Love Game - Season 2012

by Gerard, M. B.

  She put her arm around Mint’s shoulder. “Well, we are glad that you’re not the pervert we thought you were,” she winked at the British player. “Now we only have to figure out what to do with the pictures.”

  Ted opened his eyes and ruminated over the question.

  “Delete them,” he finally said. Polly saw how Mint opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it quickly. They ordered drinks and sipped them slowly, while Polly helped Mint to delete all the pictures from her phone and her laptop.

  ***

  “None left,” Mint said quietly and turned the computer around for Ted to have a look.

  “Thank you,” he said. Then he shook his head, amazed by the twists and turns this story had taken since he had first set eyes on the red-haired photo journalist named Tom Richardson. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Polly answered.

  “Were there other pictures of other couples?” Mint suddenly asked.

  Ted shook his head and looked the young player over. “What was your favourite picture?”

  He couldn’t tell in the low light of the restaurant but he thought Mint blushed for a moment. “The one with Amanda and Elise.”

  “Of course,” Ted giggled. “It’s a wonderful shot, isn’t it?”

  “Was,” Mint remarked.

  “Well, thanks to you Amanda and Elise have a copy of it,” Ted said. “I know they like it, too.”

  He saw how Mint smiled a bit. He also saw how Polly glanced at the American.

  “We’ll have to go now,” the young Canadian said, checking her watch.

  “Gym session with Bernadette?” Ted guessed and Polly nodded. Ted couldn’t help but notice that Mint looked peeved. He grinned and wondered how long these two had been together now.

  The two young players got up, packed the laptop while Ted began dialing Tom’s number. He had to tell his boyfriend about the fortunate turn of events and that all the time they had been completely wrong – about Anastasia and about Bernadette. He couldn’t get a signal and finally remembered that Tom was already on his way to Istanbul for the Year End Championships. Ted sighed. He would call Tom later. The girls said goodbye and Ted watched them step outside into the cold Moscow night. Preoccupied by solving the picture problem he hadn’t noticed that it had begun to snow. Thick flakes glided down onto the ground and rolled out a white carpet for the two young women.

  Polly put an arm around Mint, sheltering her from the cold, and they walked past the window front. Under a street light they waited for the traffic signal to turn green so they could walk over to the hotel on the other side. They had forgotten about pictures, about the other girls and Ted. In the milky light of the lamp Mint put her arms around Polly and they slowly kissed.

  Ted leaned his head on one hand and watched them with a big smile. How sweet young love was, he thought. Then he quickly took out his cell phone and snapped a picture of the two girls. He would give it to them when he would see them next.

  “At least the American values romantic memorabilia,” he said to himself, while Mint and Polly made it to the other side.

  ***

  Morgana Doré crouched over her laptop and looked at the e-mails that had popped up after opening her inbox.

  There was a new e-mail from Larissa, which wasn’t surprising. They had continued writing each other as usual after the telephone call as Morgana thought it not wise to let her source in on the intrigue that was going on. But in the afternoon another e-mail had arrived – also from Larissa Perkins. However, from a different e-mail address.

  “They’re really trying everything to convince me,” Morgana mumbled while opening the new e-mail.

  Please contact me when you come to Florida in the off-season. I would love to meet in person to clear all doubts that I am Larissa Perkins.

  Morgana frowned. This was interesting.

  During the U.S. hardcourt season she had spent a few weeks of preparation in Florida and had tried to set up a meeting with her source to whom she had been writing since spring. It had never worked out. Either Larissa was too busy or not at home when Morgana had time to visit. She also realized that she had never spoken to her source on the phone back then.

  And now the person Morgana believed was impersonating Larissa to steer Morgana off course was offering her just that. She knew where Larissa’s animal shelter was located. She had found it online. The new e-mail was written from the animal shelter’s e-mail address, while Larissa, the source, had only ever written from a private e-mail address. Morgana gulped. A sneaking suspicion crept up on her.

  She filtered the e-mails of her source and began reading through the old letters. There was the conversation from the summer when Larissa, the source, kept finding excuses to avoid a meeting.

  Sorry for calling off our meeting, but I need to take one of the dogs to the vets. Sorry, I’ll be visiting friends over the weekend and won’t be back until late Sunday evening. Sorry, but I’ve asked to my neighbor to take care of the pets so we can meet for a coffee but she doesn’t have time. Sorry, but – .

  Morgana stopped. Then she went back one e-mail.

  I’ve asked to a neighbor to take care of the pet home.

  She read the sentence again. And again and again.

  “Merde,” she finally whispered. “Merde.”

  I’ve asked to. Larissa was perhaps not a very educated person, but she was American and no native English speaker would make such a mistake. Why hadn’t she seen it before, Morgana gasped. How could she fail to notice this blatant hint that her source wasn’t American, as she said she was.

  Reading the words over again it slowly dawned on her.

  In French, asking a neighbor, would be demander à un voisin. To Morgana’s French ear, adding one little word didn’t sound wrong. She had simply read it in a French way, mixing the two languages and thereby overlooking the obvious.

  Morgana leaned back and inhaled deeply. She realized something else. Her source, posing as a native English speaker, had to be in fact a French speaker as well.

  Bernadette had given her the e-mail address, Morgana remembered. And Bernadette spoke French. It was in fact her native tongue – a fact unbeknownst to most people on the tour nowadays.

  “Bernadette LeBlanc,” Morgana mumbled, remembering the nickname Bernadette had a decade ago. “The Defector.”

  LATE NIGHT

  RACQUETEERING

  Istanbul, Turkey

  Mint took a seat in the upper stands of the Sinan Erdem Dome and looked across the court. Two staff members were fixing the poles into the ground and preparing the net for the first practice on the new court.

  Mint yawned. She and Polly had arrived late last night on a flight from Moscow where Polly and Bernadette had won the final. All was going well for the doubles team. They had made the cut for the Year End Championships and would compete with the three other best teams in the world.

  All was going well for Mint, too. The kiss in the cold Moscow night had been the best thing that had happened in a while. Polly’s lips had been warm and smooth. Even if there hadn’t been the touch of her mouth, the Canadian girl’s smile would have been enough to have warmed Mint’s heart for the whole week they had spent in Russia.

  Leaning onto her knees Mint remembered how she and Polly rushed over the snowy street – hobbled, she should say, with Polly taking her hand and holding it inside her tracksuit pocket to keep it warm. They had run through the hotel lobby, giggling and smiling and still holding hands and not caring what the other guests thought. In the hotel room it wasn’t cold anymore, but they pretended it was. They got under the bed covers and continued kissing and giggling and ruffling each other’s hair. And that’s all they did. In hindsight Mint was surprised that she hadn’t pushed for more – like she usually did. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to sleep with Polly. She was in fact thinking about the Canadian non-stop. But it also felt like a bigger step than usual. A much bigger step. Polly wasn’t one of those girls whose name Mint had forgo
tten before they even left her room in the morning. They could talk and talk for hours. In fact, it felt like Polly knew her inside-out already as Mint had trusted her with her worst secrets.

  Trust. That stupid word caused Mint headaches. Especially when uttered by therapists. They usually added the word ‘issues’ to elucidate to Mint whatever they believed was bugging her. Stupid.

  Here she was, and she wasn’t running away from anything. She wasn’t pushing either. She was waiting for the good stuff to happen and she was looking forward to spending time with Polly in the cold country in the North. Because wherever Polly was it couldn’t be that cold. If it got to chilly they would simply slip under a blanket, and Mint would fall asleep in Polly’s arms and would make it a habit to wake up just a few minutes before the alarm rang, so she could wait for the grey eyes to open and look at her in the morning light.

  Down on the court Antonia and Martina had begun to hit balls over the net, waiting for Polly and Bernadette to practice with them. Just when Mint started wondering where the doubles team was someone stepped down the stairs next to her.

  “Thanks to you, Polly is late,” Bernadette said without looking at Mint. She watched Martina and Antonia.

  “What?” Mint looked at the older Canadian player and shook her head. “We came here together. On time.”

  “Unfortunately, Polly left her head in bed,” Bernadette hissed. “And with her head also her spare clothes and shoes in the hotel.”

  Mint swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you say anything? I could have taken a cab back and gotten her stuff.”

  “Too late,” Bernadette replied, almost triumphantly to underline Mint’s uselessness. “I sent her over to get it herself. She needs to learn a lesson. Won’t forget her clothes in the future.”

  Mint clenched her teeth but didn’t say anything. A lesson? Who did Bernadette think she was?

  “I also booked a separate room for Polly,” Bernadette added smugly.

  “Excuse me?” Mint almost jumped up from her chair. “Polly and I will be rooming together. You can’t make her take another room.”

  “I need Polly fit and well-rested,” Bernadette retorted. “Or are you really suggesting you two went straight to sleep as soon as you arrived yesterday?”

  Of course, they didn’t. Like in Moscow they had stayed up until two in the morning. It hadn’t done any damage to Polly’s game in the Russian capital, and today the doubles team was only scheduled for practice. What was Bernadette fussing about?

  “Yes, we did,” Mint lied. “Went straight to sleep. Polly was tired because you make her work out too much.”

  “Too much?” Bernadette looked Mint over, then snorted. “I haven’t even started with Polly. I’ll make her work even harder next year.”

  “I don’t think so, Bernadette.” Mint couldn’t help smiling. “This is your last tournament with Polly. I will play doubles with her next year.”

  Bernadette squinted her eyes. For a short moment it looked like her face would drop, but then she kept herself together and didn’t let it happen. Mint gulped. Apparently Polly hadn’t told Bernadette about her decision yet. The hard look around the Canadian’s mouth told Mint that Bernadette didn’t like the news.

  ***

  “Have we seen enough mosques now?” Elise moaned.

  Amanda grinned and nodded. They had spent the afternoon after Amanda’s practice hit strolling through the old part of Istanbul, buying spices at the market and visiting the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia – and a handful of others mosques they didn’t know the name of.

  “Let’s get a fish sandwich and walk over to the other side,” she suggested.

  On the quay next to the Galata Bridge that spread from the European to the Asian side of Istanbul a boat was selling fresh fish kebabs from a big grill. It attracted a long queue of hungry Turks and tourists who lined up under a little roof on the quayside which sheltered small tables with chairs. Elise and Amanda joined the queue to grab the simple but exquisite meal.

  “I’ve thought about the new home,” Elise suddenly said.

  “Yes?” Amanda waited. She had been glad when Elise told her she needed some time to consider such a significant move. At least it meant that she hadn’t ruled out relocating to Australia from the start.

  “First of all, my training base is in Florida with Rick Salieri. And my dad is coaching me. If I’m in Australia with you, there would be no reason for my parents to stay in Florida, you see? They would also have to move.” Elise contemplated aloud. Amanda had to concede that she had thought about this point, too.

  They had reached the grill boat and quickly – with hands and feet – ordered their fish kebabs. It came with Turkish bread and chopped salad and Elise and Amanda added salt and lemon juice. It was delicious. They strolled along the quay and enjoyed the fresh meal before picking up the conversation again.

  “I told my parents about your plans and – they don’t want to move to Australia,” Elise said.

  Amanda’s heart sank. “So, that’s basically a ‘no’. You will stay in Florida.”

  “No, I would love to move in with you,” Elise smiled. “But I need to find a way that I can train with my dad.”

  Amanda smiled. She suspected the real reason for Elise’s hesitation was that she didn’t want to part with her parents after having them around for support all the time.

  “And you like the way they pamper you, right?” she teased Elise, who laughed out loud.

  “I do,” Elise said. “You have to admit they are good at it.” Amanda nodded. Elise’s mother had begun to spoil Amanda, too. It was hard to say no.

  “But when I talked to them, I actually got the feeling that they applauded the idea that I spread my wings and go explore without them. I think they believe I’m safe having you around.” Elise chuckled. “They probably wouldn’t let me near you again had they any clue what we were up to this season and that we were carrying a huge dildo around.”

  “Definitely not,” Amanda said, looking out onto the water of the Bosporus. “So, they believe it’s a good idea if you come with me.”

  “Basically,” Elise nodded. “My parents would come two weeks before Christmas and we could all practice together. That should be fine. But – ,” Elise hesitated for a second. “They wouldn’t keep on living in Florida. They would move back to Paris.”

  They finished their sandwiches and began walking over the bridge, while Amanda looked for a garbage bin to get rid of the kebab wrapping.

  “We still own an apartment in Paris which my parents have been renting out since we moved to Florida ten years ago,” Elise continued. “They suggest that we all use it as a base during the clay court season. It’s rather large, you see.”

  Amanda raised her eyebrows, considering the surprise offer. Elise watched her from the corner of her eye. “Perhaps we can even spend time there after Wimbledon,” she suggested carefully. “Unless, of course, you want to fly back to Australia before heading to the U.S..”

  Amanda had to smile. Parting from her parents seemed a big step for Elise and a little compromise wouldn’t hurt here, she thought.

  “That actually sounds very tempting, Elise,” Amanda whispered. “I’m afraid though I will grow fat having all those formidable restaurants around. I will look like an elephant soon and you will dump me.”

  “Never,” Elise exclaimed with a broad smile. She pulled Amanda close and wanted to hug her when Amanda straightened up and gasped.

  “What on earth?” she blurted out loud. Elise turned around and followed her lover’s gaze across to the other side of road.

  “Natsumi!” she realized. “What is she doing here?”

  Their Japanese friend was walking quickly along the bridge’s sidewalk, apparently with a clear destination. It was bewildering to see Natsumi here, as she wasn’t playing the Year End Championships – neither in singles nor in doubles. Her injury-delayed year had put a serious damper on her ranking and she had finished in the lower Top 20s.


  “I have no idea,” Amanda shrugged. Then she gasped. Natsumi had lifted her hand and was waving to someone.

  “Who is that?” Elise asked. She didn’t recognize the former player as she was still far away, but Amanda had. The woman had reached Natsumi and was giving her a hug. There was also no apparent reason for this player to be in Istanbul.

  “Dani,” she whispered. “Daniela Grieb.”

  ***

  “Does this thing resemble a head?”

  Tom Richardson stood in front of Paola Scetti, knocking his forehead. The Austrian journalist looked up and chuckled.

  “Well, it would if you got a haircut.”

  “Because I can’t believe it is,” Tom sighed. “I think it’s become a giant tennis ball lately.”

  He sank down onto a chair in the press room which was still empty as the tournament was just starting tomorrow. Paola waited.

  “Can I use your computer when you’re finished?” Tom finally asked. “I just need to check my e-mails.”

  “What happened to yours?” Paola wondered.

  Again Tom knocked his head. “I put it in the suitcase which I checked in at the Luxembourg Airport. Along with my phone. I mean, who does that? Does it surprise anyone that exactly this bag has gotten lost somewhere on the way and is probably still doing rounds on a baggage claim in Zurich?”

  “Oh, no.” Paola tried to choke down the laughter but managed to do so only poorly.

  Tom gave her an angry glance, but then had to smile as well. “Can you believe it? Now I’m stuck without a phone or access to the internet. I don’t know how I’ve survived since yesterday. I feel like a contestant on a jungle camp show.”

  “Good for you that you found me in this vast wilderness that is the press room. I have the transmitter to the outside world that you need,” Paola patted her computer. “Just let me finish this write-up. It shouldn’t take long.”