This short story requires some knowledge of tennis. Skip the next paragraph if you already know the game.
For those of you who haven't followed tennis, love means zero. Points are scored as fifteen, thirty, forty, and then game. If tied, at forty, you have what's referred to as 'Deuce'. You must win by two points, so once tied, the next point winner is 'Advantage' and is followed by 'Game' if up by two or 'Deuce' if tied again. Six games constitutes a set, although you need to win by two games. Nowadays, if tied at six games apiece, you play a tiebreaker to determine the set winner. The twelve point tiebreaker was introduced in the 1970s, centuries after the origins of tennis. It is scored one, two, three, etc. Go figure. Best of twelve points, and up by two, wins the tiebreaker and thus the set. Some refer to it as a seven point tiebreaker, since seven points is the best of twelve. Usually in amateur events, winning two sets wins the match. If a ball bounces twice before being hit, or the first bounce occurs outside (out) of the playing area (court), a point is scored. A game starts when one participant 'serves', by hitting the tennis ball over a net and into a small box. The recipient must let the serve bounce and then 'returns' the serve by hitting it back over the net. They hit it back and forth until a point is won. Break point is when the server is about to lose a game. The other participant serves the next game. Most amateur games are marred by claims that balls were 'out', even though they may not have been. 'Tis a gentleman's sport, where you are expected to call things honestly. Yeah, right. In tournaments, the officiating person, sitting in a chair adjacent to the net, calls shots in or out. I made sure to leave several important things out so my one-bombers can immediately vote, comment, and leave. Those of you still awake, thanks for humoring me.
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Pete Townshend: "I'm lookin' for me. You're lookin' for you. Were lookin' at each other, and we don't know what to do!"
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My name is Kevin Starling, divorced, childless, age 40, and owner of Deuce Tennis Club. It's in the foothills, outside of the city limits, and mortgaged to the hilt. I've got four indoor courts, and six outdoor courts. It's been a long uphill climb, but now the profits are high.
I don't give lessons, because I have a speech impediment. I've tried giving lessons, but found that my stuttering was too distracting for me to be an effective teacher. So I play several games every day. No, I'm not some kind of super athlete. I pace myself, and play down to the level of my competition. Most people don't know my name. Since I play tennis in a sailor's cap, they tend to just call me Captain. My cap has a little anchor on the front so I get teased a lot with the 'aye, aye Captain' stuff. It's really meant to cover my bald head, as my golden locks disappeared way too soon.
I'm very popular with the older players, as they get all pumped up when they 'beat' me. I have ulterior motives, as they are also the ones willing to spend their disposable income on tennis. Most think I'm just some weird old guy that hangs around and doesn't talk much.
Marsha, my front office manager, acts like she is related to the owner. She isn't, related to me, but runs things like she owns the place. I want it that way, as it allows me to play tennis. Having been badly burned, by the opposite sex, I tend to avoid romantic connections with the women who frequent the tennis courts. Sometimes the lure is too great, and I accept indecent proposals.
There are tournaments, for every skill level, almost every weekend. Rather than being exposed, I sit them out. I also have to graciously decline invitations to be this person or that person's double's partner. Why screw up a good thing? Our weekend tournaments are run contrary to traditional scoring. You play for forty minutes, and then 'finish' a first to fifteen points tiebreaker. You start the tiebreaker with the number of games you won in the first forty minutes. You are guaranteed three pool games on Saturday and at least two elimination games on Sunday. Traditionalists quit after one tournament, but based on the sign-up sheets, most think it's a fun way to spend the weekend. It generates a lot of income for Marsha's boss.
Several tennis coaches use my facilities for their teaching programs. I have yet to see a prodigy, but there's a few young players who are above average.
It was Thursday evening, and I'd just been beaten by a fifty year old woman. As we exited indoor court three, a young lady and even younger boy, took our place. It was 8 Pm, the last time slot before closing. The lady appeared to be late teens, and dressed like a magazine ad. Complete stereotypical shoes, socks, skirt, and top. All she needed was Mr. GQ to hang onto. Her blond hair was bound into a pony tail.
She was tall and thin as a rail. The boy couldn't have been more than ten. She set up the automatic Tennis Ball machine. The kid's job was to retrieve the tennis balls, after the girl reacted to each ball fired from the machine.
For whatever reason, the other indoor courts were empty, so I watched the young lady as I drank my Coke Zero. No need to load up on calories, as I have brownies for that task. The young lady had some skills, but was slow to return to center after her backhand shot. The automatic machine was rotating randomly left and right, so you couldn't anticipate which way to move. After several misses, she snapped at the young boy to turn the machine off. She was toweling off, and hydrating, when I made contact with her.
"You have a h-h-hole in your g-g-game."
There was spite in the look she gave me before responding "The last thing I need is advice from some old man who can't beat an even older lady."
"O-o-okay. Get used to l-l-losing."
Again, the look shot my way was less than loving.
Round two, off of the serving machine, saw her making the same mistakes again and again. I put that L sign against my forehead. That got her attention.
"Shut the F up old man. If I want to win I'll challenge you, you, you, you loser!"
It wasn't the first time, nor will it be the last, that someone mocked my stuttering. I motioned for her to come to the dividing fence.
"When I-I-I win the first set, you you you have to play topless in second set."
"I should have guessed that you're a pervert. You just want to see my tits!"
I smirked "You you you have tits? Did you l-l-leave them at home? What are you f-f-fifteen?"
She was far from flat chested, but one thing I've learned is that no matter the size, you don't diss a woman's boobs.
"Asshole! I'm twenty. I'll be a junior at State, AND I play on the tennis team."
"Apparently a-a-anybody can play t-t-tennis at your s-s-school?"
"Jerk! Make it worth my while. I need a sponsor for the Fireworks Classic. Five hundred bucks every time I win a set from your sorry ass. Make it easy on yourself geezer. How much can you afford?"
"When I-I-I win s-s-second set, what do I get?"
I smirked as I made a point of checking her out, head to toe.
"Dreamer! What do you want? Sex? That's ridiculous and never going to happen. You're not even going to win one set, so what's it going to be pervert?"
"You str-str-strip naked and join me for c-c-coffee while I ex-ex-explain hole in your game."
"How do I know you have the thousands of dollars I'm going to enjoy taking from you?"
I pulled my wallet out, and fanned a series of Benjamins.
"You're on old man. Right here. Right now!"
"Call me Captain."
"I'm Kitty. Prepare to lose your ship Captain. Jimmy, clear off all the balls!"
+ + + +
"You s-s-serve first" I called across the net.
I stood motionless as her first serve became an ace. She lobbed straight up when she served cross court.
Kitty sniped "What? Too fast for you to return?"
I moved, hoping she would serve up the middle. She did, and I let it go. She lobs outside to serve up the middle.
"Thirty love loser! Did you forget to pull up your anchor?"
The next toss was outside, so I hit a backhand winner, making it thirty fifteen.
"Lucky miss!"
Her next toss was straight up, so I anticipated her cross court serve, correctly. Ripping it down the line, it was now thirty all, with no comment. The next serve was right at me, so I hit it to her backhand side, and she was slow to return to the middle. Although she got a racket on my shot, her shot sailed wide, break point. Game point was a repeat of the previous point, and there was fear on her face.
"Sandbagging jerk!"
I smiled.
Kitty eventually won a game, but I won the first set six games to one, including three games at love.
"Ta-Ta t-t-time!"
"NO! You lied, and I don't pay cheaters."
I put the L against my forehead as Kitty stormed out. She flipped me off when Jimmy wasn't looking. I tipped my hat back at her, which drew an L against her forehead. She was pissed.
