willowy and always elegant—was perfect for Brad.

  “Don’t you barbecue tomorrow, July Fourth?” she asked Debra.

  “Good heavens, no. Brad will be up before daylight to go fishing in the Patapsco River, which means we’ll have some good old catfish fried right over the fire in a black skillet, corn and potatoes wrapped in foil and roasted on the grill and I’ll cook down some collards with smoked pig knuckles. Naturally we’ll have blueberries or blueberry cobbler for dessert. You know, this is the blueberry season. Honey, tomorrow we’ll get down with some serious eating.”

  She tossed her hat onto the chaise nearby, pulled off her white gloves, sat down beside Lynne, crossed her knees and, in a conspiratorial tone, said, “Now, tell me about this mechanic before Brad gets here. You know how he can be. For some reason, he’s decided the man is worthless.”

  With a deep sigh, Lynne turned and looked straight at her sister-in law. “Sloan McNeil holds a master’s degree in mechanical engineering from Howard University. He owns McNeil’s Motor Service, and he’s planning to open a second station in a matter of months. He is a kind, gracious and considerate man, and I am getting tired of Brad’s nastiness about a man he doesn’t know and has never seen.”