Love Game - Season 2012 (20 page)

She walked around the low stands which
separated the two courts and pulled open the gate. At the other end she could make
out a player on the ground, around whom a small crowd of people were gathering
and kneeling.

Rushing over the court, Polly recognized
Mint Rickenbacher and her coach as well as a Japanese man leaning over the
collapsed player. “Oh no,” Polly whispered to herself. Coming closer, she saw
Natsumi Takashima. Everyone knew that Natsumi had just come back from a grave
injury she had acquired in her Australian Open semifinal and which had kept her
out of the game for many months.

“Do you need help?” she shouted while
approaching the small group. Natsumi’s Japanese coach looked up. He shook his
head, then gestured for Mint’s coach to grab Natsumi’s arms. With clenched
teeth Natsumi got onto her feet and, supported by the guys, hobbled to the
bench. But she didn’t sit down.

“Let’s go to the infirmary right away,” she
demanded and her coach nodded.

Shocked, Polly watched the group slowly
move forward. The gate closed behind them with an unfriendly clunk. For a while
Polly watched it, unable to decide what to do next.

“She wanted to practice her splits,” a tiny
voice suddenly said. Mint was standing next to her. “I pushed her out wide.
Somehow she got stuck in the sideline.”

Heavily, the American sat down on her chair
and began rummaging in her racquet bag. She looked devastated.

“It’s not your fault,” Polly said gently.

“I know,” Mint retorted. She looked up and
gave Polly a close inspection, which made Polly uncomfortable. Then she turned
back to her bag, packed her racquet and zipped the bag closed. Polly searched for
words which could ease the situation but she couldn’t find any. Should she wait
for Mint? But Mint’s reaction could only mean that Polly wasn’t wanted or
needed here anymore. She turned around and began walking towards the gate when
suddenly Mint called out.

“Polly, wait,” the American shouted. When
Polly looked back Mint was still standing at the bench. She had shouldered her
own racquet bag and was holding Natsumi’s packed bag in her hands.

“Can you help me carry Natsumi’s bag?”

For a moment Polly hesitated. A racquet bag
could be fairly heavy. And admittedly, Natsumi’s bag was huge. But there was no
reason to believe that a fit player like Mint wasn’t capable of carrying the
bag herself. Mint was known for roping people in for her purposes. She really
didn’t have a great reputation with most of the girls.

Perhaps it was wise pretending to have a
meeting, Polly thought. An interview. Or perhaps a massage. Actually she didn’t
have to give an explanation at all. Like Bernadette, who had cleverly vanished
to a mysterious appointment. Yes, she should tell Mint she had to leave for an
appointment.

Instead Polly gave the American a smile and
nodded.

***

“Alright, you guys, have you got news?”
Sasha said, clapping her hands and sitting down in the chair.

Tom and Ted sat on the other side of the
table. They had chosen a fine restaurant which wasn’t too crowded at lunch
hour.

“Shouldn’t
you
tell
us
some
news?” Ted grinned.

“What do you mean?” Sasha asked
suspiciously.

“For example, have you set a date already?”
Tom inquired.

“Oh, that.” Sasha seemed relieved. “Yes,
it’s going down at the Olympics after the tennis competition.”

Tom grinned. Sasha made it sound like a
drug deal, but the timing couldn’t be better for getting the most publicity out
of this deal. Tennis would be played in the first week of the Olympic
fortnight. A wedding right after it meant that all the tennis journalists would
still be there, as well as everyone else covering the Olympics.

“Seriously?” Ted exclaimed. “How do you
want to compete with a wedding on your mind? Don’t you have to plan a million
things?”

Sasha shook her head.

“We hired a wedding planner,” she mumbled.

“But don’t you have to make all the
decisions anyway?” Tom wanted to know.

“What decisions?” The Czech didn’t
understand.

“Well, for the tabletop decoration and the
color of the chair covers and flowers, of course,” Ted visualized with wide
open eyes. Tom patted his arm to stop him. The Czech on the other side of the
table had opened her eyes as well – in horror.

“No,” she stammered. “No. I chose the
cakes. I don’t plan on deciding colors for anything.”

Ted sighed. “Aren’t you excited about the
big day?”

Sasha looked at them for a moment, and Tom
patted Ted’s arm once more to hush him. Then he leaned forward, addressing both
Ted and Sasha.

“It’s not a big day when it’s not big love,
isn’t it?”

“It’s a necessary evil,” she said with a
shrug. “We will stay married for three or four years, then have an
unspectacular divorce.”

Ted had sunk back into his chair. “Yes, of
course.”

Tom had to smile at the obvious
disillusionment of his boyfriend. By now he had found out that Ted dreamt of
having a wonderful, big wedding. One day, Ted used to say. But they both knew
that that day would never come. At least not while Ted was playing tennis and
had to pretend to date women once in a while.

Sasha let her shoulders hang, too. They all
had fallen silent and Tom was thinking of the familiar slogan
Love means
nothing to a tennis player
, because ‘love’ was the tennis term for ‘zero’.
A couple of players boastfully had the words printed on their shirts. Yes,
there wasn’t that much time for love if you wanted to make it to the top. The
daily grind, the traveling was more than enough to drive any potential lover
away – let alone the egos of tennis players. Unless a player found either
someone on the tour or someone willing to travel along, a relationship didn’t
stand much chance of lasting.

And then again, love meant everything. A
player in love felt invincible. Last year when Ted and Tom had first become
lovers, Ted’s game rose to another level. He had come very close to winning a
Grand Slam – but then they had broken up at Wimbledon and only got back
together at the end of the season. While they were separated Ted’s standard of
play had been up and down. Tom had witnessed the same phenomenon with the girls
– all of a sudden Elise won matches when she fell in love with Amanda, Amanda
won a Grand Slam out of the blue and Martina and Antonia were steadily climbing
the rankings since they had become lovers.

Love. They needed more of it, Tom thought.
He leaned over and – after checking that nobody was looking – gave Ted a little
kiss on the cheek.

“Let’s see what you’ve got regarding the
pictures,” Sasha interrupted the silence.

Tom nodded. “Anastasia is still our No. 1
suspect,” he reported. “However, she’s not acting very suspiciously.”

“She’s having a little affair with Michelle
van der Boom, we think,” Ted added.

“Michelle,” Sasha snorted. “Yes, Anastasia
likes the pretty girls.”

“Are you jealous?” Tom wondered, looking at
the Czech player.

“No,” Sasha said quickly. “Not at all.” Tom
watched Sasha, waiting for her to say more but she only smiled. The smile of
someone who got laid, Tom thought but kept it to himself.

“The thing is,” Sasha said pensively. “I
told Anastasia about the photo I received last year. She really had no clue. I
don’t think she was faking it.”

“So, you’re not convinced that she has the
pictures?” Tom wondered. Sasha shook her head.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,”
Ted stated. “We have to prove that she has the pictures – or that she doesn’t
have them.”

***

Gabriella sat down on the bench covered
with worn-out red leather. From the menu card which the waiter brought
Gabriella learned that the steak house Monica Jordan had summoned her to had
been established fifteen years ago. The lounge certainly felt that old.

She looked around for her but Monica was
apparently running late. Too bad, Gabriella sighed. She would have appreciated
a bit of distraction, something the older player never seemed to get tired of
providing. Why was she worrying about the situation with Sasha? Wasn’t this
exactly what she wanted? But before she could wrap her head around how to
proceed with Sasha she was saved by a loud cheer.

“Hey, babe.” Monica sat down at the table.
“Have you decided yet?”

It wasn’t exactly clear to Gabriella what
there was to decide in a steak house but she nodded dutifully nonetheless. She
would have a small salad and – steak.

“Let’s talk about our Olympic endeavor,”
Monica pondered, while studying the menu. “I hope you haven’t changed your
mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m relying on you to play with me,”
Monica said. “But I’d understand if you prefer to play with Lulu.”

“No,” Gabriella responded. “No, I don’t
want to play with Lulu.”

Monica leaned back and eyed her for a
moment.

“Why did you fall out with her?”

For a short moment Gabriella closed her
eyes. She couldn’t possibly explain what had happened between her and her
sister. She realized that most people would probably interpret Gabriella’s
behavior – as it was she who had moved away and had minimized contact with
Luella – as a clear sign that the younger twin was jealous of and unable to
handle Luella’s Wimbledon success in the previous season. Nobody would ever understand
that it wasn’t jealousy, but injustice that had contributed to their parting
ways. Too often Luella had taken Gabriella’s efforts for granted, without ever
reciprocating.

Gabriella opened her eyes again and smiled
at Monica. What if she just said it? What if she told Monica, that they had
switched matches all the time.
We gerrymandered the game continuously and
deliberately to gain an advantage over all the other players.

“All kinds of different reasons,” Gabriella
finally said.

Monica nodded slowly. “She doesn’t know
you’re a lesbian, right?”

“Nope.”

“And why is that? You’re twins. Didn’t you
share everything with each other? All your secrets and thoughts?”

“Oh, believe me I know everything about
Lulu and her flings. She was very open about it.”

“And you never told her about your feelings
towards women?”

“She wasn’t interested. It was always about
her, and she always had a story to tell. I didn’t.”

“Do you have now?”

Monica winked at her and Gabriella almost
laughed out loud. Yes, she had a great story to tell. And she knew that Monica
was dying to find out about juicy love affairs. And again she couldn’t tell
anybody. Or could she? She didn’t have to say that, once again, she was
impersonating Lulu. She could just say it like it was.

“I’m seeing someone,” Gabriella smiled.

As expected, Monica raised her eyebrows in
excitement. “That’s fantastic! Who is it?”

“I won’t say,” Gabriella teased, enjoying
the look of protest on Monica’s face. “It’s not serious anyway. Just a booty
call.”

“I knew it,” Monica grinned. “I was
wondering what was going on after Monterrey. You didn’t have a brilliant start
to the year but suddenly you were winning matches left, right and center. Sex
is best for that.” She nodded knowingly and reached out her hand for a
high-five. Gabriella gave it a pat and giggled.

“That’s my girl,” Monica said. “I think you
deserve a bloody steak now.”

***

“You’re doing great in doubles at the
moment,” Mint remarked.

Polly nodded. “Yes, we qualified for the
Olympics.”

Mint and Polly were waiting in front of the
closed infirmary door and Mint silently congratulated herself for asking Polly
to help with Natsumi’s racquet bag. It was perfectly acceptable to do so and
wouldn’t be perceived as a lame attempt to spend time together. But that’s
exactly what they were doing now, and Polly apparently felt no urge to leave.

“Do you think you can play singles, too?”

Polly sighed. “We’ll see. I’m ranked 83 at
the moment which means I need a really good run here in Paris to get in through
my ranking.”

The deadline for the Olympic qualifying was
right after the French Open with the top 56 players entering the event
automatically unless they were injured or hadn’t played for their country in
the Fed Cup competition, the required national team contest. There were always
a few of the automatically qualifying players who didn’t play the Olympics and
the remainder of the 64-player field was filled by alternates. Mint herself had
begun calculating her chances to qualify but she was ranked even lower than
Polly.

“I’m ranked 98. I need to make at least the
fourth round here to get into the Top 70,” she pondered. “Top 70 could work.
There are always fifteen to twenty players who don’t play.”