Sudden Death (5 page)

“Jane, what do I have to do to get one of those T-shirts?” Carmen inquired.

“You can’t climb Mount Everest, that’s been done to death. Let’s see, you could bring me a good photograph of the Loch Ness monster or you could win the Grand Slam—or you could simply ask me.”

“Please get me one of those T-shirts, and get one for my brother, too.”

“I’ll write to my alma mater and see what I can do.”

Harriet surveyed the room. “Full of Republicans.”

“How can you tell?” Jane scanned the room.

“Thin lips.”

“Aren’t you nasty?” Jane toyed with her dessert.

“Jane, I’ll finish that for you.” Carmen reached over and grabbed the plate. Jane looked perplexed. “Oh, come on, I know you’d kill for chocolate. Waiter, chocolate mousse.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“Carmen, I’ve got some contracts to discuss with you.”

“What?” Surprised, Carmen twirled around to discover Seth Quintard standing behind her. Either he dug his way up from the potted palm or he walked in on moccasins because no one heard him coming.

“Oh, yeah. Well, can’t we do it later?”

Miguel perked up. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be there. My sister has asked me to review her business affairs.”

Seth quickly said, “Sure.”

“I’ll call your room in about an hour,” Carmen told him.

Athletes Unlimited crept over the sports world like a wild vine. From a tiny seed, the corporation threatened to take over the whole forest. Football, tennis, baseball, basketball, soccer, track and field, you name it, Athletes Unlimited represented the best in each sport. Their only competitor was a small firm headed by a former basketball star who couldn’t delegate authority. That wasn’t real competition. Seth headed the tennis division. He proved endlessly fertile in his ability to arrange deals. He had in his briefcase a contract for Carmen to sign endorsing socks in Japan and a teaching pro offer in darkest New Mexico. For one week out of the year, she’d get paid $140,000 plus a condominium thrown in for good measure.

All of these contracts had sweeteners. If she won Wimbledon, she’d get a bonus. If she won the Grand Slam, she’d get immortality as well as elephantine bonuses. Carmen, thanks to her phenomenal athletic ability and good court sense, could never be counted out of winning the Slam, but the odds were against any player, no matter how remarkable.

Seth left the table and hovered over Rainey Rogers, another
of his clients. Rainey’s mother acted as flak catcher. He asked her to listen to the deal he had for Rainey. If Rainey, and Mom, naturally, would just consent to play in a midsize tournament in West Germany, the promoter would slip in—under the table, you understand—the prettiest BMW ever seen. Mom was sharp and ruthless in her dedication to her offspring’s success, and she played it cool.

“I’ve never been to Germany, Mother.” Rainey worked a one-two act with Mom. They both knew Seth would report back to the promoter there was active interest.

Carmen watched Rainey as Seth spoke with Mrs. Rogers. Rainey was okay away from her mother, but with her mother, watch out. Rainey’s grim determination wore down opponents. Her mother’s grim determination wore down everyone else. Rainey and Carmen were about even in win-loss records. It hadn’t occurred to Carmen to try to like Rainey because Carmen never got emotionally close to her competition. Susan had taught her that.

“What do you think of Seth and his firm?” Miguel asked Ricky.

“Oh, I don’t know, Miguel.” Ricky paused. “The money pouring into tennis has been good in many ways, but I have a few reservations. I think that’s because I grew up with tennis as a country club game, so even though I think the expansion has been healthy, I sometimes get a little nervous with all the hucksterism.”

“I grew up that way, too. Father Perez, my boyhood coach, used to say that sport was a test of man against man. Father Perez also implied that games should be dedicated to the glory of God. That’s all very well, Rick, but you have to be able to afford his view.”

“Sure. That was always the problem with tennis.”

“Your racquet contract expires on January first.” Seth’s papers neatly filled up the coffee table. Miguel sat catty-cornered to his sister and listened, his face turned toward Seth.

“That’s a year away.”

“We should start thinking about it now. I think they’ll come up with two hundred thousand dollars for a three-year contract plus huge bonuses if you win any of the Grand Slam events. Of course, if you win the Grand Slam, it would come to about seven hundred and fifty thousand.”

“Sounds good.” Carmen liked hearing about the money.

“However, there is a West German sporting goods firm, Mach, that is trying to crack open the American market. I think we might even get more from them if you’ll play some European exhibitions.”

“Really?”

“I’m working on it.” Seth smiled the smile only a crocodile can approximate. Since Athletes Unlimited took a twenty-five-percent commission on all contracts and exhibition fees, it was in his self-interest to get the most money he could. Whether or not the products were good mattered very little. Often a manufacturer would provide custom-built racquets or shoes for their hired help, the stars, and then sell an inferior product bearing the star’s name. The product on the marketplace looked exactly the same but it wasn’t. The trick worked many times over. Duffers wouldn’t know the difference between a first-class racquet and one made from cheap alloys anyway. Seth never explained this to Carmen. He assumed she understood the game, his game. Miguel grasped the concept instantly.

“How about the condominium in Savannah, Georgia? They really want you for the new club there.”

“I don’t know.” Carmen pushed down, then retracted the ballpoint of her Gucci pen. “Two weeks out of a year doesn’t seem like much, but I don’t get enough time to spend at home now.”

“Carmen, think it over. What’s two weeks for this deal? One hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year plus the condominium free and clear if you fulfill your contract of five years.”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve got the rest of your life to sit in Cazenovia. Strike while the iron is hot.”

“I hate giving clinics.” Carmen, like most talented people, enjoyed teaching other talented people. She hated the clinics filled with middle-aged ladies vainly trying to find the service line.

“A little sacrifice.” Seth began packing up. “You think it over.”

What Seth didn’t say was that these deals were only for the top three or four players in the world. And the top three or four male players in the world got much more than the women. The less the girls knew about the financial transactions of the men players, the better. Let sleeping dogs lie. Given people’s reluctance to talk about money, Seth figured the women wouldn’t find out. Besides, tennis players didn’t think about long-range plans, that was his job. As long as the players walked out on the court and won matches, that was what counted. And Athletes Unlimited rolled over the money. Who didn’t? Everyone got the contracted sum. What’s three months waiting time?

Seth kept a lot to himself. He never discussed kickbacks, especially with Athletes Unlimited. Incentive was what it was all about. A player like Carmen would never suspect Seth was lining his own pocket off the manufacturer. So he got a little extra for signing her up. Who was the wiser and who did it hurt? Besides, Carmen should know this, Seth thought to himself. Americans were nothing compared to South Americans. Now they were really dishonest.

If Carmen’s head were to go through the window of her sports car, all Seth’s plans would fall apart, and hers, too.
There were no clauses in the contracts to protect the player should she receive an injury that would end her career. There were also hidden clauses that could dump a player quickly should a scandal erupt. Usually he could contain scandals, but sometimes the firm would balk, and he’d have to let the contract go.

“Keep your nose clean, Number One.” Seth smiled and exited. That was his usual exit line to all his players.

Miguel closed the door to the bedroom where Harriet was reading. He wanted to talk to Carmen alone. “Carmen, have you audited Athletes Unlimited’s books?”

“No.”

“How do you know they aren’t cheating you?”

“They wouldn’t.”

“You should audit the books.”

“Miguel, I haven’t the time. Besides, it would cost thousands of dollars.”

“You trust strangers with these decisions? You pay them a fortune in commissions, little dove. Don’t you know you’re such a big star the manufacturers would come to you with or without Athletes Unlimited?”

“I play tennis. I pay people to take care of business for me. I can’t do everything.”

“I’m a lawyer. I know about these things.”

“I need someone in America. The money is here except for a few major tournaments. I need Americans to do business with Americans.”

“I don’t think so, Migueletta. You must not entrust such things to outsiders. They get rich off your work.”

“Miguel, I don’t like to talk about these things when I have to play.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Later then.”

After Miguel left, Carmen came in and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Seth said something about my playing a week of exhibitions in Europe.”

“When would it be?”

“Sometime between Wimbledon and the U.S. Open. August, probably.”

“Oh.”

“Will you go with me?”

“I’m supposed to teach that three-week summer session.”

“That’s zip money.”

“I know, but I like to teach and it’s only a seminar.”

“You can teach when I retire. I’ve got, what, five years left?”

“Your point being?” Harriet shifted on the bed.

“You resigned from your job at Cazenovia College. Why take these little things?”

“Honey, I love my work and teaching requires skills like anything else. I’m getting rusty.”

“Yes,” Carmen’s voice raised up a tone, “but you can do it when I retire, and then you can teach forever.”

Harriet said nothing. She walked into the bathroom and washed.

Carmen followed behind her and wrapped her arms around Harriet’s waist. “I hate to be without you. Please come with me. I promise you when I retire at thirty that I’ll attend all your classes, Professor Rawls.”

“I hate being away from you, too, sweetheart. I do. I—”

“Please.”

“You talk about five or six years as though it’s nothing.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” She toweled off. Carmen made perfect sense if money were the only issue. Harriet felt uneasy each time the topic came up. She coveted those few weeks out of the year
when she was teaching. She wanted the contact with her peers and her students. The intensive three-week summer course in Occidental religion—Harriet’s speciality was ancient Greek religion—kept her on her toes. It wasn’t as though Carmen were saying, “Walk ten paces behind me,” but she never seemed to understand that Harriet really liked her work, that the salary didn’t matter.

“Why can’t you just give yourself to me?” Carmen demanded.

“Come on, honey, I only want a little time to myself.”

“I never feel that you need me.”

“We’ve been over this before. I don’t think need and love are necessarily the same thing. I like my work. I slogged through years of college like you slogged through years of practice sessions. I want to use my stuff a little bit.”

“Use it later. I can’t stand being away from you. I hate looking up in the stands and not seeing your face. I play for you.”

This argument never failed to dump a load of guilt on Harriet’s head. Here was this young woman, locked into a very short career, jerked all over the world. All she wanted was one true fan. When they were apart, Carmen would call Harriet as often as eight times a day, no matter where she was in the world. And she’d cry. Carmen was glad-handed, back-slapped, and star-fucked since she was fifteen. She had no sense of proportion and no sense of a world outside athletics. She could understand a baseball player’s life, but not a professor’s.

Carmen had also learned to weigh things by their monetary value. If she made millions, she had to be worth more than someone who made less. She didn’t really think she was better than Harriet, but the idea that Harriet would want to earn a small salary when she could be with Carmen seemed ridiculous and offensive. Carmen didn’t mind paying the bills. She paid for all her other lovers, although she didn’t
think of that. Each lover for Carmen was the lover that would last unto eternity.