When No One Was Looking

by Rosemary Wells

  “Can I give you a hand, Miss Greco?” Kathy asked. Miss Greco was struggling up the steps backward, hauling what appeared to be a very heavy sack labeled Plastilina Powder. The man in the chair made no move to help her, although the bag split more on each step. “Can I help you?” Kathy repeated.

  “No, dear,” answered Miss Greco, hefting the bag with a great flop and a massive cloud of ruddy dust onto the porch, “but why don’t you come in and visit a minute? Have a glass of lemonade with Sam and me.”

  The steps and porch were covered with Plastilina dust. The front yard was filled with bits of broken crockery and hunks of plaster of paris. There were piles of empty cat food tins in and around the trash barrel. Neither the house nor the lemonade promised much, and because Kathy was in dead terror of the man in the chair, she said quickly, “Oh, I must get home before dark, Miss Greco, but thank you so much anyway.”

  “Another time, then,” said Miss Greco and waved.

  Kathy looped around a different street so she would not have to pass the boys and the car again. All the while she saw in her memory the strange man’s eyes. They were pathetically crossed and yet seemed to stare directly at her over a dreamy red-lipped smile. Was he a son? A brother? How cruel I was not to accept her offer, Kathy thought, beginning to trot again. Probably nobody ever visits poor Miss Greco. What a saintly person she must be. But I just couldn’t do it. Oh, no. Kathy shuddered. The cats and the idea of cat hairs in the lemonade and the thought of sipping from a glass that had also touched Sam’s red wet lips froze in her imagination, and she began to sprint. Kathy was soon far away from the tumbledown houses and sour odors. But Miss Greco has a decent job, she tried to reason. She’s a teacher, after all. She has a decent job. Why does she live there? Kathy’s father’s predictions about earning a decent living ran through her head ominously. The thought of the garbage in Miss Greco’s tiny front yard sealed in Kathy a promise to triumph over both the first- and second-ranked girls at Newton and push herself not only into the first five but all the way to one. She passed into a more acceptable neighborhood and repeated the promise soberly and in horror. Then she changed direction and went on to Julia’s house, as her parents would expect her to be there.

  “I wanted to talk with you about this afternoon’s match,” said Marty without a good morning.

  “Good morning, Marty,” Kathy answered sweetly. She pushed her mop slowly and carefully over the pool deck until the white enameled boards shone. Overhead the sun was already brilliant in a cloudless blue sky. “It’s a beautiful day,” Kathy added.

  “When are you finished here?” Marty asked.

  “I have to clean up here at the pool. Then I have to make sure the lunchroom is clean. Then I’m on lifeguard duty for kiddie-swim until ten,” said Kathy.

  “You have a singles match at eleven.”

  “I know. Ruth was still doing laps when I came in this morning.”

  “You had trouble with her in Quincy, didn’t you?” asked Marty, squinting and picking up a cigarette butt that had missed an ashtray.

  “Don’t worry about it, Marty.” And then as an afterthought Kathy said, “Gee, she sure is strong though. She must have done twenty butterfly laps this morning. I went to change, and when I came out, she was still at it. Back and forth like some big flapping Saint Bernard.”

  “She does it every morning at six o’clock,” said Marty. “Don’t make fun of it. I’d like to see you out there at six with the ball machine.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Kathy with a snort. “You wanted to talk about the doubles this afternoon?”

  “Yes. Now I want you to watch Rosino at the net. When she goes to her right, she never—”

  Mr. Molina’s shrill voice interrupted Marty. “What do you think you’re doing, young lady? You’re supposed to have finished this whole area by now.” And turning on Marty, he said, “A fine example you’re setting! How would you like it if your ball boys and ball girls spent their time chatting away like magpies, frittering away valuable hours!” His clipboard quivered under his arm.

  Marty grinned. She poked Mr. Molina lightly under the alligator on his puffy left breast with her racket. “Better get a bra, Fred,” she said.

  Kathy blushed as red as Mr. Molina. She scrubbed furiously, pretending not to have heard.

  “I’m going to see to it that you’re fired one day,” he shrieked, pointing a finger to heaven. “Look at all that filthy green clay, tracking up my deck! You’re supposed to wipe your feet or put on clogs when you come to the pool area. I’m going to speak to the chairman about this.”

  “Better take some swimming lessons, Fred,” said Marty. “I’ll push you in the deep end when you’re not looking someday!”

  Mr. Molina disappeared around the corner of the clubhouse. “You forgot to click your heels, Fred,” Marty called after him. Then she resumed her description of Mrs. Rosino at the net.

  “Marty.” Kathy cleared her throat. She’d had a minute to think and to put what she had to say into the right words. “Mrs. Rosino and Mrs. Rice have won the ladies’ doubles for years. They’re so proud of their trophy. Neither of them has a chance at the singles. Why don’t we play them and let them have it? It’s only a club tournament.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Marty asked.

  “No,” said Kathy, and she stopped scrubbing and leaned on her mop, toying with the strings with her toe. “I just think it’s awful to get all worked up and plan strategy against two nice old ladies, that’s all. It means so much to them to win, and it doesn’t mean a thing to us.”

  “Now look here, my dear,” said Marty. “I want you to listen to this and listen hard.”

  “I’m listening,” said Kathy.

  “Put down that stupid mop for a minute.”

  “Okay, Marty.”

  “Someday, my dear, you are going to be in a match against someone who wants to beat you like crazy, who can’t beat you, and you are going to feel sorry for her, and if you do, you’ll blow the match, and if you keep it up, you’ll blow your whole career sky high, and you can kiss your future good-bye, right now.”

  “Okay, Marty, forget I said it.”

  “Do you know that Rosie Casals has never beaten Billie Jean King in a tournament of any size, never. They are very close friends all the same. Do you think Billie Jean lets Rosie have one once in a while to make her feel better?”

  “No, Marty.”

  “Then this is excellent training for you. What are we going to do out there this afternoon?”

  “Win, Marty.”

  “We’re going to murder them and what else?”

  “Watch Mrs. Rosino at the net, and when she goes to her right, slam it down her alley because she can’t reach that shot.”

  “That’s right,” said Marty, “and cut the Mrs. Rosino. Until after we beat them, she’s just Rosino to you unless you have to talk to her directly.”

  “All right, Marty, all right.” Kathy picked up her mop again and began to work.

  “I know how I sound,” Marty went on. “I know what people call me when I’m not around, but if I were fourteen now, my dear, instead of thirty years ago, I’d have a million bucks in my future just like you. Be a nice guy all you want, but on that tennis court it’s different. That’s all I ask, and I ask it every single time you go out there. Okay?”

  “Yes, Marty.”

  “Including your match this morning with that big tub of lard. No more repeats of Quincy. Keep your cool, keep your temper, keep your head. Ignore it if she tries to upset you. She plays tennis like an elephant. I want a score of love and love in that match.”

  “Yes, Marty.”

  At five o’clock Julia found Kathy hidden in an opening in the rocks behind a large pointed boulder at the end of the jetty. There was a rock “chair” there; on it Kathy slouched, one bare foot in a tiny sun-warmed pool of sea water that the high tide had deposited earlier that afternoon. Idly Kathy moved her bare toes through the bright green seaweed that waved in
the natural bowl like gelatinous spaghetti. After a few moments had passed and Kathy had deliberately not turned her head to acknowledge Julia, Julia said, “Remember those? At my grandma’s beach when we were little? There used to be so many little pools in her jetty. We put sand crabs in them and tried to keep them alive.”

  Kathy didn’t answer.

  “Remember when we entered the dead crab in the pet show and got an honorable mention?”

  “I remember,” said Kathy, implying that she didn’t want to go on about it.

  “Guess what Daddy’s bringing home tonight! You’ve got to come over. He’s bringing a dozen fresh eclairs, packed in ice, made this morning on the Champs-Elysées. He’s taking the Concorde from Paris. We’ll celebrate your doubles win.”

  “Oh, Julia, I’m not really hungry. I just want to sit here.” Kathy continued to gaze out of focus at the rushing waves that broke over the mussels and squeaky brown seaweed below. She pulled off a bunch and began to pop the ends of the slippery tendrils.

  Julia broke into her mother’s drawl. “Well, whatever is eating at you, Katherine, you will always be a big heroine to every membah of this family.”

  “Oh, come on, Julia, that was years ago,” said Kathy.

  “Only three.”

  “Well, it was nothing.”

  “Dragging a hundred-pound person for nearly a mile is a pretty big deal.”

  “You didn’t even weigh fifty pounds then, and it was more like a quarter of a mile, and if I’d had any sense at all, I would have left you where you were and run for help, and someone would have come much quicker in a car.

  “Come on, kiddo, what is it?” Julia asked sadly. “You know you’ll tell me eventually anyway.”

  “That girl beat me again this morning,” said Kathy, popping all the seaweeds at once.

  “You mean that stupid Judy Gumm?”

  “Ruth.”

  “How could she beat you? Did she cheat?”

  “No, she didn’t cheat. There’s a difference between cheating and gamesmanship. Cheating is calling a shot out when it’s in. Gamesmanship is much worse. She diddled around forever on who won the toss. Then she delayed the match by saying she wasn’t ready. Then when I got mad, she stopped the game and said I was swearing, which she couldn’t possibly have heard. Then after every changeover she waited. Just waited until she was ready to come out. Only ten seconds longer than she should, but it drove me crazy. I tried to keep the ball on her base line. Tried to keep her running back and forth, but I kept hitting it out. Then my serve went—my toss. I started flicking my wrist on my toss. I tried to correct it and I double faulted five times. Then I kept dinking my serve instead of spinning it. I don’t know. It was just suddenly over. She beat me four and three.”

  “Marty give you a rough time?”

  “She glared at me with those eyes of hers and ordered me out of her office, as if I were a stranger.”

  “It just doesn’t make any sense to me,” said Julia, seating herself comfortably beside Kathy. “Do you know that big white whale swims a zillion laps every single morning before eight? Well, in the club swimming meet she lost the fifty yard freestyle by twelve yards to little Betsy Moran. I watched her. Betsy wouldn’t be caught dead up at six in the morning. Betsy’s not afraid of her.”

  “She is a great white whale,” said Kathy slowly, “and she’s got my number too, just like Moby Dick had Captain Ahab’s number in English this year.” Kathy sighed. “Marty’s making me hit with her all next week, just to get her out of my system. You know what Marty said to me later? She said, ‘That big ox has your number, my dear, and I’m the only one allowed to have that.’ ”

  “You know what my mother says about Marty?” Julia began.

  “Oh, Julia, you’ve told me three hundred times already what your mother says about Marty,” Kathy snapped.

  “You want me to leave you alone, Kath?”

  “No. No. I’m sorry I jumped on you. Stay with me.”

  Julia leaned over and picked up a handful of seaweed herself. “People only have your number if you let them, Kathy,” she said, “and boy, do you let them! Jody sure has it. She’s always nicking your corners where it hurts. Marty has it. So does this dumb girl. Even Mrs. Diggins. You said you could never look her in the eye again.”

  “Don’t mention that. You promised not to mention it!”

  “I promised I’d never mention it to anybody else. Jeez Louise, Kathy. You think you’re the very first person in the history of the world who ever bled into something by mistake?”

  “Don’t talk about it. It makes me crawl to think about it. Last time I remembered it, I almost broke a toe kicking a chair.”

  “All right. All right. But, Kathy, wake up! You let everybody who wants it have your number. You let people rip you to pieces. You don’t get even, you get mad, and you take it out on your own insides instead of on the other person. The trouble with you, Kathy, is you have no protective coloring.”

  “Protective what?”

  “Protective coloring. Like the birds and animals in the woods. They never show themselves until they want to. You show all your cards, and everybody gets one up on you. You should tell Jody she’s petty and jealous. You should make it clear to Mrs. Diggins you don’t give a hoot for her sofa. You should make Marty come to you— she’s got no future except you. You should match Ruth’s tricks with your own.”

  “I can’t play tennis like that. I can’t concentrate. As for Marty, she’s the greatest coach in the world for me. She makes me work.”

  Julia heaved a dramatic sigh and blew the air out between her pursed lips slowly. “Gee, Kathy, you must really want it so bad it hurts.”

  “Want what?”

  “To win. To go to the top. Otherwise you wouldn’t put up with all this garbage.”

  Kathy ripped off a new batch of seaweed. “I never thought of it that way,” she said at last. “But you’re right, you know. I do want it that bad. I want to be New England champion this year. I’d run to the North Pole barefoot if it meant I’d win. Stupid, of course, because I don’t have a hope this year. But it’s almost like a taste in my mouth. It’s like when your mouth is parched and you see a big glass of water and you can just taste it. Promise you won’t tell anyone I said that. I’d be laughed out of tennis if anyone heard me mention the New England championship.”

  Affectionately Julia placed her arm around Kathy’s shoulders. I don’t think it’s funny. I think you have a shot,” she said. “By the way, I forgot to give you this. Marty gave it to me.” Julia reached around to the back of the pointed rock and brought out a trophy labeled Ladies’ Doubles Championship—Plymouth Bath and Tennis Club. Kathy and Marty’s names were yet to be engraved on the plaque. Kathy grabbed the trophy, looked at it, and tossed it into the sea, where it banged once against a half-submerged rock and sank. Julia watched it go. “What’s the matter, kiddo? What’s wrong?” she asked softly.

  “This afternoon,” said Kathy, “I spent an hour beating the crap out of two sweet old ladies because Marty made me. It broke their hearts.”

  4

  KATHY’S MOTHER PLACED A large platter of corn fritters and sausage on the kitchen table. Over it she distributed half a tub of margarine. “Eat!” she directed, smiling. “It’s your big one, tomorrow, honey. You can win the whole shebang. I got your favorite dessert, Twinkies.”

  Kathy thought briefly about the eclairs she had eaten at Julia’s house. “The Sox are in first place,” she said, helping herself to six fritters.

  “I wish we lived in Toronto,” said Jody.

  “Toronto?” asked her father.

  “Toronto has a last place team,” said Jody. “Kathy’d never root for a last place team, and then I wouldn’t have to listen to all this baseball talk.”

  “What would you rather talk about, Jody?” Kathy asked. “Poetry?”

  “Well, it wouldn’t hurt,” said Jody.

  “How about ‘Casey at the Bat’?” joked her father, but Jody
did not laugh. When Jody appeared to be finished, her mother told her she could be excused without doing the dishes.

  “Why don’t you wait until I go to bed if you want to talk about something I shouldn’t hear?” said Jody.

  “Sometimes, Jody,” said her mother with a sigh, “you are too smart for your own good.”

  “What is this?” Kathy asked. She wished Oliver were there. Oliver’s presence usually modified things somewhat.

  Jody left for the den with Bobby and with the parting shot that it looked as if everybody was planning a bank robbery.

  “Well, you start, Frank,” said Kathy’s mother when the door to the den had slammed and the television’s noise came through to the kitchen. Kathy’s father shrugged and raised both hands in the air in response. Kathy guessed that her mother had won some argument with him but that parts of it remained unsettled. He lit a cigarette in an irritated way, shaking out the match as if it were as stubborn as an eternal flame.

  “What is this?” Kathy asked again.

  “Well,” he said, “to be blunt and simple, Kathy, your mother has pulled some strings.”

  “That’s a fine way to begin, Frank,” said Kathy’s mother.

  “Well, that’s what it is, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “You don’t have to put it that way, honest to God, Frank.”

  “Okay, okay. Honey, Mom went to see Ken Hammer the day after Mrs. Diggins came to see us about your algebra. Remember?”

  “Yes, Dad. Who’s Ken Hammer?”

  “Oh, Kathy,” her mother broke in, “Kenneth B. Hammer is the superintendent of Plymouth public schools. You’ve seen his name on a hundred forms you’ve ...

  “Okay,” her father said. “Anyway. Your Mom went to see him. He’s a real nice guy, by the way. Loves sports. Loves sports.”