Mrs Plansky's Revenge

2

Something amazing happened on Court #2 of the New Sunshine Golf and Tennis Club just before lunchtime on the day after New Year's, although it was amazing to only one person, namely Loretta Plansky, a seventy-one-year-old widow of solid build and the only female player in the whole club with a one-handed backhand. She and her partner, a new member Mrs Plansky had met just before stepping on the court that morning and whose name she had failed to retain even though she'd repeated it several times to herself as they shook hands, were playing in the weekly match between the New Sunshiners and the team from Old Sunshine Country Club, the hoity-toitier of the two, dating all the way back to 1989. Mrs Plansky had been something of a tomboy as a kid, actually playing Little League baseball and Peewee hockey on boys' teams, but she hadn't taken up tennis until she'd married Norm, so although her strokes were effective they weren't much to look at. Now, up 5-6 in a third set tiebreak, Mrs Plansky and her partner receiving, the better of the opponents, a tall, blonde woman perhaps fifteen years younger than the others, lofted a pretty lob over Mrs Plansky, a lob with a touch of topspin that was going to land inside the baseline for a clean winner. Mrs Plansky wheeled around, chased after the ball, and with her back half turned to the net flicked a backhand down the unguarded alley. Game, set, match. A nice shot, mostly luck, and not the amazing part. The amazing part was that Mrs Plansky had wheeled around without giving it the slightest thought. She'd simply made a quick thoughtless instinctive move - quick for her, at least - for the first time since her hip replacement, nine months before. Mrs Plansky wanted badly to tell Norm all about it. He'd say something about how she'd found the fountain of youth, and she'd say let's call it a trickle, and he'd laugh and give her a quick kiss. She could just about feel it now, on her cheek.

'What a get!' said her partner, patting Mrs Plansky's shoulder.

The partner's name came to her at last, literally late in the game. That bit of mental fun liberated a little burst of happiness inside her. Those little bursts, based on tiny private nothings, had been a feature of her life since childhood. Mrs Plansky was well aware that she was one lucky woman. 'Thanks, Melanie,' she said.

They hustled up to the net, touched rackets, then collected their tennis bags and headed to the clubhouse patio for lunch. Mrs Plansky's phone beeped just as she was pulling out her chair. She dug it out of her bag, checked the number, and stepped away from the table, off the patio, and onto the edge of the putting green.

'Nina?' she said.

'Hi, Mom,' said Nina. 'How're things? Wait, I'll answer - no complaints, right?'

Mrs Plansky laughed. 'Maybe I should be less predictable.'

'Whoa! An out-there version of Loretta Plansky! You'd rule the world.'

'Then forget it for sure,' said Mrs Plansky. 'How are the kids?'

'Great,' Nina said. 'Emma's still on winter break - right now she's out in Scottsdale with Zach and Anya.' Emma, a junior at UC Santa Barbara, being Nina's daughter from her first marriage, to Zach, and Anya being Zach's second wife, whom Mrs Plansky had met just once, at Norm's funeral, and very briefly. But in that brief time, she'd said something quite touching. What was it?

'Mom?' said Nina. 'You still there?'

'Yes.'

'Thought I'd lost you for a second.'

'Must. must be a bad connection. I'm at the club. The service is iffy.' Mrs Plansky moved to a different spot on the putting green, even though she knew there was nothing wrong with. well, never mind.

'The tennis club?' Nina said. 'How are you hitting 'em?'

'No one would pay to watch,' said Mrs Plansky. 'And Will?'

'Will?'

'Yes. How is he?'

Will being Nina's other child, fathered by Ted, Nina's second husband. There'd been a third husband - called Teddy, kind of confusing - now also by the wayside, which was how Mrs Plansky pictured all Nina's husbands, Zach, Ted, Teddy, left behind by a fast and shiny car, the hair of the three men - none bald, all in fact with a full head of hair - blowing in Nina's backdraft. Was that - a full head of hair - a criterion of hers when it came to husbands? Were there in fact any other criteria? Why had she never considered this question before? And now came one of those many moments when she wished that Norm was around. Yes, he'd say, it's her only criterion. Or, no, there's one other, and he'd name something that was funny, amazing, and true, something she'd never have imagined. And then: 'Now can I go back to being dead?'

Whoa. Mrs Plansky heard Norm's voice, not in her head - although of course it was - but somehow outside, like he'd come down from heaven - in which Mrs Plansky did not believe - and onto the putting green at the New Sunshine Golf and Tennis Club. She actually cast a furtive glance around. An errant ball came bouncing over from the ninth fairway.

'Fine as far as I know,' said Nina.

'Sorry, what?' Mrs Plansky, moving away from the still-rolling ball, suddenly felt a little faint.

Nina raised her voice as though speaking to someone hard of hearing, which Mrs Plansky was not. All systems go, said Dr Ming at her annual physical. Just keep doing what you're doing.

'Will,' Nina went on. 'He's fine, far as I know.'

Mrs Plansky gave her head a tiny shake, putting everything right inside. 'Is he back in school?'

Over at the table, Melanie caught her eye. The waiter was pouring wine and Melanie pointed to the empty glass at Mrs Plansky's place, seeing if she wanted some. Mrs Plansky didn't drink wine at lunch. She nodded yes.

'Not exactly,' said Nina. 'Will's missed so much time already and it's late in the year. He's planning on staying in Crested Butte.'

'Teaching skiing?'

'There's been a glitch with that. It looks like he'll be working the lifts.'

Working the lifts? She and Norm had done some skiing in Vermont in the early days of Plansky and Company, the southernmost ski hills in the state close enough to their home in Rhode Island for Sunday visits, full weekends impossible because of work. The homeward drive at twilight with the kids, Nina and Jack in the back, Norm in the passenger seat, Mrs Plansky at the wheel - they did it the other way around on the trip up, Norm's night vision never very good - and everyone exhilarated, exhausted, relaxed to the core: that was Plansky family life at its best. But working the lifts was all about getting through to your day off and hoping it would be powdery, in other words a spinning your wheels type of job, which ski instructor was not. When had she last spoken to him? Probably on his birthday, back in July, although she had sent him a check for Christmas. But to what address? She made a mental note to check on that, and a second mental note to call him soon. The fact that he hadn't thanked her yet for the check didn't mean he hadn't gotten it. For whatever reason, he'd missed out on a thing or two in his upbringing. Mrs Plansky didn't get judgmental about that sort of thing. Will and a buddy had stayed for a night the week after her hip replacement, on their way to spring vacation at the buddy's parents' house in Lauderdale. She hadn't been able to find her bottle of OxyContin - always at the far right of the top medicine cabinet shelf - after they left. Mrs Plansky was inclined to be more judgmental about things like that.

'But the reason I called, Mom, is I've got exciting news,' Nina said.

'Let's hear it!' What a terrible person she was, making her voice so bright and cheery when she was steeling herself inside. But she knew Nina.

'I've met someone fabulous,' Nina said. 'His name's Matty but I call him Matthew. It's more serious.' Mrs Plansky felt the fast and shiny car speeding up. 'You're going to love him, Mom. Guess how tall he is?'

Mrs Plansky glanced around, a feeble physical facsimile of getting her mental bearings. What she saw was the pretty side of Florida on a bright and sunny winter day. How lucky to be able to afford retirement in a place like this, and while she'd have preferred Arizona she'd kept that fact to herself, mostly on account of the look on Norm's face when the real estate agent drove them up to the big but not too big house at 3 Pelican Way, the style New England as envisioned by someone who'd never been there, and the inland waterway right out the back door. Norm had been thrilled, and the fact that he totally missed the faux part - in fact was incapable of catching it even if prompted - only made her adore him all the more.

'Tallish, would be my guess,' said Mrs Plansky. Norm had been five foot seven on their wedding day, losing an inch or two over the course of forty years. And his body had gone through many other changes as well. But somehow he'd been physical perfection the whole time. At least until those last months. She couldn't fool herself about that.

'Six foot four, Mom!' Nina said. 'And three-quarters.'

'Oh, my,' said Mrs Plansky. 'Tell me a little more about him.'

Nina laughed. Right from childhood she'd had this rippling musical laugh - like a song, as...