CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ADELE
Adele pulled her old bike out of the garage and wiped it down, oiled the chain, and pumped up the tires. She was busier now, coaching Sadie, Marlene, Joan, Milly, and more, and she needed to be able to get to and from the club fast, sometimes stopping at home for lunch before heading back for an afternoon session. She propped her racket in the basket she’d already filled with balls and thought about the drills she’d run today for each of her ladies.
Joan and Sadie were first-timers and had never even held a tennis racket before. The others were slightly better, having played as kids or in school, but Milly was her best student by far. It wasn’t that she had some surprising skill; it was her passion and her desire to learn that was uplifting. In some ways it reminded Adele of herself as a child, desperate to prove something.
As she cruised along Balboa Avenue, up Marine, and over the bridge, she felt herself smiling as she watched the sailboats moored and bobbing on the north side of the bay, and the American flags flying proudly in the warm spring breeze. It was a strange and unfamiliar feeling she was experiencing. Contentment. She had left everything that she knew and loved behind twenty-some years ago to start a new life here on the island, and it dawned on her that this was the first timein all those years that she was doing something worthwhile, something that people appreciated and made her feel valued. It was the first time in more than two decades that she was actually living her life instead of hiding from it.
It was different, of course, to be coaching instead of playing competitively. It didn’t produce the same kind of thrill, but it gave her real satisfaction and pleasure in being able to pass on her knowledge and her experience to these women. Sure, at some point they could have started taking lessons with the male coaches, as Sylvia had tried with Robbie, if they’d wanted to learn badly enough, but men often underestimated the power that women had. Adele knew that with the right angle and timing, any one of these women could serve an ace. It was about throwing the toss high enough and coming down on it just a touch earlier than you might expect, to rip it across the court and sail it past your opponent. No one at the club was going to teach them that; they didn’t think the women had it in them. But that was a mistake. No man should underestimate the power a woman held when surrounded by other women who believe in her. And Adele did believe in these women. They were all capable of far more than they gave themselves credit for. She was excited about her rise from the shadows and she was excited to bring them with her—her own little team.
She parked her bike at the club entrance and made her way to the courts. As she passed court 3, she saw Robbie look up at her. She kept walking.
“Hey, Miss Tennis Lady,” he said, “I hear you’ve been stealing our students.”
Adele wanted to ignore him, get to her court, and set up for her first session, but that was simply untrue: Most of these women hadn’t been taking lessons with Robbie before she came along; she was the reason they’d wanted to start. She stopped and turned to him.
“I’m sorry, but you are incorrect.”
“Oh, really? Those are our students you’re taking—me and Jim and Christoph. We’ve all been here a lot longer than you.”
“First, this club opened only one year ago,” she said calmly. “And second, the ladies needed someone who respects them and actually wants to teach them how to play and how to win.”
“If they want to win, then they should be learning from me, from a man, and that’s just how it is.”
“Why don’t you let us show you how it is?” Adele said, forcing herself to disengage and turn toward her court.
“Do you even know how to play, lady?” he asked, laughing. “Yeah, I’d like to see you try to play a match and win.”
She stopped and stared. “Oh, you will,” she said. “You will.”
For the rest of the day, she was on fire: He’d ignited something in her that made her even more determined to see these women succeed. It wasn’t about her anymore, it was about passing the torch. These women were hardly training for Wimbledon, true, but if she could get them to play well enough to prove thatidiotwrong, or maybe, maybe even good enough to beat their husbands at their own game, they would be victorious.
By noon she had completed three private lessons, and she was ravenous. She was just leaving the court, feeling accomplished, and was already thinking of the sandwich she’d packed for lunch with the spring radishes that had cropped up in her vegetable garden and the homemade bread she’d baked the day before. She’d sit at one of the tables by the pool and have just enough time to eat it before her next lesson with Milly at twelve thirty. Maybe she’d also buy a packet of potato chips from the snack bar to go with it. She was getting settled, unwrapping the wax paper on the table in front of her, when she heard Sylvia’s voice.
“Here she is,” Sylvia said, walking with a smartly dressed man. “Adele, I’m so glad I caught you. There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.”
Adele looked to the man, and she hoped he wasn’t going to ask her to train him. Taking that on would certainly cause an even bigger rift between her and the other coaches.
“Adele Lambert, or should I say Adeline Léglise?”—Sylvia winked and Adele’s stomach dropped—“I’d like you to meet Mr. JonathanRutherford. He’s a reporter and he’s interested in interviewing you on television,” she said, sounding excited, as if this were some sort of joke.
Adele felt the blood drain out of her face.
“Actually, we met many years ago,” Jonathan said. “I used to be a sports reporter forThe Times.”
Adele couldn’t believe what was happening. Just moments ago she’d foolishly allowed herself to feel something that resembled happiness, and now her world was tumbling in on itself.
“I have to go,” she said, pushing the metal chair back from the little table and standing abruptly.
“Miss Léglise—I mean, Lambert, please…” the man pleaded, but she pushed past them, head down. She had to get out of there, away from them, as fast as possible. She rushed away, through the lobby of the club and out the front door. She shoved her racket into her basket, then stumbled as she tried to turn the bike around and mount it at the same time. As she peddled shakily out of the club parking lot, she saw Milly walking toward her.
“Adele,” she called out, but Adele rode straight past her. “Adele, are we still on for twelve thirty?”
