Chapter 6

“Isn’t Zack going with us?” James asked in as neutral of tones as he could manage.

Donna kept reading the newspaper. “He already went off with some friends to go paintballing.”

“Paintballing!” James exclaimed. “But we were set for this family outing today. I got us special discount tickets for Great America from HR, and they’re only good for this weekend.”

“Well, you woke up too late, and he found something else to do.”

“Well, why didn’t you wake me up?”

Donna finally looked up from her paper. “I tried to,” she said, trying to keep her temper as well. “You mumbled at me to go away. Very grouchily, I might add. I decided not to wake the old bear up from his hibernation.”

James could hear that special note in her voice that said she was irritated at him for having drunk so much the night before. He hadn’t had that much.

“So when did this get decided? I never heard about any paintballing outing.”

“Tommy called this morning around eight. He said they were leaving at nine thirty. When it got to be nine and there was still no sign of you stirring, he called Tommy back and said he’d go with them. I tried to talk him out of it, but he said to just let you sleep.”

James could imagine that was exactly how Zack had put it to her. And now she was essentially blaming him for ruining their day. Well, he wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

“Oh, great. So his friends call at the last minute once again, and of course Zack ignores the plans he had with us to go running off with them.”

“I don’t think he ignored it any more than you did,” Donna said dangerously. “If you hadn’t gotten all soused up again and been up when we said we would, he would’ve been with us, wouldn’t he?”

James grudgingly had to admit she was right. But he wasn’t about to tell her that.

“I didn’t drink that much,” he groused again, his pounding head making a liar out of him.

“Yeah, right,” Donna said curtly. She buried her head in the newspaper once again.

James got the message. He fixed himself a couple of eggs and a muffin and drank a large mug of coffee. When he went to the bathroom afterwards, he took three extra-strength Excedrin. With his stomach and head somewhat settled, he decided it was time to take some action.

He really didn’t feel like pounding around on the courts. Great America would have been perfect, as you mostly just walked around or stood in lines. It still rankled him that Zack had gone and ruined that opportunity. Oh, well; it was partially his fault. On the other hand, he owed it to Donna to do something with her, and he knew what she would like.

“So,” he said. “You want to ride over to the club and hit a few?”

“No thanks,” she bit the words off without looking up from the paper. “You go ahead.”

James sighed. Then he had an inspiration.

“Well, if you’re sure. I think I’ll drive over to save my legs, see if I can pick up some men’s doubles.

Donna grunted her unconcern with his plans. He smiled smugly, knowing she wouldn’t pay any attention to how long he was away. This way he could go find some place to park, sleep it off a bit more, and then maybe find someone to hit with and claim he had been playing all day. Perfect.

As James drove along the sun-splashed streets, it occurred to him that the summer was halfway over and he’d made very little progress on the book. James was irritated with himself, but he mentally listed all of the things he had on his plate. After turning in his proposal, he had been trying to spend more time with Donna. Zack as well, although the damn kid certainly didn’t make it easy on him.

James pulled into a church parking lot with lots of shady trees. There was one other car over by the church, so he parked at the far end. He cranked the seat all the way back and stretched out as well as he could. As he drifted off to sleep, he resolved to spend more time on the book.

The headache was mostly gone, and his stomach hardly bothered him at all. Still, James felt lethargic. His legs were still a little sore from having ridden twenty miles a few nights before. Christ, this getting back in shape was making him feel old! Maybe he was just stiff from that cramped position while sleeping in the car...

As he walked past the outer courts toward the clubhouse, James hoped he could find someone reasonable, but not too good. His body was not ready for a real challenge. He was walking along the decking in front of the clubhouse on his left, with court one on his right, when he noticed the three men hitting on the premier court.

“Hey, James!” one of them called out to him. “Are you hitting with anyone?”

Oh, great! Just his luck. The fellow on one side of the court was one of the top players in the club, while the other two were the best players on his USTA team. Normally, he would have paid money to be able to get into such a good match around the club. Now that he was hunting for some mediocre player who wouldn’t make him work too hard, he gets invited into the heavy competition. James wondered how he was going to get out of this gracefully.

“Uh, hi, Tom. How you doing?”

The other two greeted him as well, and he found himself feeling more trapped as he said hello to them. He could beg off ill, but would the opportunity ever come up again? Oh, well. Maybe the level of competition would motivate him to get energized and play better than he felt. He could only hope.

“Uh, no, I didn’t have anything set up,” he finally admitted. “Were you guys looking for a fourth?” he asked, knowing they probably would have ignored him if they were waiting for someone.

“Sure. Would you like to give us a few lessons?” joked Bob, the best player of the group.

James wandered reluctantly onto the court. As he got a racket out of his bag, he realized he hadn’t put a clean towel in. Oh, great. On a warm day when he was bound to be sweating a lot of booze out, he would be dripping all over himself.

Warming up was not too bad. But as soon as James tried to serve, he could feel his equilibrium off just enough to make it very inconsistent. Normally his biggest weapon, and vitally important in doubles, it was very embarrassing to be so erratic. His partner, Bob, tried to be polite about it, even encouraged him, but it was obviously irritating the younger man. He was good, but there was no way to compensate for double faults and muffed volleys. The first set was fairly competitive, but it was far from over before James started feeling winded. By the middle of the second set his arms and legs felt like rubber, and the pair lost quickly. No one suggested the traditional third set.

“I should have begged off,” James thought. “That would have been a lot better.”

As they packed up their tennis bags, the conversation was confined to the normal polite and meaningless chatter reserved for winding up a total massacre. Although no one said a word about how James had played, it was all he could do to refrain from emphasizing that he had been coaxed into the match against his will, and had strongly implied he was not up to snuff yet. It was what ‘could not be said’ in this context that left James the most frustrated.

“Well, I’m buying,” James declared as they left the court. “Anyone interested in drinking?”

“Yeah, sure, I could use a Juice Squeeze,” Tom agreed immediately, knowing what James must be feeling. “Maybe even two,” he added, trying to water down the situation with humor. He felt somewhat guilty for having invited someone way out of practice into the match, but they had really needed a fourth, hadn’t they?

“Sure,” Steve agreed, always happy to go along with the friendly way. “How about you, Bob?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Bob said curtly. “I have a few ‘honey-do’s’ to take care of this afternoon.”

Even though he also recognized the circumstances, Bob was still irritated at getting no support and having lost so badly. It was humiliating for the best player to lose, as he was expected to hold up his partner in spite of how badly that partner had played. Still, he realized James was just trying to be friendly. Besides which, everyone could see how badly his partner had played, so he couldn’t really be blamed, could he?

“Oh, come on,” James coaxed. “You’re wife can’t blame you for stopping long enough for one drink, could she? After all, you do need to replenish all of those bodily fluids you lost in trying to run after the balls I missed.”

“Sure,” Bob said, hearing the near pleading in the tone and not wanting to seem like the bad guy. “I’ve got time for a drink.”

Relieved, James told the club attendant to put all refreshments on his tab. Tom and Bob ordered a Juice Squeeze, while Steve, the youngest of the group, joined James in a beer.

“Well, James,” Steve said breezily as they clinked bottles, “I have to say you didn’t do too bad on so little practice. It’s been quite a while since we’ve seen you out here.”