I was waiting for Jeremy to finish in the locker room when Gabe motioned me over to the front counter.
“I been thinking about your spar all morning,” he confessed. “There is no way by rights you should’ve been able to roll Davey like that. No way.”
“But?” I asked.
“But you did. To hear him tell it, you’re like an eight-armed octopus. He told me that he wants to get back in the ring with you again, even though he knows you’ll do the same to him as you did today.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Why what?”
“Why would he want to get back in the ring with me, if he knows he’ll get worked over again?” I clarified.
“It’s what you said afterward,” Gabe said, leaning forward to make his point. “You said that he was predictable and you knew what he was going to do before he did. He’s been thinking about that all morning.”
“Good,” I said. “It’ll make him a better fighter if he can change it up more.”
“So what’s been bothering me,” Gabe said, looking me in the eyes to make his point, “Is how you could read him so easily. I watched, and he never laid a glove on you that you didn’t want him to. The only time he got in on you was when you let him.”
“That bothers you?” I asked.
He leaned forward and looked around to make sure nobody could hear us. Just as he was about to speak, Jeremy emerged from the locker room, so Gabe shut up.
“You can say anything in front of Jeremy here,” I said, putting my hand on Jeremy’s shoulder.
Gabe looked doubtful, but eventually acquiesced. “I watched your face, too. I don’t think Davey twigged to it, but you looked completely indifferent. Bored, even. You barely broke a sweat, either.”
“They were only minute-and-a-half rounds,” I said with a shrug. “Hardly enough to get warmed up.”
“Like I said, I never seen anything like that,” Gabe said, sitting back in his chair. “And I seen some really good fighters. You’d be amazing in a professional bout.”
“I’m not interested in competition fighting, even if a weight class for women my size even existed. I do this to stay in shape and keep sharp, that’s all,” I told him.
“I’ve heard there are big purse underground fights…” Gabe said, leaning in and speaking with a low voice.
“I’m a millionaire,” I told him. “No warehouse fight could ever pay me how much I make in a day anyhow. No, there’s no attraction for that kind of thing for me.”
“I don’t understand you at all,” Gabe admitted. “Not at all.”
Emmy wanted to get out of the house that day, since it was sunny and clear. Sure, it was cold and windy, but we went on a Thames river cruise anyway- we just stayed inside the boat and looked out the windows for the most part. That evening we went to see Daniel Radcliffe at the Old Vic in Rosenkrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead. We’d seen the film version with Tim Roth and Gary Oldman back in high school and enjoyed it, so when Emmy suggested we see it on stage (and not just any stage, but the Old Vic) I was all for it.
After the show (what’s with the ice cream thing, anyway?) we went out for dinner at a superb Yakitori place before heading home.
We drew plenty of stares everywhere we went, as usual. Emmy was gracious about it as always, but Jeremy’s menacing presence kept people from getting too close. Of course everyone knew about the attack, so I think they all understood the need for a bit of distance.
Emmy was her old, sparkling self, all smiles and charm. Sure, I knew she still was in a lot of pain from our loss, but nobody would have been able to see it. To the outside world Emmy was a vision of glamor, poise and grace.
“Thank you for a lovely day,” Emmy said that night as we relaxed in the apartment’s big tub. “I enjoyed it very much.”
“I did, too, Em,” I said, giving her a gentle squeeze. “It was nice to go out and take in what London has to offer.”
“It occurred to me that we had done very little of that since we arrived,” Emmy said. “I have been so involved in my music I have barely left the house.”
“It’s all part of the healing process, babe,” I said, kissing the top of her head. “You weren’t ready. I haven’t been all that ready, either,” I added.
“The songs I have been writing… I do not know if I will ever release them,” Emmy said after a long, thoughtful silence. “They may be too personal to share.”
“All the best art is personal,” I said. “Share them or don’t. That’s entirely up to you. It’s your art, Em. Yours. Whether you create it for yourself or to give to the world, it’s still yours.”
“Thank you,” Emmy said in a soft voice.
Emmy’s stayed quiet and introspective the rest of the night. When we slid into bed, I held her in my arms in silence, letting her know without words how much I loved her. I’d come to recognize by feel when she wept in that strange, silent way of hers, so I knew that she cried herself to sleep that night. It was going to be a very long time before the loss ceased to hurt.
“I’d never seen a play before last night,” Jeremy said as we walked to the gym the next morning. “I really liked it, but I had a hard time understanding what they were saying a lot of the time.”
“Shakespearean English is hard if you’re not used to it,” I agreed. “But you had a good time anyway?”
“I did,” Tiny said. “And that Japanese food! That was so good! I’d never had anything like that before, either.”
“Yeah, it was good, wasn’t it?” I agreed.
“I know I asked you the other day what you- well, whether you and Emmy wanted me to keep working for you and I told you that I would do my best for you as long as you want me, right? I want you to understand how much it means to me that you guys have, um, let me in… I’d have been O.K. with it if you guys told me to stand in the corner and keep an eye out while you two ate or whatever, but the way you have me sit down and eat with you makes me feel more like, I don’t know… a friend, I guess, more than anything. And cooking- Luisa told me that when you’re in New York and she cooks, everybody eats together, and I’ve been eating with you guys, at the same table…” he said. “I’m not saying it very good,” Jeremy admitted. “I guess what I mean to say is that you guys aren’t treating me like a servant. You’re treating me like, well, a family member. That means more than you guys realize.”
For lack of anything to say, I just rested my hand on his big shoulder as we walked through the cold morning rain.
Emmy was in her little studio when I got home from driving that afternoon. To my surprise the little red ‘Recording’ light was on above the door, so I refrained from entering. The studio was so small that it didn’t have a separate production booth the way the one in New York had, never mind the professional setup we had in Los Angeles. This was just one medium-sized bedroom converted into a sound-proofed space, and that was it.
As much as I wanted to tell Emmy about the evasion class with Grahame, I respected her need to do her music, so I parked myself on the couch by the fireplace with my laptop and worked on business for a while. It was somehow nice and cozy, despite the twenty-five feet tall windows looking out over the dark and rainy twilight of London’s late fall afternoon. In the short time we’d been in London the penthouse had started to feel like home.
I met Roger Bridger and John Hoffman, his combatives expert friend, for lunch at Roger’s club in Marylebone a few days later. I’d wondered what it meant that we were no longer meeting on neutral ground like the boba place or kebab restaurant, but didn’t really give it a whole lot of thought. If it was some sort of subtle cue, it was too subtle for me.
I guess I’d expected an English version of Grant Henry, but John Hoffman really didn’t have that hardened leather look that Grant had. No, he looked more like a guy who’d been in far too many bar fights. His nose looked as if it had been broken more times than I could count and he had a cauliflower left ear, too. He seemed bulkier than most fighters I’d seen in various gyms around the world, but to be fair it was cold outside and we were all bundled up to one degree or another.
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John and Roger were in the reading room, and both stood up to greet me when I was shown in. John looked me up and dawn, appraising me at the same time as I was doing the same to him. Thankfully he didn’t do any sort of silly dominance game like trying to crush my hand when we shook before sitting back down.
“Thanks for coming,” Roger said. “John here was keen to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I said. “I’m always open to meeting new people, especially those that I might be able to learn from.”
“When Rog had me look at the videos of you in Atlanta, my first reaction was that you looked like you’d done that sort of thing (he pronounced it ‘fing’) quite a bit,” John said, leaning in. “The thing (‘fing’ again) of it is, I know precious few lads who could do what you did in that amount of time. I’m talking about seasoned hard men, multiple tours, all that. I had no idea you’re so young. This leads me to ask how?”
“When I told John your background, he really became intrigued,” Roger said with a chuckle.
“How?” I repeated. “As it turns out, I just happen to be really good at it,” I said with a shrug. “it’s a gift.”
“Some gift,” John said in disbelief.
“Leah here has expressed some interest in working with you a bit,” Roger said to John.
“Yeah? I think (‘fink’ this time) that might be interesting,” John said. “We all seen your unarmed skill, but how are you with a weapon?”
“This is my tool of choice,” I said, drawing the modern Fairbairn-Sykes replica out of its sheath at the small of my back and setting it on the little table between us. “Like I told Roger, I’m a knife girl.”
“An unusual choice,” John said, picking up the knife and examining it. “Most don’t like how delicate the tip is on these.”
“Yeah, I’ve had to have mine back home reground a couple of times,” I admitted. “But it has sentimental value, you know? Well, not this one in particular,” I added. “I bought this one here in London a week ago.”
“If you get nicked with this on you…” John cautioned, handing it back.
“Look at me,” I said, holding my arms out to my sides after sliding the blade back in its place. “Is any police officer going to see me and think, ‘this woman might be armed’?”
Roger laughed, and John nodded begrudgingly that I’d made my point.
“This suit was tailored specifically to hide my blade,” I said, standing up and doing a slow twirl so they could see the drape of the jacket. “They did an excellent job.”
“Savile Row?” Roger asked.
“I liked their work so much I just ordered a few more suits,” I confirmed, sitting back down.
“Why didn’t you use that knife in Atlanta?” John asked.
Letting my shoulders droop, I admitted that it was an error on my part. Knowing that there were plenty of witnesses, I’d wanted it to be clear we were the victims of an unprovoked attack. Unfortunately, the extra time it took to deal with the attackers allowed them to kill Angela.
“I’ll always regret that,” I confessed. “Those few seconds might have made the difference.”
“Yeah, we all have those moments we wish we could have back,” John said, surprisingly gently. “Just learn and move on.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” I told him. “But it’s easier said than done.”
“Most things are,” Roger said. “Most things are.”
“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Emmy asked when I told her that I was going to start training with John Hoffman.
“Not completely, no,” I admitted. “There’s always a chance I could get hurt, but that’s always a possibility.”
“You are not concerned that they might try to do something to you?”
“No, not really. I’m pretty sure that Roger wants me as an ally, so he’s not going to jeopardize our relationship,” I assured her. “No, I think it’s more likely that Roger and John want to see what I can do. Yeah, I might be giving up a secret by training with John, but there’s a very real chance I can learn something new, and that’s worth it.”
“If you think so,” Emmy said, doubt in her voice.
“Speaking of learning things,” I told her, “I’m going to have to go to Japan at the end of the month. The shinobi have expressed some desire to meet you, too, but I told them that wasn’t on the table just yet.”
“Why not? If you want me to go, I will go with you,” Emmy replied.
“I may ask you to come once I’ve established that it’s safe and set some ground rules with the elders, but not right at first.”
“I will miss you,” Emmy said.
The heavy industrial zone on the eastern side of the London Metropolitan area where I’d been instructed to go for the training seemed an unlikely place, but when I pulled up to the closed chain-link blocking the driveway a man in bright yellow rain gear emerged from a little gate house.
“And you are?” he asked when I rolled down my window.
“Leah Farmer,” I replied. “I’m expected.”
“Right you are,” he said. “Circle around to the right, and park in any of the spaces you see in front of the office.” Returning to his little shack to open the gate for me, he waved me in, then immediately shut it behind my now pewter-gray Ford Focus.
I found the small parking area he mentioned, then hurried into the office door to get out of the biting rain.
“May I help you?” asked the matronly woman behind the reception desk.
“I’m here to meet John Hoffman,” I told her. “We have a 2:30.”
“Your name?” she asked, checking a paper calendar on her desk.
“Leah Farmer,” I said, wondering about all the theater.
“Yes, here you are,” she confirmed, nodding. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
John came out to the reception area almost immediately and ushered me back to his office, which was small and untidy.
“Today we’ll take some measurements and do some testing, that’s all,” he said. Looking down at my duffel bag, he asked, “What did you bring?”
“Gym clothes, fight gear, a towel, things like that,” I said with a shrug. “I didn’t know what you’d want me to have.”
“Good enough,” he said. He went on to explain that what we were about to do was completely off any books and that I assumed responsibility for any injuries that may arise, and if I did need to go to the hospital I was to tell them anything but what really happened. The training systems were designed for safety, he explained, but the inherent problem with lethal training is that it’s hard to do gently.
“In other words, if I get hurt, it’s on me,” I said, making it clear that I understood. “This isn’t my first rodeo,” I added.
He chuckled at the Americanism and said, “No, I don’t fink it is.”
He led me to a women’s locker room and told me to strip down to the minimum that I felt comfortable in. “We need to weigh you, fings like that,” he said, somewhat apologetically.
Stashing everything else in an available locker, I stepped back out into the hall in nothing but a sports bra and bike shorts- my preferred grappling outfit.
“Bloody Hell,” John exclaimed to himself, looking me up and down. He led me down the hall to what looked like a nurse’s station, but with an assortment of unusual machines on rolling trolleys pushed on side.
The nurse never introduced herself as she weighed me, checked my height and used calipers to assess my body fat percentage. When we were done with that John had me put on whatever I’d brought for workout clothes, including shoes. He led me to a well-appointed gym for some strength testing, and seemed quite surprised at the numbers I posted up.
“I don’t know that you’re the strongest woman we’ve ever tested, but you might be close,” he said. “Stronger than most men, certainly.”
After that it was treadmill time. When John instructed me to set it to a comfortable pace I dialed it up to a good, solid run.
“How long can you keep that up?” he asked, peering at the data on the treadmill’s dashboard and writing the numbers down.
“How long do you have?” I asked.
“How far do you usually run?” John asked.
“I usually go out for ten or so miles, more or less,” I told him.
“At this speed?”
No, I usually push it a little bit faster than this,” I said. “This is my recreational jogging pace.”
After half an hour, when it became obvious that yes, I really could keep up that pace for extended periods, John had me stop.
“You’re in unbelievable shape,” he said. “Do you feel up to some sparring? If you’re too tired we can do it tomorrow.”
“I usually warm up harder than this,” I said, gesturing at the treadmill. “I’m ready to rumble.”
“Alright- let’s see who we can scare up,” he said, looking around at the maybe half-dozen people working out. “Hey! Teddy! Come over here!” John called, and a tall blonde guy set down his barbell and came over.
“Teddy, this is Leah. Leah, this is Teddy. Teddy, you up for a testing spar?” John asked.
“With her?” Teddy asked, surprised.
“Now why would I ask you to come over here if it was wif somebody else? Of course it’s with her!”
“Alright, alright,” Teddy said, holding up his hands in surrender.
“Just a testing spar, got it? Gear, no crippling moves, you know the rules,” John told Teddy as he left to get ready. Turning to me, he said, “Right. This is just to see where your skills are, that’s all. No illegal blows, no crippling moves, nuffing like that. I just want to watch you fight.”
“Full gear?”
“Yeah, full gear,” he confirmed.
A few minutes later Teddy and I were facing off on the mat. I’d stripped back down to my bare minimum bike shorts and sports bra, but he was in loose mesh shorts and a singlet.
“Are we restricted to a certain style?” I asked John.
“Whatever works,” he said.
Teddy wasn’t as fast or as strong as Davey had been back at the gym by the apartment, but he was a much more varied fighter and not quite as easy to read. He had more reach than Davey had had, but it really didn’t matter much since he was too slow.
When John called the match, I helped Teddy up off the mat. “Thanks for helping out,” I told him.
“You’re American, right?” he asked as he removed his headgear.
“How could you tell?” I asked, smiling to let him know I was teasing.
“If you need any help getting to know London, I’d be happy to show you around,” he said hopefully.
“Sorry,” I said. “Happily married.”
“It was worth a try,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.
Once Teddy had left us alone, John said, “That was unreal. You had a counter for every move he made.”
“He’s got good moves, but he’s slow,” I said. “And he hits like a girl.”
John laughed at that, which was what I was hoping for.
“Alright,” he said. “I fink that’s enough for today. Can you come back tomorrow?”
“I’ll be in town until the end of the month,” I said, stowing my shin guards in my bag.
“Back to Los Angeles?” John asked.
“No, I’ll be heading to Japan to train with some ninjas,” I said, earning me another laugh. “But yeah, tomorrow is good. Same time?”
“Same time,” John agreed.
“How did it go today?” Tiny asked when I got back to the apartment. He was busy with something in the kitchen and the whole place smelled like fresh bread.
“It was O.K.,” I said, setting my bag down. “I felt more like a lab rat than anything.” Changing the subject, I said, “It smells amazing in here!”
“I’m trying to make French bread,” Jeremy said. “My first try didn’t turn out. Here’s hoping this one goes better.”
“Even if it doesn’t, you’ve made the whole house smell fantastic,” I told him. “I am one hundred per cent in favor of you keeping at it.”
Jeremy laughed, an appealing, relaxed laugh. “I’m glad you suggested cooking,” he said, smiling. “I’m really enjoying it.”
“And I’m really enjoying it, too,” I agreed, taking a seat at the kitchen counter. “When we’re back in LA we could sign you up for cooking school if you want.”
Jeremy thought about it for a little bit, then shrugged. “Right now I’m having fun trying out things on my own, you know? Maybe when I get better, that might be the next step, if I’m still having fun with it.”
“Sure, I can see that,” I said. “The offer’s open. In fact, it’s open for any sort of further education you want to do. If you decide you’d like to learn to scuba dive, or learn to be a metalsmith, whatever. Just let me know.”
“Thanks,” Jeremy replied softly.