“Perhaps she just wanted to read The Bagel Factory that badly,” Polly suggested.
“No,” Chili shook her head. “She’s just trying to keep me at arm’s length. She’s offended because I will be playing doubles with Teresa for the next couple of months. We want to try and enter the Olympic competition. I heard you will be playing with Bernadette.”
“Yes,” Polly replied with a smile. She couldn’t fail to notice the impressed tone in Chili’s voice. Everyone knew how good a doubles player Bernadette was, and together they were getting better and better. “Perhaps Mint can find someone, too.”
“See, that’s the problem with Mint,” Chili said with a shrug. “She always wants to boss you around, even on the doubles court. But she is not a good doubles player, precisely because she won’t listen.”
Polly leaned back as they approached the dip again, and grabbed the handle, still listening to Chili who paused for a moment, thinking about something. Before the little cars swerved down the slope, Chili turned to Polly.
“She’s actually not a good friend.”
***
High above the Yarra River, in a hotel room that seemed to touch the dark clouds which hung above Melbourne, Morgana Doré lay on her stomach surrounded by heaps of books and writing utensils and was reading Tennis Nurse and the Case of the Lotus Lily, the latest publication of the novel series. Outside, the hotel tower was beleaguered by strong winds, and while flashes of lightning illuminated the horizon, heavy rain showers began gushing against the panorama window.
But Morgana was unfazed by the looming apocalypse.
She had been reading for fifteen minutes now, relaxed at first and laughing about the absurd chase through the jungle in the first chapter. But then she had paused, staring in disbelief at the pages. A new character had been introduced – Dorothée Margeaux. She didn’t need a PhD to understand on whom the new character was based. Morgana gasped. How long had she been studying the novel series? How much time had she invested in making the correct connections between the characters and the actual players on the tour? She had worked so hard on her literary thesis, now running at almost four hundred pages. It felt like an award, having her own character in the famous novel series.
Morgana looked outside the window and greeted the loud thunder with a big smile and a nod.
“C’est fou!” she giggled, then bent over the book again.
Dorothée seemed to be on a dangerous mission, transferring money to the Yakuza. What for? Morgana quickly turned the page. While being observed by Jane, Dorothée sat down in the restaurant. Soon, she was served a deliciously decorated blowfish. Morgana knew it was a Japanese delicacy, so she nodded in approval. Unfortunately, Jane left the scene and went back to the tournament site as there was an emergency with one of the players.
Being a thorough reader it wasn’t an easy decision for Morgana, but after giving it some consideration she resolved to skip the next pages in which Jane took care of Daria, one of the top players, and quickly scanned the text for Dorothée Margeaux’s name. After a couple of pages Morgana rejoiced. There it was again! She went back two paragraphs and began to read again.
The smile vanished from her face with a velocity as fast as the wind which howled outside the window.
Dorothée Margeaux’s body was found in her hotel room.
Morgana looked at the words again. But there it was. In black and white. Dorothée was dead. Poisoned.
“Merde,” Morgana whispered. “Merde.”
She couldn’t believe that this was happening to a character – her character. Why would the author introduce a new protagonist in the second chapter of a book, only to kill her off in the next chapter? Morgana sat up, deeply disappointed. No adventures of Doro Margeaux. No job as the sidekick of the famous Jane. No merits on the court for the French character. Nothing. Just a dead body in a Japanese hotel.
Morgana took the book and was about to throw it against the huge glass pane, when she stopped mid-air. A lightning bolt flickered outside and the following thunder made the glass shudder.
It was a warning.
Morgana slowly put the book down as the realization sank in. Of course, it was a warning. Only a few months ago, she herself had sat in a Japanese restaurant, eating a blowfish. She had invited Agnes Lion to dine with her. Agnes was too scared to eat the blowfish. During the dinner, Morgana had tried to find out more about the mysterious game of Task Tennis, which was mentioned in the Tennis Nurse novel series but never explained. She had casually alluded to its secret rules. Only a handful of people knew about them and Agnes was one of them, Morgana suspected. However, her French team colleague had kept a straight face throughout the conversation and never let her guard down. But here was the proof that Agnes was one of the secret bearers! At least she had to know the author of Tennis Nurse or had told somebody about Morgana’s research. And that somebody seemed to be worrying about her. It was a warning directed at Morgana. They wanted her to stop her research. It could only mean that she was close to solving the mystery.
Suddenly she heard a sound and looked up. Had something hit the window pane? She listened closely. There it was again. Someone was knocking on her door. Morgana grew stiff, her mind racing. She could see herself lying on the bed. Police officers surrounding it. Her coach and team crying in the corner. There was the knock again.
“No, no, no,” she scolded herself. The warning didn’t make sense if they planned to silence her completely. A warning meant they were giving her a chance. Morgana got up and walked to the door. Through the spyhole she saw a familiar face, the short hair hidden underneath a hoodie.
Morgana exhaled in relief. It was only Polly Duke, who seemed to have developed an obsessive reading habit in the last two weeks.
***
How she hated packing. Especially if it meant she had lost a match. Gabriella threw a suitcase onto the bed and grabbed the remote control of the TV to switch on the music channel.
She had lost a very tight match. Actually she had played really well but in the end it didn’t matter. She had lost the important points and it had cost her match. Yelena Kovalenko would stay in Melbourne. Even worse than her loss of the match was the loss of ranking points. Last year, Gabriella had reached the quarterfinal, and a loss in the third round meant that her ranking would suffer a small setback. Again.
Gabriella began packing the suitcase, sluggishly throwing in her shirts and pants. The last week had been less than brilliant. Lulu had beaten her in that stupid trampoline game – and not only in terms of playing the better tennis while jumping in the air, but also by entertaining the whole TV crew with funny anecdotes and by acting the big shot. When the first episode of their TV show had been aired two days ago, Luella had had much more air time than Gabriella. Her twin had been shown having fun, while Gabriella had been portrayed as the gloomy, close-lipped sister who failed miserably at the game. That was so wrong, Gabriella growled. After seeing the episode, she considered calling Paola Scetti to complain about it but then refrained. She remembered that she herself had boasted about winning Grand Slams. Hadn’t it been Gabriella who had loud-mouthedly declared her intent to surpass Lulu’s ranking and to even become No. 1? So far, she hadn’t backed up her words. Far from it. Her sister had to be laughing at her right now. While Gabriella was out of the Australian Open, Lulu would play her fourth round match tomorrow against Natsumi Takashima. It would be a night match.
Just when she closed the lid of her suitcase and hauled it to the already packed bags next to the door, the music channel began playing the next song.
“Oh god,” Gabriella moaned as soon as she heard the opening chords. There was no getting away from the misery. By staying far away from her twin, Gabriella had hoped she could avoid the constant acoustic onslaught by Lulu’s favorite singer, Enrique Martinez. But to no avail. Australian radio stations couldn’t get enough of the new collaboration between Aussie singer, Felicia Del Castro, and Enrique Martinez.
With one big leap she
jumped in front of the TV, looking for the button to switch the channel. She couldn’t find it. Where was the remote control? Scanning the room, Gabriella shook her head in desperation while Felicia and Enrique were crooning their terrible tune.
“Oh, god. Please help!” Gabriella cried. The remote had to be here! She raked through the rest of her clothes scattered over the bed and the chair but it was nowhere to be found.
At this very moment a sound coming from the hallway made her look up. A small envelope was being squeezed through the gap between the door and the ground. But the gap was too narrow. The envelope got stuck. Gabriella jumped up, heading towards the entrance.
“Hello?” she called through the closed door. The envelope stopped moving. Then she heard footsteps running away.
Gabriella flung the door open and looked down the hallway. But no one was there anymore. Carefully she picked up the envelope and opened it. It was a picture – of Luella and Sasha Mrachova. Nothing else was in the envelope.
“What is this?” Gabriella wondered. Who had given this to her? Why would someone show her a picture of Sasha lusting after Lulu? To make her angry? Well, that person clearly succeeded, Gabriella had to admit. It wasn’t news to Gabriella that Sasha had been following Lulu around. What the Czech player didn’t know was that it was Gabriella whom she had kissed in Cincinnati. She still believed that it was Luella. This being the reason she had hit on Lulu in Istanbul, whereon Lulu hit Sasha on the nose. And now Sasha was avoiding the twins at all costs.
“Ridiculous,” Gabriella said with disgust. “Absolutely ridiculous.” How was Lulu attracting everyone? Even hot gay girls like Sasha were after her, even though her twin wasn’t interested in them at all.
“It’s just not fair,” Gabriella yelled. Furiously, she turned back to the TV.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Gabriella hissed at Felicia and Enrique who were looking each other in the eyes. This had to stop now! She felt the urge to take the TV and throw it, together with the photograph, through the glass window. But then the heavy rain would have flooded the room. Again she examined the frame – this time for a power button. But whoever had constructed the evil device seemed to have had a bad day, as the button was missing.
As a last resort Gabriella dove behind the TV and pulled the plug. Immediately, a heavenly silence pervaded the room, and exhaustedly, Gabriella sat down on the floor still with the cable in one hand and the picture in the other. To her amazement she felt tears building in her eyes, but her hands felt too heavy and tired to wipe them away.
“Everything goes wrong,” she whispered. “Why?”
But nothing in the quiet room provided an answer. Clutching the TV plug, Gabriella listened to the wind outside her room while the tears fell and disappeared into the thick carpet.
***
A thunder clap woke Elise up with a loud bang. For a moment she looked through the gap of the curtains into the black, stormy sky, bewildered by the weather’s ferocity. Elise turned her head to Amanda who was lying next to her, but the Australian was sound asleep. A look at her watch confirmed that Elise had slept for only three hours. It was 1 a.m.. She needed to get back to sleep, as she was to play her fourth round match tomorrow and it was scheduled first on Rod Laver Arena, the Australian Open’s center court. She looked outside the window again. Perhaps it wouldn’t stop raining? Perhaps she wouldn’t have to play tomorrow? But then she let her shoulders sink, as she remembered that the arena had a roof.
Quietly, she pushed the blanket aside and slipped out of the big bed. In the bathroom she drank some water, then sat down on the toilet lid.
It was only a match, she and Amanda had decided when they were having dinner. Two hours perhaps. They had played against each other before. Elise began counting the tiles on the wall above the bathtub. Four times, they had played. Well, admittedly the last encounter was a while ago and long before they had become lovers. At the U.S. Open they could have met in the quarterfinal, but Elise had lost her fourth round match, so they never had to play against each other and Amanda went on to win the title.
And now they were here at the Australian Open. Amanda had never fared well in the Australian tournaments, but this year she was more successful than the years before. Amanda had reached the semifinal in Brisbane and the quarterfinal in Sydney. Tomorrow she could reach the quarterfinal of her home Slam. With each match Amanda seemed to gain confidence and the usual nerviness didn’t seem to hamper her this year. Nothing was in her way – nothing but Elise.
Elise stopped counting and buried her head in her hands. Not since she had played her first competitive match at the age of nine had she ever chickened out from a challenge. Never had she quit during a match, even when it was foreseeable that it wouldn’t end the way she wanted. Never had she faked an injury or physical discomfort in order to avoid an encounter on the court. Never had she deliberately tanked a match.
But here she was sitting on a toilet seat, considering all of these possibilities. Not because she was afraid she couldn’t win against Amanda – but because she believed she could. Whenever they had played practice matches during the off-season, Elise had beaten Amanda. She had the weapons that gave Amanda trouble, a big serve and a flat forehand. And Elise was doing fine so far this season. She herself had reached the semifinal in Auckland and the third round in Sydney. This was the best shape she had been in since she had come back from her injury. If she beat Amanda tomorrow, she would possibly encounter Tamara Parova in the quarterfinal. Tamara’s playing style suited Elise, so she had a better chance than Amanda to beat the Russian. A semifinal match against Marieke Bender seemed possible, and Elise had beaten the Top 5 player before, while Amanda had a terrible head-to-head against the Dutch player. Even though her Australian girlfriend was on a roll, the next match-ups could quickly put a stop to her tournament. All in all, Elise had a better chance to reach the final.
When the bathroom door opened and Amanda stuck her head in, Elise looked up. She had to be sitting here for eons. Amanda gave her a questioning look.
“Can’t you sleep?” she asked with raised eyebrows. Elise shook her head.
“Because of the storm?”
Elise shook her head again.
Amanda gave her a little smile, took Elise’s hands and pulled her up.
“This won’t be the last time we’ll have to play against each other,” she said while leading Elise back to the bedroom.
Elise nodded. “I know.”
“Here’s what we will do,” Amanda said. “We’ll hit some balls. Like we always do. No big deal. And the better one will win.”
Elise wasn’t convinced it would be that easy. She shrugged but then climbed into bed again. Amanda lay down on the other side and gave Elise a hug under the blanket.
“If you win, you’ll order me that expensive Swiss Orange & Rum chocolate,” she continued. “If I win, I’ll read you the whole Tennis Nurse novel as compensation.”
“Now I really should consider tanking the match,” Elise laughed, thinking about hours and hours of listening to Amanda’s voice.
“Yeah, me too,” Amanda sighed. “Okay, if I win you order the chocolate for me as a reward, and if you win, I’ll be you reading slave. Deal?”
Elise nodded. While the storm was howling outside, she soon fell asleep again warmed by Amanda’s embrace and comforted by the thought of Amanda’s face when the Australian would open the box of chocolates arriving from Switzerland.
MUCH ADO
ABOUT NOTHING
Melbourne, Australia
“Are you excited for the Olympics yet?” Agnes asked, pouring Monica a glass of Molly Dooker. They had lost their doubles quarterfinal the day before, but there was no need to hurry out of town as Candice, Agnes’s partner, was working at the Australian Open until the final day.
Monica grinned. “Yes. I think we will have fun.”
The Olympic spirit had recently hit the WTA summer camp with the younger players demanding to hear stories fro
m those who had participated in previous Olympic games.
“But I know, when it’s over, my heart will break.”
Most of the players, even those who were already considered veteran players, had only played in the 2008 Olympics. Only a few could claim to have attended twice. For Monica, however, it was the fourth time she would play for her country. Agnes knew it would also be the last time for her and she was sure Monica wanted to make it count.
“Yes, it’s special, isn’t it?”
They both nodded silently, thinking back to the previous Olympic Games they had participated in. Agnes had taken home a silver medal in the doubles competition, but the most memorable event had occurred off-court. She grinned, thinking about it. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Monica was grinning, too.
“By the way, Boom Boom’s back!”
Agnes laughed. Like so often, they were having the same thought.
“Yes, I was so surprised to hear that.”
Marieke Bender, the highest-ranked Dutch player, had announced that she wanted to play doubles at the Olympics with her retired compatriot, Michelle van der Boom. They planned to team up first at the American spring tournaments in Indian Wells and Miami, and then play the Olympic competition together.
“I wonder what she has been doing all this time. I’m pretty sure she’s bored with normal life. We have to convince her to come back to the tour as a commentator.”
Agnes chuckled. “That would be a grossly negligent endangerment of everyone’s privacy.”
They both laughed out loud. Michelle sure had a reputation to lose. Besides tennis, she specialized in indiscreet gossip.
“Honestly, I’d love to have her back. She sure knows how to live it up. By the way, I’ve talked to Morgana about playing doubles at the Games. We will play the grass season together, and perhaps the American spring season to see what we need to work on. We might have a good chance.”
Love Game - Season 2012 Page 7
