Love Game - Season 2012

by Gerard, M. B.

  Morgana jumped out of the car, put on her jacket and walked down the street to the intersection. The house she wanted to observe was at the cross street, so she was able to sit in the little corner café, drink English tea and wait for something to happen.

  But before she could take a seat and begin her observation the red door of the house opened and a hooded figure stepped outside. Morgana held her breath. This wasn’t an old man, but the body shape suggested it was a woman. She turned into the main street and quickly walked down towards the centre of the seaside town.

  She would have tea later, Morgana rejoiced. That was luck. It was meant to be!

  She hurried after the woman and pulled out a small point-and-shoot camera she had bought at Heathrow Airport, turning the little wheel to get ready for the first photo. When the woman came to a stop at a red light, Morgana tested the camera and took a snapshot of the hooded woman but it was really hard to tell whether she was close enough for a good shot.

  “I have to get closer,” she whispered to herself. Also, she should try to get ahead of the woman in order to get a picture of her face. She began jogging. When she passed the woman, she didn’t look over to her. Her heart was pounding. This was highly dangerous detective work. Morgana tried not to think of deadly blowfish. She tried to focus on her mission. She would run to the next intersection, stop and fake shortness of breath, then shoot a picture from her hip when the woman was approaching.

  That was the plan and, even though it was hard work for a fit athlete like Morgana to simulate breathlessness, everything seemed to go well when she pulled out the little camera from her pocket. The woman walked towards her. It was now or never. Morgana pressed the release – but nothing happened.

  “Merde,” Morgana mumbled. She had forgotten to turn the little wheel.

  The woman had stopped and was looking at her. She was thirty feet away. Morgana couldn’t see her face as the sun was behind her, but she could see the woman slowly clenching her fists. She pulled the hood further down her face, turned around and hurried back up the hill.

  ***

  Polly was panting. A drop of sweat was making its way from her forehead down her cheek. She felt it running across her throat and into her shirt. Four more. Polly pulled the elastic rope from behind until she had stretched her arm from above her head to the front. Three, two, one.

  Her serve was a strength but there was always room for improvement, as Bernadette used to say. It had to get better. This was a very important week for her and Bernadette as it was one of the few grass court tournaments before Wimbledon and the Olympic Games.

  In order to get Polly fitter and to reduce the risk of injury, Bernadette had developed a demanding fitness and training schedule for Polly. Depending on the tactics needed to beat their next opponents Polly sometimes practiced serves or volleys especially, sometimes returns. But she also had to work on all the muscles that made a big serve or quick movement possible. Twice a day, in the morning and in the evening, she worked out in the gym.

  She sat down on the grass and leaned against the net post, her arms and legs akimbo. She breathed heavily.

  “No pain, no gain,” a voice behind her said. Bernadette put her racquet bag down on a chair and clapped her hands. “Come on, get up again.”

  Polly jumped to her feet and walked to her bag. Pulling out her phone, she quickly checked the scores for the ongoing matches. The doubles teams usually practiced after the singles players, and they also played late in the afternoon. Polly and Bernadette were scheduled fourth on an outside court. The second match had started only twenty minutes ago but it was turning out to be a very one-sided affair.

  “Mint is down two breaks,” Polly declared while shouldering her racquet bag.

  “Oh, well,” Bernadette muttered. “I don’t feel sorry for her.”

  “Why would you say that?” Polly looked up in surprise.

  Bernadette smiled a little bit. “She is not a very friendly person. That is all.”

  “I think she is can be quite friendly actually,” Polly replied. She didn’t like Bernadette’s smug tone.

  “She has a tendency to use people for her own ends,” the older player said resolutely. Polly bit her lip. She had heard that before.

  “Well, she has been really nice to me so far,” she nevertheless said in Mint’s defense, but somehow her own words sounded doubtful.

  Bernadette shrugged. “I won’t tell you what to do. Perhaps she is just one of those typical Americans. Uneducated in an offensive way but oblivious to the fact, therefore completely full of themselves. From a professional point of view I wouldn’t waste time with her. You wouldn’t learn anything as she doesn’t have any talent. She has money though. That helps, of course, to make it on the tour.”

  Polly had to admit that the stereotype fit Mint quite accurately. The American often seemed bigheaded and brusque with other people. Yes, Chili had warned her, too. She also remembered what Elise had told her when they were strolling through the Galeries Lafayette. On the other hand Polly remembered the morning in Melbourne when Mint gave her two pristine books for her old and dog-eared Tennis Nurse novel. She couldn’t believe that the American only did that to irritate Chili. It had been a very generous gesture.

  Something else seemed quite generous. Letting a person in on your dead mother’s drug issues offered Mint no advantage. Or was it only a clever maneuver to lure Polly into commiseration? But what for? Wasn’t it rather a sign of trust to be so open?

  Polly sighed, taking her racquet out of her bag and walking to the baseline. So far she herself had had no bad experiences with Mint, but where there was smoke there usually was fire.

  ***

  “I don’t want to know what Natsumi’s gotten herself into,” Amanda mumbled. “None of this makes any sense, unless the pecker is very, very valuable.”

  Elise looked up at her girlfriend. They were sitting in a little café on Marine Parade in Brighton. Elise checked her watch. It was already ten minutes after the arranged time.

  “I told you, it’s really old,” she said to Amanda.

  Amanda nodded. “But all this time and effort to transport a wooden phallus to England is odd. There are easier ways.”

  “We’ve talked about this already,” Elise scolded Amanda. “Stop with the conspiracy theory. Natsumi wouldn’t do anything illegal.”

  Elise saw Amanda raise her eyebrows but not say anything. She herself wasn’t convinced by her evaluation of Natsumi’s character. From everything she had heard about Amanda’s Japanese friend she had to come to the conclusion that if there was one person up to doing forbidden things left, right and centre it was Natsumi Takashima.

  “It’s already late,” she informed Amanda.

  “Not everybody is as punctual as tennis players,” Amanda grinned.

  That was true, Elise thought. Their life was a succession of schedules, a new one for every day. They were picked up at certain times from the hotel, had their practice courts booked for a definite time period and they had to catch buses, trains or flights every week, only to get to a new place with a new schedule. Their life was so rigid that even the belatedness of another person made them nervous.

  Elise let her shoulders hang. No wonder she was so rigid herself. Especially when it involved talking about desires or her fascination with the woodpecker. Elise peeked over to the handbag in which they carried the Japanese phallus. Why couldn’t she be as relaxed about these matters as Natsumi or even Amanda?

  Perhaps it really took some time, Elise wondered. She should have felt grateful for Amanda’s sympathy but in fact it embarrassed her that Amanda had detected her insecurities. But why did she feel embarrassed in front of Amanda? Elise looked at her girlfriend and felt bad. The Australian would never ridicule her or talk about this with anybody else. And she was the most patient person on earth.

  Amanda was stirring her tea, watching the other patrons of the café. A red streak of hair had come undone and fallen over her cheek. Elise took it
and tucked it back behind Amanda’s ear, then she leaned over quickly and gave Amanda a kiss on the cheek.

  The Australian looked up in surprise.

  “This is probably the only place on earth where we can do this,” she whispered to Elise. “I think in Brighton gays are such a common sight I don’t feel that anybody cares or even looks.”

  Elise agreed. Just walking through the town gave them the feeling that suddenly they belonged to the majority of people. They had a good laugh when they crossed Dyke Road and even took a picture with the road sign behind them.

  Suddenly full of derring-do, Elise leaned over again and gave Amanda another kiss, but then she stayed close to her girlfriend’s ear.

  “The thing gave me all kinds of weird ideas,” she mumbled, nodding in the direction of the handbag.

  “Okay.”

  “But I don’t want to fuck you with it,” Elise gulped.

  “Okay,” Amanda said again, watching her girlfriend.

  “I wouldn’t mind though if you did.”

  Elise bit her lip and waited for Amanda’s reaction. The Australian looked her over, then she frowned.

  “I don’t like the idea, Elise.”

  Elise’s felt her head grow hot with embarrassment. Damn, why couldn’t she shut up? This was even more embarrassing than the moment when her mother had caught them in the act. But then she heard Amanda chuckle.

  “My main issue with the idea is that, first, this thing is really old and we have no idea where it’s been before or what Natsumi did with it before – but you know Natsumi – and, second, don’t forget it was stored in a moldy, rotten box for quite a while and, third, even though I’d love a quickie with you in a public privy, someone we don’t know will come in soon to pick up the pecker and with our luck we’d probably lose it in the loo. So, no. I don’t like the idea.”

  She caught her breath. “But I suggest we shop for a shiny, new pecker as soon as we get rid of that stupid, old wood thing.”

  They looked at each other and grinned. In this moment, Elise was more than ready to part with Natsumi’s wooden phallus. But half an hour later they were still waiting for the mysterious person.

  “Perhaps Natsumi confused the time?” Elise said with a shrug.

  “Confusion is definitely part of all this,” Amanda sighed. “This woman is almost forty-five minutes late and we have a practice session in one hour.”

  They really had to get back to Eastbourne. After waiting for another ten minutes they finally took the bag with the mara and left.

  ***

  For a moment longer Sasha stayed in the embrace. Not because she knew that they were being observed and that Kurt would appreciate a public display of affection, but because she felt like it.

  “Hello boyfriend,” she whispered into Jaro’s ear. Her Czech fiancé grinned.

  “Been a while,” he stated.

  They hadn’t seen each other in months, except for a short visit by Jaro in Rome when Kurt and Jaro’s management had insisted on a public appearance. As if the upcoming wedding wasn’t enough.

  Like a true fiancé Jaro put his arm around Sasha’s shoulder and together they slowly crossed the hotel lobby. Outside on the terrace, Kurt had arranged a meeting with the Happy Ever After Wedding planners.

  “Do you want to tell me more about your new love interest?” Jaro asked.

  Sasha grinned. A few days ago, when they had arranged the meeting with the wedding planners, Sasha and Jaro had talked on the phone. Jaro had opened up about a guy he had been seeing for a couple of weeks and Sasha had realized that not once since she had begun sleeping with Lulu had she been able to talk about it. She simply couldn’t trust anybody. Not even Kurt. Especially not Kurt. He would have tried to stop her from seeing Lulu as it jeopardized the wedding masquerade. After Jaro had told her about his new guy, Sasha poured out her heart. The words bubbled out of her until Jaro stopped her because it was long past midnight.

  “I’ll meet her later,” Sasha smiled and put her arm around Jaro’s lower back. “Will you be here for dinner? I’m sure you’d like her.”

  Jaro shook his head. “Sorry, I have to be back in training early tomorrow. I can’t stay.”

  They went outside and looked for the table where Kurt and the wedding planners were seated.

  “So, are you together now?” Jaro asked.

  Sasha blinked. “Oh, no,” she said quickly. “We are just having fun.”

  Jaro gave her a side glance. “Are you sure? You sounded so enthusiastic on the phone.”

  Sasha stopped and frowned. At the other end of the terrace Kurt stood up and waved. How unfortunate that Kurt was looking over at them at this very moment but she had to clear this up. Apparently there had been a misunderstanding.

  “I was enthusiastic because the sex is good,” she snapped. “And don’t call her my ‘love interest’. I’m not in love! I’m settling an old score.”

  Of course, Jaro didn’t understand that she deserved a little attention from Lulu for her broken nose. Thank god, she hadn’t told him who she was seeing. He really didn’t get it.

  “Come on, our wedding planners are waiting,” she grumbled. “And it is your duty to choose the colors for whatever they suggest, you understand?”

  At least this time he did.

  They sat down and Sasha gulped at the sight of Mr. Clutterbuck and Ms. Hardwood. How on earth could Kurt trust them with such a big event? But after five minutes she listened with astonishment at the conversation between Jaro and the wedding planners. Her fake fiancé had given the big day a lot of thought, it seemed. He had chosen the chair covers, planned the table decorations and every other detail. Neither Mr. Clutterbuck nor Ms. Hardwood pestered her with questions she couldn’t answer.

  Sasha leaned back in the rattan chair and relaxed. Beneath the terrace, Sasha saw a couple of fellow tennis players cross the lawn of the hotel garden. Then, all of a sudden, she noticed something black in the corner of her eye. Dark curls that edged into her field of vision. She couldn’t do anything about it. Sasha smiled at her luck. Jaro was taking care of the stupid wedding, and she was blessed with a dose of Lulu.

  The Galloway didn’t look around, she made a beeline across the lawn to a table where she spread some papers and began writing down some notes. Once in a while she leaned back and touched her lips with the end of the pen. God, how she wanted to be that pen right now, Sasha thought. Was she staring? A quick glance behind her revealed that nobody was looking at her. She could stare all day, she realized with a smile and turned back to the garden.

  The way Lulu was concentrating was strangely attractive. Perhaps it was the Galloway sitting upright and working silently and intently. Lulu had forgotten everything around her. It was such a pleasing sight to see someone focused, Sasha thought. She would ask her later what she was working on.

  “Sasha?” a voice interrupted her train of thoughts.

  She turned back to the table, surprised to find that the wedding planners and Kurt had vanished.

  “Are they gone already?” she asked Jaro.

  “You didn’t even say good-bye!” Jaro smirked. “You were so lost in some brown curls.”

  Sasha knew she had been caught red-handed. “Did anyone notice?”

  “I don’t think so.” Jaro shook his head. Then he looked at Sasha for a while. “Are you sure you’re not in love?”

  “Hundred percent certain,” Sasha said matter-of-factly.

  She closed her eyes for a short moment. She didn’t know where to look. If she looked at Jaro now he would have known that she was lying. If she looked back at Lulu, sitting at the table, she would have to fight the urge to run to her.

  “Love means nothing to a tennis player, right?” Jaro remarked with a smile.

  Love. She didn’t like falling in love. It hurt less to fall from a bridge. Love stabbed you from behind. But there she was. Falling.

  She finally turned to Jaro and looked him in the eye.

  “That’s correct,” sh
e answered. “Love means nothing.”

  ***

  Finding a private place outside her hotel room seemed almost impossible. Gabriella squeezed through the guests and even though she noticed that several people recognized her nobody stopped her and asked for an autograph or a picture. Probably because she seemed so determined in her manner.

  Gabriella stepped down the stairs and entered the little pathway that led to the hotel garden. In the middle of the lawn, she saw a table where she could spread her papers without arousing the other players’ curiosity. She had thirty minutes before Monica would pick her up to go over to the practice courts for a doubles session before their match.

  When was the last time she had done this? Perhaps together with Lulu? That was likely. The twins used to do this all the time. But now it seemed a lifetime away.

  Gabriella spread two sheets of paper on the table, one showed a list of the actual Top 30 players with their ranking points, the other was a list of the points each of these players had gathered in the previous season in Eastbourne and Wimbledon.

  In the last three months Gabriella had risen up the rankings. From the Top 30 to the Top 20, it never looked like a big leap, but Gabriella knew better then to let herself be fooled by that. A player had to win a lot of matches to make the Top 20. And in the last few months she had. She continually gathered ranking points and had reached her highest ranking ever – she was No. 14 in the world now.