Break Point Down Read online

  “I can meet you at Tracy's.”

  What had Jeff in a snit this time? He was living separate from his family, ostensibly to pursue business opportunities. Laura didn't admit to any doubts about Jeff but she didn't have to.

  Jeff looked pale and haggard.

  “They're dragging me into court on this IRS thing,” he said nervously. “I thought I could make a deal with them, but they've filed charges. They may have you testify against me.”

  “What could I say that the documentation doesn't show?”

  “I don't know. I have no money for a lawyer. Can you help me out?”

  Kitt regarded his brother coolly.

  “You should know my financial situation pretty accurately.”

  “I hear you're selling the condo.”

  “Yes. Because Kari and I need the money to live on. As it is, it won't keep us long. After that we'll be broke if I don't get a decent job.”

  “You have a job?”

  “Working on a couple of leads. Nothing solid yet. ROCA finked out. TEN-PRO acts interested.”

  “I'd have to get a public defender. The IRS has left me next to nothing.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “Can you borrow it?”

  “I doubt it. I'm up to my ears in money trouble. I'll help you with living expenses but I can't be shelling out money for a lawyer. It'd probably run to thirty grand or so before you're through.”

  “I want Rader and Lorann. They're the best.”

  “You got some nerve asking me for money after you rob me blind.”

  “I've got to have a good lawyer.”

  “What chance do you stand of beating the rap? They got all the proof they need.”

  “Your signature is on the dotted line, too. It may be in your best interests to help me out.”

  “Nice try.”

  “I'm your brother. I'd have done the same for you.”

  “I have a pretty good idea what you'd do for me. What about Laura's parents?”

  “They want Laura to dump me. I've lost everything. My house, my investments, my property. My money is gone. My position in the business world. I haven't got a penny to my name!”

  “What about all those fat cats you've hung out with all these years? Can't any of them help out?”

  “They won't. Kitt, we're supposed to be family.”

  “Here comes the family card. I got my hands full. I'm selling the condo because I'm just about broke.”

  “So what do you suggest I do?”

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It sucks. “

  For the first time in months Kari seemed to have some sparkle when he came home and she told him Danny had won his match. He was in the finals of Wimbledon. Kitt was genuinely pleased, and promised her they'd watch the championship match together.

  For the final, they settled themselves by the television and Kitt felt himself caught up in the tension of this supreme test of two champions. Danny had never made the finals of any Slam event, but three times he'd played the semis in the French, which seemed to be his best surface. He'd never done well on grass.

  “You miss it, don't you, Uncle Kitt?”

  “Oh, a little now and then,” he told her. “You can't do something with all you've got for ten years and not feel a little pang now and then when you watch other people do it.”

  “You want to go back to the tour?”

  “No,” he said quietly, “I miss a few things. But I started on the future, and I'm not sorry.”

  In the fifth set both were at the edge of their seats.

  “Come on, smoke one in the corner,” Kitt muttered to himself.

  Double fault.

  “He's losing!”

  “Not yet, not yet. He's got a chance. But you can't give away games to MacMillan like that. Not in the fifth set of a Wimby final. Now he's got the momentum.”

  Danny seemed disheartened. He argued some calls with the referee, and Kari was aghast.

  “It's still even, and he starts getting mad!”

  “He's slowing the game down. MacMillan gets frustrated when he can't get on with it at his own pace. Watch him. He's losing his rhythm.”

  On the following point Danny Jackson held up his hand. His shoelace was undone. He took his time tying it, and when he got ready to receive serve, he seemed calmer while his opponent served a ball into the doubles alley. Looking unnerved, MacMillan double-faulted twice to face two break points. The next serve was another fault.

  “Watch Danny climb all over the second serve. Mac's second serves are marshmallows.” Kitt drummed his fist on the coffee table.

  “Yes!”

  Within minutes Danny stood at double championship point. He nervously served the first one long.

  “Calm down, calm down! You can do it!” Kitt was on his feet now, his fists clenched. “Serve him wide! He never gets them.”

  They held their breaths as Danny took up his serving stance. The ball rocketed across the net and into the corner by the service line.

  Ace. Game, set, match, championship, Jackson.

  Danny had won his first Slam. Kitt grabbed Kari's hands and danced around the room with her.

  “Did you wish it was you winning Wimbledon?”

  “If I'd wished that, I wouldn't have left. I liked seeing Danny win a major. He's waited a long time.”

  “Because of you.”

  “Not just that, but I was in the way.”

  “Have you lost friends by beating them all the time?”

  “I don't know that I've lost friends, but it probably kept some friendships from ever starting.”

  “You beat Danny lots of times and you're still friends.”

  And you paid him back with a slap in the face. One disappointment after another, and Danny's friendship was unchanged. And when he'd left the tour, Danny was the one who'd kept coming and standing by. It was fine when you were the winner, the one who'd help him with his serves and his game plan. Easy enough to be Danny's friend—as long as you could be the big shot. But when Danny stepped up to bail you out—no way! You didn't have the simple humility to say thank you.

  So he'd driven Danny out of his life. Jeff was desperate and he'd told him to help himself. You're riding a bucking bronco, Jeff, and you climbed on by yourself. Let's see you get down on your own. Never mind if he stomps you to a pulp.

  In the drawer of his desk was the ball MacPhie had given him, the one he'd played in his final professional match. He picked it up and stared at it for a long time. It was deflated and torn.

  You're used to smashing your way out of trouble, Buchanan. When are you gonna learn? You can't smash people.

  In July he sold the condo and moved with Kari into a small house on the north end of town. The neighborhood wasn't like anything either of them had ever lived in. The area catered to the young families of the military base nearby and to workers at the factories across the river. The house was in need of repairs, but he was able to lease it for a modest sum, and the two of them set about painting the walls and woodwork before they moved in. The grand piano took up most of the living room, but it didn't matter because he'd brought little furniture from the condo. To his relief, the yard was fenced, and Thor inspected every blade of grass in it.

  To Kitt's surprise, Wynne came to town and stopped by. She looked around with the expression of someone who has spotted a particularly repulsive insect.

  “You can't seriously intend to live here!”

  “Glad you like it,” he told her. “I got a decent price for the condo. You know how hard it is to find anything in this price range that isn't in the middle of the scariest neighborhood? This is practically the suburbs.”

  “It's cheap because it's right across the river from every factory in town and ten minutes from an Air Force base, with planes going over day and night.”

  “Planes are nothing new to me,” he said cheerfully. “I used to do some of my best sleeping on planes.”

  “Look at this trashy neighborhood! You have
no idea what kind of scum lives here.”

  “You're beginning to sound like a real snob, Wynne.”

  “It can't be safe around here. How do you know you won't get mugged in broad daylight?”

  “Maybe I should go live in a classy condo so I won't get spray-painted.”

  “Kitt, this place is falling apart. A year ago you wouldn't have used it for a doghouse!”

  “A year ago I didn't have a dog.”

  “Don't you see what a dump this is?”

  “This is my home. If you don't like it, stay away.”

  Their meetings these days throbbed with animosity, and he knew a crisis was not far. It came on a rainy evening after he'd called to break a date. Kari was pretty bad; he couldn't leave her alone. Wynne's protestations that she was in town for just a few more days did not change his decision. It was the third time in a week that he'd turned her down.

  Later that evening she was at the door.

  “I have been very patient about all this, Kitt.”

  He nodded, soothing. “I know.”

  “I felt sorry for this child. But it seems everything's decided by Kari. We can't go out, because Kari can't stay alone. We can't discuss anything but Kari. When we go out to dinner, Kari tags along. It's Kari this and Kari that. I'm sick of it. You made a fortune playing tennis, and your brother swindled you out of every cent of it. But do you go back to the tour? Heavens no, can't leave dear little Kari.”

  Kitt didn't respond. Wynne had to be faced. He should have done it sooner.

  “Kitt, get rid of her. Don't let that obnoxious little brat take over your life. And mine.”

  He regarded her almost absently, as though it didn't really concern him. I see us so clearly now. Six years, and I finally see.

  “Grow up, Kitt. You think of this kid as a victim. She's playing it for all it's worth.”

  “Kari is not the issue.”

  “Isn't she!”

  He sighed.

  “You and I are not going to work out, Wynne.”

  “Are you dumping me?”

  “Wynne, be honest now. You haven't liked me since I quit playing tennis. You wanted a winner. You didn't see me before I got into the top five. You were gone when I was injured and slipped down the rankings. When I bounced back, there you were. Once a year, twice a year. A reception here, a banquet there. Off and on for six years we have seen each other and tried to work out some kind of relationship. But it was never there.”

  “It was before Kari messed it up.”

  “It was not. We needed something from each other. I don't know what you needed—heaven knows you could have done better than a guy who makes an idiot of himself in the circles you travel in. I even tried to fall in love with you. Did you ever wonder why I wouldn't make love to you?”

  “Kitt you're naive and sentimental. And more than a little uptight. Did you ever wonder why I didn't press? You think I wanted to make love with a child? I was giving you time to grow up.”

  He shook his head. “Making love has got to be bigger than just a good time. I know you think it's stupid but to me it's commitment. What you and I had never worked. We just weren't right.”

  “We can make it right.”

  “No, we can't. And I won't settle for less. It may be corny but I'm an all-or-nothing sort of guy. It wasn't just principle—we didn't even get that far.”

  “Spare me the puritanical routine. The time is over for that Victorian crap. How about thinking for yourself for a change!”

  “You're missing my point.”

  “I doubt that. You're making excuses for your hangups. Look around you, Kitt. The world has moved on since Mommy and Daddy wiped your nose! Most people in our generation have the courage to define their own morality. Nobody's asking you to be promiscuous. Just human.”

  “We can play with words all we want to,” he said wearily. “Someday maybe I can explain it better. I'll know when it's right. I can wait.”

  “And I play by your timetable?”

  “No,” he said, looking directly in her eyes. “Time has nothing to do with it.”

  “So what you're saying is if I want you in my life, I can wait till you're ready to promise eternal love and fidelity.”

  “I'm not asking you to wait. We've had enough time. Nothing will change.”

  “Is there no place for anything spontaneous in your life—anything exciting that doesn't require a moral or legal license or a parental permission slip?“

  “You can't stand the idea of a different way of thinking, can you.”

  ”You're out of touch with your own time. Ozzie and Harriet, the next generation.”

  “That's talk show trash. It's what people say when they have no argument. If the past was bad we justify the present.”

  “Your opinions seem to go straight back to that era.”

  “So we start from nothing, go by nothing, and move on to nothing.” He shrugged.

  “Boy, are we thinking deep thoughts. Where did all this philosophy come from?”

  “I read a book once.”

  “I am not coming around to your viewpoint.”

  “I'm not asking you to.”

  For a while they were silent, and Kitt had to force himself back from deep inside.

  “Think about it, Wynne. Was there ever anything you wanted, that you loved, that was just me? Not the illusion—the tennis player, the champion, the media crap—just Kitt Buchanan? Would you have wanted me if I had not been all of that or any of that?”

  “Maybe not then.”

  “I don't love you, Wynne.”

  She shrugged. “You were talking about illusions just now. That's what you're chasing. I believe with all my heart that you were at your best a year ago. You could be that way again. I am not asking for undying love, just a place in your life. I'm asking you to be what you can be, what you used to be, and more.”

  “You think I am less now?”

  “Can you even ask? You mess around with stupid little jobs and stupid little classes, living in something you'd have considered a dump a year ago, wasting your time trying to play daddy to a slutty little brat. You were a great champion, Kitt. You could be again. In this life you're nothing.”

  He bowed his head, a wry smile at the corners of his mouth.

  “Well, we've got that established—I am nothing without a tennis racket, so I am doomed to be nothing much of my life. Sports careers don't last.”

  “Don't twist my words. You know exactly what I mean.”

  “That I do.”

  She rose slowly.

  “Don't think I am going to waste my time with a loser.”

  “Oh, I'd never think that.”

  She left the room without glancing back. For a long time he stood by the window, looking in the direction where her car had disappeared. The sun was dipping to the horizon, and the sky was aflame with painless good-byes.

  Early-morning workouts at the university had become a steady item on his calendar. He worked himself into a sweat for two hours with a ferocity that drew looks from other student athletes.

  “It's fascinating to see how a pro works out,” remarked a swimmer one morning. “You're still in championship form, looks like.”

  Like you could do that in two hours a day. Okay, he'd done pretty well staying in shape. Could probably still beat a lot of the top-tenners. Not as easily as before, but why should it matter? Why was it still vital to lose nothing from the conditioning and the training? It was more than the gratification of effort and exhaustion. He'd always relish that sensation of tensions and troubles draining out of him as he strained mind and body to absolute focus and fitness. Then his spirit soared, his heart burst to overflowing, and he knew something of eternity. It was a sacred ritual to Kitt, one that lifted him above the weariness of disappointments. It didn't happen every time, but he'd learned the art of concentration, and even the striving for it was healing.

  But the competitive urge wasn't gone. Maybe holding on to the performance level of the pas
t was his reassurance that those years were not wasted, that they were his high school diploma and his college degree, his tool kit and his operator's license, the sum total of his skills, of what he'd learned and done and become. Without that, would he have to start back at age twelve?

  After his last class he dashed out for his interview with the racket manufacturer. It went well, but ROCA had sounded positive, too. You couldn't hope for much on the basis of promises and oohs and ahs over your forehand. The TEN-PRO people talked about putting his name on their rackets under the brand name, sort of a special logo. It sounded good, and they called back two days later to set up a second, more in-depth meeting right away.

  The stop-gap of the condo sale had given him some breathing room, but a position with TEN-PRO would be a dream come true and the second meeting boosted his spirits. His name on their product would bring in some serious cash. If this panned out, he could help Jeff a little.

  The estrangement from Jeff gnawed at Kitt, though his anger was never far below the surface. The money, you got over that. Jeff had got caught in his own trap, and had dragged everybody into the mess with him. Bad judgment and, yes, lies. More bad judgment trying to recoup and make things right. You didn't stop loving your brother because he had broken the Olympic record in stupidity.

  But all his generous impulses toward Jeff vanished when he heard Kari crying in the night and locking her bedroom door. When Jeff sneered about his daughter‘s fantasies it was all Kitt could do to keep from belting him. He was bigger, taller, and far better conditioned than Jeff—he could do serious damage. Wanted to, sometimes.

  When he stopped at Jeff's apartment after his TEN-PRO meeting he found him passed out on his bed, empty bottles bearing witness to his despair. He was wearing a soiled shirt and his pants were wrinkled and badly in need of dry-cleaning. His thick brown hair looked greasy. Kitt sat down on the edge of the bed for a while, and then he gathered up a pile of suits to take to the cleaner's and left.

  A message from TEN-PRO awaited him at home. Could he come in to sign a contract on Friday? Not a day too soon, because in the mail was a notice stating that the award of a tuition scholarship for the coming school year had been in error, and the committee was regretfully rescinding its action and denying his application. With apologies.