“I thought I’d put some friendly competition into this weekend.” He gives the auctioneers a wink to single us out. “So we’ll play tournament style and the winner gets a very nice, very old bottle of Dom Perignon.”
“I hope you aren’t as good at tennis as you are at shooting,” Nate says to me as Harrison separates us into groups on the two courts. Because only having one would have been so plebeian, apparently.
“I’m firmly mediocre. And very sad that the champagne wasn’t a prize for the shooting part of this week.”
“I don’t think alcohol and guns mixing would have been a good idea,” Gavin says from my other side. The words are directed at me, but he’s looking at Nate with an unsmiling look on his face, arms crossed like he’s a bouncer at the hottest club of the moment.
What crawled up his butt?
“I wouldn’t have drunk it while we were shooting.” My eyes travel from Nate to Gavin, who look like two big silverback gorillas mad they’re in the same enclosure. Not enough space for the ego of two successful men at the height of their careers.
“Who wants to play first?” Harrison’s at a chalkboard, ready to organize our day.
“I’ll go.” Anything to get this over with.
Harrison writes my name on the board and I pick up a racket and tennis balls. Cindy volunteers to play against me, and it ends up being a short and decisive victory for her. I breathe a sigh of relief that I don’t have to play another game, taking a seat on the short bleachers next to the courts.
Tennis was another thing Dad thought I should learn because all the young ladies at my school were doing it. It was one more thing I had to do that meant I spent less time at the office, guaranteeing that I was going to hate it forever.
Just like cooking. Except I don’t even get delicious food out of it, so I tried even less at it.
Nate and Gavin are playing on the opposite court, and their game looks a lot more intense than mine. I watch as Nate gets to forty and Gavin is still at love. Gavin looks like he wants to repeatedly beat the racket into the court until he makes a dent. I hope he does...that would have to give me an advantage.
I root for him a little bit. To myself, of course. I’m not at the place where I’m admitting that out loud.
They furiously smack tennis balls back and forth, each staying neck and neck until Gavin finally catches up and then wins.
I clap along with the other spectators, appreciating the show they put on. It’s the second time I’ve seen him look anything but effortless, and it’s a good look to see him have to try at something.
His hair is even out of place, and some beads of sweat gleam on his brow.
The games keep going while Harrison’s staff serves the spectators/losers food and wine. Nate joins me and Naomi in the bleachers, to make a growing group of losers.
Losers happily chowing down on expensive food and wine.
“So you work at an auction house?” Nate asks, picking at his plate of finger sandwiches.
“Yup. It’s my family’s auction house and I organize and run sales there.”
“I don’t know too much about art or history. It’s impressive to have learned all that.”
“I really enjoy it. But you don’t need to know too much history if you’re a buyer, you can just get whatever makes you happy. And if I’ve done my job, you’ll have learned about the context and meaning through the exhibition.”
“Maybe I’ll come check out a sale.”
See. Always working even when everyone else is on vacation.
“We’d love to have you. I’ve got cards upstairs and I’ll give you one. You can always contact me if you have any questions about buying, or to tell me what you like and I can recommend particular sales that you might be interested in.” Just bring that energy industry wallet.
“What do you think I would like?” he asks.
Naomi snorts behind us. “To appreciate art, you’d have to tear yourself away from work long enough to look at it.”
“Hey, squirt. I’m not that bad.” Nate looks over his shoulder.
“You really are, Executive Jr.,” she says.
“I could be worse... I could work like your father.”
