***
With deft feet Lynn stepped down the little ladder of her umpire chair, checked the court one last time and walked to the exit in the corner. She had umpired a good match between Gabriella Galloway and Gemma Heffington.
“Oh, I hate it,” she heard someone say vehemently when she entered the tunnel. Ted Curry was standing in front of the glass door which led to the players’ area. With one hand he was holding on to Tom Richardson, the WTA photographer, so he could pull off his shoes without falling over.
Lynn had seen Tom on court taking pictures of Gabriella and Gemma. He was a really nice guy to give Ted a hand, Lynn thought. The British player had probably just finished his match on a different court and was heading back to the locker rooms.
“It’s everywhere,” Ted hissed. “It’s slippery. It’s unnatural. It’s blue!”
Lynn had to chuckle. The Madrid tournament’s innovative introduction of the shiny azure clay hadn’t been met with a lot of enthusiasm by the players. Some eyed the newly-colored clay suspiciously, claiming that the clay had a different feel and that it was hard to move safely and confidently on it. Others liked the bright blue but felt it was an unnecessary addition to the tour, as they would all be going back to the red dust only a week later in Rome.
She greeted the two guys.
“Hey Lynn,” Tom said and chuckled. “Ted’s got the blues.”
“He’s not alone,” Lynn said while opening the door. “But I doubt you’ll have to play on it again next year.”
She winked at the two men and slipped through the door before they could inquire about her remark. From Candice Crantz she had heard the rumor that the tournament was considering going back to the old, red surface as the criticism was mounting every day. But this was still unconfirmed and unofficial, so Lynn wasn’t supposed to talk about it.
She heard Ted and Tom mumbling but suddenly their whispers sounded excited.
“She’s coming,” Tom blurted out.
Lynn frowned but she couldn’t hear more as the door had closed. Then it was opened again with a bang and the chair umpire turned around. Anastasia Stea waved at her.
“Lynn, wait,” Anastasia shouted and hurried through the hallway. “Are you having lunch now?”
Lynn nodded. “But I wanted to go to the restaurant across the street not the tournament café.”
“That’s great. I’ll join you.”
Lynn waited for her colleague but couldn’t help noticing the two guys were staring at Anastasia’s back. They were still on the other side of the door where Ted hobbled on one leg and hastened to put his shoes on again, and Tom pressed his nose against the glass panel.
“You have two admirers,” Lynn grinned after they had turned a corner and were out of sight.
“Ted and Tom?” Anastasia wondered. Then she shrugged. “Well, they must know that they have no chance. I thought everyone knew.”
“You don’t make a big secret out of it,” Lynn admitted. “But they don’t seem very clever either.”
Anastasia grinned. “Men usually aren’t.”
***
Their lips were only an inch apart. They looked each other in the eyes and perhaps whispered something. From her seat in the corner of the players café, Mint Rickenbacher had a good view of everything that was going on in the large room, and while eating a plate with fish and rice, she observed Amanda and Elise canoodling at a table across the room.
They were still together, Mint thought. It had been almost a year now since Wimbledon and their love showed no sign of cooling down. Swallowing down a piece of fish, Mint took out her laptop and gave in to the sudden urge to look through the pictures again. She wasn’t sure what the appeal was, but the pictures of Antonia and Martina and the one of Sasha with one of the Galloways were lame, compared with the one of Amanda and Elise.
There were a couple of other good pictures of them and for a second Mint considered giving another one to the couple. There was a shot taken a bit earlier. Amanda and Elise were not yet at the gate but they had vanished along the little footpath, with Elise holding Amanda’s hand and pulling the Australian after her.
But then Mint remembered that she didn’t like Elise and that the picture would probably make Elise happy. Why should she make that girl happy? The German had everything already. No need for Mint to overdo it. One picture was more than enough. She closed the window which displayed the picture of Amanda and Elise taken in Wimbledon. Just in time as Martina Rodriguez and Antonia Sapore were walking towards her.
“Hey, girl,” Martina greeted her. “How are you?”
They sat down and dug in.
“Where’s Chili?” Antonia asked.
Mint snorted. “Busy with the TV show.”
Martina laughed. “I watched the episodes only a week ago. I wish they had something like that for us. It must be so much fun.”
“Yes,” Antonia said while munching on a tomato. “It’s a great idea for promoting the younger players.”
Mint stayed silent and shoveled the rest of her rice into her mouth.
“We wanted to go see a movie tonight,” Martina informed her. “Will you tell Chili? It’s a Spanish comedy but of course you are invited to join us.”
Mint looked from Antonia to Martina. Was Martina serious? Mint didn’t speak a word of Spanish. Why should she watch a movie in Spanish?
“I’ll think about it,” she said politely and began packing her laptop.
“Don’t forget to tell Chili!”
“I won’t!” she spat out, causing Antonia and Martina to look up in surprise, but Mint felt no need to apologize for the minor outburst or give an explanation. Without saying another word, she turned around and rushed through the café.
She really should have bothered to learn Spanish.
***
Gabriella was standing under the retractable roof of the Caja Mágica and across from the outside courts. Paola had summoned them to the last court for a new task they had to shoot for Supersport Channel.
“Gabriella!” someone behind her screamed. Chili and Gemma were coming towards her, waving their arms. Together they walked along the courts until they saw the TV crew and Paola running between the camera and lighting guys.
“Oh dear,” Chili moaned. “I fear the worst. Paola wouldn’t tell me what we had to do this time.”
“Me neither,” Gemma growled. “But it has something to do with the blue clay.”
Gabriella glanced over to her comrades. Both were probably eager to finish the shoot early today as they had both been knocked out of the tournament already and probably wanted to leave the blue dirt behind as soon as possible. Everyone she had talked to was looking forward to playing in Rome.
Gabriella however had a different agenda. She wanted to stay. Besides the Supersport challenge, her next task was to win her match, as Sasha had won her match.
They opened the little gate to the court and stepped onto the blue, sandy surface. In the corner, Paola was supervising two guys who piled up a huge heap of blue clay while a girl ran around the sandhill, and arranging little plastic shovels and buckets in the four directions of the compass.
“The challenge today will be to build the highest sandtower,” Paola explained to them. “The two highest towers win and the two winners will have a follow-up photo shoot tomorrow evening with a local fashion designer.”
Gabriella saw Gemma and Chili exchange looks, and smiled. Did Paola realize that these two would probably leave tomorrow morning?
“Who’s the fourth player?” Gemma asked.
“Me,” Lulu said. She had sneaked over the blue clay and greeted the TV team. Then she gave Gabriella a little nod.
As soon as the cameras and the lights were set up, Paola called “Action” and the girls dug into the moistened sand, filled their buckets and stacked the clay blocks onto one another to form blue columns. While Gemma and Chili started their tower with a foundation of only one block, Gabriella opted for safety. Even though she was sure, Gemma
and Chili wouldn’t try to win the task, she couldn’t risk a collapse of her pillar. As there was no time limit, she carefully prepared three heavy blocks for the basement, then began piling new blocks onto the broad foundation. She also hoped that Luella’s tower would stand upright for the longest time, but Gabriella was unable to see Lulu’s progress as her sister was hidden behind the blue sandhill.
When Chili tower dangerously leaned to one side the Spaniard stepped away and clasped her hands over her head. The cameras captured the slow collapse and Chili was out of the competition. Left of Gabriella, Gemma had already built a very high tower. It was not as lopsided as Chili’s but it wouldn’t stand for much longer.
Two minutes later Paola declared the Galloway twins the winners of the blue clay task. Stepping around the heap of blue sand, Gabriella took a look at her sister’s tower. Lulu too had used a broader foundation to stabilize her pillar. Smart, Gabriella had to admit, and very good. Gabriella wasn’t the only one who would stay in Madrid a little longer. So would her sister. And there was another good chance that Gabriella could spend two more nights with a very hot Top 10 player.
***
Polly turned around and sprinted the few steps towards Bernadette, who had just served an ace, and together they walked back to their chairs. They had won the first set.
“Great job on that lob,” Bernadette nodded approvingly. In the seventh game, Polly had hit a lob over Chili and Teresa, too high for the Spaniards to reach, but measured just right so that it landed bang on the baseline. With that shot the Canadians had secured the break of serve they would hold on to for the rest of the set. Polly smiled proudly. With Bernadette’s help and guidance she had become a good doubles player and reliable partner for the veteran.
“One more set,” Polly said while looking into the stands and smiling widely. There were quite a few spectators for the match as they were playing against the young, all-Spanish team of Chili García López and Teresa Santayana, but the audience cheered for both teams equally. Was this the atmosphere she would experience at the Olympics? She was really beginning to look forward to the biggest sporting event of the year. With every match her motivation to do even better was growing. And now they were only one set away too qualify for the Olympics, as a win would give their doubles ranking another boost. In less than five months they had become one of the most dreaded teams in the competition, having already secured wins in the Charleston and Barcelona tournaments and in addition reached two finals and three semifinals. Yes, more and more Polly had the feeling that alongside Bernadette LeBlanc she had a chance to win an Olympic medal.
“Cecilia and Teresa will qualify for Spain,” Bernadette mumbled suddenly. She was looking over to their competitors. “But they are too young and don’t play doubles often enough to be a real threat. Gabriella and Monica will team up, too.”
“Don’t forget Agnes and Morgana,” Polly threw in. “They played in Stuttgart together and looked pretty good. They could be even better on grass.”
Bernadette nodded. “Sure, Morgana is great on grass. But Agnes is old. I don’t think they will go far.”
Polly raised an eyebrow. Her doubles partner seemed to have forgotten that Agnes was about the same age as herself. The Frenchwoman was also one of the best doubles players in the world. Polly wanted to ask why Bernadette had made this remark but the umpire called time and they got ready to go back to the court to play the second set.
***
Morgana turned on the little recording device she had bought a few weeks ago after Bernadette had first knocked on her hotel room door. She wondered if the rustle of the leaves above them would disturb the sound quality but she didn’t want to go inside where there were people everywhere. From their previous meetings Morgana knew the conversations with Bernadette required privacy.
“How do you know so much about the Secret 8?”
“I played doubles with one of them for a while, so I know a bit about them,” Bernadette answered.
Jamie McKay, Morgana remembered. She had looked up Bernadette’s doubles partners of the past. From 1997 until 2000, Jamie and Bernadette played together almost exclusively, in that time becoming one of the top doubles teams.
“Tell me about the dynamics within the group,” Morgana asked.
“Monica was the leader,” Bernadette said promptly, then she laughed quietly. “She was the youngest, but she was always the leader.”
“So, you were a group of friends?” Morgana conjectured.
“They were a group of friends. And lovers,” Bernadette added.
“Who was with whom?”
“I can’t say.”
“Because you don’t know?”
“Because I can’t say.”
“You are not allowed?”
“There’s a tacit agreement. Nobody talks.”
Morgana saw the older player bit her lip. She felt that there was a lot more Bernadette wanted to say. Bernadette opened her mouth and Morgana held her breath. She waited.
“And Monica is too powerful,” Bernadette said after a while. “She might look like a retired champ who enjoys life as a doubles veteran now, but she is still leading the way. This is her scheme.”
Morgana frowned. “What scheme?”
“I can’t say more. I’ve already said too much.” The Canadian turned away and looked out of the window. Morgana sighed quietly. She saw her chances to ever use these interviews in her doctoral thesis going down the drain very quickly. Bernadette’s information was unusable, as Morgana couldn’t quote any of it. In fact, this wasn’t information, only tidbits of hearsay by someone who seemed too afraid to ever talk openly. Why was she so frightened? Morgana remembered the death of her own character in Tennis Nurse. Perhaps Bernadette had received a warning herself in the past. Daytona was a recurring character in the earlier novels, however with a minor role and as far as Morgana knew she had retired in one of the seasons a couple of years back. Nothing spectacular. Morgana shook her head. And why all the secrecy? What was the big mystery around Tennis Nurse and the Secret 8?
“So, who is the author of Tennis Nurse?” Morgana asked, hoping that a change of direction might get the Canadian talking again.
“I don’t know,” Bernadette answered, still looking out of the window. “Nobody knows.”
“But it must be someone related to the Secret 8,” Morgana dug deeper.
“Yes, someone who knew them very well. And someone who liked them,” Bernadette said with a dry smile. She turned her head. “All the earlier novels were about them. They loved it, of course. They felt like superstars. Everybody wanted to read about them. The mystery around the author only gave it more importance. It was like a secret that wasn’t a secret, as everybody knew who was who in the novel, but at the same time nobody was allowed to talk about their love lives and relationships and affairs, and the fun and friendship on tour. And there it was, out in the open, disguised as fiction.”
She nodded to herself. “It was daring and utterly clever. But unfortunately it contributed to their arrogance. They were presumptuous brats, successful and insufferable.”
A lot of bitterness was audible in those words, Morgana observed. Most likely Bernadette would have loved to belong to the group. But didn’t she? Daytona Black was always portrayed as part of the club.
“You yourself have a very prominent character in the series,” Morgana carefully stated.
“Daytona?” Bernadette snorted in disgust. “You don’t know what happens to her.”
“Well, she retires, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, you could say that,” Bernadette sighed. “She drowns.”
“But – ,” Morgana was confused. “I don’t remember that.”
“Because the book remained unpublished.”
“How do you know then?”
“Let’s just say I received a copy in advance.” So, Bernadette was warned indeed, Morgana thought.
“But these were your friends,” she gasped. “Why would they allow that to
happen?”
“They were a bunch of champions, Morgana.” Bernadette smiled tiredly. “I’m a doubles player.”
Morgana understood. There were many players who never went past the second round of a tournament, who were cannon fodder for the top seeds. They were the busy bees who could only make it on the tour when playing in the doubles competition, too. They played for a modest living, not for the glory. They loved the game just as well, perhaps even more than those who won easily.
“I will set you up with someone,” Bernadette said into the silence. “I can’t tell you more, but she can.”
***
It would be a disaster, Sasha realized. She hadn’t been in a particularly good mood to begin with, but the first meeting with one half of the Happy Ever After Wedding Planners wasn’t helping to improve her spirit either. Mr. Clutterbuck’s hoary mustache twitched at the ends every time the wedding planner said something. Most times he said “I see”. But Mr. Clutterbuck saw a lot of things Sasha didn’t.
“Would you like a classic wedding cake tower with personalized bride and bridegroom topper or would you prefer a fruitcake with sugarcoated rose flowers for example? All of our cakes are decorated and finished with the utmost attention to detail.”
“I want Trdelník and Vánočkas,” Sasha said. “It’s Czech. I’m sure Jaro wants it, too.”
“I see,” Mr. Clutterbuck said, trying to write down the word he had never heard before. His mustache moved as he tried to silently form the word with his mouth.
“Trdelník and Vánočkas,” Sasha repeated. “We can have one of the fruitcakes as well.”
“A fruitcake it is,” Mr. Clutterbuck said with relief, making a check mark on his list.
“And I want a huge chiffon cake,” Sasha demanded.
“I see. Chiffon cake,” Mr. Clutterbuck mumbled.
“Huge,” Sasha repeated.
“Of course.”
Love Game - Season 2012 Page 15
