Kitabı oxu: «How To Win»

One

It is now over five hundred years since TEXAS was first occupied by Europeans. The city of San Antonio has been altered and fooled with and adjusted. The downtown river is so lovely that it’s been embellished and funneled into more loops.

The riverboat rides are especially nice. You get to see all the old trees, the clean water and the preserved buildings along the way.

One of those riverside buildings, by a handy iron curlicued bridge, harbors the law firm of Reardon, Miller and Rodriguez. The building was renovated inside, but the outside was preserved. The exterior was all painted subtly in a blue-tinted gray and the results are elegant.

Handily, the firm’s office isn’t far from the red granite Bexar County Courthouse. The red granite is the same granite that was used in Austin for the State Capitol. San Antonio has always been a little pushy.

The Bexar of Bexar County is pronounced “bear.” Of course, in a long-ago motion picture that can still be seen on cable TV, Errol Flynn called the county “Bex-ar.” Hearing that, the San Antonio people’s eyes flinched and still do.

One of the Reardon, Miller and Rodriguez firm was Tyler Fuller. As a twenty-eight-year-old lawyer, he was a new rooster. He couldn’t yet crow. He was again single.

The Fullers had been divorced for seven months, three weeks and two days. Tyler Fuller was not keeping track, he just happened to recall the time. After all, it had been he who had instigated the divorce.

It had stilled him with shock when the dark-haired, blue-eyed Kayla had discarded his name and gone back to her maiden name of Davie. She did that as if she’d wiped out everything about Tyler Fuller.

Kayla acted like there’d never been any good times—she hadn’t seemed at all grieved to part from him. She’d flipped away like he’d never meant anything to her, at all.

When she got snippy and cold, and then moved out, he’d countered with the divorce. She hadn’t turned a hair.

His parents, his siblings, his friends, even his kindergarten buddies all knew he was nuts.

Disgruntled, Tyler thought at least Kayla could have protested the divorce. She could have at least leaked a tear or two and looked at him with regret.

Tyler clearly remembered being in a group, not long after their divorce. He remembered having found her in the crowd and with casual élan he’d joined the segment which contained his ex-wife. With some assumed control, he’d used the excuse to be by her side by introducing Tom Keeper to her. Tom’s family owned a chunk of West TEXAS.

Tyler had named Kayla as Kayla Fuller, and she’d given Tyler a glance as she’d corrected, “My last name’s Davie.”

Of course, her saying that had made Tom Keeper smile. Tom had been a male TEXAS predator of females since he was six months old. Everybody knew that. And after the introduction, Kayla had treated Tom as if he was harmless.

That just proved to Tyler that she needed some sort of chaperone. At twenty-five, she was a babe in the woods.

No normal woman would treat Tom like he wasn’t dangerous. Any half-brained woman would have immediately known the real Tom Keeper’s knuckles dragged on the floor and his pointed teeth dripped hot saliva.

It was just a good thing Tyler never left her side that night. He’d even told Tom that Kayla was still his as soon as she recognized that simple fact. Tom was not to foul up the works. Did he understand?

Tom had laughed. But he had gone on off...that night.

Tyler had known Kayla now for over four years. They were married not quite two years. And of the two years, they’d been divorced for seven months, three weeks and two days...exactly.

Just because they were divorced, she hadn’t said anything about their second anniversary. No card. No call. Nothing.

At the time, he’d courteously called so that she could thank him for the flowers. She hadn’t answered her phone until after eleven. Where had she been on their anniversary? Grieving for their lost marriage, drinking rot gut in some sleazy bar?

Kayla was not a drinker. At best, she’d have two small glasses of wine in maybe three months. She wasn’t any kind of drinker.

Where had she been on the night of their second anniversary?

He hadn’t asked. He’d hinted several times, but he hadn’t out and out asked. Actually, he’d pushed. She hadn’t noticed.

They hadn’t talked long on the phone. She’d been in a hurry. And she’d never once mentioned the milestone day. Of course, they were divorced. Even so, it seemed to Tyler that she should have remembered it had been two years since their wedding.

She hadn’t been very open with him. When he’d finally talked to her that night, she’d asked, “Now what’s the matter?”

And he’d said, “I just called to say—hello.”

“It’s after eleven, and I have to get to work early. Goodbye.”

And she’d hung up! She had! On their second anniversary! It was probably a good thing they were already divorced.

Women are insensitive. It was always the man who bought the woman flowers, smoothed things between them and took the woman out to eat. And just because the eatery wasn’t an Indiana Casa D’angelo! or a Café Johnell, she’d slide her eyes around the place and her face would be pinched.

Kayla wasn’t at all sophisticated. She had no notion as to how she ought to act. Once she’d gotten up from the table and just flat out left a place. It was after a guy had slid off the bar stool and lay on the floor... ignored by the staff. But the staff was behind the bar, and he had been short. The bartender probably thought the guy had left.

Kayla had never considered the atmosphere—other than to bury her nose in a lace-edged handkerchief. Tyler had tried to expand her experiences, but she was too limited. She did not accept variations.

How could a sixth-generation TEXAS woman be so unknowing? She wasn’t a delicate Easterner, she was a solid TEXAS woman!

Tyler picked up the phone and punched the redial. It rang in his ear twenty-four times. He hung up eventually. She probably was asleep and had turned off the bell. No curiosity. She just lived her life in a vacuum.

Kayla really never did bend enough. She never had. Like the dogfights. That night they’d found a gathering and stopped to see what it was. It was a dogfight and he was curious. He’d said to her, “Just a minute.”

It wasn’t long before Tyler frowned and turned to say they’d leave.

She was gone.

In that brief time, she’d vanished. She’d bought four of the dogs at a staggering price and left the place, taking them with her. There had been no room for him in his car with her and the four dogs, and without consulting him, she’d just...driven away!

Tyler was ticked. She’d abandoned him in that obnoxious place!

He’d had a couple of offers for rides, but the women had looked dangerous, so he’d walked.

At a public phone, he’d dialed the sheriffs office to alert him to the dogfights. By the time he got home, he was calm.

Kayla was asleep. Deep in their throats, the four dogs had growled a warning at him. None barked. They might waken her. Tyler had slept on the living-room sofa.

When he’d wakened the next morning, Kayla was gone. Gone. None of her clothes were in their closet. She’d moved out. She had taken the dogs.

She blamed him for the dogfights? That irritated him. She could have waited and listened. He was ticked.

Tyler had walked around. The apartment was silent. Even with all the furniture, the place was empty.

So he’d called at her parents’ house. Obviously Kayla had contacted them with her side of the breakup. Her mother had said to Tyler, “Hello, dear. You’ve thrown it all at the fan.”

Her mother was that way. She said outrageous things but she altered the words for politeness. Her mother was why Kayla was the way she was.

Kayla’s dad was an observer. Although Mrs. Davie was open and clear, Mr. Davie was quiet, probably suspicious, and watched. That time he’d said to Tyler, “You goofed.”

And Tyler had replied, “Not entirely.”

As time passed, Tyler tried to get in touch with his wife, but she was never there. Her car was gone. No matter when he’d go past the Davie house, her car wasn’t there. And she never answered the phone. The cook, Goldilocks, or her parents said, “I’m not sure where she is right now. I’ll tell her you called.”

So he had the divorce papers served. He’d thought that would stir her up.

She signed them.

Before Tyler knew what was really happening, he was divorced. Uncontested.

He got all the furniture except for the several pieces of antiques that had been in the Davie family for all eternity. She’d picked out their furniture. It was okay. Discreet. He’d have had the upholstery more colorful.

When he wasn’t there, she’d come to their apartment and collected the rest of her things. But she’d left all of her keys.

There is nothing more irritating and deflating than a woman who won’t fight to keep a man.

With all that furniture as his, his mother refused to have him back home, even briefly, so that he could heal. He had to stay where he was. But he didn’t heal.

There wasn’t a day dragged by that he wasn’t aware Kayla wasn’t there. She’d be back. She had a hungry body. She was ethereal. Pure. She wouldn’t sleep around. He was her only partner in sex. She loved his body. She’d be back, and he’d explain.

He’d kept the place clean for seven months, three weeks and two days, waiting for her to open the door with her key and fling herself into his waiting arms.

No key. She’d left them all on the dining-room table. She didn’t plan to...ever...come back.

She wouldn’t even call him.

She never answered her phone. Just her mother. Or her father. Or one of her sisters. Or Goldilocks who ruled the Davie household but was supposed to just be the cook.

All of them just said Kayla wasn’t there.

So...where was she?

They never knew.

She’d been abducted by aliens. No. There wasn’t anything he could do about rescuing her from aliens in star ships. How about slave snatchers?

He’d go out in his cousin Wally’s boat and chase down the bigger boat and rescue all the captives. But like Scan Connery in the film, Tyler would put Kayla into a rowboat and they’d drift away. He’d show her how they’d made love. She liked sex.

Kayla loved him.

When would she remember that?

When would her hungry body go on overdrive and force her to come back to him? She’d kick open the door, come inside and stand, looking at him with greed in her eyes. Her uncontrolled breasts would be heaving with her desire as her hot eyes would rake over him mercilessly. Yeah.

Then he found out she wasn’t living at her parents’ house, she was with a friend. She and those dogs. Henrietta was certainly a tolerant woman. She had cats.

Cats—and dogs who had been rescued from a fighting pit? That must be distracting. Who acted as umpire during the day when the humans were gone?

Kayla would come back to him.

He could handle dogs. He could handle women. He could handle her. Man! How he’d like handling her again. And he about went berserk at the very idea of it.

He always looked for her no matter where he was going. San Antonio wasn’t that big. There were just over a million people. Eventually, he would get to run into her and then he’d exclaim, “I’m so sorry! Oh. Haven’t we met?” And he’d laugh in his throat in the way that turned her on.

But he never once saw her. And he figured that she was grieving. She missed him so badly that she couldn’t go out anywhere at all. She was zonked.

No other woman drew his eyes. He’d thought to date some classy babe and make Kayla jealous. But he couldn’t. He looked at the laughing women and at their bodies, but none of them was Kayla. So he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He could see no other woman. And he sighed.

His friends dragged him to different places where things would be mixed up and interesting. He was bored. He wandered around with an empty glass, and even knowing he wouldn’t find her, he looked for Kayla.

There were men who mentioned, “Saw Kayla at the boxing match. She was on the first row and she was really involved.”

Unbelievingly, Tyler’s voice squeaked up as he exclaimed, “At a boxing match? She was there?”

The guy laughed. “Yeah. She’s physical.”

That froze Tyler’s heart. How...physical had she been...with who all?

So the TEXAS winter came along. That’s a whole lot like the Yankee spring. But in their winter, the thin blooded TEXANS put on jackets and complained about the cold.

It had snowed twice in Tyler’s twenty-eight years. One of those times the snow had lasted two whole days before the TEXAS winter warmed enough to melt the miracle.

The native TEXANS said, “I don’t understand those Yankees who winter down here. Those Winter TEXANS. They complain so about the northern snow! It’s such a surprise and so pretty! How come the Yankees come down here instead of staying up yonder and enjoying the miracle?”

Now, how was a Winter TEXAN supposed to reply to that?

And for Tyler, time did pass. He worked hard at his office. When he was out, he found he could catch a glimpse of Kayla now and again. Or someone who might have been she. Someone who walked like Kayla...who wasn’t. Several times in those months, he’d run after a woman and then awkwardly apologized.

One of those mistakes had grinned and waited for him to make some move to know her. But Tyler’s disappointment had been such that he couldn’t see the woman as a woman. She just wasn’t Kayla.

Tyler Fuller was a lawyer. The firm Reardon, Miller and Rodriguez had about fifty lawyers downtown. There were branches of the firm in other locations.

Tyler was in an awesome firm in which he was just a growing mushroom. He was under a woman lawyer who was only eight years older than he. She was Barbara Nelson. And she was not married. Not that marriage would have slowed her down any.

Barbara’s secretary handed out work and some was given to Tyler. A buck slip or a route slip was on the document for information.

Through her secretary, Barbara Nelson had Tyler drafting documents, writing briefs, handling the background for labor disputes, Social Security disability petitions and interviews with clients or opponents.

All the problems were run-of-the-mill except for the persons involved. The problems could be divorce, bankruptcy, or pretrial motions or interviews with prospective witnesses.

Some days, Tyler might have to go to the police station and check files, or see doctors who had pro or con evidence. Tyler was busy.

His secretary was from the firm’s pool. And he tried always to get Marian Web because she was so brilliant that she never made a mistake nor did she allow him to make any. She was his mother’s age and tolerant of Tyler. That was clear when she adjusted her commitments so that she could mostly help Tyler.

Women spoiled him rotten.

Well, some women.

His immediate boss, Barbara Nelson, was thirty-six years old. She was a single woman who had control, and she was in charge. She was confident, selective, and she was blunt. She didn’t chew tobacca. That was a plus.

Tyler had no real qualms about her until his divorce. Then, once, the Nelson woman had patted his bottom! He’d been offended.

She’d always smiled at Tyler and watched his body when he was walking toward her. His sex loved it. His brain was offended. But she hadn’t approached him until just after his divorce.

She’d say, “Let’s have a drink after work.”

He’d ask, “Is this important? There’s batting practice.” Tyler was on the legals’ baseball team. And she wouldn’t find out if what he said was true. That’s why he’d never used the excuse of a business appointment. She could check it out.

With his baseball-used rejection, Barbara had smiled and told him, “Since we work together, I just thought it would be nice...to get acquainted.”

He lied to her with great grief-stricken eyes, “I’m going to a shrink. I can’t handle this divorce.”

So Barbara had half lowered her eyelids as she said, “Let me know when you’re more...open.”

His sex bulged, his back shivered and his throat clacked as he said, “Yes.” And he got away.

Again Tyler had lied. He had no notion of ever getting involved with that woman. She terrified him. And he began to understand the slender woman in the secretary pool who wore high neck, bulky clothes and no makeup and kept her face blank and serious with her eyes downcast.

It was only then Tyler realized—what was her name? It was Martha. Martha never said one word. She had to’ve talked some time. But she had no casual or friendly chatter to share.

He went to Martha and told her, “Help me. Pretend you and I are a couple. No! I promise I’ll leave you alone. I’m just divorced. I don’t want any ties. Pretend we’re good friends.”

“Leave me alone.”

That’s what she said.

And she didn’t wait until he replied. Martha was brief and finished. She’d said it all.

Tyler was out on a raft in a dangerous sea and no one but the sharks were aware of him.

Even men have it rough. That was a revealing and startling observation. Up until then, Tyler had thought men had it all. That men controlled the world and their own lives as they chose. How the world... changes.

Tyler didn’t have a whole lot of trouble in seeming to be solemn. He simply didn’t laugh. He didn’t join the groups that stood and chatted. He kept to himself, harboring, nurturing his grief.

So John Reardon, who was the Big Gun of the Firm, called Tyler into his office. That was a shock. Tyler’s mind went over everything he’d done and wondered where he’d fouled up.

He was on time at Mr. Reardon’s appointment. He sat in the outer office, and the secretary smiled at him. She said, “We don’t see much of you anymore.”

He looked at her...her name was Nancy. He said, “Yeah.”

“Mr. Reardon will be free in a minute. He just wants to know if you’re okay. You used to be so funny. Since your divorce, you’ve gotten so quiet that we all worry about you.”

She was kind to tell him why he was there. A whole lot of knots loosened in his body and he could relax a little. But he didn’t smile. Fortunately, he’d been so panicked that he didn’t yet smile. So he could control it.

Nancy said, “All of us are worried about you. I thought we ought to have a party for you. A freedom party, now that you’re single again. But Mr. Reardon said, ‘Not yet.’ So we’ll wait until you can enjoy it...too.” She grinned at him.

His smile was a little sick. In an office as big as theirs was, how could any one of them have the time to notice somebody like him? It was touching in a way, but it made Tyler feel as if he was on a stage, alone...without a script.

He’d never realized anyone in the firm had noticed him. Other than his boss, Barbara Nelson.

He’d lived in a secure niche of anonymity while he was married. Now, divorced, he was loose and vulnerable. He began to understand women who were in the same slot he was in then. He understood Martha’s bundled-up clothing and her lack of animation.

His meeting with Mr. Reardon was longer than necessary. Tyler had work to do. He was a little restless.

“I know how you feet,” Mr. Reardon told Tyler. “I’ve been where you are now. It’s been some years ago, but that doesn’t soften such a happening. I know just exactly what you’re going through.”

So Mr. Reardon got to go through it all again. It was too much. As empathetic as the top gun was, Tyler was busy. He had work to do. No two situations are ever the same. No one knows what another suffers. Mr. Reardon had had an affair, and his first wife had found out.

Tyler had had no affair. All that he’d done was to try to expand Kayla’s knowledge of adventures. She’d misunderstood, been ungrateful and stubborn. Women are a great nuisance.

There is no substitute for women.

That was a very sobering realization. A man married, and that was it! He had a partner for life. To have and to hold. And she’d wiggled away from him and was gone!

Then Tyler heard that Mr. Reardon was saying with a sigh, “It happens. You’ll get through this in time. We’re all backing you. Chin up!”

And Tyler was touched. Whatever the big man had been saying, he meant to help. Tyler rose and stood tall. “Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Reardon inquired kindly, “You sure you don’t want a couple of days off?”

“No, sir.” Tyler was startled. Had the old man been trying to give him some time off? He said earnestly, “I’d like to get things done.” Then he added gently, “Mother says a man needs distraction. Law is surely that.”

“Yes, my boy. You’re a good man.” Reardon nodded in agreement with his words. “I’m glad we have you with us. If there’s ever any problem, just let us help.”

“Thank you, sir.” And Tyler was surprised to find his eyes were moist.

It got worse when Mr. Reardon stood up and came around the desk to put an arm over Tyler’s shoulders. “I’m glad we had this talk. Remember, you’re one of us.”

Really touched, Tyler almost choked on his emotions. “Thank you, sir.”

“I’m here, my boy. Anytime.”

And he escorted Tyler to the door where they shook hands.

Imagine that. Tyler walked unseeing down the corridor. Just imagine that whole place being aware of one little, wet-eared lawyer. He was brilliant, of course, but not everyone of the firm had that knowledge, as yet.

He went back to his desk and sat down in the shared office.

His office mate was Jamie Oliver. Jamie asked, “Everything go okay?”

And Tyler swung his chair around and said with the amazement he felt, “The old man wanted to know if I’m okay.”

“You foul up something? How can I help?”

And Tyler laughed. But he was again touched. Even Jamie was on his side. Not even competitive! He just asked to help. And Tyler’s eyes got wet again.

Jamie got up and came over very seriously to lean down. “What is it?”

“They wanted to help me get through this problem with Kayla. It’s been a while. They thought I needed help. I turned down a drink with Nelson.”

Jamie frowned at Tyler. “That was rash. I’d jump at any chance like that.”

Tyler laughed. “‘You’re a better man than I, Gunga Din.”’

“I know.” And Jamie walked back to his chair, sat, rolled his chair in to his desk and was immediately absorbed in the papers.

That evening with his parents, Tyler told his dad about the firm’s head honcho. “I was surprised. It never occurred to me anyone else would understand.”

“We all understand,” his dad assured his son. “Have you seen the darlin’ lately?”

Well, Tyler surely knew Kayla was the “darlin’” mentioned. And he was a little irritated to have her called a darling. She was the one who’d left him. A bit stilted, Tyler replied, “No.”

His father sighed rather too heavily and lamented, “How did you let her get away?”

And, unfortunately, Tyler snapped, “I was only trying to educate her and—” But he didn’t get to explain.

His father looked up at his own son in aghast shock! “You hurt her?”

“No! Good gravy, Dad! I took her to see what had garnered such a crowd and found out there was a dogfight! I’d never seen one and thought she would be curious, too.”

And his father’s face changed from alarm to indignation. “You took that fragile flower to a dogfight?” His voice squeaked up rather remarkably. “They’re illegal.”

And with seriousness, Tyler went on. “I know that. I’ve contacted the state police. I’ve offered to be a witness.” He was deadly. “She was not frightened. She bought four of the dogs and put them in the car. I had to walk home!”

His father stared for the count of three, then his closed mouth stretched out, his body began to jiggle and after that the laughter rolled.

Tyler stood trying to get in some logical, adult information. But with the hilarity of his father’s misguided sense of humor, Tyler finally gave up. He left his parents’ house, slammed the door, shaking the entire, bulky structure, and went to his own apartment.

Then he went back for his car and drove it to the apartment. He turned off the phone bell and in spite of his lengthy walk to retrieve his car, he had one hell of a time trying to calm down and sleep that night.

Now, how and why was it that everyone in the sprawled-out city of the diversified San Antonio learned what that Fuller family conversation had been? Guess.

Even the whisperings and giggles and guffaws at the office were to be endured. In just a couple of days, look at the turnaround of the whole layout of his life...from compassion to hilarity.

Tyler was sober, businesslike and he ignored the snorts of laughter. The only one who showed any sympathy, at all, was his office mate, Jamie.

Jamie said, “Sometime, when you can handle it, I’ll tell you what happened to me. But from my own experience, I can give you this—you’ll live. Ignore the pack. They have little sunlight in their lives. You’ve given them this magic moment.” Jamie never looked up from his computer. His voice was moderate. He did not laugh.

Oddly, the joke on Tyler eased all the firm people’s acquired facade. What had happened to Tyler was worse than most of what had happened to them. Such a public put-down as he’d had made Tyler vulnerable. And they all understood vulnerability.

But it made his boss, Barbara Nelson, eager to soothe Tyler.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

He complained to Jamie.

Jamie said, “She can soothe me.”

Distracted, irritated, Tyler said, “I’ll tell her.”

“Get my name right. She calls me Johnny.”

So Tyler explained her mistake. “People in control of many others have some difficulty with names.”

“She sure as hell knows yours.”

“I’m divorced, so I’m not a wet-nosed kid. She expects me to know the ropes?”

Jamie smiled. He licked his lips and put his lower lip under his teeth but he didn’t reply or embellish anything.

He made Tyler laugh.

What a time it was. His longing for Kayla. His adjustment at the office. The adjustment of the coworkers to him. Their now knowing who he was because of all the problems he was having. And it was all because of one woman. Kayla. Kayla Davie who chose to discard Tyler’s name.

That Kayla Davie Fuller was due a set down. Any woman her age ought to be more pliant than she was. She acted as if she had all her life to find a good man. One better than Tyler.

What man was better than he?