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Chapter 12
Taylor
After my lesson withClay, I hit with the ball machine for a little longer. I was in no rush to go home because Dad had texted to say he was working late and would pick up some takeout, and I had a vague hope Max might turn up. But he didn’t. I waved to Clay as I headed to the ladies rest room, looking forward to the wonderful hot shower. I had decided that I would wash my hair with the luxurious designer shampoo and conditioner and blow dry it with the hairdryer.
An older lady who’d had a coaching session with Clay before me was sitting at the mirror styling her hair. She was always at the club, and she usually wore her hair in a bun with a visor, so she looked much younger with it loose and curled around her shoulders.
I smiled at her and was about to head for the shower when she said, “Oh my, if only I could hit the ball as hard as you!”
She had a slight accent, maybe European, and I smiled wider and nodded in thanks at her praise.
I lingered under the steaming water, enjoying the lavender scented shower gel and fruity-smelling hair care. When I reluctantly came out, I was surprised to find the lady still sitting there, now applying makeup. It made me double think whether I should stay and dry my hair. Maybe I should tie it in a ponytail and go home with it dripping.
But she pointed to the hairdryer and indicated I should sit down. My hairdryer at home, which I hardly used, would take about twenty minutes to fully dry my hair—hence why I never bothered. This high powered one was drying my hair in record time. As I was blowing the ends, the lady tapped my shoulder and held out an attachment, indicating that I should use it. A few minutes later I had a head of shiny, sleek hair, leaving me in awe. I had a silly thought that I should call Millie and see if she wanted to take my photo for the newspaper article—I’d never looked so good!
“Wow!” I said, “I need one of these at home! Thank you for showing me.”
“Will you join me for something to eat, dear?” She was holding a deep red lipstick up to her mouth.
“Uh, oh.”
“Please. I’d love to hear about how you got so good at tennis. I’m Alize.” She pronounced it A-lee-zay.
There was a French tennis player in the Top 100 called Alize. I liked her style of play, she was a fighter.
“I’m Taylor,” I said, “I see you playing every time I’m here.”
“Ha!” She huffed. “I can’t get enough of tennis. I love it.”
“I love it too,” I said.
“So, come, dear. Come have dinner with me. Otherwise I’ll have to sit by myself and stare at the tablecloth all evening.”
I’d never been into the Country Club restaurant, and had no illusions I ever would. I’d seen the menu online and besides not knowing what half of the dishes were, guessed the prices were well out of my range. I pointed to the leggings and sweatshirt I’d changed into. “I don’t think I’m dressed for it.”
“Nonsense,” Alize said, handing me a royal blue wool coat. “You’ll be my guest.” She stood up and helped me slip it on, muttering about the archaic rules.
Alize lived with two cats named Venus and Serena. I laughed. Everything was about tennis to Alize. She had been born in Paris, but moved to New York to study dance. Her late husband, Leo, had introduced her to tennis and she’d fallen in love with it.
“I was thirty when I picked up a racquet for the first time, and it was like everything fell into place!” she said. “I couldn’t believe I had lived so long without knowing it existed.”
