Page 45 of Serve
“That’s Aunt Dixie to you, young man. Fine. Geez, a girl can’t have a little fun anymore.” She wiped her hand again with a tissue and started for the exit.
“Ma’am, did you want to buy any of the colors you tried?” A woman dressed from head to toe in black asked. Aunt Dixie shook her head. The sales clerk's eyes widened for a split second, then a serene smile spread across her face.
“What? You mean after all that you’re not going to buy anything?” Chip asked, his face turning as red as her lips. He shrugged his shoulders at the woman who laughed. Apparently she was used to dotty old women destroying their lipsticks.
“No, just killing some time.” She waved her tiny hand at the sales clerk and walked out.
Chip shook his head and hurried after her. The driver opened the back door to the BMW for them. Dixie got in first, careful not to mess up the tuxedos hanging on a hook by the door. The driver was delivering the tuxes to the rental house after he dropped the two of them off at Wimbledon. Just looking at the tuxes gave Chip a queasy feeling. If Tyler won, he had to go to the Champions' Ball. He insisted on Chip going with him. Of course, he’d be introduced as his “friend,” or “personal assistant.” The thought of watching Tyler dancing with strange women while he stood mutely on the sidelines filled him with dread.
That’s only if he wins. If he loses he’ll be morose for days, his last chance for achieving a career grand slam, and making history, gone forever.
“Out!”
The final was in it’s fifth set. Each man had won two sets, with Tyler currently up a break in the fifth. The deciding factor now would be fitness. Popular wisdom gave Travis the edge. He was younger, and presumably had more stamina, but Emm taught Tyler how to negate that, and it was working. Travis was a baseliner, who could grind out a win by getting balls back, and making Tyler play extra points. Thanks to Emm, Tyler was playing an aggressive net game. Keeping the points shorter by selectively volleying at the net was key.
Scott and the rest of Travis’s team were only a few seats away, but his smug face made everyone on Tyler’s team sick with worry. Despite the apparent effort Tyler was giving on the court below them, Chip worried about what Tyler would do. Scott still had pictures of the two of them.
Would he throw the match to stay in the closet, or would he win it, and achieve his dreams?
Tyler never gave an indication that he wouldn’t play to win. Every time Chip brought up the topic Tyler would give him that puppy-dog look and change the subject. Now the match was almost over, and Chip could hardly pay attention to what was happening on the court for all the worries he had about Scott and those damn pictures. The one thing that kept him going through all of the drama was the knowledge that Tyler was retiring.
They could go home.
Suddenly the crowd roared, and was on its feet. Chip got up and applauded wildly, unaware of what happened. He anxiously looked at the scoreboard, hoping he’d not missed match point. Aunt Dixie and Emm were giving out war whoops. Tina put her arm over his shoulders and whispered in his ears.
“He’s gonna make it, I just know he is!”
5-3 in the fifth, and now Tyler was serving for the match. The court itself was in tatters, the grass at the baseline on both sides completely gone. Tyler’s white shirt clung to his muscular frame, soaked with sweat. He bounced the ball a few times, deciding where he was hitting it. His opponent listlessly stared at him, waiting for Tyler to serve. Finally, Tyler tossed the ball in the air, and with a grunt Chip was all too familiar with hit an ace up the middle. The crowd roared its approval, obviously pulling for the veteran to win.
Tyler again took his time, bouncing the ball with deliberation. He told Chip once that he took too long to serve, which his opponents hated. That was precisely why he did it. Anything to put them on edge would give him an advantage. Tyler tossed the ball, but this time he hit the ball into the net. He took out another ball, but instead of a lengthy deliberation on where to hit it, he tossed it in the air and hit another ace up the middle. Travis lunged for it, and missed, then hit his strings with his balled up fist.
Chip’s stomach was in knots. Everything Tyler had fought for over his entire career was on the line right now. Tyler scrunched up his face in a way only Chip recognized as fear. Whenever Tyler was confronted by a problem he didn’t want to deal with, or he was caught off guard, he scrunched his face up like that.
“C’mon Tyler, don’t give in, don’t do it.” He whispered.
The afternoon sun was in Tyler’s eyes, making his job harder. He tossed the ball in the air, and this time Travis’s racket connected, cracking a winner up the line.
“Damn it, Tyler, don’t let him back in the match.” He whispered again. Tina grabbed his sweaty palm in hers and squeezed. He’d never felt so wound up before in his life.
Tyler walked to the back of the court and got a towel from a ball kid. He wiped his face and threw the towel back to him. He bounced the ball deliberately, a look of determination set in his features. He tossed the ball, then sent an ace out wide. Tense applause ensued, and Tyler immediately drew a ball out of his pocket and started bouncing it. He looked up and caught Chip’s eye.
“You can do it!” He mouthed the words, hoping Tyler understood. It was championship point, on Tyler’s serve.
He tossed the ball in the air, where it seemed to slow down before returning to earth. His racket connected in it’s sweet spot, blowing the ball past Travis, who lunged for it gracelessly. Silence hung over the crowd for a split second, then the stadium went wild.
Tyler dropped to the ground, and for a moment Chip worried he’d fainted again. Then he got to his feet, tears streaming down his face. Travis walked to the net with his head down and hand out. Tyler smiled at the younger man, shook his hand, and clapped him on his back.
At that moment, Chip thought of Travis’s coach, Scott. He turned to where he was seated, and with a sense of foreboding noted the grim look on his face as Scott shook his head, not even bothering to applaud politely for Tyler. Chip saw nothing but trouble ahead.
“So tell us how it feels to be one of a handful of players to ever lift all four Grand Slam trophies, Tyler?” A reporter from the BBC asked during the trophy presentation. Tyler stood with the huge, silver plate in his hands, tears still streaming down his face.
“This is an amazing feeling. I’ve worked my entire life for this moment, and thanks to my team...” he lifted a hand toward his box, “...and the support of my fans this dream has finally come true.” His voice choked for a moment, then he wiped his face on the back of his sleeve. The audience cheered him on, the sight of such a humble champion who’d worked so hard for the win making them feel as if they’d won the championship themselves.
Chip’s face was also wet, and the sight of his man holding that huge silver plate made all the heartache of the last few weeks worth it.
“What made you think you could win it? You’ve never seen success on grass courts before.”
Tyler thought for a moment, before replying, “If you believe in yourself and your abilities, you can go really far in your life. I kept on dreaming and believing. Wimbledon is such a special tournament, so many legends have played on this court in the men's and the women's game. I wanted it bad, that’s all. I wanted to be one of the men who’ve held this trophy, and now I can proudly say that I have.”
