It was time to help him with some advice but Nina kept silent, not wishing to make his life easier. Also, if she butted in with unwanted tips, she risked meeting with the same rude rebuff as the poor manager had run up against.
Apparently, however, persistence was not the only quality required of the leader of a bank. No less essential was the ability to control one’s own obstinacy, assess the situation soberly, and change course if there were good reasons to do so.
On throwing another ball successfully over to the other half of the court, Samsonov lowered the racket suddenly.
“Enough. This damn thing really takes learning – I can see it now. I’ll hire a coach.”
Nina nodded her consent. She was ready to go back to her partner Alik.
But Samsonov was not ready to let her go. He came up to Nina. On his wet face was a puzzled look.
“Still, damn it, tell me how you do it! It seems so easy, but no way… Look, I’m all foam and you’re not sweating at all.”
Smiling to herself at yet another vulgar remark by her boss, Nina said, “Pavel Mikhailovich, there are some tricks to it that you need to master. If you wish, I’ll try to show some of them to you, but first you have to take a little rest.”
Samsonov said, “All right.”
He waved his racket inviting Nina to sit down on a bench.
“Wanna have a drink?” he asked. “Where is that idiot with drinks?”
He opened the door and called the manager. Apparently, the man had been sticking around as in a minute already they were brought lemonade.
Nina was sitting on a bench side by side with Samsonov. The man was really very hot. In the light hair covering his legs and arms, drops of sweat were glistening.
He poured some lemonade for Nina and for himself. Nina took a sip and put the glass aside.
“Actually, it’s not recommended during a practice…”
“Yes, I know,” responded Samsonov. Yet, he finished his glass in two gulps and poured himself another.
Samsonov looked at Nina approvingly, scanning her skirt and athletic-looking legs.
“You’re all right, you know. You play well and all that…”
He did not specify what “all that” meant.
“Have you been playing for a long time?” asked Samsonov.
Nina answered.
“You’re a native of the metropolis? Me, I’m a Krasnoyarsk guy,” said Samsonov. “Tell me about yourself. Look, I don’t know you at all.”
Nina who had not at all expected her boss to take personal interest in her started reciting the facts of her biography incoherently, trying hard not to say too much.
But, apparently, Samsonov was not such a dumb blockhead as she believed him to be. He felt something and said, “All right, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t wish to.”
He rose.
“Enough of resting. Come on, teach me. You promised, didn’t you?”
Nina led him to a wall.
“Pavel Mikhailovich, the main thing – don’t apply force. Don’t squeeze the handle as if you’re trying to obtain juice from it. My coach used to tell me that the handle should not be squeezed, but rather only fixed in your hand as if you were holding a living bird. Try it.”
Samsonov relaxed his fist and moved his racket hesitatingly to and fro.
“But I can’t keep the racket this way – it’ll get kicked out.”
“No, it’s not,” Nina assured him. “If you strike the right way, there will be no kick at all. Here are the rules: don’t bend your arm at the elbow, draw the racket with your shoulder and body so that at the instant of the strike, the racket face is at a right angle to the ball trajectory. Meet the ball with your body side – not your front – turned to it. Keep your legs slightly bent, as if you were on a pair of springs, one foot put forward. Here, look.”
She started striking the ball, hitting it against the wall, showing markedly her movements to Samsonov. The ball flitted to and fro, each time returning obediently to her racket.
“Great,” said Samsonov. “Let me try it now.”
He was not born for tennis, but he was a good learner. It turned out that he had understood and memorized Nina’s tips. He was trying hard to do everything right, but the problem was that, being very strong physically, he lacked coordination and was unable to follow all her instructions at once – if he straightened out his elbow, he forgot about the legs, and the other way round. Still, he made some progress.
Samsonov turned a happy face to Nina.
“How am I doing, coach?”
Nina actually felt as if she were a coach who was training a problem pupil, but not a hopeless one. She got really involved in the process.
“It’s not bad, Pavel Mikhailovich. Now try to keep your arm straighter still, and don’t work your fist, just fix it. Here, let me show it to you.”
She stood right in front of Pavel Mikhailovich with her back turned to him and said, “Imitate me.”
She recalled that her own coach had once used that teaching technique.
“I’ll be doing everything slowly, and you try to copy my movements exactly.”
Without a ball, she pretended to be performing a strike – drew her hand as in slow motion so that he could follow her. Behind her, just half a step away, a big, hot man was breathing noisily. Her pupil.
She could not see how he was doing, but she felt that he was trying honestly.
“Do you get it now, Pavel Mikhailovich?” she asked, still with her back turned to him.
“I get it,” he said. The sound of his voice seemed to come from somewhere right over her ear.
Nina made a step aside and… Afterwards, she returned to that moment many times, unable to explain how all that could have happened. She stumbled and nearly fell down. The stumble was caused by a powerful, light-haired leg which she had not noticed. The leg belonged to Samsonov who put it forward as she had taught him to.
Nina would have crashed down in a big way if it were not for a pair of strong arms. The arms belonged to the same man. Although Samsonov was not naturally very quick, he managed to catch her, his racket thrown aside. He lifted Nina as if she were weightless, and for a few seconds, she was floating up in the air in his arms. Nina felt the heat coming from his body and saw quite close his face and his grey eyes.
Then Samsonov put her cautiously down on her feet.
“Take care! You are in my employment, mind you, and I want my employees able-bodied,” he joked awkwardly.
Nina felt giddy, her heart pounding.
“I’m sorry, I stumbled.”
Samsonov picked up his racket and made a few imaginary strokes. Then he stopped.
“Well, I guess, it’s time to wind up. I’ve learned something, and I’ll pick it up when I find time… Are you staying or going? I can give you a lift.”
“No, no, thank you,” Nina refused hastily. “I’d like to play some more.”
“I’m leaving then.”
Smiling, he looked Nina in the eye.
“I can’t remember the last time I carried a woman in my arms,” he joked awkwardly again.
Nina smiled a strained smile.
Samsonov was lingering as if he was going to tell her something else, but then he said simply, “Thank you for your lesson. I owe you.”
He held out his hand and Nina took it. Chafed by the racket handle, his palm was as hot as an oven.
When the door closed after him, she had to spend some more time on the bench to regain her senses. Then she went to look for Alik. She was in no mood to play, but she wanted to apologize for her absence.
She found Alik on a court with the professor who apparently had not gone away to any conference. The two of them were absorbed in the game, obviously enjoying each other’s company. Nobody seemed to have any need for Nina. She said her goodbye and left the club.
Nina had never learned to drive, so she used public transport to go to and from work, or hailed a gypsy driver in the street if she was not in a mood to jostle in the crowd. This time, however, she was even glad to use the underground – it was not crowded at this late hour, and the familiar jolting and rumbling of the metro car could help her get distracted and relax a little.