a little to one side as though listening to something, and I re- membered that was the way she held her head when she was upset. There was something in my chest that wanted to come out, but I couldn't interpret it into any known language, and so it stayed there waiting like a blood clot until the Porsche let out a single, distinctive roar and drove away.
I had two clients scheduled for that afternoon, the Sheik and a singer from Germany named Tamara who lived down in South Miami. I didn't feel much like training either of them, but it was too late to cancel. I picked up the Sheik around noon at his house on Pine Tree and drove him over to the beach, where we ran along the boardwalk in the very hottest part of the day. The heat was, for him at least, part of the challenge. Where the boardwalk ended, we pounded down the wooden stairs and out onto the hard-packed sand and ran south toward Government Cut, where the big plea- sure ships entered the ocean. After the run we went back to his house and spent another hour or so practicing kendo, in which he was an expert and 49
I was not. It wasn't the first time that I'd found myself play- ing the student rather than the teacher with a client. In fact, I sometimes wondered whether I hadn't learned as much from my clients as they had learned from me. His name was Anwar, and he was by right of birth a prince in a country I won't name, but he had spent almost all his life in American schools, including Johns Hopkins, where he had received his degree in restorative plastic surgery. When I met him, he was thirty-five and had already prac- ticed medicine in Somalia and Cambodia under the auspices of Doctors Without Borders. As far as I could see, he had responded to the challenge of nearly incalculable wealth as well as anyone I'd ever met. It was our ritual after we put away our staffs and padding to sit in the Sheik's Jacuzzi and drink a patient glass of his thousand-year-old scotch. His wife, Rhonda, was not there that afternoon, and so my pensive mood was less easy to camouflage once the sweat had dried and I was boiling my feet in the bubbles of chlorinated water. "Something's not quite right with you today," he said. "I saw Vivian today." "I guess that means you'll be losing your mind again shortly. Too bad I won't be around to witness your madness." "Where are you going now?" I asked. "My family is having a party at our hotel in the Baha- mas--a reunion, you might say. Would you care to come?" "I'm not family." "Not technically. My father would like to see you, though. Why don't you come? He's not so well, you know." "I have some business here to take care of." "With the woman?" "And her father. Possibly. They made me an offer that I re- fused. But now I'm wondering if I did the right thing. Seeing her kind of rearranged my brain." 50
"Her father? You mean the scientist?" "That's him." The Sheik said nothing. He was looking down into the bubbling froth of the hot tub with a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know," he said, "I met him once at a party down at the Biltmore. I think I told you. Some kind of char- ity function, I forget which. There was something about him I didn't like. I never quite put my finger on it." "I know what you mean." "Have you ever found yourself playing a game of chess with someone--even though at the time you thought you were only having a friendly chat about the weather?" "It was that way every time I trained him," I said. "I always got the feeling he was looking for an opening, prob- ing. I think it was almost a habit with him." "Do you think he found your weakness?" the Sheik asked, smiling. "Probably." "Have you ever thought about my offer at all?" he asked. "Not recently." The offer had been to get rid of all my other clients and become his personal assistant, duties to include some body- guarding, personal training, and whatever else came up. In any case, I had never taken him up on his job offer. I didn't like the idea of having only one big,
I had two clients scheduled for that afternoon, the Sheik and a singer from Germany named Tamara who lived down in South Miami. I didn't feel much like training either of them, but it was too late to cancel. I picked up the Sheik around noon at his house on Pine Tree and drove him over to the beach, where we ran along the boardwalk in the very hottest part of the day. The heat was, for him at least, part of the challenge. Where the boardwalk ended, we pounded down the wooden stairs and out onto the hard-packed sand and ran south toward Government Cut, where the big plea- sure ships entered the ocean. After the run we went back to his house and spent another hour or so practicing kendo, in which he was an expert and 49
I was not. It wasn't the first time that I'd found myself play- ing the student rather than the teacher with a client. In fact, I sometimes wondered whether I hadn't learned as much from my clients as they had learned from me. His name was Anwar, and he was by right of birth a prince in a country I won't name, but he had spent almost all his life in American schools, including Johns Hopkins, where he had received his degree in restorative plastic surgery. When I met him, he was thirty-five and had already prac- ticed medicine in Somalia and Cambodia under the auspices of Doctors Without Borders. As far as I could see, he had responded to the challenge of nearly incalculable wealth as well as anyone I'd ever met. It was our ritual after we put away our staffs and padding to sit in the Sheik's Jacuzzi and drink a patient glass of his thousand-year-old scotch. His wife, Rhonda, was not there that afternoon, and so my pensive mood was less easy to camouflage once the sweat had dried and I was boiling my feet in the bubbles of chlorinated water. "Something's not quite right with you today," he said. "I saw Vivian today." "I guess that means you'll be losing your mind again shortly. Too bad I won't be around to witness your madness." "Where are you going now?" I asked. "My family is having a party at our hotel in the Baha- mas--a reunion, you might say. Would you care to come?" "I'm not family." "Not technically. My father would like to see you, though. Why don't you come? He's not so well, you know." "I have some business here to take care of." "With the woman?" "And her father. Possibly. They made me an offer that I re- fused. But now I'm wondering if I did the right thing. Seeing her kind of rearranged my brain." 50
"Her father? You mean the scientist?" "That's him." The Sheik said nothing. He was looking down into the bubbling froth of the hot tub with a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know," he said, "I met him once at a party down at the Biltmore. I think I told you. Some kind of char- ity function, I forget which. There was something about him I didn't like. I never quite put my finger on it." "I know what you mean." "Have you ever found yourself playing a game of chess with someone--even though at the time you thought you were only having a friendly chat about the weather?" "It was that way every time I trained him," I said. "I always got the feeling he was looking for an opening, prob- ing. I think it was almost a habit with him." "Do you think he found your weakness?" the Sheik asked, smiling. "Probably." "Have you ever thought about my offer at all?" he asked. "Not recently." The offer had been to get rid of all my other clients and become his personal assistant, duties to include some body- guarding, personal training, and whatever else came up. In any case, I had never taken him up on his job offer. I didn't like the idea of having only one big,
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