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They stroked the ball back and forth, then Alafair hit to Emmeline’s left side and advanced on the net, intending to create a routine pepper game. Emmeline returned the ball with a two-arm backhand that slashed the ball like a BB into Alafair’s face.
Alafair lowered her racquet and pressed her wrist to her mouth. Emmeline ran to the net. “Are you all right? I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”
“I’m fine,” Alafair replied. “You didn’t know I was coming to the net. It’s my fault.”
“Here, let me see,” Emmeline said. “Your lip is cut. Let’s go inside. I’ll get some ice.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Let’s have a cold drink. Please. I feel awful.”
“Really, I’m okay.”
“Please,” Emmeline said.
Alafair slipped the cover onto her racquet and zipped it up. She looked at her automobile in the lot. Emmeline touched a Kleenex to Alafair’s chin and showed it to her. “Come on, we have to take care of that.”
* * *
AFTER ALAFAIR WENT to the restroom, she joined Emmeline in the health bar. Emmeline ordered iced fruit drinks for them and put the charge on her bill. “I took a chance: You like strawberries and pineapple, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“The ice will stop the swelling. Go ahead. Drink.”
Alafair looked at Emmeline’s reflection in the mirror. The woman’s face was flushed, her breath short, as though from exertion or excitement.
“You seem a little tense,” Alafair said.
“I have a confession to make.”
“What’s that?”
“I recognized you not only from your photo but from the university library. You were asking the reference librarian about Civil War maps and the Union occupation of southwestern Louisiana. You told her you were writing a screenplay.”
“That’s true.”
“Can I ask about what?”
“Reconstruction and the White League and a Confederate veteran who teaches a former slave girl to read and write.”
“What’s the White League?”
“The Klan were amateurs in comparison. The White League took over New Orleans in 1872 and shot James Longstreet.”
“You know what the story sounds like?”
Alafair didn’t answer.
“Levon Broussard’s Civil War novel based on his ancestors.”
“Could be,” Alafair said.
“It is, isn’t it?”
“In Hollywood, historical stories are called period pieces; they’re toxic. Think Cold Mountain. I’m doing what’s called a treatment. It’s a lark more than anything.”
“I think Levon Broussard’s novel is a great book. The first movies were westerns, weren’t they? At some point movies will have to go back to their origins, won’t they?
