Love Game - Season 2011

by M. B. Gerard

  “Thank god, I’m an actress!” Felicia was all smiles. That was a bit of an overstatement, but Ted kept his mouth shut.

  “What are your plans for tonight?” Felicia kept on babbling. Ted hesitated.

  “Oh, just a short visit to one of the bars on Piazza Navona with Tom,” he said casually. He hadn’t planned to invite Felicia.

  “Piazza Navona? Don’t tell me you’re going to this club, what’s the name? Frankie’s?”

  Ted hated it, but she had guessed right. He shrugged in defeat.

  “Frankie’s? You’re going to Frankie’s?”

  No need to be that smart to get Felicia’s excitement about the hip Roman gay and lesbian club. It was obvious and now Ted found himself in a dilemma. It wouldn’t have been nice not to ask her. After all, he owed the Aussie singer for her quick rescue mission.

  “Would you like to come?”

  “Are you kidding? I so want to go there, Teddy! And perhaps I’ll find my very own Sophia Laurence there.”

  Felicia raised a suggestive eyebrow to which Ted only replied with a weary smile.

  “Loren. It’s Sophia Loren, Felicia.”

  ***

  “Sasha, wait!”

  Immediately, yet a bit surprised, Sasha Mrachova turned around. Morgana Doré was rushing over the path towards her. Sasha gave her waiting team a little nod and they left her behind.

  With a little yelp Morgana stopped in front of her and gestured to Sasha to sit down on one of the benches in front of the outside court where Sasha had just finished her practice. But the Czech shook her head. First Morgana should let her know why she was in such a hurry. It seemed really important, but with the French girl you never knew. She came up with the strangest ideas sometimes. Now, Morgana just shrugged and put down her bag. She pulled the zipper open and took out a book. Sasha frowned, as she recognized the cover.

  Each page seemed tagged by a million little markup stickers, but Morgana flipped through the pages and quickly found what she had been looking for.

  “The tall, svelte Czech player’s glory lay in the past, but everyone had to admit it was a very glorious past that had catapulted her to the untouchable echelons of legendary players,” Morgana read out loud. “But a series of injuries had kept the talented Daria away from the court for a long time and the tennis world wondered if she would ever be able to get to the place where she once belonged.”

  Sasha’s heart began to beat faster and she felt the blood withdraw from her face. Snapping shut the book Morgana was reading from, the Czech had a look around before bending over to the French.

  “Are you crazy! Keep your voice down. There’s no need for people to hear these things.”

  “So you read them, too?”

  “Used to.” Sasha hated to admit it. ”But I don’t want to talk about that. Tennis Nurse is a bunch of crap.”

  Morgana smiled politely before nodding.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not interested in the cheap storyline and, of course, it has nothing like the eloquence of Proust.”

  “Of course.” Sasha rolled her eyes. Here we go again, she thought. Morgana was losing herself in highfalutin talk nobody was able to understand. She was about to shut the French player up with a snotty remark, when Morgana pointed out a name on the page.

  “It’s you. This Daria is you. Just like the other characters. That’s us. These books are about us.”

  Sasha decided to play it cool. No need to get drawn into the French girl’s mysterious brain work.

  “Yeah, I know that and so what? As I told you, I stopped reading them so I don’t mind. Who cares, anyway?”

  Morgana raised an eyebrow.

  “Oui. But aren’t you curious to know who writes these? Obviously the author knows a lot about us so she has to be among us. Or even better, she has to be one of us. Aren’t you curious to know who this Danielle Fairbanks is? Someone is hiding himself behind this pseudonym. I think there’s a mole among us.”

  Curious? Morgana was a smart one. She knew that this word was like throwing a challenge to Sasha, a challenge she couldn’t refuse. Because yes, she was curious in the end. If there was one sure thing about the French player, it was that she was a good observer. An excellent one. Sasha mind was racing. It could come in handy regarding the Galloway mystery. Perhaps Morgana was an opportunity she could use. Passing her arm around the French’s shoulders, Sasha cleared her voice.

  “Morgana, chérie, I might have something that could interest you. A deal.”

  ***

  The jolly ménage à trois of Tom, Felicia and Ted abandoned the crowded Via di San Giovanni and entered the hottest gay club of Rome – Frankie’s. The name and its graffiti-bedaubed entrance itself suggested none of the excitement that waited inside with hot dancers – male and female – a bar that was famous for its cocktails and the club that looked like an old ballroom.

  They had decided not to stay too long, as Ted still had a doubles match to play the next day, but as soon as they had crossed the threshold Tom knew this was going to be a long night out. A DJ was playing electronic tunes while a sea of people were dancing under the high ceiling of the ballroom.

  “Champagne?” Ted asked his companions, leading the group to the bar.

  “Champagne!” Felicia replied with a huge grin. Did she ever had thoughts of her own, Tom wondered. He sighed. Even though he had been irritated by the constant presence of Felicia, he only had to take one look at the crowd to understand that Felicia would probably abandon the two guys sooner rather than later when her eyes fell on some Italian girl. The female species of Rome was compelling, he had to admit. Nevertheless, he had no intention spending more time than necessary with Felicia.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, giving Ted a light kiss on the cheek. “I need to make room for the bubbly first.”

  Tom backed away from the full bar and went to the bathroom, which was as ritzy as the rest of the club.

  When he was leaving the urinal Tom stepped to one of the stainless steel sinks to wash his hands when his eyes fell on a tall, strong guy. Glancing over Tom had the feeling he had seen him before somewhere, though he couldn’t remember where. Smiling politely, Tom held his hands under the warm water but winced as the soap went directly into a little paper cut, an unfortunate 30 Love mishap from when he had been writing his list of evidence in his hotel room in the afternoon.

  “Damn it.”

  The young guy smiled and quickly took a roll of band aid out of the pocket of his jeans and gave it to him.

  “A very good friend of mine has a lot of blisters. She keeps them in stock.”

  Tom thanked him, but when he looked the stranger in the eye he couldn’t help but gasp. Now he knew where he had seen this guy before. It was Jaro Bradka, a defense player for Manchester City, Tom’s home club, and Sasha Mrachova’s boyfriend. Or should he say alleged boyfriend given the circumstances? What would a straight guy be doing at Frankie’s, lending him band aid, for heaven’s sake? Giving Jaro his best smile, he tore off a strip and put it on the cut.

  “Thank you,” he said, giving the roll back. Jaro winked and left the bathroom. Tom was flabbergasted. Was Sasha here at the club? He tried to remember all the patron’s faces he had seen so far. Could he have missed her?

  This was bigger than some doubles players’ affair. Even though Antonia and Martina were good singles players, too. They were both consistently ranked in the Top 50 for the last couple of years, and Antonia even went as high as Top 30. But no one was interested in Antonia and Martina when they could have Sasha Mrachova.

  Suddenly he felt anger growing in him. Why was it that all the great players remained in their cozy little closets? Money, of course, he thought grimly. Sasha was a Top 10 player, a former No. 1 and a Grand Slam winner. She had made millions on the court and just as much off the court as a model. Even though he understood her desire to keep her private life private and remain low profile he detested the fact that she lied to people pretending to be with Jaro. He fe
lt no pity for her. She had nothing to lose, it seemed, being a millionairess. And yet, she could be a role model for young people and could challenge the ugly stereotypes that still persisted in people’s minds and also in the tennis world. What would it matter if he wrote a story about Martina and Antonia?

  Sasha was his story.

  ***

  “I think you should play next round for me.”

  Here we go again, Gabriella thought. New city, same old story. In the end, she had to play the difficult opponents.

  “And then, if everything goes fine, it’ll be Amanda. The oldie will be for me,” Luella grinned.

  “Don’t underestimate her. She is a clay expert.”

  “Sure, she’s achieved a lot on clay, but her game was completely off in the last couple of weeks. At the moment she’s as good at tennis as grandma Yekaterina was at bowling.”

  Gaga frowned. She didn’t like her sister’s arrogance, especially as there was nothing in Luella’s performance of late to justify her snootiness.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you. Have you watched Amanda at all? She played a really good match.”

  Lulu snorted and waved it off.

  “She was just lucky with her draw. She had a cakewalk to the quarterfinal. But you’ll see what happens when she finally gets to face real players like you and me.” Luella continued studying the draw. “So, after Amanda it will be Sasha. She had a surprisingly good run here, but we all know she hates the dirt. Did you see her fall on her butt during her match against Ivana? She can’t even walk on clay.” Luella snickered.

  Of course, Gabriella had watched the incident. Sasha had gone for a ball but slipped on the red surface and had fallen on her backside. For a few seconds she had laid there on the clay before getting up again and wiping the red dirt off her skirt. Seeing her on the ground had given Gaga a mighty fright. More than any opponent, a tennis player feared injury and you wouldn’t wish it on your fiercest rival. Luella’s disrespectful comment made her angry. Especially as it was directed towards Sasha again. It wasn’t fair at all.

  “I’ll be happy to play against Sasha, if we get there,” Gabriella said. “But she has improved tremendously in the last weeks. It will not be easy.”

  “Well, if you don’t feel fit to beat her, I will do it,” Luella snapped.

  Gaga raised an eyebrow. The Czech had been in top form since the beginning of the tournament and as much as clay wasn’t her favorite surface, it was obvious that she would be tough to beat. How could her sister be so self-confident?

  “You know, Jaro is here. So I’m sure Sasha wants to make the most of it if only to show off in front of her boyfriend.”

  Lulu burst out laughing. Apparently, something had escaped Gabriella because she didn’t understand her sister’s sudden reaction.

  “Yeah, allow me to have some doubts about it, Gaga. Don’t be so naïve. I’m pretty sure Sasha is as close to Jaro as I am to Enrique Martinez, if you know what I mean?”

  Yes, Gabriella knew what Lulu meant. Ever since her twin had mentioned the mysterious encounter with Sasha in the locker room Gaga had been intrigued by the idea that Sasha liked girls. Lulu had claimed that Sasha had hit on her. That she did it every time. Should she ask Lulu for details? It hadn’t seemed like a good idea last time they spoke about it, as they had been fighting. Even now it didn’t look like a good time to inquire about the incident, as Luella was getting furious only thinking about it.

  “Haven’t you noticed that she’s hanging around us?” Lulu almost spit the words out. “She’s checking me out on every occasion. Total dyke.”

  Her sister’s snide remark felt like a sting but Gabriella had to admit that Luella was right. It always looked like Sasha was sneaking around. Wherever the twins seemed to go, the Czech was not far. She herself had witnessed Sasha several times following them. And given Luella’s appeal on boys it could well be possible that also a girl had a crush on her.

  ***

  Frankie’s was definitely the place to be. Within a quarter hour the club had filled up and seemed about to burst. Tom was having a hard time making his way back through the tightly packed crowd, when he spotted a free table at the end of the counter. Not bothering to squeeze through all the way to Ted and Felicia who were waiting with three glasses of Champagne, he yelled and waved to them and gestured them to come to the free table. Ted waved back at him with a smile, nodded and grabbed the glasses. Just as Ted made a step away from the bar, he bumped into a tall Italian girl, who had made it to the bar. Within seconds she was drenched in Champagne.

  “Dannazione, ma fare un po ‘di attenzione!”

  Tom heard the voice and recognized the girl. It was no other than Antonia Sapore. The Italian player wasn’t alone. Of course, Martina Rodriguez was there, too. And behind the couple, Tom saw Japanese player Natsumi Takashima with Amanda Auster. Holy crap, Tom thought. Amanda. It only took him a few seconds to realize the delicacy of the situation.

  Waiting at the table Tom overlooked the scene. Amanda seemed paralyzed. She was staring at a surprised Felicia who gave her ex-girlfriend a big grin. Then Amanda made a quick step to the bar turning away from Felicia, while Antonia, Martina and Natsumi followed her just as startled. For all it was clear that Amanda didn’t want a word with her late girlfriend. All but one. With her hands on her hips Felicia approached Amanda, a broad smile on her lips. Tom held his breath.

  “How are you doing, honey? I haven’t heard from you for a while. How is life treating you? I heard that you won a doubles title lately. Ted told me about it. I still follow your matches, you know.”

  Looking at Ted, who seemed just as embarrassed, Tom shook his head. This was terrible and there seemed to be no stopping Felicia.

  “Perhaps we could have a drink one of these days,” the singer continued. “You know, to catch up on everything. I’m sure you have plenty to tell me!”

  The whole group watched the scene in awkward silence while waiting for Amanda to reply. For a few seconds, the Australian remained still then blinked, turned on her heels and rushed out of the club in a hurry.

  ***

  The sun was shining brightly over the Roman sky and the Campo Centrale was packed for the semifinal between Amanda Auster and Luella Galloway.

  Amanda had won her quarterfinal match against the Italian favorite Antonia Sapore a day earlier. Even though the Australian had been shaky and nervous in the beginning it was the Italian who crumbled in the end of a tough three-set match. Luella Galloway on the other hand had had a easy run so far. Being drawn against lower-ranked players throughout the tournament her semifinal appearance was no surprise. She had won all her previous matches in straight sets.

  Natsumi Takashima took her seat in the upper stands of the arena next to Antonia and Martina, who went incognito with big stylish hats and Italian sunglasses. Regardless of Amanda’s and Antonia’s quarterfinal clash the day before, the Italian-Argentine couple had spent some time with Amanda and Natsumi over the course of the week, showing the two players the city and eventually taking them out to Frankie’s.

  “How is Amanda?” Antonia turned around to Amanda.

  “Better, I hope.” Natsumi sighed, looking down onto the court and to the players’ entrance, where Amanda and Luella would step through any second. She and Amanda had been friends for almost a decade now, but the Australian refused to talk about the incident when Natsumi had met her this morning. “It was a shock to see Felicia at the club.”

  The others nodded. It was never easy to embark on a relationship with someone outside the tour. They all knew that. But not even couples who both played on the tour had an easy draw. Amanda and she had once started as a doubles team which soon turned into a short-lived relationship. The pressure to keep it all under cover had been too much for the young couple. Fortunately, after the relationship ended they had been able to gradually built a great friendship which had been refined by recreational intermezzi once in a while. But the last time she had slept wit
h Amanda had been ages ago. Not that she wanted to anymore.

  “Oh, Felicia Del Castro,” Martina said, disrupting Natsumi’s thoughts. “She clearly has some Latino genes.”

  Felicia might have been Australian like Amanda, but her name indicated that her parents had immigrated to the continent down under.

  “The brazenness clearly hints to bitch genes,” Natsumi corrected the Argentine. They chuckled for a moment but then joined in the crowd’s applause as the players finally took the court. From what Natsumi could see, Amanda looked calm. Down on the court the Australian was wearing dark shades as usual and her body language suggest nothing more than a player ready to hit the first shot.

  Amanda had been quite cheerful the whole week, and when Natsumi had inquired about her good mood, she had even let the Japanese in on the funny fact that she was woken by Elise’s text messages almost every morning. Natsumi had teased her friend about Amanda apparently having had a little admirer and that she should have taken advantage of it in Stuttgart when she had the chance to make Elise drunk and seduce her. Amanda had brushed the thought away but her big grin had told Natsumi that she actually cherished the idea. Elise was a cutie, that was for sure. Natsumi wouldn’t have kicked the German out of bed for eating crackers. The Japanese had hoped that a new object of desire would help Amanda to overcome her lovesickness but since yesterday morning the grumpiness was back and meeting Felicia at the club in the evening surely didn’t help. Given Amanda’s reaction in the club, the Japanese player concluded that she wasn’t over Felicia at all. Natsumi only hoped that Amanda was able to forget her misfortune for the length of the match.

  “Time,” the chair umpire announced. The match was about to begin.

  ***