Jenny wasn't sure where her career was taking her. First, she had the worst relationship with her editor, and he refused to hand her any of the plum assignments. She had written a journalism degree, sure, but her minor had been health sciences, and she had hoped to build her reputation on the medical beat. Instead, she had the court beat, and try as she might, she could not find a way to brighten up the stories she was being forced to cover day in and day out. Instead of allowing her journalistic talent to blossom, she was watching it shrivel up and die.
After six months of drudgery, Jenny had just about had enough. This small newspaper had little room for advancement, but if there was any headway to be made, she would find it, and she marched into Biggs' office one afternoon to make her demands known. When she walked in, though, uninvited, she realised that he was involved in a heated telephone conversation.
"Look, Jim, this match is going to be huge. I can't have you fall sick on me. It's the last time these two are gonna play together, and I absolutely MUST have an interview with them! I..." He broke off as he saw Jenny standing there, her arms akimbo as she leaned in, awaiting her opportunity to speak. "But, hey, Jim, if you can't make it, you can't make it, I'll have someone else do it. But I'm disappointed."
Biggs lowered the phone to its cradle and stood. He walked round his desk and looked Jenny up and down. At a shade under six feet, she was taller than him. A defiant beauty, her full lips, high cheekbones and dark eyes would have been shown to much better effect if she chose to let her wooly locks cascade down her back, but she affected steel-rim glasses and tied her hair back in a bun. Similarly, her long flowing skirts did nothing to enhance her femininity – instead they made her seem virtually shapeless, when in fact she was anything but. Her editor, though, was interested in none of that.
"You're going to watch cricket this weekend, and you're going to interview Courtney Walsh and Curtley Ambrose," he barked. Her brow furrowed. Cricket? She had been unsure as to her next move, but this did not seem like the right one. She opened her mouth to speak, but Biggs had already returned to his seat, and he was picking up the phone, casting a quizzical glance at the dark-skinned lovely. Pursing her lips, Jenny bit back her next resort and asked for further instructions. After all, she did like cricket, and even understood the game, enough, she thought, to write about it.
********
Sunday afternoon, she sat in the players' pavilion, watching as the two tall bowlers completed the demolition of a hapless visiting team. The batsmen were helpless before these two, the giant black Antiguan who celebrated each wicket with his trademark grin, and his long-time partner, the graceful brown Jamaican, the elder statesman. She was on her feet applauding as the last wicket fell, and when the players came past her to get to the dressing room after the presentation ceremony, she grabbed Curtley Ambrose and Courtney Walsh, pulling them aside and reminding them of her interview. This was their last international match, and she was getting first crack at them.
They chatted for a few minutes, by which time the rest of the players had showered and left. A small group of fns had Curtley's attention, and he was busy signing autographs, but Courtney stayed talking to her. After a bit, he looked down at his shirt, where his teammates had doused him with champagne. They were supposed to meet up later that evening for dinner, and he explained to her that he needed to shower, asking whether she would mind continuing the interview in the dressing room. Jenny hesitated a split second, but she decided to follow him in. They were the only people, there, and soon he was undoing the buttons of his white shirt.
