At least Jonny was going to be late.
This Lindsay informed them of immediately, asking them to please sit down. Jonny would join them in time for the matches.
Two white-gloved servers in gray uniforms attended to the table. The lunch consisted of three small courses: a salad of radish and orange slices sprinkled with chives; a ceviche of lobster and shrimp; followed by an espresso, which Pandy refused, and a crème brûlée, which she did not. Pope Mallachant, a tall, stooped man with hooded eyes and unnaturally black hair, explained that by restricting his calories, he was extending his life. He asked Pandy if she restricted her calories. Pandy said she didn’t. Pope Mallachant suggested she try it, pointing to himself as an example of the efficacy of his diet. He was seventy-three, he boasted, and was free of both cancer and heart disease. “The only way I’m going to die is if someone kills me,” he said.
Pandy laughed. She could never take these people too seriously. But then again, she didn’t have to. All she needed to do was be polite.
“How’s your tennis?” Pope asked.
“Terrible,” Pandy declared. And just to prove how hopeless it was, she asked for another glass of champagne.
Her champagne arrived, followed immediately by Jonny.
He may have merely walked through the French doors, but to Pandy, it felt like he had suddenly burst onto the terrace like a small, fiery sun. The atmosphere immediately changed and became lively; the women laughed and the men’s voices became lower and more knowing. Jonny went around the table, tucking his still-long hair behind his ears as he lowered his head to greet the women with kisses and the men with handshakes and pats on the back. Compared to Jonny, who was slightly tanned and slimly muscular, everyone else at the table seemed ancient.
Impatient to get to his tennis, Pope stood up before Jonny could reach Pandy. The rest of the table followed suit. Pandy wondered if Jonny had even noticed her.
As Pope led Jonny down the stairs to the court, she heard Jonny ask him whom he was playing with. Pope glanced around for Pandy, then motioned her over. “Meet your partner,” he said to Pandy. “Jonny Balaga…” He hesitated. He’d clearly forgotten Pandy’s name.
“PJ Wallis,” Pandy said quickly, extending her hand. Jonny looked at her hand, shook his head, and laughed, leaning over to give her the requisite kiss on the cheek. “We already know each other. But maybe you don’t remember.” He laughed again and strode off while Pandy hurried to the changing rooms, the skin on her neck still tingling where Jonny’s hair had brushed against it.
His hair was just as soft as she’d imagined it would be.
Her heart was still pounding as she entered the cabana. It was fitted out like a luxurious spa, with showers and a steam room, folded white towels, and the ubiquitous basket of toiletries. Arranged in one plastic tub were brand-new tennis whites still in their cellophane wrappers; in another were an assortment of new to barely worn sneakers. Pandy selected a short white tennis dress and bloomers and looked over the sneakers, flexing them back and forth to find the pair with the most give.
She changed her clothes and stood in front of the mirror. She reminded herself that just because “Beluga” was playing and they were teamed up together, there was no reason to get all churned up. She must play exactly as she would have if Jonny weren’t there.
She extracted a headband from a plastic wrapper and jauntily stuck it behind her ears. She looked in the mirror and wished she had something to put in the headband. Like a feather, perhaps.
She took a deep breath.
Let the games begin, she thought with a sigh. She wished she really did have a feather. Something to show everyone how silly she was, which would no doubt get her quickly kicked out of the game. But there was nothing. Not even a speck of dust.
She joined the rest of the group.
Edith was correct: Pope did take his tennis seriously. He was standing on the court holding his racket over his head, doing deep knee bends. Jonny was laughing with Lindsay as he downed a glass of iced tea. The Senator and the rest of the guests were gathered at a table under an umbrella. Jonny spotted her and called out, “Hey, partner. You ready to win?”
Lindsay explained the rules. She and Pope would play Steven and Edith, then Pandy and Jonny would play the winner. From the way she glanced at Pope when she said “winner,” it was patently clear whom that winner was meant to be.
The first match began. Steven was portly but aggressive. Edith played a decent game of country club tennis, meaning she’d had a lot of lessons but possessed no real feel for the game. Pope and Lindsay were a different story. Despite his age and his inability to run as fast as Steven, Pope had real skills. He was precise and, like a lot of old men who have been playing all their lives, made up for what he lacked in speed with the placement of the ball.
Lindsay was the opposite. Pandy knew the type: Lindsay had probably played on her high school team, and she was used to people telling her how great she was. This made her think she was a better tennis player than she actually was. On the other hand, she really did like to win, and that counted for a lot.
Steven and Edith were dispatched handily.
It was Pandy and Jonny’s turn.
“You want to hit a few? To warm up?” Jonny asked.
Pandy shook her head. “It won’t make any difference. I’ll still be bad.”
“If you talk like that, you will be,” Jonny said.
Pandy shrugged and gave him a sharp smile. “Just being honest.”
Pandy served first to Lindsay. She delivered her usual puffball, which landed just inside the line. It was an easy shot and Lindsay smacked it, sending the ball to Jonny’s feet. Jonny leaped back, swung, and missed. Lindsay and Pope exchanged a look. Jonny picked up the ball and tossed it to Pandy.
“Sorry,” Pandy said, catching the ball on her open racket.
“Doesn’t matter,” Jonny murmured, moving toward the net. He bent over, swaying back and forth. Pandy looked at his ass and decided he must work out a lot.
Taking a breath, she tossed the ball and swung.
Another puffball, but this one was more deceptive. The ball bounced high, and then quickly lost momentum. Thinking, as Pandy knew he would, that it was an easy shot, Pope ended up smashing the ball into the net. As Pandy turned away, she smiled. Jonny caught her tiny expression of triumph and raised his palm for a high five. “All right, partner,” he declared.
Pandy gave him a dirty look.
Lindsay and Pope mis-hit Pandy’s next three serves, giving her and Jonny the game. He leaned over her shoulder and whispered, “We’re going to win.”
“No,” Pandy hissed back. “We’re not.”
Jonny gestured at his chest with his thumbs. “Watch me.”
Pandy glared and stomped to her position at the net. Fuck, she thought. This was all she needed. Pope played every day, and while Jonny was at least thirty years younger, he was also determined to win. Which meant the match would go on forever. One game would have twenty or thirty points. Then there would be a tiebreaker. The sun would grow higher and the heat would increase. Tempers would flare.
Pope launched his serve at Jonny. It was fast, low, and clean.
Jonny hopped back into position, swung, and hit hard to Lindsay.
So Jonny had a mean streak, Pandy thought. This was another strategy in mixed doubles: Take out the easiest opponent, namely, a woman.
Lindsay, however, was expecting his shot. She passed the ball neatly back to him.
They rallied back and forth several times. Clearly, they had played before. This wasn’t surprising, considering what Edith had hinted about Lindsay and Jonny having an affair. Jonny must have gotten nervous, though, because he mis-hit. On the other side of the net, Pope scooped up the shot and lofted the ball toward Pandy.