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Specifically, the kind of relief that can turn a gritty young lady into an even more formidable competitor. Immediately after Wimbledon, she spent long hours practicing on her home court in Fort Lauderdale and then went out and won two of her next three tournaments. As of last week, she had won an impressive eight of 15 tournaments in her first eight months as a pro. And, despite her lapse in Europe, she harbors no fears about the big triumvirate of King ("Her weakness is her impatience"), Court ("She scared me at first because she is so strong and big, but no more") and Goolagong ("Evonne, well, she goes up and down and I just stay level"). In her brief career, in fact, Chrissie has defeated Billie Jean four matches out of seven, Margaret four out of six and Evonne five out of eight.
Evert does not have to wait long for another big test. It starts next week when the U.S. Open begins at Forest Hills, where she made her first big splash two years ago. Whatever happens at Forest Hills, Evert's future is unquestionably bullish. Chrissie the pro is far more accomplished than Chrissie the amateur, and has time to overcome her remaining flaws: a reluctance to rush the net aggressively, a volley that too often fails and a serve that too seldom overpowers. Over the past two years, she has shot up 3/2 in. and added ten
Ibs. in all the right places. Now, at 5 ft. 6 in. and 119 Ibs., she is hitting with more oomph, punctuating each shot with an audible grunt that "means I'm putting everything into it." Her game as a rule is still anchored at the baseline. But now, capitalizing on her two-fisted backhand and a deadly drop shot, she is taking more chances. "Until this year," she says, "I've always waited and let the other person make mistakes. Now I'm trying for the good shot. I'm loosening up a little bit out there."
Evert's concentration borders on the mesmeric. Scrunching her nose and squinting her hazel eyes, she assumes a trancelike expression that rarely bespeaks the slightest emotion. Rivals have described her intensity as "almost eerie," her slit-eyed squint as "snake-like." Julie Heldman claims that Evert's poise is so great that she does not seem to sweat, much less disturb a strand of her honey brown hair. "I have never seen Chris look disheveled," says Julie, "or even pleasantly rumpled."
Such aplomb befits the girl who has become the game's most attractive fashion plate since Gussie Moran flashed her lace-trimmed panties at Wimbledon more than two decades ago. Teeny lob-bers everywhere are mirroring the "Chrissie look": gold loop earrings, modishly cut tennis frocks, long hair parted in the middle and tied back with colored yarn, and—look Ma!—a two-handed backhand. The Chris Evert line of Puritan Tennis outfits, frilly, form-fitting tennis togs splashed with pastels, makes the squarish whites of old look like straitjackets. Now, with the figure to complement the filigree, she has erased forever the "little Chrissie" sobriquet. Still, she is unsatisfied: "I wish some writer would get around to calling me sexy."