Muffy approaches the club manager and expresses her frustration with the construction and the resulting mess near the entrance. She explains what happened to Alexandra. He doesn't seem to have any answers other than things have been delayed due to a worker breaking the water line to the water fountain next to the courts and not noticing until the next day when the area was flooded. Describe her terse conversation with the manager.
Muffy feels like she has to take matters into her own hands. Describe her rounding up some college kid and going to the entrance to the courts to assess the muddy mess. What do they see? What does she say?
Receiving no satisfaction, she
Muffy, looking very much the part of the refined tennis doyenne in her pristine Lacoste outfit, made her way through the clubhouse corridors with purpose. Her Tretorns glided across the polished marble floors, but her mood was anything but smooth. It was absolutely
unacceptable that on the day of the tournament, the entrance to the courts was still a disaster zone, and poor Alexandra had paid the price—her K-Swiss shoes now a casualty of some ill-planned construction project. With shoulders squared and eyes sharp, Muffy spotted Gregory, the club manager, engrossed in a conversation with one of the catering staff by the lobby desk.
"Gregory," Muffy’s voice was clipped as she approached, interrupting his chat. She didn’t often adopt this tone, but today the inefficiencies of the club had tested her patience. "We need to talk about the construction. It’s an absolute mess out there." She gestured vaguely with one hand toward the entrance area, where Alexandra had met her muddy fate.
Gregory turned toward her, his expression faltering the moment he saw Muffy's composure tinged with agitation. He swallowed visibly, already knowing any discussion with Muffy in such a mood would be… difficult, to say the least.
"I’m aware of the issues, Mrs. Hartford," Gregory began, clasping his hands in front of him in a show of attentiveness, "but there have been some unfortunate delays. We’re doing everything we can…"
Muffy’s eyes narrowed slightly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Unfortunate delays? Gregory, this isn’t merely an inconvenience. This is a public relations crisis. I have ladies showing up to the tournament, Alexandra, for one, and getting
mud on their shoes. We’re hosting a tournament at one of the most exclusive clubs in town, and yet I’m presented with mud… everywhere!"
Gregory winced. "I understand your concern, but the situation is—"
“Unacceptable," Muffy cut in smoothly, a well-controlled edge to her voice. "What’s taking so long? Why should any of us have to navigate around construction as though this is a common public park?"
"Well," Gregory stammered, trying to maintain his calm, "one of the construction workers accidentally ruptured a water line near the fountain by the courts. They didn’t realize it until the following day, and—"
“A water line?" Muffy blinked—more out of disdain than curiosity. "You’re telling me that the entrance looks like a war zone because someone carelessly broke a pipe… and no one noticed until it flooded? You cannot be serious." Her voice lowered to a steely calm that conveyed just how little patience she had left.
Gregory shifted uncomfortably, his face now tinged with pink. “It’s… it’s been complicated coordinating repairs. The grounds were flooded, so we’ve been delayed, and now we’re waiting on a specialist to—”
“That’s enough." Muffy held up a hand. "I don’t want excuses." She stepped closer, meeting his gaze directly. "What I want are results. And so does everyone else. Now, if you won’t take care of it, I will."
Before Gregory could respond—muttering something about the repairs being scheduled for next week—Muffy turned on her heel and walked briskly away. She was done listening to inadequate explanations.
---
Minutes later, Muffy found herself outside near the side of the building where several younger club employees usually lounged between tasks. Sure enough, she spotted a familiar face—Ryan, one of the college kids who often helped with setting up events and maintaining the club grounds. He was mid-conversation with a co-worker, leaning against a golf cart, looking far more relaxed than he should have given the situation.
"Ryan," Muffy called sharply, her tone brooking no argument.
He straightened immediately upon spotting her, a mix of respect and concern in his expression. "Yes, Mrs. Hartford?"
"I need you to come with me to the court entrance.” Her words weren’t a request, but a command laced with urgency. Without waiting for him to respond, she began walking toward the construction area. After a moment of hesitation, Ryan scrambled to follow her, jogging slightly to keep pace with her swift steps.
They arrived at the entrance to the courts—once a charming archway lined with blooming shrubs but now an eyesore, the paved path dug up for what appeared to be an eternity. The temporary fencing was awkwardly angled, and piles of dirt and equipment, abandoned by the workers, loomed nearby. There, right in the middle, was the patch of mud that had claimed Alexandra’s shoe. It was still slick, wet, and, after having been exposed to the sun, started to give off that faintly unpleasant, earthy smell of stagnant water.
Muffy came to an abrupt stop at the edge of the mess, her thin, coral-painted lips trembling in silent critique. Both hands rested on her hips as her eyes raked over the disaster at her feet.
Ryan shifted awkwardly next to her, unsure of where to look. “Uh, yeah, it’s pretty bad,” he said, attempting what might have been empathy.
"Bad?
Bad doesn’t begin to describe this,” Muffy snapped, turning to him. “It’s utterly disgraceful. The mere thought that our guests—our
members—are expected to navigate
this," she gestured towards the muddy patch in disgust, "is intolerable."
Ryan nodded, quickly agreeing, sensing that silence was not the safer option. "Yeah, it's not great," he echoed apologetically, shuffling his feet.
She pursed her lips, her mind already whirring with the prospects of what needed to be done. “We need this handled
now, not next week, not ‘whenever,’ but
immediately. Can you do anything, Ryan? At least clear the mud or put some planks down so people can actually get to the courts without wading through this swamp?"
Ryan scratched the back of his head. "I-I think we might have some plywood in the storage shed, maybe some gravel. If I get a couple of the guys—"
“Get them,” Muffy interrupted, nodding curtly. “Call them right now. I don’t care what you have to do, but this eyesore needs to be gone. You can find a tarp, plywood, whatever… Just fix this.”
Ryan gulped, muttering something about finding help as he quickly jogged off, leaving Muffy in the midst of the chaos. She took a deep breath, adjusting the strap of her tennis bag over her shoulder, surveying the loose dirt that littered the surrounding area.
But even as she demanded action, she knew this wasn’t enough. Gregory’s incompetence wasn’t just a matter of inconvenience—it was a stain on the reputation of the club,
her club. And for Muffy, anything less than perfection was an affront she could not abide.
---
Standing there alone in the sun’s glare, Muffy pulled out her phone. There were calls to make right now—people far more capable than Gregory or his crew. If the club thought they could drop the ball without consequence, Muffy would ensure they were sorely mistaken. Even the faintest whiff of incompetence on the board’s part could put them in hot water once she made her dissatisfaction known.
As she punched in the first number, her mind was already moving several steps ahead toward her next action plan.
Taking matters into her own hands was, after all, something she had mastered long ago.
