Terry stretched to his left, then to his right. After both hamstrings were sufficiently loosened, he reached into his bag and pulled out a tiny little comb. He proceeded to preen both sides of his upper lip. Terry ran a hand through his hair and fluffed it up real nice.
He was now ready to chase down some tennis balls. Or provide fresh towels to the tennis players in between sets if needed.
In his younger days, Terry had been the most talented ball boy the tennis club had ever seen- his relentless hustle was unsurpassed; his acumen and agility, unprecedented. Years later, as a fully grown man, his legend continued to grow.
Only Terry was no longer a ball boy.
He was now a ball man- one of the best the game had ever seen.
* * *
After a long hard day of fulfilling the duties bestowed upon a ball man, Terry would enjoy a nice ice bath back at home, because unlike the spry and youthful ball boy of his youth, Terry would be quite sore after spending the day fetching balls and dodging serves.
On this particular evening, Terry was soaking in the ice bath reading a Playboy when he heard his telephone ring.
He quickly got up and toweled off and hobbled downstairs before it stopped ringing. He picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hello," a sultry voice responded. "Is this Terry?"
"It sure is." He stroked his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. "Can I help you?"
"Why yes, I'm hoping that you can. I got your number from the tennis club. I watched you work a couple of matches today. You were quite the impressive ball boy-"
"Ball man." Terry corrected her.
"Yes, I'm sorry, ball man. Anyways, I was calling to let you know, I just got out of the shower, and I could use a fresh towel from a strong and capable ball man."
Terry grinned as he continued to stroke his mustache. "Tell me where your court is and I'll be on my way."
Terry was the sort of man that read Playboy.
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