Double Fault at Roland Garros

by Jim Plautz

Gregg had exaggerated a little when he told Pete he was playing in the Orange Bowl.

  “Pete, what’s wrong?”

  “You said I was playing in the Orange Bowl, now you tell me I have to play a qualifier to get in. You lied.”

  “No I didn’t. You can’t expect to play in a tournament this big without an international ranking. This is an International Tennis Federation tournament, not a USTA event. You never played an ITF event before, this is the big time. We were lucky to get a chance to qualify.”

  “This is my first tournament in the 18s, and now you tell me I need to qualify to get into the main draw. What chance do I have?”

  “Pete, grow up. If you are afraid of the competition, let’s go home. I happen to think you will do okay, but it’s your decision. What’s it going to be?”

  Pete sensed this was a crossroads in his career. “Let’s play.”

  The odds were not good. There were 16 players playing for just one spot in the main draw, and Pete was playing as an 18-year old for the first time. The 2nd place finisher would be the first alternate or “lucky loser” if someone withdrew. Pete would need to play the best tennis of his life if he hoped to earn a spot in the main draw.

  Pete was relaxed as Gregg warmed him up an hour before his first match. The main draw started Monday and the courts were beginning to fill up with players trying to work out the kinks of a long trip and get acclimated to the speed of the courts. Half the players were from other countries.

  Pete couldn’t help but notice the girl warming up next to him. She was wearing short cutoffs and a sports bra that highlighted a sensational figure, and was hitting the ball as hard as Pete. To top that off, she was absolutely gorgeous and seemed oblivious to the crowd watching her.

  “Who’s that girl?” Pete asked Gregg as they took a short break.

  “Which one?” Gregg deadpanned. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Yeah, right. You might be old, but you’re not dead.”

  Gregg smiled like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Okay, that’s the 15-year old French girl that reached the quarters at the French Open. She is the top seed in the 18’s. Her name is Ambre.”

  “Ambre, I like that.”

  Ten minutes later their paths crossed as she retrieved a ball that rolled onto his court. “Good luck this morning,” Ambre said with a smile that could have melted an iceberg. “Be aggressive.”

  Pete was tongue tied and could barely murmur “thanks” as she walked away. It was one of those moments he wished he could have over. All the witty things he wanted to say came to him too late. She must think I’m a jerk.

  His opponent was from the Ukraine and had the biggest serve that Pete had ever faced, and an overhead to match. At 6’4”, he was impossible to lob. There were no service breaks in the first set and Pete won in a tiebreaker. The second set was deadlocked at four-all when Pete was broken at love; two service return winners, a missed volley and a framed passing shot that landed on the baseline were all it took.

  The Ukraine boy broke Pete again in the third game of the third set and was serving at 4-3 when the momentum of the match changed. Until then Pete had managed only one break point that was quickly erased by a service ace. Pete heard a voice from the crowd shout encouragement. “Come on Pete, this is your game. Get aggressive.”

  Pete glanced over and saw the French girl giving a thumbs-up. He nodded and then got down to business. Pete started to anticipate the direction of the boy’s serves, and guessed correctly on the first point and ripped a hard, low return at his feet. He missed the volley and Pete was ahead love 15. From that point on it was Pete’s match; he got into a zone. His opponent’s serves seemed slower and Pete ripped winners at will. He won the next three games, dropping only two points.

  Pete shook hands and accepted congratulations from his opponent. As he walked off the court he searched for Ambre, but she was gone. “Great match Pete, you did it,” Gregg shouted as he gave Pete a high-five. He was more excited than Pete.

  Mary and I offered our congratulations. “That’s the best I’ve ever seen you play. Did it happen to have anything to do with that girl that was cheering for you?”

  “What girl?” Pete deadpanned.

  Three more matches and Pete was into the main draw. I had never seen him play better. The four of us were at every match; Gregg, Mary, me and the cute cheerleader that seemed to bring out the best in Pete.

  Business was never better. More importantly, the business seemed to be running itself. I hired good people and had the good sense to let them alone to make their own decisions. I expected them to let me know if there was a problem, but otherwise I gave them the freedom needed to do their job.

  Sally (equipment leasing), Roger (commercial mortgages) and Ken (special projects) had been with me for several years and I trusted them to tell me if there were problems before they got out of hand. This trust is vital and earned over a period of time. Marco was the only one that I was not sure of. There was no question that Marco was competent, but did he have the good sense to know when he was in trouble and needed help?

  We were celebrating Pete’s victory in Miami Sunday evening when I received a phone call from Tim Hughes, the Tampa Sports Authority commissioner. We had become good friends over the past 12 months. After the usual pleasantries, he got right to the point. “Jim, you should know that some of the commissioners are getting upset and are talking about yanking your contract.”

  “Did I hear you right, Tim? My understanding is that we are on schedule and everything is looking good. What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that your team is running roughshod over everyone, particularly our consultants. Your people refuse to consider any changes that are outside the original specifications. They tell us to make a note of it and they will look at it after the job is done as contracted. They aren’t being reasonable, Jim, and my people are mad.”

  “Have you talked to Marco about it?”

  “Marco is the problem, Jim. We had a meeting yesterday and made it clear how we feel, but he won’t budge. Some of the changes we are requesting could be done at a small cost now, but after the job is finished the change orders will cost millions.”

  “I’ll talk to him and get back to you tomorrow. Thanks for letting me know.” I hung up and considered my options. My first inclination was to call Marco and hear his side of it, but knew it would be a difficult discussion to have over the phone. I thought of calling Ken to get his input, but figured Ken would have told me if he knew the problem was getting out of hand. Besides, this wasn’t Ken’s problem, it was mine. I needed to get back to Tampa.

  “Mary, Pete is going to have to win tomorrow without me. I need to get back to Tampa.”

  “Jim, do you have to go?” Mary asked.

  “Yes, there is a problem with the Tampa Stadium job and it’s not the kind of thing I can handle over the phone. I’m sorry, but I need to be in Tampa tomorrow. Petie, I’m sorry, I’ll try to get back in a couple days if you are still winning.”

  “When are you going to stop calling him Petie?” Mary said with a smile as she helped me pack. “He is almost 17 and taller than you are, and you know he doesn’t like it.”

  “I know, but doesn’t it was only yesterday when he was crawling around the floor in diapers? I hate to let go.”

  “I know how you feel,” Mary replied squeezing my hand.

  “Jim, what a surprise,” Marco said as he walked into my office. How is Pete doing this week?” It was only 8:15 but I was already on my 3rd cup of coffee.

  “Pete’s doing great. He won the qualifier and is in the main draw. In fact, he is probably warming up for his first-round match right about now.”

  “Why did he have to qualify? I thought his ranking was good enough to get right in to the main draw.”

  “It’s a long story, but basically it’s a big tournament with good players from around the world, and this is his first year in the 18s.”

  “Why aren’t
you down there watching?” Marco asked, starting to realize that maybe Jim’s return was for a reason.

  “Grab a cup of coffee and come back in say, 10 minutes. There are a few things I need to talk with you about.”

  Marco looked at the papers on my desk and saw that I had reviewing the job file. He now was a little more than concerned. “Is there something wrong?” he asked.

  “Let’s hold off until we get a cup of coffee, I have a couple calls to make.” Actually, I wanted to give Marco a few minutes to think about the job and formulate his thoughts. I liked Marco and needed his expertise. There was no benefit to ambushing him and putting him on the defensive. That’s not to say I wasn’t going to admonish him if he deserved it, but I had learned that there is a right way and a wrong way to do these things. There were no winners if we didn’t walk out of the meeting on the same page. We didn’t necessarily need to be friends, but we had to understand each other and work together.

  “What’s this about, Jim?” Marco asked as he sat down with his cup of coffee.

  “Marco, I just reviewed the file on the stadium job, and I must say it looks good. It’s on schedule and under budget. Is that how you see it?”

  “Yep, things are going pretty well, but I’m guessing that there is a problem or you would be in Miami watching Pete this morning. Am I right?”

  I got up and closed the door. “Marco, yesterday I got a call from someone at the Sports Authority who expressed some concerns about how we are handling change orders. Does that ring a bell?”

  “Okay, now I know what this is about. The commissioner called you, didn’t he?”

  I nodded.

  “Friday their engineers gave me three more change order requests. That’s a total of 43, not counting the ones we discussed and turned down out of hand. Jim, the changes they want are not in the specifications, and they know it. We will lose money on this job if we say yes to everything.”

  “I know what you are saying, Marco, but some of these look pretty reasonable. They might not have been in the specs, but can’t we give them a little wiggle room?”

  “Jim, they are out of money and can’t pay for them. These changes will come right out of my budget and pretty soon you will be sitting there telling me I don’t know how to manage a big job. I’ve been through this before.”

  Good, I thought. We had gotten to the core of the issue faster than I anticipated, at least part of it. “Marco, let’s get it all out on the table and then we can see how we can fix it. What’s really concerning me is that I should have heard about this from you, not from the client.”

  “Jim, I don’t want to bother you when you are on vacation, and besides, you told me this was my job and I had full authority to handle anything that came up.”

  Marco was digging in for a fight, and I had to watch my Irish temper or the meeting would be over and the battle lines would be hardened. I wanted to tell him it was his job, but it was my company. I wanted to let him know who was boss, but I stopped myself. Besides, maybe he had a point.

  “Marco, I’m sorry; maybe I haven’t made my long range goals more clear. I have a vision for this company that I would like to share with you.” I noticed Marco relaxed a little when he heard the magic words, ‘I’m sorry’. I couldn’t help but smile as I remembered the phrase used in some old gangster movie; “I’m sorry, but I have to kill you.”

  “First, let me say this about my vacations. Someone once said that people that own their own business are never are on vacation, you are working all the time. I find that adage to be true. In my case, I can enjoy my vacations as long as I know that I will be notified if there is a problem that needs my attention. If I don’t have that trust, I could never truly enjoy a vacation. Marco, this was one of those times that I should have been called.”

  “You said this was my job. Should I call you every time someone stubs his toe?”

  Now I was getting a little pissed, but I held back. “Marco, part of your job is to bring the job in on time and under budget, but that is only part of your responsibility. I want this company to be around for a while and to be respected in the community. My idea of a good job is to leave a happy client. Geez, Marco, we live in Tampa!”

  “But at what cost, Jim?” Marco argued. “I’ve been canned once before for bringing in a job over budget. The client was pleased as hell. We did a great job for him, but I got canned.”

  “That won’t happen here. I told you I don’t like surprises, but you can be sure that you won’t be fired for being over budget as long as there are good reasons. Marco, I want this job to be the start of something real good here. We need a good reference from this client, not too mention making a good impression on the Hunt people.”

  Marco took a moment to think about what I had said, and I was pleased to see the tension disappear from his body. “I see your point, Jim. It won’t happen again.”

  “Good, let’s get a refill on the coffee and go over these change orders one-by-one. I’d like to get back to the client and offer them a compromise.”

  Pete had a hard time getting mentally psyched for his first-round match. Winning the qualifiers had taken a lot out of him and he was flat. His opponent was an 18-year old from Korea, seeded #13. The Korean started strong and jumped out to a 3-0 lead in the first set with 2 service breaks. The match was over in less than an hour; 6-4, 6-1. It hadn’t helped that Ambre was playing a match at the same time and had been unable to provide that spark in Pete’s game.

  “What happened?” I asked when Mary called with the news. “Was the Korean kid that good?”

  “Not really, it was more of a case of Pete being flat. He was a step slow and just couldn’t get going.”

  “How is he taking it?”

  “He’s a little down, but is looking forward to playing doubles. He teamed up with a boy from the Netherlands that needed a partner. Doubles will be good for him and let him hang around and see what kind of game the top players have.”

  Pete hung around and received a rude awakening. Some of these other kids were clearly out of his class. “Gregg, that kid is unbelievable. I don’t think I could get a game off him.”

  They were watching Carlos beat up on a boy from Texas in the third round, and Carlos had just hit an unbelievable running, backhand winner up the line. “I don’t think Federer could beat this kid today,” Gregg agreed. “He is good, but seriously Pete, your game isn’t that far away. You just need more experience playing these kids. We need to play more of the big tournaments this year.”

  Mary was listening and thinking. She would like to believe what Gregg was saying, but knew in her heart that Pete’s game wasn’t near the level she was watching Carlos play. She would talk to Jim when they got back to Tampa. Maybe it was time to look into a tennis camp?

  Ambre was at the top of her game and cruised through the first three rounds without losing a set. The extra practice she had gotten by arriving four days early was paying dividends. When they weren’t practicing, Coach had kept a close watch on her, but it was fun. They had dinner in South Beach, swam with the Dolphins and went shopping in Miami Beach, but this trip was all about tennis. Flirting with Pete Simpson was a pleasant diversion. He was so cute and really wasn’t a bad player.

  Ambre was the #1 seed and played like it until she ran into a South American girl in the quarterfinals. Ambre was down a set and an early break, before she turned it around and won 3-6, 7-5, 6-2.

  “What happened out there, Ambre?” Coach asked, already suspecting the reason for her poor performance. “It looked like you were sleep walking for two sets.” It was the first time her coach had yelled at her since the day they had bonded after her early round loss at the Avignon tournament in Marseille. For the past month Ambre had been a pure joy to coach and her game had never been better.

  Ambre knew what had happened, but she couldn’t tell her coach. It could be summed up in one word, Carlos.

  It started innocently enough with a chance meeting at the University Rathskeller.
Ambre was having a coke and playing video games with a few other girls in the tournament when she heard someone behind her. “So, where is that French girl that everyone is talking about? They say she is beautiful.”

  Ambre turned and looked into the dark, green eyes of one of the most handsome guys she had seen. She recognized him immediately as the tennis player she had met at the European Championships in Paris. “Is this the guy that forgot to show up for the semis in Paris?” she retorted.

  “Ouch”, this French feline is beautiful and dangerous too. May I buy you a coke, young lady?”

  Ambre and Carlos spent almost three hours talking tennis, swapping stories and getting to know each other. He was two years older and full of life. She had never met a more interesting and self-confident young man.

  Carlos was also seeded #1 and had lost only nine games in six sets. There had never been a player that so thoroughly dominated the Orange Bowl. He played like he was on a mission to erase the memory of his Paris failure.

  That afternoon he finished his match and caught the final few games of Ambre’s 3rd round match. She won easily, 6-2, 6-1 against a Californian ranked #32 in the world. “Boy, she is good,” Carlos remarked to Fritz. “I need to get me some of that.”

  “After the tournament is soon enough,” Fritz pleaded, but he knew he was talking to a brick wall. Hormones were better than earplugs for teenage boys.

  That afternoon Carlos ran into Ambre playing video games at the University Rathskeller and took a chance. He wasn’t disappointed. She was interesting and easy to talk to and was even more beautiful up close. He called her later that evening.

  “Ambre, Carlos. A few of us are going to South Beach tonight. Would you care to join us?”

  Ambre had been thinking of Carlos constantly and was hoping he would call. “I shouldn’t, Carlos, I play at nine tomorrow.”

  “Me too. Don’t worry, we are just going to drive around for a couple hours and do some people watching. I hear that’s great entertainment on South Beach. I’ll get you back early.”

  It was 2:15 AM when Ambre sneaked back into her room. South Beach at night was everything she thought it would be, and so was Carlos.

  Coach laid awake waiting for Ambre to return. When he finally heard her sneak into the adjoining room, he relaxed slightly, but couldn’t fall asleep. He wondered if Ambre was sliding back into her old habits. Ambre’s behavior the last four weeks had been wonderful and she was playing the best tennis of her young life. Was this the start of something bad?

  While Ambre struggled to win, Carlos easily advanced to the next round in singles and doubles. That afternoon he called her room.

  “Ambre, congratulations, I see you won this morning.”

  “No thanks to you, Carlos, I was lucky to win. I’m beat and I still have a 3:00 doubles match.”

  “You’ll be fine, trust me. What do you say we go over to the Beach for dinner tonight? Remember that outdoor café at the end of the strip?”

  “I can’t, Carlos. I really need to get some sleep tonight, and besides, Coach is really pissed at me. I think he heard me come in last night.”

  “Okay, I’ll call you. Good luck tomorrow.” Carlos wasn’t used to being turned down and didn’t like it. Maybe he would let her cool her heels for a while.

  “Bye!” Ambre had mixed emotions. She had wanted to say yes, but didn’t want to disappoint Coach. Besides, she really was tired.

  It took two days to identify 17 change requests that we thought fit into the overall concept of the project and could be done at a reasonable cost. Marco’s job estimator priced the changes at $4.5M, which was about 25% of our anticipated profit on the job. It took Marco a couple hours to recognize that my criteria were different than his. He started off looking at whether the change request was in the original specs that we had bid on. This was the typical criteria for most contractors.

  My criteria were twofold; the change could either be done relatively easy or it would significantly enhance the overall quality of the job. For example, we added a Pirate Ship to the South end zone that would cost over $1M to build. It wasn’t in the specs, but we agreed with the TSA that it would be a signature trademark for the new stadium.

  Wednesday we emailed the Sports Authority a list of the change requests we had approved and requested a Friday meeting. I hoped they would be pleased.

  They were ecstatic, although that didn’t stop them from asking for three more changes. Marco approved two on the spot and asked for more time to study the cost impact of adding 18 more bathrooms for the ladies.

  The Commissioner took me aside after the meeting. “Jim, I appreciate your help, and we know this is costing your firm big time. We will try to get you some of the money from next year’s budget.”

  “Money is good,” I answered, “but that’s not why we are doing this. Marco and I want to make sure that we do a quality job for you.”

  “This is quite a turnaround, Jim. I would have liked to have been a fly on the wall during your meeting with Marco,” he said with a knowing smile.

  “Trust me, Marco is on your side” I replied. It would not do me any good to undercut Marco.

  The next week Carl Lindner called and congratulated me on the work we were doing on the Tampa Stadium. Hunt was obviously monitoring the job, not surprising since they had recommended us and their reputation was on the line. The more I learned about Hunt, the more I liked them. They were a class act, the kind of company I wanted Simpson Construction to become.

  Pete made it to the third round in doubles before losing to a team from California. It was Thursday and Mary and Pete agreed it was time to go home. Gregg had headed home Monday after the Pete’s singles were over. “What are you thinking, Pete? Are you happy we came to Miami?”

  “It was a great experience, Mom. I’m just a little down because I played pretty well and still got my butt kicked.”

  “You did play well, Pete. Remember, this is your first year in the 18s. You have another chance next year.”

  “I know, but I’m no where close to beating guys like that Spaniard. That kid is unbeatable.”

 

  Chapter 16

  Pete Moves to Saddlebrook