Read Online Sudden Death by Rita Mae Brown - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rita Mae Brown
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Avenue.
Ricky held a light lavender tie next to a pink Oxford-cloth shirt. He was a man unafraid to look dashing. Mustard pants and a navy blazer would complete the outfit. As he stood there in his Jockey shorts, Jane admired his legs. True, she’d seen those legs for years, but she still found them appealing. Ricky Cooper, short of stature, was a man who attracted women. His sophistication, tempered with a genuine affection for people, made him a popular television commentator. Offscreen, he had his moments of irritation and worry, but such moments were few.
Jane frightened many men because she was so strong. In Ricky, she met her match. It didn’t hurt their relationship that she was a knockout. If Ricky was jaded by the availability of his female followers, he had only to look at the constant trail of men hunting down Jane to keep on his toes. By now, both knew they could have just about anybody they wanted. They wanted one another.
The first day Jane met Ricky, six years ago, he swaggered over and whispered, “You have beautiful eyes.”
“Can’t you think of anything more original?” came the tart reply.
No woman talked to Ricky that way. Jane Fulton could care less that he was a man about town, a world traveler, and a television personality. He was a dude on the make and she was bored. Stung, he wanted to win her affections simply to prove he could. All the old ploys were used. Flowers were sent first. They were sent right back to him. He tried phone calls, notes, and candy. He went so far as to hire a high school band from Philadelphia to file into the
Inquirer
and play John Philip Sousa marches. Jane hated John Philip Sousa. This dragged on for months. Finally, getting nowhere, Ricky hopped the Metroliner to Philadelphia and waited for her to leave work. She was leaving with a date. Undaunted, Ricky walked up to her and said, “I’ve tried everything. Nothing works. Okay, so maybe I do lack imagination. I’m worth knowing anyway.”
On the spot, Jane disengaged from her date. She and Ricky ate in a tiny Italian restaurant that was her favorite. They closed the place down. It had taken Ricky many flowers, candies, and one high school band to learn to deal with Jane as a person, but once he learned it, he never regretted it. They were lovers from that night on. In a year they married.
Once Harriet asked Jane if she ever thought she could divorce Ricky. The question came after one of their fights. Jane fired back, “Divorce, never. Murder, yes.”
“What time is it?” asked Jane.
“Time for both of us to get to work.”
Jane, forlorn, waved good-bye to his Jockey shorts and the riches therein. “Damn.”
Ricky zipped his trousers. “If all the girls would finish their matches in forty-five minutes, we might not be too tired.”
“Wouldn’t Siggy Wayne shit a brick?” Jane relished the thought of Siggy, sticking to a sponsor like a leech, feverishlyexplaining that most opening rounds were interesting. Most opening rounds were boring as bat shit, and the public knew it. That’s why they didn’t show up until the semifinals and the finals. As good as women’s tennis was, it still did not have the depth the men’s game possessed.
“Siggy Wayne has the personality of a gargoyle.” Rick knotted his tie. He decided against a tie tack.
“If I had to sit around with local sponsors, I think I’d get weird myself.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready for another week on the Tomahawk Circuit, a small pool filled with man-eating sharks.” Jane grabbed her full-length silver fox and sailed out the door on Ricky’s arm.
“Hey, creep,” Jane saucily called to Harriet, who was picking her way around the empty seats, moving down toward the practice court.
“Creepette. I’m too little to be a creep.” The two embraced. “Where’s the best-looking man on the women’s circuit?”
“Who could you mean? Let me guess. Seth Quintard just flew in from New York City. No? It must be
Ricky held a light lavender tie next to a pink Oxford-cloth shirt. He was a man unafraid to look dashing. Mustard pants and a navy blazer would complete the outfit. As he stood there in his Jockey shorts, Jane admired his legs. True, she’d seen those legs for years, but she still found them appealing. Ricky Cooper, short of stature, was a man who attracted women. His sophistication, tempered with a genuine affection for people, made him a popular television commentator. Offscreen, he had his moments of irritation and worry, but such moments were few.
Jane frightened many men because she was so strong. In Ricky, she met her match. It didn’t hurt their relationship that she was a knockout. If Ricky was jaded by the availability of his female followers, he had only to look at the constant trail of men hunting down Jane to keep on his toes. By now, both knew they could have just about anybody they wanted. They wanted one another.
The first day Jane met Ricky, six years ago, he swaggered over and whispered, “You have beautiful eyes.”
“Can’t you think of anything more original?” came the tart reply.
No woman talked to Ricky that way. Jane Fulton could care less that he was a man about town, a world traveler, and a television personality. He was a dude on the make and she was bored. Stung, he wanted to win her affections simply to prove he could. All the old ploys were used. Flowers were sent first. They were sent right back to him. He tried phone calls, notes, and candy. He went so far as to hire a high school band from Philadelphia to file into the
Inquirer
and play John Philip Sousa marches. Jane hated John Philip Sousa. This dragged on for months. Finally, getting nowhere, Ricky hopped the Metroliner to Philadelphia and waited for her to leave work. She was leaving with a date. Undaunted, Ricky walked up to her and said, “I’ve tried everything. Nothing works. Okay, so maybe I do lack imagination. I’m worth knowing anyway.”
On the spot, Jane disengaged from her date. She and Ricky ate in a tiny Italian restaurant that was her favorite. They closed the place down. It had taken Ricky many flowers, candies, and one high school band to learn to deal with Jane as a person, but once he learned it, he never regretted it. They were lovers from that night on. In a year they married.
Once Harriet asked Jane if she ever thought she could divorce Ricky. The question came after one of their fights. Jane fired back, “Divorce, never. Murder, yes.”
“What time is it?” asked Jane.
“Time for both of us to get to work.”
Jane, forlorn, waved good-bye to his Jockey shorts and the riches therein. “Damn.”
Ricky zipped his trousers. “If all the girls would finish their matches in forty-five minutes, we might not be too tired.”
“Wouldn’t Siggy Wayne shit a brick?” Jane relished the thought of Siggy, sticking to a sponsor like a leech, feverishlyexplaining that most opening rounds were interesting. Most opening rounds were boring as bat shit, and the public knew it. That’s why they didn’t show up until the semifinals and the finals. As good as women’s tennis was, it still did not have the depth the men’s game possessed.
“Siggy Wayne has the personality of a gargoyle.” Rick knotted his tie. He decided against a tie tack.
“If I had to sit around with local sponsors, I think I’d get weird myself.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready for another week on the Tomahawk Circuit, a small pool filled with man-eating sharks.” Jane grabbed her full-length silver fox and sailed out the door on Ricky’s arm.
“Hey, creep,” Jane saucily called to Harriet, who was picking her way around the empty seats, moving down toward the practice court.
“Creepette. I’m too little to be a creep.” The two embraced. “Where’s the best-looking man on the women’s circuit?”
“Who could you mean? Let me guess. Seth Quintard just flew in from New York City. No? It must be
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