This story was created as part of a chain story writing challenge. The goal was to write a story with the title "The Set" using the following ten words: Charity, Harmony, Lavender, Painting, Remote, Ribbon, Skulk, Sky, Solace, Transform.
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You know, if I wasn't a former tennis player, I might be distracted when anyone mentioned "the set" around an attractive woman. On the other hand when the word lavender is mentioned my thoughts drift immediately to those lace lavender panties the women used to wear under their tennis dresses. Of course I guess both statements date me.
I never had a tennis romance, all those years I played I watched mixed doubles partners walk hand in hand off the court after a match, while I would shake hands with my mixed doubles partner and then head off in a different direction. There was a little solace in the fact we typically crushed the love birds on the court. Oddly, regardless of what the score was, the losing couple simply seemed to float in a mindless harmony that confused me.
It's not that I didn't want to hook up with my mixed doubles partner, but it seemed whenever I thought I had a chance I'd find my girlfriend skulking around ready to screw up any plans I might have had towards my partner. Yeah, funny thing, I transformed this uncomfortable situation into a permanent one when I married my girlfriend.
Well, call it charity, call it what you want but when I decided to try to take up some tennis after thirty five years my wife recommended I get set up with a pro at the local tennis club. Of course my wife pictured the well known forty-something male head pro working with me, but instead I got stuck with his assistant, a twenty-something just out of college. I'm sure you'll understand there wasn't even a remote chance I was going to tell my wife of the developments at the tennis club.
Now, in a way, tennis is a lot like riding a bicycle, of course in a lot of ways it's not. So while I still had some of the same basic swings down and my form was acceptable, the fact I was carrying more than a hundred extra pounds this time around did limit my abilities. Seeing my form, Carrie, the assistant pro, realized I had played when I was younger, so she simply helped me work on my timing while I learned to handle the extra bulk I was carrying.
Over the summer Carrie and I had made some progress, as I slowly got into a little better shape and she helped me sharpen up my game. I knew I had done well, but when she asked me to be her mixed doubles partner in the upcoming club tournament I was flattered. Quickly agreeing to play together, the two of us doubled up our workout schedule, concentrating on our doubles play.
By the time the tournament came around we were very competitive and while we weren't expected to do well at all, we ended up in the semifinals giving the head pro and his young partner a tough match before losing 6-4, 3-6, 7-5. We did win the consolation match so we had the distinct honor of receiving a third place ribbon after watching the trophies go to two other teams. I thought it was nice to get the ribbon, but Carrie was ecstatic.
It wasn't until a couple of weeks later, when the sky clouded over and it had started raining just before one of our sessions, that she showed me just how ecstatic she was. I peeked into her office at the back of the pro shop, "Hey, Carrie, looks like we'll need to reschedule."
"No, no, I've got a workout just for you." She grabbed a key off her desk and said, "Follow me."
