Playing Games: Sports, Sex, Smut

By Elizabeth Gilbert

Fitness and playing tennis is a way of life in sun-drenched Southern California. Some games are played on court while others are played on crisp satin sheets or on thick plush carpeting.

Passion erupts, marriages unravel, and the steamier side of threesomes is explored as we follow the lives of three female athletes. There is always a price to be paid and a trophy to strive for. These women must risk all as they attempt to score goals and navigate the penalty boxes life offers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984553164

Elizabeth Gilbert

Elizabeth Gilbert is the Number One New York Times bestselling author of Eat Pray Love and several other internationally bestselling books of fiction and non-fiction. Her story collection Pilgrims was a finalist for the PEN/Hemingway award; The Last American Man was a finalist for both the National Book Award and the National Book Critics Circle Award. Her follow-up memoir to Eat Pray Love, Committed, became an instant Number One New York Times bestseller. She has published two novels, Stern Men and The Signature of All Things, which was longlisted for the Baileys Women's Prize for Fiction and shortlisted for the Wellcome Book Prize. She lives in New Jersey. www.elizabethgilbert.com @GilbertLiz

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Copyright © 2018 by Elizabeth Gilbert.

ISBN:            Softcover                    978-1-9845-5315-7

                      eBook                         978-1-9845-5316-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Rev. date: 10/02/2018

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1   The Early Years

Chapter 2    Differing Values

Chapter 3    College Days

Chapter 4    Changes

Chapter 5    Mates And Dates

Chapter 6    Newlyweds

Chapter 7    Freedom And Loneliness

Chapter 8    New Opportunities

Chapter 9    Outside Liaisons

Chapter 10  Disillusionment

Chapter 11  Disaster

Chapter 12  The Price

Chapter 13  Bottomless Pits

Chapter 14  Reconciliation

Conclusion

CHAPTER 1

THE EARLY YEARS

MONDAY MORNING WAS THE START OF ANOTHER WEEK OF WOMEN’S TENNIS, LUNCHING AND GOSSIP

Phyliss Hunt warmly greeted her dear friend Alice Nivens as they walked from their cars toward the expansive oak and brass entrance to Marina Hills Country Club, in Newport Beach, California. Although it was a chilly October morning, both women were clad in skimpy tennis dresses and matching jackets. Early morning goose bumps were simply something that had to be tolerated. It was such a nuisance to be putting on and taking off warm up pants. Probably at one time or another, every tennis playing woman wondered why the sport clothing manufacturers didn’t make pants that would easily slip over shoes.

The two women remarked how clear the sky was this morning. Perfect white fluffy clouds floated in the deep aqua marine sky. They both had four year old daughters that they had just deposited at the country club’s day care center. Marina Hills offered baby sitting services, so that young mothers could still enjoy a morning tennis match.

How fortunate they were to be here at the country club on this beautiful day with nothing greater to worry about than a recalcitrant backhand or a failing second serve. Their successful husbands were off grinding it out in the real world. Sometimes it was lonely being a country club wife, but if you kept yourself busy enough with tennis, luncheons, fashion shows, shopping and a few drinks with the girls during bridge or gin rummy, the endless empty hours painlessly slipped away. If these ladies were lucky, they might get the full attention of their workaholic husbands at least a few hours a week.

For quite some time, they waited quite patiently at the front desk. A club employee was supposed to be there, to give them their court assignments. Alice grew impatient and walked behind the front desk and back toward the administration offices. All of a sudden, she tiptoed back and put her fingers to her lips, to silence her friend.

You won’t believe what’s happening, Alice whispered, And it’s so early in the morning . . . . Carol Ann is at it again.

Alice led the way, while Phyliss followed and they were shortly joined by Sandra Keller. The women peeked around the corner and witnessed the bare behind of their head tennis pro, Emilio Garcia, humping away on his office desk top. Underneath him, was none other than Carol Ann Krueger. The blonde southerner moaned loudly with delight as the old tennis pro did his push-ups above her. The three women watched for a few minutes before their faces began to turn red with embarrassment. Fearing that they would be unable to stifle their giggles, they retreated. They had all heard hushed gossip about Carol Ann Krueger and the tennis pro. But this early morning interlude atop an office desk was just too much for the conservative house wives to fathom.

Phyliss reminded them, Carol Ann Kreuger was the number one slut at the racquet club. Her husband traveled extensively on business. The southern blonde had a lot of unaccounted for time, that she obviously spent getting into trouble. No one’s husband was safe in her presence. Many women forbid their husbands from playing mixed doubles with Carol Ann. Horny tennis pros were always on the make and were easy quarry. It was said, that not only was she having an affair with old Emilio Garcia, but she was also seeing his young assistant, Bob Knox.

The three women smiled to one another. What a tasty piece of gossip they had witnessed. Now they would have something original, to disclose to their teammates during lunch. Carol Ann’s over abundant hormones had led to the break up of a number of country club marriages. The woman seemed to have no shame.

A little eavesdropping and gossiping was about all Sandra Keller could bring herself to share with either Phyliss or Alice. They were lower ranked players. Sometimes, Sandra was almost as rude and obnoxious as her tennis partner, Eve Norman. Eve had the undisclosed distinction of being the number one witch-bitch at the club. Almost no one liked either of them. They were only respected for their excellence on the court and the tournament trophies they brought back to Marina Hills Country Club. With an almost high school clique mentality, many top lady players regularly snubbed anyone who was less athletic than they were.

For the most part, these ladies only associated with their fellow A players. Perhaps these feelings of superiority, made up for insufficiencies in other parts of their lives. Both Phyliss and Alice knew other ladies who were devastated from being snubbed. Realizing that neither of them had the capabilities for athletic greatness, they just laughed at Eve and Sandra behind their backs. Even if they were at Eve and Sandra’s level in tennis and could play competitively against them, who would want to be forced to spend time with those ego-maniacs?

Sandra’s partner had just arrived. Eve hefted six matching racquets in their carrying case over her shoulder and pranced right by them without even saying hello. Despite all the hours of tennis practice and the near boot camp existence the tall woman put her self through, she still had to struggle with her weight.

Both ladies had been invited to the gala party, Eve and her husband had hosted. They enjoyed the fact that the social climbing Eve, felt she needed them at her party. In the game that mattered, the game of life, Phyliss and Alice were the A players. The Norman’s party last Saturday night had been absolutely spectacular. The Hunts and the Nivens along with others listed in the social register, had been invited to the annual extravaganza put on by Joe and Eve Norman. Phyliss and Alice always tried to be discreet when rehashing the previous weekend’s party antics of some of their mutual friends. There were a lot of ladies at Marina Hills Country Club, that despite their memberships in the prestigious golf and tennis club, just never seemed able to make it on to anyone’s A party list. There was no point in making anyone else feel left out, so Alice and Phyliss would be careful to recount last Saturday night privately, or at least only with others who had attended.

Consideration for the feelings of others had never been on the top of Eve Norman’s list of priorities. Despite her social standing, which Phyliss thought was largely due to her husband’s prominence in the community, Eve was just plain rude to most people. Since she considered herself far too good to even contemplate gracing the same tennis court with most people, perhaps that was what gave her the license to snub people. However on the social level, whether she liked it or not, Eve needed them.

Harold Hunt was one of the biggest real estate developers in Southern California and Ed Nivens was chief of staff at the local hospital. The Hunts and the Nivens were people that the Normans felt they needed. Phyliss played tennis for exercise out in the fresh air. She enjoyed the camaraderie and the release from boredom that comes from being a privileged wife of a successful man.

Phyliss was totally faithful to her husband, despite how little she saw of him. At the party, she had truly enjoyed lustful glances from Eve’s husband. People like Karl and Carol Ann Kreuger had not been invited. Phyliss had no intentions what so ever toward Joe Norman, but it was very satisfying to be able to best the overly competitive Eve at something. Phyliss’ perfect body had been showcased nicely in a little black strapless dress. Much to Eve’s annoyance, Joe had hardly been able to take his eyes off her the entire evening. It was a bittersweet victory though, Phyliss inwardly wished that her own husband had been as enthralled with her as their host.

Harold was off taking business in the den with some of his cronies. As long as she looked ravishing when they made their appearance, he was satisfied. Once he had made an entrance with his lovely wife on his arm and sufficiently impressed the old boy network, Phyliss was left to her own social devices while he did the one thing that really made him happy: talk business and politics.

If these women had any special wishes for their young daughters beyond general health and happiness, it was for them to find something important to do with their lives. Perhaps a fulfilling career would mean that they wouldn’t have to be as inventive as their mothers had been, in filling the large blocks of vacant endless time, that all melded together to comprise a woman’s life. Phyliss envied her husband’s zeal for his work. It had been many years since she had felt that way about anything, other than shopping for the perfect dress. Women like Carol Ann Kreuger had little or no sexual inhibitions. It was the 1960’s: women like Carol Ann, free love and hippies appalled Phyliss, but she secretly admired leaders in the women’s movement. How marvelous it would be to be able to have it all, as speakers like Gloria Steinum proclaimed. A woman in the future might enjoy a twin career situation with her husband. Then she might be included in the cigar puffing fraternity that seemed to be wrenching her marriage apart. With overt optimism, Phyliss and Alice were sure that great things were in store for their daughters.

PHYLISS’S DAUGHTER, MELISSA WAS NOW ELEVEN YEARS OLD

They were at another hot smoggy junior tournament. She tried to straighten up the mess in the family station wagon. This week, she had chauffeured Melissa, to three different junior tennis tournaments. Discarded sweaty socks, used paper cups and worn grip tape was some of the quarry she captured and stuffed into a large paper bag. Melissa’s coach said, her ranking needed to improve if she was to have a chance of making the United States National Junior Team. Playing more tournaments was one way of getting more points.

Phyliss thought of a recent television program about the physical breakdown of immature two year old race horses. The sportscaster lamented cruelty to animals, making young horses race so hard that they went permanently lame at an early age. The reporter introduced the hypothesis, that these young horses were being run to death on their young bones. Phyliss knew that successful young race horses had a second career waiting for them. Once they went lame, horses could always be put out to stud at a breeding farm.

There were so many injuries in junior tennis. Injuries that could make a fit, active youngster into a hobbling, cripple of an adult. Her daughter was not a horse to be put out to pasture! Tennis was a wonderful hobby, but Phyliss hoped it would enhance her life rather than cripple it. Melissa was such a physical player. She would chase down impossible balls despite the risks of falling or pulling a muscle. Her daughter had a one track mind; she wanted to win. Phyliss hoped Melissa could survive junior tennis without any debilitating injuries that would compromise her adult life.

The Hunts were not at all the typical pushy, overbearing tennis parents, living vicariously through the achievements of their offspring. When Melissa was a toddler, Phyliss had taken her to Marina Hills Country Club’s day care service. She had no intentions of making a champion prodigy out of her baby, she merely wanted to be able to play in her bi-weekly women’s doubles match. The four ladies played every Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Afterwards, they would have lunch together, in the posh Marina Hills dining room. Once the lunch dishes were cleared away, the serious games began. Either bridge or gin-rummy absorbed their next couple of hours.

Marina Hills was one of the first clubs in southern California to offer day care service. The club always had loving teachers to look after the youngsters. To obtain a teaching position on the Marina Hills day care staff, you had to have a California teaching credential specializing in primary and preschool education. With all the teachers currently out of work, the club had no difficulty in securing the best possible help. Mothers felt confident leaving their kids at the club’s child and infant center. These moms then were free to go off and enjoy their tennis and lunching.

One instructor devised a game called little league tennis for her young charges. Tiny racquets and soft rubber nerf balls, enabled the youngsters to feel as though they were playing just like Mommy and Daddy. Most of the kids enjoyed their mini-tennis for ten to fifteen minutes. After that, they happily went back to the sandbox, blocks, dolls and toy trucks. Years later, this enterprising young teacher, would set herself up nicely with a royalty income, by selling this idea to a major sporting goods company.

Little Melissa Hunt was totally preoccupied paddling the nerf ball against the back board. The tiny red haired girl insisted on doing nothing else, whenever she was in class. She seemed obsessed. By the time, Melissa was eight, she was out on the main club courts, rallying with adults. Phyliss thought tennis was a lovely social sport. But being too serious about competition was such a waste of time and energy. Their C-2 Hill and Harbor team was fun and not too absorbed by the competitive aspects. There was never a need for cheating on line calls, worrying about unforced errors or getting stressed out, over win-loss records.

Phyliss glanced over at the nearest court where a match was going on. These grunting, sweating players at the junior tournaments didn’t seem to be having very much fun.

They were a far cry from Phyliss’ idea of a pleasant afternoon of country club tennis. But, it wouldn’t have been right to try and stop her self-possessed daughter from trying to fulfill her own dreams.

She caught a glimpse of Carol Ann Kreuger walking by on the arm of Bob Knox. Carol Ann always seemed to be carrying on with someone when her husband was away. Her affair with Emilio Garcia was old news. She certainly kept busy while her husband circled the globe on business. Carol Ann’s daughter, Debbie was also entered in the junior tournament. She would have liked to have investigated further for some fresh gossip, but her tennis mom duties came first.

Phyliss finished tiding up the station wagon. She grabbed a bottle of sun-block. If her daughter’s match went to three sets, she would do her best to protect the freckled face from future skin cancer and wrinkles.

AT AN IMPORTANT JUNIOR TOURNAMENT ONLY A YEAR LATER, THE MANY HOURS OF PRACTICE WERE BEGINNING TO PAY OFF

After many local tournaments, the girls were finally beginning to break through. Racquet club ladies Phyliss Hunt, Alice Nivens and Carol Ann Kreuger were on hand to watch their daughters compete in the in the final four of the biggest junior tournament of the year. Out of the many kids entered in the draw, three of the four semi-finalists were from Marina Hills Country Club. Parents seated in the stands, nervously twisted their hands as two 12 year old girls slugged it out on center court. Both Debbie Kreuger and Janey Nivens felt the tension in the air. It was tough to play someone in a tournament that you practiced with on a regular basis.

They began to guide their shots rather than hitting out with abandon. This was one of the Southern California Sectionals Girls 12’s singles semi-finals. This tournament, held each year at the Universal City Racquet Club was always a momentous occasion. It was definitely the biggest event of the year. Winning the Sectionals tournament was as important to junior and amateur players as the U.S. Open was to the pro players.

Southern Californian and Florida, because their temperate climates facilitated year round tennis practice, seemed to always produce the largest crop of top players. Not that there weren’t pro players that heralded from Boise, Idaho or called Detroit, Michigan home, but historically those from other than California or Florida, had always been the minority. Many a pro career was launched after a win in the 18 year old or open division in this big California tournament. If a player could manage to win his age group at the southern California Sectionals, he was likely one of the best players in the entire nation.

On this hot, smoggy Los Angeles day, the girls had been on the court for over two hours. It was becoming a marathon, as Debbie and Janey traded ground strokes in long, protracted rallies. Bob Knox protectively sat next to Carol Ann Kreuger. He had done the best job he could coaching her daughter. Mrs. Kreuger was one of those pushy parents. She had never been able to fulfill her own dream of playing professional tennis, so she was determined to make a success of her daughter’s tennis career.

Carol Ann was pushing her daughter to the point of mental breakdown. Bob never had any difficulty with Debbie’s father. Mostly, Mr. Kreuger just paid the bills. When he was around, he was a model tennis parent who sat quietly in the stands, applauding his youngster. It was difficult to establish a good coaching relationship with a youngster, when the parents were always butting in. On a personal level, Bob was quite fond of Debbie’s mother. But right now, his primary task was to keep her mother’s mouth shut for the duration of the match. A little white wine kept Carol Ann pacified, too much would have her standing atop her seat and screaming. Debbie had enough to deal with, without having to tolerate the distractions her mother could create.

Bob was pleased that three of the four semi-finalist were kids were from his club. He and Emilio Garcia spent many hours working with the junior players. The girls were fairly equal in ability. It was the mental aspects of the game that would likely decide the winner of the tournament. Bob wished that more of his students took their tennis seriously. Too many of the club youngsters under his tutelage viewed tennis as drudgery. Most were spoiled rotten, rich little brats. Some were simply pushed too hard by their parents. If only he could get Carol Ann to lighten up on Debbie! She was a talented athlete, but if she was ever to have any measurable tournament success, her motivation had to come from within. If only she could just play for the love of the game. She needed to want to win for herself, not because her mother demanded it of her.

Melissa Hunt was an entirely different story. That girl ate, slept and breathed tennis. Despite her hunger for wins, Bob doubted that she really possessed the talent to make it as a pro. She was rather small for her age and in his opinion, lacked the necessary physical strength. The curly topped, red haired girl reminded him of little orphan annie. There was always a tomorrow, another tournament to look forward to for Melissa. A few years ago, she had announced to the whole junior clinic, that someday she would be number one in the world in women’s pro tennis. Anyone who wanted, could have her autograph today. In all sincerity, she vowed to them that someday, that autograph would be worth something.

Her side kick, Janey Nivens was just a happy go lucky child. She enjoyed hitting tennis balls, but she equally enjoyed jumping rope or playing softball or soccer. That’s the way tennis ought to be, in a player’s formative year, Bob thought.

Dr. and Mrs. Nivens sat a few feet away. Alice clutched her husband’s hand nervously.

How perfect their daughter looked, her long dark pony tail bobbing up and down, as she relentlessly chased down each ball from her opponent. Win or loose, the Nivens were very proud of their Janey. Phyliss Hunt and her daughter Melissa, waited for the next change over, to join the Nivens in the bleachers. Just minutes before, Melissa had defeated an unknown opponent from San Diego in the other semi-final match. Standing up and walking around while play was in progress was considered poor manners and was distracting to the players. Phyliss and Melissa joined the Nivens for the last part of the third set.

Karl Kreuger urged his driver to go faster. The limousine sped down the Santa Monica freeway. He had just arrived at Los Angeles International Airport, returning from a week and a half long business trip. Karl was determined not to miss his daughter’s tennis match. He checked his Rolex watch, there was not a moment to spare. The limousine held the road nicely as it advanced to over 80 miles per hour.

Being president of Cambre Foods International was demanding. Five days a week, he circled the globe, checking up on regional managers and attending board meetings. There were never enough hours in the day. He was responsible for so much of the company, that it was staggering to think about it. He preferred to just look ahead, one day at a time. Karl outlined Cambre’s goals on a yearly and quarterly basis. After that, it was simply too overwhelming to concentrate on any more that the day’s work at hand.

Under his leadership, Cambre Foods had come out of its slump. New innovative television commercials were boosting sales. Housewives were convinced that only Cambre products would keep their families happy, heathy and well fed. The new aesthetically pleasing packaging, he had instituted had really helped. Women seemed drawn to the pretty rainbow motif on their canned foods. Karl made a mental note to send a hefty bonus to the ad man that had come up with the original concept and sketch.

Thank god, they were almost there. Karl felt a twinge of guilt. He had been on the road so much lately, that he seldom was able to participate in his daughter’s activities. Carol Ann was another matter. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was having an affair with the new young tennis pro at the club. Only a few years ago, he thought he had successfully put down her rebellion, when she had been involved with former world class player, Emilio Garcia. Karl hoped that his wife had quit fooling around. He had a serious talk with his wife about their marriage the last time he was in town. She assured him that liaison had ended. But right before his very eyes, Carol Ann was sitting close to a new young tennis pro and his hand was on her thigh. Tennis provided great exercise and camaraderie, but why did his wife always have to end up in bed with the tennis pros? Perhaps he should just drop their family membership at Marina Hills Country Club. No, the few times he was home, Karl really enjoyed catching an early morning game of men’s doubles. Then, there was his daughter Debbie, who seemed to be blossoming into a championship quality player. Why should she be penalized for her mother’s transgressions? Perhaps his wife had strayed because he worked too many hours.

Maybe she needed to be sent off to an alcohol detox center. He had heard the plush Lillie Padd Sanitarium in Palm Desert was an excellent place to send a recalcitrant family member. Next week, if his schedule permitted, he would personally check out the facility. Something had to be done about his wife! When he was on the road, his mother constantly called him long distance, begging him to have his recalcitrant wife committed to some type of institution.

During his early years, as an executive on the rise, his wife had been very helpful. Carol Ann always knew how to throw the perfect party to delight both customers and the company top brass. Lately, her drinking and carousing was often getting out of hand. More often than not, she was now a social liability at business functions. As his mother frequently pointed out, now that he was at the helm of the company, it was no longer necessary to impress anyone other than the stock holders. Generally the stock holders were more impressed by hefty dividend checks, than platters of shrimp at the perfect party. Whenever Karl tried to look objectively at his wife, her most recent transgressions were clouded over by his memories of her, as a shy polite southern belle. He remembered meeting her when she had been the reigning Miss Texas.

Sooner or later, he knew he would have to divorce her. His only daughter was the other side of the coin. She was getting to the age where she needed his guidance. Like himself, she was a good athlete and an honor student as well. He often toyed with the idea of divorcing Carol Ann and hiring a governess for his daughter. However, Karl’s analyst constantly warned him that removing the girl from her mother could produce more adverse effects than just leaving her with the semi competent woman. After all, both mother and daughter spent so much time together playing tennis.

It was match point for Janey Nivens. The score was 5-3 in the third set. The 12 year old’s face was set with concentration as she prepared to serve at 40-15. Janey’s first serve went in. Debbie blistered a forehand to the far corner of the court. Now, all tentativeness on her part was gone. She had to fight to stay alive in this match. Janey ran down the well struck forehand and returned it with a deep looping shot. A determined Debbie hit another zinger, this time to Janey’s backhand. Let’s see her get that one, the tall girl said to herself. Again, Janey ran down the shot and lobbed it back.

That’s it, I’ve had it, I’m going to put the ball away! Thoughts flashed through Debbie’s mind. Was her opponent a human being or a golden retriever? It was so frustrating to play her. These points just seemed to go on for ever.

Debbie stepped in and cracked a decisive forehand. To her dismay, the ball sailed six feet beyond the baseline. Janey immediately broke into an ear to ear grin and threw her racquet in the air. This win put her in the finals of this most important tournament! She galloped to the net to shake hands with her opponent. Dr. and Mrs. Nivens hugged their excited daughter, congratulating her on today’s victory.

Carol Ann Kreuger nostrils flared. She broke away from Bob and marched down to the court. The southern blonde cornered her daughter, roughly grabbing her by the arm. She shook the lanky youngster hard and glared at her.

How could you possibly lose to HER? Carol Ann demanded.

Dumbfounded and exhausted, Debbie shrugged her shoulders.

You’ve been taught what to do with dinkers, Carol Ann raged on, Why didn’t you come to the net, cut off those lobs and put them away?

Debbie began to stammer an unintelligible excuse. Carol Ann continued, Young lady, you just didn’t concentrate! You didn’t even try. Don’t you know what this is going to do to your ranking? No television for a week! You are grounded. How could you possibly lose to HER. You know how we hate the Nivens!

As her mother was trying to explain the cloud of doom that today’s tournament loss would likely bring to Debbie’s subsequent pro career, the 12 year old pulled away from her mother’s iron clad grasp. Debbie turned and ran away sobbing.

Karl Kreuger was observing the scene from the balcony. Despite the mad dash from the airport, his daughter’s match was already over. Anyway, it might have been an embarrassing situation, had he gone down to the court side stands and joined his wife and their tennis pro. As he had feared, his wife was once again hanging all over some handsome young tennis pro. The woman seemed to have no shame. Now, she was yelling at their daughter for losing a tennis match! Sports were supposed to be fun and good exercise and nothing more. He longed to dash downstairs, search out his daughter and comfort her. But, he strangely felt like no more than an outside observer. It was as if he was at a movie theater and none of what he was seeing was tangible.

Bob Knox pushed through the crowd and caught up with Carol Ann. He put an arm around her waist and playfully nibbled her ear.

At least she made it to the semis . . . . he offered.

Karl couldn’t believe his eyes. What he feared most was happening. Impulsively, he wanted to go down there and punch that tennis pro in the nose. But, Karl never allowed impulses to govern his behavior or his life. He straightened his tie and threw back his shoulders. The tall man took the back exit out of the club. He instructed his driver to pull the limousine around to the front entrance of the club.

Karl leaned against the charcoal grey metallic limo. He watched people coming and going from the club. No one paid him any notice. Chauffeur driven limos were a common sight around private tennis clubs. He crossed his legs and folded his arms. Karl began to sweat in the warm afternoon sun. The wool suit had been a comfortable choice this morning in Chicago. Normally, he tried to get home on Fridays, but this week, business had been extra hectic and delayed him an extra day. The Saturday noon flight had been his only alternative.

Finally, his daughter and his wife appeared. Carol Ann was still draped over the tennis pro’s arm. Bob Knox saw him first and jumped back. This was the kind of situation he preferred to avoid.

I guess you already have a ride. . . . he hastily mumbled to her and fled the scene.

Karl held his temper and forced himself not to physically pursue the fleeing tennis pro. He instructed his daughter to sit in front with the chauffeur. Karl roughly grabbed his wife and shoved her in the back of the limo. On the ride home, he was determined to settle this issue with her once and for all.

The driver offered Debbie a stick of gum. She broke into a big grin for the first time that day. It was so nice to see her mother really getting in some serious trouble. She sighed as she leaned back in her seat, imagining her mother getting both a lecture and a spanking. Carol Ann remained silent for the duration of the ride home. She would let her husband rant all he wished. As soon as they got home, she would have a couple of drinks and take some sleeping pills. That would tide her over till late Sunday afternoon.

With any luck, he would be flying out to his next business meeting Sunday night, or at the latest Monday morning. Then she would be able to resume her life. Carol Ann planned to shun all advances from her husband. She had her ways of punishing him, he simply wouldn’t be allowed to get any. It was amazing to her, how stupid a supposedly intelligent man could be. He would just have to learn the hard way, not to try to run her life. Since he never spent any time with her, what right had he to tell her what to do?

WITH HER HUSBAND CONVENIENTLY OUT OF TOWN ON BUSINESS AGAIN, CAROL ANN KREUGER WAS FREE TO DO AS SHE PLEASED

She snuggled closer to Bob. She had been a little bit tipsy at the Marina Hills Country Club party that night and Bob, the handsome young tennis pro, valiantly offered to drive her home. It was just a question of whose home she was going to end up at. Carol Ann was well known in country club circles of hushed gossip for her antics. People speculated that the reason her husband Karl spent so much time on the road was that he couldn’t stand her obnoxious temperament, her penchant for too many glasses of wine and other women’s husbands.

Bob Knox had all the members snowed. He was held in the highest regard among most of the tennis players at the club. He had almost made it in the pros and had some really impressive wins over some top ranked players. Bob had carefully constructed his image. He had chosen to get a degree in business management and work his way up the ladder at the tennis club rather than pursue the helter skelter life of the pro circuit. The fact that he had a real problem with choking, once he made it into the main draw of a pro tournament had been carefully obscured. Just like the solid business people, to whom he pitched baskets of balls to during lessons, he wanted a solid life and his career meant everything to him. What was really great was such an easy job with a good salary plus easy access to a free beer at the bar anytime he wanted it.

If his tennis members were married to their business interests, then thank god for that. If they didn’t make such large amounts of money, it would be impossible for the country club to charge them such exorbitant fees. As in any business, it was of the utmost importance to keep the customer happy. And if keeping lonely wives happy was part of it, Bob, tireless worker that he was, could handle that too. He steered clear of club women who had extremely jealous husbands. Being caught with one of those women could cost him his job! The majority of the other men could care less what their wives did when they were away on business.

As long as the bejeweled, mink rapped bitches didn’t get falling down drunk at business functions and maintained immaculate homes for them to come home to, the husbands didn’t care what else went on. Bob felt he knew the inner psyche of some of these moneyed tennis men that belonged to Marina Hills Country Club. Bob felt proud that because of his efforts, some of the married club women he bedded, probably whined less to their stressed out husbands. An afternoon spent in bed with him, was likely saving one of the club men an enormous credit card charge from Neiman-Markus.

One of his tennis students, a balding banker always joked about sending his wife on tiring errands so that she would head for the masseuse table or home for a nap, rather than to the mall. This man instructed Bob to run his wife all over the court during her lessons, with the sole purpose of exhausting her. He didn’t care whether there was any improvement in her poor backhand. It was a dirty job, and Bob was just gentlemanly enough to consent to do it.

In some ways, Bob was almost animalistic in his approach to women. He felt he was merely being his biological self. If one of these club women approached him and assuming she met his physical standards, he never said no. To not comply with one of these females in heat, would be ungentlemanly and violate his own twisted mores. Recognizing a female in heat was easy. When these lonely women gave off the right signals, he took care of their needs. Because as a normal male he was in heat every day of his life.

He preferred to know his conquests by first names only. Distance and anonymity provided him with a safety net with which to operate. Here at the tennis club, it was more difficult and required greater strategy and skill on his part. He intimately knew these women as well as their husbands. Safety only ranked second to Bob. The constant threat of getting caught was always present. Bob’s official girlfriends were gleaned from forays to the local discos. In southern California’s large anonymous metropolis, meeting and disposing of women was easy. No one ever got to know you or your methods of operation, so Bob continued unnoticed and unchecked.

Bob was quite cautious, he never intentionally looked for trouble. He always took the easy route. He could just smell when a woman was starting to get emotionally attached to him. When that occurred he deftly volleyed away her advances before they became too threatening. He moved on to new quarry. Life was short he reckoned, there was no need to worry one’s self over the heavy shit of love, attachments and long term involvements. Bob knew why the men at Marina Hills Country Club respected him and the reasons went a lot deeper than his mere excellence at tennis.

All men embraced his philosophy towards women. The ones who professed to love the same woman for years on end, did so only because they were too cowardly to do as he did. The club men held him in high regard because of the way he preserved his freedom. The pats on the back and the free drinks they sent, were accolades to his success with the fairer sex. Nothing could be worse than being in a committed relationship. When you were constantly with the same woman, you were chaperoned and stray females from the pack were obliged not to approach. This was something he usually stayed away from.

Bob smiled to himself as he glanced over at a sleeping Carol Ann Kreuger. She was really amazing, for a woman in her forties. The older women were in almost as good shape as women in his own age group. The best thing about these lonely, love starved wives was that they were always ready for action and had long since gotten rid of girlish hang-ups. These club women, with their rigorous exercise routines augmented by clever plastic surgeons, just never seemed to age. They just got better, Bob thought.

His musing was interrupted by loud knocking at his front door. His mind jerked to awakened consciousness. He was on full red alert. Someone was outside his condo and whomever was not in a very patient mood. He was positive that Karl Kreuger was out of town on business. Bob was very careful about such things. Carol Ann’s pleasant post coital sleep was interrupted by the loud knocking that vibrated throughout the small condo. She rubbed her eyes and her head began to throb as the excess wine she had consumed was still poisoning her system. What’s happening, who is that pounding at the door? she whispered to Bob. Her body was on full panic alert, she felt wide awake and her head began to throb. Goose bumps pricked her from head to toe.

The pounding at the door continued and Bob began to get concerned. He motioned for her to stay quietly in bed, while he checked out the intruder. Bob tiptoed to the kitchen and lifted the window shade a fraction of an inch. The voracious intruder was only his young girlfriend Jenny. But what on earth was she doing on his front doorstep at three in the morning? Out of concern for the nineteen year old, he almost opened the front door and let her in. Thank goodness he was a man in possession of self-control.

Jenny, despite her sweet tender years was no different than any of these other women. As his official girlfriend, she had accompanied him to the club party earlier that evening and had been increasingly annoyed by Carol Ann’s crescendoing advances toward him. Bob thought he had placated Jenny. Earlier that evening, he thought he had done a sufficient job