Masked Ball

Jake watched a few of them, all masked up, hitting cautious tennis balls with their racquets out on the softball field in Inwood Hill Park, the masks all a various combination of cowboy bandanas, medical grade coverings, and slinky black stretchy things that sling around the ears, and even plain white table napkins tied behind the neck. Since the park officials had closed the courts and taken away the nets, they were all wondering where they were going to go. The tennis courts themselves were no great accomplishment, basically just green paint and white lines on concrete next to two basketball courts, and near a twenty-foot high concrete wall that served the handball court.

The brown-shirts, Parks Department officials, had fenced up the handball court so they couldn’t go there. That place had been a good alternative for a few of them, Diego, Armand, Carlos, and Jose sometimes, and Ramon sometimes, or just three of them. Nanya showed up sometimes and so did Haiki, and Victoria and her husband Stewart came. Diego found a yellow police barricade tape from a crime scene over on Broadway where the bodega owner was knifed, and he fixed it across the concrete handball court as a make-shift net, and they all played a crazy reconfigured type of mixed doubles.

Jake didn’t play. He was too afraid of the virus that was raging and in fact was nursing an injured wrist that prevented him from a free movement on his swing. He watched from a distance, waved as he walked by up on the sidewalk on Seaman Avenue, and Victoria looked up and waved back, and always acknowledged him.

After the law fenced up the handball courts, they then fenced up the basketball courts and that pretty much did everybody in. The locals in the neighborhood working from home or otherwise sheltering in place, wandered around Inwood Hill Park, all over the green, and by the inlet, with their children, and pets, and wives, or alone masked up, and distancing from each other, longing for something to relieve their creeping dread, and shooting selfies.

Jake suggested that they could all go out to one of the clay softball fields to play because it was a lot like a clay tennis court, only a little different size, and not very smooth, and not fenced, so really not like a tennis court at all but it was kind of their only alternative for an open free space where they could hit the ball. Diego got some sticks and a garbage can and set up his police tape across one of the fields from the backstop fence, and drew some lines in the dirt and they all showed up every good afternoon toward May, stripped off their masks, and hit the tennis ball back and forth in the soft uncertain dirt.

They saw right away that the regular tennis ball really didn’t bounce well on the gritty ground of the softball field, so Nanya brought some of the kids practice balls she had. The practice balls were green and yellow, or orange and yellow and bounced livelier than the regular balls. She also brought some of the sponge balls that really bounced high, but didn’t have much heft so it was kind of like hitting nothing because there was no contact vibration on the racquet.

Jose, Diego, Armand, Carlos, showed and sometimes Angelo, and Haiki, Nanya, and Victoria and Stewart, and Jake, and Jake mentioned that he had heard from Sandy Marconi that Marian hadn’t been around and he was sick, and maybe from the virus. Marian was an aged ex-military Polish soldier who had survived World War 2 and a prison camp and was living in New York, who even with his age could still sculpt a crafty point or two. The joke between them was that if you lost a point to this guy you had gotten “marian-ated”, which wasn’t really funny funny, but everybody got a little tense hearing of his being sick and you could read it in their eyes, as if they all saw that whatever this virus was, it was able to reach them.

Jake was an actor and he pretty much accepted that there would be no work since all the Broadway theaters had closed, and all the TV and film productions had gone on forced hiatus. He was still submitting for work but virtually everything that came up was voice-over stuff and working from home, but that didn’t stop him. He had strong looks, sensitive eyes, salt and pepper hair and kept himself in good shape so he sometimes could get seen for roles that were for younger characters.

They all played practically every day in the early days of April partly to prove they were stronger than some invisible infection, and the weather was good and Diego was always willing to stretch his police tape up across the dirt, and they all showed up, pretending that they were being careful and the virus wouldn’t get to them.

#

Victoria rolled over and pulled Jake’s hand up to look at his watch. The afternoon light angled in through the bedroom windows on her dark oval eyes, smooth golden skin, and the mussed bangs of her straight black hair. She smelled like Coppertone lotion and musk.

“Is that the right time?”

“Of course.”

“I gotta take care of Stewart.” She pushed back the covers, slid over and sat up at the edge of the bed. Jake took a last admiring look at the smooth skin of her back as she slipped on her sports bra. He considered the way it flowed from her shoulders into her hips, and how she looked on the tennis court moving to the ball, and how that toned body was something that delivered pleasure and guilt.

“You gonna stay in bed?” She asked.

“No, I’m gonna get up.”

“Stay.”

“Alright...” Jake watched as she reached up, crossed her arms behind her head and stretched her back.

“I’m off to Philadelphia tomorrow.” Victoria said.

“Where to?”

“Some hospital call center to train dual language assistants.”

“Exciting...! Do they temp you when you go in, and when you come out?”

“They take your temperature when you go in..., and you have to fill out a form saying that you don’t have any symptoms. And then you wash your hands in sterilizer every time you go to a different floor.” She paused there for a moment and reached around to rub the lower part of her back. Jake rolled over and found his phone and thumbed open the camera. He reached up and snapped a pic. Victoria looked around.

“What are you doing?!”

“Nothing.”

She grabbed the phone and looked at the image on the screen. The light lit up her face.

“Is that what I look like? That vertebra really sticks out, huh?”

“I like it.”

“No pictures. Don’t do it.” She opened his picture gallery app and deleted the pic.

“You want me to rub your back? A massage might get that hurt out.”

“No... gotta go. Philadelphia tomorrow. Stewart is waiting.”

“How long you down there?”

“End of the week.”

Jake got up, slid on his shorts and slipped his feet into a pair of old Nikes. He walked into the kitchen as Victoria started to slip back into her tennis clothes.

She walked into the kitchen as Jake was drinking from a coffee cup filled with seltzer. She took the cup out of Jake’s hand and sipped a little, then squinched up her nose and handed the cup back. She reached up and lightly stroked his cheek with her cool fingers.

“I’ll see ya when I see ya.” She said and slipped on her mask, walked to the front door of the apartment, picked up her gear and let herself out.

“I’ll see ya when I see ya.” he said.

Jake made it to the shower, wondering about the future, not caring or caring, only knowing that he felt privileged to love this beauty, and what he admired in her, like her ability to sustain a marriage, and her liking for the game, although it may have been ignited by Stewart’s playing, leaving her home alone, and he liked Stewart and this turned him over inside, and her natural way of moving to the ball, agility and fearless way of playing the net, that whenever he heard Beach Boys and “Good Vibrations” he thought of that singular and authentic thing she sparked in him.

It was due to Mick that they hit it together. Mick had the good nature to die first. They all thought that he was just sick. He was at the Hospital in the Bronx right up until the end and they all had visited at least once to see him, and then they stopped letting anyone in, and the whole thing was something that showed them that they were not untouchable. Jake had gone to the funeral home early before anybody else and later there were text messages back and forth with pics and sentiments and Jake was happy he had avoided personal contact with any of them, not because of the virus but because he and Mick both were aware of that flimsy sheen of public personality that was necessary and phony, or maybe that’s just how his mind was working after the loss. Mick had driven a taxi and had stories of picking up people like John Malkovich, and Jake would talk about working as an extra and in a scene face to face with Al Pacino, and they had a few good days of tennis, but Mick mostly came to the park to score weed from the local connection, and generally he and Charlie would sit on the back benches overlooking the courts and smoke.

Victoria and Jake met a couple of days later at Taffy’s Pub and after a toast to Mick they cheerfully walked down Seaman Avenue to their apartments and it was then, when they clinched in a hug, that Jake mumbled for her to come up for a minute, and once inside they found each other’s lips, and necks, and belts, and zippers, and left their clothes and bags in the small entryway of the apartment and rolled into Jake’s bed.

#

They all met out on the softball field the next day. Ramon and Jose spent time pitching a football back and forth. Pedro, the dark mustached Mexican, showed up without a racquet and grabbed one of Diego’s from his backpack and everybody started hitting volleys back and forth.

Later Diego confided to Jake that Pedro had tested positive for the virus and that he just came up and grabbed a racquet without asking. Jake backed away from Diego, and started getting his bag and his racquet together for leaving.

Pedro was ranting to Jose and Armand that he was not going to “...wear no fuckeeng mask! They want to geeve me a mask, I ain’t buyeeng no fuckeeng mask...! Fuck them they tink I wear a fuckeeng mask.”

Nobody in the group really got hit by the infection, except for Pedro, and, well Marian, and Mick. Marian and Mick both died, but there were other things going on that maybe had some influence, like Marion’s extreme age, he was 90, and Mick’s issues with brain cancer and that may have done them in. Pedro was sick for a while. His eyes were bleary and watery and he was coughing but the guy would not wear a mask, and he would hang out on the park bench with Jose, and Carlos, Armand and Diego and everybody, and no one seemed to be cautious.

Jake would walk out to the court masked, without his gear and just look on from a distance, rubbing his wrist, to watch Victoria and Nanya hit balls out in the field with the others, and even from the street he could make eye contact with Victoria but she would only acknowledge him and continue.

The mayor’s daily radio reports announced that the deaths were occurring quickly, with 1400 people dead since yesterday, basically 700 more, and at least 350 more since the day before. Jake would wake in the night sometimes at like 4AM, and wonder if he would become a statistic. In the dark he would find the button on the radio at his bedside to get news that 300 more people had sickened since yesterday.

Jake was lucky he had a steady union job, and now working from home, but the days seemed to blur together without a hard schedule to go by. Before the virus hit Jake went to the courts on the weekend and he and Mick and Helene, and Charlie, and Steven, and Billy and Arianna would all play a crazy rotating mixed doubles with Chuck and Uri, and it was beautiful.

And they made fun of all the characters that frequented the courts. Like Denton Starret, a balding crusty PhD in Psychology and writer of self-published sports therapy books, who 40 years ago played in a USTA tournament and lost in two sets after winning one game to a player ranked 296 in the world, so his name was listed in historical documents as a “player”, and he never let anyone forget it. He had to play every day, in rain, snow, tornado, volcanic eruption or solar eclipse as it was necessary for an Obsessive-Compulsive-Disorder program he developed. He even plays in the summer without shoes and claims that any it centers him. While the courts were closed he took his daily ball-hitting activity to places like the wall of the Kingsbridge Bus Depot over on 10th Avenue, or the homeless shelter on Dyckman Street where he would hit a tennis ball against the wall for two hours continuously, waking sometimes the homeless men that were laying there and he would proclaim that he had every right as a taxpayer to hit the ball wherever he wanted.

#

By June they put the nets back up with the help of Denton and Sandy, who together complained daily to the Parks Department Officials that it should happen immediately.

Each of them had everyone on massive group text streams with endless alerts stating that “ANY DAY” they would have the courts back, and every day there were messages about the sluggish progress of opening the area for all the players, and every day there was a note from someone about how outrageous this all was and how someone had spoken with some ranking official and was assured that it would happen by Friday, or Wednesday, or definitely before the next full moon, or at least before everyone died.

Even though they got the nets up but the Parks Department wouldn’t unlock the gates. Public Service Announcements were streaming about how to conduct behavior on the courts when players would be allowed back, like any player would pay attention to the suggestions. So some player unhinged the bolts at the corner pole of the fence and rolled back the links enough so that anyone could scrunch down and ease through, and everyone went in that way.

Denton and Sandy both took credit for the progress of the courts. Sandy, a fiery plain-speaking black-haired woman, always taking a commanding position in affairs, claimed she had “direct communication with Jennifer Keating, the manager of the courts”, but she sent out texts every day with a step-by-step outline of the procedure and progression of the reopening. Between the two of them they had complete coverage of the virus and its effect on tennis recreational activity.

#

Later lying on top of the bed sheets Jake and Victoria looked toward the ceiling and she announced that she and Stewart might be moving to Michigan. He was union so the local there would place him after his interning to complete his degree. Victoria’s company would set up her base at home so she could work from there.

“Michigan, huh.”

“Yeah... The cost of living is lower there, and Stewart already has a job opportunity with a senior living center there ... so... everything’s hunky dory.”

“They got tennis courts there?”

“I dunno... I guess we’ll find out!”

They lay there for a while looking at nothing, and Victoria rolled away from Jake’s side and rested her head against her arm. She brushed her dark bangs away from her face.

“You need a shower.” She mumbled.

Jake looked toward the bedroom window and cast his eyes across the apartment courtyard into an apartment where he saw a woman at the stove in her kitchen doing something with a frying pan. The plain daylight made his green eyes appear weak and troubled.

“They came for Jose Wednesday.” Victoria said.

“Hunh...? Who- what happened?”

“They came for Jose. ICE. They met him at his mother’s house in the Bronx, and they took him away.”

“What for?”

“He was here illegally. That’s what they said anyway.”

“Shit. Damn, ... I’m sorry. ... He was a nice guy. ... Back to Ecuador?”

“No he was from Bolivia. Armand is from Ecuador.”

“Oh, I thought Armand was from Guatemala.”

“No... Carlos is from Guatemala. Armand is from Ecuador. ... And Jose is from Bolivia.”

“Carlos... with that forehand...” Jake said as he took it in and reorganized his thinking. “Oh. ... Back to Bolivia?” he said.

“Yeah. I guess. But I hear they’re holding him because of the virus. Maybe he’s in detention here. I dunno.”

“How did that happen all of a sudden?”

“They said he went to get virus-tested and the people at Lab World had his information. And he popped up on somebody’s list. So he doesn’t even know what the test said.”

“How are they holding him then?”

“In detention somewhere. Isolated from other people until they can deport him. I guess that’s how they’ll do it.”

Jake watched the woman across the courtyard move away from the window with the pan. “Damn...” he said. “He had a good serve too.”

Victoria’s phone chimed and she picked it up from the edge of the bed and looked at the screen. She heaved a sigh.

“Okay.”

“You leaving?”

“You marry a man, you marry his family.” She said as she moved to the edge of the bed. “We’re all going to Long Island Saturday.”

“Well, I’m glad I met cha... Yes ma’am I’m awful glad I met cha.”

“I bet you are.”

She was up and out the door before Jake could get up.

#

After they (finally!) unlocked the gates, Jake played with the hackers, Chuck, Sean, Uri and sometimes Clark, retired, all recovering or receiving treatment for physical issues. They all met out on the court closest to the fence because there it was easier to retrieve the miss-hit balls.

It was back next to the basketball courts where the guys sat against the corner enjoying their weed and sneakers squeaked on the painted pavement and laughing jeering players called to each other as the thumping basketball bounced off the rim and backboard and smoke drifted through the green windscreen.

Jake, frustrated around them because they had no clock to live by and seemed to float in and out of everyone’s little circles, was playing doubles with them due to his sore wrist, and losing sometimes. A player can drive the ball, slice the ball, serve, volley, smash, block, basically stroke the ball to make it do what he wants. Hackers hack at the ball, creating junk in the stroke and ultimately altering the elegance of the sport into a slapping, swatting awkward activity.

Chuck, a recovering cancer victim, chatted away idly with his doubles partners, so a lot of them avoided playing on his side, except Jake who dug some of his ideas. Chuck always referred to the tennis court as a rhombus, and, although a classic junk-baller played a smart game that relied primarily on placement rather than stroke mechanics. He would chop the ball back high, hit it with underspin, sidespin, backspin, and a variety of hacking strokes that allowed the ball to drop in places on the court and die.

Uri, the older Russian, had come back from prostate cancer, and had no real game, but was a solemn honest player and dedicated to playing with all the other oldies. His serve was a patty cake, but so slow that the opponent would sometimes miss because there was no action on the ball.

Sandy Marconi walked by the courts with her twins as everybody was showing up. She slid her mask down, and spoke to them through the fence.

“Clark Setter will not be playing today because he died and was discovered by his sister Denise over the weekend.” She said.

Sean looked over from where he and Chuck had dropped their bags. They were standing at the net post closest to the fence and had just fished out some good balls to hit.

“She hadn’t heard from him so she texted him, and then called and he never answered, so she went over there and found him on the floor. All the lights were on and the apartment was warm and he just didn’t make it.”

Chuck and Sean talked with Sandy about it all. It was clear that Clark had gotten sick and didn’t see a doctor thinking he was strong enough to recover, or maybe that it wasn’t that serious. A retired New York State court assistant he hacked as well as the others, and everyone tensed up a little more hearing about him, wondering when their time would come.

Uri sounded truly saddened when he said “Is too bad now we find new person to play on the meexed doubles.”.

Jake listened for a minute from the other side of the net then grabbed his phone from his bag, and texted Victoria.

“I just heard that tennis is a great cardio activity..., along with other things...!” He hung onto his phone expecting a response. He followed up with “:-)”.

“Yeah” Chuck agreed. “That messes us up for Saturday.”

“Wow, that’s too bad.” Sean said. “The guy looked okay last time he played. I mean he looked okay. I was just getting used to his serve.”

“We can always get Nanya.” Someone voiced.

“Yeah... but she can’t move. What about Charlie?”

“We’ll have to call him.”

Jake texted Victoria. “Maybe a good day for another hit ;-)”. He stood by while Sandy and the others chatted through the fence.

Great billows of smoke drifted through the windscreen and Sandy eventually got outmatched by Chuck’s chatter and left, then they all hacked back and forth a while. At one moment Jake watched the ball consume more of the air as it flew over the net, and gravity, pulling the ball back to where it belonged, like the planet itself spinning and being pulled into some orbit, flying along by a slew of forces. A spinning ball on a spinning planet in a constantly spinning evolving universe, we are here alone being consumed by a virus that will take us like the dinosaurs were taken by some disease or ice, or a meteor or something, only this is us killing ourselves off. We are an authentic original species, master of the universe and all the effort to imagine other intelligent life forms is mere speculation. We are here alone, endangered, living on borrowed time as the virus seems to say that it will consume itself from within.

Jake stopped hitting, walked to his gear, drank some water and checked his phone. No message.

#

Jake’s compact three-volume set of “Remembrance of Things Past”, turned out to be a real comfort during the long isolation imposed by the mayor, the governor, and the health experts. At home he opened the first volume and read the opening paragraph, then organized his thoughts, and picked up the second volume and used the two books to lift over his head several times. They served as a convenient tool in working his shoulders to warm up as he lifted each book to a horizontal level. As an added element he read the second paragraph before replacing the books back on his shelf.

When he went to the park later he stumbled on a crumpled receipt from Grocery Town, and bent to pick it up. Wrapped inside the piece of paper were a five dollar bill and two ones. Jake smiled at Abe Lincoln’s face, and a thrill ran through him like he may never have to work again as he folded the bills together and slipped them into the pocket of his sweat pants.

He could see way over on court 3, Victoria and young Angelo hitting with Charlie and someone else. Jake sent her a text to get her attention.

“Wanna play :-)” he sent, trying to keep it simple enough just in case Stewart saw the phone.

At one point Victoria stopped and walked to the net post to look at her phone. She put it down and went to Angelo on the other side of the net and handed him a tennis ball with seeming care and affection, then went to the fence, slipped through and went to the ladies room at the basketball courts. Angelo was attentive, cautious and young and usually wore the popular surgical mask that everyone else was wearing.

Jake waited without a reply, and went back home, got his gear and walked back out to the courts approaching from the back near the handball court.

From behind the windscreen on the back fence he could see Victoria in a surgical mask and Angelo wearing his mask carefully embraces next to the ladies room. Angelo seemed unsure as he and the woman touched their covered lips together.

There was a place he held inside himself where he would go and recover or turn over some answer but now he could hear his wailing echo in the expanding space that only forced him to adjust his grip on things.

He walked away, wandered over to the other side of the park and began to hit a tennis ball against the deserted handball court wall and watched it spin, and yet sometimes the ball flying without spin seemed to hang in the air for longer periods and he wondered how difficult life would be from now on.

#