“Nearly six.”
“We were wrong.”
“I’m glad you are. Michi’s happy.”
“Rumour has it you and she were dating a long time ago.” The rumour was old, but Gabriela was curious as to the answer. Viva and Michi—did their friendship spring from a shared romantic history? If so, they had been discreet.
“Proves you don’t know everything, then. Michi does like girls, but she and I never dated. We’re just good friends.” Viva pushed her empty glass into the centre of the table. “I made a reservation for us at Shank’s Pony. It’s a restaurant that only serves food grown within a fifty-kilometre radius of here. Do you know it?”
“I have heard of it and intended going there at some point.”
Viva stood and held out her hand. “Shall we?”
It was dangerous. It was wrong. But Gabriela placed her hand in Viva’s and let her lead her onto the street.
The crazy impulse still surprised Viva. When she held her hand out for Gabriela to take, it hadn’t been a planned move. It was something she did with many of her friends. She and Michi would often hold hands or link arms and wander around a city together. She didn’t think anything of it. But it was different with Gabriela. Not an enemy anymore—if indeed she had ever been—but not quite a friend either. If indeed she would ever be.
Gabriela’s palm was hot and dry against her own. The contact prickled with awkwardness, but it would be too pointed to drop her hand now. So they strolled along the street hand in hand.
Shank’s Pony was only a short walk away. Viva let go of Gabriela’s hand as they entered. They were shown to a table near the back, where there wasn’t a view of the street, but it was how Viva liked it. Less chance of being hassled for autographs, less chance of reporters. It was unlikely unless there was a tournament on, but old habits died hard.
The fifty-kilometre radius for sourcing food included the ocean, so there was a lot of seafood on the menu. They agreed to share a seafood platter, a leafy green salad with goat cheese, and some sweet potato fries. Gabriela chose the wine, which was the only thing sourced from outside the area.
Thoughts churned through Viva’s head that even the serene atmosphere of the restaurant and Gabriela’s quiet company couldn’t dispel. She rubbed her wrist absently.
Other people’s words bubbled in her mind: Dr Singh, Deepak, her mother. The words churned together until she could no longer remember who had said what. Her mother had suggested Viva talk to someone about the choices she had in front of her. But there was no one. No one except Gabriela. Was she a person to trust? Instinct said yes, but Viva couldn’t bring herself to start speaking. Her mind spun the conversations of the last few days like a centrifuge throwing out the extraneous waffle, until only the words of most importance were left.
Injury. Retirement. Future career.
“I’ve been told I should retire.” Her words dropped into the silence between them, and she took a too-large gulp of her wine to quell the panic at what she’d just said.
Gabriela’s expression didn’t change, but she picked up Viva’s right hand and ran her thumb lightly over Viva’s wrist, tracing the pale scar. “Is this the reason?”
“Mainly. Okay, it’s the only reason. It’s not good. Tendons.”
Gabriela nodded, as if she hadn’t expected any different.
“It’s always been my weak point. The surgery went well, considering. But it’s flared up again.”
Gabriela’s fingers found an imperceptible point and pressed lightly.
Pain bloomed, but Viva stifled the gasp.
“More surgery is pointless. I’ll need injections to keep playing, and there’s only so much they can do.”
Gabriela cupped Viva’s hand in both of hers, cradling it as if it were something precious. “You will miss tennis.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.
“Yes.” Viva’s voice held the flatness of the outback. “I’ve been tennis; tennis has been me. I don’t know if there’s anything else.”
Head cocked to one side, Gabriela said, “It is a short-lived profession. Unless you are Martina Navratilova. How she kept playing professionally into her fifties is beyond me.”
“She’s a legend. But I don’t have a strong enough body for that.”
“What will you do?”
It was hard to think while Gabriela cradled her hand so carefully. “Right now, I can’t accept that this is the end of my tennis career. It’s been my passion and joy for so long. I don’t know if I can give it up.”
“You could still be involved. Plenty of retired pros coach, commentate, work as player advisors.”
“That might be worse. Being a part of the tour, but not playing.”
“Do you have to stop playing completely?”
“No. There’s exhibition matches. My wrist could take that; it’s the stresses of the modern game that’s killing it. I could try and drum up some more sponsorship for everyday items. Dishwashing liquid. Frozen dinners, that sort of thing.”
“TV shopping channel presenter posing artfully with the fake gold chains.”
Viva laughed. “I could do that.” She removed her hand from Gabriela’s clasp and struck a pose, batting her eyelashes in exaggerated fashion. Then she sobered and studied Gabriela. “Do you ever think about a life after tennis?”
“No. But an official’s life doesn’t usually end abruptly. Most officials simply get sick of the constant travel and want to settle down.”
“No one travels with a family?”
“We don’t earn enough to do that. Sad but true. But for me, right now, I’m still enjoying the life.” She tilted her head and studied Viva. “If I make gold badge, there’s no reason I can’t keep this life for many years to come.”
“Is that what you want? To stay with the tour?”
“Yes. Very much so. It does not bring the fame and fortune that you players have, but I love my career. I love being the glue that holds the tour together. Keeping players in order. It doesn’t matter if it’s a glamorous top-ten player or a junior outside the top two hundred, an official is impartial. I enforce fairness, and that really appeals to me.” Her smile lit her face. “I studied Spanish literature in college; that does not lead to many good jobs. I had better stick with what I have!”
“A lot of players get sick of the constant travel. Do you ever feel like that?”
“No. Not yet, anyway. I enjoy seeing a new city or revisiting a favourite one. We umpires have more time available to us than players do, so there is time to explore. I like to take a walking tour. Sometimes, I will go with a friend to explore laneways and out-of-the-way local cafés.”
“You probably know Brisbane better than I do.”
“Maybe. I know Melbourne very well too, because the Australian Open is held there. There is plenty of time to explore.”
“Tell me about a quiet café in Melbourne,” Viva said. “I don’t think there is any such thing. Everywhere is so busy.”
Gabriela tilted her head. “Hm. There’s a little coffee shop in the city, in a laneway near Spencer Street Station. It opens early, so a lot of the railway workers go there. They do hearty breakfasts, nothing trendy, just thick cut bacon and fried eggs. Or there’s a little Greek café in Clifton Hill. Often I go there when I have been running along the river path. They do real Greek coffee.”
“And baklava?” Viva grinned. “I adore baklava, all dripping with honey.”
“Very good cakes. Now I am already looking forward to the Australian Open so that I can visit that café again.”
“I’ll have to see if I can find it when I’m next in Melbourne,” Viva said.
“Don’t tell anyone about it! I like that it is so quiet.”
Viva sipped her wine and studied Gabriela. Gabriela looked somewhat older than she, maybe late thirties. Her shiny cap of short hair show
ed no grey and, while her olive skin boasted a few laughter lines and fine wrinkles, that was to be expected from someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. Viva touched the corner of her own eye, feeling the deep grooves from squinting into the sun. Gabriela had a stillness about her that few of the people Viva associated with possessed. For a second, she compared Gabriela to the effervescent Michi. It was like comparing a pool in the rainforest to a gurgling waterfall.
Michi would find a new doubles partner and move on with her tennis career.
But what would she do?
“When will you decide about retirement?” Gabriela sat back as the waiter approached. His description of the seafood on the platter overrode any possible reply.
When he had left, Viva loaded her plate with prawns, oysters, a Moreton Bay bug, and a pile of fries. Gabriela’s question rolled around her head, but to answer it would force it to the forefront of her mind. Instead, she removed the flesh of the bug from the shell and broke it in half. “Have you tried these before? They’re incredibly good. Poor man’s crayfish.”
Gabriela took the firm pale meat and squeezed lime juice over it. Strong white teeth flashed in her tan face as she bit. “This is amazing.”
Viva slurped an oyster and chased it down with a mouthful of wine. A tiny part of her mind chastised herself for the wine. This was more than a glass a week. Thinking about retirement shouldn’t mean the life of a lush.
They didn’t talk much as they ate. But when the fries were gone, the salad eaten, they both reached for the final prawn at the same moment. Viva’s fingers brushed Gabriela’s, and she stilled. The quiver that settled in her belly had nothing to do with seafood. The buzz of the restaurant faded as if someone had hit the mute button. There was only Gabriela, her smooth skin, her dark eyes, the lift of her brow as she studied their fingers together.
Viva pulled back. “You have it.”
Gabriela ripped the head off and shelled the prawn with deft movements. “We’ll share.” She bit off half and handed the remainder to Viva.
Their fingers brushed as Viva took the prawn. She shared food with Michi all the time; there was no reason for this to feel so intimate. But it did.
The food was gone. The wine was nearly gone. Viva twirled her glass in her fingers. The mellow buzz of the wine warmed her blood. Not enough to impair her judgement, not enough to affect her training tomorrow. Training. Was there any point? Deepak seemed to be waiting for her to make the retirement choice. Her doctors thought she was crazy, risking her future health by playing on. She should set the wheels in motion, contact her agent, schedule a press conference to make the announcement. Once done, she could breathe deeply and take some time to figure out what she was going to do with her life.
None of those things meant she needed to be on court hitting balls at six tomorrow morning.
“If I’m retiring, there’s no reason I can’t have more wine, stay out late. Party until dawn.” But the words sounded hollow, the voicing of something she already knew she wouldn’t do. It just wasn’t her thing.
“Is that what you’re suggesting for the rest of the evening?” Gabriela’s voice held the amusement hers had lacked. “If so, you will have to find someone else for the party until dawn part. Now that I have got my bag back from you, I will go for a run early tomorrow. I have missed it.”
A run. Something that had always been just a part of training, something to build her endurance and stamina, strengthen her quads. Something she couldn’t do too much of, as a runner’s physique wasn’t a tennis player’s.
“I should play hooky and come with you.”
“If you want. I do ten kilometres in fifty minutes on these flat river paths. But why is it playing hooky if you are retiring?”
“Thinking of retiring. I haven’t told anyone yet. Except Deepak and Mum.” She met Gabriela’s eyes. “And now you. Nobody has tried to talk me out of it.”
“Do you want me to?”
“No. Yes.” She pressed the heels of her palms into her eye sockets. “No.”
“Final answer?”
“Final answer. I’ll call my agent tomorrow, get things happening.” Her gaze drifted away from the table, over to the far wall, away from Gabriela’s concerned eyes. Retirement. She couldn’t swim against the tide any longer. She closed her eyes. What will I be when I’m no longer a professional tennis player? She fought down the surge of panic, opened her eyes, and stretched her mouth into a smile, feeling as if her face would crack with the effort.
Gabriela was as still as stone, her face set in sombre lines. “That’s it? You have just made your decision?”
Viva nodded. There was a heaviness in her chest, a great boulder of sadness. The end of an era. She met Gabriela’s eyes. In contrast to her own subdued mood, Gabriela seemed barely contained in her skin. There was an air of anticipation surrounding her still figure. Viva studied her, the smooth skin, warm brown eyes, and her hand now resting on the table between them, over the halfway mark, past the boundary of personal space.
“Soon you will no longer be an active player.” Gabriela’s voice was low.
Viva shuddered as the meaning behind the words sank in.
The waiter approached them with a dessert menu.
“Does that mean there’s room for dessert in your life?” Gabriela’s voice was back to its usual mellow tone.
With an effort, she forced her attention to Gabriela’s words. “Absolutely. Bring it on. Sugar. Wine. Late nights. I’ll have to fill the spaces in my life somehow. Maybe I’ll find a girlfriend who actually wants to marry me, settle down in the bush somewhere, and raise sheep. Or a baby. Maybe I’ll go work in the pub.” She passed the menu to Gabriela. “Surprise me with your sugar choices.”
“You won’t stay in the tennis world?”
“I did a bit of commentating when I was recovering from surgery. That was quite fun. I might explore that. I have an open offer from the tennis channel to commentate for the Australian tennis season.” She propped her chin on her hand and watched as Gabriela called the waiter over and ordered dessert. Her gaze licked over Gabriela’s torso, visible above the table top. She was a neat dresser, not a flashy one. Viva’s eyes moved up. Small breasts, lightly muscled arms, a determined chin with a small, white scar on the bottom. Some childhood accident, no doubt. Her gaze shifted higher, over Gabriela’s mouth. A firm, thin upper lip and a surprisingly full and lush lower one. Those lips were smiling.
Viva was sprung, caught in the act of checking out her dinner companion. Heat stole into her cheeks, and she lifted her chin, reaching for her water glass and taking a long drink. When she set it down again, her composure had returned, but any smart comeback had deserted her.
Gabriela leant forward, and those same arched lips that she’d been admiring said, “I have looked at you in that way as well. I’m just better at hiding it.”
Oh. When? She’d been very discreet. An automatic denial rose in her throat, but she swallowed the word unsaid. Why not? Gabriela was attractive. They were both single. There was no reason not to look.
No reason except the obvious one: that players and officials shouldn’t mix. And she was, at this point, a player.
This dinner, the two of them dining alone in intimate surroundings, already made a mockery of that. This was not, and had never been, the casual dinner that Gabriela had agreed to.
But it didn’t matter anymore. Soon, she would be a retired player, not an active one. Not tomorrow, or the next day, but certainly before the start of the tennis season in the new year. And when that happened, there was no reason she couldn’t be friends with Gabriela. No reason they couldn’t date, if they wanted to.
She eyed her companion with a frank look. Starting at her head, down over the short cap of shining brown hair, the finely chiselled face with its almost haughty stare. Down her throat, into the vee of her blouse where there was only the promise of de
lights. Her appraisal ended at the table top.
“Seen enough?” Amusement shimmered in Gabriela’s voice. “The look of revelation in your eyes means you have worked out something I thought of the first time I saw you grimacing in pain and clutching your wrist.”
“What, that I’m a weakling?”
“Not that.” Gabriela folded her arms across her chest.
Viva’s gaze followed the movement, helplessly drawn to the push of small breasts against her shirt.
Gabriela’s eyes grew sultry and heavy-lidded “I’m free and single. I can date anyone who isn’t a professional tennis player. How about you?”
“Free as a bird. Of course, until I announce my retirement, I’m still a player.”
“Not for much longer?” Gabriela leant forward, as if she could pull the words she obviously wanted to hear from Viva’s lips.
“For a day or two more. It can’t happen instantly. But the intent is there.” The heaviness in her chest lessened.
“No vindictive exes?” Gabriela asked. “No groupies hanging around waiting their turn?”
“Not my thing.”
“Then what sort of girl stands a chance with you?”
Viva sat back and picked up the wineglass. The promise of freedom beckoned. No constraints, no obligations. “Woman. Not a girl. That’s number one.” She bit her lip thinking. “Someone who is fit, looks after themselves. No ties. Someone who could jump on a plane at a moment’s notice to join me at—” She stopped. There was no need to go anywhere at the last moment anymore. Any travel she now took could be planned in advance. A beach, a resort, a footloose backpacking lifestyle even. She could hike to Everest Base Camp without worrying she’d get altitude sickness and miss a tournament. She could go parachuting without worrying about injury. “A quiet person. Not a chatterer.”
Gabriela smiled. “That is why you did not date your doubles partner, then.”
“Maybe. Maybe a country girl, someone I could settle down with in a small town. Get a couple of horses. Make jam. Grow veggies.” She lifted a shoulder. “It doesn’t sound like I’m asking for much when I put it like that.”
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