Opposites Attract

not to think about it.”
    “You’ve drawn Stacie Kingston in the quarterfinals. She’s got an oh-for-five record against you. Does that boost your confidence?”
    “Stacie’s a strong player, and very tough. I’d never go into a match with her overconfident.”
    Her hands folded loosely, Asher sat behind the table facing the lights and reporters. The microphone in front of her picked up her calm, steady voice and carried it to the rear of the room. She wore her old team tennis jacket with loose warm-up pants and court shoes. Around her face her hair curled damply. They’d barely given her time to shower after her most recent win at Forest Hills before scheduling the impromptu press conference. The cameras were rolling, taping her every movement, recording every expression. One of the print reporters quickly scribbled down that she wore no jewelry or lipstick.
    “Did you expect your comeback to be this successful?”
    Asher gave a lightning-fast grin—here then gone—something she would never have done for the press even two months before. “I trained hard,” she said simply.
    “Do you still lift weights?”
    “Every day.”
    “Have you changed your style this time around?”
    “I think I’ve tightened a few things up.” She relaxed, considering. Of all the people in the room, only Asher was aware that her outlook toward the press had changed. There was no tightness in her throat as she spoke. No warning signals to take care flashing in her brain. “Improved my serve particularly,” she continued. “My percentage of aces and service winners is much higher than it was three or four years ago.”
    “How often did you play during your retirement?”
    “Not often enough.”
    “Will your father be coaching you again?”
    Her hesitation was almost too brief to be measured. “Not officially,” she replied evasively.
    “Have you decided to accept the offer of a layout in
Elegance
magazine?”
    Asher tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “News travels fast.” Laughter scattered around the room. “I haven’t really decided,” she continued. “At the moment I’m more concerned with the U.S. Open.”
    “Who do you pick to be your opponent in the finals?”
    “I’d like to get through the quarters and semis first.”
    “Let’s say, who do you think will be your strongest competition?”
    “Tia Conway,” Asher answered immediately. Their duel in Kooyong was still fresh in her mind. Three exhausting sets—three tie breakers—in two grueling hours. “She’s the best all-around woman player today.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “Tia has court sense, speed, strength and a big serve.”
    “Yet you’ve beaten her consistently this season.”
    “But not easily.”
    “What about the men’s competition? Would you predict the U.S. will have two Grand Slam winners this year?”
    Asher fielded the question first with a smile. “I think someone mentioned that there were still three matches to go, but I believe it’s safe to say that if Starbuck continues to play as he’s played all season, no one will beat him, particularly on grass, as it’s his best surface.”
    “Is your opinion influenced by personal feelings?”
    “Statistics don’t have any feelings,” she countered. “Personal or otherwise.” Asher rose, effectively curtailing further questioning. A few more were tossed out at random, but she merely leaned toward the mike and apologized for having to end the meeting. As she started to slip through a rear door, she spotted Chuck.
    “Nicely done, Face.”
    “And over,” she breathed. “What are you doing here?”
    “Keeping an eye on my best friend’s lady,” he said glibly as he slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Ty thought it would be less confusing if he kept out of the way during your little tête-à-tête with the members of the working press.”
    “For heaven’s sake,” Asher mumbled, “I don’t need a keeper.”
    “Don’t tell me.” Chuck flashed his boy-next-door smile. “Ty had it in his head the press might badger you.”
    Tilting her head, Asher studied his deceptively sweet face. “And what were you going to do if they had?”
    “Strong-arm ’em,” he claimed while flexing his muscle. “Though I might have been tempted to let them take a few bites out of you after that comment about nobody beating Ty. Didn’t you hear they were naming a racket after me?”
    Asher circled his waist with her arm. “Sorry, friend, I call ’em like I