Free Sudden Death by Rita Mae Brown

Siggy Wayne, world’s perfect ectomorph. I’m running out of men.”
    Harriet linked her arm through Jane’s. “How’s our last choice?”
    “Fussing. You know how he is the first day of a tournament. He has to inspect everything. He never has gotten over that time at the U.S. Open when he broadcast two sets without sound.”
    “I still say some angry female player cut the cables because her side wasn’t getting enough coverage.”
    The two friends stood at the net to watch Carmen and Beanie Kittredge practice. Carmen waved to Jane from the backcourt.
    Beanie’s Aussie accent boomed out, “Hey, bitch, you getting any?”
    Jane answered in perfect mid-Atlantic tones, “Beanie, I hear you put a yellow yield sign over your bed.”
    Carmen fluffed a ball. “No fair. Save your best lines when she’s in her backswing.”
    Jane dutifully waited until Beanie’s wrist was laid back for her murderous forehand. “Beanie, what’s the definition of a macho woman?”
    Beanie kept her eye on the ball. “I don’t know.”
    “One who kick-starts her vibrator.” The ball rocketed off Beanie’s forehand toward the lights.
    “Old joke!” Carmen called back.
    The laughter thinned as Happy Straker, Alicia Brinker, and Susan Reilly walked by on their way back from a practice court on another level. Only Alicia waved a hello.
    “An ulcerous presence,” Harriet whispered to Jane.
    Jane shrugged, “Assholes have to live, too. After Billie Jean King, Virginia Wade, and all those oldies but goodies, Susan came along and saved women’s tennis. It was all Susan until Page Bartlett Campbell, Tracy Austin, and Martina Navratilova showed up. So she deserves her accolades.”

    Susan steamed through the locker room in search of fresh tennis balls with Happy and Alicia still in her wake. The three planned to go back out and work on lobs even though they had just finished a grueling practice. Happy Straker and Alicia Brinker endured one another’s company because Susan would have it no other way.
    When Alicia looked at Happy she shuddered. She swore Happy took steroids because no woman could look that bad and be all woman.
    In the best of situations, a new lover lacks charity toward the jilted lover. The jilted lover is usually seething with hatred.
    It was a no-win situation for Alicia and Happy, but Susan benefited by having one docile lover and one eager doubles partner.
    Happy replaced her soggy socks with a fresh pair. “You should ignore Harriet Rawls. You know Susan doesn’t like her.”
    “Harriet never did anything to me.” Alicia sat stoically.
    “Susan feels she’s a bad influence on the tour.” What Happy didn’t say was Susan thought that about everyone who didn’t succumb to Susan’s charisma.
    “I never said I liked her. I don’t see any reason to be rude, that’s all.”
    Happy moved a step closer to the seated Alicia. “When you love Susan, her enemies are your enemies. Her friends are your friends. Why don’t you do what she says? You’ll last longer.”
    “Why didn’t you last longer?” That arrow sunk up to the shaft. Alicia had some life to her, after all.
    Happy lowered her voice. “Susan tired of her toy.”

    “Señor Knipe, you know my sister is besieged with offers.” Miguel larded on the Senñr bit when he talked to Americans. The more he acted like a gaucho, the better they liked it. It was the year sportscasters discovered the words “awesome” and “relevant.” Miguel decided to be an awesome and relevant South American.
    “Yes, but it’s for a good cause.” Mr. Knipe headed Chicago’s Easter Seal campaign.
    “No doubt, but if Carmen helped out everyone who asked her, think what would happen to her game.” He reassuringly patted the downcast man’s arm.
    “Won’t you talk to her?”
    “Of course, of course.” Miguel’s voice oozed understanding. “I’ve heard, Mr. Knipe, that you own a British Leyland, uh, what would you call it, franchise.”
    “A case in point