made the return. Pandemonium broke loose. The next serve was Carmen’s. The score was five-five. Carmen took a chance and served to Susan’s strong side hoping to catch her off guard. She did. Susan’s return had authority, but not enough power. Carmen coasted across the court—she seemed always to glide—and unleashed a shattering forehand crosscourt, perhaps her best shot. Susan, her uncanny sixth sense at full operating capacity, was there. She got her racquet on the shot, and the ball sailed over the net. The linesman called, “Out.” The shot was dangerously close to the backcourt line. Carmen moved behind the line, took a ball from the ball girl and turned around to see Susan at the net, hands on hips.
“Out! What do you mean, out? That ball was in by a yard!”
The fans on the unhappy linesman’s side agreed. To most of them the ball looked good. The linesman said nothing.
Carmen waited. Miranda said something to Susan, but no one could hear it.
Susan, livid, continued, “That ball was good. Miranda, you know that ball was in.”
“I saw the ball out,” Miranda coolly said. She always supported her linespeople unless the mistake was glaring. In this case, the linesman hadn’t fluffed any calls so far. Miranda knew it was a close call, but she had to maintain rule or Susan would tear apart every linesman on the court.
“No way.” Susan threw her racquet to the ground. She leaned over the net and yelled at Carmen, “Did you see the ball?”
In truth, Carmen was running so fast, she had her eye on the ball, not the line. “No.”
“Carmen, you know that ball was good.”
This pissed off Carmen. She had a reputation for being fair on calls. Susan was making her out to be a thief.
“I didn’t see the ball, Susan.”
“Goddammit, I’m playing my heart out, and the linesman wins the match.”
“Settle yourself, Susan.” Miranda was firm. Right now, she had to be.
The fans were now screaming both for and against the call. Susan thundered to the backcourt and took up position to receive serve. She returned the serve with a high, arching lob, an act of total contempt. The ball hit inside the baseline. For an entire point, Susan gave Carmen nothing but garbage shots.
Clenching her teeth, Carmen ran down each rotten shot until she finally blew one by Susan, winning the match. The crowd bellowed. Harriet stood up. Alicia unclasped her NewTestament. Ricky tried not to let an edge of disgust creep into his patter. Jane knocked off the last point card. They looked down at the figure of Susan Reilly moving toward the net like a panzer.
Carmen was angry, but she pulled herself together and extended her hand. Tennis matches have been ending with cordial handshakes for over a century. Susan walked up to the net and put her racquet head on Carmen’s outstretched hand. With her other hand, she hit Carmen squarely on the mouth. Carmen’s head snapped back, her lip split. She stood there stunned. The crowd switched off its volume. Miranda climbed out of her umpire’s chair faster than a squirrel goes down a tree. Carmen, still stunned, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. It was covered with blood.
“Take care of her!” Miranda commanded the trainer. The trainer positioned herself in front of Carmen and began ministering to her. What she was really doing was trying to keep Susan out of Carmen’s sight lest Carmen’s famed Latin temper should explode.
Miranda grasped Susan by the arm, none too gently, and forced her behind the umpire’s chair. Flashbulbs crackled. The crowd began talking again, first in a low buzz, then louder, until finally a roar of disapproval hit the rafters in Kansas City. Alicia hurried up on the other side of Susan. Miranda, without saying a word, indicated they were to get Susan back to the locker room immediately. As Alicia touched Susan’s arm, Susan spat, “Don’t touch me. Not in public.”
The next morning, the story not only filled up the Kansas City
“Out! What do you mean, out? That ball was in by a yard!”
The fans on the unhappy linesman’s side agreed. To most of them the ball looked good. The linesman said nothing.
Carmen waited. Miranda said something to Susan, but no one could hear it.
Susan, livid, continued, “That ball was good. Miranda, you know that ball was in.”
“I saw the ball out,” Miranda coolly said. She always supported her linespeople unless the mistake was glaring. In this case, the linesman hadn’t fluffed any calls so far. Miranda knew it was a close call, but she had to maintain rule or Susan would tear apart every linesman on the court.
“No way.” Susan threw her racquet to the ground. She leaned over the net and yelled at Carmen, “Did you see the ball?”
In truth, Carmen was running so fast, she had her eye on the ball, not the line. “No.”
“Carmen, you know that ball was good.”
This pissed off Carmen. She had a reputation for being fair on calls. Susan was making her out to be a thief.
“I didn’t see the ball, Susan.”
“Goddammit, I’m playing my heart out, and the linesman wins the match.”
“Settle yourself, Susan.” Miranda was firm. Right now, she had to be.
The fans were now screaming both for and against the call. Susan thundered to the backcourt and took up position to receive serve. She returned the serve with a high, arching lob, an act of total contempt. The ball hit inside the baseline. For an entire point, Susan gave Carmen nothing but garbage shots.
Clenching her teeth, Carmen ran down each rotten shot until she finally blew one by Susan, winning the match. The crowd bellowed. Harriet stood up. Alicia unclasped her NewTestament. Ricky tried not to let an edge of disgust creep into his patter. Jane knocked off the last point card. They looked down at the figure of Susan Reilly moving toward the net like a panzer.
Carmen was angry, but she pulled herself together and extended her hand. Tennis matches have been ending with cordial handshakes for over a century. Susan walked up to the net and put her racquet head on Carmen’s outstretched hand. With her other hand, she hit Carmen squarely on the mouth. Carmen’s head snapped back, her lip split. She stood there stunned. The crowd switched off its volume. Miranda climbed out of her umpire’s chair faster than a squirrel goes down a tree. Carmen, still stunned, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. It was covered with blood.
“Take care of her!” Miranda commanded the trainer. The trainer positioned herself in front of Carmen and began ministering to her. What she was really doing was trying to keep Susan out of Carmen’s sight lest Carmen’s famed Latin temper should explode.
Miranda grasped Susan by the arm, none too gently, and forced her behind the umpire’s chair. Flashbulbs crackled. The crowd began talking again, first in a low buzz, then louder, until finally a roar of disapproval hit the rafters in Kansas City. Alicia hurried up on the other side of Susan. Miranda, without saying a word, indicated they were to get Susan back to the locker room immediately. As Alicia touched Susan’s arm, Susan spat, “Don’t touch me. Not in public.”
The next morning, the story not only filled up the Kansas City
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