Manhunt. Volume 13, Number 5, September 1965

Tennis Bum by G. L. Tassone

He was an “almost” champion. He had the forehand and the backhand... but the winning hand eluded him.

Mrs. Milburn’s view from her third floor apartment in the Hallman Arms is excellent. She has a clear unobstructed view of the lake and of the Milburn Racquet and Yacht Club which is sprawled out below her and borders the lake on six acres of very valuable property.

Being an invalid, Mrs. Milburn spends a great deal of time at her living-room window contemplating the blue-beauty of the lake and watching the tennis players perform beneath her in the sun.

The Milburn Racquet and Yacht Club was named after its founder and principal benefactor, John R. Milburn. The Club consists of six outdoor courts and three indoor, a swimming pool, and a large, white sprawling clubhouse, complete with dining-room and bar. There is also a dock which fingers out into the lake to which both power and sailboats are anchored.

Occasionally, Mrs. Milburn, since her husband’s death no one seems to call her Sara anymore, has her chauffeur, Ramsey, take her over to the Club so that she can visit with the other members and so that she can get a closer look at the players.

Before her accident, Sara Milburn was a tennis player, never a good one, but a fair club-player, and even after she became an invalid she still retained her interest in the game of tennis. It was through her doing that one of the brighter lights of the tennis-world was brought to Milburn to serve as the Club-Professional.

When Barry Cole accepted the offer of the position at Milburn he was tired of tournament-tennis. He had followed the tennis-trails from Forest Hills to Wimbledon. He had been up and down the coast of California so many times that even the beauties of that sprawling state had begun to pale for him.

Barry Cole had become a topflight tennis player in a roundabout way. When he was five-years old, his Father threw him into a pool to teach him to swim. Barry was retrieved from the water, almost dead, by an exasperated lifeguard who happened to notice his pathetic struggles. From that moment, Barry feared and hated water.

It was Barry’s luck that he was born and raised only a quarter-mile from the Pacific Ocean. The rest of the children in the neighborhood spent their summers at the beach enjoying their youth on the edge of that blue expanse of water. Barry, to escape, spent his time at the public tennis courts only two blocks from his home.

Barry began to go to the tennis courts when he was six years old. That first year, it was difficult for him to find anyone to play with. With most of the other children at the beach, Barry left for the courts each morning shortly after dawn. Barry used the practice board by the hour. He knew that his fear extended in the direction of the beach and that danger waited for him there at the water’s edge. He spent hour after hour of summer-morning-volleying, knowing, as he relentlessly battered that ball at the board that this was a place to be, a time to be occupied, and as the morning wore toward noon and he watched the other children walk toward the beach he was grateful that he had this place and that he need not go with them.

By the following summer, the tennis courts were no longer just an excuse. Barry grew to love the game — the feel of the ball against his racquet, the clean arc of his forehand, feeling the power of an overhead smash extend from his racquet to his arm and down into the trunk of his young body, he knew that tennis was going to be his life.

Soon, everyone in Goodrich Falls knew that young Barry Cole was a tennis-dynamo. By the time Barry was thirteen, his serve, a white shocking-blur, was more than anyone in town could handle. Mr. Stanley, the high-school tennis coach knew that he had a potential star. Barry won the State Junior title that year and the year after that. At the age of fifteen he won both the Junior title and the State Men’s Singles, the first time that a Junior ever accomplished the feat in the state of California.

After that, Barry became the pampered-darling of the tennis world. He grew up into a very handsome young man. He had light, sandy hair that covered his head in a casual manner and he had the deepest blue eyes that any girl had ever seen. His body grew straight and strong and he was always a deep bronze from the sun. His deep blue eyes smiled constantly in his handsome young face and he felt that the world was his for the taking.

Barry Cole never did take the world, simply because he was never able to win a major-championship. He was a winner many times but he was never able to win a “big-one”. He won tournaments too numerous to mention, but Forest Hills, Wimbledon, when the stakes ran high, he didn’t have it. Barry was twenty-eight before he would admit that he would never make the really big-time, and when the offer for the job at Milburn came he accepted it.

Barry had been at Milburn a little over a month when Sara Milburn entered his life. From the beginning, Barry enjoyed the job at Milburn. He enjoyed teaching the youngsters that showed up every afternoon for lessons. He used the mornings to stay in shape in case he ever decided to play tournament tennis again. He would get up shortly after dawn and run along the lake. There was a path for bicycles and horses that ran along the lake’s edge. Barry ran along this path, seldom looking at the lake’s blue, because water still bothered him, but he ran head down with the long easy strides of the athlete. He could feel the strength in his legs and his breathing was easy and deep. He ran past the Club’s private beach, past the boat dock that stretched out into the water, a mile or so down the path and then back again.

After his morning run, Barry was back at the Club for a shower and breakfast and then a set with one of the Club’s members. For the first time in years he was beginning to enjoy the feel of the racquet in his hand again. He was glad to see new faces and hear new voices. He was beginning to forget the tournaments he had lost. He was beginning to lose the fears and doubts that had gnawed at him the last few years because he hadn’t been able to win a major tournament, and he was beginning to feel his youth and his confidence return.

Coming off the court one Tuesday afternoon, after just giving his last lesson of the day, Barry noticed a man standing on the sidelines in a chauffeur’s uniform. The man came toward Barry as he walked off the court.

“Excuse me, Mr. Cole, my name is Ramsey, I’m Mrs. Milburn’s chauffeur. Mrs. Milburn asked me to deliver a message. She would like to know if it would be possible to see you this evening? At her place, on a matter about the Club.”

Barry wiped his face with a towel. “I suppose so. I don’t have anything planned. Yes, you can tell her that I’ll be there.”

“Fine, Sir. It’s right across the street in the Hallman Arms. Should I say, eight o’clock?”

“Yes, I’ll be there at eight o’clock,” Barry answered.

Barry had dinner at the Club. He had taken a steam-bath and a rub-down and he felt completely relaxed as he stood before the door of Mrs. Milburn’s apartment. He was dressed in a blue sport-coat, gray-flannel slacks, white shirt with button-down-collar, and a dark blue tie. He felt very good. His skin felt taut and very clean and his legs were strong from his morning runs and his stomach muscles felt hard and firm.

The Milburn maid answered the door. She ushered Barry through a small vestibule and into a large living-room. Mrs. Milburn was sitting at the window, her back to Barry. The evening twilight filled the room. Mrs. Milburn didn’t turn. She was confined to a wheel-chair. Her hair was blue in the evening light and there were silver streaks running through it.

“Mr. Cole,” she said, turning her chair, “It was good of you to come. I have been watching the sun set. I do almost every evening. Since my accident I spend much of my time at this window.”

Mrs. Milburn was a very handsome woman. Barry had seen her at the Club a few times and had decided that she must be in her forties, but here, she looked younger, perhaps her middle thirties, he thought.

She rolled her chair over to a portable-bar and she said,

“Let me fix you a drink. This is my maid’s evening out. She was just leaving when she showed you in. What would you like?”

“Scotch with water, will be fine,” he answered.

Mrs. Milburn fixed two drinks and handed one to Barry.

“Won’t you sit down. What I have to say won’t take long, but it may come as somewhat of a shock.”

Barry seated himself on a large, blue divan.

“Mr. Cole, life has taught me to be very frank. When you are my age you realize that people waste too much time with formalities. Pain and confinement have brought me very close to the truth. I have come to realize that the shortest distance between two points has always been the truth.”

It was almost dark in the room now. Barry sipped at his drink.

“For the past month, from this room, I have watched you run almost every morning. In the afternoon I have watched you play or give lessons. You are a beautiful, young man, Mr. Cole. Your body responds with an ease that others can only envy and admire.”

Barry settled back on the divan and listened to Mrs. Milburn. He knew that he liked hearing about himself.

“I am forty-seven years old, Mr. Cole. That surprises you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes it does,” he answered, “You look much younger.”

“Doctors have restored youth to my face. But Doctors can only do so much, Mr. Cole. I want what I never had from John, my husband. Mr. Milburn was an old man. He was old twenty-eight years ago when I married him, and he was ancient two years ago when he died. I waited so long for him to die. With John, I had nothing but money. I prayed all during my marriage for him to die. I prayed that he would die before I lost my youth and my beauty, but fate is more than funny, when he finally died, at the age of eighty-four, it was in an automobile accident that crippled me for the rest of my life.”

Mrs. Milburn wheeled back to the bar and fixed two more drinks. She brought a drink to Barry and remained there a foot or so from where he sat staring directly into his blue eyes.

“I want you, Mr. Cole. I want your youth and your sex. I want to know that your strength and your beauty are mine. There is no one to whom I care to leave the Milburn fortune, so it will be yours. You will become the benefactor of my Will. The Milburn fortune will be your’s on my death.”

Her voice lowered and trembled as she continued, “My spine was injured in the accident that killed my husband. I have less than a year to live. I want the best during that remaining year and I think you are the best, Mr. Cole.”

Barry remained silent. He wasn’t sure as to what he should say. He had been among many older women on the tennis-tour. He had even made love to a few. At times, he had made love out of desire, and once or twice out of curiousity, perhaps even sympathy, but he had never been bought. But even as he was thinking about the past and about Mrs. Milburn’s offer he knew that he was going to accept it.

“When will you have the Will drawn up?” He asked.

“Good. I like a man that knows his own mind. I’ll have my attorney take care of it first thing in the morning. Everything will be your’s at my death. I lived with John for all those terrible years and I earned every cent of the Milburn fortune. I guess, I can do with it as I want, and what I want is you, Barry.”

She turned her chair and wheeled herself toward the bedroom, “Now, let me see if you make love as well as you play tennis.”

Barry got up off the divan, finished his scotch, and followed Mrs. Milburn into the bedroom.

Inside of a month, Barry learned to hate Sara Milburn. He hated being seen with her. He hated hearing her voice, but most of all he hated touching her and being touched by her. He found her physical demands on him constant and bordering on the psychopathic. The calm, middle-aged woman that sat and gazed out of her living-room window was trying to make up in a few months time what had been denied her for so many years.

The only thing that kept Barry going was the thought of Sara Mil-burn’s impending death and the realization that he would then have all the money he would ever need. He gave up his early morning runs, instead he now took Sara on early morning walks along the lake. Four or five mornings a week, Barry pushed her chair along the lake’s edge. They would walk for an hour or two and then have breakfast together at the Club. During the afternoons she would nap while he gave his lessons and then he had to spend his evenings, every evening, with her.

A few months later, Barry was playing a set with Sara’s Doctor. After they had finished playing, Doctor Cunningham invited Barry to have a drink with him. It was during their second drink at the Club bar that Doctor Cunningham brought up the subject of Sara Milburn.

“Barry,” he said, “I want you to know, and the other members of the Club have commented on it, that it is really wonderful how you manage to spend so much time with Mrs. Milburn. We all know that her money keeps the Club going, but your morning walks along the lake are really beyond the call-of-duty. I think that it is a wonderful gesture. You’d be amazed at how much her spirits and her condition have improved since you began to spend time with her.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Barry said. “By the way, Mrs. Milburn never does talk about her condition. How serious is it? I mean, if I might ask, how much longer does she have?”

Doctor Cunningham looked directly into Barry’s eyes.

“I’m afraid, I don’t understand. There’s no telling how long she has. Except for the injury to her legs, and I doubt that she will ever recover their full use again, her health is very good. She might outlive the both of us.”

“You mean, there’s nothing wrong with her spine?”

“Her spine was injured. That is why she is in that cumbersome metal-brace, but I am sure that it will be alright within a year, two at the most. There is nothing terminal about Mrs. Milburn’s condition.”

Barry finished his drink without tasting it.

“If you’ll excuse me Doctor, I have a lesson in about an hour. Thank’s for the game and the drink.”

Barry left the bar and went to his office.

“The old-bitch,” he thought, “So, she might even outlive me. I wonder how long she thought she could have me. Well, we’ll see. We’ll see.”

The next morning Barry picked Mrs. Milburn up at seven o’clock for her stroll along the lake. It was a bright, clear morning. The sun had just broken out over the lake and the water was still and green in the early morning sunlight. The lakefront, except for Mrs. Milburn and Barry, was deserted. Mrs. Milburn was telling Barry what a wonderful person he was and how much he had come to mean to her. As she talked on, Barry wheeled her out onto the dock. The conversation that Barry had had the day before with Doctor Cunningham kept running through his mind. He could still hear the Doctor’s voice saying, “She might outlive the two of us.”

The lake was very calm. The boats anchored to the dock were lifeless. Barry wheeled Mrs. Milburn toward the end of the dock. The dock, like the Club grounds, was completely deserted. As Barry neared the end of the dock, he didn’t stop. Mrs. Milburn didn’t notice, she was still talking. She was saying something about buying a boat so they could take early morning cruises around the lake.

Barry, simply wheeled Mrs. Milburn over the end of the dock. It happened so suddenly and so naturally that she didn’t even have time to scream. Barry watched the chair splash as it hit the water. He watched both the chair and Mrs. Milburn sink into the quiet of the lake. He recalled his feelings, years before when his Father had thrown him into the water. He shivered with remembered fear. He looked down and he could see Mrs. Milburn struggling on the bottom of the lake. She was in about twenty-feet of water and he watched as she struggled to free herself of the metal-brace that held her trapped to the bottom of the lake.

Barry looked about him — there was no one around. He watched Mrs. Milburn a moment longer. She had given up with the brace and was clawing at the water. She looked like a person trying to struggle her way out of a dream. Barry turned and started back toward the Clubhouse. When he got to the shore he began to run. He wanted to be out of breath when he reported the accident.

Barry knew that it would look bad for him at the inquest when it came out that he was the sole beneficiary of Mrs. Milburn’s Will. He reasoned that his fear of water was common knowledge; it was a sport legend how Barry Cole had turned to tennis because he was afraid to go swimming, so he assumed that it would be understood that he wouldn’t have been able to go to Mrs. Milburn’s aid.

At the inquest, Barry actually cried when he admitted his cowardice, but he said, that his fear was too old and too deep and though he hated himself for it he just wasn’t able to save Mrs. Milburn. He explained that Mrs. Milburn’s chair had been on the edge of the dock, he had turned for a moment, and he had heard the chair splash. Whether, she fell accidentally, or was tired of living the life of an invalid, he couldn’t say. He preferred to think that it was an accident. He went on to say, that he would always remember her as a woman with a great deal of courage.

Barry decided to remain at Mil-burn until the Will was probated. After that, he thought that he might travel for awhile, not as a tennis-bum but as a man-of-means-and-leisure.

A few weeks later, he was in his room at the Club reading a magazine article on the advantages of living in tax-free Switzerland, when the phone rang. It was a woman’s voice:

“May I please speak to Mr. Cole.”

“This is Mr. Cole, speaking.”

“Mr. Cole, this is Mrs. Kruger. I don’t believe you know me, but I was a good friend of Sara Milburn’s. We knew each other for years. I was her neighbor; I lived right above her in the Hallman Arms.”

“In what way can I help you, Mrs. Kruger?”

“Well, it’s about Sara Milburn’s Will. There’s something that I am sure you should know. When can I see you?”

“Anytime. How about tomorrow evening?”

“Tomorrow evening will be fine. Make it my apartment at nine o’clock. I am sure that what I have to tell you will interest you very much.”

Barry placed the receiver on its cradle. Now what the Hell can she want, he wondered.

The next evening at nine o’clock, Barry was in the elevator at the Hallman Arms.

Mrs. Kruger answered the door. She was older than Mrs. Milburn. She was well into her fifties. Barry saw that no knife had ever worked her face. Her age showed clearly in the wrinkles and creases that betrayed her.

“Come in, Mr. Cole, let me introduce myself. I’m Judith Kruger. As I told you on the phone, I was a very good friend of Sara Milburn’s. Did she ever mention me?”

“I don’t believe she did,” Barry answered.

He followed Mrs. Kruger into her apartment. She led him into the living-room. There was a window with the same view of the Club and the lake.

“Sit down,” Mrs. Kruger said, pointing to a large, orange reading-chair. “Can I fix you a drink?”

“Scotch and water will be fine,” Barry said, sitting down.

As Mrs. Kruger prepared the drinks, Barry looked about the room. It looked exactly like Mrs. Milburn’s apartment except for a screen against one wall and against the opposite wall a movie-projector on a small end-table.

Mrs. Kruger handed Barry his drink.

“I’ve watched you play tennis many times, Mr. Cole.” She was standing next to the fireplace, her drink in her hand. She had on a green silk cocktail dress and her hair was dyed a redish-orange.

“I saw you play last year at Forest Hills. Since my husband’s death, I often accompanied Sara when she traveled anywhere. I was a companion to her until you came along. I can’t blame her for replacing me with you. I am sure that you were able to do much more for her than I ever was.”

Mrs. Kruger sipped at her drink and continued, “You were wonderful at Forest Hills last year.”

“Wonderful? I lost in the semifinals.”

“Yes, but you were so majestic in your defeat. Perhaps, that is why women find you so attractive. You seem to lose better than most men win. You know that women find you attractive, don’t you, Barry?”

Barry didn’t answer. He knew that sooner or later she would get to the point and tell him why he was there.

She took his drink, “Let me freshen this for you,” she said.

When she bent over to take his glass, her decollete was so low that her soft, flabby, dried breasts were almost completely exposed. The sight of them sickened Barry.

Mrs. Kruger gave him another drink. “You’re probably wondering just why I asked you up here?”

“As a matter of fact I am.”

“I will get to the point then. Sara Milburn and I were good friends. Sara confided in me. I knew all about your affair. I admired Sara for having the courage to take a young lover, no matter the cost. What good is money if you can’t enjoy it? Unfortunately, Mr. Kruger did not leave me so well off. Oh, I have enough money to get by on but there isn’t much left over for expensive luxuries.”

She put the glass to her lips, drank deeply, and went on.

“From my window, here, I used to watch the two of you going along the lake. How I envied Sara — but to get to the point — my husband’s hobby was photography. When he died, I turned to photography to help pass the time. I had all of his equipment and there was nothing much else for me to do. I have a full reel of you playing tennis. I watch it often. Your body is fascinating. Sara and I used to watch it together. I got a vicarious pleasure out of listening to her talk about you. She went into your affair in detail. But I’m digressing,” she reached over and switched out the light.

“Let me show you this film strip and it will explain everything.”

Barry heard the projector go on and he watched the screen glare with a silver brightness.

“I took this film from the window. The new Zoom-lense is remarkable. See how clear everything is and it’s even self-focusing.”

Barry watched himself on the screen. He was playing tennis with one of the members at the Club.

“I took this a few months ago. I like to study your body as well as your tennis style. You really have a beautiful body. I also have quite a collection of pornographic-film that Mr. Kruger left but that can wait until another day.”

The scene on the screen cut to a shot of Barry wheeling Mrs. Milburn along the lake.

“This is sometime later. I happened to take this section of film just a few weeks ago. Watch closely, Barry.”

Mrs. Kruger didn’t have to tell Barry to watch closely. His attention was riveted to the screen. As he watched his image wheel Mrs. Milburn along the lake, he realized what was coming. It hit him like a physical blow. He watched as he pushed the wheel-chair out onto the dock. He saw himself look around to see if anyone was about and he watched, fascinated, as he walked Sara Milburn off the end of the dock.

There was the slight splash as the chair hit the water. He stood there looking down into the water. Then he walk off the dock. Mrs. Kruger had followed him with her camera as he, finally, broke into a run toward the Clubhouse.

Mrs. Kruger clicked the projector off. The two of them sat there in the dark. Barry could hear his own breathing.

“Before you get any ideas, Barry, my lawyer has a negative of this film. It is to be taken to the District Attorney’s Office on my death. I want assurance that you will do every thing possible to prolong my life. I want you to pray for me, daily. You are lucky, I am only fifty-eight and in fairly good health. As soon as you get Sara’s money we can travel. It will take us a while to get used to each other but I am sure that we will.”

Barry barely heard Mrs. Kruger. He knew what she was saying, but there in the dark, the images of what he had seen on the screen were still running through his mind. He wondered if they would ever stop.

“I will spare you the light, Barry, until you get accustomed to me. Now come here. It has been a long time for me — long time.”

As though in a trance, Barry got up from his chair. He moved over to the couch. He felt Mrs. Kruger’s arms go around him. He was surprised that she had removed her clothes. He felt the loose folds of her flesh and he became nauseous. He felt like a deep-sea diver that has run out of oxygen at the bottom of the sea. He knew that he was going to explode from the pressure that was building up inside of him. Sharp pains tore through the inside of is head. He was trapped. He felt Mrs. Kruger’s wrinkled mouth on his and he let her draw him to her. After all this time, he realized that he was finally drowning. He knew that Barry Cole had never been destined to be a winner. The last thing that he remembered was Mrs. Kruger’s voice saying, “Darling, you will have to learn to call me Judy.”