Love Game - Season 2012

by Gerard, M. B.

  She really had to practice her own sliding more, Mint thought to herself, watching Natsumi from the other side of the net. She had grown up playing on hard court surfaces, trained almost exclusively on hard courts and always found the earthy surface tricky. But the French Open was played on clay and all the lead-up tournaments as well. To do well on clay you had to handle the necessary differences in movement and develop additional techniques and approaches.

  She hit a couple of inside-out forehands to push Natsumi deep into her backhand corner, then hit a backhand down the line to the other side of the court. Natsumi sprinted along the baseline, reached out with her racquet and slid into the splits. Her right foot was leaving a impressively deep skidmark in the red dirt and it probably would have been just as impressively long – if it wasn’t for the fixed line mark. Natsumi was stopped abruptly when her right foot got caught in the sideline’s white plastic strip and she rolled over her ankle. Letting out a piercing scream, she fell onto her side and didn’t get up again.

  ***

  “What was that?” Polly put her racquet in her bag and looked up.

  The scream had come from the court next to them and now she could hear yelling coming from behind the stands. Someone was running.

  “We should have a look,” Polly said to Bernadette. “There’s something wrong.”

  Bernadette and she had just finished a practice session and were packing their bags.

  “I have an appointment in five minutes,” Bernadette answered. “I really can’t look after everything.”

  Polly frowned. There was more agitated chatter on the other side. “Ok, I will go over and have a look.”

  Walking along the pathway, Bernadette said goodbye and made her way towards a little garden area that was situated behind Court Philippe Chatrier. Polly wondered if Bernadette had a meeting with a sponsor or the press – at least this was the only reason which seemed important enough to leave without checking on a fellow player. But then again, Bernadette didn’t have a lot of sponsors and the ones she had didn’t consider her an important brand ambassador. And Polly couldn’t remember a single press interview Bernadette had given in the past months since they had started playing together.

  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.”

  But the fourth round was still far away and so were the Olympics. First she had to survive the first round. Actually, a third round appearance would have been great for Mint. But reaching the second week of a Grand Slam still seemed impossible.

  The infirmary door opened and Hiroki Isomira, Natsumi’s coach, popped his head out. The girls leaned forward, eager and scared at the same time to hear about Natsumi’s injury.

  “It’s not as bad as it looked at first,” he reported. “The ligaments are overstretched and she can’t put any weight on the foot. But I’m certain she will be able to play the Olympics.”

  “The Olympics?” Mint gasped. “What about Roland Garros? Doesn’t she have fourth round points to defend this year?”

  Hiroki nodded. “Yes, but the Olympics are more important and she will still qualify for them.” He was also the Japanese women’s Fed Cup captain, and the decision to pull out of the French Open was certainly a joint decision. “She will fly to Florida tonight and will begin rehab as soon as possible.”

&
nbsp; Natsumi was the best Japanese player and, even though her ranking had dropped from the Top 20 to the Top 40 since the Australian Open, she was the key player in the Japanese team. They couldn’t jeopardize her participation.

  Nevertheless, Mint was crestfallen. Natsumi had become one of the few people she felt comfortable talking openly with – about her love life, her ever-present stepmother and her fickle friendship with Chili – and now Natsumi would be away again for another two months.

  They said good-bye to Hiroki and left the building silently.

  “Poor Natsumi. From one hospital to another,” Polly finally spoke.

  “I hate hospitals,” Mint muttered.

  “Me, too.”

  “Have you had any grave injuries yet?” Mint asked. She couldn’t remember whether Polly had been out of the game for injury-related problems.

  “No,” Polly replied. She walked a little faster, leaving Mint a step behind. When they reached the parking lot it was empty. They would have to wait for a cab that would take them to the players’ hotel. Mint wanted to ask Polly if she had any plans for tonight – perhaps they could watch a movie or play a video game – but the look on Polly’s face made her shut her mouth again. The Canadian had stopped and looked at the sky. In the west dark clouds hung deeply over Paris.

  “It might rain soon,” Mint remarked quietly.

  Polly nodded. She put her racquet bag on the asphalt and sat down on top of it. When Mint did the same the Canadian turned towards her.

  “My mom has been in and out of a fair number of hospitals,” Polly explained. “She has a heart condition. That’s why I don’t like hospitals.”

  She turned away again, and Mint got the impression Polly didn’t want her to say anything in response. But didn’t you have to say something consoling or sympathetic? At the very least Polly would expect her to say how sorry she felt, how much she wished Polly’s mother the best. Some people wanted to be hugged. Some people wanted to talk more about their fears and worries. They expected a follow-up question. Mint was thinking feverishly about the next step, when Polly turned towards her again.