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Authors: Maddie Cochere

1 Sunshine Hunter (9 page)

BOOK: 1 Sunshine Hunter
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A simple two-piece, terrycloth suit was my second choice. It was a light beige color that nearly matched my own skin tone. The top tied around my neck
, and there was a terrycloth bow on the front. The bottom was also a hipster as was popular right now. I loved the simplicity of the swimsuit and added it to the stack.

I looked at my watch. If I was going to have time to play racquetball, I was going to have to give the shopping a rest. My budget was screaming for me to stop anyway. I happily paid for my purchases and left the shop.

My arms were full, and I had to walk quite a distance back to the south end of the lot. I rounded a mini-van and could see the problem before I even walked up to the car. Four flat tires.

“COME ON!” I yelled in exasperation as loud as I could.

I set my packages on the ground next to the car and leaned against the door. I knew without a doubt Skinny Guy was responsible for this. But why? I called a cab for rescue and called the car rental agency for retrieval of the car.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Back in my hotel room, I looked over my purchases and was delighted all over again. There was no way I had enough room in my luggage to get all of this back home to Ohio. Maybe Darby had some extra room in his bags.

I packed my gym clothes and court shoe
s into a small folding bag I had brought with me. I would rent a racquet and purchase balls at the club. As I looked around the room before leaving, my eye caught the pink tie one more time, and I decided to try calling Mick again. My heart started to race as I punched his number, and negative thoughts came pouring in. What if he didn’t want to see me anymore? What if he decided to stay with his wife? What if he wouldn’t talk to me?

His phone went straight to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message.

I really needed to shake this off. I knew if I hadn’t run off to Florida, this would have been resolved by now. I needed to keep the guilt and angst at bay until I could talk with him.

I ran down the hallway to the elevator and hoped the second cab I had called today was still waiting for me. It was, and I hopped in.

When we pulled into the parking lot at the Bay Racquet Club, I couldn’t help but notice a green Sonic in one of the parking spots. “For crying out loud,” I muttered under my breath.

“Something wrong?” the cab driver asked.

“No, it’s nothing,” I told him. “And certainly nothing you did.” I paid the fare and gave him a generous tip.

As are most racquetball clubs, this was a large building. I walked into the lobby and was impressed by its size. Our lobby at home was small by comparison. One corner of the room had sports cloth
ing and merchandise for sale. A juice bar was to the left of the main desk. Overstuffed sofas and chairs were spread throughout the large open area. Four courts, two on each side of the lobby, had glass back walls. Two of the glass courts had matches in progress, and I could hear the echo of voices and balls being hit on the back courts. There were four women chatting together on sofas, and a few more people were standing around watching the matches in progress. One guy in a club shirt and khaki slacks was working behind the desk. I walked up to speak with him.

“Hi, I’m Susan Hunter,” I told him. “I called about getting some court time
this afternoon. I was told you could arrange a couple of matches for me?” It was more of a question as I was looking for confirmation.

“Hi, Susan. I’m Dale,” he said as he looked
over his appointment book. “Yep, you’re scheduled for court number three in 20 minutes. There’s no one on there now,” he said as he handed a towel and a locker key to me, “so, if you want to get changed and take some time to warm up, that would be ok. The ladies locker room is down the hallway to the right, the doorway will then be on your left.”

“Ok, great. Thanks,
” I told him with a smile. I started to walk toward the hallway, but turned back to Dale and said, “Oh, I also need to rent a graphite racquet, and I’d like to buy a new can of Ektelon balls.”

“Sure,” he acknowledged. “I’ll get those ready.”

I changed into a pair of dark brown cotton shorts with a matching top. The top was a tan color with brown cap sleeves. My ankle socks were white with brown and pink polka-dots. My white court shoes had my trademark pink laces. I stopped at the desk to pick up the racquet and balls. Dale gave me a quick once-over with an appreciative look as he handed the equipment to me and said, “Your first match is with Ron. He’s in the locker room changing, and he’ll be out in a few minutes.”

I opened the door and stepped onto the court. I couldn’t help myself, I smiled a big smile. A little over a year ago, before I ever hit my first ball, before I had ever swung my first racquet, I fell in love with just stepping onto the court. There was something almost overwhelming about
the experience. The walled space with such high ceilings, the echo of everything – a ball bounce, a sneaker squeak, a voice. The sounds were much more intense when the action was underway. The cool air-conditioned court would soon feel overheated.

The feeling never went away and it was there today. It was even more exciting to be playing in a new venue with a mystery opponent. I bounced the ball a few times. A new ball would make the match more interesting as it had its most zip right out of the can. I bounced the ball
again and hit it into the front wall. It came back toward me, bounced once, and I hit it again into the front wall. I continued to hit simple easy shots into the front wall, returning as many of them as I could. I sent up a few high ceiling shots to warm up my upper body, and then moved into the service box to hit several serves along both sides of the court. I was feeling warm and just about ready. I tossed the ball into the back wall and set up for a low forehand shot into the right-front corner. I did the same thing facing the left side and set up for a backhand into the left-front corner. The shot was perfect and rolled out for an ace. I smiled.

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 winc
ed 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 cha
nged 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.

BOOK: 1 Sunshine Hunter
13.89Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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