Page 38 of Bad Summer People
“I’m not sure,” said Lauren. “Silvia’s watching the kids, so unless he’s busy with work, he should.” She didn’t seem too bothered about it, as far as Jen could tell.
Susan Steinhagen broke up the chat, appearing over Lisa’s shoulder with a serious look. She was all business in a white pleated tennis skirt and an Adidas tracksuit jacket. “Parker and Weinstein, let’s get on the court now!” she directed, sharp as an army sergeant.
Brian raised his eyebrows in horror, and Lisa giggled at him.
Rachel and Emily were already out warming up, doing stretches and little jumps on their side of the court. Lauren and Jen put their heads together toward the back.
“We’ve got this,” whispered Lauren. Her cheeks were rosy, and her lips looked plump. For a second, Jen could picture what she looked like during sex. “Hit to Emily’s backhand—it always goes long. And make Rachel run her saggy butt off.”
Jen laughed and nodded. Lauren was such a snot. They high-fived and went to their positions. Jen began to hit back and forth with Emily down the line to warm up. She was feeling nervous and stiff. She’d had a tennis pro in Scarsdale, Chuck. She tried to hear his voice in her ear as she hit. “Follow through, Jenny,” he’d say. He’d started calling herJennyduring their first lesson, and she hadn’t corrected him. Now she thought of tennis Jen as “Jenny.” “Bend your knees, girl!” he’d shout at her.
Jen hit a ball long, which sent Emily scurrying off court to retrieve it. They hadn’t even started, and already she was messing up.Concentrate, Jenny,she thought.You’ve got this, Jenny.
“Time to play!” called Susan sharply from behind the green fencing that bordered the court. The benches lining the area were full. Jen saw Sam sitting with Emily’s husband, Paul Grobel, mock-strangling him (Paul was wearing a black T-shirt that readCANCEL CANCEL CULTURE). She didn’t spot Jason in the mix and was happier for it. She didn’t need him leering darkly at her as she played.
The match got underway. Jen and Lauren had won the toss, and so Lauren served first, making a strong showing and winning the game in four quick points. People were clapping after good shots, which threw Jen. She smashed an overhead right into Emily and then heard cheers. It was brutal.
The partners were evenly matched. Everyone held their own serve, until the first set was tied 6–6, sending them to a tiebreak. Jen had never been so focused. She could hear her heart beating in her ears. “You!” screamed Lauren at her from the net. Rachel had sent a lob over Lauren’s head, and Jen raced to the other side of the court to lob it back. Emily backed up to take it as an overhead, swung, and ended up hitting it into the net. The crowd screamed. Lauren and Jen had won the first set.
They all took a break at the middle of the court, sipping from paper cups that stacked into the watercooler. Rachel, in her favorite black tennis skirt from Nike, looked pale. She didn’t say anything as she drank, just stared off into space.
“Great set, guys,” said Emily politely. Her blond hair was pulled into a swishy pony. Jen admired her upper chest bones, which stuck out prominently. There was something about Emily’s voice—weak, soft—that imbued Jen with confidence. They were going to win. She knew it now. She looked at Lauren, who clearly felt the same way. Lauren winked at her. They would do it together.
The next set was over in a flash, and the upset was solidified. Parker/Weinstein had beaten Woolf/Grobel 6–6 (7–3), 6–2.
“Yes!” screamed Lauren after match point, a long rally that endedwhen she’d hit a forehand winner down the line. “Yes!” It was a guttural, animalistic shout, and very unlike Lauren. She raced over to Jen and gave her a big hug, their rackets clanking, and whispered in Jen’s ear, “Fuck yes.” Jen couldn’t stop smiling. Her mouth started to hurt.
They walked to the center of the net to shake Rachel’s and Emily’s hands, both limp. Rachel was biting her bottom lip, and Jen was worried she was going to cry. She looked shaken, her eyes shifting to the left when Jen offered her thanks for playing. Rachel shuffled behind the trio as they walked off the dusty clay court together. Sam was standing in front of the gate and wrapped Jen in a bear hug as soon as she stepped out, lifting her off the ground.
Paul Grobel was there, looking appropriately somber. He patted Emily’s back when she emerged. “Sorry, honey,” he said to her. She shrugged.
“I can’t believe it!” Sam beamed. “You played great! My Jen, tennis champ of Salcombe.”
Lauren was there, too, receiving congratulations from various friends. Jason was nowhere to be seen.
It did feel good to have won. She was used to only getting this high from having sex with someone other than Sam. They’d beaten Rachel, of all people. Rachel! Tennis was Rachel’s life! Jen saw Rachel sitting on a bench alone, slumped, her tennis top sagging around her chest. She almost felt bad for her—a sad, lonely forty-two-year-old—before remembering yet again that Rachel had tried to torpedo her marriage.
Susan Steinhagen came over to Jen and shook Jen’s hand with her bony, cool fingers. It was Salcombe’s highest honor. “Jen Weinstein, I didn’t know you had it in you,” said Susan. “I’m impressed.”
Jen felt herself blush. She put her hand on her hot, damp cheek. “Thanks to you, Susan, for putting on such a great tournament,” she said. “I can’t wait for the final this afternoon. How’s the other match going?”
“Vicky and Janet are running away with it. You and Lauren have your work cut out for you.”
“They can pull it off,” said Sam.
Susan smiled at him gently. The town had been treating Sam with kid gloves since the picnic. Yes, there had been the occasional whisper, somestares at the beach, the raised eyebrows when Jen and Sam had dinner alone at the yacht club. But mostly, people had rallied around him, checking in to see how he was holding up, sending notes of support via email and text. Jen welcomed the care. She was semi-shocked at how little enjoyment everyone was taking in their embarrassment. Things would be different, she thought, if Sam were a woman. But he was a beloved man in a small town. No one wanted to see him brought low.
Lisa approached and gave Jen a celebratory hug. Sam went over to chat with Paul, towering over him, nearly different species.
“You played amazingly,” said Lisa, her eyes crinkling with mischief. As the summer went on, the women’s fillers and injectables wore off; by Labor Day, they all looked like an approximation of their real selves. Older, tanner, their bodies more lived-in. Jen preferred this Lisa to the one who’d arrived in June, frozen and plumped.
“Look at Rachel,” she whispered, stepping closer to Jen. “This is the worst moment of her life.” She smirked as she said it.
Rachel glared at them as if she’d heard her.
“Be kind,” said Jen, even though she didn’t really mean it. “You should go offer your services as a life coach. She’s clearly in need.”
Lisa giggled conspiratorially. “What’s gotten into you! You’re supposed to be the nice one.”
