Love Game - Season 2011 (5 page)

“Tell me about it,” Sam sighed, checking the monitor in the commentator booth. “We need to get back into the sauna.”

“Antonia Sapore will try to give Mint a new flavor,” Hugh purred. Chuckling, the two commentators walked back into their box while Paola headed back to the media center. There was still work to do and a look at her watch confirmed it – yes, she was late again.

***

“It happens. Wasn’t your fault.” Gabriella patted Luella’s back , then grabbed her sister’s bag and pushed her through the gate.

“She got lucky,” Luella growled.

“She also played really well. I wonder how she prepared in the off-season? She was hitting the ball extra hard. She was on fire.” In fact it had been exciting to watch. At times Gaga had to deter herself from cheering for the Argentine’s points.

She glanced over to her younger sister and upon seeing her face Gabriella felt guilty. Perhaps if she had played Rodriguez, she could have handled the high pace of the South American. Also, she might still be in the tournament. Even though Luella played the match today, it was Gabriella’s name on the scoreboard, and it was Gabriella who was out of the tournament now.

They walked in silence heading for the practice court in the back. To their left was the picnic lawn of the Queensland Tennis Centre but only a few visitors had settled onto the grass. At five in the afternoon it was still incredibly hot. There was only one lonely figure underneath the big tree in the back of the picnic area. The girl was lying on a tournament towel and there was a huge racquet bag next to her.

“I think that’s Elise!” Gabriella exclaimed. “Let’s go over and say hello.”

“No, thanks,” Lulu snapped. “Can’t stand her constant smiling. It drives me mad. I could punch her every time I see her.”

Gabriella sighed, which caused Lulu to turn around with an angry stare. “You go over then. I want to be alone anyways.”

Luella dashed off leaving her twin sister dumbfounded. But Gaga knew there wasn’t much she could do when Lulu was in a bad mood.

She stepped onto the grass and walked over to the girl under the tree. Gabriella was still 60 feet away when Elise looked up. The American waved over and Elise smiled back. Then she quickly stuffed the book she was reading into her bag and got up. It had happened too fast and Gaga wasn’t able to see the writing on the cover, but from the distance it looked like a
Tennis Nurse
novel. Now, that would be a surprise, Gabriella thought. Never in her life had she guessed that Elise Renard would read the infamous trash novel series. But then again nobody thought that about herself.

Gaga had almost read the whole series. It was the one guilty pleasure not even Luella knew about, as Gabriella traded the novels secretly with only one player, Morgana Doré, and never kept more than one novel at a time which she carried in her toilet bag. But Elise? She had never heard any stories about the nice German. No, Gaga must have been wrong. She shook her head and gave Elise a big smile. They talked for fifteen minutes before Gabriella left again to have a light hit with her grumpy sister.

It was good to see Elise back on the tour. She had played only a couple of the European indoor tournaments last fall after she was beaten in the first round of the U.S. Open. It had been her first tournament back after her injury had taken her out for several months, and by then her ranking had dropped dramatically as she had been unable to defend her points from summer 2009. But she never let her bad luck get her down and no matter what Luella thought, Gaga liked the smiley girl. Besides her joyful effusiveness, she could be quite thoughtful and shy. Moreover, Elise was one of the few people who didn’t ignore Gabriella because of the reputation she and Luella had. On her way to the practice court Gabriella resolved to make an effort to get to know the young German better.

***

Antonia Sapore let herself drop down onto the bench and exhaled. The Italian had asked for twenty minutes before she had to show up for her press conference. Then she would have a massage followed by a talk with her coach over a quick dinner. It was already past 7 P.M. and she had no plans for the evening and right now she didn’t feel like doing anything but lying in her bed and falling asleep.

Breathing in deeply she closed her eyes and tried to calm down until her racket bag fell over onto the floor with a loud bang. The sound echoed through the empty locker room. She didn’t like it when the place was deserted like this. The tour was all about constant buzzing, boiling activity which took you into an addicting whirl and as soon as you happened to find yourself alone, the lifelessness of concrete walls and clean hotel rooms wrapped you up abruptly. Her opponent had already left the room, leaving behind the sweet smell of a deodorant. It went to her head and she began to feel dizzy.

When the door to the locker room was opened, Antonia opened her eyes. She turned around but her mood shifted instantly when she saw a well-known face appearing in the long corridor that separated both locker sides.

“
Como estás, mi corazón?
”

Martina Rodriguez made a few nonchalant steps towards her, hands in the pockets of her tracksuit jacket, and smiled at the Italian.

“
Fa male molto male,
” Antonia moaned with a grin and – pretending to faint – she lifted her hand to her face and laid down on the bench.

“Oh, no,” Martina exclaimed rushing for help. “Looks like someone needs a nurse.” She slid down on her knees and after carefully taking off Antonias’s shoes began to examine the Italian’s legs.

“How is your thigh,
cariña
? Do you happen to have pains on your inner thigh?”

The Italian nodded dramatically – because which tennis player didn’t have pains in their thighs after a grueling match? She leaned back and, reconsidering her evening plans, she relaxed under Martina’s skillful treatment. But only for a moment. Then she glanced up at the clock on the wall. Only fifteen minutes left until the press conference. Antonia grabbed the Argentine’s head and planted a big smooch on her lips.

“I have to take a shower,” she sighed while taking off her top. She picked up two bath towels and walked towards the bathroom section. As she reached it, she stopped and looked back only to catch Martina staring at her butt. The Italian rolled her eyes then winked mischievously at her lover.

“
Mamma mia
,” she said with a big grin while disappearing into the shower. With a joyful cheer the Argentine jumped up sprinting after her.

“
¡Una y otra vez, sé cómo resistirte!
”

***

“I’m afraid I don’t have any news,” Agnes said.

She and Monica had ordered some beer and had settled down at a table, discussing the new relationship between Martina and Antonia. Since they had quit the stressful singles competition the two doubles partners had developed a reputation as understanding and discreet counselors and occasional matchmakers for the younger players.

“What about the little fox?”

“Oh, her, right,” Agnes pondered. “I haven’t thought about her for a while. There’s nothing, to be honest. I left some very deep foot prints in the snow but the fox isn’t following the spoor. At least I haven’t heard from her since we played in Luxembourg.”

“What did you say to her?”

“Nothing, really. Just gave her a hint, that we would welcome her with open arms.”

Monica shrugged. “Maybe I was wrong about her.”

“When have you ever been wrong about a girl?” Agnes laughed.

“Once or twice in my life for sure.”

“Well, if you were wrong, you were simply great at getting them drunk.”

“That’s me.” Monica laughed. Looking at her friend, she was suddenly glad they had never tried to get it on. Sometimes it was good to just be friends. Then she laughed some more over this atypical, way out of character notion. She was getting old, she thought, and that was a good thing.

Suddenly Agnes grabbed her arm nodding over to the entrance. Martina Rodriguez and Antonia Sapore had entered and peeked into the room.

“Who needs a priest if Monica Jordan is the Mother Superior,” Agnes snickered. They waved Antonia and Martina over, ordered soft drinks for the kids and began to take their confessions.

***

She had been spanked. Brutally.

The worst thing about it was that she hadn’t even played badly. She just hadn’t played wisely enough. Mint opened her eyes and turned around in her hotel bed. Why hadn’t she opted for the serve out wide when she was up a break and 40-15? Why that weak body serve? Antonia Sapore had literally danced around the ball and had crushed it back into Mint’s backhand corner. She had been unable to reach it. And then her attempt of a drop shot at 40-30. Laughable. Sapore was too quick for bad drop shots. Mint should have known better, but she had been a little too cocky, tried to end the point in a spectacular way, not in a safe way. She should have gone cross-court.

In hindsight this had been the beginning of the end. She had been holding up well so far, even though she had lost the first set 3-6. But she had not given in. She had even been able to break the Italian in the second set. But it’s not a break until you hold and she had not been able to hold.

Mint turned onto her side and stared into the dark room. Why the body serve? She’d known it was a mistake as soon as she had seen the Italian stepping to her left. Her opponent had read her serve exceptionally well for the whole match, but had problems with the wide serve. Mint had hit three aces on that wide serve. Why hadn’t she used it when it mattered? In less than twenty minutes the match was over. Mint had not been able to win one more game.

“Fuck,” she whispered to herself. “Fuck my life.”

***

“This match has taken some amazing twists and turns. With both players starting a little bit hesitantly, you could even say, a bit timidly, we didn’t dare to hope for such an exciting thriller.”

“Absolutely true. This has turned into a incredible fight and it’s just impossible to say who will keep their nerve and wrestle the other down.”

“Never in my life have I seen such a tight, hard-contested tiebreak!”

“It’s 9-9 in this late night tiebreaker and we have been witnessing some spectacular shot making so far. Sapore just ripped that forehand to run a game on Rodriguez leveling the score at 8-8, but the Argentine was ready to bend over backwards to get into another winning position. But then she seemed to lose a bit of her concentration.”

“Yes, she really struggled to keep the ball in play. It was more make believe.”

“And she failed to finish off the point in the end.”

“Now, that’s just not fair,” Martina blurted out. “I was totally drunk!” To demonstrate her point she slammed her fist on the table shaking Agnes’s and Monica’s empty beer bottles. “How
por el amor de dios
, am I supposed to remember how I did? I was probably
súper-fantástico
.” The Argentine stared in disbelief at Monica and Agnes who continued to babble into their beer bottles pretending they were microphones.

“I’m sorry,
amore
, but I successfully challenged your shot. It was poor and you lost the point.” Antonia gave her lover a little pat on the back.

“I do remember she was still in my bed when I woke up,” Martina said, but had to admit that the point went to the Italian.

About an hour ago, prodded by the already tipsy Monica and Agnes, the young couple had started to list the affairs they had engaged in since they started on the tour. Being two years older the Argentine had the advantage in the beginning and took the first set easily with 6-3. But Antonia had fought back in a phenomenal effort. She had been quite busy in the last three years and she wouldn’t let go of the second set.

“And now, we witness a little discussion during the changeover,” Agnes agitatedly continued. “Rodriguez doesn’t seem to be taking the lost match point lightly.”

“That’s right, Agnes. There you can see the hot-blooded South American coming through.”

“She is picking up the water bottle. I’m afraid we will witness a code violation.”

”Will she take the bottle and throw it at her opponent? She is aiming!”

A splash hit the two commentators instead.

After the ugly incident a point penalty for Martina handed Antonia a set point. She converted it with a cunning, lingering drop shot to force a decider. This night was only just beginning.

Melbourne, Australia

Walking down the red carpet of her sponsor’s pre-tournament party, Sasha Mrachova felt very much aware of herself. As much as she loved to be admired she had begun to cherish the moments away from the limelight, on her own with a good book in hand. These moments had become rare and since she had arrived in Australia she couldn’t recall a single evening she had had to herself. Tonight, she would have felt more like reading or watching a movie but she was paid too much money by her sponsor to bail out.