Game of Love

by Ara Grigorian

  Andre stepped into the limousine then froze in place, mouth partially open.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “You look…” He paused, appraising her. “I don’t have the right words… only clichés come to mind.”

  Gemma blushed. Her dress had worked, and his face said it all. “You’re being silly.”

  “No. It’s true. You’ll slap me any second now–I can’t peel my eyes off you.”

  “I won’t slap. Maybe an upper cut.”

  He studied her. “Any fallout from yesterday?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  She grinned. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Whenever you’re ready. In the meanwhile, can I see your cell phone?”

  “Sure, why?” She handed him her mobile.

  “A little experiment.”

  “What are you up to?”

  “A harmless virus that your contacts will receive from you.”

  “A what? Don’t do that.” She reached for her phone.

  He tapped her hand away. “Trust me. Nothing will get damaged, and they’ll never know. What we get in return is information.”

  “Is this legal?”

  “Technically? No. But your peace of mind is more important than silly legal considerations.”

  “Are you planning on telling me what you’re trying to find out?”

  “Sure. As soon as you tell me about Georg and why you wanted to dismember him.”

  Gemma didn’t know what to expect of the evening, but had decided she would make the most of it. They arrived at the Prime Minister’s residence on time. Ten Downing Street boasted over one hundred rooms, and had been the home of prime ministers for nearly three hundred years. Security was tight, but she and Andre passed through the prominent blast-proof steel door without trouble. They stepped into the entrance hall onto the famous black and white marble tiles.

  “Gemma,” a voice boomed from another room. Prime Minister Beckford strode toward them, arms widespread, his wife next to him.

  “Good evening, sir,” Gemma said.

  He held her shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. “Welcome.”

  “Thank you. May I introduce you to–”

  “Dr. Andre Reyes,” the PM said.

  She spun from the PM to Andre, who was smiling too.

  “Good to see you again, sir, I mean, Jeffrey.”

  The PM eyed Andre. “It took Gemma for you to finally visit?” He shook Andre’s hand vigorously. “How are you, son?” He cupped Andre’s neck, an act of endearment, like an older brother or a loving uncle. She wasn’t sure what to make of this odd scene.

  “I am fantastic,” Andre said. “It’s nice to see you both. It’s been too long.”

  “How many times have we asked you to visit?” the PM’s wife asked.

  “Excuse me, but you know each other?” Gemma asked, confused.

  “Yes, my dear. You keep great company. We’ve known Andre for years. Also, this young man has done more for the United Kingdom than I can possibly say. In fact, I can’t say; it’s classified.” He winked.

  “Let’s go to the drawing room, shall we,” his wife said, taking Andre’s arm. “The guests are eager to see you, Gemma.”

  The Pillard Drawing Room, though sparsely furnished, held a majestic aura. A portrait of Queen Elizabeth I hung over the fireplace and a luxurious Persian carpet covered the majority of the hardwood floor.

  As Gemma stepped in, the eight other guests applauded and cheered. She was certain her tanned skin reddened. In a moment of inspiration, she curtsied, to everyone’s delight.

  Over the next hour, she introduced Andre to the guests. She observed how he melded easily with the aristocracy of London, yet he remained constant. He was the same person, no matter who he met or where he was.

  She was asked about the American by some, to which she replied, “He’s an old friend, and has also worked with the Prime Minister in the past.” She was grateful no one pressed, but also hoped she wouldn’t see articles about him anytime soon.

  Inside the State Dining Room, Andre and Gemma sat together. She wondered if anyone would run to the press about her and Andre. She hoped not.

  Andre leaned in and whispered, “You’re somewhere else. Be in the moment. Enjoy it.”

  She put her hand on his and mouthed, Thank you. When she turned, she saw the Prime Minister observing her, grinning. She withdrew her hand.

  The ringing of silver on crystal chimed through the room.

  “A moment, please,” the Prime Minister said.

  Conversations came to a close, and the faces turned to him.

  “I’d like to say a couple of words. By now you are well aware that I’m not shy about saying a few words.”

  Polite laughter rolled through the room.

  He raised his glass and studied Gemma. “The United Kingdom is proud of you. Your heroic battle last week brought an unparalleled feeling of hope to the people. You are an inspiration to all.”

  Applause filled the room.

  “Most of you may also know I’m fairly competitive and a sports fanatic. Therefore, I’d like to make a request of you, Gemma.”

  The PM raised his glass higher.

  “Next week, you embark on Wimbledon. This is our country, our sport, and you are ours. Win the championship for your country.”

  The guests applauded and cheered, but Gemma heard nothing. She felt as if she had been shoved in a bathtub filled with ice water, drowning and numb. She could only pass one command to her brain–smile–as the weight of England itself settled on her shoulders.

  “If I may,” she heard Andre say as he pushed his chair back and stood. She studied him as he lifted his glass. “My uncle used to say, ‘Do what you love, and magic is possible.’” Andre and the PM exchanged smiles.

  “I have known Gemma for some time now,” he said then glanced at her, their eyes locked, “and I can comfortably say that whatever happens, on or off the grass, she is a warrior unlike any other. Gemma, we all want to see you fully recovered so you can bring us all years of magic. First, get better. When you do step on the grass, bring the love, the passion you have for the game to your opponents. With love, magic is possible. And while you’re at it,” he scanned around conspiratorially, “be sure to kick some ‘Merican arse,” he said in a flawless Scottish accent.

  The room erupted in laughter, applause, and side conversations.

  “We may have just witnessed the making of a new American politician,” the PM said.

  “No sir, not me. I solve problems, not cause them.”

  The laughter thundered through the dining room. He glanced at her. She winked at him, thankful for coming to her rescue. Again.

  After dinner, the guests went to the terrace. The scent of cognac and Cuban cigars floated over the rose garden. Andre was talking to the Prime Minister when Gemma slid her hand through the crook of his elbow.

  “May I steal him for a few moments?” she asked the PM.

  “Of course.” He turned, but paused, considering something. “Gemma, I just had a brilliant idea. My only daughter, Emily, is getting engaged in a couple of months. Why don’t you join Andre as his guest?” He glanced at Andre.

  “Oh, thank you,” she said, staring at both men, who seemed to be locked in a staring contest. “That’s very sweet.” They continued staring at each other. “I’ll be sure to get details from Andre. Thanks again.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” the PM said, grinning, still locked onto Andre. He winked then walked away.

  She tugged Andre, moving him deeper into the terrace. “What was that all about?”

  “The man’s a brilliant politician and strategist. Never mind. How are you, Gem?”

  “Tired, elevated, and scared. But who cares about me? I want to know how you know the bloody PM.”

  “That is classified, Miss Lennon,” Andre said in a dignified, thickened voice.

  “You’ve done wo
rk for the UK?”

  “Without giving away classified information, one of the services I provide is to help track terrorists through their communication–chatter.”

  Her mouth opened. “You do that type of work too?”

  “It’s my specialty. In fact, that was my claim to fame when I was fifteen. I helped Homeland Security and the National Security Agency decode a bunch of chatter that led us to arrest a lot of bad guys. I got to meet the president. Can you imagine? A fifteen-year-old kid meeting the President of the United States because he helped get the bad guys.”

  “Unreal,” she said. “You must suffer from superhero complex.”

  “No, not at all. I don’t see it as a complex.”

  They strolled farther into the shadowy terrace. She squeezed tight into him.

  “Do you really believe with love, magic is possible?”

  “Absolutely. I think you do too. At the Aegon you tapped into something primal when the rest of us thought you had reached the end of your championship run. If you can tap into the source, then you can accomplish anything.”

  She managed to smile. “I’d like to tap that source right now,” she said as the space between their lips disappeared. His lips were gentle, warm, and loving. The taste of cognac on his mouth, which should have made her sick, was somehow sweet and pleasant now. Her hands dropped to her side, giving in to him. She wanted to worry about the people there, the people who would betray her, but she was powerless to speak or move. Instead, she remembered his words. “You’re somewhere else. Be in the moment.”

  A flare of heat rumbled in her chest and expanded.

  “I think they’re over here,” someone said, her voice dangerously close.

  Gemma broke her lips away and spun to Andre’s side before his eyes had even opened.

  “What–” he began, but Gemma stopped him.

  “Are you looking for me?” Gemma said as she briskly walked in the direction of the voice.

  “No, my dear,” the PM’s wife said, “I was showing the guests my prize rose bushes.”

  Gemma’s shoulders slumped. Great.

  The paparazzi waited outside the PM’s residence. Andre and Gemma rushed into the car, and Glen took off. Yet again, he was doing all he could to lose the tails.

  During the ride back, Gemma wordlessly cuddled in Andre’s arms and closed her eyes. Andre lay his chin on her head and tried to moderate his erratic heartbeat. With each conversation, each visit, each day, and passing moment, he wanted more from her. Unlike anyone else, she accepted him as he was. She treated him like she needed him–not something from him, but him, his presence. And that concerned him.

  She was a busy and committed professional who led a life that did not accommodate relationships. As for him, he would have to disappear for months. How would that play out with her?

  No matter how he looked at it, this was not the right time. Unless… could he cut his ties with M&T sooner without evoking the early termination penalties? Could he have it all?

  Over the past couple days, he had been considering options and alternatives. He would have never considered it before, but with her in his life, he realized new tactics would need to be considered. Could his idea work?

  If he truly believed he had to live in the moment, then how could he justify holding off his feelings for her for another six months? He could barely stay away from her for six hours.

  She opened her eyes, sat up, then turned to him. “Sorry, I must have crashed.”

  “It’s okay.”

  She studied his eyes. “Are you okay? You look lost in thought.”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “I’d like to hear what’s on your mind.”

  He took a deep breath. “In about six months, my contract with my firm ends. It’s gotten ugly for me lately. All I can think of is the end of my contract.”

  “You’d quit your career?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just like that? This is your talent, your gift.”

  “I’m not quitting my talent. Just the way I’ve exploited myself.”

  “I see. What would you do if you quit?”

  “Sleep for a few days.”

  “If it’s bad, then why even wait? Can’t you just leave?”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t. I’ve made commitments and if I broke them now, let’s just say it would be problematic. To top it all off, I have a significant project coming up which will bury me for three to four months. I have to see that one through before I leave them.”

  “A project that’ll last three to four months?” She continued to study him. “How will that work? What I mean is, will I be able to see you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I am not overwhelmed with confidence.”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  “I certainly hope so. Otherwise…” She kissed the side of his lips. “I may have to take matters into my own hands.” Then she nibbled his lip.

  Suddenly the car accelerated and the privacy window lowered. Gemma spun around.

  “Ma’am, paparazzi on motorcycle approaching on the right.”

  She immediately slid a few feet away.

  They locked eyes. He pointed to the wide space between them. “What happened?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I don’t want pictures of us in tomorrow’s tabloids.”

  “Gemma, are we always going to have to stay apart when there’s another living soul around us?”

  She broke off eye contact for a few moments. “Maybe. Sometimes.”

  “When will you and I be able to spend time together? No Tish. No event with other people. Just us.”

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “Definitely maybe tomorrow.”

  Once again, they separated in less than ideal circumstances. Fortunately Andre’s hotel hadn’t been discovered by the paparazzi yet, but the threat of their potent lenses kept Gemma nervous throughout the rest of the ride.

  Once in the elevator, Andre felt more alone than ever. He wanted to be with her, yet, they continued to scurry apart like roaches. How long would it have to be this way?

  Once in his room, he called his dad.

  “Did you call Linda?”

  Silence.

  “Dad?”

  “I will call her when I’m ready. I’m busy working on something. When I’m done doing that, then I’ll call her.”

  “You’re kidding, right? It’s been almost six years. Six. And you’re busy working on something.”

  “I know how long it’s been. You don’t think I remember my only brother? You don’t think I miss him?”

  This was the first time Andre had ever heard his father express any type of sincere emotion for his brother. “Then why do you always talk about him like you hated him?”

  “Because I was mad at him.”

  “Mad?”

  “What I would have given to have his brain. He had thousands of ideas. I hoped I’d have something, anything like him. But nothing. I got nothing. When I tried to convince him to take some of his ideas and start a business together, he was not interested. He didn’t want to even try. And you know why?”

  Andre said nothing.

  “Because he was scared. So when you showed the same capabilities, he tried to scare you too, but I wouldn’t let him. He was trying to stop you from reaching your potential. I loved him. But hated him too. He had a gift and he threw it away. I’d rather die than to let you do the same.”

  “He may have disagreed with you and mom, but he always loved you.”

  “And I loved him too. I will always love him even though I never told him.”

  “You can tell his daughter. Or his wife.”

  “One day I will.”

  “Then what are you waiting for? Linda is your only remaining connection to your brother. A blood connection.”

  “What I’m waiting for is for all of you to stop bothering me about this. I will do what I have to do first. Then and only then will I talk to them.” The phone line w
ent dead.

  Why was it so hard to do the right thing? Linda had already given up. She wasn’t resentful about it. Just resigned.

  Andre tossed his phone on the bed then grabbed his laptop. Within a few minutes, he was logged into NSA’s web server. Time to see if his application had penetrated Gemma’s circle. Like a virus, once one contact caught it, the others got infected as well, and the friend, and the friend of the friend.

  His application crawled into the data exchange layer of the contact in question. All communication was captured and loaded into NSA’s proprietary multi-threaded, neural mapped, pattern-matching engine.

  Eighteen percent penetration in four hours was a good sign. It meant a lot of activity and chatter. Based on past experience, at sixty percent, the data produced interesting heuristics, although sometimes luck walked in and delivered unexpected results.

  He was analyzing the data when something caught his eye. “Hello.” He cocked his head then covered his mouth, analyzing a stream of unexpected communication. “What have we here?”

  “To hell with circumstances; I create opportunities.”

  ~Bruce Lee

  emma shouldn’t have, but she called off the late afternoon practice and texted Andre instead. He had been right the night before. Isn’t that why she had brought him here? To be together, alone?

  Mid-afternoon was a perfect time to go to the Hurlingham Club. Exclusive and practically empty at this hour–except for the octogenarians who never seemed to notice her and her type. The lush grounds were awe-inspiring, the food prepared by world-class chefs, the security tighter than most palaces, and the staff discreet.

  They nestled into a booth.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Gemma started.

  “I thought you’d never ask. I like to take long strolls on the beach, my favorite color is black, if I was a vegetable I’d be a–”

  She pinched his arm.

  “Ouch.” He rubbed his arm. “Man, you’re violent.”

  “Now that we have a common understanding, let’s start with the things I want to know. Are there others in your family who have shown some of your talents?”