Match Point Page 11

  “Yeah well, I wish Jase were here. No offense, but you don’t exactly have the qualifications for this.” Jodi pulled off her cap and sent it flying across the room in frustration.

  Miranda’s jaw was tight. She fought the anger rising inside her. Jodi was right, she was unqualified for this, totally out of her depth in fact, but that didn’t mean she had to take any crap. She knew how important this was—hell, if her own tennis career hadn’t been cut off at the knees she might have known firsthand just how important this was—and she didn’t need Jodi ranting at her to make her realize it.

  She let out a sigh, not sure what to do next. She picked up a magazine and rolled it in her hands. Jodi’s words stung but she couldn’t let her emotions get the better of her.

  “You’re right,” Miranda said eventually as Jodi stared, stony-faced, at the bedspread. “I don’t have the qualifications or the experience at the pro level, but Jase trusts me and I’m doing exactly what he’s asked me to do. I’ve been speaking with him three times a day, taking instruction from him and following protocol exactly.” She slipped down from the desk, feeling frustrated and sad. “I wish Jase were here too, Jodi, but he’s not, and I’m doing the best I can to support you. I’m sorry if you feel it’s not enough.” She leaned against the desk, hoping Jodi would look up. She knew they could get past this if they could just connect, but Jodi steadfastly refused to look up.

  Wishing she could walk out of the room, Miranda casually flicked through the magazine in her hands, her eyes skimming over glossy tennis shots and shoe advertisements. While she waited for Jodi to say something, Miranda suddenly realized that she was looking at photos of Jodi: Jodi playing tennis, Jodi in the locker room, Jodi at their training courts, Jodi attending some kind of party, her arm linked through Lisa’s. The photos were accompanied by an article and interview, the headline crowning her Sacramento’s “Comeback Queen.”

  “When did you…?” Miranda looked up at Jodi, who finally caught her eye, surprised by Miranda’s change in tone. “I thought you didn’t like people knowing your business,” Miranda said, staring back at the full-page spread. She felt confused.

  Recognizing the magazine Miranda held up, Jodi flushed red and hugged the pillow close to her, picking at a loose thread on the bedspread.

  “I don’t know what I like right now, Miranda,” Jodi eventually blurted out. “Everyone’s telling me to do this and do that, telling me it will be good for me, good for my image, good for my profile. I’m just trying to stand up long enough on the court to win my matches and not make a total fool of myself, which, might I add, didn’t happen today.” Jodi’s voice raised a notch as she went on, “So I can’t really tell you what I like right now, but I can tell you I don’t like it when people like you judge me.”

  “Oh yes? And what does that mean exactly, people like me?”

  “Perfect people,” Jodi retorted. “You perfect people who are always so perfect at everything. Well, maybe you’re not so perfect after all, are you, Miranda? It might be best if you just go now,” Jodi said flatly. She looked away and fell silent, her words echoing between them like a painful slap.

  Miranda carefully closed the magazine and put it back on the desk. Feeling stiff with shock, she walked to the door and put her hand on the doorknob. “I’m sorry I made you feel bad, Jodi. That really wasn’t my intention. I wasn’t judging you. I was just trying to understand you.” She paused, wanting to say more, wishing she could say something to fix this. Her anger was gone, having dissipated as quickly as it had risen. “I’ll go back to my room now,” she said as a deep weariness settled over her. “Please call me if you want or need anything.” Miranda let herself out of the room, wondering if she was closing the door on her short stint as assistant coach.

  Jodi stared stonily at the hotel bedspread as the door closed behind Miranda. She felt shut down, her body tense with frustration. Conflicting thoughts and accusations pulled at her. Agitated, she pushed her hands through her hair, unsure what to do with herself.

  “I can’t think,” she muttered.

  The floral pattern of the bedspread suddenly seemed obscene. She hated this cramped hotel room with its old carpet, shabby curtains and stained light fixtures. She jumped off the bed and pulled the offensive bedspread angrily to the floor, dragging it off into the corner. Beneath the bedspread was a bright yellow synthetic blanket, complete with cigarette burn holes. Jodi felt dirty and alone.

  She picked up the telephone and called room service.

  A male voice answered. “Your room please?”

  “419,” Jodi answered.

  “What is your order?”

  “Can you bring me a bottle of scotch and a container of ice?”

  “Uh,” the man paused, “excuse me, miss, but did you say a bottle of scotch?”

  “Yes. Can you do that?”

  “Well, I guess we can. I’ll just have to check with my supervisor on the price.”

  “That’s fine. I don’t care what it costs. Just bring it up and leave it outside my door.”

  As Jodi wrapped herself in a towel she heard a small thud outside her hotel door. She threw on a clean tracksuit and retrieved her order. Drowning her sorrows was not one of Jodi’s usual habits, but tonight, in this horrid little room she couldn’t face being alone with her mess of thoughts and frustration. She felt like it was just the time for a drink. Bottoms up, Jodi, she told herself as she tipped a slug of the amber liquid into her glass and threw it down her throat. She winced at the burning sensation. I’m sorry Nan. I messed up. She knew her grandmother would have been disappointed in her. She wouldn’t have said much, but she would have given her ‘the look’: eyes pained, mouth slightly pinched. Nan hadn’t needed words to keep them in line when they were younger. She and Ally rarely fought, but if they did, Nan made them feel so bad with her sorrowful look that they made up pretty quickly. Jodi poured another shot and raised the tumbler to herself in the mirror. To being a sore loser. She sipped. There’s one title I’ve earned this tournament.

  * * *

  Jodi awoke the next morning to the silent flicker of the television in the darkened room and a pasty taste in her mouth. Her head clanged with pain as she shifted on the pillow and reached for her water bottle, greedily sucking down the water as her temples pounded in protest.

  “Oh God,” she croaked, looking at the half-empty whiskey bottle on the bedside table. She had really done a number on herself.

  She switched off the television with the remote and sat up slowly, waiting for the room to stop spinning before she inched open the curtains. As daylight streamed in, she winced and quickly shut them again. Jodi lay back down in the semi-darkness, her body stiff and her head sore, grateful for the black-out drapes. She rolled over and closed her eyes. She needed more sleep.

  Some hours later, she awoke feeling marginally better and hungry. She ordered up a plate of toast and coffee, pleased with herself for keeping it down when it arrived.

  As Jodi nursed her second cup of coffee and looked out the window at the rooftops of the surrounding high-rise buildings, she allowed herself to revisit the memories of yesterday. Shame flooded her as she recalled what she had said to Miranda. She had felt out of control. Unable to stop herself, the words seemed to run sharply and coldly from her tongue of their own accord. For some reason she had wanted to hurt Miranda, to cut through her perfect, unruffled exterior, and to hurt her like she herself was hurting. I was a horrible bitch, she thought. It wasn’t her fault I lost. It was all my own. I should never have blamed her.

  She wondered if Miranda would quit now. Jodi tried to put herself in Miranda’s shoes, imagining how it would have felt to be bawled out like that and wishing that she had done things differently. I’d probably leave if that happened to me, Jodi admitted. If someone treated me the way I treated Miranda yesterday, I’d tell them to go to hell.

  Jodi knew Miranda had tried to be diplomatic, taking it on the chin in her role as coach, but Jodi also knew that if it ha
d been Jason in that room with her she wouldn’t have gotten away with that kind of behavior. Jase wouldn’t stand for that kind of crap, she thought, as a cocktail of pain and regret mixed inside her. She had taken advantage of Miranda’s good nature and inexperience to vent some misplaced anger and she felt horribly ashamed.

  She reached for the phone. I need to call her, Jodi decided. Wait, what am I going to say? She replaced the receiver, resting her hand on it as she stared into space and wondered how to phrase her apology. Jodi remembered the look on Miranda’s face as she had ranted, and it cut her to the quick. I put that look on her face, she thought sadly.

  She needed some air to clear her head before she spoke to Miranda, so that she could say the right things. Jodi decided to take a walk and call her afterward. She’d suggest coffee. Miranda loved her coffee and she could take her out to a café and apologize to her properly.

  On her way out of the hotel, Jodi stopped at the hotel desk to check for messages. When the clerk handed her a folded note, she instantly recognized Miranda’s handwriting. As she opened the note, she felt her heart in her throat. Was it a note to say she had already left? Had she gone back to California?

  As Jodi scanned the note, relief flooded her; Miranda was at the tennis center and Jodi should call if she needed anything. She tucked the note in her pocket and walked slowly down the stairs, her eyes sensitive in the bright sunshine. From her note, it didn’t sound like Miranda was planning to leave in a huff, for which Jodi felt very grateful. It was better that she had more time, Jodi decided. She would find Miranda when she got back from the tennis center and hopefully by then she would have it all figured out. She would buy her a coffee, explain her behavior and apologize. Triple decker sundae with a cherry on top, she thought, smiling ruefully.

  Chapter Ten

  Miranda sat alone at the back of the bleachers, watching the women’s finals. Jennifer Laurent was playing effortlessly, winning almost every point as she sealed her dominance of the tournament. Her opponent looked like she was ready to cry as she hung on for dear life to her place in the finals. Miranda’s gaze wandered once more around the bleachers, halfheartedly scanning for Jodi among the large crowd of supporters. She didn’t really expect to see her. This morning Jodi’s phone had been switched off and the Do Not Disturb tab had been hung on the door outside her room. She had felt bad leaving without seeing her, but she didn’t really expect Jodi would be calling her any time soon.

  Miranda felt a twinge of anxiety as she watched the match, barely registering the play. Would they fire her now? She had let the whole team down. The first tournament she had been responsible for as a coach and not only had her player lost, but now Jodi was holed up in her room refusing to come out or speak to anyone. A complete and utter screwup, Miranda to chastised herself. Drawing a blank, she considered her next move. Should she call Jase now or wait until she got home? She didn’t want to worry him when he already had so much on his plate. She knew he’d be feeling much more relieved now that Sal had been allowed to go home from the hospital but she still didn’t want to bother him. It was troubling that they didn’t seem to know why Sal had so much pain. Miranda had texted him late last night to let him know the match result and his reply had been short and to the point: bad luck :-(.

  Luck. Was it luck? Was all this hard work sunk and swum on luck alone? She wasn’t too sure. She did know that headspace had a lot to do with it though, and Jodi was definitely struggling to keep her mind calm during the game. Perhaps when we get back we can do some work on that with Jase, she thought. If she was still on the team. Jodi had been harsh. Miranda was still smarting from their exchange, but she guessed Jodi had been more angry with herself than with her. Still, her heart felt heavy-laden and anxiety nibbled away at her. Would she have to look for another job? Miranda wondered if Jase would let her go back to the Juniors.

  Sighing as Laurent elegantly aced her gasping opponent to win the match, Miranda pulled her cap low over her eyes and slunk out of the bleachers. Laurent was obviously going to be a player to keep an eye on. Miranda wondered why she hadn’t seen her at the last couple of tournaments. She’d looked up Laurent’s ranking on the Internet and found that although she was currently ranked lower than Jodi, she was rising through the ranks quickly. Clearly she was a talented player and would be a challenging match for Jodi. But Jodi could do it. Miranda was confident of that. She just needs to believe in herself and she can wipe the court three times over with Laurent. Despite her technical savvy, Laurent appeared to lack Jodi’s fire and pizzazz. Miranda wished she could have gotten that across to Jodi. She thought about calling her again but decided against it. She didn’t want to seem too pushy, and anyway, if Jodi was going to fire her, she wouldn’t mind putting off that moment for as long as possible.

  Being unfamiliar with the town, Miranda wasn’t too sure what to do with the rest of her afternoon. In fact, it was her first visit to Texas. With limited finances, her family hadn’t traveled much. Her parents had never complained or seemed to worry about money, choosing campout vacations by the beach (which they had all loved and looked forward to every summer) over expensive plane rides and hotel stays. When she had gotten sick and her medical bills skyrocketed, she guessed much later that it must have placed a huge financial strain on her family, although her parents had never shared that anxiety with her. Miranda had made it a point since then to help out in little ways. When she had begun to earn her own wage, she bought things for the house that she knew they needed. Once, when she found a great last-minute deal online, she sent her parents on a weekend away. She was grateful for the sacrifices they had made to prioritize her health.

  Now, scrolling through a webpage entitled “25 things to do in Austin, Texas,” Miranda rejected indoor sky diving and other such adventurous tourist attractions, settling on a stroll around the trails of Lady Bird Lake. Some fresh air and clear skies would do her good, she decided, setting out on foot for the short walk to the lake. The late afternoon cobalt sky and shady green paths did little to ease her mounting anxiety, though, and she found herself returning again and again to the situation with Jodi. Frustration and shame coursed through her alternately, as she rehashed their conversation from the night before. She wanted to shake Jodi to her senses—losing one tournament wasn’t the end of the world, it wasn’t even the end of her career or her goal to win the wild card. It was a surmountable hiccup, a challenge to be met, and an obstacle to circumvent. Surely she was made of stronger stuff? But I did let her down, Miranda thought, watching some ducks skid across the big lake. I let everything escalate into a fight—I should have known how to handle it better.

  Miranda sat down under a tree, glad to be out of the sun for a moment. She pressed her water bottle to her forehead, grateful for the feel of the cool water against her skin. I let her down and now I just want to go home. Her cat would be missing her—the house with its hard-to-see view of the lake would be strangely quiet without her. She knew her neighbor would feed Eddie religiously, but would he give him the required cuddles and belly scratches? Eddie wasn’t used to her being away and she hoped he wouldn’t be lonely. He loved to curl up against her shoulder on the bed, purring loudly into her ear at night. Sometimes she would wake in the night to find him standing over her, batting her nose playfully with his paw.

  “No, Eddie,” she would mumble, pushing him away gently, inevitably laughing when he would pounce on her feet.

  Yes, I want to go home now, she thought forlornly. Heavy tears threatened to spill over, making the lake seem wobbly and blurry.

  A little dog trotted down the path toward her, stopping at the chair to sniff her feet. Miranda looked around for its owner, wondering if she could pet it.

  “Hi there,” she said quietly, reaching down to give the dog her hand to sniff. The dog nosed her warily before giving her a little lick of approval.

  “Oh, so you’d like to be friends, hey?” Miranda moved off the bench, squatting down next to the dog. She managed a smile as h
e rolled onto his back and exposed his belly to her for a rub.

  “Rub your belly, huh? Well, we’ve only just met, but okay.”

  The feel of his soft, warm hair reminded her anew of Eddie and the tears welled again.

  “You’re a nice boy, aren’t you,” she told him, tickling him under his chin.

  The sound of footsteps on the gravel made her look up. “I see you’ve met Jackson,” a man with a friendly voice said.

  Miranda gave the dog a final rub on his belly and stood up, smiling at the man in front of her.

  “I told him it might be a bit too early in our relationship for a belly rub,” she joked, “but he insisted. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, not at all,” the man replied, grinning at her. “He’s terribly easy. I’m constantly finding him on the ground with his legs in the air. My partner Ben and I try to tell him he shouldn’t just give it away so easily to strangers but he won’t listen to us.”

  Miranda laughed and choked back a tiny sob.

  “Hey, are you okay?” the man looked into her face with concern.

  “Sorry, yes.” Miranda shook her head, wiping away disobedient tears. “God, how embarrassing! I’m sorry, I’m fine. I’m just having a rough day.” She took a deep, shaky breath and attempted a reassuring smile. “Your little Jackson was reminding me of my cat and I miss him, that’s all.”

  “Oh, I’m not sure we should let Jackson hear you comparing him to a cat,” he said. “Have you been away long?”

  “No, not really, I’m just having a crappy week.” She gave another weak smile.

  “Well now! We can’t have that. I’m Chris, and you’ve met Jackson. Would you like to walk with us a little bit until you feel better? Jackson has a lot more peeing to do on particular trees, so if you don’t mind stopping every five feet to take note of some kind of excellent smell, we will eventually make it around the lake.”