Sudden Death (36 page)

It took four guards to get Susan off the court. One of the promoters miraculously appeared at the foot of Miranda’s high chair. She leaned down and told him to put it in the shit can. There was no way this match would continue after Susan calmed down. Hell, they’d have to force-feed her Thorazine. Panic-stricken though he was, the promoter knew he had to back Miranda Mexata.

The next day, journalists bellowed in an orgy of outrage over Susan’s assault. Curiously, Martin Kuzirian remained silent.

So Carmen won the U.S. Open. A cloud would hang over that victory and for that she’d curse Susan to her dying day … but she won it. One tournament remained. Just one.

J
ane told no one about her condition. By the end of September she experienced a serious slide. The chemotherapy affected her horribly. She rallied but did not travel. Harriet, ignorant, called her every other day. Jane explained the fact that she wasn’t on the road by saying she really was writing that long-promised novel. She promised to visit Harriet soon.

She was admitted to the hospital the second week of October. Ricky broke the news to Harriet. Jane swore she’d recover, but he knew she was never going to walk out of the hospital alive. When Harriet came through the door Jane threw a glass at Ricky. Her anger subsided as quickly as it came. Ricky left them alone.

“I’ve brought my portable typewriter. Thought you might want to dictate.”

“Later.” Jane sighed. “I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.”

She looked awful. In the last three weeks, she lost a dangerous amount of weight. Her vision was blurred, and the headaches were worse. Medication eased the pain, but it made her groggy.

“I don’t care how you look.”

“Pretty bad.”

Harriet shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you by coming. I wish you’d told me.”

“It’s not you. I didn’t tell anybody. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot. You’d be amazed what you think about when you’re sick. Of course, half the time I’m so doped up, I can’t think at all.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Watch out for Ricky.”

A convulsive shudder shot through Harriet’s body. “Jane …”

Jane waved her hand. “Pull yourself together. I might be well tomorrow.”

“Of course, you will be!”

“Yeah, well, I might become a Girl Guide to the cosmos, too.”

“Lighting celestial campfires.” Harriet smiled. She felt dreadful.

Jane leaned forward and took Harriet’s hand. “I’m sorry for your troubles.”

“My God, Jane, my troubles are nothing!”

“I don’t believe in comparative pain. You’re having a rotten time. Now that Carmen’s married, maybe they’ll let up on you being the lesbian Svengali.”

“After a while you get numb to it.”

“Do you know what I’ve been thinking about?” Jane continued to hold Harriet’s hand. “I was raised a Christian.”

“Me, too.”

“Well, I do believe Christ died for my sins, tell that to Baby Jesus. But you know, I think throughout history, there were thousands of sons and daughters of God, unnamed souls, who suffered and died for us also. Rebirth is a collective process. We chose an individual to symbolize it, but we really must do it together. Understand?”

“I’m trying.”

That was the last conversation the two friends shared.
Jane Fulton died suddenly the next evening. She was talking to Ricky as she died.

Passing down a corridor of long darkness, Jane rushed toward the unknown, spilling finally into blinding light. Perhaps this was a memory of the journey down the birth canal and into the world. Maybe the memory is in each human, and death recalls it, like a stored tape, to soothe the process of death. Or maybe it was true rebirth. Whichever, Jane Fulton smiled at the end.

“I missed covering the Melbourne Olympics. I was just out of school and working for a tiny paper in Charleston, West Virginia.” Ricky and Harriet strolled around the Olympic Park, hard by Fitzroy Gardens in Melbourne, Australia.

“I read the scores in the papers and dreamed I’d grow up to throw the javelin.”

“Pipsqueak.” Ricky shaded his eyes and looked at the names carved on the outside of the stadium. “Thank you for coming with me. I know it’s hard for you to see Carmen, to be around the tennis crowd, but I couldn’t face this tournament alone. It’s the first major tournament I’ll cover without Jane.” His voice cracked.

“I’m not doing you a favor, you’re doing me one. I love Australia and you generously paid my way.”

Ricky read more names carved on the white, somewhat crumbling stadium. “Hard to believe less than thirty years ago this park was filled with people from all over the world. This was the center of sports for two weeks.”

Kooyong Stadium, an emerald jewel, sits outside Melbourne. Truck drivers zooming by on the raised highway honked their horns for the sheer hell of it. More than one player was undone by merry tooting.

The grass glittered this year. Because the seasons are reversed on the other side of the equator, Harriet did her Christmas shopping in a halter.

Over the back of Kooyong Stadium, the clouds resembled Thor’s clenched fist. A burst of water sent people streaking for cover. Just as suddenly the sun returned, the schoolchildren in uniform got to their seats first and then the Melbourne matrons waddled into the club seats.

One lady, tainted with Victoriana, observed a young woman in a bikini. She snorted, “What’s left for her husband?”

Multicolored tents, pitched outside the stadium, housed various charities and benefits. Each day money was raised for some worthy cause, and the attendants had the pleasure of gossiping while they saved.

Sponsors vied for attention. A giant tennis ball the size of a balloon hovered over the court site. The ball supplier thought of that one. Everyone deplored his lack of imagination, but everyone noticed it.

The week provided good tennis. Beanie Kittredge made it to the semifinals and put up a marvelous fight against Susan Reilly. Susan threw her down but it took awhile. Susan was fined $5,000 for her behavior at the U.S. Open. She paid up, made copious apologies, and was out to prove she could behave on the court. Carmen’s semifinal was less dramatic but satisfying to her. She punched out Rainey Rogers in two sets.

The media made much of the face-off between Carmen and Susan, former teammates, now bitter foes. No one ever knew why they became bitter foes although speculation abounded in Australia as elsewhere.

Susan ensnared a lovely girl with red, curly hair. She
would have made a good team mascot. She was perfect for Susan because she thought Susan was perfect. They planned to ride off into the sunset together.

Ricky buried himself in his work. Sometimes Harriet stayed in the booth with him, though not during Carmen’s matches.

Harriet found that she missed the American tennis crew. Miranda Mexata wasn’t there. She had no authority in any country other than the United States. Too bad, for the officials could have used a little help. Harriet didn’t miss Seth Quintard or Siggy Wayne. But what the hell, she once caught herself thinking, they’ve got to eat, too.

She especially missed Lavinia Sibley Archer and her speeches, breathtaking in their irrelevance. Lavinia, bundled up in Connecticut, would be putting the finishing touches on the revitalized women’s circuit which would culminate as always in Washington, D.C.

The morning of the finals, Harriet struggled out of bed. She had progressed to a time zone somewhere in the Pacific, but she hadn’t progressed as far as Australia yet. She pulled open the bureau drawer for her bottle of vitamins. Underneath was a Bible, King James Version. A prior tenant had placed a red ribbon on a page. Curious, Harriet opened to Corinthians and read the following passage:

Ricky rapped on the door. “Are you coming to the finals?”

“I just this instant made up my mind to go, thanks to the Bible.”

He tapped his knuckle on the door between their rooms. “So, you’re coming on Noah’s Ark, after all.”

“Why, you think it will rain?”

“No, I wondered how long you could hold out before watching Carmen.”

“I’m coming on, as you put it, as a unicorn, a dark unicorn.

He laughed. “Let’s go.”

Carmen and Susan walked out on the court to warm applause. By now the sports world was in a tizz over the Grand Slam. Reporters gave up the word “awesome” and now used “miraculous.” One would have thought it was the Second Coming.

Harriet looked at Carmen for the first time since August. My life used to lay within her arms, she thought. How could people who knew one another so well become strangers?

Timothy lounged in a seat right behind the baseline. Bonnie Marie was discreetly tucked away in a sponsor’s box. Miguel was back in Argentina, disgraced again. A stone fell out of Carmen’s necklace a month ago. When she took it to be repaired, the jeweler told her it was rhinestones and paste. Miguel didn’t put her jewelry in safety deposit boxes, as he said. He had the stuff copied and sold the originals.