Ron opened the door and stepped in. I almost gasped. Whoever set my match up set me up with a Neanderthal. This guy was probably 6’3” and nearly 300 pounds. And the hair! It was sticking out from everywhere – literally.
I walked over to shake his hand, “Hi, Ron. I’m Susan. Thank you for agreeing to play. Do you want to trade shots to the short line to see who serves first?” It was customary for both players to hit a simple shot from the back of the court to the front wall and try to have it bounce as close as possible to the short line of the service box. Whoever was closest to the line served first.
“No. You’re a girl. You can serve first,” he said.
Oh my gosh! This guy really was a Neanderthal. I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling him what I thought about his comment - and also that he needed a good waxing!
We moved into position. I wanted to get a feel for how he played, so I sent the first serve easy into his forehand. He hit it hard and blasted it low into the front right corner. I couldn’t return it, and the serve turned over to him. It was a good shot, and I thought this might be a good game.
I easily returned his serve and positioned myself in the center of the court. He ran to the ball on the right side, swung at it with all his might, and promptly drilled it into my right calf! Oh my gosh! The pain was almost unbearable.
Racquetballs can travel at speeds in excess of 100 miles per hour when they’re returned, and I’m pretty sure this big galoot put everything he had into that shot. I knew it was going to leave an ugly, red, purple, blue splotch that would spread out like a spider. I walked around for a few moments waiting for the pain to subside.
“Hey, you hindered my shot,” whined the Neanderthal.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I snapped his way. I put my hands on my hips and stared him down, or up as it were. “I was in the middle of the court, and I only have to give you a straight lane to the front wall.”
He ignored me and moved to take his position in the service box. He called out the score, “One to nothin’.”
I positioned myself for his serve. He hit the ball with all of his might into the front wall. The ball didn’t make it past the service box. He had one more chance to get it to me before losing his serve. Once again he hit the ball with everything he could muster. The ball came back legally, wrapped around the left corner, and came off the back wall. I had already run to that side of the court and set my position. I returned it low into the front wall. He couldn’t reach it in time before it bounced and went past him.
There was no way I wanted to play this guy. He obviously wasn’t a skilled player and wanted nothing more than to power the ball around the court. He was dangerous.
By now, a group of onlookers had gathered to watch. Perceived showoff or not, I was going to get this over with – quick.
I took my spot in the service box. My next two serves were aces into the back corners. Score: 2-1. Then I put high lob serves into each of the back corners. Two more points for me. Neanderthal man did manage to return a couple of serves, and we were able to play, but I knew not to get in front of him and had to run around him taking most of my shots off the back wall. It didn’t take too long, and the game was over 15 to 1. I was wearing his one and only point on my leg.
“Ok,” he said. “Let’s go again.”
“Not today, Ron,” I said. There was no way I was going to stay in a confined space with him. “I have another game coming up.” I shook his hand.
Surprisingly, he opened the door for me. Go figure, there was a gentleman in there somewhere.
“You play pretty good for a girl,” he said.
Never mind.
The group of people who had been watching the match gave a round of applause when I stepped out of the court. I smiled and looked down. I was sure I was blushing. An attractive, petite girl with red hair asked, “How did you ever get a backhand like that?”
I smiled. It was the question I was asked the most. “I have a fabulous coach,” I told her. “And it’s really not that hard. There’s a rhythm and timing to the movement.” I went through the motions and showed her. “Practice it. It feels awkward at first, but once you have it, your backhand will be easier than your forehand.”
“Thanks,” she said. “That makes sense. I’ll definitely work on it.”
I walked up to the desk to talk to the clerk again. “Dale,” I addressed him, “Who set that match up for me?” I couldn’t completely hide my irritation. “Ron is obviously a beginner, and that was a painful match.”
He winced and said, “I know. I saw. I’m really sorry. I don’t know why he was paired with you.”
“Do you have any class A or B players who would be willing to play with me?” I asked him. There were still a lot of guys who wouldn’t play with a girl for fear of losing, so it wasn’t always easy to get a match, especially with people who didn’t know you.
I had been playing for just over a year now, so I was no longer eligible to be considered a novice. With Husky’s help, I had moved quickly past Class C, and was playing Class B in league and at tournaments. I hoped to being playing class A before the end of the year.
“Let me get Frank for you,” Dale said. “He’s one of our better players, and you should have a good match with him.”
An hour later Frank and I were stepping off the court, the group watching us had swelled to a small crowd, and there was applause for both of us. Frank won the first game by two points, I took the second game by one, and Frank won the third game by one. We both played hard, smart, and had a great workout.
“You’re going to be a pro someday, aren’t you?” Frank asked me with a big smile on his face.
“I never thought about it,” I told him. “I don’t think so. I just want to be as good as I can right now.” I picked up my can of balls and my towel. “I’m signed up for our Sate Tournament in Ohio this fall. It’s my first time at State, and I want to play as many good people as I can before I get there.”
“I’m sure you’ll do great,” he assured me. “That’s some impressive backhand you’ve got there. I don’t think I would have won any games at all if I hadn’t spotted your weak spot. You do know it’s ceiling shots, right?”
“I know,” I said with dismay. “I don’t know why they twist me up so much. When I do get my racquet on them, my returned shot isn’t placed very well. But I have a coach who’s working on them with me.” A quick glance showed the bruise coming up on my calf.
“I saw what happened with Ron,” said Frank shaking his head. “That was unfortunate. There aren’t too many people who will get on a court with him.” Swell, I thought. “Thanks for the workout,” Frank continued. “I have to get going.”
“I do, too. Thanks for being willing to play with a girl,” I told him with a smile.
He winked at me.
I took a quick shower and changed clothes before calling a cab for a ride back to the hotel. After turning in the rented racquet and paying my bill, I sat down with a banana smoothie to wait for my ride. I was tired, but I felt exhilarated. I looked around at the patrons and remembered there had been a green Sonic in the parking lot when I arrived. I tried looking at every person to see if I could spot Skinny Guy, but there was no one who even remotely looked like him. I saw my cab pull up. I grabbed my bag and left the club.
Chapter Eight
My heart was racing again.
I had just returned from playing racquetball, Darby wasn’t in his room yet, and everything was quiet. I took advantage of the extra time to dial Mick’s number.
He answered on the second ring. “Susan,” he said softly, almost breathlessly, with tenderness and concern. “Where are you?”
“Mick.” I couldn’t say anything more. I didn’t want to cry, and I had to take a few seconds to get my emotions in check. His voice made my knees weak, and I sat down on the bed.
“I’ve been worried sick about you,” he said. “Your car is in your carport, but you haven’t been in your apartment or at work,
and no one knows where you are.”
Oops. I had forgotten about that. I swore Samantha and Angela to secrecy about my whereabouts. I didn’t want anyone to know I had left the state, and I hadn’t wanted anyone to tell Mick where I was.
“I’m in Florida,” I said sheepishly. “With Darby,” I said in an even smaller voice.
“What! You’re in Florida!” he practically yelled it. “Why on earth would you be in Florida? And why are you with Darby?” The tenderness was gone, and I could hear exasperation in his voice.
His tone set me on edge, and I was defensive now, “I’m on vacation. And don’t forget, you lied to me. I was so confused, and I wanted to get away.”
I could hear him sigh. “Why did Darby go with you?”
Was he jealous? If so, that was a good sign.
“Darby already had the trip planned,” I told him. “I crashed his vacation. It’s not like we’re staying in the same room, and besides he’s gay.”
“Well, I know that,” he said.
“Mick!” I spouted. “You did NOT know Darby was gay!” I practically screeched it at him.
“I did, too. I thought everybody knew that,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Well, I just found out,” I said, my voice still raised. “And it seems that’s the way things are going for me now. I’m always the last one to find out about everything – including your family.”
“Susan,” he sighed, “come home. We can talk about everything when you get here.”
I hesitated before saying, “Could we please just talk now? I’ve had some time to think, and I’m ready to listen.”
“Ok,” he said, “but there really isn’t much to tell.” He paused as if to gather his thoughts. I was quiet and waited. A few seconds later, he started, “Jenny and I were married right out of high school, and she got pregnant right away. Our parents helped to support us while I went to college, but I also worked part-time. It didn’t take us long to realize we had made a mistake. I was never home, and Jenny resented having a baby so young. She never resented our son, Alex, and she’s a good mother, but she never had a chance to follow any of her dreams. The more success I had, the more unhappy she was. Even when I tried to get her to go back to school or open a business, she no longer had any interest.” He paused again. I remained silent and waited.
“About two years ago, she finally got involved in the community theater over in Marshall, and she loved it. Acting was one of her dreams, and she was finally following one. She would never admit to it, and I never asked her about it, but I’ve been told that for the past year she’s been pretty tight with some guy there. She actually approached me with the idea of getting a divorce. Now that Alex is 14, and has his own activities and circle of friends, it seemed like the right time. We’ve all been going our own separate way for years.” He paused again. Was he done?
“And that’s all of it, Susan,” he said. “We filed for the divorce, and I moved out. I didn’t plan on meeting anyone for a long time. When I first saw you on the court that day, I was so taken by everything about you. You were so feminine, yet you played so hard. Your gym clothes were different from every other woman I saw in the club, right down to your pink laces. Everything about you seemed like fun, and it had been such a long time since I’d had any fun at all. I couldn’t stop smiling at you. You were – you are – beautiful.”
I couldn’t talk. I was on the verge of melting into the phone to be with him, and I didn’t want him to know I had tears streaming down my face.
It must have seemed like an awkward pause to him, because he went on, “Susan, really, this should have been over before I ever met you. If Jenny didn’t have the rental properties from her parents in New York, it would have been. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I can only hope you’ll forgive me.”
I wasn’t yet ready to put my feelings into words, “Why didn’t you return my calls?” I asked him. I wasn’t accusing him, I was just asking while I choked back my tears.
“I was on a job site over in Carnegie on Tuesday. Somehow my phone was left behind, and a courier just dropped it off for me about an hour ago. I saw you had called, so I knew you were alive, and I was relieved. I wanted to try to call you again this evening.”
My anger was gone, and I finally gave in. “Mick, I’m sorry I reacted like I did. I thought you were just another snake-in-the-grass cheater. When you first started to explain, I think deep down I believed you, but it was too much to process, and I needed to get away from you, so I ran off with Darby.” I paused for a second to grab a tissue and wipe my nose. “We’re flying out Saturday morning and should be home sometime in the afternoon.”
“Alex has a school dance on Saturday night, and I’m chaperoning,” he said. “And I’m taking him to a baseball game on Sunday afternoon, so let’s get together Monday after work, and we can talk some more, but I promise there are no more secrets.”
“I’d like that,” I told him. “Mick …?”
“Hmm?”
“I miss you,” I said softly.
“Susan,” his voice was tender again, “you have no idea how much I miss you.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was now 7:00. Darby had called earlier to ask me to meet him in the lobby at 7:30.
After sprucing up my makeup and brushing out my hair, I chose to wear a pair of white pintuck Capri pants with a teal racerback tank top. I finished the look with my new peacock peep-toe shoes. The shoes were super comfortable, but I was walking on air anyway after talking with Mick. How was I going to get through two more days of Florida before heading for home?
I left my room and took the elevator to the lobby. I was right on time, and Darby was chatting with the desk clerk. I walked over to join them.
“Well, well, well,” Darby said to me. “Imagine my surprise when I come here to the front desk, and I find there are keys waiting for me for a Taurus. What, pray tell, happened to the Fusion?”
Oh my gosh! That was hours ago, and I had completely forgotten about it. “Four flat tires. That’s what happened to it.” I told him.
“Were you speeding again? Were the police chasing you? Did you run over a spike strip they put down to stop you?” I knew he was teasing me.
“No, to all of the above,” I said laughing. I pulled him by his arm off to the side of the desk, out of hearing of the clerk. “Someone flattened the tires when I was shopping. It had to be Skinny Guy. Maybe he thought you had the car. I didn’t feel threatened at the time. It was more like someone was being a jerk and wanting to make life miserable.” I pressed the issue with him again. “This really seems like a jilted lover. Or maybe he read one of your articles and you hit a nerve with him.” I was suddenly excited. “Darby! That has to be it! What have you been writing about lately? What have you written that would make someone mad enough to want to hurt you?”
He thought for a moment and said, “Nothing. I really can’t think of anything. I’ve mostly been doing marketing writing and web writing for Brendan’s Wholesale. They’re expanding west of the Mississippi, and they’ve kept me busy for the last six months. I’m sorry, Susan, I honestly don’t know what he would want with me.”
Still puzzled, we left the hotel and made the short drive to Pizza Pete’s. The Taurus was roomier and more comfortable than the Fusion. The windows were up and the air conditioner was on.
“What did you do today?” I asked him.
“Actually,” he said hesitating for a moment before plunging ahead, “I met purpleflamingo a day early.”
“Oh my gosh!” I squealed as I shoved him on his arm. “Tell me all about him! Is he good looking? Did you hit it off? Was it love at first sight? Are we still going to watch him dance tomorrow?”
Darby was laughing, “Susan, stop! I’ll fill you in on all the details over pizza. Let’s just say it was interesting.”
“Interesting is never good,” I told him.
“Well, it might be. We’ll see,” he said. “Did you have fun shopping?”
“I did.
I’ll show you everything later. My shoes are new, do you like them?” I asked.
“I do,” he said with a bright smile. “They’re so cute.”
Yeah, $290 cute, I thought.
“Anyway,” I continued with my story. “After the flat tires, I had to take a cab back to the hotel, and then another cab to the racquet club, and a green Sonic was there, but no Skinny Guy, and I played a Neanderthal who drilled me in my leg with the ball, and by tomorrow it’s going to be a really ugly bruise.” I took a deep breath and said, “And that was my day.”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t boring,” he said laughing as we pulled into the parking lot of Pizza Pete’s. The style of the building and the layout of the parking lot indicated this had been a soda stand at one time, probably complete with girls on roller skates to take your order. The building had been painted in Italian red, white, and green stripes.
We went inside and chose a table by the window. The décor was diner Italian. Faux grapes, wine bottles, and pictures of Old Italy adorned the walls. It was charming in a cheesy kind of way. A bulletin board featured news articles and photographs from when the Food Network crew had been filming. We decided to order the pizza that was highlighted on the show, the Molto Bene, made with pesto, artichoke hearts, roasted red peppers, tomatoes, spinach and mozzarella. A glass of Chianti for each of us rounded out our order.
Our wine arrived within minutes, and we both sat back and relaxed. “Ok, Darby, let’s have it” I told him. “Tell me all about him. Did you guys share your real names?”
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