Break Point

by Yolanda Wallace

  “But Jacobs has a better record on clay than I do.”

  “I know, but my gut says putting you in the top spot is the right call. The one that gives our team the best chance to win. You’re not just due against Meike. You’re overdue. It’s your time. I can feel it.”

  The thought of playing Meike with the stakes as high as they were struck fear in Helen’s heart. She found herself torn between rooting for Dodo to clinch the team’s berth in the final and hoping the youngster would lose. She wanted to win the Confederation Cup, but she couldn’t do it at Meike’s expense.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking me to do, Jeanne.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m asking you to fulfill your destiny. I’ve never seen a player who is more athletically gifted than you are and I’ve seen them all. From Suzanne Lenglen to Helen Wills Moody to Alice Marble. You were put on this earth to play tennis, Helen. You were born to win big matches and I can’t think of any more important than the one you could play tomorrow afternoon.”

  A match Meike couldn’t afford to lose and Helen couldn’t afford to win.

  *

  The roar from the center court crowd forced Meike, playing on an adjacent court, to let the ball drop instead of following through with her serve. She stepped away from the baseline and turned to Inge for confirmation of what she already suspected: the United States had just beaten Great Britain to advance to the championship round. Helen and her teammates were going to play for the Confederation Cup.

  Meike tried and failed to suppress a smile. Despite the recent friction between them, she was proud of what Helen had managed to accomplish this week. In a few short days, she had completely rehabilitated her image in the eyes of the press and fans. She had proved she could be unselfish, putting the team’s success ahead of her individual achievements. Even though Dorothy Cheney had struggled in singles, Helen hadn’t lobbied to take her place. She had been nothing but supportive of her teammate despite the press’s attempts to bait her into saying something negative. Her play, both in practice and in live competition, had been sparkling, even though the powerful serve she was known for seemed to have gone missing. Now she was one day away from being praised for her tennis instead of scorned for her temper.

  And it was Meike’s job to prevent it from happening. To stop Helen from having her day so she could have her own tomorrows.

  She glanced at her family sitting in the stands. Her parents had barely left her side since she was returned to them after her trip to Dachau, and her brother had taken time off from his studies in order to come to Paris to offer his support. The three of them smiled to offer their encouragement, but she could see how nervous they were. They knew just as well as she did what losing this event could cost her. She smiled back, then returned to the task at hand.

  She held up a hand to apologize to her opponent for the delay in play. JaJa Jedrzejowska nodded her acceptance and assumed her return stance. Meike had beaten JaJa at two Grand Slam events the year before and JaJa seemed determined to make up for those losses today. She had held serve easily in the opening game of the match and had Meike in a 0-30 hole in the second.

  Meike took a deep breath to steady herself. Liesel’s win against Agnieszka Rosolska in the previous match had taken some of the pressure off her, but she couldn’t afford to let down her guard. If JaJa managed to pull off the upset in singles, Poland could still win the tie if they won the doubles match to follow. Meike needed to clinch the tie now on her first opportunity and not risk getting into a winner-takes-all match against a team with nothing to lose and everything to gain.

  JaJa bounced on the balls of her feet, revealing her growing confidence. She had never beaten Meike, but each of their matches had been close. Meike didn’t expect today to be any different. Not when the resulting victory wouldn’t be routine but career-defining.

  “Break down her strength instead of her weakness,” Meike said under her breath, “and the match is yours.”

  Most of JaJa’s opponents directed their shots to her backhand because they were afraid of getting beaten by her ferocious forehand. Meike knew JaJa would hit her share of winners off her forehand wing, but perhaps she would make a few costly errors, too.

  She directed her serve to JaJa’s forehand and the majority of the groundstrokes that followed. JaJa seemed surprised by the tactic and made four forehand errors to give Meike the game.

  The errors kept coming in the next game, which Meike won to break serve and pull ahead 2-1. She relaxed once she got the lead. Her shots began to come more freely and JaJa began to miss more than she made.

  Meike won the first set 6-2. JaJa put up a fight in the second set, battling back from a break down to briefly take the lead, but Meike settled down and won the set 7-5 to seal the victory and clinch the tie.

  She would live to play another day.

  Chapter Thirteen

  June 1938

  Paris, France

  As the rest of the team chowed down in the dining room of their hotel, Helen stared at the steak she had ordered but couldn’t eat. She had moved into the Hotel Parisienne before the Confederation Cup began because her teammates and coaches planned to set up shop there during their stay in Paris, but she found herself longing for the solitude of Martine and Angelique’s apartment. She loved a party as much as the next girl, if not more, but tonight she wanted to be alone.

  “What’s the matter, kid,” Swifty asked as he cracked into a lobster claw, “lost your appetite?”

  “I’ve got to see her.”

  Swifty’s jaw dropped so far it nearly ended up in the container of drawn butter resting next to his oversized dinner plate. “There are Nazis crawling all over the German team’s hotel and the head man himself is on his way. What are you trying to do, get yourself killed the night before the biggest match of your life?”

  “No, I’m trying to ease my mind.” She lowered her voice so the rest of the team couldn’t hear her. Not that she needed to concern herself about that. Her teammates were so keyed up about today’s win and tomorrow’s final, their excited conversations easily drowned out her whispered one. “I need to know if she’s okay. I need to know what she’s thinking.”

  “I’m sure she’s thinking the same thing you are. If she wins, she lives. If she doesn’t…” Swifty shrugged and let his voice trail off.

  “That’s why I need to see her tonight. Because tonight might be my last chance to get her alone. I have to tell her I’m throwing the match.”

  “You’re what?” Swifty looked like the sure thing he’d bet a wad of dough on had come in last instead of first. “Don’t be crazy, kid.”

  “I’m not, Swifty. What I am is in love.”

  “Same thing.” He waved his fork in the air and nearly dropped an asparagus spear on the immaculate linen tablecloth. “Now eat your dinner and stop spouting nonsense.”

  “She’s staying at the Metropole, isn’t she?”

  Swifty nearly choked on his glass of wine. “You’re joking, right?” he asked, wiping chardonnay off his chin.

  “I’ve never been more serious. Now are you going to help me or not?”

  He rolled his eyes heavenward. “I always knew you were going to be the death of me one day, but I didn’t figure today would be the day.”

  Helen grinned. “So is that a yes?”

  Swifty tossed his napkin on the table and grabbed a bottle of wine for the road. “Come on, kid. Let’s go.”

  *

  Meike stared out her hotel room window at the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower etched against the background of the darkening sky. The view was so beautiful it brought tears to her eyes. But these days, it didn’t take much to bring her emotions to the surface. Simply seeing Michael and her parents playing a game of hearts like they were now was enough to reduce her to tears. Her tennis career had made moments like this the exception rather than the rule and she found herself mourning for what might have been. Longing for what still might be.

  A brisk knock on the d
oor made her stiffen in dread and brought the cheerful chatter at the card table to an end.

  “Room service,” a female voice called out in serviceable French that bore the slight trace of an American accent.

  Meike and her family shared anxious looks, each silently asking the other if they had placed an order but fully aware the answer was no.

  Another knock brought Meike’s father out of his seat.

  Meike stepped away from the window. “No, Papa. I will go.”

  “Room service,” the voice said again.

  “Just a moment, please. I’m coming.” Meike crossed the room and cautiously opened the door. The SS guards who were normally stationed at each end of the hall flanked a woman in a hotel employee’s uniform. The woman was standing behind a room service cart laden with a vase of flowers, an ice-filled bucket of champagne, and a dome-covered tray.

  “Your dinner, Miss von Bismarck,” the woman said.

  Meike was so shocked to see Helen standing in the hall, she nearly said her name out loud. “Thank you. Please come in.” She opened the door wider and ushered Helen inside. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, switching from French to English after she closed the door behind them.

  “I know, but I had to see you.”

  Meike’s mother rushed toward Helen and slapped her across the face. Helen’s cheek reddened as a result of the forceful blow. “Do you still think my daughter is a Nazi?” she asked as Meike’s father prevented her from taking another swing.

  “Mama, please.” Meike motioned toward the door, reminding her mother the real enemy was on the other side.

  “It’s okay, Meike.” Helen rubbed the palm-shaped mark on her cheek. “I deserved that smack and a whole lot worse. But I didn’t come here tonight to be anyone’s punching bag. I came hoping you would give me a chance to explain.”

  Meike’s father led her mother to the open door between their adjoining rooms and motioned for Michael to follow. “We shall leave you alone so you can talk.”

  “How did you get past the guards?” Meike asked after her family had taken their leave. “Where did you find that uniform? What—”

  “Wait. Hold on. One question at a time.” Helen placed a finger against Meike’s lips to stem the flood. Then she took Meike’s hands in hers. Unsure if she was ready to hear what Helen planned to say, Meike allowed herself to be led to a nearby sofa. “We don’t have long, so I’d better make it fast. Swifty and I bribed one of the maids into taking an hour off, but I need to clear out before the big galoots in the hallway get suspicious.”

  “What are you doing here, Helen? It isn’t safe. What if Oskar were to see you?”

  “I know how dangerous it is for me to be here, but I had to see you, Meike. I had to let you know why I did what I did.”

  “Why you spied on me, you mean?”

  Meike tried to pull away, but Helen held her fast.

  “I can’t blame you for being angry with me. I would be, too, if I were you.” Helen paused as if she needed to build her courage to say what was on her mind. What was in her heart. “A man came to see me back in December. He said he was from my government and he needed my help. He wanted me to get close to you so I could find out what you knew about Hitler’s plans and how they would affect our country. He wanted me to keep tabs on you, too, to make sure you weren’t one of them.”

  “Why would he think that?”

  “He showed me pictures of you entering and leaving Nazi headquarters and he said he thought you were one of Hitler’s allies.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I know that now. I knew it then, too, but the boys in Washington didn’t want to take my word for it. They wanted proof. Proof they wanted me to get. I didn’t want to do what they asked, but they had pictures. Compromising pictures of me and you. If I didn’t do what they asked, they would have exposed both of us. I could have ended up in jail and you might have ended up in—”

  “Dachau?” Meike finally managed to free herself from Helen’s grasp. “I’m afraid your efforts to protect me came up woefully short, Helen, but at least you were able to save yourself.”

  Helen’s eyes pleaded for mercy. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  Meike examined her heart. If she had to die, she didn’t want to go to her grave holding a grudge. Especially against the woman she loved. “There is nothing left to forgive.” She stroked Helen’s unruly curls as she finally let go of the animosity she had felt toward her since that fateful night in Rorschach. As she allowed her true feelings to rise to the surface. “I would be in the predicament I am in now with or without the deal you made all those months ago.” Helen looked as if she had just been spared from the gallows. Meike, meanwhile, felt the noose around her own neck grow even tighter. “Just tell me one thing. Did you mean what you said that night in the tunnel? Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

  Helen nodded fervently. “Of course I did. I love you more than life itself, Meike.”

  “Then promise me something.”

  “Anything.”

  “Promise me you won’t treat our match tomorrow any different from the rest we’ve played. Promise me you will play to win and not to lose.”

  “Meike, I can’t do that. Not if winning could cost you your life.”

  “Promise me, Helen.”

  Helen’s eyes were a swirl of colors—and emotions. But the sentiment that came through clearest was love. “I promise.”

  “Thank you.” Meike held Helen’s face in her hands and kissed her like she might never get the chance again. She memorized the feel of her lips, the taste of her skin, and the warmth of her touch. Then she pulled away. “Please leave before I won’t be able to let you go.” She turned her back and returned to the window, unable to watch Helen walk out of her life for what might be the last time.

  “Good night, Meike.”

  Meike’s tears began to fall even before she heard the door click shut. “Good-bye, my love.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  12 June 1938

  Paris, France

  The day dawned gloomy and overcast. The conditions were even heavier by the time the teams lined up on center court, the sky filled with dark gray clouds portending rain. A hot, dry day would have made the balls fly faster through the air. On a day like today, the crushed brick court would be molasses slow, making it hard to generate pace and nearly impossible to attack the net. Perfect for a baseliner but terrible for a serve-and-volleyer. Advantage, Germany.

  “The weather gods may be against us, but it sounds like we have the crowd on our side,” Helen said as she took a long look at the foreboding sky.

  “Not all of it.”

  Helen followed Jacobs’s line of sight. She couldn’t believe her eyes when she took a gander at one of the spectators standing in the front row of the VIP box. Adolf Hitler himself was chatting animatedly with several of his underlings.

  “My God, the bastard actually came.”

  He looked smaller than he did on the newsreels, where he seemed to tower over everyone else in the frame, but the force of his personality allowed him to hold sway over the yes-men surrounding him now. Heinrich Himmler, Oskar Henkel, and the rest of the toadies who blindly followed his orders hung on every word as he punched the air with his fists as if he were giving a speech to tens of thousands instead of speaking casually with a relative few while waiting for a tennis match to begin.

  “He predicted a German victory and he’s here to see it come true. Well, let’s give him a show he won’t forget.” Jacobs peeled off her sweater and draped it across one of the lower rungs of the umpire’s chair. She took a sip of hot tea for fortification and offered Helen a drink, but Helen waved her off in favor of something stronger. She hated the idea of Hitler celebrating a German victory, but she needed to make sure he got what he wanted so Meike could live.

  As she drank from a flask of brandy, Helen sneaked a peek at Meike out of the corner of her eye. If Meike was nervous or anxious about the upcoming matches,
she didn’t show it. Her face was calm, her expression stoic. She looked ready to face her fate—whatever that might turn out to be.

  Helen needed to keep the tie close so no one—not even Meike—could know the fix was in. She didn’t want to let her team down, but she didn’t see any other way.

  She tapped the head of one racquet against the strings of another to test the tension. The order of play had been reversed for today’s final, and the doubles match was up first instead of last so it could serve as an appetizer rather than a potential afterthought. The number two singles players would square off when the doubles match ended, and the number one players would close the show. The organizers were probably hoping for a split in the first two matches so Helen and Meike’s match would have more meaning. Helen was hoping for the opposite. If the tie was already decided by the time she and Meike faced each other, they wouldn’t have anything to play for. Helen wouldn’t have to worry about winning or losing. Only trying to save face—or finding a way to save Meike’s life.

  The Germans won the racquet flip and elected to return, a risky proposition considering Helen and Jacobs had two of the best serves in women’s tennis. But Meike and Liesel returned beautifully and broke serve without conceding a point. Then Meike held at love to stake her team to a quick 2-0 lead. The match had just begun and it already seemed to be over.

  “Slow down,” Jeanne called from the sidelines. “You can’t win the match in the first couple of games.”

  Jacobs’s sterling play at the net helped Helen hold serve and pull the team within a game, but Meike’s play was even better and Liesel was returning out of her mind.

  “Who does she think she is, Don Budge?” Jacobs asked after Liesel whistled a winner past her to help Germany break serve for the second time. “I’ve never seen a woman hit a forehand that hard.”