“What?” Elise began to move uncomfortably. “What are you talking about?”
“I mean, do you want to fuck me with a cock?” Amanda laughed. Sometimes Elise could be really slow. But the German wasn’t as enthused about the direct approach.
“No!” Elise yelled. “I don’t!” She began pushing Amanda away from her.
“It’s alright,” Amanda stuttered. “It’s totally alright. We can talk about these things.”
“I don’t want to talk about it!” Elise replied angrily. She wrestled herself free from Amanda’s embrace and jumped up from the bed. With lightning speed she was in the bathroom and Amanda could hear her rummaging around the sink. Amanda wondered for a second what exactly Elise was looking for. They had already cleared their toiletries from the bathroom. But then the door was closed with a bang.
Fuck, Amanda thought. She had pushed too much. Obviously, Elise was ready to explore new frontiers but unable to come forward with her desires, her sheltered upbringing clearly being the main reason for her inhibitions. Not that Amanda herself had been told about the birds and bees by her parents, but unlike Elise she had a lot more experience. She had joined the tour professionally when she was fifteen years old, surrounded by friends in her age group. Now that she thought about it, she had grown up quite playfully and had been very open to all kinds of sexual experimentation, especially when she had been with Natsumi.
Natsumi. Amanda felt miserable thinking about her friend against whom she had held such a grudge in the last several months. It really wasn’t the Japanese player’s fault that she had been having these nagging injury problems since the Australian Open. Amanda just hoped that Natsumi’s woodpecker box hadn't turned into the Pandora’s box, causing a disagreement between her and Elise. She jumped up, and after knocking on the bathroom door, she entered. Elise was sitting on the toilet lid looking teary.
“Babe, I’m sorry,” Amanda said, kneeling down and laying her arms around Elise. “We don’t have to talk about it. And we don’t have to do anything. Alright?”
Elise nodded.
“Remember what I told you last year?”
Elise shook her head.
“I said we had all the time in the world,” Amanda whispered. She pulled back and looked at Elise. “That’s still true.”
She hated to see Elise so insecure and embarrassed by her hang-ups. “If you want to explore, I’m here. Alright?”
Now Elise looked at Amanda and nodded ever so slightly.
“Good. Let’s pack the pecker and get moving,” Amanda teased, getting up and pulling Elise along. They stowed the mara deeply in Amanda’s racquet bag and piled their luggage onto the trolley, when Amanda’s cell phone announced a message had come in. She grabbed it and touched the screen to read it.
“It’s from Natsumi,” she exclaimed. Then she shook her head. “She wants us to go on a mission with the mara. In Brighton.”
SECRETS, SCANDALS
AND A SCENT
Eastbourne, Great Britain
“Bernadette?”
Mint squinted her eyes. It was hard to make out the dark figure against the black night sky.
“Good evening, Mint,” the Canadian said, while coming through the parking lot towards the young American.
Mint had just ordered one of the tournament cabs and was waiting in the back of the building to be picked up.
“Have you forgotten something?” Mint wondered. There was hardly anybody left on the tournament site.
“No,” Bernadette responded. “Polly is training in the gym and she wanted me to show her a couple of things.”
Damn. Mint tried not to let her shoulders hang and show her disappointment. All that time Polly had been in the gym and now Mint was going home.
“Isn’t it a bit late for a training session now?” she asked.
“Polly wants to get fitter,” Bernadette explained. “She takes the Olympic Games very seriously.”
Of course, Polly did. Due to her good run at the French Open there was a good chance that the Canadian could play in the singles competition. Mint swallowed hard. It was very likely that she herself wouldn’t make the cut and she still wasn’t sure if she would be allowed to play doubles, or with whom she’d be able to play.
“Well, perhaps she wants to come over later to watch a movie,” Mint suggested innocently.
“After the gym session Polly’s free tonight,” Bernadette said. “I’ll let her know.”
“Yes, that would be nice. You’re invited too, of course,” Mint said, hoping and praying that Bernadette would never show up.
“I don’t think I’ll make it, Mint. This old lady needs some beauty sleep,” she said, then nodded and entered the building. Brilliant, Mint rejoiced. That was brilliant. And she didn’t even have to ask Polly personally. Bernadette would do it for her. When the tournament cab picked her up she ordered the driver to hurry. She needed to clean the room. How long would a late training session go? Perhaps forty-five minutes. Not longer. The driver took her back to her hotel, and thirty minutes later, she looked at her tidy room and couldn’t believe how quickly she had stuffed all her scattered belongings into her bags, and the bags into the walk-in cupboards. She checked the clock. 8:37 p.m.. Polly should have finished her session by now. A look at her cell phone revealed that there was no message, but Polly would probably just show up soon. They all stayed in the same hotel.
She began wandering around her room, thinking about how to make a good start to a conversation and, in case Polly should become bored, preparing a list of topics she could fall back on. For a moment it crossed her mind to rush down to the hotel restaurant and snatch a candle or two from the table and put them on the window sill. But that would have been overly suggestive.
She checked her cell phone again, but there was still no message. Mint frowned. Was it possible that Bernadette had forgotten to tell Polly? But the older Canadian had promised. Bernadette also gave the impression of a meticulous person, who never forgot anything. She even knew that Polly was free tonight. Mint stepped to the window and looked outside. Behind a row of old buildings she could make out a church tower. The lit up clock said it was already quarter past nine. Polly’s training had to have been long over by now.
This could only mean that Polly wasn’t interested in seeing Mint. That she had chosen not to call at all instead of presenting a flimsy excuse. Mint turned away from the window and let herself fall down in the lounge chair. She grabbed the remote control for the TV but didn’t turn it on. Instead she stared at the dark screen.
She shouldn’t have told Polly about her mother. She didn’t like the fact that someone so indifferent knew this detail about her life. It usually took ages before she told someone and she could count the people who knew on one hand. Why had she been so open with Polly? Yes, Mint knew. She had felt a connection because Polly’s mother was sick and apparently she had hoped that Polly would feel a connection too, if Mint told her about her dead mother. She even told her how she died. Not even Chili knew that her mother had died from a drug overdose.
Mint moaned. But she couldn’t move. Her limbs and head suddenly seemed to be filled with lead. Perhaps she had trained too much, she thought. She should just go to bed. But still, she didn’t move. Only when the remote control fell out of her hand and onto the floor, and Mint woke up still lying on the lounge chair did she crawl into bed, instantly falling into a fitful sleep as soon as she hit the sheets.
***
The match was in the second set and the spectators had filled the stands of the Eastbourne main court to the very last seat. Marieke Bender was serving for the set after losing the first set to German Angela Porovski, who now bent over to receive Marieke’s first serve.
Tom had managed to squeeze himself into the photo pit just in time before the players went back to the baseline after the changeover. Marieke hit an ace and the crowd clapped enthusiastically.
Tom looked through the stands. There was Angela’s player box. He scanned the cr
owd once more. A little further to the left he found the seats assigned to Marieke’s team and also the person he was looking for – Michelle van der Boom. She was watching her doubles partner, Marieke, clapping at a fine winner made by her Dutch compatriot.
After another rally Marieke was leading 40-30. Two minutes later she walked back to her chair with a little fist pump. She had leveled the match and they would play a third set.
That was great! Tom jumped up. He had three minutes to get to the other side of the court before play would resume. He sprinted along the side of the court and out the exit, hurried around the stadium and entered again on the other side. Just before the umpire could say “Time” he took a seat next to Michelle van der Boom.
“You look like you just ran a marathon,” the Dutch player grinned while looking Tom over.
“Feels like it,” Tom said. “I hope it’s alright if I sit with you. I have a little back problem at the moment and sitting in the photographers pit is hell after a while.”
“Sure,” Michelle shrugged. She concentrated back on the match, but Tom couldn’t let her go now. Ted had come up with the plan to concentrate on blabbermouth Michelle, find out when she met with Anastasia and then pilfer Anastasia’s laptop.
“I hear you have a funny nickname among the other girls,” Tom remarked. Sasha had tipped them off that ‘Boom Boom’ not only referred to Michelle’s cracking serve, but to a delicate story that was never mentioned.
“Ask her,” Sasha had grinned. “She loves to boast about it.”
Tom felt Michelle turn towards him. Her glance burned on his face while he pretended to follow the match.
“That’s true,” she finally whispered. “I had a very good serve. Still have.”
“Nothing more?” Tom asked innocently.
“Of course, there’s more,” Michelle replied with a wry smile. “It’s a nickname I’ve earned for getting down to the nitty-gritty with a flick of the wrist. Basically the same as serving well.” She made a quick serving motion with her hand.
“Want to elaborate?” Tom asked, knowing that she would.
“A couple of years back I had a good run at Wimbledon,” Michelle whispered. “Perhaps you’ve heard about it.” Tom had. Michelle had won the Championship back then.
“I celebrated with one of the chair umpires. We had a quick romp in the broom cupboard of a restaurant,” she giggled. “Of course, the restaurant was full of very old and very important people.”
“Of course,” Tom chuckled.
“It wouldn’t have been any fun had the restaurant been empty,” Michelle spread her arms in a helpless gesture.
“Agreed,” Tom nodded. “What happened next?”
“One of these very old, very important ladies – probably a Royal – almost had a heart attack. It was especially delicate as it was the chair umpire who had called my semifinal match. It wouldn’t have looked good at all, you see.”
Tom nodded again. “What happened?”
“Candice saved us,” Michelle said. “She’s the best communications manager in the world. She can rewrite history, I tell you.”
She turned back to the match and Tom understood that Michelle wouldn’t say more. Tom grinned, as it would be easy to look up the umpire’s name. Silently, he congratulated himself on making first contact with Michelle. With the Dutch player being so open about her love life it would be easy to find out when she would meet up with Anastasia.
***
“I can’t believe we are already into the grass season,” Monica sighed. The year is halfway over.”
Monica and Agnes had taken a table in a seaside restaurant overlooking the boardwalk of Eastbourne.
“It will be a very long grass season with the Olympic Games coming up,” Agnes remarked. “Have you settled everything with Gabriella?”
“Yes, we’ll team up,” Monica nodded. She looked out onto the sea, pursed her lips and frowned. “Last time.”
“Well, you might play in Rio, too,” Agnes said carefully. The next Olympics would be played in the Brazilian metropolis.
“I’ll be pushing forty,” Monica replied. “Too many players are coming up. I’ll be long gone by then.”
Agnes could easily think of another reason Monica wouldn’t set foot in Brazil but she kept her mouth shut. The door opened and Agnes had to smile. Candice was approaching their table. When she arrived she gave Agnes a kiss, sat down heavily and sighed.
“What’s up?” Agnes asked.
“You won’t like it,” Candice replied. She gestured to the waiter and ordered an Irish Coffee, then turned to the two doubles players again.
“Morgana has a source,” Candice revealed.
“Bernadette. I knew it,” Monica hissed.
“Not Bernadette it seems,” Candice said pensively. “Morgana talked to Bernie but she didn’t really give her any information. Just things Morgana already knew.”
“So, who is this source?” Monica inquired. But Candice shrugged.
“I don’t know any name,” she admitted. “But this new source seems to know quite a bit. She tells Morgana everything.”
Agnes and Monica looked at each other.
“Everything?” Monica asked.
“Well, it seems she knows about your little girls club in detail.”
“Is that all?” Agnes asked. “That’s far from everything.”
“I know,” Candice said and put her arm over Agnes’s shoulder. Her girlfriend had grown tight. “Also, it was ages ago. Nobody really knows what happened.”
Agnes looked at Monica. They both moved uncomfortably in their seats.
“I really wouldn’t worry too much,” Candice kept on talking. “I mean, not even you know what really happened. If you don’t know, how would Morgana’s source know?”
Agnes and Monica stayed silent. They had had this conversation so often, going in circles and never finding peace.
“No,” Candice said, more to herself than to Agnes and Monica. “I can’t see her ever finding out.”
“Alright, alright,” Monica grunted.
Candice looked up. “I know you don’t like hearing it, but I will say it time and time again, it wasn’t your fault.”
“Please, Candice,” Agnes muttered. “Let these sleeping dogs lie.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over their table and wasn’t broken until the waiter served Candice a huge mug of Irish Coffee. She took a sip and began to smile.
“See, I knew before I even sat down that I would need some good spirits,” she said placably.
“I wish I could join in,” Monica finally said with a grin. “But I have a match later. What would Gabriella think if I smelled of alcohol?”
The ice was broken but Monica wasn’t finished yet.
“I know you mean well,” she continued, looking at Candice. “But I can’t help it. I do feel responsible. Not just for the dead but also for the living.”
Candice nodded.
“Yes, it makes me nervous when you speak like that,” Agnes added looking at her partner. “The last person who spoke like that and downplayed the incident vanished without a trace.”
Dani. How many years since their old companion had suddenly disappeared overnight.
“You know what? Fuck it,” Monica mumbled, then called the waiter and ordered two more Irish Coffees for herself and Agnes. They really needed it.
***
This time she had taken a car. Buses were nice, but you never knew if the weather would stay sunny and bright. Morgana thought back one year to a time when she had taken the road with Sasha Mrachova. It had started raining the moment they stepped out of the bus. How absurd it seemed twelve months later that she had recruited Sasha for such a mission, but back then the Czech had provided Morgana with an interesting detail. Up until a few years ago, Tennis Nurse novels had to be ordered by mail from an address in Brighton, United Kingdom. Their joint efforts to find the author had ended in misery when Sasha got drunk in a lesbian bar and Morgana had to search for
clues on her own.
Morgana shook her head, thinking about the Czech. There had been hushed whispers since the French Open that Sasha was about to get married to a football player. Morgana never gave much thought to locker room gossip but this time she knew what to think of it. When the young girls went crazy talking about wedding dresses and that good-looking fiancé of Sasha’s, Morgana had silently chuckled. Sometimes she really believed that of all people she knew best about who was gay and who wasn’t on the women’s tennis tour. Even though there were players who masterfully kept their sexuality and preferences a secret, who were never seen in public without a hot guy and who looked like Stepford Wives – they all had a secret craving. And when they needed a new Tennis Nurse novel the best address for a quick and discreet delivery was Morgana.
“They should pay me hush money,” Morgana said to herself when she turned onto a little street that led her to the address she was looking for in Brighton. “How about twenty percent of their annual income? That wouldn’t be too unfair, would it?”
Especially in Sasha’s case that would be a nice discretionary earning for Morgana. It was common knowledge that the Czech made more money off the court with endorsement deals and advertisements than on the court with prize money – and the latter wasn’t a low number.
Morgana parked the car on a side street some hundred feet away from the little house she had visited first a year ago. Last time, an old man had opened the door, but Morgana knew that a woman was living there as well and that woman had been visited by Monica Jordan. There was a good chance that this woman was connected to the group known as the Secret 8 and that she was the author of the Tennis Nurse mystery series.
Morgana had decided not to approach the woman. Every direct approach seemed to end in a dead end street. Last year Agnes had stayed dead silent when Morgana asked for details about Tennis Nurse, and now Bernadette was reluctant to talk and her new source only answered once every light year. Also, she didn’t know how serious these people were but she had already received a warning to stay away from – yes, from what exactly? That was the question, and Morgana promised herself that she would find out, but she needed to be smart. Firstly, she wanted to get a real name and put a face to the anonymous writer. This way she could find out more about her while the author and her accomplices remained oblivious to her research.
Love Game - Season 2012 Page 20