by Tasha Black
What was wrong with these creatures? They were surrounded by natural beauty, fed and sheltered lavishly in exchange for their efforts.
Yet all they cared about were these credits they could exchange for things they didn’t need, things that didn’t seem to make them happy - at least not as happy as the trees and lake and each other’s laughter made them.
Nikki headed for the court, her curls bouncing. Something about that curving, leaping chestnut hair made it seem to Indiana as if she were always about to do something fun.
She hit a few shots with the tennis pro. Indy was impressed by her ability. She was much better than he had led her to believe.
They stopped hitting as someone new entered the court from the men’s changing rooms.
Nikki’s posture shifted and she waved.
Indiana’s jaw dropped.
The person Nikki was waving to was Mr. Sam Travers.
Mr. Travers’s son, Wade, had stalked and threatened Nikki’s roommate, Honey, and subsequently been taken to jail.
Mr. Travers himself had threatened to sell out his stake in Maxwell’s to take the whole place down since his son had gotten into trouble.
And most recently, he had attempted to win the auction for a date with Nikki’s other roommate, Addy, just to spite her.
He was a bad man.
It was shocking to see Nikki looking so pleased to see him.
Mr. Travers, on the other hand, looked less excited to see her. He waved to her once, his smile tight, lips pressed together.
Nikki boldly walked over and appeared to engage him in conversation.
Indiana slid to the very edge of the bench trying to keep an eye on the action below.
Unfortunately, he didn’t anticipate the bench tipping under his weight. It was easy to forget how heavy a human body was when you’d spent most of your existence floating as a formless gas.
He felt himself sink and shifted back toward the center of the bench.
The other legs came back to the ground with a thump.
The squirrel in the tree above, suspecting foul play, began scolding and chattering madly at him.
In its fury, it let go of the bagel.
Indiana yelled out in surprise when the stale cinnamon raisin confection hit him square on his forehead.
And when he looked down at the courts below, the tennis pro, Travers, and Nikki were all looking up at him.
Nikki merely studied him, shielding her eyes from the sun.
But the pro jogged up toward the hillside.
“Hey, buddy,” the guy yelled up, in a tone Indiana thought was cheerful in a forced way.
“Hey,” Indy yelled back.
“My other student is a no-show,” the guy yelled again. “Any chance you’re up for doubles?”
He began to shake his head, but he saw Nikki standing up straighter, as if she hoped he would agree.
“Sure,” he called down. “Hang on.”
Indiana dashed down the curve of the hill on the other side, and rounded the corner to the tennis courts.
Travers gazed at him indifferently.
“Hey, I’m Ralph,” the blond pro said, walking up to him. “You’re Remington, right?”
“Indiana,” Indy corrected him.
“Oh geez, I’m sorry,” Ralph said.
Indy shrugged and grinned.
“You know how to play?” Ralph asked.
“Yes,” Indy replied.
It was true. He knew how to play because he’d read about tennis when he learned that Nikki was taking lessons. His faultless memory meant he could see the rules before his eyes, and the diagram of the court. Even if he had never actually picked up a racket.
“Great,” Ralph replied. “You’ll be partners with Nikki.”
Indy turned to his partner with a grin.
She looked disappointed.
Resolved not to take it personally, Indiana took the racket Ralph offered and headed over to their side of the court.
The sun was high overhead, birds sang in the trees, and Indy was looking forward to trying the game of tennis in person.
Mr. Travers had the first serve. He flung the ball into the air and then swung at it with a grunt.
The ball spun and sailed through the air.
“Nice,” Nikki said softly.
But the ball collided with the top of the net.
“Net ball,” Ralph called. “Watch your follow through.”
Mr. Travers threw the ball again and smashed it with his racket, his face pink with effort already.
Again it hit the net.
“So windy,” Nikki muttered.
There was no wind.
Indiana turned to her again, but her gaze was focused on Travers in a way that made Indy wonder if she might be in love with him.
But of course that was impossible. She would never fall in love with someone whose cruelty could have closed down the place they all loved just to spite the woman his son had assaulted.
At last Travers had a good serve and they were off.
It was one thing to learn about tennis or to watch it in the movies, and another to actually run on the paved court, chasing the ball, trying not to trip over your partner.
For all that Nikki claimed she was no good at tennis, the lessons must have been paying off. She was a fast runner and had a strong arm.
Indy had memorized the rundown of technique but found it easier to subscribe to the Inner Game of Tennis philosophy of asking his body to put the ball on the other side and relying on it to obey, as opposed to paying attention to each element of his carriage.
It turned out that he was rather good at tennis.
It made sense. Indy had long, strong limbs and good hand-eye coordination.
He and Nikki began to rack up a score. Indy made an impressive save of a ball he was sure Nikki should have been able to get to and brought it to game point. Travers served again and Nikki lobbed the ball back over the net, setting him up for an easy shot.
The older man hit the ball with gusto, and it landed near Nikki, just outside the line.
“Damn,” Nikki said in a frustrated way.
“What’s wrong?” Indy asked.
“That was in,” she announced to the others.
It had clearly been out.
“No,” Indy said, confused. “It landed outside the line.”
“No, it was in,” she repeated without looking at him.
“Yes,” Travers said in a celebratory way.
“But, the USTA doubles rules clearly state—” Indy began.
Nikki spun on her heel and gave him a look so icy he got a chill down his spine.
He chose not to continue the argument.
But it was confusing indeed.
Nikki served next.
Travers hit the ball back, right at Nikki. An easy point. She would only need to smash the ball down just over the net to make it impossible for either opponent to reach.
Instead, she looped it slowly toward Travers, who sent it back to Indy.
He hit it, forcing Travers back on his heels and allowing Nikki another chance at an easy score. But instead of capitalizing, she hit the ball directly into the net.
“Good one.” She sighed and shook her head.
Indy watched her, flummoxed.
It had been such an easy shot. She had taken much more difficult ones during the warmup.
It dawned on him that Nikki might be letting Travers win on purpose.
He remembered a day back in the lab, when Dr. Bhimani had learned it was a scientist named Ted’s birthday. She decided they would have a small party and asked Ted what his favorite cake flavor was.
When he told her it was carrot cake, Dr. Bhimani dashed off to the store for ingredients.
Later that evening, everyone gathered in the lab to celebrate Ted’s special day. Dr. Bhimani had brought out a big cake with white frosting, and they all sang and cheered as he made his wish and blew out the candles.
The cake was then sliced
and put on plates and handed around.
Indy had been surprised at how heavy the plate was when he took his.
Then everyone began to eat.
A sudden silence came over the room.
When Indy tasted the heavy confection he could tell why. The cake was dense and overly sweet and wet. It was like eating paste made of honey and sugar. The carrot bits, if they ever had really been carrots, were limp and slimy in his mouth.
“How is it?” Dr. Bhimani had her hands clasped in front of her, like a little girl in a book.
“It’s delicious,” Ted said immediately. His words were a bit slurred from the big bite of sticky cake, but he said them with gusto.
All the scientists agreed.
He and his brothers had looked at each other in confusion, then one after the other, fell in line nodding their heads and making noises of appreciation.
The look of relief and happiness on Dr. Bhimani’s face had been a lesson to Indiana. Dr. Bhimani was a kind person and a brilliant scientist. It didn’t matter if she was a terrible carrot cake baker. She had done her best, and nothing would be accomplished by pointing out her confectionary inadequacies except making her feel bad.
Sometimes it was worth lying about something unimportant to save someone’s feelings.
Could Nikki be letting Travers win to keep from hurting his feelings?
Something about that scenario didn’t seem quite right. He must be missing something. But Indiana couldn’t figure out what.
An uncomfortable feeling began to twist its way through his chest.
The friendships he thought he’d formed in this new home were fleeting. Men he’d been friends with yesterday didn’t like him today. Women who had laughed at his jokes now looked at him like he was a walking sex toy.
And the one person whose feelings he cared about was turning out to be not merely mysterious, but as inscrutable as the phantom moon of Gagniss.
But Indiana was learning that when he didn’t understand something important in this new world, the best thing to do was to ask.
Nikki
Nikki ran a hand through her hair, then approached the net to shake hands with their opponents.
Travers shook her hand with little enthusiasm.
“Good game,” Ralph congratulated her.
“Thanks,” she replied.
“You should come back for lessons,” Ralph told Indiana. “You’ve got natural talent. And you sure know the rules of the game.”
“Thanks,” Indy said with a half smile.
Nikki tried not to lose herself in his characteristic smirk. Maybe his mouth was just built that way, shaped to tease.
“I’ll walk you back,” Indy said, turning to fix her in his dark gaze.
She nodded.
Travers was already headed off anyway. He wouldn’t be making any small talk with her today. She’d thought letting him win might loosen his tongue a little, but since the events between his son and Honey, Travers had been more closed off than ever.
“See you,” Ralph said, heading up the hill to greet another student.
Indy gestured to the path back toward the lawn and she followed.
“That was fun,” she said. “I didn’t know you were interested in tennis.”
“I’m not,” he replied.
He was staring straight ahead in a rather dark way.
Indiana was always relaxed. This was something new.
“Are you okay?”
“Not really.” His voice was icy. But he kept walking, his long legs setting the pace just a touch faster than Nikki found comfortable.
“Why not?”
He stopped suddenly.
“You weren’t there to play tennis,” he said simply. “You were there to be near Travers. You don’t go to church on Sundays. You go somewhere else. And you know too much about undercover work. So I’m only going to ask once. Who are you, really, and what are you doing?”
Well, there it was. Maybe the boys from Aerie weren’t as clueless as everyone thought.
In the beginning, she had expected the others might ask too many questions about Vanderbilt, grill her about her interest in tennis, or ask to go to church with her.
But as it turned out, being undercover was easy. Too easy.
She just had to show up, not make too much noise, and if anyone asked her something too personal, turn the conversation back to them.
The long and short of it was that no one actually wanted to talk to her about her school or her religion.
And no one cared why she was interested in tennis enough to ask a second time if she changed the subject.
So she had spent the summer quietly taking notes and reporting back and writing her pieces on Travers and the aliens every Sunday. It had been lonely, but it had been easy.
Well, it had been easy until now.
“You’re right,” she said, deciding then and there to open up, at least a little. “I mean, I am Nikki Fortune, but I’m not interested in tennis, and when I go to town on Sundays, it’s not to church.”
“Where do you go?”
“I can only tell you if you agree to keep my secret,” she said solemnly.
He gazed down at her, his dark eyes bright with interest. “Why would you trust me with your secret?”
There was something possessive about the way he looked at her.
Nikki felt an awareness spread through her body, and her cheeks grew warm.
“You’re trustworthy,” she said. “If you give me your word, I know you won’t break it.”
And it was true. He might be the jokester of the group, but he was a man of honor. She knew it to her bones.
“I’ll keep your secret,” he said, nodding slowly.
“I’m an investigative journalist, here to do a piece on Samuel Travers,” she said. “I think he’s involved with insider trading.”
Indiana’s eyes widened, although she suspected he had little idea what insider trading was.
“I know it’s shocking,” she said. “I’m sorry I had to lie to you about what I was doing here. And I never wanted to lie to the girls. It’s just, in the beginning, I didn’t know if I could trust them. And now it would just be weird to tell them about it.”
She tried not to think about the fact that she was still lying. She wasn’t only working on a piece about Travers. She was hoping to write about Indy and his brothers too.
“Does anyone suspect your true purpose?” he asked.
She studied his eyes for a moment - so earnest and trusting, even in the face of her confession.
“I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head and turning her focus back to Travers. “He’s barely talked business in front of me at all. The whole thing is turning out to be a bust.”
She could see the wheels turning in Indy’s head.
“Why do you think he hasn’t talked business in front of you?”
“Well, today his friend wasn’t there,” she said. “Sometimes they do talk shop a little. But in general I think it’s sort of a good old boys club.”
“Who are the old boys?” Indy asked. “What makes them so good?”
Nikki choked back a laugh.
“Good old boys is kind of a slang term for men who network with each other, usually because they are all the same race and social status. The implication is that they help each other stay on top, and by doing so, they keep women and minorities at the bottom of the pecking order.”
“That should have a different name,” Indiana observed. “Good old boys sounds like it should be a positive thing. Like the famous Duke brothers of Hazzard County. They were simply making their way, the only way they knew how.”
“Yeah,” Nikki admitted. “Anyway, I think Travers is unlikely to talk about the stock market in front of me, not on the court at least. I’ll bet he talks about it when he plays poker, though.”
“Then why don’t you play poker?”
“It’s kind of a guy thing too,” Nikki said.
He nodded, but
made no comment.
“Anyway, I’m sure you have to get to work,” Nikki said, feeling nervous.
“Yes,” he said. “Let’s walk together.”
They continued on to the lawn to where Marshall, the guitar instructor sat in a music circle, his long blond ponytail dancing in the light breeze as he listened to his students strum away.
“They are not skilled,” Indiana observed.
“No,” Nikki agreed. “But they’re happy, aren’t they?”
“Is that the idea?” Indy asked. “To get away from their work and their cares?”
Nikki nodded. She loved the idea of getting away. If only that were her actual reason for being here.
“Maybe you’ll come back here someday,” Indiana said, as if reading her mind. “You could come and take guitar lessons and relax.”
Nikki laughed.
“What?” Indiana pretended to be shocked. “You don’t want to play the guitar?”
“I guess not,” she replied.
“What do you want?” He sounded oddly earnest.
What do you want?
It was a strange question, not one that people asked, though of course it was the most important question of all.
What she wanted was happiness, the prestige of being a real journalist, permission to relax and enjoy the fruits of her labor.
“Lunch,” she said.
Indiana laughed. “Fine, come have lunch at the lodge. I’ll have them make you something special.”
“No, I’m good,” she said. “Just keep my secret, that’s all I ask.”
She stopped in her tracks, looking up at him, studying his face for any sign that he might betray her.
Maybe she had been foolish to expose herself. But he was obviously tracking her down anyway. Heaven only knew what conclusions he might have come to on his own.
“I will keep your secret,” he promised, taking her hand.
Nikki tried to ignore the tingle of electricity that ran down her whole arm at his touch.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Before she had time to register what he was doing, Indiana leaned down and brushed her lips lightly with his.
Then he let go of her hand, turned and strode into his cabin.
Indiana