Hottest Property in Women's Tennis

When Margaret Court finishes each match in this week's stop on the Virginia Slims women's professional tennis tour at the Boston Harbor Marina Tennis Club in Squantum--she lets her poker face relax into a smile for a few autograph seekers and then walks into the carpeted press room behind the grandstand.

Waiting for her there is her husband Barry, who has been holding their 30-pound son Danny for the 40-odd minutes it has taken Court to beat Kerry Harris 6-2, 6-2 in the second round of the tournament.

The night before it had taken Court a wee bit longer to beat fellow Perth, Australia, resident Lesley Hunt, 6-3, 6-4, but all in all there was very little wasted motion as Court advances to what looks like a semifinal tussle with 4th seeded Rosemary Casals and a finals duel with Billie Jean King.

Court kisses her husband on the check and walks over to meet reporters. Barry lets Danny down and he heads for his mother. The reporters make a half circle around Court, who is the hottest property in women's tennis right now with over $67,000 in the bank after the first three months of the tour, and start asking her the usual questions: How do you like the surface? (Been ply'in on Sportface, here it's faster. The ball really skips off it, not like the regular carpet. I like it. I been servin' the best Aow've ever been.)

Does the grind of the tour get you down? (Mentally yes. Physically no.) Wasn't Lesley Hunt a tough first round draw? (She certainly was. That's the luck of the draw. Tomorrow I've got Kerry Harris in the second round, and last week I played her in the finals.)

Meanwhile son Danny is wreaking havoc with the reporters He has comandeered a pen and a notebook and is recording his own impressions of the whole scene. Someone rolls a yellow Spalding tennis ball over and he picks it up and throws it at the refreshmen table.

An Aussie Swig

Someone hands Margaret Court a big cup of Budweiser and Danny bolts for it. She gives him the cup and he takes a good Aussie swig with both hands firmly around the rim and as he plops it down on her severe white tennis dress. He has also managed to attain a beard of froth.

"Hey, dirty face," she says softly, "Have a sip." Danny takes another, then she takes it away. "All gone," she says. Danny doesn't believe her and scrambles for the withdrawn cup, crying aggressively.

Danny has finally been coaxed away from beer by a man offering him a slim cigar. When asked how her son has affected her playing. Court says that having him with her on tour has calmed her down tremendously. Her husband Barry, a world class yachtsman, wants her to play for as long as she wants, and the money is rolling in.

Now if Billie Jean King weren't determined on scrambling back to the top of the hill...