Love Game - Season 2012

by Gerard, M. B.

  Gabriella remembered when Lulu had reached that magic territory. Her sister had become all squirrelly, looking at ranking points all the time. Now she understood why.

  You were not quite there yet, but you could smell the Top 10. It was in the air constantly, like the scent of a woman you craved.

  Gabriella looked around but nobody was watching her. She took out a pen from her racquet bag and began scribbling down the ranking points of those players ahead of her. Then she wrote down next to each player the ranking points they had to defend in the next couple of weeks. Finally, she wrote down her own ranking points.

  After calculating the points she looked at the result. If she made the semifinal in Eastbourne she would rise by one ranking spot, and if Ivana Katina went out in the second round Gabriella would rise by two ranking spots to No. 12. A quick look at the tournament schedule gave her hope. Ivana had to play against Polly Duke in the second round. The Canadian had had a good run in each of the past few tournaments and she liked the grass. If everything went well for Gabriella, Polly would take out Ivana, she would make the semifinal and then she would enter the Wimbledon Championships as the No. 12 in the world.

  Gabriella breathed in deeply. In the previous year, she had lost in the third round of Wimbledon. Rather Luella had lost playing for her. Meaning, she didn’t have that many points to defend. Meaning, she could – .

  Gabriella let out the air she had held in her lungs. She shouldn’t be doing this, she scolded herself. She shouldn’t think ahead. That was the worst thing a player could do. It put too much pressure on yourself and distracted you from what you should be doing – hitting balls.

  But she couldn’t help it. She needed to know.

  Again, she leaned forward and followed the same proceedings, this time assuming she was No. 12 in the world, using the ranking points all the players around her in the rankings had to defend in Wimbledon.

  After five minutes Gabriella leaned back and looked at the numbers she had calculated. If she made the semifinal of Wimbledon and Marieke Bender lost before the quarterfinal, Gabriella would be No. 10 in the world. If she played in the final and lost, she would be No. 9.

  Gabriella grinned. Yes, there was a chance that she could make the Top 10, however unlikely.

  But if she won Wimbledon – with Marieke, Luella and Tamara losing before the quarterfinals – Gabriella would be No. 6 in the world.

  No. 6, that wasn’t just Top 10. That was almost Top 5. Gabriella wondered what scent the No. 6 player had. Perhaps coconut? Also, she probably wouldn’t feel the need to run after a magic scent anymore – as the world No. 6 and as a Grand Slam Champion. Instead, everyone behind her would have her scent in their nostrils. Luella would be behind her.

  “Scheming for world domination?” a voice behind her suddenly whispered.

  Gabriella spun around. Monica Jordan grinned at her, snatched Gabriella’s calculations and looked them over.

  “I’m just dreaming a little bit,” Gabriella said defensively.

  “We all do,” Monica nodded, still looking at the paper. “Ambitious,” she eventually said. “But possible.”

  Monica gave Gabriella back the paper and waited for the younger player to pack her bag. When they headed out to the practice courts, Gabriella turned to Monica.

  “If there was a scent for the No. 1, what would it be?”

  Monica raised her eyebrows. Walking down the middle path between the courts she thought about the odd question that had come out of nowhere.

  “Depends on the player,” she finally said. “Some are No. 1 only a short time. Their scent is cold sweat. They are afraid of losing what they have achieved. They are easy prey. Easy to sniff out and easy to kill. If you want to stay at the top for a long time don’t let them pick up your scent. Do you know how to do that?”

  She looked at Gabriella, waiting for an answer. Gabriella shrugged.

  “Simple,” Monica finally revealed. “No sweat!” She gave Gabriella a wink.

  Gabriella understood. It was back to the basics, back to hitting balls. She followed Monica through the little gate and stepped onto the perfect grass.

  She hadn’t missed the tone in Monica’s voice though. Inside this loyal, easy-going doubles player was still the predator who had dominated the tour for several years and had sniffed out and killed her rivals easily and ruthlessly.

  A SNAKE

  IN THE GARDEN

  Wimbledon, Great Britain

  A mild evening breeze stroked Gabriella’s arms while she was wandering up the winding road from the Wimbledon site to the house she had rented with her team. The guys would go out tonight, they both had warned her not to wait for them – as if she would. She had plans for tonight. Great plans.

  From behind a hedge she could hear loud chatter and giggles. All over Wimbledon Village and the houses surrounding the Wimbledon tournament site garden parties were being held on the middle Saturday.

  She herself had been invited to three different parties, one held by her clothes sponsor, the others being private parties.

  “Gabriella!” The loud yell woke her from her daydreaming. She turned around.

  Out of the players’ exit a black tournament car had come and now stopped on the street. The window was rolled down and Lulu stuck her head out.

  They hadn’t talked since – Gabriella couldn’t exactly remember. Madrid? During the sand tower task? Yes, that had to be the last time she had exchanged words with Lulu.

  “Where are you going?” Lulu demanded to know. She opened the car door and stepped outside.

  “Home,” Gabriella stated. She made a step backwards.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Lulu asked.

  Gabriella frowned. She didn’t want to let her twin in on her plans.

  “Why?”

  Lulu rolled her eyes. “Because I’m invited to the best party and I thought you might want to join me.”

  Join Lulu? That was typical of her sister. It wouldn’t even enter her head to ask Gabriella if she had a party to attend and if Lulu could join her. Why should she? She was convinced that she had a pass key to the best event of the middle Saturday.

  By asking Gabriella to join her Lulu managed to make it look like an act of charity. But Gabriella wouldn’t have any of that tonight.

  “Well, then we will very likely see each other as, I myself, am invited to the best party in town,” she replied. “That is, if we are talking about the same party, which I doubt.”

  Now Lulu frowned. “What party are you talking about? Who is hosting?”

  “See, the fact that you don’t know what I’m talking about tells me we are not going to the same party. My party is a secret party.”

  She turned around and began walking up the hill, feeling Luella’s stare on her back. She heard the car door being slammed and the car driving off and had to grin. Luella would be wondering all evening what wonderful party Gabriella was attending. Rightly so. Gabriella’s party was indeed a secret party and she was certain it would exceed every other festivity tonight.

  It consisted of two people only, who would happily splash about in a big backyard pool and then relax under the stars. Perhaps working out a little before they relaxed, Gabriella corrected herself with an even wider grin on her face. They were still in the middle of a Grand Slam and you had to be on your toes.

  It was also the first time that Sasha had invited her. Perhaps she was reading too much into it, Gabriella wondered, but she couldn’t help feeling that their relationship had taken on a different quality since Paris.

  She also knew what that meant. Gabriella clenched her teeth. She really had to tell Sasha the truth.

  ***

  A loud scream came through the open window. Morgana gasped. The noise had caused her to make a typo.

  “Zut alors!” she hissed, then got up to look outside.

  In the neighboring garden a group of players, team members and tennis officials had already gathered around a long buffet table and was happily
digging in.

  Interesting, Morgana thought. Monica Jordan, Agnes Lion and her partner Candice were talking to the newly-returned Michelle van der Boom. The Dutch player was getting ready for the Olympic Games and so far had had good results with compatriot Marieke Bender. But off the court Michelle didn’t hang out with Marieke. Of course, the reason for this could have been that Marieke was a Top 10 player who was concentrating on the singles competition and had a lot of off court duties. But perhaps Michelle was the eighth player Morgana was looking for.

  Morgana closed the window and sat down at her desk again.

  Quickly, she wrote a reminder note to write an e-mail to her new source – Larissa – and ask her about Michelle. Larissa Perkins, Bernadette’s contact, had turned out to be a treasure trove of information. As far as Morgana had found out, Larissa was a former WTA employee, now living in Florida and running an animal shelter. She had worked on the tour for almost ten years until 2004. A look at an old almanac had confirmed this.

  With Larissa’s help Morgana was filling the blanks that were holding back the advancement of her doctoral thesis. The most pleasing fact was that Larissa had given her permission to quote from her e-mails. It was brilliant. In the last few weeks she had filled page after page. Whenever there was a moment away from the tennis courts she retreated to her hotel room and worked on her thesis. Admittedly, her ranking had suffered a bit. Since she was concentrating so hard on revealing the Tennis Nurse mystery she had lost more matches than won.

  The grass however suited her game and on the Wimbledon turf she had cruised through the first three matches. She well deserved to spend a whole evening working on her PhD instead of sweating in the gym or wasting time at a garden party.

  After another productive half an hour she stretched her back and got up again. It was getting dark outside and the garden next door was lit up with colorful lights. The French woman opened the window and let the cool evening air in. Distant snippets of conversation were audible from the party but everybody seemed to have gathered on the other side of the garden, behind the house, as the dining area was empty. They had raided the buffet table as if there was no tomorrow, Morgana thought.

  The sudden ring of the doorbell made her jump.

  “Oh non,” she grunted. “Who can that be?”

  She hurried down the stairs and opened the door.

  “Alice, what a nice surprise. Aren’t you at a party?”

  Alice Chevallier greeted Morgana and stepped inside.

  “Yes, I was at the party next door,” she replied. “Everyone was wondering where you were. They were counting on you.”

  Morgana shrugged, and they sat down in the living room. “I don’t care about these parties. Besides, I’m busy writing.”

  “I know,” Alice winked. “That’s what I told them. That’s why I brought you some food from the buffet.”

  She presented a paper plate with a handful of hors d’oeuvres. Morgana frowned.

  “Did you tell them what I was writing about?”

  She observed Alice. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to let Alice in on her research. She shouldn’t forget that Alice worked for Candice, who was in a relationship with Agnes who in turn was best friends with Monica. And more and more, it seemed that Monica was the one pulling the strings, not only as Jordana Munk in Tennis Nurse but also in the real tennis universe. Bernadette had mentioned this and Larissa had confirmed it.

  “Oh, but everyone knows you are writing your thesis,” Alice said, a bit bewildered. Morgana relaxed. As long as she could keep the fact that she had access to a top-notch source a secret from the old gang around Monica, all was well.

  ***

  The scent of being Number One.

  Monica had poured herself another glass of the very delicious, home-made Pimm’s, took a seat on the terrace and overlooked the crowded garden.

  The question had seemed quite random when Gabriella had asked her in Eastbourne, but Monica knew better. That particular scent was in the air constantly. Every player dreamed of reaching the top spot in the rankings, at least they all did in the beginning of their careers, when they were young. It was a place in the clouds, and during their quest to get there they traveled around the world, from east to west and back again, they faced giants and snakes, suffered pain and overcame injuries. However, after a couple of years most of them were forced to realize that they were only Top 50 material, or even stuck in the Top 100. What then?

  Did they content themselves with what they had – even as a Top 100 player you could earn a decent living – or would they rebuild and try and try again to climb the rankings to get to their Shangri-La? When did you stop being hungry? When did you get tired and cease to sniff the air for that special scent?

  “There you are.” Candice’s head popped up from under the terrace balustrade. She stepped up the stairs, followed by Agnes and fellow Frenchwoman Alice Chevallier.

  “What have you found out?” Monica asked Alice. She moved her chair so the others could sit down next to her at the table.

  “Nothing, I’m afraid,” the young Parisian said. “Morgana received me in the living room, and she didn’t talk about her source.”

  They all let out a collective sigh. There wasn’t much they could do but wait that Morgana revealed the name of her new source. Alice seemed to be a good double agent in this game as Morgana herself had engaged her to take care of different research assignments.

  “Keep sharp,” Agnes said, patting Alice on the back. “One day perhaps you can take a look at her notes or even get a glance at her e-mails. We need this name.”

  Alice nodded dutifully. Candice’s young assistant had no idea why the older women were trying to find out what Morgana was up to but she hadn’t asked either, Monica realized. Either she wasn’t curious or she was just playing along hoping to find out what was going on while working on the task.

  A loud bang made them look up. At the end of the buffet table that was visible from the terrace they could make out a minor entanglement involving several bodies and cutlery. Someone had pulled down the silverware and was now lying on the ground. When the three people got up Monica had to giggle.

  “Lulu,” she snorted. “With the Spanish poodle.”

  Rafael scurried around, helping the other woman up – it was Tamara Parova – and then Lulu. Tamara dusted off her dress, then approached the terrace, while her team members had gathered around her.

  “What happened?” Monica could hear Tamara’s coach ask, while they ascended the stairs.

  “She’s drunk!” Tamara fumed, wildly gesticulating with her arms. “I wanted to snag the last crab salad when suddenly Lulu elbowed her way to the buffet table and pushed me aside. I fell over and she fell, too. All the crabs landed in the flower bed.”

  The Russian almost cried. She wasn’t exactly sober herself, but one look at the buffet confirmed that ‘drunk’ was quite an understatement for Lulu’s condition. The young American had shaken off Rafael and was now dancing across the lawn, swinging her arms and singing more loudly than the music.

  “She will fall into the bar table,” Agnes mumbled with a frown. They all watched Luella pirouetting her way to the other side of the garden, flabbergasted at her loss of control. Before Lulu barged into the Pimm’s bowl, Rafael was there to catch her.

  “Leave me alone,” Lulu yelled at the Spaniard. “I want to have fun.”

  With a surprisingly deft movement, she grabbed three glasses and walked into the middle of the garden. By then everyone had retreated to the edges.

  As a tennis player, a big part of your off-court training focused on hand-eye-coordination, and even in her groggy state Luella’s abilities were stunning. With shaky knees but amazingly controlled hands, she juggled the glasses high into the air.

  The colorful lights in the sky made the tomfoolery perfect.

  ***

  Loud clamor was spilling over the high hedge. Something was going on at one of the garden parties, perhaps a couple of houses down t
he street. The screaming turned into feverish commands, a door was slammed.

  Inside the wall of hedges there was silence. The sun still peeked over the western side of the bushes, throwing orange diamonds onto the pool water. Gabriella rolled onto her right side and moved one hand over Sasha’s stomach. Her skin was warm and Gabriella slowly let her finger circle around Sasha’s navel. Soon they would have to get up from the teak divan and go inside, as the nights could get quite chilly in Wimbledon. But for the moment they could lie here and let the last rays of sunshine tickle their toes.

  Snuggling closer to Sasha, Gabriella let her lips run over the Czech’s stomach, pushed her arms over her head and kissed her bare breasts – until she was at eye level with Sasha. With her closed eyes, midst the calm of the falling night, Sasha looked like a sleeping princess in a secret garden. Gently Gabriella stroked her brown hair, still wet from their swim in the pool. Leaning forward she kissed Sasha on the tip of her nose.

  Sasha flinched. As if woken from a dream she opened her eyes, blinked a little then covered her nose with her hand. Gabriella propped herself up on her arms, alarmed by the subconscious gesture.

  “Does it still hurt?” she asked anxiously. Sasha blinked again, realizing that she was holding her nose. She quickly let her hand sink down.

  “No,” she shook her head. “No, it doesn’t hurt. It’s just – .”

  She stopped and looked into Gabriella’s eyes. For a split second, the frailty and insecurity that was lying beneath Sasha’s perfectly cool aura flashed up, like the reflections on the dark pool water.

  “It’s just that I felt so incomplete sometimes,” she whispered. She was telling a secret. “As if someone took away my magic shield, you see?”

  Anger rushed through the Gabriella’s body. Damn you, Lulu, she thought. Why did her stupid sister have to touch Sasha?

  “I’m so, so sorry about your nose,” she replied, stroking Sasha’s head and realizing at the same moment that Sasha would misunderstand her words. She, of course, would believe that it was Luella apologizing for her misbehavior in Istanbul.