When No One Was Looking

by Rosemary Wells

  “Yes?” said Kathy uneasily.

  “Well, Mr. Hammer is running for local office this November.”

  “Frank, you are putting the complete wrong slant on it. Why begin that way?”

  “Well, he wants the Plymouth schools to have a big new sports complex. Tennis courts, everything. He has to raise a bond for it, of course.”

  “Mom,” Kathy implored, “what does this have to do with me? I use the public courts at night, and we have courts at school.”

  “Honey,” said her mother, “you’ve got to do well in the Newton tournament. Really well. If you can get through the finals, you’ll make it into the top five. If Alicia deLong plays badly enough, you just might get invited to the National girls’ fourteen and under. It’s not likely, but you might. Mr. Hammer said it would be a great honor for the town, you know?”

  “Yes?” said Kathy.

  “Well, he was thrilled with the idea, as a matter of fact.”

  “But I was going to try and do that anyway,” Kathy said.

  “Of course, but while I was talking to Mr. Hammer I just mentioned in passing that you have, you know, a lot of pressure on you and all with your schoolwork, especially math.”

  “Yes?”

  “He said there shouldn’t be too much of a problem. He was so understanding. You know? He laughed. He had Mrs. Diggins when he was in high school. Can you imagine? Anyway, he said just to keep up the good work this summer with her. By the way, Mrs. Diggins will be going to a teachers’ conference just before school starts. When you have to take the algebra final again? Anyway, he said you could take the final in the principal’s office with him as proctor. Isn’t that an honor? Superintendent of public schools! Anyway, he’s going to set up a special program for talented and gifted students next year. Kids like yourself. You’ll have a special course worked out and tailored to your special talents! His exact words. Isn’t that nice?”

  “I don’t understand, Mom. What does this have to do with sports complexes and elections?”

  “Nothing, nothing. Go get me the latest Tennis Magazine on the porch. I’ll explain.”

  As Kathy got up and left the table she looked at her father, who had been so silent. He was cutting his sausage in smaller than usual pieces, using table manners he normally reserved for company, as if a stranger were present. When she brought back the magazine, her mother flipped through it anxiously and, finding an article on Tracy Austin, “Baby Tiger,” read out a description of the courses that her California high school required: “English, Western Civ., whatever that is,” read her mother, “Typing, Public Speaking, and Office Assistant. Office Assistant,” her mother repeated for emphasis. “Can you just see it?” Kathy listened raptly. Her mother went on. “Anyway, you can’t take stuff like that at Plymouth without being in the nonacademic course. You know, the General Course for the dummies? That wouldn’t do you too much good college-wise, so you’ll have to take regular classes next year, but Ken Hammer said he was going to ... Here her mother paused for the right words. “Well, you’ll be in a brand-new program. Same courses but not the same work load, so you can practice and all.”

  “Mom, what does this have to do with Mr. Hammer’s election?” Kathy asked.

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with that. Nothing!” said her mother. “That doesn’t have a thing to do with you.”

  “Then how come you were talking about it, Dad?”

  Her mother answered this. “Kathy, Mr. Hammer is also going to have some work done in Daddy’s lab, that’s all. That’s Daddy’s business, and that’s why he was talking about it. Daddy’s doing Mr. Hammer’s campaign photography and printing up his literature at the shop. It’s a nice job for Daddy. It doesn’t have anything to do with this. Won’t it be nice if he gets elected and the school gets six new courts, though?”

  “I don’t need them,” Kathy said. “I play in Swampscott anyway because Marty’s there. How come ...

  “By the way,” her mother interrupted, “I spoke about this to Marty, and she thinks it’s a terrific idea. Fabulous. It’s what you deserve, honey. You’re never going to have to kill yourself over the books again. Isn’t that great?”

  “I guess so,” Kathy agreed. She watched as her father left off eating rather quickly, put his plate in the sink, and disappeared into the living room. She tried to make sense of the many threads of things she’d heard. Finally she said, “A special program for talented and gifted kids like myself.”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Well, there’s Jimmy Morrow, who’s a junior and all-state basketball, but there aren’t any kids like myself, Mom.” Kathy looked behind her chair to where her mother stood at the sink, her arms elbow deep in suds.

  “You bet, there’s no one like you,” her mother agreed.

  “But I didn’t mean it like that, Mom,” Kathy began.

  “Kathy, you know what?”

  Kathy expected an off-putting remark about being too young to grasp certain things. “What?” she asked cautiously.

  “You’re going to be New England champion this year, honey,” said her mother without turning around.

  Later on in the evening, after Kathy had settled herself in front of the television, Jody mentioned Mr. Hammer’s visit that afternoon. “Mom and Dad aren’t charging him for the campaign photographs and printing, you know,” she said.

  Seated on the bench for what Kathy knew would be her last game of the afternoon, she relaxed, and she smiled for the first time that day. She smiled because she had won her first round easily and was beating Betty Schultz in the second round by a score of six-one, five-love. She smiled because Ruth Gumm had been placed way down the draw from her with a first-round match against the number one player, Jennifer Robbins the great. Kathy smiled at the sixteen beautifully swept red-clay courts, pride of the Newton Country Club, difficult for some of the girls, easy for Kathy’s game, and she smiled because Oliver was watching from somewhere, not wanting to show himself because of Marty. Marty was also watching from somewhere. She had come to Newton on official club business, but she stood under the grandstand at times and behind a speaker’s platform at other times, keeping track of Kathy’s games. Had Oliver sat up front and had Kathy done badly, Marty would have forbade his presence forevermore.

  Betty Schultz gasped for breath on the other side of the net. Her game had gone completely sour. Not wanting to look arrogant, Kathy hid her smile from Betty, but Betty didn’t notice anyway. Later in the locker room she would fold up and cry. Half the girls did that, some in privacy, some in front of everyone. Betty had called three or four of Kathy’s serves long when they’d been right on the line. Kathy had seen where the tape had puckered, but she didn’t care. She drank a sip of water. Betty had lost the last fifteen points. Kathy stood and walked out to the base line, ready to receive Betty’s newly cautious serve. Double fault.

  Poor Oliver. Between points Kathy tried to locate him in the stands. A few nights before, when they were sitting in the house babysitting for Bobby, Oliver had admitted that it made his skin crawl to lose to Kathy, a girl, and three years younger than he. He didn’t want to sound like a male chauvinist pig, no. He only wanted to get his feelings out, for feelings, after all were very important, and people had to get them out or they became raving neurotics. Then he had done all her algebra homework for her because she’d been lazy. When Kathy had wished aloud for some ice cream, Oliver had driven down to the corner and had come back with three double-decker cones. The third he finished himself since Bobby fell asleep in his lap after two bites. Half of Kathy’s attention had been drawn to the Red Sox game on the television. The other half was on Oliver, who had sunk far back into the Black Watch tartan Naugahyde sofa, Bobby snoring adenoidally into his pants legs. “I want you to marry me, Kathy,” he had said at that moment.

  Betty Schultz hit a weak second serve at Kathy. Kathy belted it down the line. The shot fell in by an inch. The match was over, and the two girls shook hands solemnly at the net
. Oliver was first on the scene. “Congratulations!” he said with brightness in his voice. Kathy thanked him and plunged her face into two icy handfuls of water.

  “You should see yourself!” Oliver laughed.

  A small mirror hung from the umpire’s chair. He turned it so that Kathy could see her face, which was streaked like a clown’s with red clay. He laughed again and said, “Don’t wash it off. I like your face all dirty!”

  “Oh, Oliver, don’t be silly,” said Kathy, and she removed every speck of clay with a towel.

  “You do think I’m silly, don’t you?” Oliver said. “Did you think I was awfully silly Tuesday night?”

  “Oliver,” Kathy answered, “I am fourteen years old. I can’t think about marrying anybody. I’m not even allowed to date!”

  “Did you know,” Oliver asked wistfully, “that in the fourth century the Empress Tsu Chu was married when she was five?”

  “Hello, Marty,” said Kathy. “Hi, Mom.”

  Kathy’s mother was full of congratulations and enthusiasm for Kathy’s easy win. Marty waited for Mrs. Bardy to finish and then she said, “Betty Schultz is small potatoes and Kathy knows it. Tomorrow you’ll have to play Alicia deLong in your third round and then probably Susie Chan. She’s a lefty, remember that.”

  Kathy answered in a singsong, “I know, Marty.”

  “If Susie Chan has a good day, she can beat anybody,” Marty warned.

  “She usually doesn’t have good days,” said Kathy.

  Marty toyed with the blue and yellow piping on her immaculate white jacket. “She had a good day today. She beat Daisy Wall this afternoon very solidly, and that was with a nasty case of poison ivy,” said Marty.

  “Okay, Marty, I can handle Susie Chan,” Kathy answered. Her mother was fidgeting, wanting to get on with something, Kathy could see.

  “Just don’t get too confident is what Marty’s saying,” her mother added. “Now listen. Bobby is sick again. Jody’s with him in the car. We’ve got to get out of here. Just put your sweater on and hurry with your shower. Marty, can we give you a lift home?”

  “Oh, no thank you,” Marty answered and wandered off to what mysterious business she had at the Newton Country Club.

  “Oliver,” Kathy heard her mother ask as the two of them left, “would you mind driving the car around to the front gate while I get Kathy a milkshake? It’ll save time.”

  “Done,” said Oliver. He took the keys.

  “Oliver, you’ve been worth your weight in gold to us this summer,” her mother went on. “Especially when Frank’s not here. I’m thinking of adopting you.”

  “Oh, no!” Oliver answered completely without shame. “Don’t do that. Then I can’t marry Kathy!” She watched both her mother and Oliver explode in laughter at this remark. She shook her head and found herself wondering where it was that Marty went after a tournament, after the club was closed. Did she have anybody in her life? Did she own any clothes that were not white?

  Kathy stepped into a shower stall. She forgot to excuse herself when she found it occupied. She was only able to cry out, “My God! Susie, look at you!”

  “Get away!” said Susie Chan, laughing. “It’s boiling hot. It’s supposed to help.” Great clouds of steam and splashing water poured over Susie’s arms, which, Kathy could see well enough, were a mass of tiny yellow blisters. Hundreds of them covered her forearms and wrists and had made their way over the backs of her hands to the knuckles. “Do me a favor, Kathy?”

  “Sure, anything.”

  “Get that bottle of brown gunk out of my locker. It’s one forty-eight. Just pour it all over when I take my arms out of the water.”

  Susie did not flinch when Kathy, spilling most of the contents of the bottle on the floor, quickly poured the medicine all over her ghastly-looking arms. “I’m still going to beat you tomorrow,” Susie said between clenched teeth. “If you beat Alicia. Alicia’s not playing well these days. Pam Carly says she’s in love and it’s ruined her backhand.”

  Kathy laughed. “Who’s your morning round?” she asked.

  “Don’t know. Haven’t seen any results. It’s early, but I’ll be up for you at two o’clock. I’m getting a cortisone shot tonight.”

  Kathy wrapped both of Susie’s arms in towels according to the instructions on the bottle. The towels turned tea colored immediately. “This is terrible,” she said. “I’d be the world’s worst doctor. I’m feeling faint”

  “Don’t faint. It’s not fatal.”

  “It looks fatal,” said Kathy. She got into the next shower and took three deep breaths, as she could not look at people who were ill or hurt. She thought briefly of Jody, who thrived on cuts, splinters, and burns. Jody loved anything that required soaking, Merthiolate, particularly intricate bandaging, or the sterilization of sewing needles.

  “Short of throwing a match,” said Susie, “let me know if I can ever help you out.”

  “You can,” said Kathy, her eyes closed against the dreadful towels and the smell of whatever was in the bottle. “You can give me a ride tomorrow. My little brother’s sick, and I know my mom would like to keep him home if she can.” Kathy pictured Susie’s face behind her closed eyelids. It put her suddenly in mind of the Empress Tsu Chu, married at the age of five. “Susie,” she asked, “how early do Chinese people get married?”

  Kathy’s mother allowed Oliver one glass of beer during dinner. He raised it and drank a toast to Kathy’s success. This did not fool Jody, who observed that love and jealousy went hand in hand, and jealousy always won out. In his heart of hearts, Jody went on, Oliver did not want Kathy to win because he was a male and males could not stand females who did better than they, especially in sports. Oliver was not outwardly disturbed by this. He cut off Kathy’s rejoinder. “Okay, Jody,” Oliver asked, “you are Kathy’s own sister. Are you hoping she beats Alicia and Susie tomorrow? Are you hoping she’ll win the whole thing, because she can, you know. By next Thursday Kathy can be the hottest thing in New England tennis.”

  “She already is,” said Jody over a piece of corn.

  “Answer the question, Jody,” said Kathy.

  Kathy’s mother broke in, saying it was a night to celebrate and not to fight.

  “I’ll answer it,” said Jody.

  “Eat your corn,” directed her father.

  “You can say something if it’s nice,” said her mother.

  Kathy watched her sister carefully. There had been a time when Jody had copied everything Kathy had done. She had slept in Kathy’s bed when she’d been frightened by thunder and lightning. They had wandered together on long summer days, had poked at snakes hidden in streams, knife grass against their bare legs. They had collected turtles, moths, and pieces of mica. Together Kathy and Jody had rescued baby birds and watched them die, had protested bedtimes, and had been taught not to swear, but it seemed to Kathy at this moment that it was her sister, not she, who had grown knowledgeable and adult, quite suddenly, like the mushrooms that materialized on the lawn when no one was looking. “Out with it, Jody,” said Kathy.

  “If you don’t win,” said Jody thoughtfully, “you’ll go to pieces.”

  “I will not.”

  “I think you will. I think you’d better win, Kathy, because if you lose, you won’t ever have the heart to go after something like this again. I hope you get to Wimbledon someday.” Here Jody stopped.

  “Because you don’t think I’ll be good at anything else?”

  “I don’t think you care about anything else. There’s a difference.” Jody seemed puzzled by her own thoughts. “The answer to your question is yes. More than anything I can think of, I want you to win, Kathy, but not for the reason you want me to.”

  “Oh, Jody,” said Kathy with a sigh, “I just wish you’d plain out and out root for me for a nice simple reason for a change.”

  “God preserve us from your Doctor Freud, Jody,” added Kathy’s mother. “There’s the phone. Everybody be quiet. It’s the doctor calling back. He thinks he’
s located a brand-new antibiotic for Bobby’s ear. I have to go to Norwood or someplace to pick it up, but at least the poor kid won’t have to swallow that gunky pink penicillin three times a day.”

  It was not the doctor. “That was Mrs. Chan,” said Kathy’s mother when she returned to the table. “Susie’s got blisters the size of eggs between her fingers. She can’t play tomorrow, but Mrs. Chan’s going to give you a ride anyway. Susie sends her best and wishes you well with Alicia.”

  “I guess I don’t play her then. I wonder who I will play. Who was Susie’s morning match, her third round, supposed to be?”

  “Robbins,” said her mother, “unless Jennifer lost to Jackson, Karen Jackson, which isn’t likely.”

  “Jennifer Robbins is out of the tournament,” said Jody, “and Karen Jackson played horribly today. She lost her second round match.”

  “How do you know? You never pay any attention,” Kathy interrupted.

  “While I was waiting in the car with Bobby, Peachy Malone came by. She brought me a Popsicle and she told me.”

  “Well, I wonder who I play then.”

  “Ruth Gumm,” said Jody casually.

  “What? That’s impossible,” said Kathy. “You must be wrong. She couldn’t beat Jennifer Robbins. No one can beat Jennifer Robbins.”

  “She didn’t,” said Jody patiently. “You weren’t listening. She was lucky. Jennifer had to leave the tournament this morning to fly to New York for a funeral or something. In Ruth’s second round she beat Karen Jackson. Karen just had a bad day. She hurt her thumb on a Coke can pull, and her game went out to lunch. Ruth squeaked by in a third set tie-breaker. So, since Susie Chan’s defaulting her morning match, if you beat Alicia in yours, you’ll have to play Ruth in the fourth round tomorrow afternoon. Look at the draw if you don’t believe me.” Jody twirled her fifth ear of corn onto a corn holder. “Holy cow, Kathy, you look as if you had a tarantula on your plate!”

  “Kathy, eat,” said her mother. “So what? You won’t have any trouble with Ruth Gumm. You told me Marty made you hit with her for more than a week every day and that you won every single game. You’ve got her in your back pocket.”