Callie's Concrete Wall

All of my writing is fiction, and the stories and characters are products of my imagination. They were created for my fun and, hopefully, your enjoyment. Some of the events in the stories are not particularly condoned nor encouraged by the author but are there to create and enhance the story of the imaginary characters and their lives. Comments are always encouraged and carefully reviewed. All characters within the story that need to be are 18 years of age or older. I hope you enjoy! And take a second to vote and comment.

Song lyrics used are from The Power of Love by Jennifer Rush.

*****

I hit the forehand, solid and down the line but could see she'd anticipated and was ready to go crosscourt to my backhand. I pushed off hard, felt my foot slip the tiniest bit, but it was enough as her shot sailed past the end of my extended racquet.

"Eight-seven, Ms. Sassi," the solemn voice from the chair intoned.

"Fucking court," I snarled, a little louder than I'd intended, as I kicked the green surface.

"Code violation, audible obscenity, point penalty, Ms. Blum. Nine-seven, Ms. Sassi."

I headed for the back screen, ready to smash it with my racquet, when I heard, "Keep fighting, Callie." My brother.

I turned and eyed the tall, lanky, but surprisingly strong blond standing at the far baseline, ready for my serve, and I was sure I could see a smirk on her face. She loved it when I beat myself. Not today, I hoped.

The return of my serve came to my forehand, not hard, just a mite wide, and I pulled my arm back, looking like I was ready to launch one of my laser beam crosscourt shots. At the last second, I slid the racquet under the ball, slicing it gently up the line, and prayed. My prayers were answered as it cleared the net by six inches and bounced weakly into the doubles alley, Ms. Sassi only taking one or two steps before she realized she'd been had.

My turn to smirk.

"Nine-eight, Ms. Sassi."

And still my serve.

At match point, I wasn't going to try anything fancy, content to hit a reasonably hard serve safely into the service court. I did, and her return was equally conservative, deep, but right to me. I hit a nice inside-out forehand, but her stupid long legs got her there in plenty of time, and her return was deep but right to me.

When the point had reached twenty volleys, with each of her returns deep and right to me, I felt my temper flare, and I hit a rocket crosscourt that I was sure caught the line.

Ms. Sassi's finger shot up in the air, she screamed "Out!," and I looked at the chair.

"Game and match, Ms. Sassi, four-six, six-four, one-zero."

"I can't believe you didn't overrule that call. The ball was clearly on the line," I fairly screamed at the Chair Umpire.

"I saw the ball out," he said very calmly. End of discussion.

I glared at him, then looked away as I shook his hand.

"Good match," Lara Sassi said, smiling down at me. When I looked straight at her, I was looking at her chest, and that's what I did as I shook her hand.

I turned and fired the racquet at my bag, and it clattered across the hard surface and thunked into the bag. Ours was the championship match, and the tournament's stupid carry-over code violations didn't apply now.

"Ms. Blum," I heard from behind me, but I ignored it. I grabbed my water bottle, ready to smash it on the court, when someone grabbed my arm.

"Cut it, Callie." It was my older brother, Deac, who was also my coach.

"Fucking court," I repeated. "I should have had that point."

"But you hit that last shot out."

"It was in," I snarled.

"It was out, and you damn well know it," he snarled right back at me.

"Maybe."

"And, if the Chair wasn't a little lenient, you could have had a couple more code violations. If that had happened, you wouldn't have had a chance to blow that last shot."

"I didn't blow it."

"Bullshit. She toyed with you until you got mad and gave her the match. She knows how to work you, and you can't seem to figure it out."

"She's a bitch, smirking at me like that. Pisses me off."

"And she knows that. She uses you."

She uses me? What the heck was that?

"Listen, Callie. I kept track. You had twenty-eight unforced errors--she had seven."

"So, I play an aggressive game, and I'm going to have errors, but I have a lot of winners too."

"Not enough to beat her. What's your record against her?"

Now Deac was beginning to piss me off too. I'd lost and I just wanted to get out of there..

"I don't keep track of that shit." I picked up the racket and banged it against the court several times.

"Maybe you should. After today, she's five and one against you."

"Yeah."

"And your win was the first time you two played. She's figured you out and plays you."

"Nobody 'plays me.' I play the way I want to play." Plays me? Nobody hits the ball harder than I do. Maybe I'm only five-foot-two, but I have muscles.

Plays me?

Bullshit.

" She's tall and lanky, and her long legs cover lots of ground. She can't outhit you, and she knows it. She has to outsmart you... and she does."

I didn't want to hear all this blabber from Deac. He was always dealing crap to me. I just wanted him to coach me, so my shots would be harder and more accurate. He wasn't a sports psychologist or anything like that. Plus, he'd never been able to get to championship matches, so what made him think he had all the answers? I jammed my racquet into the bag and stood. Nearly everyone was gone.

Everyone but Brent.

He was a wonder, sticking with me ever since that first date when he'd invited me to go with him to an ATP tournament about fifty miles away. He wasn't a tennis player nor a tennis fan, so I knew he was doing it just for me. That kind of thing didn't happen to me often, so I treasured it...and, after a few more dates, treasured him as well. Brent was a football player, or had been a football player. Not a hulking defensive tackle, but one of those sleek cornerbacks. Fast, quick, but not afraid of anything. And at six-foot-one, he was nearly a foot taller than my diminutive self.

I sighed and walked toward him, feeling a little better just seeing his face.

"Tough one," he said when I stopped and looked up at him.

"Yeah," I answered glumly.

"That code violation hurt, too."

"So, are you gonna lecture me about code violations and..." He was smiling at me.

"Naw. I expect that's what Deac was doing."

I glanced over my shoulder at my brother who was still sitting on the bench and idly bouncing a tennis ball.

"Thanks," I said as he took the bag from me.

"Where ya headed?"

"I'm going to take a shower. You can go on."

"I'll wait." He threw a strap over each shoulder, carrying the bag on his back. He followed me to the locker room door and sat down on the steps.

"Thanks," I said again, wondering why he put up with me.

I needed to hurry so Brent wouldn't have to wait too long. It was hot, and he was sitting in the sun. I was barely inside when I spotted Lara Sassi sitting on a bench pulling on her shoes. It looked like we were alone. Maybe I could hold her head in the toilet and flush her to death. But she looked up, saw me, and smiled.

"Still plenty of hot water. Towels are in the little cabinet back there," she added, gesturing.

What the hell? Just a few minutes ago, she was smirking at me, and now she's all hugs and kisses. Stupid bitch.

Lara stood, gathered her things, and smiled at me. "Enjoy your shower and the rest of your day," she said and slipped past me and out the door.

I stared at the door, shaking my head. I wanted to smack her with my racquet, and she's Ms. Sweetness and Light. I thought about what Deac had said, but I needed to take my shower and get out of there.

The hot water felt good, the towels were soft and fluffy, something I was not, and the hair dryer was broken. The mirror told me my hair was a bit of a mess, not that unusual. I was just glad to get out of the steamy locker room.

"Hey, you're quick," Brent said, tucking his phone into his pocket.

I sighed. "Thanks for hanging around, Brent." I did appreciate that, even though I didn't always act like it.

"Um, your opponent came out a while ago."

I curled my lip. "Yeah, she was just leaving when I went in."

"Yeah, she seemed nice and guessed I was with you and stopped and talked for a while."

What the hell is going on with Lara Sassi? Talking to my boyfriend? But he was waiting, letting me take the lead.

"Did she tell you how easy I was to beat?" I asked, sure there was disgust in my voice. I saw Brent take a deep breath.

"No, she said she'd learned tons from you, and she was a better player for it."

"She's full of bullshit," I growled, disgusted that she'd talk to Brent.

He shrugged, which told me he wasn't interested in arguing with me...again.

We walked the several blocks to my house together, Brent carrying my bag. At the front porch, I helped him detach it from his shoulders and rubbed his back for a minute.

"Do you think you could give a mean and vulgar girl a little kiss?"

I loved his chuckle, something that I almost never did.

"I always do," he said, wrapping his arms around me and pressing his lips against mine.

It was the one time I felt warm and satisfied, and I guess, fulfilled as well. I just knew that I wished I could feel that way more often. When we separated, I loved the way he looked at me.

"You going home to study?" Brent was working on his master's in mechanical engineering, ready to graduate and go to work. I knew he'd sacrificed study time to watch my match. I needed to get better so I could win a big match, and we could celebrate instead of me moping around like today.

"Yeah, I better. You think Deac will be waiting for you?"

Guh, he had to remind me. "Probably."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

I watched his back moving away down the sidewalk, and the self-disgust at having lost again settled on me once more.

"Bitch," I muttered as I headed inside to face my brother.

*****

"Hey, sis, I couldn't get to your match last night. How'd it go?"

"You had to ask, didn't you?"

Donna held out her arms. "Do you need a hug?" She wasn't really my sis, just my best friend, but she'd called me sis for years.

"I need a better backhand, and I get hugs from Brent, even when I'm a little bitchy."

"He's a good guy, isn't he?"

"It takes more than a good guy to put up with me. And I notice you're not disagreeing."

"Well, you're ..."

"A freaking fanatic." I hated to drop the F-bombs with Donna. She'd been my best friend since junior high, and I doubt she'd ever said that word aloud, even though I explained to her that people didn't really think about it when they said it; it was just another word. I knew she didn't buy it and would never use it, a foundation of my vocabulary when I was upset.

Donna was shaking her head. "Do you ever do anything just for fun?"

I just looked at her. "Sure I do...everyone does."

"Go on."

"Go on what?" What the heck was she after?

"Tell me about it or them."

"Donna, you have fun things you do, and so do I."

"I'm waiting."

Good lord, she could be a little annoying at times. Sometimes she seemed to enjoy riling me up. "I enjoy movies, the ones on TV."

"Ha!" she exclaimed. "You've never watched a movie from beginning to end."

"I always do." What the hell was she talking about?

"You see the beginning and the end. In between, you're on your phone checking tennis results. You're in the kitchen getting a snack, checking the calories, the carbs, the protein, and probably all the vitamins and minerals too."

"It's important that I eat right."

"But twenty or twenty-five minutes to get a snack?"

That couldn't be true, the twenty-five minutes. But I had to be sure everything was, well, right. It was important to me. "You sure?"

"Yep. Timed it a couple of times. What else do you do for fun?"

"I enjoy tennis."

"Is it fun?"

"I wouldn't do it if it wasn't fun."

"Was yesterday fun?"

"I don't enjoy losing. And I'm not sure where you're headed."

She laughed, and knowing Donna, I knew she was through with it.

"You free for a while? Let's hike over to Starbucks, my treat."

"Cool. Do they have non-fat creamers?"

Donna rolled her eyes. "And don't walk so freaking fast. You wear me out."

I did walk a little slower than usual since I was looking at my phone, checking the details about the Starbucks baked goods and pastries. Calories and protein and other stuff. And they did have zero-sugar creamers.

We stood in the short line, waiting to order.

"What are you getting?" Donna asked as she gazed at the menu boards.

"I never come here, so I don't know."

"It's all up there," she said, gesturing.

"I don't know. I just need some coffee with a little creamer to kill the bitterness--zero sugar creamer--and something to nibble on. Tell you what," I said, nudging her. You pick it, and I'll be happy."

"Callie?"

"No, go ahead." If she picked it and paid for it, I had no choice but to eat it and drink it, right? Later, I might chastise myself for doing it...but that was later. I found a table and sat down.

"Okay, I got you a lemon coconut bar and some coffee with Caramel Macchiato creamer."

The way she was looking at me, I didn't ask if it was sugar-free. She'd paid, so I'd eat and drink freely.

"This is good," I said after my first bite of the lemon thing.

"You should come here and indulge yourself more often." Donna had two of the lemon bars along with her frothy coffee.

"I'd have to hit twice as long if I did that. I'm chunky enough already without this shit."

She rolled her eyes at me.

"Sorry, and thanks. This is good." Sometimes I said things before I'd thought them through.

"You're not 'chunky,' you know. You're solid as a rock." She reached over and pinched the skin on my forearm. "See, I can't even get hold of the skin. What's your body fat ratio, about one or two percent?" She giggled when she asked.

I shrugged. "No idea, but I think one or two percent might be a little dangerous. Anyway, Brent seems to like it."

"He's a great guy, isn't he?"

I mumbled a "yeah" through my second-to-last bite of the lemon thing, then washed it down with a swallow of coffee. The coffee was still very hot, and I paid the price.

"Damnl," I grunted, slamming the paper cup down on the table. I noticed several sets of eyes look our way. Another apology was in order.

"Sorry, but it was...hot."

"If you sipped instead of gulping, it wouldn't burn you. It's like everything you do--you gulp instead of sip."

I was beginning to get a picture. Deac had started it, Brent just shrugged, but Donna put it in words. They didn't like the way I was wired. And I wasn't sure I wanted to change that wiring. It had always worked pretty well for me. Maybe someday, but not now.

"So, what are you up to besides tennis?"

"I sent out three resumes, and hope I can land one of the jobs."

"What kind of jobs? You haven't said much lately about what you're looking for."

"Um, homeless shelters. I think I'd like to do that."

"Wow, that kind of hit me out of the blue. What brought that on?"

"I don't know. I got to thinking a while ago that tennis is great, but it isn't really contributing much to, well, society, I guess. It might be fun to try to make the world a little better place for those that kind of get left behind."

"Good luck on that," Donna said with a big smile. "And that's not being sarcastic. I mean good luck."

I changed the subject and got her talking about Jordie, her boyfriend here from England who was slated to return there soon.

"When's Jordie going home?"

Donna sighed and closed her eyes. "A couple of months, when he finishes school."

"You going with him?" From the instantaneous look on her face, I knew I'd asked the wrong question.

"He hasn't asked me to."

"He will, and I'll come visit you at Wimbledon time. Maybe I'll get a wild card entry." I couldn't keep from laughing when I said that. It wasn't going to happen. But, maybe if I had that bitch, Lara Sassi's long legs, I might be able to do it.

"I don't know that much about England yet, but if you're guaranteeing that he's going to ask me to go with him, I'd better start learning." Donna laughed.

She'd handled that so much better than I would have. I'd have called him a couple of choice names, then threatened to castrate him if he didn't ask. I'd miss her like hell, but I knew that's what she wanted. And, I could visit--would visit.

"Listen, I need to get going," I said. I've got two hours of hitting ahead of me."

"Hitting the tennis ball, I hope." She loved to tease me when I talked about "hitting."

I just smiled.

"Who are you hitting with?"

"Mr. Concrete Wall. He never misses a return."

"It's supposed to be over ninety this afternoon. Be careful."

"Good. I'll work up a good sweat, not a 'glisten' like you do."

"Shut up. I sweat."

"But only in private, I bet."

"Go on and have your heat stroke. I'll visit you in the hospital."

I thanked her again for the treat and headed home to change.

*****

It was two days later, and I was hitting against the wall, as usual. It was nine in the morning but over ninety already, and I'm sure I Iooked like I'd fallen into a lake somewhere. My trusty Igloo water container that was sitting on the little bench was getting low, and I'd decided I might have to shorten the usual two hours.

I was working on my backhand--I needed to be able to hit it as hard as I did the forehand when my body was telling me I needed some water. When I turned toward the little bench, my mouth fell open.

"Hi."

I squinted. "What are you doing here?"

"Watching you try to break down that concrete wall. I don't think it can last much longer."

I snickered. What the hell was Lara Sassi doing here, watching me hit?

"I don't hit that hard," I said, although I wished I did. "What's up?"

"I was looking for you, and I ran into your brother. He told me."

"I'm here a lot." I thought for a second. "Congrats on winning the other day. I was kind of..."

"Thanks, and no problem. I did get to meet someone, though."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Guy had to be your boyfriend. No one else would sit out in the hot sun waiting like that."

"Oh yeah. Brent said he talked with you."

"And you're wondering why I'm here."

Is the Pope in Rome? Hell, yes, I was wondering. "Kind of unusual," I said.

"In two weeks, there's a doubles tournament over in Boynton."

Yeah. I knew where Boynton was.

"Would you consider being my partner?"

She might as well have smacked me with her tennis racquet. Doubles partner? Lara Sassi, the blond bitch, wanted me as a doubles partner.

"Shocked you, didn't I?" she asked with a big smile.

I needed to say something. "Um, yeah."

"We've played for the championship in six of the seven tournaments this summer. We should be unbeatable, right?"

"Seems like it," I said, still trying to decide if I was hallucinating.

"The tournament has prize money. You won't get rich, but they have one thousand dollars for first place. Five hundred each," she added. "And, lots of college players from all over the state. Won't be easy."

"I hardly ever play doubles."

"You played in college, didn't you?"

I snickered again. "Only when they were desperate. I sucked."

"We've got two weeks, and I can line up some matches at The Club. Probably guys."

The Club. I'd played at The Club once. I wasn't a "club" person. Club meant pros and lessons. I didn't take well to being told what to do. I'd rather figure it out myself. Deac was bad enough, although I did listen to him when he seemed to make sense...which wasn't that often.

"You're serious, aren't you."

Her smile disappeared. "I didn't track you down just to play games, Callie."