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Authors: Clare Naylor, Mimi Hare
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over the fifty-foot-high perimeter fence.
“Wrong,” Zac barked, and I wasn’t sure whether he meant my serve or my answer. Then I realized that it was both. The inner game was the outer game.
“If your boyfriend wants to live his life as a cheating bastard, that’s his problem. Tell me this, Elizabeth, if someone gives you a gift and you choose not to accept it, to whom does that gift belong?”
“To... uhm.. .” I was never any good at the sound of one-hand- clapping stuff even when I was sitting in the lotus position with my yogi-friend, Alexa; now that I was all out of breath in the evening sunshine, I found it impossible. So I took a guess. “To the person who gave me the gift?”
“Correct,” Zac said as he took my arm and described a large circle with my racket. “If you don’t accept his shit, it’s still his shit and not yours.”
“You’re so right,” I said, and as the words came out of my mouth, I executed the most impeccable serve of my life.
“See?” Zac stood back and grinned at me. It was like the parable of the prodigal son—there is more joy for Zac at the successful serve of a tennis-spaz than ninety-nine naturals who win all their league games— or something like that.
“Thank you.” I wanted to hug Zac but I was dripping with sweat by now. “Can we talk about my job, too? I really need to work out whether I should leave to pursue my own projects or stay and climb the ladder.” “We’ll do a few minutes of backhand,” Zac promised as he turned on
the ball machine at the other end of the court.
“Now go,” he instructed as the balls came gaily pinging toward me. “Too fast!” I yelled as he adjusted the machine.
“Is it now?” he asked. “Or is it just you who are too slow?”
“A bit of both?” I smiled as he made his way back toward me.
“Now sweep and follow through. Don’t let the ball leave your racket until you’re ready for it to leave,” he said as I tried to obey his orders but ended up being brutalized by a trinity of stray balls that came at me while I was nurturing the last ball and sending it off to college with a hug.
“You’re holding on too long,” Zac said. “Let go sooner.” “Are you telling me to leave my job?” I asked.
“No, I’m telling you to let the ball leave your racket at the precise
moment it’s ready. Now feel for that moment. Okay? Go. Feel for the moment. There it is, you feel it?”
“Yes. I do.” I smiled. And I did. I turned off my whirring and thinking and deliberating and fretting and focused on the ball and how it felt against the strings. I paid attention to when it was ready to go.
“I’m not leaving yet,” I told Zac as I guided a second ball lovingly over the net.
“Exactly.” Zac stood back and watched as I fired shot after shot across the court until I was a crimson-faced Bride of Shrek. “Enough, enough,” he finally said and silenced the machine.
“Thanks, Zac.” I shook his hand, even though I secretly wanted to marry him. “You’ve been such a help.”
“The bliss is within, you know.” He patted me and sent me on my way. “Same time next week.”
“I’ll be here,” I promised as I made a mental list of all the things we could work on next time.
As I drove home I knew that Zac was right, the bliss was within and it was all up to me. I’d decided in the zen moment of my backhand that I would stay at The Agency until I found a project that really appealed to me, that would be worth pursuing. I’d signed the contract for Sex Addicts in Love this morning and whatever happened I had a producer credit to my name now, which was incredibly valuable, no matter how the movie fared at the box office. I’d just wait until I found another project that I was passionate about and then maybe I’d quit The Agency to produce it properly this time, rather than doing it during coffee breaks as I had with Sex Addicts. I also decided that I’d give Luke a break. Even though he may be
“Wrong,” Zac barked, and I wasn’t sure whether he meant my serve or my answer. Then I realized that it was both. The inner game was the outer game.
“If your boyfriend wants to live his life as a cheating bastard, that’s his problem. Tell me this, Elizabeth, if someone gives you a gift and you choose not to accept it, to whom does that gift belong?”
“To... uhm.. .” I was never any good at the sound of one-hand- clapping stuff even when I was sitting in the lotus position with my yogi-friend, Alexa; now that I was all out of breath in the evening sunshine, I found it impossible. So I took a guess. “To the person who gave me the gift?”
“Correct,” Zac said as he took my arm and described a large circle with my racket. “If you don’t accept his shit, it’s still his shit and not yours.”
“You’re so right,” I said, and as the words came out of my mouth, I executed the most impeccable serve of my life.
“See?” Zac stood back and grinned at me. It was like the parable of the prodigal son—there is more joy for Zac at the successful serve of a tennis-spaz than ninety-nine naturals who win all their league games— or something like that.
“Thank you.” I wanted to hug Zac but I was dripping with sweat by now. “Can we talk about my job, too? I really need to work out whether I should leave to pursue my own projects or stay and climb the ladder.” “We’ll do a few minutes of backhand,” Zac promised as he turned on
the ball machine at the other end of the court.
“Now go,” he instructed as the balls came gaily pinging toward me. “Too fast!” I yelled as he adjusted the machine.
“Is it now?” he asked. “Or is it just you who are too slow?”
“A bit of both?” I smiled as he made his way back toward me.
“Now sweep and follow through. Don’t let the ball leave your racket until you’re ready for it to leave,” he said as I tried to obey his orders but ended up being brutalized by a trinity of stray balls that came at me while I was nurturing the last ball and sending it off to college with a hug.
“You’re holding on too long,” Zac said. “Let go sooner.” “Are you telling me to leave my job?” I asked.
“No, I’m telling you to let the ball leave your racket at the precise
moment it’s ready. Now feel for that moment. Okay? Go. Feel for the moment. There it is, you feel it?”
“Yes. I do.” I smiled. And I did. I turned off my whirring and thinking and deliberating and fretting and focused on the ball and how it felt against the strings. I paid attention to when it was ready to go.
“I’m not leaving yet,” I told Zac as I guided a second ball lovingly over the net.
“Exactly.” Zac stood back and watched as I fired shot after shot across the court until I was a crimson-faced Bride of Shrek. “Enough, enough,” he finally said and silenced the machine.
“Thanks, Zac.” I shook his hand, even though I secretly wanted to marry him. “You’ve been such a help.”
“The bliss is within, you know.” He patted me and sent me on my way. “Same time next week.”
“I’ll be here,” I promised as I made a mental list of all the things we could work on next time.
As I drove home I knew that Zac was right, the bliss was within and it was all up to me. I’d decided in the zen moment of my backhand that I would stay at The Agency until I found a project that really appealed to me, that would be worth pursuing. I’d signed the contract for Sex Addicts in Love this morning and whatever happened I had a producer credit to my name now, which was incredibly valuable, no matter how the movie fared at the box office. I’d just wait until I found another project that I was passionate about and then maybe I’d quit The Agency to produce it properly this time, rather than doing it during coffee breaks as I had with Sex Addicts. I also decided that I’d give Luke a break. Even though he may be
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