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Connors now sounds less enthusiastic about Riordan than Riordan does about Connors. Though Jimmy praises the promoter for giving him a start and respects Riordan's fight for independence in tennis, there are signs that he may be going his own way. "It's coming to the point where I have to look out for myself," Jimmy says. "Bill's been great with me in the past, but I've produced for him too." Riordan does not see a split developing. "Jimmy doesn't make a move without me," he says. Last week Connors entered his first W.C.T. tournament in Denver to get a taste of top competition before the Newcombe match. By the weekend he was headed into the semifinals.
Chris Evert senses Connors' growing independence. "Before, he was being told what to say to the press," says Chris. "Now he's making an effort to look into what's going on, say with the A.T.P. He's starting to separate the people who are for him from the people who are using him. He's really starting to know himself," she says. "He's thinking about the future, not just about the next tournament."
A lot more people might be for him if they knew Connors off the court. Marty Riessen recalls: "Jimmy spent a night at my house in 1973. It was very pleasant. I could like him. He's a nice kid, but I can't get to him. None of us can. He's covered up by his mother and his manager." Evert, a more partisan observer, adds: "Inside Jimmy is a very gentle person. To outsiders, he's harder because he's been hurt by the press and crowds. There's no one he tells everything to, but in that 10% that he keeps to himself, I know it hurts him to be disliked. I can feel it."
Though he often still travels with his mother (while in Los Angeles, they share a modest two-bedroom apartment) and checks with her to see when his favorite dinners of short-rib stew or chicken-fried steak will be ready, he does not let her protective mantle smother him. Connors' father never joins his wife and son on their trips. In Los Angeles, Connors can usually be found at the Beverly Hills Tennis Club, unbending with Spencer Segura, Pancho's son and Connors' longtime friend, by playing endless games of relaxed tennis and backgammon and downing gallons of Coke.
When Connors and Segura get bored, they roar off in Jimmy's bright green 1973 Porsche, sometimes cruising the streets of Westwood admiring the co-eds at U.C.L.A. Last month they also toured the canyons of Beverly Hills, checking houses for Connors to buy.
When alone, Connors may drive to the beach at Santa Monica. "It's peaceful," he says. "I just like to sit there and think about when I should play my next tournament or what I should do after this year." Connors admits to moments of loneliness. "It's usually when I'm playing some tournament," he says. "I get depressed when I go back to my room and no one's there. I start missing places and get memories about happier times. My mind wanders to Chrissie."