Love Game - Season 2012

by Gerard, M. B.

  No, Sasha smiled. Plan B was not feasible.

  She closed her eyes again, satisfied with her reasoning, and was about to enjoy Anastasia’s caressing again when something else occupied her mind. A dark softness layered around her shoulders, weaved down her arms and finally curled in her hands.

  “Oh, please,” she whispered. She needed to resist these treacherous thoughts of dark curls. But she was helpless.

  When the umpire became more and more passionate, apparently having misunderstood Sasha’s sigh, Sasha warily dodged out of her embrace. Holding the umpire’s shoulders, she kept her away at arm’s length to steady her breath and gather her nerves.

  “Can we just sleep?” she asked quietly. Anastasia considered the unexpected move but then nodded. They lay down under the covers and Anastasia pulled her close, holding her. She obviously believed that Sasha had gotten nervous about the looming wedding. But Sasha didn’t have church bells or wedding cakes on her mind. All her thoughts revolved around a young American whose brown twirls revolved around Sasha’s thoughts.

  ***

  One more win and they were in the gold medal match, meaning they were guaranteed a medal. And even if they lost their semifinal tomorrow they could still take home a bronze medal. Unlike other tennis competitions which only honored the winner and the runner-up, in the Olympic Games there was still the third place. Not that they were aiming for that.

  Polly turned out the light on her nightstand and closed her eyes. She and Bernadette had opted for the same hotel that they had stayed in during Wimbledon and it certainly wasn’t a bad idea to recreate the same circumstances, hoping they could replicate their good run during the Championships. However, for two nights Polly had stayed in the Olympic Village with the other Canadian athletes. It had been wonderful. Not only did she meet all the girls in the Canadian football team, she was even invited to a party the night before the opening ceremony. What a blast to spend some time with people her age! She sure was grateful to Bernadette for her dedication and pushing Polly to new heights, but the older player was no fun to be with. Instead of celebrating their last win with a dinner, Bernadette had shooed Polly back to the practice courts to practice serves for another half an hour, and after that to the gym for an extensive warm-down. When she came back to the hotel Polly could barely manage to brush her teeth before falling into bed. It wouldn’t take long until she was sound asleep.

  Too bad Mint was missing all the action, Polly thought, lying in bed with her eyes closed. Since Mint’s brazen rejection at the Wimbledon garden party Polly tried not to spend too much time thinking about the American, but sometimes, when she was lying in bed and waiting for sleep Mint crossed her mind. The American hadn’t made the cut for the Olympic Games. It had been close and with Luella Galloway still nursing her injured hand, Mint would have been a helpful addition to the American team. But she missed the chance to play by three ranking spots.

  Polly breathed deeply to relax her body, and almost fell out of bed when loud banging erupted against her hotel room door.

  “What the hell?” Polly reached out to turn the light back on.

  Was there a fire? But wouldn’t there be a siren in that case? It probably was Bernadette. Polly moaned. It had happened before that Bernadette had dragged her out of bed to hammer home the tactics for the upcoming match.

  She slipped out of bed and hurried to the door to stop the knocking. When she flung open the door it was however neither a hotel clerk nor her overzealous doubles partner who stumbled into the room.

  “Gabriella?” Polly closed the door, stunned by the sudden appearance of her Supersport comrade. “What are you still doing here in London?”

  The American had lost her last match two days ago.

  “I need your help. You are the only one I know who is still in London,” Gabriella stammered. She gathered herself and sat down at the table, then took a deep breath. “Do you know where Sasha is staying? Have you seen her lately? Do you know where the wedding will take place? I’ve asked everyone, but nobody seems to know for sure. Everybody talks about it all the time. Some say this, some say that. They even speculate that she is pregnant. That’s ridiculous.”

  The heated words gushed out of Gabriella’s mouth and Polly put her hands up to slow her down. Sasha? She hadn’t seen the Czech since her loss a couple of days ago. What did she care about Sasha’s wedding? She was here to win a medal.

  “I have absolutely no idea, Gabriella,” she finally replied.

  Gabriella looked at Polly then let her shoulders hang.

  “Are you planning to crash Sasha’s wedding party?” Polly asked curiously.

  “Sort of,” the American replied gloomily. She got up again and walked back to the door. “You’ll let me know if you hear something, won’t you?”

  Polly promised. Watching Gabriella shuffling down the hotel corridor she wondered what the hell was going on. The media had tagged them for a new rivalry. Of course, Gabriella wasn’t invited to Sasha’s wedding. Why would Gabriella want to attend it? To make amends for Sasha’s Wimbledon loss with a nice present? Or Sasha and Gabriella were secret lovers and Gabriella was trying to prevent Sasha from marrying the wrong person? Together they would escape from the church and into the sunset. Polly had to laugh out loud at her ridiculous attempt to turn her fellow tennis players’ lives into trashy romance. It could only mean that she needed to read a new Tennis Nurse novel.

  She went to bed again, slipped under the covers and was about to turn off the light for a second time – when her cell phone rang.

  It was her brother.

  ***

  “Have you had time to visit any other events?” Hugh asked.

  Sam shook her head.

  They walked down the stairs to the side of Henman Hill after a short picnic break. Too many lunch breaks were spent in the vaults of the broadcast centre or the editing room. But today was the ladies’ singles final and doubles semifinals and they had decide to take advantage of the light schedule to escape into the sunlight.

  “I want to though. I will stay for a couple of days longer,” she said.

  “Wedding to attend?” Hugh teased her.

  Sam laughed and shook her head. “This wedding is one huge mystery. Is anyone we know invited?”

  “Oh, Sam,” Hugh chuckled, putting an arm around her shoulder. “Obviously we are not very important. We just get up every day to talk about them until we’re blue in the face. But no love for us journos.”

  They entered the media building and made their way to the editing room.

  “Speaking of hearts,” Sam remarked. “Any news on Polly’s mum?”

  “I haven’t heard anything yet,” Hugh said gloomily.

  The unexpected withdrawal of the Canadian doubles team caused much dismay in the media room as well as the players’ lounge. Polly kept a low profile but she was well-liked by her fellow players and the media as well. The doubles team had had great success all through the grass court season and was tipped to be the favorite to win gold at the Olympics.

  “Poor Bernadette,” Sam said. “She must be devastated. She really has no luck with her Olympic quest.”

  “You’re right,” Hugh said, remembering all the Olympic Games he had covered since 1996. “Just when you think she’s finally gotten lucky. Tragic.”

  Sam wanted to remark that Bernadette however had tested her luck perhaps too often in the past and thereby causing her misfortune, but both journalists were stopped in their tracks.

  Gabriella Galloway obstructed the passage into the media room. At least, it had to be Gabriella as Lulu was not in London, but recovering in the U.S. from the Wimbledon breakfast incident.

  “Gabriella? Are you here to watch the other Olympic events?” Sam wondered. Perhaps they could do a little feature with her, get her to talk about other sports and such. But her idea was smashed immediately.

  “No, no,” Gabriella blurted out. “I don’t have time for that.”

  She made a step forward and
leaned closer to the two journalists.

  “You surely know about Sasha’s wedding, don’t you?”

  Sam and Hugh nodded. Who didn’t?

  “Will you cover it in a report? For example, the exit from the church?”

  They shook their heads. “Nobody knows anything about the wedding.”

  “Oh, please, you must know where the wedding takes place,” Gabriella insisted.

  “No, we don’t know,” Sam answered uncomfortably. “Why do you want to know? The wedding is ‘invitation only’.”

  “I want to surprise her.”

  Hugh looked at Sam. Why would Gabriella, Sasha’s new rival, want to surprise the Czech? This couldn’t be a good surprise. Even if they knew, they probably shouldn’t tell Gabriella. Again he shook his head to demonstrate that he had no clue where the wedding would take place.

  “Alright,” Gabriella gave up. Sam watched the young player as she walked down the hallway. The look on Gabriella’s face had startled her. It wasn’t just disappointment, it was sheer desperation.

  Shaking her head she followed Hugh into the media room.

  “Did she ask you, too?” Paola’s voice came from behind a computer. She had set up camp in the corner of the room. Lars was next to her, editing a video.

  Sam nodded. “Why does she want to crash the party?”

  Paola shrugged. During the Olympic Games her duties encompassed producing interviews and features for Supersport. The show with the young players and Gabriella was put on hold until the next regular tournament. She obviously hadn’t questioned why Gabriella was still here. Sam took a seat at a desk while Hugh was fighting with the coffee machine and cursing loudly for everyone to hear in the media room.

  “Are you not afraid that one day he will do that while live commentating a match?” Sam looked up. Tom had entered the room and stood in front of her desk.

  “I expect this to happen on a daily basis,” she replied with a grin. “Finished for today?”

  “Yes and no,” Tom said, grinning mysteriously. “No more tennis for me today. But I have to prepare for something else. I haven’t done this in ages but tomorrow I will do someone a favor and be a wedding photographer.”

  ***

  One step after another. One step after another. And don’t stumble. Don’t trip over the dress. Don’t roll your ankle. Don’t – .

  Sasha opened her eyes, exhaled sharply and straightened her back. Ms. Daisy Hardwood fastened the zipper on the back of her dress. The satin was cool and it didn’t help that there were no sleeves to keep her shoulders warm.

  “Are you cold?” the wedding planner asked. Sasha nodded. In fact she was shivering. The last couple of days had been hectic with her and Jaro’s family arriving and getting to know each other. At the last minute she had forbidden her mother and her nieces from taking part in dressing her.

  “Put this on.” Ms. Hardwood handed her the embroidered bolero jacket she would wear after the ceremony, but it didn’t help. The tremor got worse and worse.

  “Oh, dear,” Ms. Hardwood mumbled. “Come, sit down.”

  She sat down with Sasha on the chair and put an arm around her.

  “Are you nervous?”

  Sasha shook her head. Why should she be nervous? She only had to say yes. Easy. Probably the easiest thing she had done in a while.

  “Are you having second thoughts?”

  Sasha looked the elderly woman in the eyes. “No.”

  “Good, it’s very unpleasant having to explain to all the guests and the family that the bride ran away.”

  Now Sasha had to grin. “Did that happen to you?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course,” Ms. Hardwood nodded. “But it was in fact mostly the men who chickened out.”

  The elderly woman still had her arm around her and Sasha realized that – besides the nights she had spent with Anastasia – the last person to touch and hug her had been Gabriella in Wimbledon.

  She swallowed and closed her eyes. The Galloways were the last people in the world she needed on her mind right now.

  “Do you know how Mr. Clutterbuck and I met,” Daisy Hardwood said with a mellow voice. Sasha shook her head.

  “It was in the late sixties. I needed to find a groom for a friend. She was unmarried and her father had determined in his will that she would get nothing as a single woman. Her father was already very sick at that time and she offered me part of the inheritance if I could marry her off in one week.”

  Late sixties? Sasha raised her eyebrows. Why on earth had Kurt chosen a wedding planner that old?

  “So, I went out to a gay bar and found a husband for her in no time,” Ms. Hardwood explained matter-of-factly.

  Sasha tried not to blink. The word ‘gay bar’ seemed outright bizarre coming from the mouth of a stuffy old lady. She also wondered where this story was going.

  “And that’s where I met Alvin,” Daisy Hardwood added. “He was friends with the groom. We got along very well and decided to make it a business. We specialized in convenience marriages for queers.”

  “Oh,” Sasha uttered. Queers. She suddenly understood. “So, that’s the reason Kurt chose you?”

  “I assume. We have an excellent reputation and we are very discreet,” Ms. Hardwood stated. Then she rubbed Sasha’s shoulder. “Better?”

  The wedding planner was about to get up.

  “Not really,” Sasha quickly said – and the hand stayed.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Whose name?”

  “The girl with the dark hair. The girl you looked at in Eastbourne.”

  Sasha sighed. So they had seen her looking at Lulu. Her name is Luella, Sasha wanted to say. But, of course, it had been Gabriella. Instead she said nothing, just shook her head slowly.

  “Do you love her?”

  She wanted to keep on shaking her head, but her head stopped turning. As if the bones inside her neck had become iron screws and these screws were getting wedged the more she tried to shake her head. Sasha opened her mouth and tried to explain the strange immobility that was affecting her neck. But even her throat wasn’t working properly anymore.

  But before Ms. Hardwood could wonder why Sasha wasn’t answering or moving, an excited voice sounded through the dressing room.

  “Oh my goodness,” Tom exclaimed. “You look gorgeous. Absolutely amazing.”

  The loud photographer hauled Sasha out of her rigor.

  “You will both look so adorable in the car,” Tom gushed.

  “What car?” Sasha got up and approached Tom.

  “The car we chose with Jaroslav in Eastbourne,” Daisy Hardwood explained.

  “A limo?”

  “Oh, no,” Ms. Hardwood chuckled. “It’s an Aston Martin DB5.”

  “Good man, that Jaro,” Tom winked at Sasha. “The DB5 is the classic James Bond getaway car. You should make good use of it.”

  ***

  One step after another. One step after another.

  The hill seemed to never end. Slowing down a little, Gabriella caught her breath. Why did she have the feeling that she was terribly unfit? Shouldn’t she be up there already?

  “Come on,” she fired herself up and began jogging again.

  Everything seemed perfect when Tom had mentioned his new mission in a conversation with Lars on the way to the broadcast centre. He didn’t even look up when Gabriella passed by.

  “Mayfair Manor,” Tom had trumpeted. “Perfect location for such a high-profile couple, but still intimate and private, you see?” Lars had nodded.

  High-profile couple? Intimate? Private? These guys had no clue. Gabriella had rushed home and looked up the mansion on the net. It was located thirty miles outside of London. Clever, she thought. Everybody she had asked reported that rumor had it that Sasha planned the wedding in an inner-city church and that the family was staying in a hotel nearby. But obviously that had been diversion.

  All the better, Gabriella thought. She didn’t like the thought that a horde of paparazzi would storm t
he hill with her and could see her like this – sweaty and out of breath. How unworthy of the current Wimbledon Champion!

  It was like running for the bus, while people were standing by and watching. Was she fast enough? Would she make it in time before the bus came? Of course not. Murphy’s law always prevented a happy union with the vehicle. Speaking of vehicles, the public transportation connection to Mayfair Manor could have hardly been worse. The train stopped at every whistle stop – and it always whistled. When Gabriella had finally arrived in Mayfair she made sure that it had in fact been a modern train, not a steam engine. And why did she have the foolish idea that there would be cabs waiting at the Mayfair train station? There weren’t.

  This was so typical of the whole situation. All this had started in Dubai with a completely botched day. And it would end in a mess. She just knew it. The train chaos wasn’t a good omen, and now she was even running up a hill. Tom hadn’t mentioned a time for the wedding. It was quite possible that the ceremony was scheduled in the morning. And it was already 10:27. But she kept on running.

  “Can’t say I didn’t try,” she panted, while jogging along the winding road. But that’s what people always said when running for the bus.

  The winding road was marked-off by a stone fence and trees blocked the view to the top of the hill. Gabriella growled. She wasn’t even sure whether there was a mansion or a church on the hill. What if there was nothing? Just the road that would lead down again.

  Gabriella gasped for air and stepped to the side of the road. Suddenly, she listened up. The smoothly buzzing roar of a car was audible. Gabriella frowned. No need for anyone to see her sweating and out of breath. Or running up a hill looking for a church that wasn’t there. And no need to get run over by a car now.

  She climbed up the stone fence, quickly jumped down into the meadow and ducked.

  When the car drove by she peered over the stones.

  “Idiot,” she said after the car. The car was speeding along the narrow road. One small mistake and it would crash into the stone fence. Gabriella shook her head, watching the car disappear behind a turn, then jumped over the rocks and began jogging again.