“Gemma’s in LOVE!”
The news agencies ran with those words. “Where is Andre?” was the follow-up question they wanted answered. It was a calculated move. Gemma had hoped by throwing it out there, he would hear about it. More importantly, she was making a statement: she no longer feared the truth.
Sunday evening was soon upon her. As a junior player and throughout her climb up the ladder, she had dreamt of the day she’d be the guest of honor at the famed Wimbledon champion’s party. Being there now, she was incomplete. She wanted to celebrate with Andre; find him and make things right again.
She found a quiet corner, said a prayer, and dialed his number.
An odd ring, then an unexpected message: “The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service. Please check the number you have dialed and try again.”
“Take things as they are. Punch when you have to punch. Kick when you have to kick.”
~Bruce Lee
emma woke the next morning determined to track Andre down. She wouldn’t give up. But as soon as she started, she realized she didn’t even know where to start. Was he still in London? She called a couple of hotels, but quickly hit dead ends.
How would she find him? She glanced at her watch. It was early in Los Angeles, but she was desperate.
“Sorry for calling at this hour, Linda. It’s Gemma,” she said
“Gemma?” Linda cleared her throat. “Congratulations! You were awesome. Extraordinary! We were all at Dan and Dina’s watching the match. What a nice surprise. How are you?”
“Fine. Horrible. I’m trying to find Andre, but his phone is disconnected. Would you know where I can find him, or maybe you have another number for him?”
“I called him immediately after we heard your speech. I got the same message. I’m sure he’ll resurface soon.”
“Do you know if he’s back in the States? I’m against the clock. He was going to start a project right after Wimbledon. I need to speak to him before he leaves.”
“Project? Gemma, when he was here last week, he quit his job. There is no project.”
Gemma decided if nothing new turned up by end of day, she would take the next flight to Los Angeles. Andre had told Tish he was going home. That’s what she would do too. Go to his home.
Gemma’s phone rang.
“Ms. Lennon, I have the Prime Minister for you,” the voice said.
“Hello, Gemma,” the PM said.
“Hello, sir. What a pleasant surprise.”
“Gemma, I’ve been carefully observing the situation.”
“Situation, sir?”
“The situation with you and Andre.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
“Would you like to come over for tea?” he asked.
They sat on the terrace, her memories drifting to the other night, when the world was full of possibilities and all they had to do was hold each other tight.
“Has Andre told you how we know each other?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. He told me you and his uncle were friends.”
“That’s right. But there’s more to it. When Andre was eighteen, his uncle passed away. As I sat in church hearing the speeches about this man whom I had come to regard as my friend, I made a promise I would look out for his nephew. Andre never had a fair chance to achieve a life of happiness. He was taught to chase the money. To go after success at all cost. His uncle was a stabilizing force in his life, so when he passed away, I tried my best to be the voice of reason. I feel personally responsible for him. Can you understand?”
She nodded.
“The first time I saw you together, I knew he was happy, and in turn, that made me happy.” He studied her. “You do realize today is the infamous Fourth of July in the States. It’s a meaningless holiday for us, but today is the day the Americans won their independence from England. I do hope you won’t let Andre declare his independence from you. He does not want to be independent; he needs you.”
“Sir, I can’t find him,” she said.
He drank his tea. “How unfortunate. How very unfortunate indeed.”
“Do you have any suggestions?”
“I certainly couldn’t betray secrets.” He produced a sly smile. “Did you know his grandfather was from Barcelona?”
“Yes, he told me.”
“Have you been to Barcelona?”
“Not recently, sir.” She rose.
“When you go there, say today or tomorrow, be sure to find this little beach paradise south of Barcelona in Tarragona. I think you will fall in love with Vilfortuny. I hear it’s beautiful this time of year.”
She hugged him. “I think I’m about due for a holiday.”
“You do seem a bit pale.”
Gemma called Tish from her car. “Do you want a chance at redemption?”
“Anything.”
“Search for properties in Barcelona under Andre Reyes. Specifically in Vilafortuny, just south of Barcelona. Do a ten mile radius search.”
“Okay, I’m on it.”
“One more thing,” Gemma said. “Arrange a flight for Barcelona. I want to be there today.”
“Should I get you a hotel room?”
“Only for tonight. I have confidence you’ll find Andre’s home.”
Gemma landed in Barcelona that evening. In her hotel suite, she pored over a map of Vilafortuny, drawing out a plan of action while she waited on Tish to come through. Vilafortuny was a small community with beach houses. He was a beach man, and she knew he’d want to be on the coast. That’s where she’d start.
Her mobile rang. It was Tish. “We have a hit.”
“Go on.”
“As I said earlier, nothing under Andre Reyes. But after I searched every property, I hit gold. The estate of Andres Van.”
“Van? That sounds Dutch. Why do you think it’s him?” Gemma asked.
“I don’t think it’s him, I know it’s him. I just got off the phone with his cousin, and she confirmed a little detail he mentioned over dinner at Maurice’s. His paternal grandmother was of Armenian descent, born in Van. Back then it was in Armenia, now it’s in modern day Turkey. He wanted to honor her by including it in his estate declaration. Also, it’s Andres with an s. The Spanish version of his name. His grandfather’s name.”
Gemma grinned. “Absolutely brilliant.”
“I’m texting you his address.”
Gemma’s eyes stung. “Wish me luck. Tomorrow I go hunting.”
“Create your future from your future, not your past.”
~Werner Erhard
emma arrived in Vilafortuny at 9:00 in the morning. The address Tish had provided proved to be challenging to find. She’d have to walk the small streets that cut off and continued in irregular patterns. She parked the hired car, slid on her sunglasses, and walked through the streets of the carefully manicured beach villas.
She found the street name and took the pebbled path until she saw the beach break through. This was definitely the type of street that would call to Andre.
Just before she reached the sand, she scanned around. To her left was the yard of a charming, glass-enclosed house. This had to be his. She could see him falling in love at first sight. She didn’t bother checking the address number.
She opened the gate and stepped into the backyard. The smell of fresh jasmine stopped her cold. A heavy punching bag hung, abused, and sliding doors stood open. Her ankles wobbled.
“Andre?” she called out. No reply.
She knocked, yelled out. Nothing. She stepped in and took in the decor. Simple, comfortable furniture, designed with the beach dweller in mind. The house boasted an open architecture. The kitchen, den, and living room were all one large space. Overhead, sizeable skylights brought more natural light into the spacious living area.
She glanced through the books on the coffee table: mystery and suspense novels. She sat on the love seat and imagined him lounging for extended hours. She pictured herself lying there next to him. She spotted a gallery of guitars
hanging on the wall. Eight in total. Five electric, two acoustic, and one missing.
“Andre?” she called out again. Still nothing.
She returned to the yard and peered toward the ocean. It was a little windy, but pleasant. The friendly breeze would keep the beach dwellers glued to the ocean. Not a lot of people yet. She absorbed the scents of sun tan lotion, sand, and ocean water.
Gemma stepped on the sand and glanced to the left and then right. She noticed a beach cafe in the distance, red Cinzano umbrellas adorning a few tables. She strolled in their direction. The cafe had seating both on the sand and in a covered area. In the center was the cafe, with both a bar and a kitchen for tapas and sandwiches. The path led her to the covered area.
She heard faint music. At first she thought it was a radio, but when it stopped abruptly and continued again, she whirled toward the sound. As her eyes adjusted from bright light to shade, she saw clearly.
Her breath caught.
With his back to her, Andre sat at a table, clutching his guitar, focused on the ocean. He wore red trunks. No shoes, no shirt. White earbuds delivered music from his mobile, and an empty cup of coffee kept him company.
The cafe was mostly empty. She went to the bartender, got a glass of juice, then sat a few tables away.
To the rhythm of the Mediterranean Sea’s waves, he played a piece that sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Had Dan played it at Zuma Beach?
Andre set his guitar down, then leaned back and closed his eyes.
She observed him, convinced she could stare at him forever. But that’s not why she’d come. She rose from her table and walked to him. His eyes were still closed when she quietly pulled out a chair and sat next to him. He was still unaware of her presence.
She slid off her sunglasses then touched his shoulder. He spun. Shock transformed to surprise. Surprise transformed to a small smile. He removed his ear buds.
“Do you take requests?” she asked.
His gray eyes turned nearly silver. His face softened, and she thought she saw redness invade the white of his eyes.
“Hi, Gem.”
Two simple words–two words that meant the world to her. She collapsed into his arms, digging her face into his neck. She wept and shook while he held her tight.
Moments passed.
She finally raised her face and gazed at him. He studied her with gentle eyes, his fingers caressing her forehead and cheeks, stroking back her hair.
“You found me,” he said.
“You didn’t make it easy.” Her voice was hoarse. “I tried to call you, but you disconnected your mobile.”
“I wanted you to find me, not call me. Did you cheat?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Which one? Linda or Jeffrey?”
“He recommended I take a small vacation. He said I’d fall in love with Vilafortuny.”
“Well, what do you think?”
“He was wrong. I was already in love; I just found my love in Vilafortuny.”
“Love?”
“Yes, love. Mad love. When you saved me from the paparazzi in Paris, I fell for you. When little Haley was in your arms, I was jealous. When you lost at Wii tennis, I wanted to kiss you. When you made Georg kneel in front of me, I wanted to make love to you. Each time you make me laugh, I want to hold on to you forever. How can you expect me to walk away from the one person, the only person I have loved?”
“For how long?” he asked. “When will you give up on us? Which article? Which picture? Which loss? When will you ask me to step away, or decide it’s time to leave?”
“Can we take a walk?” she asked.
He handed his guitar to the bartender.
“Gracias, Gustavo,” he said to the bartender.
Gustavo? Was he the same Gustavo whom Andre had spoken to on the plane?
Gemma slid her hand through the crook of his elbow then leaned her head on his shoulder. They moved slowly.
“I took your groundbreaking advice,” she said. “I won a Grand Slam.”
He chuckled. “I know. I was there.”
She spun to him. “You were? So you heard what I said? And you still don’t believe me?”
“Gem, I want to believe you. Do you believe you?”
They sat on the sand, facing the ocean.
“When I won, a tidal wave of emotion rushed through me. Everything I had hoped for was finally in my hands. I had proven to everyone, and myself, that I was a champion. But when the wave had passed, I was alone. I could not share it with the only person I loved. I realized the game, the championship, all of it was part of the journey, not the end.”
Small waves broke, and white wash tickled her feet.
“Also, the emotion of winning dissipates quickly. Much faster than the emotion of loss and regret. All the stuff I have, the accolades, championships, commercials, homes, are the result of my work. But I have nothing I can truly say I treasure.”
She grabbed his hand. “Only you, Andre. You were the only one who made me feel right, centered, and normal. Like I mattered as a person. I’m still that five-year-old girl who was told she was born with a gift. And you’re still that eleven-year-old boy who was told he could change the world. In some ways, we are still those two kids. And it seems to me we have a chance to live the life we bypassed as kids. The one we took for granted. I figure, if I have the opportunity to live a life I love, it should be with the person I love.”
She held his hand tight, never wanting to let him go.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, “since you don’t have a say over any of this, we need to figure out the best place for us to live. We can live here if you prefer. Or move to London, or LA, I’m flexible. I’ve got nothing planned, other than being with you.”
“What about tennis?”
“It won’t be easy, I won’t lie. But I’m going to try to slow things down now. I achieved my goal. I won Wimbledon, the one I wanted. I’ll try to enjoy the game now and play only in a handful of tournaments. My sponsors will be upset, I will get fined, and my ranking will suffer, but who cares about some arbitrary number next to my name? I won’t get the preferred seeding, which means I may play against the best in the first or second round. But isn’t that why I play the game? To play against the best?”
“How will your manager take this news?”
“I no longer have a manager.”
“What happened?”
“Tish told me some things. It was your phone virus, wasn’t it?”
He shrugged.
They leaned back on the sand. She lay on his chest and noticed the burn marks were all but gone. Her face was only inches away from his. The colors of the beach cast rainbow hues in his gray eyes.
“I hear you’re unemployed now.”
“I am gainfully unemployed and loving every second of it. You may need to support my habits.”
“Which habits?”
“An unstoppable need to stalk my favorite tennis player.”
She gave him a playful wink. “We can work something out, I’m sure.”
He held her tighter.
“I didn’t come prepared,” she said, “but I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Will you marry me?”
“What?” he tried to sit up, but she wouldn’t let him. “Gem, we have a lot of time–”
“Stop,” she said. “I love you. Why wait when I know? Why waste time? Life is fragile… things can change without notice or warning. The only moment that counts is now. We’re better together than apart. So answer my damn question and don’t disappoint me. Will you ride this wave with me?”
In seconds, Andre would kiss her. For now, he stared, with a passing realization that his mouth might be open. He was not in control. He was once again lost in her azure eyes.
ne month after Gemma found Andre, they returned to Malibu.
Gemma had the newly-delivered flowers moved to the entrance, and then back to the great room. Two minutes later they we
re in the entrance again. The curtains were closed, opened, and then left partially open. She didn’t know what to do with herself. She didn’t want any complications; not tonight. Within a few hours, Tish and Bedric would arrive, followed by Andre’s friends, parents, and aunt. Her mum was already there, taking a nap, and if all went well, Prime Minister Beckford’s family would join them by 6:00 p.m.
They were all coming to celebrate Gemma’s championship—the lifting of her albatross. What the guests didn’t know was once they were all there, Gemma and Andre would announce their engagement. Her tense shoulders loosened at the thought.
Once the engagement was behind them, and they figured out how to deal with “life,” they would plan their wedding. Andre and Gemma had spoken about the wedding at great length. Her celebrity status set an expectation that she’d have a grandiose wedding with all the glamour befitting of someone like her, but she was not interested in any of that. She was simplifying her life. All she cared about was the future and the blissful surprises it held.
Andre sat at the kitchen island drinking a cup of coffee Xavi had prepared.
“This is heavenly,” he told the man.
“For me, espresso is an art form.”
Gemma entered with frame in hand. “Here you go. This is the picture Mari gave me of my mum and dad.”
He studied the photo. “My God, your eyes and hers, it’s scary.” He glanced at Xavi and Mari, who were also smiling.
“Do you want to take a walk on the beach?” she asked Andre.
“Give me a few minutes. Xavi and I are discussing religion.”
She studied the two men with espressos in hand and shook her head. “I’ll be by the pool. Come out when you’re ready.”
She kissed him, ruffled his hair, and walked out.
“We are very happy for both of you,” Mari said.
“Thank you. You have a lot to be proud of.”
Mari whispered a little prayer as she crossed herself.
Game of Love Page 26
