“Right, Frank.”
Fletch stood up and changed his tone of voice entirely. “What do you think of Alan Stanwyk?”
“He’s a shit.”
“Why?”
Frank said, “Stanwyk has fought every sensible piece of noise pollution legislation brought up in the last five years.”
“And he’s won?”
“Yes, he’s won.”
“What else do you know about him?”
“Nothing. He’s a shit. Go get killed. Then maybe we’d have a story.”
“Thanks, Frank.”
“Anytime.”
25
“Good afternoon, sir.” The headwaiter recognized him, even dressed in a full suit. The man was wasted on a tennis pavilion. “Are you looking for the Underwoods?”
“Actually, I’m looking for Joan Stanwyk,” Fletch said.
“Mrs. Stanwyk is playing tennis, sir. Court three. There’s an empty table at the rail. Shall I have a screwdriver brought to you?”
‘Thank you.”
Fletch sat at the round table for two. Along the rail were flower boxes. In the third court away from Fletch, Joan Stanwyk was playing singles with another woman.
‘Tour screwdriver, sir. Shall I charge this to the Underwoods?”
“Please.”
Half of court three was in the shade of the clubhouse. This made serving difficult half the time for both players. One would think Joan Collins Stanwyk could get a better court at the Racquets Club.
Half the people on the tennis pavilion were still dressed in tennis whites. The other half were dressed for the evening. It was five-twenty.
Joan Collins Stanwyk played tennis like a pro, but utterly without the flash of passion that made a champion. She was smooth, even, polished; a well-educated, well-experienced tennis player. It was difficult to get anything by her, or to outthink her, yet she didn’t seem to be deeply involved—paying attention. She was also without the sense of fun and of joy that a beginning tennis player has. She was competent, terrifically competent, and bored.
She won the set, walked to the net, shook hands with her opponent and smiled precisely as she would have if she had lost. They both collected sweaters and ambled up to the pavilion.
Fletch turned his chair to face the entrance.
She had to greet many people, using the same shake of the hand and smile as she used at the net. It was a moment before her eyes wandered along the rail and found Fletch.
He stood up.
She excused herself and came over immediately.
“Why, John. I thought you were in Milwaukee.”
“Montana,” Fletch said.
“Yes, of course. Montana.” She sat at the table.
“Just before leaving for the airport Saturday, my boss called and asked me to stay a few more days. Some customers to see.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I was busy seeing customers.” He was sitting at the table, finishing his drink. “Besides, I thought I would come by on Tuesday.”
“Why Tuesday?”
“Because you said Tuesday was the day your husband came home from the office at a reasonable hour.”
Beneath her tan, her cheeks turned red.
I see.
“Didn’t you say your husband has Tuesdays reserved for you?”
“You’re rather putting it to me, aren’t you, John?”
“I hope to.”
Joan Collins Stanwyk, keeping her eyes in his, laughed. She had a lovely throat.
She said, “Well, now …”
He said, “I’m sorry I can’t offer you a drink.”
“You ask a great many more questions than you appear to ask, John. And what’s more, you listen to the answers. You must be very good at what you do.”
“What do I do?”
“Why, sell furniture, of course. Isn’t that what you said?”
“I’m really quite expert on beds.”
She said, “Would you believe that I have one?”
She had one, at the Racquets Club, a three-quarter-sized bed in a bright room overlooking the pool area. She said it was her “changing room.” It had a full bathroom and a closet full of tennis dresses, evening gowns, skirts, sneakers and shoes.
She had given him directions to the door on the corridor above the dining room.
By the time he arrived, she was out of the shower and wrapped in an oversized towel.
Joan Collins Stanwyk was more interested in making love than in playing tennis. But again, she was educated and experienced without the flash that makes champions. And she was without the playful joy of the beginner.
“It’s really remarkable, John.”
“Isn’t it?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“What’s remarkable?”
“Your bone structure.”
“I have one.”