Stuart Woods - Choke

“I’m so glad to hear it,” she said, kissing him on the belly. “And when I’m through with you, you’re going to be downright impractical.”

And he was.

Chuck sent Meg back to her own boat after breakfast, and he was happy that Dan wasn’t around at the time. He had no particular desire to face her brother this morning.

Driving to work, a new thought struck him. For the first time, he considered breaking it off with Clare Carras. God knew he loved being in bed with her, but he thought he liked being in bed with Meg better, and he liked Meg better. Meg was smarter, funnier, and more lovable than Clare, and she had the additional advantage of not having a husband who hired private detectives.

And, speaking of private detectives, the Turk had vanished. He was nowhere to be seen around Key West Bight or around the Olde Island Racquet Club, and when, in the late afternoon, Harry and Clare showed up to play tennis, he did not follow them.

There was something different about Harry, though. He was still affable enough, but edgier. Then he surprised Chuck.

“You think you’re all finished choking in your life?” he asked Chuck.

“Beg pardon?”

“You choked at Wimbledon. Have you put that behind you? Is your head on straight these days?”

“I think so.”

“I think not.”

Chuck glanced at Clare. She looked vaguely uncomfortable. “Why do you say that, Harry?”

“I think you’re a born loser, Chuck. When the pressure’s on, you fold.”

“What evidence do you have of that?” Chuck asked, surprised at the direction the conversation was taking.

“My own intuition,” Harry said. “I think I know a loser when I see one.”

Clare looked at the ground. “Harry, knock it off; you’re being rude.”

Harry ignored her. “Tell you what,” he said, “I’ll give you a chance to prove me wrong.”

“That’s kind of you, Harry,” Chuck replied.

“I’ll play you three games of tennis for a thousand dollars.”

Clare spoke up. “A thousand dollars! That’s outrageous, Harry!”

“Three games,” Harry repeated. “Any more than that and your comparative youth would give you too great an advantage. I serve two, you serve one; that’ll even us up a bit.”

“Come on, Harry, I don’t want your money,” Chuck said.

Victor had heard all this, and now he spoke up. “What’s the matter, Chuck? Can’t you use a grand?”

He could, Chuck reflected. He had about twelve hundred in the bank, but he wanted some new equipment for the boat, and a thousand would help a lot. “Harry, I’m the pro here, and I’ve got twenty years on you. I don’t think it would be fair.”

“Fair doesn’t come into it,” Harry said. “I’m just out to prove a point.”

“Go on, Chuck,” Victor said. “Take the man’s money.”

Chuck shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll take your money, Harry.”

They warmed up for a few minutes, then Harry served. Chuck planned a bit of a hustle; he’d lose the first game, win his serve, then let the last game run close before he took it away.

Losing the first game was easy, since Harry seemed to be playing above his usual game. It was in the second game that Chuck got his first surprise. He served a hard one to the outside, one that should have been an ace against a man in his sixties, but to his astonishment, Harry ran to the ball and snapped a forehand straight down the line. It was in by six inches; love-fifteen.

Chuck took aim at the inside corner on his next serve, but the ball went closer than he had planned. Harry took it on the rise, and put an inside-out shot into the opposite corner. That was a shot he hadn’t shown Chuck before. Love-thirty. Get a grip, Chuck thought, and he did. He came back to deuce and, with one ace and another hot serve, won the game. They were tied one-all. Harry’s serve.

Suddenly Chuck found himself playing someone new. Harry opened the game with a clean ace, then followed with another. On his third serve, he surprised Chuck by following his serve to the net and putting away a volley. Before Chuck knew what had happened, he was down forty-love.

Chuck won one point back, then another, and then they were at deuce. Harry mopped his brow with a towel, then put an ace down the inside. Advantage Harry.

“Now we’ll see what you’re made of, Chuck,” Harry called across the net. “I think you’ll choke; want to double the bet?”

Chuck shook his head. He was one point away from decimating his bank account. “Serve, Harry.”

Harry looked determined, and Chuck knew he was going to try for another ace. He moved back a step behind the baseline, tensed, and waited. The toss went back over Harry’s head, but Harry reached for it. The ball came high across the net, and Chuck thought it would go out. Too late, he realized that topspin would keep it in. He ran forward as the ball bounced. The topspin carried it high, and Chuck wasn’t ready for that. The ball struck him in the chest.

“That’s match, I believe,” Harry called from across the net.

Chuck’s ears were burning; he had been had. Harry had hustled him like a pro. He managed a smile as he shook Harry’s hand at the net. “I’ll get my checkbook,” he said.

Harry put an arm around the younger man’s shoulders. “Nonsense, I wasn’t serious; I was just making a point about performing under pressure. Believe me, I’ve had a lot more experience at that than you have.”

“Harry, I insist on paying you,” Chuck said.

“I won’t accept it. If you write the check I won’t cash it.”

“Harry…”

“Tell you what. You come diving with us on Monday and you can buy us dinner afterward, and we’ll call it even.”

“Okay, Harry,” Chuck said. “Tell me, where’d you pick up that goofy topspin serve?”

“I invented it,” Harry said, getting his gear together. “See you Monday, about eleven?”

“Fine. And thanks for the tennis lesson.”

Harry laughed loudly as he and Clare left the court. She glanced over her shoulder and gave Chuck some sort of look. He wasn’t sure just what it meant.

“Well, guy, what happened?” Victor asked, a look of mock sadness on his walrus face.

“Oh, shut up, Victor,” Chuck said pleasantly.

On Monday morning Chuck woke up not wanting to go diving with the Carrases. He rolled over and snuggled up to Meg. “I have to get up,” he said.

“Why?” she asked sleepily.

“I have to go diving with some people.”

“Can I go? I like diving; I’m certified and everything.”

“Not this trip, I’m afraid. I wish I hadn’t accepted, but this is kind of a kissoff of these people for me.”

“Who are they?”

“Tennis clients, people I don’t really want a social relationship with anymore. You wouldn’t like them, believe me.”

“If they’re so terrible, why have you been socializing with them?”

“Habit, I guess. When I first came to Key West they invited me out, were nice to me.”

“And now you don’t want to be nice to them?”

“That’s not it, Meg; I’ve just come to feel uncomfortable around them. Can we leave it at that?”

“I’ll fix you some dinner this evening, then.”

“Oh, that’s another thing; I have to buy them dinner.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t sound like that. I lost a bet-the guy beat me at tennis, so I have to buy. That’s all there is to it.”

“What’s the name of these people?”

“Carras.”

She pushed him back and looked at him. “Do they live on Dey Street?”

“That’s right.”

“Now I’m getting the picture.”x

“What picture?”