The Prodigal
Twenty-three
THE CLICHÉD DESERT ISLAND was a mere suggestion of yellow sand and green leaves where two lovers came together. In the background, the world imploded, sucking the stars of space into its wake. My emotion laid bare on the canvas.
Sunday night, I’d slipped out of bed after midnight, leaving my four queens. I’d gone to the studio in a fog—a dream that wouldn’t let me wake up. In three hours, I had used more paint than on any other canvas before. I was not just painting; I was sculpting with oils. The result was Desperate Love.
I suspended it in a new crate by simple expedient of nailing the frame to the crate and allowing a space between the wet paint and the top of the crate. I set it in the corner of the studio with the address of the vault stenciled on it.
Racquetball season was in full swing. Everything would heat up in March with racquetball every weekend. We decided to pass on the National Doubles Tournament in Tempe because of budget. We had an invitational at University of Oregon the twenty-third of February with competitors from Oregon State and Brigham Young for the Saturday/Sunday tournament. I was just getting back on top of my game after the break since Opens when I’d hardly practiced. I squeaked out a victory, but it was obvious to me that I was going to have to get serious if I hoped to repeat my Intercollegiate National Championship. Racquetball was competing for my time with painting and family and school.
Every time I turned around, Lissa was yelling for me to focus, but it seemed so far away I couldn’t capture it.
With finals at SCU scheduled for the same week as Intercollegiates, only four of us plus Lissa made the trip to Arizona. That effectively put us out of the team competition. It was live or die on our own. Rachel and Tonya roomed together. Whitney, Lissa, and I were in the second room.
I was a known quantity now. I was returning to Tempe as the defending champion who had won elite singles at Opens and competed in the World Championships. I could feel the target on my back grow with every person I met. They were all friendly, but every single guy I met was looking at me trying to figure out what it would take to beat me. And I was feeling like it wouldn’t take much.
The response from the women I met was a different, but left me with the same feeling. Several stopped to chat casually in the hall, touching my arm or bumping against me. The look in their eyes told me I was lunch. I went in search of Lissa, Whitney, Tonya, and Rachel.
“Did you want me to get you your own room, Tony?” Lissa laughed when I explained what I was feeling that night.
“We could either have girls take a number and come in one at a time, or we could sell lottery tickets and only allow, say, the first ten places to have time with you,” Whitney joined.
“So say the naked girls sandwiching me between them,” I complained. They each had a hand on my cock and… well… both my hands were busy.
“Yeah. To the boy with his fingers in their galets. Just a little harder. I’m almost there.”
I pulled my hands away from my two lovers.
“No! Put it back. Put it back,” Whitney moaned.
“That’s not the way it works,” Lissa laughed. “As long as you are competing, no orgasms.”
“When this is over, will you fuck me?” Whitney sighed.
“Not until I’m out as well,” I said.
“I might help,” Lissa said. “Unless you are too gone on boys now to bother with your girlfriend.”
“Any time, Lissa,” Whitney said. She hopped out of bed to run around to Lissa’s side and crawl in behind her. I shifted over so Lissa was in the middle. “When Melody proposed to you, I thought everything would change. I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore. But it’s not like that. It hasn’t changed, has it?”
“You, girlfriend, are going to find a boyfriend or a girlfriend that is your perfect match someday,” Lissa explained. “I just hope that when you do, you’ll still have room in your life for us.”
In my first match, I met the thirty-second ranked player, who was fresh from an upset victory on Tuesday. The guy was a senior from Villanova and went down in two straight games. He was a good guy and he hung around and chatted after the game, even though he was in the first round of the red bracket in the afternoon.
“Say, Tony, are you doing sketches of players this year?” he asked. “How much do they cost?” Wow! That was something I’d never considered. I sketched at tournaments just to pass the time and keep my head in the game. I couldn’t charge for the sketches or I’d have to get Clarice involved.
“I tell you what, Les. Let’s take a look at when you play this afternoon and if it doesn’t conflict with when one of my teammates plays or when I have to ref, I’ll rip a sketch off for you. No charge,” I said.
“Cool.”
I did manage to get to Les’s match and got sketches of both him and his opponent. Both guys were pleased and I signed the sketches for them. Neither of them knew that I’d had two gallery exhibitions and painted a huge fucking wall. I wondered if either of them would keep the sketches and if someday they might be worth something.
That wasn’t the end of the drawing, though. Three women came up to me close to the end of the day. They were giggling when they approached me but got all serious when I said, “Hi.”
“Hi, Tony. I’m Mary. This is Sue Ellen and Marsha.”
“Nice to meet you all.”
“Yeah, likewise. We’ve seen some of the drawings you’ve done,” Mary continued. “We were wondering if you’d draw a picture of us. I mean each of us, not us together.”
“Hey, as long as it doesn’t conflict with when I’m playing, ref’ing, or watching my teammates, I’d be happy to. You want to give me the schedule for your next matches?”
“We…”
“We want nudes,” Sue Ellen burst in. “Sexy ones.”
“Ah. I see.” I was beginning to. “Well, I’m sure any nude drawing of you would be sexy. I don’t usually do those at competitions, though. I can’t actually draw nudes on the court.”
“It’s okay. We have a house,” Marsha said.
“Here? Do you live here?”
“We’re students here at ASU and members of a sorority. Other girls at the house might want some when they meet you,” Mary said. Some? Not a sketch? I didn’t want to offend them, but this was definitely outside my comfort zone.
“I guess I could do it,” I said and was interrupted by a squeal. “But there are conditions,” I continued.
“Conditions?”
“Yeah. First, whenever I sketch nudes, I bring along a chaperone.”
“Who is he?”
“She. Lissa Grant. My coach. Also known as the Ice Queen.”
“Holy shit.”
“Second,” I went on, “I want to do two sketches of each of you. You get to keep one and I keep the other.”
“Late night inspiration?” Sue Ellen giggled.
“Not exactly. Which brings me to number three. I need model releases from all three of you and ID that shows you are over eighteen.”
“Oh, come on, Tony. How often do you have three girls willing to get naked with you? Play it right and you’d probably… definitely get lucky.” If only they knew.
“Let’s sit down a minute,” I said heading for the bleachers. I opened my laptop. They were skeptical, but sat with me.
“Sketching players here at the competition is just something I do for the heck of it. I give the sketches away. It keeps things friendly. But painting nudes is something I do for a living.” I started the slide show of my New York exhibition. “These are from my New York opening in December. In a minute it will switch to my Seattle opening last spring.”
“Oh crap! You sell these?” Marsha asked.
“Yes. Both the original oils and the limited edition art prints. If you sit for me as a nude, there is a strong likelihood that you will show up in a painting I do. It’s not quite as private as you think.”
“But if we just wanted you to do us?”
“That’s a completely different question,” I laughed. Mary blushed.
“I mean… that, too, but I meant just sketch us and not show?”
“Not gonna happen,” I said.
“Thanks, Tony,” Mary said. “Are you gay?”
“No. A thousand times no. I just see a lot of naked women.”
“Well, we’ll see you later, okay?” Sue Ellen said. She was physically dragging Mary and Marsha away.
“Sure. Later,” I said.
As it turned out, they were more determined than I thought and talked to Lissa about chaperoning a posing. I spent the evening in a sorority house surrounded by naked women who had interesting ideas about how to cook, serve, and eat food. By the end of the evening, they’d all found out about our teasing routine during competition and had willingly joined in. I was definitely on edge, but had the beginning of a new suite that I’d already named Delectable Morsels.
“So, when you win the tournament, then can we fuck?” Sue Ellen asked while she rubbed her middle against my erection. I just wanted out of the house so I could sleep before I had to play in the morning.
“He’s got two horny roommates and if anybody else gets fucked before we do, they’re dead,” Whitney panted.
“Two? You both…? Man, we didn’t have anything to offer, did we?” Marsha moaned.
“I wouldn’t say that,” I sighed. “But some other time, maybe.”
We left the sorority house and headed back to the hotel where all three of us were too close to the edge to touch each other without triggering an explosion.
Whitney could have taken her match in the morning without Tonya. When the match ended, Whitney walked off the court and laid a kiss on Tonya that did not go unnoticed by our three new fans.
“Shit! Her too?” Mary exclaimed. “We’ve got to get some new training set up. These guys are killer.”
We had a good laugh and I did see Sue Ellen play a singles match. Sadly, it was against Rachel and I couldn’t cheer for her, especially when she played with the same kind of passion that Whitney did and defeated Rachel by eight and ten.
“I think you need to include her in your training,” Sue Ellen whispered to me as she walked past. She glanced around and brushed her lips against my ear. “Good luck in your match.”
It was good. Having Lissa and Whitney teasing me had kept me on edge. Picking up three more beautiful girls who wanted to play put my game at a peak when I met my quarter-final opponent. I’d played him once last year. He was from Clarkson and to me he was a surrogate for Brian Summers, who hadn’t shown up for Intercollegiates again.
“Man, you are on top of your game,” he said to me after I’d taken him down by twelve and eight. “Brian doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
“Tell him I’m waiting,” I said with more edge to my voice than I intended. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bite. Have you ever beaten him?”
“Hell no. I don’t even like to play against him. He mostly stays clear of our club and participates in Open competitions. He’s way too intense. He reminds me of you in some ways.”
“I’m not intense, man. I’m just horny.”
“TMI. Good luck.”
The sorority girls were becoming a regular fixture with our team and we had a lot of fun Saturday. Everyone wiped out in their semi-final but me, so I was feeling the pressure to bring home the gold. Apparently, all the women—even Tonya—considered it their duty to up the level of teasing until I was ready to burst.
The last match was at two o’clock Sunday afternoon. I had no idea what to expect from my opponent as we’d never met and never played against each other. Lissa told me he was a lot like I was two years ago. He was from the University of South Florida and had been unranked coming into the tournament. None of his opponents knew what hit them. He was fast, aggressive, and as determined as I was.
From the first rally, I knew I needed to pick up my game. He got two aces past me on his first two serves. And he was serving fast. As soon as he glanced to see that I was ready, the ball came flying. On his third serve, he glanced over his shoulder to see my racquet raised as I scuffed the floor, intentionally not looking at him. It interrupted his rhythm and when I dropped my racquet, his serve was off. I returned and we were in the game. He wasn’t expecting that I’d start with a lob on my first serve. He swung and missed trying to take it before the bounce, but reset to take it off the back wall. He returned it, but didn’t have the control he needed and I dropped the return into the corner. We seesawed back and forth a few rallies and he managed to take the first game by two points.
“Mix it up,” Lissa said when I came off the court between games. “You did right by slowing him down, but you’ve got to keep changing tactics or he’ll match your rhythm. You can’t depend on one song. You need a whole playlist.”
I went back onto the court for the first serve. I bounced the ball a couple of time and found the beat. With ‘Radioactive’ buzzing in my head, I peppered the first serve six inches to the right and two inches below the scuff-mark that I visualized on the front wall. His return played off two walls and the ceiling and I put it away. My favorite salsa entered my head at that point and the next serve came off the front wall and right wall before my left-handed opponent pulled his backhand and let the ball fall short. It was time for Beethoven.
I was up six-zip when I went side out and Matt Higgins took the serve. Playing against a lefty has some interesting variations. A right-handed receiving player faces faces a left-handed server during the serve. The game felt so familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen him. As Matt caught my eye, I switched my racquet to my left hand and backed up behind him. By the time he dropped the ball for the serve, my racquet was back in my right hand and I nailed the return back at his ankles. Side out.
It wasn’t all one-sided in that game. He scored nine, but I controlled the game. We were tied at one game each and would have a rubber to eleven points. I came off the court and Lissa tossed me a towel. I looked at her, but she was staring at Matt. It was almost time for me go back on the court and meet Matt’s first serve when Lissa pulled me to her and whispered.
“You have to really not see the walls.”
That was advice for playing in a glass box, not usually for a normal court with just one glass wall. I was still puzzling over it when Matt’s first serve came flying toward me at eighty miles an hour. While I was disconnected from the game, though, my hand reacted and Matt was fighting for control. That’s what Lissa was getting at. I had to let go of the environment and just be where the ball would be. I took back the serve and whispered, “Now let’s play racquetball.”
The next twenty-five minutes were awesome. The crowd that was gathered outside yelling and cheering ceased to exist for me. The walls of the court ceased to exist. My opponent was there only as an obstacle to avoid, otherwise he ceased to exist. There was only me and where the ball would be. We played hard and I had a feeling that Matt Higgins was in the same zone. I just happened to arrive first. I’d long since lost track of the score when the ref announced, “Game!”
What? I had to stop and think. I’d served that point. That meant I must have won. I shook my head.
“Nice game, Tony,” Matt said. It was the first thing I’d heard from him and even his voice sounded familiar. “My brother told me I’d never take you the first time out. Just wait till next year, though.”
“Do I know your brother?” I asked, shaking his hand.
“You’ve only played against him once in an exhibition. I’m Karl Higgendorfer’s brother. I’ve watched the video a million times.”
“My gosh! But your name…”
“Karl’s real proud of his German roots. Me, not so much. I changed my name when I turned eighteen,” he said.
“It’s great to meet you, Matt. But you’re wrong. I beat Karl at a local competition in Seattle last summer before I went to World’s.”
“Oh, yeah. I knew he went to Seattle, but he never said anything about playing racquetball. It was all Amanda this and Amanda that. I think he got whipped twice,” Matt laughed.
“You figured it out, huh?” Lissa asked as she stepped toward us.
“Uh… no. Not until he told me,” I said. “You knew?”
“Not until right before you went back in for the last game. Congratulations to both of you. That was the way racquetball was meant to be played,” Lissa said.
“Wow! You are beautiful. I mean, even more beautiful than you look on the tapes. Karl told me, but I just didn’t believe him,” Matt said. “Uh… I’m Matt Higgins. It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Queen.”
“Unless you’re talking about my fashion line, it’s just Lissa. Nice to meet you, Matt.”
The closing ceremony didn’t have any big announcements like last year’s fund-raising for the big mural. When my medal was presented, the tournament director did a short interview.
“Tony, last year we were all impressed not only by your big win, but by the project your school was engaged in that involved raising funds for the homeless. Can you give us all an update on that project?”
“Yes sir. You guys all helped us raise over $350,000, including your donations, the matching funds from Raquethon and Denon Sports, and the sale of artwork. To date, we’ve helped place twenty-seven people in temporary housing and we’ve helped upgrade the campsites with new tents and better security. There’s still a sizable portion being held in escrow while we’re awaiting approval for a permanent encampment where there will be running water, toilets, showers, and electricity. Your donations helped, and all of us at SCU want to thank you.”
That was it. In three hours, after suitable congratulations and a lot of hugs and kisses—some definitely not G-rated—we were in an airplane and headed back to Seattle. I had a new gold medal, a second year on Team USA, and some new sketches that were turning into an idea for a new suite about food. And a note. I’d almost forgotten.
The player from Clarkson that I beat in the quarter-finals handed me a note at the awards ceremony. He said to take a look at it when I was on the plane and I’d understand. I pulled it out and opened it.
If you are reading this, then you won the Intercollegiates again. Next competition, we have to meet. If you’re as good as people say, I’ll see you in the last round of Naτtionals in May. Don’t miss it this year. Men’s Singles Elite. It’s you or me, buddy. Brian Summers.
I had a challenge to meet the reigning champion at the National Singles in Fullerton, California. He wanted it as badly as I did.
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