let you talk me into this!” Georgette was a basket of nerves this morning. Jane was just thrilled she hadn’t backed out.
“No judgment here, “ she told her enemy’s wife. “I could barely hit when I was a kid. I never played sports. But look at me now! Anything is possible.”
Jane knew that Georgette realized she found someone she could talk to, someone who made her feel listened to and valued, instead of the other way around.
“This is something you should do for yourself. It seems to me like you’re the type of woman who is always taking care of everyone else.” That final sentence from Jane was the winning hit.
“Oh, alright! I trust you!”
“You’re going to be fine, Mrs. Collins,” she assured the frazzled woman. “
Please call me Georgie. And Heather? Whatever I do, don’t let me embarrass myself!”
“Consider it taken care of, Georgie,” she promised with a smile.
To be completely honest, Jane hated the wretched sport, but it was a guaranteed way of gaining entry to the expensive Repo Country Club. There was no way she was going to spend her hard-earned money on a membership when she could just become an instructor. Jane was in great shape and her charisma made her an ideal candidate for such a position. Padding her resume and creating another new identity had been easy enough; years of research and experience was serving her well. It was a beautiful miracle that Georgette showed interest in the sport, even if it wasn’t completely active—tennis was a rich person’s game after all, exactly what Jane was banking on.
She listened that morning as Georgette told her all about herself and her family. Jane absorbed everything she said, every small detail that would help her move forward with her plans.
Georgette was so consumed with her stories that she continued to tell them all the way into the women’s locker room. She went on about her days in France over the noise of the falling water. While Georgette showered, Jane pretended to look for something in her locker.
She grabbed a stack of sticky notes. Jane had taken pains to copy Dave’s handwriting exactly. That information was easy enough to acquire on her last trip to their mansion.
Jane carefully placed each loving note with messages like ‘I love you’ and ‘You’re special’ in different parts of Georgette’s bag—in between a book, tucked into her inside jacket pocket, rolled up in her makeup case, stuffed into her cigarettes and so on. Georgette would assume the obvious, and being the adoring wife that she was, she would most definitely thank Dave for his sweet gesture.
The more confused he was, the better.