Chapter Twenty-One
The first Sunday of every month when the weather was nice and both men were in town, Ransom Towers and William Bass had a standing engagement to play tennis at the Columbia Country Club.
Today, when they took their places on the court, Bass went first, giving a gentle serve to warm up.
Ransom returned the ball with a light volley.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, my boy,” Bass said, hitting the ball short across the net. “Though, I was a bit shocked when I heard. Truth be told, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Ransom missed the return volley and ambled across the court to collect the ball. “What’s that?” he asked, tossing the ball back to Bass over the net.
“Don’t be sly,” Bass said. “I know. I know about the girl. The . . . oh, what’s her name? Saoirse’s companion?”
“Ana?” Ransom asked, confused.
“Yes, Ana,” Bass said. “Saoirse told me the two of you hung back together at the hotel the other week in LA. Now, I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t admit that I’ve had my head turned by a pretty girl a time or two when I shouldn’t have.
But take it from me: getting involved with a member of your household staff, someone under your own employment—things can get messy.
Not to mention, if it were ever to get out, it’s not a good look.
Especially in an election year. And especially with a girl like that. ”
Ransom’s first impulse was to flatly deny the allegation—it wasn’t, after all, true—but something about Bass’s words struck a nerve. Ana’s face flashed in his mind, and for some reason he could not name, he felt immediately protective of her.
“‘A girl like that’?” Ransom repeated.
“Now don’t get defensive,” Bass said. “I’ve met Ana—she’s lovely. And very pretty. But you must think of her, er, background and how things look. Besides, what do you really know about her? Where’s she from?”
“San Bernardino,” Ransom said flatly.
“You know what I mean,” Bass said. He served the ball, harder this time. “Is she legal? Are her parents?”
“You cannot be serious,” Ransom said, not moving from where he stood or attempting to hit the ball as it whizzed past him.
Bass looked irritated. “I could say the same thing,” he said. “Come now, are we going to play or sit here bickering like a couple of housewives?”
Ransom reluctantly retrieved the ball and tossed it back to him over the net.
“What I’m saying is be careful, that’s all,” Bass said. “Have you at least looked into this girl? Into her family?”
Bass served the ball, and Ransom knocked it back across the court with equal gusto, hitting it toward the opposite end of the court so that Bass had to scurry to reach it. Bass was winded and grunted as he knocked the ball out of bounds.
“Ana’s shared a great deal about her family with me, actually,” Ransom said. “I know her father picked oranges. Her mother was a homemaker. She grew up with five brothers and sisters.”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it,” Bass said, growing increasingly angry, as if Ransom were teasing him.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you meant,” Ransom said.
“Come now, Ransom, be reasonable,” Bass said. “Think about what you’re doing. This is wanton recklessness, and you cannot afford it.”
“Uncle,” Ransom said. His blood was thrumming in his temples, but it had nothing to do with exercise.
“I’m fully capable of making up my own mind when it comes to who I date, and if I want your counsel on the matter, I will ask for it.
Until then, I expect you to keep your opinions on the matter where they belong: to yourself. ”
Bass was seething and red in the face. Still, he held up his hands and bit his tongue. “Have it your way, then,” Bass said, as if he were washing his hands of the matter. “But remember this: even wise men can be fools in love.”