Dream Me(25)

“Why wouldn’t I like what I hear?” I repeat when he doesn’t answer.

__________

“Why wouldn’t I . . .” I’m really talking now. Talking out loud in the real nonsleeping world. It’s never been so hard to wake up. Daylight intrudes through the window blinds in golden stripes of light. I fight it with all my might but the drone of the air conditioner and my parents’ busy morning footsteps force my eyes open. I drag my legs over the side of the bed.

Sixteen more hours until bedtime, I think. Sixteen long, miserable hours.

My head hurts with an intensity which terrifies me.

Comments: Sweetness: girl im worried about you. youd better go see a doctor or something.

RoadWarrior: I’d have to say I agree with Sweetness. Headaches can be a sign of something serious. Please get it checked out by a doctor.

DreamMe: When the dream becomes too much to contain . . .

Babe: Thanks for your concern everyone. I’ll figure it out.





Eight


There was a message waiting for me from Mattie Lynn on the tennis club voicemail:

No need for lunch since nobody seemed interested yesterday. Just make sure there are lots of chilled water bottles.

I wondered who would be back after the first day. I especially wondered about Kiet, whom Mai predicted would be an early dropout.

The adult crowd was ready to go first thing in the morning. Bing spent most of his time outside giving lessons to anyone who could afford to hang out at the tennis courts in the middle of a work day. That included his usual following of pampered and adoring housewives, independently wealthy men, and retired people of both sexes. All the working adults came after work and on the weekends.

My place, as usual, was inside answering phones and generally taking care of whatever needed taking care of. I didn’t mind because it was so hot outside, even in the morning, but I did miss actually being able to play tennis. I worried my game would get rusty since I still didn’t have a partner, although Bing promised he’d make time for me when things slowed down.

Mrs. Buell came in early to play doubles with some ladies I hadn’t seen before. With her perfect hair, she looked so cool that you could never imagine her working up a sweat. She probably bathed in ice water, and even Bing’s charms had no effect on her. Style. She had plenty of it, but it was pretty clear we were never going to be buddies.

The Sullivans came in later. I fell for them the first time I met them. They were both in their late seventies to early eighties and probably as fit as their children, if they had any. They rode their bikes everywhere, chatted with me on a real level like they actually cared about me, and when I tried to “sir” or “ma’am” them, they shushed me and insisted I call them Bob and Dotty. Bing said they were involved in all kinds of community service and basically everyone loved them because, after all, what wasn’t there to love?

Bing came in for a short break. Mr. Buell had a lesson scheduled but hadn’t showed up yet. It actually was billed as a lesson but, according to Bing, Mr. Buell just paid him to play. Lessons were probably beneath him. When I asked how good he was, Bing just said Mr. Buell wasn’t nearly as good as he thought he was. After waiting about ten minutes, Bing went back out to the courts to pick up tennis balls.

Soon after, Mr. Buell came in, not even apologizing for being late. He asked where Bing was and I said he was waiting outside. Mr. Buell took his sweet time messing around with this and that. I glanced at the clock and noted that Bing’s next lesson would start in ten minutes. How was he going to handle the extra special VIP problem?

Then Mr. Buell did something strange. He leaned across the counter where I was working and started snooping around. He spotted my blog journal which was right next to my purse on the shelf behind the counter. I took it to work to take notes during breaks. On the cover of the journal in bold black marker it clearly said BABE’S BLOG. If I wore it on a chain around my neck it couldn’t be more obvious who it belonged to. Normally I kept a huge rubber band around it to keep it protected, but earlier that morning the rubber band had snapped.

Mr. Buell just picked it up like it was a National Geographic in the dentist’s office and made a movement to open it. My hand shot out and held the cover down. Our eyes met and locked, mine in a dare that said, I dare you to open my journal. His in a dare that said, I dare you to lose your job. He put his hand on top of mine, moving his thumb back and forth, all the while maintaining eye contact. Then he pulled his hand away and smiled creepily. He reeked of alcohol.

“Sorry, darlin’. I didn’t know that was yours.”

Like hell he didn’t.

The door opened with a chime of the bells and Bing walked in.

“Mr. Buell, are you ready to go out now?” It seemed the lesser VIP’s lesson would be sacrificed to Buell.

“I don’t think so, Bing. Just came by to let you know it didn’t work out for me today.” He winked at me and turned to leave.

I wanted to kick his ass so bad I could scream.

__________

There was a lull around 11:30, so Bing and I took advantage and had a quick lunch. With no lessons scheduled and no courts booked, we just put up the “Back in ___ minutes” sign and filled in “30” with a dry erase marker. I think Bing could tell something was wrong, even though I tried to hide it and denied it when he brought it up. No way was I going to let Mr. Buell come between me and my job, as much as I’m sure he would have enjoyed a me-against-him scenario. It was nothing more than a game to him, but for me it wrecked my entire day.