The atmosphere resembled the smell of week-old leftovers coming from the kitchen. But Sophie’s Cafe sat right next to the Northern Tennis Centre. Every afternoon, men of all ages relaxed and socialised after a game of tennis. Jenny Styles considered it the ideal place to find love, or at least a man interested in an average-looking thirty-year-old like her. She sipped on her second soy latte, scanning the room for potential targets, hoping today would be the day.
Across the room, a man in his early forties, standing a little over six foot with sun-bleached hair and a perfectly manicured three-day growth rose to his feet. Several tennis rackets protruded from his bag. The back of his shirt had the word “coach” stamped upon it. The men at his table stood and shook his hand firmly, and the women kissed his cheek with adoring smiles.
Jenny’s eyes met with his as he turned to face the exit. He smiled at her with the confidence of a lion summing up his next victim. She smiled back cautiously, before lowering her eyes. Her past was tainted by interactions with men like him that didn’t end well. But as she always told herself: nothing ventured, nothing gained.
The man walked toward her, still smiling. Jenny played her “helpless lady” card, innocently nudging her teaspoon over the edge of the table. As she leaned down to pick it up, so too did he. Their fingers touched as they both reached for the spoon.
“Please, allow me,” said the man firmly. Jenny let go of the spoon and pulled her hand back. “My name is Clay,” he said. “Clay Court.”
Jenny laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “That’s not your name.”
“You’re right,” said the man. “That’s not my name. It is Clay, but it’s Clay Hammersmith. Most women seem afraid of the name Hammersmith, so I tend to start with Court, just to test the water. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”
“My name is Jenny,” she said. “Jenny Styles.”
“That’s a beautiful name,” said Clay.
Jenny tilted her head to one side and smiled. “Seriously,” she said, shaking her head. “Is that your best opening line?”
“Ah – touche!” said Clay, somewhat embarrassed. “You seem to have caught me on a bad day. Can I make it up to you? How about dinner tonight? I’m a member of the tennis club next door. They have a wonderful seafood restaurant. How about I meet you at the front door at seven?”
Jenny thought about it for a moment. She didn’t want to appear like some kind of trophy at Clay’s tennis club. “No, I don’t think so,” she said.
Clay lowered his head. He turned away to hide the hint of anger in his expression.
“How about the Chinese Restaurant three doors down?” said Jenny. “I’ll meet you there at half-past seven.”
“Perfect,” said Clay, not missing a beat, his smile glowing once more. “I love Chinese food. I’ll be there, Jenny.”
Finding love is never easy. Finding exactly what you’re looking for is even harder, thought Jenny. But putting up with all the silly things said during the initial courting process is even harder still, especially during that first night with Clay. They sat and talked about food, life and love. They drank wine until opening their hearts enough to embarrass each other. Jenny eventually admitted she’d just turned thirty.
“Ah,” said Clay with a cheezy grin. “Love thirty is a great score!”
“Seriously, Clay,” said Jenny shaking her head. “You need to come up with some better lines.”
Clay had the routine down pat. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He didn’t have to think before the words came out of his mouth. “I have a tennis court at my place. Can I teach you how to play?”
A shiver slowly ran down Jenny’s spine. She knew the risks. She’d walked this path many times before. Is Clay the man she’s looking for? Will it end in tragedy? All things considered, she thought, the rewards usually outweigh the risks.
“Okay,” said Jenny. “Maybe just once, and we’ll see where it leads us.”
Clay’s chest almost burst with excitement. “Great,” he said confidently. “Does ten o’clock suit you? I have a busy afternoon.”
“Um, okay,” she said shyly. “I guess that’s alright. What should I wear?” Jenny knew exactly what she was doing.
“Wear whatever you think is appropriate,” said Clay. A sucker if I’ve ever met one, he thought. He knew exactly how this one was going to play out. Jenny would be one of his easiest.
Jenny arrived at five minutes to ten. The house was nothing short of magnificent. A two-story frontage drifted down a slope to the water’s edge. She couldn’t see a tennis court but assumed one resided down there somewhere. Her heart pounded with uncertainty as she rang the doorbell.
Clay opened the door. “Jenny!” he said smiling. “I’m so glad you made it. Are you ready to play?”
“I’m ready for tennis if that’s what you mean.”
“Ah, well played,” he said laughing. “I guess that’s love fifteen already.” Jenny wore a stunning, low cut summer dress. Her hair was faultless. Her heels were not overly high, but certainly inappropriate for tennis. “You look absolutely amazing. Did you bring your tennis clothes?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said with a playful smile. “That’s what I’m here for isn’t it?”
“Follow me,” said Clay. They walked through a large foyer decorated with paintings of naked women in provocative positions. “Do you like art, Jenny?”
“I’m more into photography,” replied Jenny with a worried look.
“Each to their own, I guess. The court is down here.” Clay led Jenny down a swirling staircase with cedar banisters and polished marble stairs. They arrived in a lavish room with a full-size snooker table looking out over a tennis court. There were trophies everywhere. Not just tennis trophies, but snooker trophies and fishing trophies. There were hunting rifles hung on the wall below a mounted bison head. A stuffed fox sat on the floor looking up at Jenny aggressively.
“Do you like my trophies, Jenny?”
“They’re lovely,” she said. “Where did you buy them?”
“Oh my,” he said pulling his head back in surprise. “You are very good at returning my serve. I guess that’s love thirty.” He watched Jenny tilt her head to the side and smile innocently. “There’s a bathroom over there for you to change in.”
Jenny scanned the room and saw a chair facing the tennis court. “Okay, but do you mind sitting over there facing the court until I’m ready?” she said. “I’m a little shy.”
Clay’s imagination ran wild as to what Jenny would emerge wearing. “Your wish is my command, Jenny. I will do just as you request.”
Jenny entered the bathroom. Clay walked around the edge of the room. He glanced at a fishing trophy mounted on the wall above an oak table. On the table sat a fishing knife. He slowly ran his fingers over the sharp blade before sitting in the chair facing the tennis court. This will be the easiest one ever, he thought to himself.
Jenny opened the bathroom door just a little. “Stay were you are, Clay,” she said. “No peeking until I say so.”
“Just as you desire, Jenny,” replied Clay, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “I promise I won’t look.”
Jenny emerged from the bathroom wearing a bright pink mini-skirt. A see-through red singlet top hung loosely over a black, strapless bra. She wore her hair in pig-tails. “No looking until I say so,” she said softly.
Clay sat quietly. Jenny stepped up behind him and softly ran the fingers of her left hand through his hair. As she grabbed his hair firmly, the flick-knife in her right hand opened. She pulled his head back and ran the blade across his throat, opening it from ear to ear. Stepping back, she watched Clay gurgle and wriggle as his shivering body fell to the floor in an ever-increasing pool of blood.
Jenny retrieved her bag from the bathroom and pulled out a camera. She took several photos of Clay’s lifeless body from different angles. “Did I mention I like photography, Clay? These photos will be a great addition to my trophy room.”
Jenny made sure she had everything she came with before heading for the steps. She stopped and turned to Clay. “Love thirty? Was that the score?” she said laughing. “I think it’s game, set and match!”