Love Game - Season 2012 (27 page)

First, they had to prepare a short report
for the channel, then work on a bigger report with background story and quotes
from the tournament speaker. But the two journalists were already beginning to
realize that it would be hard to find out the actual circumstances regarding
the most-talked about withdrawal of the tournament.

A couple of other reporters had set up
their gear in the open from where you had a wonderful view over the courts
between the two main stadiums. Sipping on a coffee, Sam could make out a small
group of people coming from the practice courts.

“Look, Paola is up, too,” she tried to
console Hugh. “They are filming a tour with the Wimby groundsman.”

Hugh grunted. He had closed his eyes while
clinging on to the balustrade, looking like a drunk sailor. If she tipped him,
he would tumble down onto St. Mary’s walk and sleep off his hangover in the
fern bed, Sam thought with a chuckle.

“Come on, don’t you fall asleep!” she
squeezed his arm. “See, even top players are up at this ungodly hour.” Sam
pointed down onto the walkway between Centre Court and the media centre. Sasha
Mrachova was entering the press building.

“Alright, alright,” Hugh mumbled.

They equipped themselves with microphones
and prepared a moderation.

When they finally got ready to shoot the
news announcement, five camera crews had already occupied the round roof tower.
Some colleagues from Supersport were interviewing Sasha right next to them.

“I wonder if she partied at all,” Hugh
whispered to Sam.

Sam had to admit that the Czech looked
extraordinarily fresh this morning.

“Love, I guess,” she murmured back.

“Love?” Hugh wondered.

“She is in London with her fiancé and must
be excited for the wedding.”

“Good point,” Hugh declared, remembering
the upcoming festivity. “She is also having a good run so far. Wonder if these
things go together. It’s no secret that a player who feels good off the court
also plays much better. I will keep that wedding in mind when I call her match
on Monday.” He nodded to himself, which was his way of making a mental note,
Sam knew.

“Are you ready?” the cameraman asked and
shouldered his camera.

Hugh nodded and began with the moderation.

“In a surprise shock, the defending
Wimbledon champion and eighth seed Luella Galloway pulled out of this year’s
championships. According to the tournament speaker she was taken to hospital
last night after injuring her right hand with a piece of broken glass.”

“It was also announced that the decision
was not made lightly but in accordance with the doctors’ and physiotherapists’
advice,” Sam continued. “Unfortunately for the ninth-seeded American, the cut
is rather deep and affects the twenty-one year-old in her hand movement. The
tournament spokesperson has stated that she wouldn’t have been able to perform
on a high level or even hold her racquet properly.”

“It’s a sad loss for the tournament as the
American was about to continue her title defense in a thrilling match-up
against former Wimbledon Champion, Marieke Bender,” Hugh picked up the
moderation again. “The Dutch veteran will now be getting a walkover to the
quarterfinal where she will meet the winner of tomorrow’s match between Italian
Antonia Sapore and German Andrea Porovski.”

“The injured American however is likely to
spend a few more days at Wimbledon as her twin sister Gabriella is clearing up
the other side of the draw, perhaps even cheering her on until the final day.
Gabriella Galloway has been doing particularly well in the last few weeks and
is through to the fourth round. Her match against Carina Gnocchi will also be
played on Monday.”

Hugh nodded to the cameraman who stopped
filming.

“You didn’t slur once, Hugh,” Sam teased
him while she began to detach the microphone. “And since when can you pronounce
all these difficult foreign player names?”

“Oh, fuck you right back,” Hugh grunted
with a grin. “Now, let’s find out what really happened. Piece of glass? Bet it
was a drinking accident.”

He was in sleep mode again. For a moment
Sam looked at her colleague as he was shambling back to the building, then she
realized that someone was looking at her. It was Sasha Mrachova, who had
finished her interview next to them. The Czech stared at her with wide open
eyes and an open mouth.

***

Pulled out of this year’s championships.
Taken to hospital. Injured her right hand with a piece of broken glass.

Sasha stumbled down the stairs inside the
broadcast centre and hurried outside. She needed fresh air. From the left she
saw a chattering group of girls approach the media centre. Paola Scetti was
accompanying them.

Sasha needed to get away. She turned right
and hurried down the alley between Centre Court and the main building.

Taken to hospital. Last night.

“No,” Sasha whispered to herself. She shook
her head. “No.”

This couldn’t be. Lulu couldn’t be injured.
When could this have happened? She had spent the whole night with Lulu. She
rushed through the main building and approached the competitors’ service desk
to get a cab back to her house.

Should she call Lulu? Perhaps she was still
in the hospital? But wait – Sasha stopped in her tracks – this couldn’t be.
Lulu had left her this morning. Alive and unharmed.

“It can’t be,” she spat at the innocent
receptionist who hastened away to catch a cab for Sasha.

Something was wrong. Something was utterly
wrong.

The injured American is likely to spend a
few more days at Wimbledon as her twin sister Gabriella is clearing up the
other side of the draw. Gabriella Galloway is through to the fourth round.

The cab pulled into the driveway and Sasha
got in. The driver sat down in the front and Sasha opened her mouth, saying her
address. The car drove through the gate and up the hill.

Gabriella. Her twin sister.

“No,” Sasha said again, this time very
slowly.

What was going on? She had spent the night
with one of the Galloways – that much she knew. But which one of the twins had
she held in her arms? And why did she even have to ask herself that question?
This was insane. Slowly Sasha leaned back in the car seat and watched the
houses fly by and tried to put the pieces of her life that had come undone
together again.

For the last four months she had been
having a romance. Yesterday night she had spent with her lover, but it couldn’t
have been the person she thought it was. It couldn’t have been Luella Galloway.
So, yesterday it had been Gabriella Galloway. What about the other nights?

Sasha grasped the door handle. Had she been
sleeping with both Galloways?

“Please, stop!” she croaked at the
surprised driver. As soon as the car had parked at the side of the road she
jumped out and took a deep breath of the cool morning air.

“I’ll walk the rest of the way,” she let
the driver know and stepped onto the sidewalk.

A year ago she had followed the Galloways
around, finding out that the twins were switching matches – at least until the
summer. Sasha knew that it had been Gabriella who had won the Wimbledon
Championships in Luella’s name. After that the twins had ceased swapping
matches. Something seemed to have come between them.

Meanwhile, during the course of the last
season one of the twins had approached Sasha, first in the locker room of
Roland Garros, and then in a hallway late at night in Cincinnati where they had
kissed. Back then she had come to the conclusion that the gay twin was Luella.
After they had kissed the Galloway had basically confirmed it. But then there
had been a lot of moments when Sasha had wondered what was going on. With every
step her thoughts became clearer.

The moment in the locker room in Paris, and
in front of the vending machine in Cincinnati. Then the fateful night in
Istanbul. Yes, it was Luella who had broken her nose. But it hadn’t been Luella
who had apologized for it last night. That had been Gabriella.

Sasha turned into the little pathway that
led to the entrance of the house she had rented.

All these nights she had spent with
Gabriella – not with Luella. It made perfect sense now. The Galloway never
spoke about herself, she never liked it when Sasha called her name – because
her name wasn’t ‘Lulu’, and she had even asked Sasha if the Czech liked
Gabriella.

She turned the lock and entered the little
hall. From the kitchen came the sound of a TV. She heard Kurt and her coach
talking.

 “Sasha?” Kurt came out of the kitchen.
“Great news. Luella withdrew. She cut her finger this morning during
breakfast.”

“During breakfast?” Sasha blinked.

“They just interviewed her manager on TV.”

Sasha smirked. So, they had changed the
narrative already. Perhaps Hugh Andrews had been right assuming that the injury
stemmed from a drinking accident.

“Nobody to bother you on your way to the
title now,” Kurt beamed.

What Kurt didn’t know was that Luella’s
game had never bothered Sasha. It had been Gabriella who had given her trouble.
It had always been Gabriella. On the court and off the court. And for the last
four months Sasha had been sleeping next to her without knowing it.

CUTS LIKE A SAW

Wimbledon, Great Britain

“What are you doing?”

Amanda let her racquet bag bang on the
floor and quickly closed the door. What she saw was beyond her imagination.
Small pieces of wood were scattered all over the floor and more and more
sawdust flew through the air.

Elise sat on the bed, but didn’t answer.
She was busy.

“You have to stop!” Amanda yelled. With one
jump she crossed the room and tried to get hold of the wooden stick.

“What’s your problem?” Elise exclaimed,
finally looking up and keeping Amanda at bay. “I’m trying to help.”

“You’re destroying it!”

“For a good cause,” Elise explained.

Amanda sat on the bed and shook her head.
“Where did you get this from?”

Elise smiled smugly. “Snatched it.”

She held out her hand and showed Amanda the
wooden racquet.

“It must be really old,” Amanda remarked. 
“So, where did you snatch it from?”

Elise pouted. “From the groundskeeper’s
lawn mower shed. Nobody needs this old racquet,” she quickly added. “But I had
this wonderful idea that it could be very useful.”

“By sawing it into pieces?”

Elise moaned but gave Amanda a kiss. “You
don’t understand. Just shut up and watch.”

To Amanda’s horror, Elise picked up the
Swiss Army knife again, hauled out the little saw blade and slipped it into the
slash she had already cut between the racquet head and the hand grip. With
subtle movements she made it deeper and deeper. Soon the handle would fall off,
Amanda thought. What was Elise up to? Why destroy such a beautiful old racquet?

When the handle became more and more
unstable Elise proceeded to carefully file down the remaining tie between the
racquet head and the handle, so that the handle wouldn’t fall off suddenly
causing the wood to splinter. Finally, she pulled off the handle and put it on
the bed.

“Well done,” Amanda said quizzically. “What
next?”

Elise pointed to her racquet bag. “Open the
front pocket.”

Amanda did. She reached in with her hand
and pulled out a handful of tools. Shaking her head in disbelief she put the
gear on a coffee table next to Elise.

“A hand drill? A pliers? Where did you get
all this?”

“Asked the guys in the stringing room,”
Elise explained.

Amanda nodded. That was clever. The
technicians who restrung the players’ racquets had to have several useful
tools. She leaned against the wall and watched Elise set the drill against the
sawed-off stump of the head and make a small hole.

“I still don’t know what you’re up to but
it looks very skillful,” she flirted.

“Doesn’t it?” Elise teased back.

When she had made a one-inch deep hole she
put the drill down and looked up at Amanda.

“Screw,” she commanded, waving her hand
towards the table.

“Yes, Doctor Renard,” Amanda jumped up and
took a screw from the glass table. “Do you mean this tiny double-headed screw?”

“Yes, Nurse Amanda,” Elise chuckled. “Do
you see any other screw than the tiny double-headed screw?”

“No, Doctor Renard.” Amanda gave Elise the
screw.

“Pliers.”

“Yes, Doctor Renard,” Amanda grinned,
handing Elise the tool.

Quickly, Elise had turned the screw into
the hole and tightened it.

“I assume it’s time to call in our little
friend,” Amanda asked, finally understanding Elise’s intention.

Elise nodded. “Exactly, Nurse Amanda.”

Amanda reached out and pulled Elise’s
racquet bag closer. Rummaging in the depth of it, she finally pulled out the
wooden phallus they had been carrying around the world for the last six months.

“It fits,” Elise breathed a sigh of relief
when she set the hole at the bottom of the woodpecker against the screw.

“Ace!” Amanda nodded, when the pecker was
firmly attached to the racquet handle. “That was a really smart idea. It does
look a little odd but everybody will assume it’s because the racquet is very
old.”

“We are not finished yet,” Elise purred.
“Give me one of your overgrips.”

Amanda took out a roll of white grip tape
and watched Elise wrap the dildo’s carved head with it. Now it really looked
like an old, harmless racquet. When she was done, Elise exhaled and sank onto
the bed.

“That was a highly dangerous operation,”
Amanda whispered. “Doctor Renard must be very exhausted.”

“Very,” Elise nodded with closed eyes.
Amanda leaned over and kissed her while the racquet slipped slowly to the
floor. Without looking Elise reached out her hand and turned off the light.

***

Amazing how empty the place suddenly
became, Gabriella thought while turning into the little pathway behind the
Aorangi Pavillion. Besides the junior competition there were no matches on the
outside courts and most spectators were inside Centre Court and the other show
courts that held the doubles matches.

She had booked one of the practice courts
that were behind the Pavillion and not accessible by the public. Today she
needed some privacy. Stepping down the stairs she saw Monica already unpacking
her racquets. Since they played doubles together they also had practice hits
together once in a while. Gabriella was surprised how well and hard the older
player still hit the ball.

Two hours, perhaps three and she would step
out onto the grass of the Wimbledon Centre Court and play for a spot in the
final. Two hours, and she had made the decision not to check the scores for the
ongoing semifinal. In the end it didn’t matter against whom she would play the
final. If she got there. It could be Antonia Sapore – or Sasha.

Since Luella’s unfortunate ‘breakfast
injury’ – as it was called by the fellow players – she hadn’t seen Sasha or called
her. Lulu was said to have left Wimbledon right away to fly back to the States
and have surgery on her hand, which meant that Gabriella couldn’t see Sasha, at
least not without telling her who she really was. She had only written a text.

First she typed
I’m fine. Don’t worry
.
But then she had deleted the message. It felt so wrong to lie to Sasha who had
opened up to her in the last few weeks, and Gabriella couldn’t deny that her
heart pounded faster when she saw the Czech. She had been thwarted by her own
insecurities but now it was time to get it right again. She would no longer
pretend that she was Luella. Also, she was certain that Sasha never wanted
Lulu. She had always wanted Gabriella. The twin finally had sent a text saying
Let’s
talk soon
, and added a heart emoticon.

Gabriella opened the fence gate and smiled
when Monica looked up.

“Are you relaxed?” her doubles partner
asked.

“So, so,” Gabriella shrugged. Monica, of
course, thought that this was Gabriella’s first Grand Slam semifinal. How could
she have known that exactly one year ago Gabriella had played the Wimbledon
final and won? Nobody knew but Luella. From Centre Court she could hear loud
cheers. The fans were getting louder.

“Who would you rather play on Saturday?”
Monica asked.

Gabriella didn’t have to think. “Sasha.”

She saw how Monica raised an eyebrow. But
then she nodded.

“Good choice,” she said. “Antonia is a good
player, but Sasha is the empress. If you want to get to the top you can’t shy
away from challenging the best out there.”

Gabriella grinned. Of course, she wanted to
be on par with the best. But the true reason she wished for a final against
Sasha was the Winners Ball afterwards. They would attend it together – even
though as opponents, one the winner and the other the runner-up. But whatever
happened in the final, the most important things was that both of them would be
there and that Gabriella could finally tell Sasha the truth.

Was she nervous about it? A little bit.
What would Sasha say when she found out that Gabriella had lied to her for so
many months? But wouldn’t Sasha understand if Gabriella explained it to her?

“Let’s go,” Monica said, tapping her
racquet strings.

Gabriella smiled and walked to the
baseline. Suddenly she was certain that she would make it to the final. There
was a reason she was still in this tournament. Perhaps she wouldn’t win the
Championships, but she now had the confidence to open up to Sasha. Yes,
Gabriella knew Sasha would understand. She knew in her heart that Sasha felt
the same for her.

Another loud eruption of clapping and
cheering spilled over from Centre Court.

“Sasha is winning,” Gabriella shouted
across the net to Monica who hit a ball over to her.

“Yes, I can hear it,” Monica yelled back.

Gabriella hit a forehand. She was looking
forward to her match. She felt good. In fact, she had never felt better in her
life.

***

“Are you listening at all?”

Tom and Ted watched the woman to whom they
had been talking turn away and step to the railing of the large veranda. On the
other side of the balcony the ivy-covered walls of Centre Court towered into
the sky.

“Sure,” Sasha answered. She looked over to
the main court stadium. Tom and Ted looked at each other. Sure. They had
scheduled a meeting with Sasha after the Czech demanded the latest news about
the missing pictures. But they didn’t have news, just a plan.

“It’s not like you had to do something
completely awkward,” Ted suggested, but closed his mouth quickly when Sasha
spun around.

“I’m not going to sleep with Anastasia so
you can steal her laptop,” she spat out. “What happened to your plan to break
in while she spent the night with Michelle?”

“They don’t see each other anymore,” Tom
reported with a sigh.

“Not surprised. Anastasia is not a fan of
long-term love affairs,” Sasha informed them. “You should have been quicker.”

“We waited for the right moment,” Ted
answered back. He kept quiet about the one night they had already climbed onto
Anastasia’s balcony but were then overcome by a lustful moment. When they
wanted to pick up their burglar work from where they left off, another hotel
guest had opened the window next to them. They had to huddle up to each other
and keep quiet until the early morning when the heavy-snoring neighbor closed
the window again. There hadn’t been enough time left to break into the room,
search for the computer, hack the password, look for the pictures and leave
again. So they had climbed back to the roof before the sun rose.

“Well, you botched up,” Sasha replied. “And
I won’t fix it.”

“We just thought that you could perhaps ask
her out. Go for dinner,” Tom suggested carefully. “You don’t have to spend the
whole night with her.”

Ted nodded. “We’d only need a couple of
hours. Three or four perhaps.”

“You need me as a lure,” Sasha sighed.

“Yes,” Ted chimed. “So, you will help us?”

“No,” Sasha said vehemently. “You have to
figure out a solution without me.”

Ted got up. “I’m playing a Grand Slam
semifinal tomorrow. I can’t think about these things,” he blurted out.

Tom watched Sasha from the corner of his
eye and bit his lip. Ted’s emotive eruption had been a mistake. Sasha slowly
sat down on one of the high chairs that lined the balustrade.

“A semifinal, Ted?” she chuckled
condescendingly.

Now Ted also realized that his logic was
flawed. Sasha had just played a Grand Slam semifinal. She had dispatched
Antonia Sapore in two sets. The Czech would play her eighth Grand Slam final in
two days. It wasn’t too wise to weigh a semifinal against a final. The guys
would lose, Tom feared.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be now,” he threw
in. “Nothing has happened since Luella received the picture in Australia. So
probably all of this was just a little lark. We can wait for a better
opportunity.”

Tom saw that Sasha flinched when he
mentioned the last picture that was handed to the Galloway twin. Her lips
formed two syllables.
Lulu
. Was there truly a rivalry between them? Tom
reminded himself that Lulu had won the Championships against Sasha last year.
But since then the Galloway hadn’t bothered Sasha on the court. He looked over
to Centre Court. On the wall was a huge scoreboard and it displayed that in the
on-going match the players had just finished the first set. Interesting, Tom
thought. Sasha had a good chance of playing the sister of last year’s champion.
Gabriella Galloway had just won the set 6-3.