Page 42 of Bad Summer People
Robert felt nauseated. Did any of this have to do with him? If Jen would leave, he could ask Lauren directly, but she wasn’t moving.
“I’m proud of you both for making it to the finals,” said Robert finally. “You’ve really improved so much this summer. It’s been fun to teach you.”
Just then, he saw Rachel emerge from her front porch, still in her tennis clothes from the morning, her head turning left and right as if she were a lookout. Jen and Lauren clocked her and nearly broke out in a full run in her direction. Rachel spotted them coming. For a second, Robert thought she might jump off the boardwalk into the tick grass and take off into the woods. Instead, she got on her bike and pedaled away, fast, leaving Lauren and Jen standing about fifteen feet from her house. Robert had been having such a great day—a new job, a clearer future. Now all he felt was uneasiness.
Lauren and Jen jogged to their own bikes, parked side by side in the bike rack, and, to Robert’s shock, went racing off together without saying goodbye. They’d left their rackets together on a bench near where Robert was standing. He picked them up—he’d put them in his hut until they came back. He hoped Lauren would have an explanation for him later.
There was barely anyone left at the courts. It was nearing 6:00, and there was a slight freshness to the air, an end-of-summer reminder that none of this would last forever. Robert was planning on having an early night. He was exhausted. The idea that he’d be wiped out by a ladies’ doubles tournament would have been ludicrous two months ago. But here he was.
The Lauren situation was bothering him. He took her and Jen’s rackets into his hut and was surprised to see Susan sitting at his desk, her distinct profile in full view. Had she been there the whole time?
She turned when she heard him come in. Robert recognized her look. He was caught.
“Robert Heyworth, I have a question for you,” she said, her deep voice gone trembly.
Robert felt a green fly latch onto his leg and bite, taking its time. Pain shot up from his thigh into his torso.
Susan stood up, and Robert could see she was holding his lesson ledger, her arthritic hands curled tightly around the book. She didn’t have any proof, he thought. She was smart, but so was he.
“Sure, Susan,” he said, casually. He propped the rackets against the wooden wall. “What can I do for you?” He stared at her, trying to make her uncomfortable.
“It seems some lessons are missing from your daily schedule,” she said. She opened his ledger and flipped through to yesterday’s lineup. He could clearly read his writing:
August 22—Lesson Schedule
Larry Higgins—9:00 a.m.–10:00 a.m.
Jerry Braun—10:00 a.m.–11:00 a.m.
Kids clinic—11:30 a.m.–1:00 p.m.
Lunch
Beth Ledbetter—2:00–3:00 p.m.
Lisa and Brian Metzner, doubles—3:30–4:30 p.m.
She pointed a long finger at the page.
“Here, where it says, ‘Lunch,’ at 1:00 p.m. I saw you giving Claire Laurell a lesson. I was playing on the stadium court with my normal game. Why isn’t that written down?”
Robert shrugged. “Must have been an oversight. I’ll double-check with Claire.” He smiled at her, purposefully showing all his perfect white teeth. “I’m not even sure if you’re right.”
“Oh, I’m right,” Susan shot back quickly. She narrowed her eyes. “If I inspect this book…,” she said, paging through it. “What will I find?”
“I think you’ll find that I’m a good bookkeeper,” said Robert. He laughed. He could feel the sweat gathering in his armpits, threatening to reveal itself.
“I’m not so sure,” said Susan. She moved to leave the hut, but Robert stood in front of the door to block her. It was more menacing than he’d planned, but he needed that ledger back. Susan, eyes wide like a cornered animal, picked up Lauren’s racket and, with a dramatic arc, whacked Robert’s head, sending him careening forward toward his desk. She’d always had a great overhead; Robert had seen it himself.
Susan scooted out the door with his ledger before he’d recovered. By the time he got outside, she was gone. The courts were empty. It was dinnertime. Robert could hear the clatter on the deck as people ate and drank at the yacht club. He was now alone, in a panic. Should he follow her? If she exposed him, he’d lose everything. This job, his position with Larry, his reputation.
He’d find Susan. He’d get the ledger back. He walked to get his bike. Heavy raindrops hit his head, and a strong gust of wind came off the bay, rustling the trees and lifting his hair. The sky was gray and darkening. He spotted a deer up ahead on Marine, just past the courts, staring at him. He took off, headed out into the storm to search for Susan.
22Larry Higgins
Larry Higgins knew a thief when he saw one. And he knew young, handsome Robert Heyworth was a thief. Did Robert really think Larry, who oversaw the tennis finances, wouldn’t notice lessons charges missing from the bank?Larry Higgins?He’d run a successful investment firm for forty-five years. He’d dealt with swindlers and frauds. He’d palled around with Bernie Madoff, for God’s sake.
It was his fault, really. He was the one who’d told Robert about Dave, planted the seed in Robert’s greedy, broke brain that it was possible—easy, even—to skim off the top. Robert was ripe for corruption; Larry should have known better. He was a kid batting below his level. He was smarter and more talented than the fuckers he was a slave to, and that must have made him insane.
