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She joined the rest of the group.
Edith was correct: Pope did take his tennis seriously. He was standing on the court holding his racket over his head, doing deep knee bends. Jonny was laughing with Lindsay as he downed a glass of iced tea. The Senator and the rest of the guests were gathered at a table under an umbrella. Jonny spotted her and called out, “Hey, partner. You ready to win?”
Lindsay explained the rules. She and Pope would play Steven and Edith, then Pandy and Jonny would play the winner. From the way she glanced at Pope when she said “winner,” it was patently clear whom that winner was meant to be.
The first match began. Steven was portly but aggressive. Edith played a decent game of country club tennis, meaning she’d had a lot of lessons but possessed no real feel for the game. Pope and Lindsay were a different story. Despite his age and his inability to run as fast as Steven, Pope had real skills. He was precise and, like a lot of old men who have been playing all their lives, made up for what he lacked in speed with the placement of the ball.
Lindsay was the opposite. Pandy knew the type: Lindsay had probably played on her high school team, and she was used to people telling her how great she was. This made her think she was a better tennis player than she actually was. On the other hand, she really did like to win, and that counted for a lot.
Steven and Edith were dispatched handily.
It was Pandy and Jonny’s turn.
“You want to hit a few? To warm up?” Jonny asked.
Pandy shook her head. “It won’t make any difference. I’ll still be bad.”
“If you talk like that, you will be,” Jonny said.
Pandy shrugged and gave him a sharp smile. “Just being honest.”
Pandy served first to Lindsay. She delivered her usual puffball, which landed just inside the line. It was an easy shot and Lindsay smacked it, sending the ball to Jonny’s feet. Jonny leaped back, swung, and missed. Lindsay and Pope exchanged a look. Jonny picked up the ball and tossed it to Pandy.
“Sorry,” Pandy said, catching the ball on her open racket.
“Doesn’t matter,” Jonny murmured, moving toward the net. He bent over, swaying back and forth. Pandy looked at his ass and decided he must work out a lot.
Taking a breath, she tossed the ball and swung.
Another puffball, but this one was more deceptive. The ball bounced high, and then quickly lost momentum. Thinking, as Pandy knew he would, that it was an easy shot, Pope ended up smashing the ball into the net. As Pandy turned away, she smiled. Jonny caught her tiny expression of triumph and raised his palm for a high five. “All right, partner,” he declared.
Pandy gave him a dirty look.
Lindsay and Pope mis-hit Pandy’s next three serves, giving her and Jonny the game. He leaned over her shoulder and whispered, “We’re going to win.”
“No,” Pandy hissed back. “We’re not.”
Jonny gestured at his chest with his thumbs. “Watch me.”
Pandy glared and stomped to her position at the net. Fuck, she thought. This was all she needed. Pope played every day, and while Jonny was at least thirty years younger, he was also determined to win. Which meant the match would go on forever. One game would have twenty or thirty points. Then there would be a tiebreaker. The sun would grow higher and the heat would increase. Tempers would flare.
Pope launched his serve at Jonny. It was fast, low, and clean.
Jonny hopped back into position, swung, and hit hard to Lindsay.
So Jonny had a mean streak, Pandy thought. This was another strategy in mixed doubles: Take out the easiest opponent, namely, a woman.
Lindsay, however, was expecting his shot. She passed the ball neatly back to him.
They rallied back and forth several times. Clearly, they had played before. This wasn’t surprising, considering what Edith had hinted about Lindsay and Jonny having an affair. Jonny must have gotten nervous, though, because he mis-hit. On the other side of the net, Pope scooped up the shot and lofted the ball toward Pandy.
It was the kind of ball Pandy wouldn’t normally bother to hit. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jonny looking at her curiously. On the other side of the net, Lindsay was already turning away, thinking they had the point.
Assholes, Pandy thought. She stepped forward, winged her racket back, and before anyone knew what had happened, hit a backhand slice that landed on the white line two feet from the net.
As the ball bounced and whizzed into the chain-link fence, everyone on the court turned and stared at her in shock.
“I knew it,” Lindsay said loudly. In a voice full of disdain, she added, “Pandy is one of those women who say they can’t play, and then you find out they were a national champion.”
