She wanted to celebrate. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so good. Physically or mentally. How long had it been? One year? Two? No matter what the actual number was, way too much time had passed since the last time she felt like she was firing on all cylinders.
She ran into Kendall on her way out of the locker room. Kendall was one of her few remaining single friends. Most of the others were comfortably ensconced in relationships. Kendall would probably never allow herself to be tied down unless there were whips and chains involved.
“Do you want to grab a drink?”
“I’d be happy to help you spend some of the prize money you just won.”
Kendall flashed a lopsided grin that should have made Sinjin’s stomach turn somersaults. In the past few days, the only smile that had that effect was Laure’s. Was the change permanent?
She and Kendall rode the tube to Soho and walked into London’s lone women-only bar. A round of applause greeted their arrival. Sinjin had thought her presence would go unnoticed. She basked in the unexpected attention.
“Anything you want is on the house,” the bartender said.
“In that case,” Kendall said, “we’ll have two of everything.”
“Down, girl.” Sinjin amended Kendall’s order. “A bottle of water and a Foster’s, please.”
“Anything you want,” the bartender said. “And I mean anything.”
Kendall leaned forward to get a better look at the bartender’s butt as she bent to retrieve a can of beer from an ice-filled cooler. Sinjin stayed put.
“You could have told me you and Laure were dating,” Kendall said as they nursed their drinks.
“We aren’t.” Sinjin stared at the TV screen, where Clair Wilkinson—recently touted as the future of British women’s tennis—was going down in flames.
Apparently, reports of her rise and my demise were premature.
“Bullshit. Abby told me how you ran out on her because there was ‘someplace you had to be.’ Then I saw that picture in the Daily Mail of you standing on Laure’s doorstep with a bottle of wine under your arm. We both know what that means.”
“That someone with a telephoto lens didn’t have anything better to do that night?” She dragged her eyes away from the one-sided match and looked at Kendall’s tanned, perpetually smiling face. “As I said during my press conference, Laure and I have a friendship, not a relationship.”
Kendall took a sip of her pale ale. “Nice try, but I refuse to believe that was anything other than a line you trotted out to protect your relationship from further scrutiny. If you want me to believe you, there is a way for you to prove it to me.”
“How?” Sinjin raised a bottle of mineral water to her mouth and took a long swallow.
“Come back to my flat with me and help me break in my new bed. My mattress isn’t the only thing I have that’s rock hard.”
Sinjin spit water all over the bar. Kendall grabbed a pile of napkins and helped her sop up the mess.
“Not the reaction I was expecting, but it proves I’m right. You do have something brewing with Laure.”
Sinjin looked around to make sure no one in the steadily growing crowd had overheard Kendall’s comment. “You can’t say anything to anyone. Do you hear me?”
“Mum’s the word. I swear.” Kendall lowered her voice to a whisper. “Have you done the deed?”
“I haven’t even kissed her yet.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“Hello?” Sinjin tossed the soaked wads of paper into a trash bin behind the bar. “I have a tournament to win.”
“You can’t do both? You can’t win a tournament and get some action at the same time?”
“I tried that once. It didn’t work.”
“Because you let Queen Viktoriya walk all over you.”
The press had coined Viktoriya’s nickname to describe her regal bearing on court. Her fellow players used it to describe her imperious attitude in the locker room.
“You were expected to be her subject, not her equal. She said ‘jump’ and you said ‘how high?’ She said—”
“You don’t have to remind me,” Sinjin said testily. “I was there, remember?” She finished her drink and slammed the empty bottle on the bar. “I’ve got to go.”
“Volley drills in the morning,” Kendall said as they stood just outside the front door. “I know they’re your favorite, so I’m going to make sure you work your ass off.”
“Take it easy on me, okay? I do have a match to play tomorrow afternoon.”
“I’ll think about it. Now give me a hug and run home to your girlfriend.”
Sinjin didn’t bother to correct Kendall’s slip of the tongue. She gave her a quick kiss and a lingering hug. Then she turned to leave. “Aren’t you coming?”
“You might have someone waiting for you at home, but I don’t.” Kendall turned and walked back into the bar.
Sinjin headed for Stephanie’s apartment. As she walked the crowded streets, she thought about the conversation she and Kendall had shared.
Could she do both? Could she win the tournament while she was developing a relationship with one of the players she might have to defeat at some point?
“There’s only one way to find out. Let’s hope I don’t lose both in the process.”
*
Laure’s cell phone rang while she and Nicolas were reviewing scouting reports on her next opponent. Gabrielle picked up the phone and read the display.
“It’s Sinjin. Shall I send it to voice mail?”
“No.” Laure leaped out of her seat. “Give me the phone.”
Nicolas cleared his throat. “We aren’t finished.”
“Anaïs and I have played each other seventeen times. If I don’t know her game by now, I never will.” She took the phone and jogged upstairs to her bedroom. “Sin?”
“How did I do?”
Sinjin’s voice brought an immediate smile to her face. “On the court or in the press room?”
“Either.”
“You were aces in both.”
“I have something to tell you.”
“Uh oh. That sounds ominous.”
“Promise you won’t get mad.”
Laure’s heart skipped a beat. Sinjin’s press conference had ended hours ago. Where had she been since then, visiting Abby or some other equally willing partner to scratch another itch? Barely any time had passed since they acknowledged their attraction to each other and Sinjin was already beginning to stray?
“Just tell me.”
“Kendall figured out what’s going on with us.”
Laure released her death grip on the edge of the mattress. Sinjin’s news wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but it was better than what she had feared.
“How did she figure us out when we haven’t?”
“Clairvoyant I guess.”
“She should add that to her job description. Somewhere between Pilates aficionado and Zumba expert.”
“I swore her to secrecy.”
“Did she cross her heart and hope to die?” Laure lay back on the bed. She felt like a teenager in the throes of a crush. Soon I’ll start peppering my text messages with emoticons and ending every sentence with LOL or LMAO.
“You’re making light of this? I thought you’d be pissed.”
“Unless Kendall’s walking around with a tape recorder in her pocket, I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”
“She’s carrying something, but the last time I looked it wasn’t a tape recorder.”
“When was the last time you looked?” Mireille’s cheating had left Laure gun-shy. Sinjin was open about her voracious appetites. Did that make her more suitable as a partner or less?
“It’s been a while. To be honest, I haven’t looked at anyone since I came to see you last week.”
“Is that a personal best?”
“Pretty close.”
“I’ll buy you a chastity belt for your birthday.”
“Only if you
promise we can play French Revolution. I’ll be Marie Antoinette and you can be Louis XIV.”
“You might want to choose a different role. If I remember my history correctly, Marie Antoinette lost her head.”
“Then the part’s perfect for me. Because I’m definitely losing mine.”
“Do you rehearse these lines or do they come naturally to you?”
“I’ll admit that wasn’t my best effort. Let me go back to the drawing board and see what I can do.”
“You do that.”
Laure was glad they weren’t talking via Skype. If they were, Sinjin would have seen her blush. No one else got to her this way. No one else put her at ease while at the same time keeping her on her toes.
“Are you going to the dog and pony show tomorrow night?” Sinjin asked.
They were sponsored by the same racquet company. With most of the tennis world gathered in London, representatives of the firm had planned a lavish gala at the London Eye, the popular tourist attraction that dominated the waterfront’s skyline.
Laure traced a finger over a rose embroidered in the floral-themed duvet. “The last time I looked, our presence was required, not expected.”
“Would you like to go together?”
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“If you want to call it that.”
“Sure. If I’m going to be trapped in a slow-moving capsule for an hour, I’d rather it be with someone whose company I actually enjoy.”
“Not the most enthusiastic ‘yes’ I’ve ever received, but I’ll take it.”
They talked for a while longer before ending the call. Laure floated downstairs. Nicolas took note of her ear-to-ear grin.
“I’m glad you’re happy, but I don’t want you to lose focus.”
Laure tossed the scouting reports on the coffee table and reached for her sketchpad. “My match isn’t until Thursday. If I’ve lost focus, I’ve got time to find it.”
Second Round
Sinjin’s knees were fine, but her back was killing her. Stephanie’s oversized couch was more comfortable than some hotel beds she had slept in, but it wasn’t the Four Seasons. Or the Ritz-Carlton. Then again, she hadn’t done much sleeping that night.
Last night she had fallen asleep watching video of her match against Emme during the qualifying tournament. Now she had the heavily hyped rematch to play and her muscles were tied up in knots. So was her stomach.
Emme had drubbed a fellow qualifier in the first round to set up the match all of England wanted to see. The winner would most likely play Anke Schroeder, who had upset the twenty-fifth seed in the first round and was favored to defeat the previous year’s junior champion in the second.
Stephanie put the empty breakfast plates in the dishwasher and strode to the corded phone nestled in a cubby hole next to the front door. The phone was connected to the buzzer downstairs. A small screen above the phone displayed images from the security camera above the building’s front door.
Stephanie picked up the phone, listened for a second or two and said, “She’ll be right down.” After hanging up, she reached for her suit jacket and shrugged it on. “Your courtesy car’s here.”
The All England Lawn Tennis Club provided a fleet of compact SUVs to shuttle the players between the tournament site and the players’ temporary accommodations, alleviating them of at least one headache. They couldn’t do anything about the matches themselves—or the often iffy weather.
Sinjin quickly downed the rest of her coffee and joined Stephanie by the front door. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”
“I have meetings all morning, but I’ll be in the stands by the time your match starts. Tell Nicolas to save me a seat. Good luck this afternoon.” Stephanie wrapped her arms around Sinjin’s neck. “God, you’re tense. I feel like I’m hugging a statue.” She briskly rubbed Sinjin’s arms and shoulders. “If you’re worried about today, don’t be. You don’t have to prove you belong. You already did that yesterday. Just go out there and kick Emme’s arse.”
“I’ll try.”
Stephanie tilted her head. “Are you okay?”
Sinjin rubbed her aching back. “I think I’m getting too old for your couch.”
“Try using the bed next time. That’s what it’s for.”
“Thanks, sis. I’ll try to remember that.”
She followed Stephanie downstairs and climbed into the back of the courtesy car. The driver whisked her across town and parked in front of the players’ entrance. Sinjin showed her ID badge to one of the guards at the security checkpoint, then placed her racquet bag and duffel bag on a table so they could be searched.
Her match was the third one scheduled for Court Eight, which meant she probably wouldn’t begin play until after four o’clock. The forgiving schedule would give her plenty of time to have a training session with Kendall, a light practice session with her hitting partner, a rubdown from the tour masseuse, and a leisurely lunch in the players’ lounge.
After changing clothes in the locker room, she headed to the practice courts at Aorangi Park. Kendall was waiting for her.
Kendall picked up a medicine ball. “Chuck this around and get those muscles loose.”
They tossed the six-pound ball back and forth. Sinjin caught it first on her left side then her right, swinging her body from side to side to warm up her core. As she gradually worked up a sweat, she thought about her upcoming match.
The last time she played Emme, she had converted only two of ten break point opportunities. If she played the big points that poorly again, Emme would bounce her out of the tournament just like she had in Roehampton. Only this time there would be no second chances.
“Last one,” Kendall said. “Make it good.”
The force of Sinjin’s throw drove Kendall backward.
“Easy, tiger. Don’t sprain all ten of my fingers. I may need my hands later.”
Andrew ambled over. His weathered face and skinny, bowed legs made him look more like a leprechaun than a tennis coach. He ran a hand through his thinning silver hair. “All right. Let’s get to work.”
Sinjin honed her game under his watchful eye.
Though long retired, Andrew had agreed to help her attempt to refine the raw talent he had first spotted so long ago. She had called him the day after the final round of qualifying matches at Roehampton. He had immediately volunteered his services—with one caveat. He would oversee her practice sessions as long as he didn’t have to sit courtside during her matches.
Sinjin had readily agreed to the unusual—and probably temporary—arrangement. Andrew had been a father figure for her during her formative years after her biological one hit the bricks. She was just happy to have him in her life again even if, at the moment, he was making her life hell.
“You’re cheating on those low volleys. When I say, ‘bend,’ I mean with your legs, not your back.” He demonstrated the proper technique, practically scraping his knee on the court as he brought his leg parallel to the ground. “If you get grass stains on those fancy new clothes of yours, it won’t be the end of the world. Everything comes out in the wash.”
Though his words sounded harsh, his voice was as warm as ever. That didn’t stop them from bursting Sinjin’s balloon, however. She thought she had played a perfect match when she upset Rosana. According to Andrew, she still had room for improvement. Lots of room.
She had forgotten it took alligator skin to work with him. She had to be careful not to let his blunt critiques dent her confidence. Sometimes one word was all it took to shake her self-belief. She could feel like a world-beater one second and a rank amateur the next. The flaw had kept her from building on her sensational rookie year. It had helped grease the skids as she slid down the rankings. Her injuries had provided built-in excuses. The real reason for the downturn in her career wasn’t her body but her head. Viktoriya was inside it and she couldn’t get her out.
No one was better at shaking her confidence than Viktoriya Vasilyeva. Viktoriya was an expert at plan
ting seeds of doubt. She was the queen of backhanded compliments. If Sinjin could beat her once—just once—she could turn the tide in their rivalry. She could close the book on years of frustration and begin writing a new chapter.
“Rosana let you get away with a couple of loose volleys yesterday because it was the first round and she was so nervous she couldn’t breathe,” Andrew said. “Don’t expect Emme to let you off the hook today. She beat you once and, in her mind, she thinks she can do it again.”
Sinjin set her jaw. “She’s wrong.”
Andrew allowed himself a rare smile. “That’s the spirit.”
*
Laure hung out in the players’ lounge while she waited for her scheduled practice court to open up. Sinjin had just finished her practice session and was enjoying a pre-match snack. A grilled chicken sandwich, a bowl of pasta salad, an apple, a couple bananas, and a large bottle of water crowded the tray in her hands. All were better options than the fare offered to fans in the food court, where—aside from the ever-popular strawberries and cream—only the worst of British cuisine crowded the menu.
While they waited, Laure and her trainer Gabrielle Meunier pored through some of the latest tabloids. Sinjin avoided the tabs like the plague, but Laure couldn’t resist their cleverly worded headlines. Filled with puns and double entendres, they were always good for a laugh—except when the joke was at her expense.
“The reviews of Chandler’s movie are in,” Gabrielle said, her nose buried in The Times. “To quote one, ‘Unintentional comedy is not pretty.’”
Laure was happy to see the reviews for Stephanie’s clothing line were much more positive. Stephanie was like the big sister she had never had. Laure adored her. What was not to like? Stephanie was stylish, sophisticated, and funny as hell. But she wasn’t Sinjin. Sexy, charming, maddening Sinjin.
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