“It’s a great day for pickleball!” declared Joanne.

​

“Oh my God, you got laid,” said Beverly, missing the ball that Dottie had slapped over the net to her.

​

They were warming up and Mary Louise glanced over to the other side of the gym where a group of three and four year olds were kicking around soccer balls. They hadn’t heard a thing. She was about to suggest that Beverly mind her mouth when she noticed the smirk on Joanne’s face.

​

“Look at her!” said Dottie. “Joanne, what have you been up to?”

​

“All I did was say that it’s a great day for pickleball and you’re all up in my bidness,” said Joanne.

​

“All up in your bidness, huh,” said Beverly. She whacked the ball at Joanne who managed to return the ball while defending her face. Mary Louise took a step forward and popped it back over the net. For a minute the four ladies got caught up in the volley and were able to set Joanne’s bidness aside. Then Dottie got over zealous and hit a home run to the back wall.

​

Mary Louise snagged it on the rebound and held it lightly in her hand.

​

“You might as well tell us,” said Mary Louise.

​

Joanne batted her eyelashes and motioned them all to the net.

​

“You remember Bob the accountant?” she asked.

​

They all nodded.

​

“Well, I was in the HEB picking out a cantaloupe and there Bob was looking at the nectarines. He said ‘hello’ and that he recognized me from Dottie’s party. We discussed the pros and cons of picking out melons, and he asked if I’d like to grab some lunch with him.”

​

Beverly pursed her lips, shaking her head and said, “Unbelievable.”

​

Joanne suddenly frowned and looked at Mary Louise.

​

“You don’t mind, do you? I mean, you said he wasn’t an actual date?”

​

“Oh goodness, Joanne. All’s fair in love and pickleball.”

​

“That should be on a t-shirt,” said Dottie.

​

“It probably already is,” said Beverly. She did not look amused.

​

“So anyway,” continued Joanne, “we aborted our grocery shopping and went out to one of the vineyards for lunch. We sat outside. The weather was perfect. The food was delicious. We shared a bottle of wine. It was a very pleasant afternoon.”

​

“And then you got laid?” asked Beverly.

​

“No, Beverly. We shared good food, good wine, and good conversation.” She backed away from the net and the others followed suit. “Maybe you need to move to that retirement village in Florida.”

​

“The one with all the STDs?” asked Beverly. “No thank you.” She lightly hit the ball over the net.

​

“Oh, I heard about that,” said Dottie, continuing the volley. “They use those shower poofy things on their golf carts to let people know what they’re into. Like orange is for swingers or something.”

​

Mary Louise returned a hit and said, “Ladies, do your research. They use the poofies so they can tell their golf cart from the others in the parking lot.”

​

Beverly got a little too enthusiastic and sent the ball sailing out of bounds. Again.

​

“And why were you researching them?” asked Joanne.

​

Mary Louise’s face grew warm, and it wasn’t from the exercise. ‘Oh who cares,’ she thought and said to the group,”Albert did a conference in Orlando one time and heard all of the rumors. He talked about wanting to move there.”

​

There. She’d said it. Albert had never lost his lust for lust, and thought maybe a community like the one in Florida might be the place of his dreams. The dream lasted all of about 15 minutes. Whether the poofie rumors were fact or fiction, she was not moving to Florida and squashed Albert’s dream with no room for discussion.

“Why that little slut,” said Dottie, referring to Albert.

​

“Indeed,” said Mary Louise. “Are you ladies ready to start a game?”

​

“Let’s do it!” said Beverly.

​

Mary Louise got set and announced, “Zero zero start!” then whacked the ball low and hard across the net to Dottie. Dottie returned it with ease and they settled into the business of pickleball.

​

Joanne was glowing a bit more than usual, and more power to her. If she and Bob the Accountant clicked, Mary Louise was happy for them. She certainly had no claim on him. They’d had a pleasant evening together and Mary Louise had no desire to take it further, although she had given Bob permission to “call her sometime.” Mary Louise figured it would most likely be to return the favor of being a plus one to something, but now that Joanne was on the scene, Mary Louise was probably off the hook.

​

They spent the next hour playing games and switching partners. The games usually turned out to be evenly matched, no matter who was partnered up. Each had strengths and weaknesses, and they’d all played together long enough to know what those were.

​

Just before 11:00, people started showing up for the open play and stacking their rackets on the bleachers. Mary Louise eyed Beverly eyeing up the players. Some days Beverly stayed for a couple of extra games. Some days she snorted in disgust and remembered some appointment she had to get to. If she thought she could finagle her way onto a court with competitive players, she would stay. They spotted the Demons of Dublin so Mary Louise knew Beverly would absolutely be staying. Here are the facts Mary Louise knows about the Demons of Dublin:

​

1. Their names are Finn and Quin. They answer politely when asked their names, but never ask for anyone else’s.

2. They are brothers but not twins.

3. They are homeschooled.

4. Finn plays the right side of the court. Quin plays the left side of the court. They take one step over to serve when required but never, never switch sides.

5. They never partner with anyone except each other.

6. They are really, really good.

7. Beverly really, really wants to beat them.

 

No one knows if they are actually from Dublin, but they are from Ireland and they are little demons who some folks think should not be allowed to play with the older crowd, those folks being the older crowd.

​

Mary Louise used her shirt sleeve to wipe the sweat off her forehead before it could drip into her eyes. Her mother would have been horrified to see her out on the court, no make-up and sweating like a pig, using her shirt sleeve like she had. Why in the world did she still have thoughts like that? Her mother had been gone for years. No matter. Even if she was still alive, Mary Louise would’t have changed a thing. It felt good to be moving and sweating and being competitive. When their game was done they met at the net to tap paddles and still, after hundreds of games, tell each other “good game.”

​

“Anyone in the mood to take on the demons with me?” asked Beverly. It was obvious some of the other 10:00 players were stalling as they finished their games, no one wanting to be the first to the bleachers and the two paddles sitting there ready for the next game.

​

Mary Louise was about to volunteer but Joanne beat her to it. Maybe it was her way of patching the slight tear in her friendship with Beverly since Bob had come on the scene. Beverly got mad fast but usually didn’t stay mad long. Usually. There were exceptions like Charles. She lived on the defensive, like she was always anticipating the worst, expecting someone to try and take advantage of her or anything in her immediate surroundings. One time they had gone to the grocery store together. This was before pickleball when they all played cards together for something to do. They had gone to get snacks and were walking across the parking lot at the grocery store toward Beverly’s car.

​

A young woman, clearly in fine health, chose to leave her cart precariously between the front of two cars rather than taking it to the cart return that was no more than twenty feet away. Beverly might have let it go if one of the said cars had not been hers. Maybe not. 

​

Before the young woman could get in her car, Beverly said, “Excuse me, miss, but do you just intend to leave that cart there?”

​

“What are you,” asked the young woman in a very snotty tone, “the cart police?”

​

“No, I’m just someone who believes in common courtesy, which includes putting your cart where it belongs so it doesn’t roll into someone’s car and ding it up.”

​

It was her teacher voice. The perfect balance between authoritative yet non-threatening.

​

“I’m in a hurry,” she said, jumping in her car and slamming the door.

​

Beverly pushed their cart directly behind the woman’s car and began gathering the groceries. Sometimes actions speak louder than words.

​

The woman jumped out and shouted, “Move your cart!”

​

“You first, sweetheart,” challenged Beverly.

​

The woman jumped back in her car, slammed her door, and revved her engine. Mary Louise deftly snagged the last two plastic bags out of their cart and backed her way to safety. Beverly stood her ground casually crossing her arms as if she had all the time in the world, which she did. The card game would not start without her.

Rev! Rev!

​

Beverly examined the fingernails on her right hand.

​

“Beverly, I think this has gone far enough,” said Mary Louise. “Someone’s going to get hurt.”

​

Beverly just shrugged. Mary Louise expected the young woman to slam the car into reverse and take out both the cart and Beverly, but instead she got out of the car still fuming, grabbed her cart and stomped it to the cart return. She glared at Beverly all the way back.

​

​

“Careful with that scrunchy face! I see the wrinkles already! Better get that next Botox appointment set up. I bet your boyfriend’s already on the hunt for your replacement.”

​

The young woman’s eyes went wide, then she burst into tears. 

​

“You don’t know anything, you dried up old whore!”

​

“Looks like I know something,” said Beverly, raising her eyebrows.

​

The woman jumped in and slammed the car door one final time before backing up, then screeched forward up the row of cars. Beverly whistled as she put her own cart safely into the cart return.

​

On the drive back to Beverly’s house, the site of the card game that afternoon, Mary Louise tried to process what had just happened. A million questions were running through her mind. She grabbed one and threw it at Beverly.

​

“How did you know she wasn’t going to back over you?”

​

“Because that was her boyfriend’s car.”

“And you know that how?”

​

“No girl like that drives a souped-up Mustang.”

​

“And the bit about her replacement?”

​

“I spent over twenty years around high schoolers. She’s not much older. The types never change.”

​

“Why were you so mad? It was just a shopping cart. People do it all the time.”

​

Beverly shrugged. “She was being an asshole.”

​

The game against the demons was a good one. Final score was 11-9 in favor of the demons. Beverly and Joanne tried to catch their breaths as the boys went looking for their next victims.

​

“They have absolutely no respect for their elders,” said Beverly, huffing out the words as she sucked in oxygen.

​

“We’ll get them one of these days,” said Joanne. 

​

Beverly tapped Joanne’s paddle. All was well.

 

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