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Chapter One

Ever since Roxanne Perry grew brave enough to ride a bike without training wheels, she pedaled to the Cross Bayou Senior-Living Complex to watch the retirees play tennis on the outdoor courts. She parked her bicycle next to the stonework water fountain and then sat in the stands next to her great-aunt Leafie and observed the old men huffing and wheezing after the ball. Leafie claimed it was more entertaining than any game show she had ever seen.

"Run and fetch the ball," Mr. Norton suggested to Roxanne one day. "If you're going to hang around the place all the time, then you might as well make yourself useful." Mr. Norton wore tight shirts across his barreling chest and sported a tattoo of a spike-collared bulldog on his left arm.

All the senior ladies acted as if they liked Mr. Norton because they flocked to the stand whenever he played a match. Roxanne heard them talk about him when she slipped beneath the bleachers to retrieve another stray ball. "He's handsome," Mrs. Brock reflected. "He reminds me of my Charlie."

"If you turned off the lights, maybe," Leafie responded. All the other ladies laughed. Roxanne didn't get the joke but she liked to listen to their conversations. Her mother no longer lived at home so her great-aunt and her friends were Roxanne's only female companions.

Roxanne spent most of her time near court eleven where Mrs. Roberta Peabody taught the seniors to add technique to their strokes and strategy to their games. Grabbing a stick from the ground, Roxanne would practice along with the old men and women except she stood behind the fence and off to the side.

"Lovely," the ladies in the bleacher seats said of Mrs. Peabody. "She doesn't look a day over forty."

"If I had a phony rack and a tummy tuck, I would look forty, too," Leafie croaked and all the women laughed.

Roxanne still didn't get it.

That same afternoon, when an approaching rain cloud washed all the seniors into the clubhouse, Roxanne sat in the bleachers, reluctant to go home. She twirled her practice stick while adjusting her fingers to form different grips as Mrs. Peabody instructed.

Leafie sat down next to her and pushed a long object at Roxanne. "It's time to take that stick out of your hand."

Roxanne stared at the brand new tennis racquet with its shiny wooden neck and black-taped grip. She ran her finger across the word professional along the throat of it and then palmed the plastic strings with her free hand.

"There's a wall on court five where you can practice," Leafie told her while digging deeper into the Wal-Mart bag. She produced two cans of Wilson tennis balls. "When you run low, you let me know." The old woman stood, ready to leave, and rolled the plastic bag to stuff it into her smock pocket.

Roxanne jumped to her feet and hugged her aunt.

Leafie stepped backward to keep her balance but returned the embrace. "Now, no spectacles," she warned. "It's only a tennis racquet." She stroked Roxanne's hair. "Just practice hard enough to wear out that strumped-up Roberta Peabody."

By the time Roxanne turned twelve she could outplay every senior at the Bayou Club and that included Roberta Peabody. This caught the attention of Benito Tersigni.

"Your serve is sloppy." He spoke with a heavy Italian accent and looked more like a shriveled grape than a man. He sat in the bleachers wearing a dark red polo shirt. His hairy and skinny legs poked out of a pair of white tennis shorts. Pointing at her, he spoke again, "Your backhand is ineffective."

Roxanne squinted at the old man while slipping a plastic cover over the head of her racquet. "I can beat you."

"I've no doubt of it. I'm an old man and you are young and fast." He stayed in the bleachers, three rows up, and with his elbow on his knee. "Yes, you are young and talented but you need a coach."

"My father can't afford a coach."

Benito waved his hand in the air. "Your father can afford Tersigni." He came to his feet and stepped out of the bleachers. Short, he stood nearly the same height as Roxanne, and he wore his full white hair long around his ears. His black eyes stared at her from a face of a thousand wrinkles. "He can well afford the Mighty Tersigni."

Roxanne snorted. "The Mighty what?"

"Tersigni, Tersigni," he snapped. "Have you never heard of the Mighty Tersigni?"

Roxanne pushed wet bangs off her forehead. "I don't know. What is it?"

"It's not a what, it's a who. It's a me."

She leaned against the fence. "I've never heard of you."

"No one has ever heard of Roxanne Perry either, but they will. Unpack your bag." When Roxanne didn't move, he declared, "Before I die, unpack your bag."

"Are you about to?" Die, she meant. He looked awfully old. This could be his last wish! She unzipped her bag.

Benito stood at the fence and held onto the chain links with both hands. "I saw a vision concerning you." He caught and held her eyes. "You will be a great tennis player one day."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Do you see anyone else standing out here on the court?"

Roxanne looked around while shading her eyes in the mid-day sun. Except for Mrs. Culbertson walking her poodle by the water fountain, everyone else had gone indoors.

The old man continued, "I saw you with my soul's eye, you know? I stood in a stadium full of shouting people. They were on their feet and calling your name. Rocket Roxanne, Rocket..."

"My name is Roxanne Perry."

Benito came out of his reverie to frown at her. "Perry?"

"Yes."

"They did not shout your last name. Where was I?"

"People shouted."

"Sí, sí, and a beautiful woman said to me, do you see what she has become? It is because of your hard work with her." Benito paused while taking a deep breath. "And she said something else, too, but I did not understand."

"Maybe she said, No, not her, the other one." Roxanne snorted at her own joke.

"It was you," he assured her. "But I do not always know what the beautiful woman means. She will explain later."

Roxanne wrinkled her nose at the old Italian. Was he screwy-Lewie, or what? Who was this beautiful woman and more importantly, where was this beautiful woman?

"Do you believe in God?"

"I don't know," Roxanne told him with a shrug.

"He believes in you, Roxanne Perry. Serve."

She tossed a ball to hit it across the net.

"HIGHER."

She paused.

Benito shifted his weight. "The ball, toss it higher and with more power. You swing like a girl."

"I am a girl."

"Sí that is regrettable but we'll make do." He rubbed his chin. "Lean forward when you hit the ball and then rush the net as soon as you hit it."

She meant no disrespect but she knew a little about the game of tennis. "I know how to return a shot."

"You know so much?" His gray brow disappeared into his hairline. "Explain to me why Roberta Peabody scored points off a girl with your talent?"

Roxanne tossed the ball high into the air and smashed it across the net. Quickly she rushed into the center of the court. When Benito hollered, "Bene, bene," she blushed with satisfaction. She repeated the drill over and over until Benito told her to go home.

* * *

Roxanne met Ricardo "Rico" Tersigni on July 16. She remembered the day because it was the day before her birthday. Rico Tersigni stood tall and thin at age nineteen and had a shock of black hair. His eyes looked the color of a chocolate kiss. He spoke with the same Italian accent as his grandfather.

Benito introduced him to Roxanne by telling Rico that Roxanne was perhaps the only female who could defeat Rico in a set of tennis. Roxanne was fourteen at the time, fifteen in the morning, and she felt suddenly embarrassed at such an introduction.

Rico looked indignant. His gaze surveyed her immature figure in her big gray tee shirt and parachute shorts. "A child?"

Well he didn't have to insult her!

Roxanne walked to the edge of court five, unzipped her gear bag, and pulled out her adult-size tennis racquet. Tossing a ball high, she nailed a ninety-something mile-per-hour bullet straight at Rico Tersigni's tennis shoe. He didn't flinch until the ball hit his toe.

"Three sets," Benito suggested, winking at Roxanne.

Rico's brows scrunched together. He pointed a finger at her. "You dare to challenge the Mighty Tersigni?"

"Another Mighty Tersigni?" She bounced a new ball off the webbing of her racquet.

With hands on his hips, Rico faced his grandfather. "You are using my nickname?"

Benito shrugged and then replied in a serene voice, "I am the first Mighty Tersigni, really the only man capable of bearing such a title." He looked at his grandson who stood head and shoulders above him. "Why not choose another name for yourself? Something dignified--the Sturdy Tersigni perhaps?"

"Because if he loses a match, fans will start calling him the Terdy Tersigni." She waited while twirling the head of her racquet on the cement court. When the two men stared at her for that last remark, she giggled, and bounced the ball again. Terdy Tersigni, that was a good one.

Benito explained, "She is young and impulsive."

"Hmm," Rico agreed, nodding his head and gazing at Roxanne. "I will teach her a lesson." He nodded again, agreeing with himself. "But I will need a tennis racquet to do so."

"I do not have a tennis racquet," Benito apologized.

It took Rico five minutes to walk to the apartment, grab a racquet, and then walk back again. While they waited, Roxanne volleyed a ball against the wall. Benito stayed in the bleachers. Finally, she asked, "Why do you want me to play a match against Rico?"

"It will be a lesson for the both of you," Benito explained. As was his habit, he removed a pipe from his pocket and filled it with Borkam Reef tobacco.

Roxanne walked to the fence and leaned there. "What sort of lesson?"

"For Rico, humility; for you, confidence." His mouth dragged on the pipe as he lit the tobacco. "Rico turned professional a year and a half ago and he is a good tennis player. He has all the confidence in the world to become a great tennis player." Benito sat for a moment, reflecting. "But he has forgotten to give God the glory for his talent. And a man with all confidence and no humility toward the Lord is an arrogant fool.

"Balance," Benito continued after a long thought, "Balance is the key to success and stability. Balance means control. Balance means..."

"Maturity," Roxanne finished, able to do so because she had heard the speech before. "I know."

"You are a fine student, young Roxanne," he said, then chewed the end of his pipe. Looking beyond her, he proclaimed, "Ah, your opponent draws nigh." Benito nodded toward the opened lawn area. "I want you to pulverize him, Roxanne."

"Is that part of being balanced?" she asked, releasing the fence to watch Rico Tersigni's approach. He held a wooden racquet and brought a fresh can of Penn 3 tennis balls. Opening the can, he stuffed two balls into the short sleeves of his black shirt. He steadied the other ball on the center webbing of his racquet, flicked his wrist, and then caught the ball behind his back with his free hand. It seemed Rico already knew all about balance.

After a brief warm-up, Rico lobbed the ball gently to Roxanne. When she returned it sizzling past his sideburns, Rico pointed his tennis racquet at her. "All right little girl," he warned. "I was going to take it easy on you."

"No one asked you to," she responded, not sure how to handle herself with a boy, especially a boy as good-looking as this one.

Rico served again.

Roxanne threw herself at the ball and returned it over the net with enough topspin to kick-up dust.

Rico watched in disbelief as the ball hit inside the lines and then careened out of reach. He began to mutter in Italian after that.

Benito cackled and packed more tobacco into his pipe.

Roxanne served two aces before Rico recovered enough to jump on the return. His shots became more powerful and as the game progressed, he grew increasingly difficult to battle. For thirty-five minutes they slashed and bashed relentlessly at each other. In the end, she lost the match 5-7, 2-6.

Yes, she lost, but she took seven games against a professional player. Happy birthday to her.

Rico's expression turned foul. He sulked then and Roxanne assumed his ego took a beating when challenged by a girl. His brow wrinkled and his eyes burned with some heated emotion. When he met her at the net for a handshake, he accused, "You're more boy than girl, aren't you?" He held out his hand. "I can't tell with that big costume you're wearing."

"You can't tell? I had no idea Italian boys were so unintelligent," she answered in self-defense and took his hand.

Rico's handclasp tightened.

Roxanne squeezed tighter. Her hand hurt like crazy but she would never back down to such a hotheaded, dozy-witted, ape-knobbed boy!

"Let go," he suggested after thirty seconds.

"You first."

"All right...on the count of three: uno, due, tre..."

"What are you doing?"

"Counting."

"English, pal," she told him.

Neither of them released the other's hand. Both squeezed harder.

Rico tried again: "One, two, three..." he said through clenched teeth and then shook off her hand. Standing back, he eyed her coldly.

"Good match," Benito called, waving them to the fence. "Rico, you might help with Roxanne's training while you're here. She's scheduled to play in a tournament next month."

Roxanne bent for her gear bag and muttered, "Maybe I can help him prepare for his next match too."

"Exactly," Benito nodded. "You will both benefit."

Rico said, "I won't be free tomorrow. I've met some friends and we're going to the movies."

"Roxanne won't practice tomorrow. It's her birthday," Benito explained, emptying his pipe.

Rico raised a brow. "Really? How old will you be, Roxanne? Twelve?"

Now she hated him.

* * *

Dressed in slim-fitting blue jeans and a sleeveless top she received as a gift, Roxanne walked the mall. Birthday money from Leafie burned in her pocket and she wanted to buy a pair of tennis shoes. She stood in front of the Rack Room Shoes storefront when she caught the sight of Felicity Robinson coming toward her. To avoid the girl, Roxanne turned away from the display and walked toward the previous store to duck inside. She knew Felicity Robinson from school. The dark-haired beauty had little tolerance for freakishly athletic girls as she called Roxanne. Her attitude dated back to a tetherball game in seventh grade--that, and a track and field event where Roxanne dominated the games, including the long jump in which Felicity supposedly excelled.

Roxanne stood inside a semi-dark gaming parlor. Pinball machine sirens sounded and neon lights flashed around her. It seemed a safe hiding place until the sneering and scornful Felicity entered with...Rico Tersigni on her arm?

Felicity was the friend he had met? She should have known Rico would gravitate toward the shallowest girl on the planet. Roxanne watched as they stopped in front of the Madd Maxx racecar machine.

With their attention diverted, she chanced her exit. That's when Rico looked up and did a double take. "Roxanne?"

She pretended surprise. "Oh, hello."

His dark eyes slipped over her figure. "I almost didn't recognize you."

Felicity stared at Roxanne. She said, "We're killing time before our movie starts." She snuggled closer to Rico. "We should go."

He eased from the girl's clutches and dug into his pocket for change. "We've got a few minutes. How about a race, Fel?"

"Fel?" Roxanne tried not to laugh.

"No thanks," Felicity said, shaking her head and glaring at Roxanne.

Roxanne stepped forward. "I'll race you."

Rico's head snapped around and he grinned. "Why am I not shocked?"

She took a seat behind one of the wheels while Rico climbed in next to her to sit in back of the other wheel. Inserting the required tokens, he punched the gas pedal as soon as the machine came to life. Roxanne laughed at him. "You have to wait for the flag you big cheater."

"I only tested the system."

"To see what you could get away with?" She held his gaze for a moment but when she saw the checkered flag waving in her peripheral vision, Roxanne pressed her gas pedal. Her car leapt forward on the screen with a squeal in the surround-sound speakers and then her little racer bashed the wall and smashed two cars before bounding into first place. She took an imaginary curve at one hundred miles-per-hour and ended up in Mario Andretti's imaginary pit stop.

Rico roared past her.

Roxanne yanked hard on her wheel and nearly shoved Rico out of his chair. "Get off me," he warned, but she ignored him and pressed her pedal again to send her car speeding down the virtual raceway. Her speedometer read one hundred eighty and skull and crossbones flashed on the screen. Her blue racer caught up with and then passed Rico when his car hit the wall and flipped into the median.

Pressing her pedal all the way to the floor, Roxanne drove her car over two hundred miles-per-hour across the finish line.

"Yes, yes, YES! She cried," shoving her fist into the air above her head. But, where were her manners? She smiled at Rico and offered, "Sí, sí, sí!"

Rico jumped from his seat to dig in his pocket for more quarters. Roxanne stood and pulled a five-dollar bill from her jeans. "I'll get some change for tokens."

Felicity began to pout. "We'll miss the movie."

"We have time for one more race," Rico assured the girl.

Seventeen races later, Rico and Felicity not only missed their movie, Roxanne didn't have enough money left to buy new sneakers.

* * *

After dinner the next evening, Rico and Roxanne met at the previously arranged location--previously arranged when Rico had shouted, "Bowling!" over the fence when Roxanne mounted her bicycle.

"What about it?" she'd called irritably.

"Can you bowl or do you stink at it like you stink at tennis?"

He showed white teeth when Roxanne's eyes narrowed. She came back with, "Name the place."

"The old people are taking a bus to Sunshine Lanes at six-thirty. Be on it."

"Maybe I'll just do that."

So, there they stood, eyeballing each other at the shoe-rental counter. "Size eight," Roxanne ordered without turning toward the clerk.

"Eleven," Rico said triumphantly.

Wrinkling her nose, she scowled at him. Still, what could she say? He had her beat in shoe size! Flipping her ponytail, she spun away from him.

Aunt Leafie stood in front of the rack, sticking her thumb in each ball. "Which lane are you on?"

Roxanne selected a twelve-pound dark swirly one. "Lane three."

"Oh good. We're on four."

"Who's we?"

"Norton and Roberta and I." Leafie finally selected a ten-pound ball. Her round face broke into happy wrinkles. "Just watch your fingers before you stick them into anything, if you know what I mean."

At fifteen, Roxanne still didn't know what she meant.

By the time she returned to the lane, Rico had scored a strike. Roxanne objected. "How do I know you really rolled a strike?" She propped the ball on one hip and a hand on the other and faced Rico. "I call a do-over."

"Mi scusa, you cannot call a do-over. The computer scored for me."

"Well, skoozuh, I just did."

"I rolled a strike. Ask Mr. Norton."

"He rolled a strike," Norton said, nodding and taking a seat behind his own score bench. "He threw the ball halfway down the lane and the pins dropped over in fright."

"This isn't Italy," Roxanne told Rico. "There are throwing rules in America."

"There should be American rules about noioso bambinos, too."

Having no idea what he'd just muttered, Roxanne turned away and bowled a perfect strike. She came back to stand in front of Rico. "Did you see how I set the ball down gently?"

"Yes. It was poofy."

"Poofy?"

Rico nodded. "Girly."

"You don't care about the ball," she told him, patting her heart. "I care about the ball."

While Rico poised to roll again, Roxanne sat down at the scoring table, winked at Norton in the next lane and backspaced over Rico's name on the computer score sheet and retyped Reek-o.

Rico threw a gutter ball. He complained to Leafie. "I felt your niece's pericoloso stare on the back of my head while I made my approach. It gave me prickles all the way up my arms."

Leafie smiled at the young man. "She learned that one from me."

* * *

Coming through Benito's front door, Roxanne saw Rico sitting on the couch with his shoes on the coffee table. He had his nose buried in the St. Petersburg Times sports section. Roxanne pushed his shoes aside and sat on the table to face him. She announced, "Skim boarding."

Rico folded his paper calmly while raising a brow in interest. "Mi scusi?" His black hair looked as if he had recently showered for it curled tightly on his head. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you know how to skim-board?"

"What does it involve?"

"Wood and waves."

Rico stood and then stepped past her to head for his room. "I'll just change my clothes."

Benito came out of the kitchen. "We still have to practice, Roxanne. Will you be gone long?"

"Only long enough to watch Rico crash and get skinned up in the shells."

"How long will that take?"

Roxanne stood to straighten her tee shirt over her swimsuit top. "Half an hour?"

* * *

Two weeks later, Rico still wore a bandage on his left elbow. When he lost in the round of sixteen at the RCA Championships, Roxanne's telephone rang. Before she could say hello, Rico's voice proclaimed, "I lost today because of you."

"I told you to watch out for that conch shell."

"When was that?"

"Maybe I only thought about telling you to watch out. Hmm." She hung up the phone, rolled to her feet, and shut off the small television set. When the phone rang again, she didn't answer it.

"Why don't you pick up?" her father hollered from the dining room table. He still read the classified section of the Sunday paper. Richard Perry was between jobs as he called it, though he kept his part-time gig singing oldies at The Pier on weekends. Roxanne's father played acoustic guitar. His best stuff came from Clint Black, Garth Brooks, and Rascal Flats. And, he wasn't bad. When the phone rang a fifth time, he hollered, "I bought the phone for you to answer it."

"What are you yelling about?" she asked, standing right beside him.

He grinned. "Sorry, I didn't see you there." He flipped a page. "Should I apply for the pizza delivery job at The Pier or should I..." He stuck his sandy-blonde head closer to the printed page. "...apply for the stockman position open at Albertson's?"

She rested her forearm on his shoulder. "You would go crazy stuck inside a building all day."

"Actually, it would be all night. But the delivery job requires a reliable car. The Cutlass runs like a pig."

"You can always borrow my bike," she offered, while grabbing a slice of bread.

"What I need is a recording contract. Once I get that, there will be no more piddley jobs for your old dad."

Roxanne had heard this most of her life. The sad thing about it was that her father really was a good musician. He had a fine and strong voice, he wrote his own music, and he was a classically trained guitarist. But, in the music business, it was all about being in the right place at the right time. Richard lived in the wrong place in St. Petersburg, Florida. Not many recording agents lived outside of Nashville.

Aunt Leafie always nagged him about settling down and getting a real job but Richard said he was just biding his time until Roxanne grew up. He wouldn't take her away from Cross Bayou and Leafie, but when Roxanne graduated he planned to move to Nashville.

Roxanne knew her father sacrificed for her and she loved him dearly for it, though most people didn't look at the situation the same way. She overheard Mrs. Culbertson say her father was lazy and if he cared about Roxanne at all he would take better care of her, spend more time with her, and provide better living conditions for her.

In Roxanne's opinion, Mrs. Culbertson was a snooping old woman who should keep her thoughts to herself. She told her so, too, much to Leafie's embarrassment. Roxanne was only nine at the time when she said it to Mrs. Culbertson and since then the old woman turned up her nose every time Roxanne walked by.

Didn't Mrs. Culbertson know her father could have abandoned her, too, just as her mom had? Didn't she understand how hard it was for a man to be both father and mother to a girl? Well, Roxanne thought about it and though people looked down at her father, she admired him.

"Where are you off to?" he asked, getting up from the table and walking into the living room.

"Cross Bayou," she told him and then stuck the piece of bread into her mouth. After she swallowed, she said, "I think I'll hit the ball against the wall while Benito is at church."

"Benito," Richard repeated, shaking his head. He sat on the old sofa near the sliding glass doors. "Is he still seeing visions?"

"I guess so. He's always saying something about a beautiful woman telling him stuff."

Her father looked up from his paper. "Is he a little strange?"

"No, Benito's great," Roxanne defended. "Last week the beautiful woman told him not to take elevator three. Later, Mr. Norton got stuck inside number three for over an hour. The fire department had to come and everything. It was a big scene."

"Benito's angel should have warned Mr. Norton not to take the elevator. While she was at it, she could've called a repair service."

Roxanne paused and then nodded significantly. "Yeah. You think she's an angel?"

Her father didn't answer, already engrossed in the news again.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever read the Bible?"

Richard thought about it. "I've read the one, the Lord is my Shepherd." He looked over the edge of his paper. "Why?"

"Benito gave me a Bible for my birthday. He wants me to read it."

"You don't have to, you know?"

"I know," Roxanne told him while paused at the door. "But Benito asked me to. He told me to start in the middle, in the book of John. I've already read it." She kept her hand on the knob. "I think Benito acts a lot like Jesus. He told me he tries to act like Jesus anyway."

"Sure," her father told her, returning to his newspaper. "Why not? They both see angels."

Chapter Two

Rico held the number twelve ranking the next time Roxanne saw him. July 17 dawned stormy. Since she hadn't heard from Benito, she decided to bike to the apartment complex despite the distant rumblings in the sky. She rapped once on the door, as was her custom, and then entered the living room.

Rico stood in the spare bedroom doorway with a blue towel wrapped around his waist. Bare from there up, he grinned and leaned on the jam. Tight black curls covered his chest. "I wondered when you would show up," he said, crossing his arms.

Hadn't she said he would be full of himself now that he was a tennis sensation? He looked too confident standing there, half-exposed, and probably thinking Roxanne was one of his adoring fans. She proved him wrong by saying, "If you're my birthday present then I hope Benito kept his receipt."

Rico snorted a laugh. "It is your birthday, isn't it?" He pushed off the door jam. "You're thirteen now?"

"Sixteen."

Taking a step toward her, Rico tilted his head. "Sweet sixteen and never been kissed?"

Wrinkling her nose, she told him, "That shows how much you don't know, nude-y boy."

She had been kissed and it was the most horrid experience in her life! After a fall off the Twister mat at Carol Terry's sixteenth birthday party, Howard "Howie" Hackett pinned her shoulders to the carpet and planted his sopping mouth over hers. Really, she was emotionally scarred and gave up the idea of marriage and children in those five awful seconds. On the sixth second, Roxanne shoved out of Howie's embrace and pinned him to the ground. Before he knew what happened, Roxanne slapped him and then slapped him again. When she pushed to her feet, she kicked him in the leg.

She still wanted to wipe her mouth with the memory. Instead, she asked, "Where's Benito?" Walking toward the kitchen, she hopped up onto a counter stool. "I suppose he knows we can't practice today?"

Rico took a step backward into his room. Before shutting the door he said, "He went to Norton's to ring you. I found out earlier that our phone is not working."

"Calling Felicity early?"

"I might look her up while I'm here. She's pleasant, never hot-tempered, nor odious like someone else in this room."

So, his English had improved--she would look up odious later. Now Roxanne replied, "You shouldn't talk about yourself like that."

He shut the door and dressed while Roxanne straightened EQUAL packets in Benito's sugar bowl. When Rico emerged from his room, he wore long beige shorts and a white REEBOK tee shirt. He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "So, who has been kissing you while I've been gone?"

"You should be more concerned about who Felicity's kissed while you've been gone."

Rico smiled and set a carton of eggs on the counter. "I'm not worried about Felicity."

"Howie Hackett," she told him anyway.

"Howie?"

Roxanne nodded. "That's right. You were just eye-candy and now it's sayonara, Tersigni."

"You're the one who sounds jilted. Did Howie break your heart?"

Snorting a laugh, Roxanne rocked in her seat. "There was a break all right but it was a leg and it was his."

A knowing look crossed Rico's angular features, "Skim-boarding?"

"Twister."

"You're a dangerous girl," Rico told her, pulling a bowl from a top cabinet.

She leapt from the stool and circled the island to watch Rico crack eggs. "Are you in town long?"

He stopped cracking after six eggs. "A week, so plan accordingly."

"What do you have in mind?" she asked, staring into the bowl. She leaned against the counter for support.

"Tennis?"

Roxanne guffawed. "We already know I'm better than you. Pick something else."

"How is your game going?" he asked with genuine interest.

Pleased, she answered, "I played Key Biscayne in March but I lost in the qualifying rounds to Marcie Cox. I won in a pro-circuit event though, right here in St. Petersburg."

"Pro?"

Benito came through the front door, followed by Mr. Norton. "Norton wanted to say hello to you," he told Rico.

Roxanne grinned and balanced her chin in her hand with her elbow on the counter. "You came all the way downstairs to say hello to me?"

"No," Norton told her. "I've seen you everyday for twelve years. When are you moving out?"

Roxanne flipped her ponytail and placed her back against the counter. "When I'm a tennis star and I want to forget all the little people."

Norton ignored her to fawn over Rico. "It's always a party around here when you're on television. We set up the wide screen in the club house."

Roxanne rolled her eyes and went to sit on the stool again. Old Norton would kowtow next and she didn't want to witness it.

Rico asked, "Does Roxanne watch too?" He grinned at her across the counter.

Mr. Norton stuck both hands on his trim waistline. "She always gets a front row seat."

Rico threw her a comically stunned look with his mouth dropped open. He grabbed his heart as if it pounded hard in his chest.

Frankly, he became difficult to suffer after that. He autographed anything Roxanne left in the open: her arm, a tennis shoe, or a note Benito left on the door for her. The prose always read the same, to my number one fan, Roxanne. The Mighty Tersigni.

* * *

Two days later and after a Matlock rerun, Leafie set out the card table on the screened-in patio. Roxanne sat between Leafie and Mrs. Brock and across from Rico who sat between Norton and Benito. "Rummy," she announced while slapping a card Rico discarded.

Rico shook his head. "There is no rummy."

She took the seven of hearts and laid it next to her four, five, and six of hearts.

"HANG THE GIRL," Norton boomed.

"Be quiet you old coot," Leafie warned.

Roxanne held up the card again. "Are you sure you don't want to autograph it before I use it?" When Rico reached across the table, she snatched the card away. Leaning forward slightly, she expressed in a sorrowful tone, "Unless you can sign Paul Gunter's name, then never mind."

Rico's features darkened at the mention of his nemesis.

"Paul Gunter is a Nazi," Leafie announced.

Norton told her, "So are you."

"Paul Gunter is the greatest player in men's tennis," Roxanne told them and took a drink from her soda after wiggling her brows wickedly at Rico.

Mrs. Brock added her thoughts, "I think Rico is the greatest player in men's tennis." She smiled sweetly and nodded at Rico.

Roxanne blinked at her and with a sincere voice asked, "How can you say such a thing, Mrs. B.? You know we sit up late at night swapping passionate stories about Paul Gunter." She looked at Norton. "She thinks he's got solid buttocks."

Mrs. Brock offered a nervous giggle at Roxanne's implication and took a card from the deck. "My Charlie had solid buttocks."

Norton screwed up his face in disgust. "Well, gee, did I really need to know that?" He threw an ace of clubs on the discard pile. "Great, I'll never get any sleep tonight."

Leafie stared him down. "You're not going to get to sleep? If you think you need to wear Old Spice every time we play cards, you are mistaken. My sinuses are corkin' up even out here on the patio."

Mrs. Brock threw away a two of clubs.

Roxanne picked up the ace and the two and placed them, along with the three of clubs, on the table. "I'm out."

Everyone groaned and threw down their cards on the table. Roxanne snatched the score sheet and signed her name. Standing, she walked to where Rico sat and leaned there against the table. "I know you wanted this," she said, grinning down at him. It read, to my number one fan: the Terdy Tersigni.

From inside Leafie's smock pocket a telephone rang. When she answered it she glanced at Roxanne and then got up from the table. Roxanne guessed it was her father and then knew it was when Leafie's voice rose from behind the kitchen island. "What you need to do is get a day job so your daughter doesn't have to live at an old folk's center."

Embarrassment flooded Roxanne's veins and she sat down in her chair again.

Mr. Norton cleared his throat and yelled to Leafie, "Why don't you take that phone into the front of the house? We're trying to concentrate on our cards out here."

It was a nice try but Roxanne's face felt hot. Everyone at the table shot quick glances at her while shifting uneasily in their seats.

Leafie's voice grew louder. "I don't care about a recording agent, Richard. Your daughter needs a father. She will wind up a runaway or pregnant. Is that what you want?"

Now everyone at the table coughed and Rico shuffled the cards loudly. Mrs. Brock found the TV remote and I Dream of Jeannie blasted into the room. Still, Leafie's voice floated above the uproar. "She is not nearly grown. She's sixteen. She looks grown-up Richard, BUT SHE IS A CHILD."

Leafie came out of the kitchen with a scowl on her face. "What the Sam-Hill is going on out here? Who turned on the television? I couldn't hear myself talk."

Mr. Norton said, "That is a great improvement then."

* * *

"I'm not one of your fans so stop autographing everything I own." They stood in the middle of Al Lang Baseball Field where batting cages were set along the outer wall. A black helmet fit atop Roxanne's head and it kept slipping down to cover her eyes. She pushed at it to glare at Rico. Still feeling awkward about him overhearing Leafie rant on the phone to her father two nights ago, Roxanne kept the conversation stirred up. "Do not go through my stuff."

"Don't you have more quarters? All I see are these smelly tennis shoes."

Roxanne missed the next ball hurtling out of the machine. It hit the fence causing it to clatter. "They are not smelly. I just washed them to get your signature off of them."

Another ball released and hit Roxanne square on her shoulder. After a good holler, she exclaimed, "That was your fault."

"You are wasting my money," Rico told her, dropping the gear bag. He stepped around the fencing and approached the cage. Slipping his own quarters into the machine next to Roxanne's, he picked up a bat. "The first one to ten is the winner." He swatted the first ball out of the machine into left field.

For the first time ever, Roxanne wasn't interested in defeating Rico Tersigni at sport. She held onto the chain-link fence between their cages and asked him, "What are your parents like, Rico? Do you live with them?"

He squinted at her between ball tosses. "They are with God."

"Oh. Who do you live with then?"

He swatted the next ball into center field. "I own a home in Italy."

"Oh," she offered again, but more softly. She had never thought about what he did outside of tennis. But, he was twenty-one years old, after all, and of course he was on his own. He probably made tons of money. She asked, "Why don't you live here?"

"Because I own a home in Italy."

"You said that already."

"I know." He clobbered the next pitch into the far right field.

He hit two more balls while Roxanne pondered a question. "Rico, do you go to church?"

"When I am home, yes. But I'm not home very much."

"Do you believe in God?"

"Sí."

She leaned against the fence then, with her hand clutching the chain links. "Why?"

He frowned at her while preparing for the next pitch. "When I was a little boy, I asked Jesus to save me. I've never doubted Him."

"Oh. What did he save you from?"

He ignored the next pitch. "What did He save me from? Sin and Hell, of course. What do you think he saved you from?"

She didn't look at him when she answered. "Running away and getting pregnant."

"Ahh," he voiced and she looked at him. He smiled at her. "Do not worry about what your aunt said the other night."

"I'm not."

"You ought to be worried that I'm already to ball seven though."

Roxanne positioned her bat on her shoulder. She swatted the first ball out of the machine while Rico missed the next ball. "I'm not worried about anything."

* * *

She parked her bike near the stonework water fountain. It was the last night Rico would be in town for the summer and another year before his return. Since the day they hit balls at the batting cages, Roxanne knew a special kinship with him. She would miss him when he left town this year. Maybe she always had but this year she was ready to admit it.

The eight o'clock summer sun left pink and orange streaks in the sky while setting. The tennis court lights blazed in the twilight. Roxanne popped the kickstand and walked toward Benito's building. The sound of Rico's voice caught her attention.

"E arrabbiata, what are you angry about?" he asked someone and Roxanne walked toward the fence. "Perché, why?"

Felicity sat next to Rico in the metal stands. She wore tight blue jeans and a low-cut filmy white blouse. "You spend all your time with Roxanne Perry. I've only seen you once while you've been here this time."

Felicity's words gave Roxanne a quick thrill and she stepped closer to the fence. Rico had his back to her. All she could see was his broad shoulders and black hair.

He said, "She's a little young for me, don't you think?"

"She's only about a year and a half younger than I am."

"Well, she seems younger."

"Do you think she's pretty? I'm sick of people saying she's pretty. Roxanne never wears makeup or nice clothes and all she cares about is competing and winning. In gym class, she tries to beat all the boys."

Rico stopped Felicity's flow of words with a kiss. When he pulled away, he offered, "She's not as sexy as you are."

Felicity's voice softened then. "You think I'm sexy?"

Roxanne didn't hear an answer and assumed Rico kissed the girl again. Finally, he murmured, "What do you think?"

"Roxanne Perry means nothing to you?"

His answer sounded frustrated, "I already told you, she's just a kid my grandfather wants me to keep company while I'm here. Her father doesn't pay attention to her and her mother took off years ago."

"You feel sorry for her?" When Rico shrugged, Felicity giggled. "I don't. Lots of boys have asked her out and she always refuses. She wants to hang out with the old people. I think she's weird. Don't you think she's weird?"

Rico answered but Roxanne couldn't hear it. She saw Felicity pull away. "You do realize that she has a crush on you, don't you?"

"Yes, I know, Felicity. Everyone knows. Who cares?"

Roxanne almost shouted, "I care!" Twisting around, she found her bike and pedaled home as fast as she could. Her chest felt as if it would explode and her throat constricted tightly. She made it into the house and to her room before she started to cry.

* * *

Rico did not see Roxanne Perry on his next visit. He could only stay a long weekend, and when the girl didn't show up the first morning, he asked his grandfather, "Where's Roxanne?"

"She went to Orlando with Richard."

The information gave Rico a start. "Who is Richard?"

"Her father; I guess you've never met him, have you?"

"Is she dating Howie yet?"

Benito sat in his high-back leather chair and tapped tobacco from his pipe into a glass ashtray. "Howie the shaggy hound? No; in his fantasies perhaps. He follows her around in hope."

"Someone else then?"

Benito opened a fresh pouch of Borkam Reef tobacco. "There seems to be no one, why?" He filled his pipe but kept his eyes on Rico.

"Has she grown ugly?"

The old man drew on the tip of his pipe while lighting it. "Roxanne is a pearl in this clammy world, my boy. Ask me about her game."

"She still competes?"

"Of course she still competes. Why wouldn't she?"

Rico shrugged and draped an arm over the back of the sofa. "Sixteen-year-olds are winning slams these days."

"That's because they are forced onto the court after their umbilical cord is cut. No one should be on the pro-circuit at sixteen."

Rico held his laughter but put forth, "I turned pro at sixteen."

"Yes, but you're Italian and come from good stock."

"Yours?"

"Exactly."

Rico jiggled the sneaker resting on his knee. "Roxanne competes in the junior division? I've never heard her name mentioned."

"And I'll tell you why." Impassioned, Benito leaned forward and pointed the end of his pipe at Rico. "The WTA limits girls to how many games they play. It's impossible to move up in the rankings."

"What is her rank?"

Benito waffled then and sat back in his chair. "Two thirteen."

"Two thirteen?" He tried to keep the harshness from his reply. "That is low."

"Roxanne has all the big weapons, she just lacks experience."

Rico asked, "She's seventeen?"

"Yesterday."

"What does she want to do?"

Benito lifted a brow. "She is confused, I think. Her father wants her to move to Nashville with him."

"Nashville? What's in Nashville?"

Benito shook his head in wonderment. "He wants to be a singer. I want Roxanne to turn professional."

Rico said, "If she turns pro, she's doomed to orbit the satellite tournaments. She would stand a fighting chance on a college league."

"She is not doomed. If she turns pro, she can fight her way out of the trenches. That's how stars are formed, my boy, by testing and by fire. Someday Roxanne will break on the scene and everyone but you and I will wonder over her."

Rico thought it unlikely but didn't say so. "You and me and the beautiful woman, eh?"

"Do not blaspheme."

Rico raised a palm and said, "I don't know why you want Roxanne to turn pro. It's a rough world for a young girl. There are many temptations that maybe you're not aware of."

"She is a good girl. She has trusted Christ. Roxanne will be fine."

"Yes, well, I've trusted Christ too, but it's still a rough atmosphere without much Christian influence. I've played during church hours and I've traveled so that I'm not connected up with people of the same belief."

Benito interrupted him. "You've done all right."

Not always, Rico thought, but didn't say so out loud.

Benito continued, "I will pray for Roxanne to meet Christian friends. There are more Christians out there than you realize."

"Will she be home after the weekend?" Rico asked. He had grown accustomed to her showing up the first day he arrived. Perhaps pretty Roxanne no longer had a crush on him.

"Yes, she is due here on Monday, unless they decide to stay longer. She said she would call."

But Roxanne didn't call and she didn't show up for practice until Rico left on Wednesday.

* * *

One year later, Roxanne and Valerie entered the double doors of the Essex House Hotel and made their way through the enormous foyer and reception area. Black and gray tiles reflected light from the chandeliers dangling from the high ceilings. Exotic palms lined the hallway as did branching fruit trees and fanning umbrella bushes.

Valerie asked, "You realize that you will run into him eventually?" She meant Rico Tersigni. Their conversations always turned to Rico when they entered major tournaments.

"I know, I know," Roxanne admitted. "It's just that I have this fear that if I see him I'll turn to mush and act fourteen again."

"Crushes are fun. Every girl has one while growing up." Valerie Scheidt stood at least two inches taller than Roxanne and wore her thick brown hair to her boxy shoulders. She wasn't a classic beauty but Valerie had lovely coffee-colored eyes behind lush black lashes. When she smiled, they twinkled like starlight in the night sky. Valerie was one of the handfuls of women on the pro-circuit who loved Jesus and wasn't embarrassed to say so. She encouraged Roxanne to speak boldly, too. They became best friends during last year's qualifying rounds at the U.S. Open. Since then, they became inseparable.

"The next you see Rico why not prove to him that you no longer have a crush on him? Simply walk up to him and act graciously, but maturely, and let him see that you are a woman now; a woman of mystery."

A woman of mystery...Roxanne didn't think of herself that way.

The contradictory look on her face prompted Valerie's response: "Listen," she advised. "You were what, fifteen, sixteen at the time? Now you're brand spankin' eighteen. You're all grown up. And, I would like to see both of us go on with our lives and stop looking around every hotel lobby in fear of seeing him. I'm tired of jumping in the men's bathroom to avoid the Mighty Tersigni."

"That's how you met Franko."

"Yes," Valerie said, smiling. "Franko..."

As if by trickery, just because they spoke his name, there stood Franko Mendosa by the elevator. He stood five-foot-eleven and wiry and had a mass of blonde curls on his head. Roxanne always wanted to take a brush to him. But, that wasn't what interested her at the moment. What interested her was that Rico Tersigni stood next to Franko.

She stopped walking and grabbed Valerie's arm.

"What?" Valerie asked, stopping too.

Roxanne nodded at the men. "Tell me why I'm over Rico Tersigni again."

"Well, for one thing," Valerie answered, staring in the same direction. "He wears his hair in a ponytail. He also litters our language with Italianisms." She paused to stare at Rico. "I once saw him wear cream-colored pants."

Roxanne pulled her toward a potted Umbrella plant.

Valerie asserted, "Now is your moment, Roxanne. Let's go over there."

"School girls hiding in the bushes?" someone asked behind them. Mina Gunter stood with hip cocked and her fist on her waist. The twenty-four-year-old held the number one position in women's tennis for the past three years. No one was her equal on court. Not since her second year as a pro did anyone defeat her. Pale blue eyes darted from Roxanne to Valerie. "Why are you hiding?" She glanced toward the lobby to find their motive.

Roxanne tried to think of a diversion. "We're not hiding. I have considerable interest in biology and I rushed Valerie over here to..." she touched the leaf on the Umbrella Tree, "...to find out the species of this, ah, Schefflera."

"Good for you, Perry," Mina told her. "Stick to farming." And with that, she walked away toward the elevator.

Still studying the plant, Valerie said, "I believe this variety of schefflera is called Plastic. Plastic varietius."

Roxanne laughed at her and moved forward with Valerie. She almost forgot Rico stood there.

Both men looked their way when Mina Gunter stood pointing them out.

"Oh, no," Roxanne breathed. "Oh, great."

Rico's brows shot upward when his eyes locked on Roxanne. He didn't look happy to see her. In fact, he looked angry. His eyes narrowed and his jaw squared like his shoulders.

She straightened the back of her blouse in a nervous gesture. "Rico, hello."

Valerie looked uncomfortable and stepped toward the elevator. "I'll see you upstairs, Roxanne."

Roxanne widened her eyes at her friend, begging her to stay, but was interrupted mid-plea when Rico said, "I missed you at breakfast." His glittery eyes slipped over Roxanne's awkward pose.

She let out her breath. "Didn't Benito tell you I wouldn't be there?"

"Yes, but he didn't know why."

"Oh." Suddenly she could not remember what excuse she had given Benito, so she said, "I stayed out late and I wanted to sleep in this morning." She straightened her blouse again. "How have you been? Congratulations on becoming number one in the world. Good for you."

"I thought you would call when it happened."

His words surprised her. "You did?"

"I waited all evening for a phone call."

Roxanne knew The Mighty Tersigni could not care what she thought about him becoming number one. She offered, "I thought you would be off celebrating."

"I always take time for my friends."

"Well, congratulations now. I'm sorry I took so long to say it."

"You're avoiding me, Roxanne, why?" He waited for her answer with hands on his hips. When she only blushed, he continued, "Even now you want to run away, Cosa é successo, what is the matter?"

"Nothing," she squeaked. "I've just been...really..." She didn't dare utter the word busy. "...occupied with other things."

"Occupied?"

She nodded. "Right."

"I did not see you last year and now you can't bother to eat breakfast with me? I saw you at Indian Wells but you disappeared into the crowd. Why?"

"Were you at Indian Wells?"

"You know I was there, Roxanne. I watched you play Janine LaFrance. Scusi, I watched Janine LaFrance slaughter you."

Roxanne tried to regroup her thoughts. She was supposed to prove she had magnetism or something. Mystery, that's what Valerie told her. So, she said, "Well, it was nice to see you, Rico." She started to move away.

He tilted his head. A small tight smile curved his mouth. "See me tonight."

"What?"

"Come with me to a restaurant."

"I can't," she said truthfully. "I've already planned an interview with Chic Eldridge."

"He can come too."

"You want to eat dinner with a sports announcer?"

"He is a good friend of mine." Rico took a step backward toward the elevator doors. "Meet me here at six."

"My interview is at five."

"Meet me here at five. I will call Chic."

* * *

When Roxanne and Benito stepped into the lobby at five, the announcer already stood with Rico. Chic Eldridge looked forty-something and wore his brown hair in a plastic style, all sprayed and moussed. He had a nice face though and bright and straight teeth. Chic not only announced play for the Fox Sports Channel, he wrote for Tennis magazine. An interview with Chic Eldridge was something not every player could boast. Still, he smiled too much and it disconcerted Roxanne when his blue eyes constantly slipped over her figure.

She hadn't dressed in a revealing way at all. She wore designer jeans with a white button-down blouse and white sneakers. Instead of the ponytail she usually wore, Roxanne left her freshly washed hair down and pushed it behind her ears.

Rico wore jeans too and a gray shirt. His chin-length hair looked washed and full and he brushed it off his forehead. He had to be the most attractive man Roxanne had ever seen even though he purposely left two days growth of beard on his face.

"We will eat here," he told her when she reached his side. "You don't mind?" When she shook her head, Rico turned to Chic who still openly watched Roxanne. Rico said, "Chic is buying."

"I am?"

"Yes, because you get two interviews for one."

"I would love to buy," Chic told him leading the way to the entrance of the restaurant. He checked his wallet for his credit card. "I hope I can pay for what Benito will eat. How are you my friend?" Chic called over his shoulder and then glanced back at the old man.

"Hungry."

"That's what I was afraid you would say."

* * *

"How long have you played tennis, Roxanne?" Chic asked over his salad.

She sat back and thought about it. "Since I turned five."

"You're eighteen?"

Roxanne nodded, "Yes."

"Then you've played as long as the Mighty Tersigni . How old are you, Rico, twenty-four?"

"Twenty-three."

Chic wrote numbers in a small notebook. "You both will have long careers then."

Rico shrugged.

The sportscaster frowned. "What? What was the shrug about?"

"If I win all four slams, I will retire."

His words caused Roxanne to pause her fork in the air.

Chic leaned forward. "You have already won all the slams."

"Yes, but not all in one year. That is my goal."

"Ambitious...retire to do what?" Chic wanted to know.

Again Rico shrugged. "I don't know, but tennis isn't my only interest. Maybe I'll take your job." He smiled slightly and then said, "Maybe I'll start a sporting goods line or maybe I'll grow grapes."

Roxanne nodded and pointed her fork at Rico. "You could deliver pizza just like that guy who runs the little parlor at The Pier."

Rico smiled at her joke but Chic Eldridge looked confused. "You're not serious?" He didn't ask Roxanne if she was serious about pizza but focused his attention on Rico. "What would the game be without The Mighty Tersigni?"

Roxanne pushed back her chair when Benito stood to revisit the salad bar. Chic Eldridge acted far more interested in Rico than in her, so she accompanied her coach. She put more salad greens on her plate and scooped ranch dressing.

Benito gazed at the pasta selection. "My mother used to make pasta from scratch," he told Roxanne. "It hung all over the kitchen."

"My father used to make pasta, too." She grinned at the old man. "Ravioli exploded in the microwave once. It looked like a worm massacre."

His face wrinkled more than usual. "That is too vivid while I stare at this clam sauce."

"It's the risk you take when you eat with me." She smiled at that moment, looking at Benito, until a baleful and alarming shape appeared on his other side. Its long and bony fingers reached for the pasta prongs while Benito looked at Roxanne. She gasped and then grimaced as Mina Gunter pulled long strands of pasta onto her plate.

The German woman looked beyond Benito and raised a brow at Roxanne. "Are you feeling alright, Perry? You look pale."

Benito turned to see Mina Gunter.

She nodded at the old man then continued; "I see I did you a favor this afternoon by pointing you out to Rico Tersigni. Now you're eating dinner with him?" Her blue eyes pinched at the corners as if she couldn't believe such a bad turn of events.

"I'm not eating with only Rico, I'm eating with The Mighty Tersigni," Roxanne explained and gave Benito a quick wink.

Mina's shoulders slumped. "I know Rico's nickname. You should have one. How about The Ludicrous Perry." She chuckled dryly, as if she had really zinged one.

Roxanne kept her voice even. "You're so funny, Mina." She pulled a face at Benito.

Benito turned to the other girl. "You are Mina Gunter?"

"I am. And I am hungry, so can we move along a little here?"

Roxanne slid her tray down the metal bar but Benito stayed planted where he stood. "We've never met," he told the German. "My name is Benito Tersigni. I am Rico's grandfather and Roxanne Perry's coach."

Mina batted her eyes several times. Then she smiled. "You are Roxanne Perry's coach?" Her blue gaze settled on Roxanne again. "That explains some things."

"It explains why she defeated you at Indian Wells." He moved his tray a fraction and selected the Antipasto. "And I knew she would." He raised the scooping spoon at Mina. "The beautiful woman told me Roxanne would defeat you."

Mina thought about what he said and a sneer creased her upper lip. "What woman told you Roxanne would defeat me?"

Roxanne pulled at Benito's arm. "Come on, Benito. Rico is waiting for us."

"The beautiful woman," he told Mina and ignored Roxanne.

"Oh..." Mina answered.

"In my soul's eye, you know?"

Mina nodded. "Sure. You mean like a vision?"

"Sí," Benito told her, nodding. "She will be a great player one day."

"The angel or Roxanne?"

"Roxanne," Benito said with a frown. "And, she's a great player now."

Mina's grin lit up her whole face. Her startling blue eyes crinkled at the corners. "You had me there for a moment, do you know that? I followed along with you until you said Roxanne was a great player right now." She laughed and grabbed the prongs for the salad greens. "You have a good sense of humor, Mr. Tersigni."

"Why don't you join us at our table?" Benito asked suddenly.

He didn't retract the statement even when Roxanne's eyes protruded in horror. "I'm sure Mina has another table..."

"Actually I do not. I would love to join you."

"Nice going," Roxanne hissed at Benito as they made their way back to the table.

He smiled serenely. "Keep your enemies in front of you, Chicitita. In that way you can always see their intentions."

Mina took Roxanne's seat next to Rico which caused Roxanne's dislike of the girl to soar to astonishing heights. Chic Eldridge, however, was delighted with the additional company. "My evening is complete," he burbled. "You won't mind if I include you in this interview?"

Mina settled a napkin in her lap. "I do not believe my father or my brother would appreciate my name mentioned in the same article with Rico Tersigni."

"Then why sit with us?" Roxanne asked candidly, taking a seat in the empty chair across from Benito. It seemed an obvious question to her but Benito frowned as though she had said something impolite. She added in a more benevolent tone, "What I mean is, if you cannot be written about along with us, why be seen with us?"

"Who is the us you are speaking about? Are you interviewing Mr. Tersigni as well?" She glanced at Chic.

Chic wiped his lips with him napkin. "No...no, I'm interviewing Roxanne along with Rico."

Mina's blue eyes flashed her way. "The top and the bottom of the game, eh?"

Chic suggested, "I sense a rivalry here."

"Yes, a rivalry," Benito declared. "They will be great competitors one day."

"Roxanne would have to win more often for that to happen," Rico put in and smiled in her direction.

Benito came to her defense. "You have forgotten that Roxanne defeated Mina at Indian Wells in the first round."

Roxanne nodded at Rico. "Yes, Benedict Arnold, you have forgotten about that." He should be on her side. The Gunters were his enemies, too. He seemed to have forgotten while sitting there so chummily next to Mina.

Rico laughed at her and took another bite of his food.

"Who is Benedict?" Mina asked.

Roxanne explained, "Benedict Arnold is part of American history. You would not know the name."

"I care no more for history than I do for plastic plants, Perry."

Benito turned toward her. "What you should know about history, Miss Gunter, is that it always repeats itself."

* * *

They didn't stay long after they finished dinner. Benito was ready to go upstairs and Roxanne accompanied him. Rico surprised her by quickly joining them in the elevator. She thought he'd stayed at the table with Chic Eldridge.

Benito got off the elevator first and shambled toward his room. Roxanne called, "Good night," and turned toward her own door.

Rico walked next to her.

She asked, "Is your room on this floor, too?"

"I'm on floor six."

"Well, where are you going, then?" She found her key in her bag.

"I'm walking you to your room."

She gave him a sideways glance and then frowned at him. "I can find my room by myself. See, I have a key with the number on it and everything."

"Mmm." He took the key from her hand. "Nine-twenty." He studied it like he'd never seen anything like it before. "I am walking you to your room because I asked you to dinner and this is the end of our date."

"Date?" She stopped in front of her door. Suddenly, she grew flustered. "This wasn't a date. We went to dinner with two other men and Mina Gunter. I barely spoke to you."

"You dislike Mina Gunter?"

Dislike was such a strong word; possibly not strong enough. "We've never exactly hit it off."

"I'm surprised by that. You seem to have much in common."

"You're joking aren't you?"

"No," he stated simply and he didn't look as though he joked either. His dark eyes held hers for a long moment. "You both are passionate young women and you both lack your father's attention."

So casually spoken, Roxanne thought. He had always been direct but his words embarrassed her. To side-step the obvious remark regarding her own situation, Roxanne asked, "Mina lacks her father's attention?"

"Have you never noticed that her father only regards Paul's game as credible? They are the only matches he attends."

No, she never knew that and wondered how Rico knew it. How did he know the Gunter family so well? Maybe like Benito suggested, Rico kept Paul Gunter in front of him so he could see what his intentions were.

"I feel sorry for her," he added, leaning against the wall next to her door.

He pitied Mina and he pitied her; it was exactly the reason she wanted to avoid him. She wanted Rico's friendship, his respect, his affection, but not his sympathy. "I do not feel sorry for her and I do feel not sorry for myself. Mina chooses to be unpleasant. We have nothing in common."

He pushed off the wall and studied her face. "No, you only pretend to act pleasant. I cannot tell what you are really thinking."

Perhaps this was the moment to tell him how he had hurt her two years ago but then he would argue his side of things and she would feel childish for feeling wounded...no. No. She did not trust her heart to Rico Tersigni knowing he would break it again.

His dark eyes crinkled at the corners. "Come with me to breakfast in the morning."

"No thank you." She took the key from his hand and stuck it in the lock.

Rico tried to catch her eye. "You're not staying out late so there is no reason that you cannot have breakfast with me."

"I don't eat breakfast."

His voice held a hint of frustration. "Still avoiding me?"

Roxanne pushed on the door. She took a step inside and then turned to say, "I'm sorry. I don't have much time left over in a day..."

Rico's jaw squared and his eyes narrowed. "No time for friends, eh?"

"Friends yes, babysitters no. I'm not a kid on summer vacation anymore, Rico. You needn't feel sorry for me and you don't need to take responsibility for me." She stepped back to close the door. "Goodnight."

Chapter Three

Scheduled to play the Italian Open in May, Roxanne, Valerie, and Benito arrived at the Aero Porte Roma on Wednesday and reserved rooms at the Grand Hotel Beverly Hills Rome. Since it was Benito's hometown, Roxanne assumed he disappeared the next morning to see friends and relatives. He didn't say.

"They speak Italian well, don't they?" Valerie commented, meaning the people milling about in the piazzas and streets. They sat on the Spanish Steps to watch the crowd.

"So do we," Roxanne reminded, holding up an Italian dictionary she had purchased at the hotel. She had her knees nearly to her chest and propped her elbow there to sift through the pages. "I would like to go ee GRAHN-dee ma-gahd-DZEE-nee."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Valerie told her, leaning back on her palms to stick her face in the sunshine.

"I said I want to go shopping."

"Well, why didn't you say so?"

Roxanne got to her feet. "According to this, I just did."

"It sounded as if you wanted a magazine." She stood too and pulled her purse onto her shoulder.

"Maybe I'll buy one while I go ee GRAHN-dee ma-gahd-DZEE-nee."

Valerie followed her off the steps. "You've got that phrase down. Now, how do you say, Are you crazy? I would never pay so much!"

"Ahh," Roxanne said, nodding. "Negotiating skills." She thumbed through the book.

They shopped smart boutiques on the Via Cordotti. Roxanne came out with several packages. She bought una verde bluse, occhiali da sole, e una borsa.

Now they sipped espresso at a sidewalk café near their hotel. "How do I say pastry?" Valerie wanted to know. "I need something to wash down my coffee."

Rico Tersigni suddenly sat down next to Valerie and across from Roxanne. "Paste," he told her.

Roxanne was surprised to see him and she didn't bother with her dictionary.

Valerie looked confused too. "Pahs-teh?"

In the umbrella's shade, his angular features looked shadowed and more pronounced. Still, Rico looked handsome and hearty. He smiled at Valerie. "Paste, yes, pastry."

"Then how do you say Pasta?"

Rico frowned. "Pasta."

"Well, how do you know the difference?"

"I don't usually order pasta in a bun-shop."

Valerie nodded. "That makes sense."

Roxanne asked, "Where did you come from," meaning nothing more than that. Seeing him again caused her to realize how much she missed Rico.

When Rico turned toward her, he lost his smile, and looked brooding and impatient. "I brought my grandfather back to the hotel. He would like to see you." His jaw squared with some emotion, as if he was still angry with her. The animosity hardened there in his black eyes and looked ready to spring to life with one wrong word from her. "We saw you from the car and I told my grandfather that I would fetch you."

She pushed to her feet ready to go but Valerie complained, "Wait, I have to buy pahs-teh."

Rico stood too. Baskets of petunias hung above their heads and streaks of three o'clock sunshine filtered through the latticework. When Valerie walked toward the bun counter, Roxanne looked at Rico. Shading her eyes, she offered, "You've had your hair cut. It looks good on you."

It was a short style cut close around his ears. "Grazie," he said while running a hand through the dark curls. He acted distracted by the crowd milling on the sidewalk. Rico looked all-man now. He had lost the boyish appearance he had the last time she saw him.

The last time she saw him...what an unpleasant memory. Many times since then she wished she would have told Rico the truth that evening instead of hiding in her hotel room. Roxanne shifted her weight to say, "Rico, the last we met, I said..."

"That I wasn't one of your friends. I remember." He bent to see employees file out of a nearby building.

Roxanne watched the people too and then looked at Rico again. "I didn't say that exactly. I was upset about something and I did not tell you about it."

Finally, he gave her his full attention. "It's okay." He said the words but the sentiment didn't touch his eyes. His gaze snapped back to the crowd. "MARIA!"

Roxanne jerked around to see whom he called. A beautiful young woman saw Rico and then nearly skipped into his arms. He kissed her soundly, right there on the sidewalk, and right in front of Roxanne.

Rico eased out of the girl's embrace. "Maria, this is Roxanne Perry."

Maria had enchanting brown eyes, soft, and with perfectly arched brows. Her makeup looked stunning. "Ciao," she offered without looking the least impressed with Roxanne. Truthfully, she looked comfortable in Rico Tersigni's arms.

"Ciao? Doesn't that mean goodbye?" Roxanne asked Rico.

"It means hello. Roxanne, this is Maria Sabatti." He hugged the girl closer to his side. "She's a good friend of mine."

"Hello," Roxanne said, nodding to the girl. "It's good to meet you. Oh, wait," she started and grabbed the Italian dictionary to flip to page eighty-one. "AH-bee-at een KWESS-at cheet-TA?"

Maria laughed delightedly. "Son ilanese."

"Wait," Roxanne objected when Rico grabbed her dictionary.

He frowned at the front cover. "What is this?"

"How else am I to communicate, hmm?" she asked, using her finest Italian accent and motioning with her fingers together. "Matto, crazy!"

Maria laughed again and Roxanne smiled at her.

"Well, you don't need it now," Rico said, handing the book to her. "I am here."

When Valerie joined them, she nodded to Maria. "Ciao."

"How did you know to say ciao?" Roxanne wanted to know. "I thought it meant goodbye."

"It means hello."

"No kidding?"

Valerie spoke to Maria. "Che bella faccia."

Maria smiled and blushed. "Grazie."

Roxanne rounded on Valerie. "What did you say?"

"I said the city is beautiful. We looked it up, remember?"

Rico laughed. "You said she has a beautiful face. And, I agree." He looked at Roxanne when he said it, as if he meant Roxanne had a beautiful face, but she knew he meant Maria. Maria had the beautiful face.

Valerie shrugged. "I meant what I said." She looked at Maria again. "You are beautiful. But, aren't we all, inside I mean."

"We must leave," Rico told them. "See you again some day, eh?"

Roxanne watched them walk toward his car. "I think she walks with a limp."

"Who? Maria?" Valerie asked, observing the girl. "She's incredibly beautiful."

"I want to find something wrong with her, okay?"

Valerie thought for a moment. "Her eyes were set awfully close together, don't you think?"

"Maybe her mouth was too wide."

"Then she's a good singer," Valerie commented. "Did you ever notice that all the great singers have wide mouths?"

Roxanne frowned. "Great. She sings, too?"

* * *

Benito greeted them in the foyer of the hotel. "Ah, Roxanne. I have much to tell you."

Roxanne stood in front of him now. "Where have you been? Have you been sneaking off to see a woman?"

"You are exactly right."

Roxanne and Valerie stared at each other with wide eyes. They hadn't expected this.

Benito corrected, "I went to see my granddaughter, Sylvia. I haven't seen her for nine years. God told me to visit her today."

Roxanne scratched an itchy place on her collarbone. He never spoke much about his family. She knew he raised Rico when his parents died. "You have a granddaughter? Rico has a sister?"

"Sit down," he suggested, pulling out his pipe. "I practically raised both Rico and Sylvia. I told you that my son and his wife died young. I brought Sylvia and Rico into my home. Rico was thirteen when my wife passed away. Sylvia was twenty. I thought they were old enough...and..." He hung his head and stopped stuffing his pipe with tobacco. "I remarried quickly, you see." He looked up at Roxanne with glistening eyes and he stuffed his pipe again. "When Daria, my second wife, became ill, she wanted to return to the United States. Of course, I accompanied her. Rico lived at the academy by then and Sylvia married." He nodded to himself. "It hurt Sylvia more than I ever understood."

Roxanne touched his arm in sympathy and looked at Valerie.

"I am sorry it happened but Sylvia never took my phone calls and returned letters I sent to her. But, today, this morning in fact, I heard God's voice and I knew I must see her."

Roxanne asked, "What happened?"

Tears pooled in his gray eyes. "Sylvia embraced me for so long that I thought I would suffocate."

"Ohh," Valerie cooed. "That is sweet. You've made up? Forgiveness is next to godliness."

Roxanne frowned at her. "You mean cleanliness, don't you?"

"No, I mean forgiveness. Forgive others as God forgave you."

"Sí," Benito interrupted. "We have reconciled."

Roxanne touched his weathered hand. "I am happy for you, Benito."

"I want you to meet her," he burst out. "She has invited us to dinner."

"That cannot be long from now." Roxanne got to her feet.

"Yes, change and bring tennis gear. Sylvia's home has a tennis court and you may get in some evening practice. Sylvia's husband is one of Rico's coaches. He will act as your hitting partner."

Roxanne looked at Valerie, imploring her to accompany them.

Valerie declined. "I'm staying here to eat pahs-teh."

* * *

An elegantly dressed Sylvia met them at the door of a sprawling villa. She stood at the heavy wooden door that led through a tiled hallway that eventually opened into a courtyard with a water fountain in the center of it. The next door led to a living room of sorts with white furniture and brightly colored cushions. "Roxanne," Sylvia spoke with a heavy accent. "Please sit down." She wore a diamond teardrop necklace that flashed against her bronzed skin.

"Thank you," Roxanne told her hostess. "You have a beautiful home."

Sylvia looked like Rico with her long and thick hair. She had eyes of black fire. "You are molto bella, Roxanne." She pronounced Roxanne, Ruxanne. "My brother spoke of you."

"Rico?"

"He is my only brother." She turned slightly. "He is here...Ricardo," she called.

Rico appeared in the doorway and leaned on the jam. He drank iced tea and tilted it in salute. Wearing blue jeans and a black silky shirt, he looked cool and distant. Around his neck he wore two chains; one an Italian coin, the other a heavy gold cross.

Sylvia inquired, "Where is my husband?"

Rico nodded behind him. "Into your cooking pot."

Sylvia stomped out of the room, speaking a version of Italian Roxanne didn't think she would find in her little dictionary.

Rico winced as his sister stormed past him. Then he grinned and took a seat next to his grandfather. "Ech, donnas." He looked at Roxanne and cleared his throat. Sounding reasonable, he asked, "Signorina, a drink? We have iced tea, fruit juice, and soda."

"No, thank you."

Looking relaxed and even jovial, Rico leaned back in the seat. "Nonno?"

Benito declined and extracted his pipe from his jacket pocket.

Rico shifted his gaze to Roxanne. He acted civilized, distant, and reluctant to make her feel comfortable. Though his manner was courteous, his black eyes were as dark and cold as a winter's eve.

She asked, "Do you live here, Rico?"

He shook his head slowly. "No, my home is across the city." Pots clanged in the kitchen and Sylvia's voice carried into the living room. Rico chuckled at Benito. "Mama mia."

"My granddaughter has always had a temper," Benito explained.

So Rico acted like his sister. How long had Sylvia not spoken to Benito? Eight or nine years, did he say? Roxanne had only offended Rico nine months ago. That meant he might be ready to forgive her in...seven years and three months. "Hmm," she voiced aloud, considering Rico while doing so. Perhaps she should remind him that cleanliness--godliness--forgiveness is next to godliness.

Rico interrupted her reverie. "You think I act like my sister? You are exactly right, Roxanne Perry."

A big man came through the doorway. He was as tall as Rico, but nearly gray-headed. His face looked young, though. Roxanne guessed him to be around forty years old. He stuck his hands on his hips and looked at Roxanne. "I am Carlos Dello Iacono, King of the Kitchen."

Roxanne cackled at such an introduction. "Hello."

Rico frowned at his brother-in-law. "You will be king of the underworld if Sylvia has anything to do with it."

"The woman never adds enough vino to the Scaloppine alla Marsala." Carlos looked at Roxanne. "Grazioso, Roxanne Perry. Rico spoke of your charm."

Roxanne looked at Rico in wonderment.

Rico offered a small shrug. "I said American girls are fantastic. I don't remember pointing you out particularly."

"She's no bebé as you described." Carlos walked toward Roxanne and took her hand. "But the blonde hair, molta bella."

"You said that?" Roxanne asked, arching a brow.

Rico shrugged again. "I do not remember." She looked at him with such astonishment that Rico nearly laughed. Watching her now, he remembered how she angered him a year ago. It was fairly shocking to learn that she didn't want to be around him, but he knew she would grow up one day. Still, it made his blood burn.

She wore a khaki short skirt and a blue and white top. She looked fresh and young and pretty with her blonde tresses loose about her shoulders. Her brown eyes looked innocent and unknowing, but he knew better. He wondered what she thought right then. She acted friendly but he suspected she would have been more comfortable if he wasn't sitting there. The fact agitated him further.

A distant doorbell sounded and Carlos moved toward the foyer. Rico stood. "I will get it. I invited Maria." And, he was grateful for the foresight. He couldn't take his eyes off Roxanne now. She didn't want him and he certainly didn't want her. She was a miserable girl and if it were left to him, he would throw her out now. Let the cat starve!

Rico opened the door, accepted Maria's kiss, and led her into the living room. She smelled marvelous, like jasmine. Her thick hair touched his arm and he thought: here's a real woman, not some silly girl who didn't know if she loved him or not. Maria deserved a kiss and Rico pressed his lips to hers again.

Sylvia came into the room. "Dinner is ready." She spied Carlos. "No thanks to you. We might as well have gone to the pub." Then Sylvia smiled at Maria. "Everyone into the dining room."

Rico watched Roxanne get to her feet. Her legs looked long and brown from the sun. He saw that her hair nearly fell to her waist now. Some strands looked nearly white.

His sister said, "You are sweet," complimenting Roxanne. "You are the next Kournakova, eh?"

"Sylvia no," Rico let out. The fuss over Roxanne was outrageous. "Kournakova?"

"Roxanne is much like the Russian. She's more square-jawed and wide-eyed, I think." Sylvia studied their guest. "You're lovely."

"Ha!" Rico spit out, unable to stop himself.

Sylvia pinched him hard. "Why do you put up with him, Maria?"

Maria did not comprehend the banter since she did not speak English. Rico explained and then Maria tucked an arm into his. At least Maria loved him.

Benito cackled as they made their way into the dining room. "Roxanne and Rico have always fought. Since the day they met, they were like the lupos, the wolves, at each other's throats."

Carlos winked at Sylvia. "They sound like us."

Rico didn't like the parallelism. "I do not want to fight with a woman. I'm a lover." He caught Roxanne rolling her eyes.

The huge dining room had terra cotta tile and mortared steps leading up into it. Fern and philodendron hung from the dark wood beams and a wide fichus tree graced one corner of the room. A solid oak table took up most of the area with heavy wooden chairs surrounding it. Beautiful table settings offered crystal goblets and silver cutlery. His sister always knew how to set a table.

When Roxanne sat down next to Benito, Rico sat next to her. His arm grazed hers as he fit his cloth napkin into his lap. On his left sat Maria. Why didn't she draw his attention as Roxanne? Clearing his throat again, he shifted his weight to set his eyes on Maria. The girl looked beautiful with her thick hair and brown eyes. He remembered meeting her and how she set his heart to racing. Full-lipped and bronzed, Maria was shapely and desirable. Tonight she dressed to entice with a sleek floral dress of gauzy material. It fit over her flat stomach in an appealing manner.

"My grandfather tells me that L'Oreal asked you to represent them?" his sister asked Roxanne after grace.

Rico twisted around to look at Roxanne.

She forked a small piece of veal into her mouth. Finishing quickly, she dabbed her lips with a napkin. "Yes, a couple of months ago at Boca Raton, a representative approached me. I received a phone call from their company president about a month later."

Carlos leaned forward. "L'Oreal, isn't that a makeup company?"

Roxanne nodded. "They are a large company who support the Women's Tennis Association. They sell more than makeup though. They have hair care and hygiene products."

"Girlie stuff?" Carlos asked.

Roxanne grinned and Rico noted how her brown eyes lit up with the question. "I suppose so, yes."

"So, you decided to take the contract?" Rico asked.

She shifted in her seat to answer him. "Yes."

Rico nodded. "They will expect you to win once in a while."

His words caused her brow to knit together. "There was nothing in the contract about winning or losing."

"They never do, Roxanne. Still, maybe all the L'Oreal people care about is how you look on court, not how you play."

Benito spoke. "It has been a lucrative deal for Roxanne. She now is paid to play." He patted her arm. "Not a bad deal, eh? You should know, Rico. You have plenty of sponsors."

He nodded gravely. "That's how I know what will be expected of her."

* * *

After dinner, Rico walked Maria to the car. She asked, "Are you going to stay? Why not come out with me?" Her full lips pouted and Rico kissed her.

"I'm off women, remember? I cannot see you until after the tournament."

Maria brooded again. "It's a silly notion that you have to not make love to me."

"It is my conviction." He opened the door for her. "And, I cannot be distracted when it is time to compete. I will never remain number one if I am constantly sidetracked."

She rubbed her palms across his chest. "I want to play, too."

Maria was an exciting woman but Rico refused to be snared by her. "You want to play tennis?" he teased, knowing full well what she meant.

"I would not play such a vigorous sport. Your little friend Roxanne probably sweats a lot, true or not?"

Rico laughed at her jealousy. "I wouldn't know."

"Good. I'm glad you do not. I will see you after your tournament."

Rico watched her car move out of sight and then turned to see the court lights come on in the back of the house. Walking toward the fence, he saw Benito and Roxanne. She wore black polyester shorts and a gray spandex top over her slender frame. Obviously, they meant to practice and Rico moved closer.

Roxanne's skin looked honey-brown in the court lighting. Blonde hair trailed down her back in a braided ponytail. In some ways she still looked like the kid he had harassed. Her face wasn't as thin as it used to be and her lips filled out nicely; so had the rest of her. She had always been such a skinny kid. Now soft curves rounded out her hips and thighs.

He pushed at the gate to enter the court.

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