Love Game - Season 2012

by Gerard, M. B.

  “She doesn’t believe me,” Larissa had told them. “She thinks I was pressured to say that it wasn’t me who wrote her the e-mails.”

  And now Morgana was sitting in the trading meeting as if nothing had happened. What was going on in the French woman’s head?

  Monica leaned over to Candice and Agnes while keeping an eye on Morgana.

  “Let’s go through this again,” she whispered. “Morgana has a new source who says her name is Larissa Perkins, former WTA employee and now running a pet shelter in Florida. She writes her e-mails but has obviously never called her before. Otherwise Morgana would have noticed the different voice.”

  “The question is, who is hiding behind the Larissa persona?” Agnes threw in.

  “And why does Morgana believe someone is putting pressure on Larissa?” Candice added.

  They all looked over to the French player who was smiling and chatting with Amanda.

  “What if we talk to her?” Agnes suggested.

  But Candice and Monica shook their heads.

  “Too dangerous,” Monica said. “She would also understand that we have used Alice as a spy and know what she’s doing and she might conclude correctly that we worry about it, which will give credit to whatever her source is saying. Because if I’m guessing right we don’t get off lightly. Why else should she believe that Larissa is threatened. She must believe it’s us trying to keep Larissa silent.”

  Candice nodded. “Exactly.”

  “But if we don’t clarify the situation Morgana won’t ever understand,” Agnes protested with a hushed voice. “If we don’t at least try to talk to her there is no chance of changing her mind.”

  “But what do you want to tell her?” Monica looked at her doubles partner. “If we tell her that the source was most probably lying about us, she would ask for proof. And do you really want to tell her the truth about our little gang? How do you explain two missing people?”

  Agnes swallowed, then nodded. So many years they had kept the secret. They couldn’t trust anyone. Especially not someone as intelligent as Morgana.

  ***

  The cab was speeding over the Long Island Expressway that connected Midtown Manhattan and Queens. The driver was loudly humming the melody of a song that was playing on the radio while the tires rattled over the concrete slabs. Gabriella didn’t know the song. She checked her watch, even though she knew that she had enough time. To be precise, she still had four hours.

  “Getting nervous?” Lulu asked.

  “A bit,” Gabriella answered with tight lips. In fact, she was nervous as hell.

  “Want to go through the game plan again?”

  Gabriella nodded. In the last two days they had been sitting together for hours and hours in a little coffee shop in the Upper East Side and had worked on a foolproof game plan. Foolproof, because it was simple. And simple, because the plan only had one intent.

  “Alright,” Lulu began. “What do you want to achieve?”

  “I want her to look at me again, to see me like she did before.”

  “Good, because you haven’t changed and your feelings haven’t changed.”

  Gabriella nodded again.

  “So, that’s what you want her to understand. That you still love her,” Lulu added.

  Gabriella sighed. “Yes, of course. But about twenty-thousand people are watching.”

  “They are watching the U.S. Open final,” Luella clarified. “I suggest you play a little tennis on the side.”

  Gabriella wasn’t happy with Lulu’s advice. “Plus there are a million people watching on TV at home,” Gabriella worried. They had gone through the game plan a million times now, but the closer the cab carried them to Flushing Meadows the more unlikely it seemed that Gabriella could go through with it. Suddenly the plan didn’t seem foolproof but plain foolish. How would she get eye contact with Sasha while playing tennis, while twenty cameras and the whole nation were watching her, hoping she could win in her home slam?

  “Flirt discreetly.”

  The driver shot them a glance over his shoulder and the twins grew silent. They turned into Grand Central Parkway and would be at the site in five minutes. Perhaps Sasha was also there already. What if they saw each other before the match? What if Sasha said anything nasty or nothing at all. An angry glance would be enough to make Gabriella crumble.

  “I’m not good at flirting,” Gabriella mumbled.

  “Pretend to be me,” Lulu said. Gabriella looked at her to check if her sister was serious, but Luella winked. “I mean – really, Gabriella? You were seeing each other for months. You must have done something right.”

  “You are mocking me!”

  Lulu chuckled. “I’m trying to relax you.”

  “What if she doesn’t even look at me?”

  “Make her look at you,” Lulu answered matter-of-factly.

  And that was basically the game plan. Make Sasha look at her. Then look her in the eye and let her know with a flutter of the eyelashes that Gabriella was sorry, that she loved Sasha and that she wanted to be with her again.

  Simple. Foolproof.

  “Foolish,” Gabriella whispered, looking away from Lulu and outside the window.

  At the end of the street she could make out the huge stadium which she would enter in a few hours to play the match that could change her life. It always reminded her of a huge spacecraft, with the stadium lights over the stands being antennae and the red building underneath the command center. Perhaps it would take off with her and Sasha and carry them to a lonely planet where they could live happily ever after.

  “Yeah, right,” Gabriella muttered to herself and shook her shoulders to get rid of the ridiculous thought.

  Basically the plan was to try. What could she lose anyway? Absolutely nothing. Nothing. Or to speak in tennis terms – love.

  ***

  “Just a wonderful achievement for the American so far,“ Hugh Andrews exclaimed. “Didn’t succumb to the pressure of playing in front of her home crowd like so many before her.”

  Gabriella had just hit a full-paced on-the-run forehand down the line. Sasha Mrachova had no chance of getting it. The camera review showed the twin throwing a long look over the net to her opponent while the American spectators rose to their feet. Then Gabriella walked to the baseline, getting ready to serve again. It was 4-4 in the second set and neither the American nor the Czech player had taken the chance yet to break the other’s serve. An ace put Gabriella in the lead for 40-30.

  “Great serve,” Hugh whispered with admiration. “Serving an ace when it matters.”

  Sam Watts nodded even though the TV audience couldn’t see. “She loves the pressure. That’s the most impressive insight from this tournament. She could have succumbed to it easily after her Wimbledon win, like her sister did last year here in New York.”

  “She’s definitely a fighter,” Hugh added. “And we are witnessing a rivalry in the making. Two Grand Slam finals, both with young American Gabriella Galloway and veteran Czech Sasha Mrachova. Unlike the Wimbledon final this match is much tighter. Mrachova has adjusted well to the American’s tricky game.”

  Walking to the other side of the baseline the American caught the balls thrown to her by the ball boy.

  “Galloway is one point away from taking a crucial lead,” Sam explained to the audience at home. “If she makes it 5-4, the Czech veteran must hold serve to stay in the set and the Czech has showed a tendency to struggle on her serve when it comes to important games.”

  The two commentators watched Gabriella hit a serve into the middle of the service box. The ball was bending towards Sasha’s body and the Czech had a hard time getting around the ball and hitting it back. The ball went high into the air but looked like it would land in Gabriella’s half of the court, so the American rushed forward to hit it back into one of the corners. Sasha had retreated behind the baseline, then decided to go left. Looking into the sky, Gabriella smashed the falling ball – into the left corner. With an inch of her racque
t Sasha reached the ball, and again it went up. Gabriella waited for it to fall down, then she hit it into the left corner again. But once more Sasha anticipated correctly and this time she was in a better position to hit the ball. With a scorching backhand she send the ball past Gabriella who was too far away to reach it.

  “Fantastic defense from Mrachova and going for the winner when she has the chance,” Samantha said into the microphone.

  “Great match so far,” Hugh exclaimed.

  “Deuce,” Lynn Pebblestone announced.

  What followed was a sixteen-shot rally that send the players back and forth over the court and the American spectators to their feet They were cheering and shouting from the stands. It didn’t matter that Gabriella lost the point in the end with Sasha hitting a perfect dropshot. This was great tennis.

  “Point of the match,” Hugh shouted. “In the contest of the year. Here you can witness Sasha’s whole experience as a player. And on the other side of the net you find a young player full of purpose. Gabriella Galloway has a plan and she won’t let go. Amazing rally.”

  But it also meant that Sasha Mrachova had a break point. The American had to react. On her next serve Gabriella opted for a wide kick serve, that bounced high away from the opponent. The Czech had trouble getting it back and it dropped short behind the net where Gabriella was already waiting to put it away with a forehand in the corner.

  “Back to deuce,” Hugh said breathlessly.

  This time Gabriella tried to serve into Sasha’s body, but the Czech was quicker and sent the ball back crosscourt into Gabriella’s backhand corner. The American only had time to slice the ball back. It sailed over the net and Sasha hit it straight back. Gabriella ran but then the ball caught the net and dropped dead in Gabriella’s side of the court. Again Sasha had a break point.

  Gabriella’s first serve landed in the net and the second serve was easy to return. Sasha hit a beautiful return shot, unreachable for the American.

  “Mrachova breaks and takes a 5-4 lead on the American,” Hugh burst out. “The Czech will serve for the U.S. Open Championship!”

  ***

  The stands in Arthur Ashe stadium seemed endlessly high. The blue color of the stadium seats was almost invisible as the final was sold out.

  At the beginning of her career, she had looked up a couple of times into the stands. Every young player made this mistake. The immensity crushed you with a shocking realization – you were small and insignificant. In her first match here on Arthur Ashe – what year had that been? – she had looked up into the upper stands and lost in straight sets, 6-2 6-0. In her first final here at the U.S. Open she had done the same. In an act of sheer cockiness she had looked at the masses of people who were cheering for her, feeling invincible when she was about to serve for the match at 6-4 5-2. She had lost the final.

  Now Sasha was one game away from achieving what she desired most. Revenge. She would put the Galloway twin in her place – in front of the home crowd. Oh, and she would win a Grand Slam.

  It could be over in three minutes. If she served well. If Gabriella lost her nerve. She could only hope for it. So far, the American had fought hard.

  Did Sasha really want it? That was the question. She had won the first set 7-6 in a long tiebreak that went to 14-12. Only two points had decided the set. Passing each other on their way to their benches to rest after the set, Gabriella had looked Sasha in the eye. Only for a split second, but it was enough for Sasha to lose her balance.

  She had spent the whole break after the finished set trying to get Gabriella’s eyes out of her mind again and concentrate back on the tennis. She wanted this. She needed to win. Deciding the first set in her favor should have relaxed her, but in fact it only made her think. Gabriella would come back even stronger, she feared. And this was a close match already.

  But that wasn’t true actually. It wasn’t just a tight match. This was much better. It was electrifying, big hitting from both of them. In every ball that contacted her racquet she felt that Gabriella wasn’t holding back. She was swinging freely without inhibition, and so was Sasha.

  Something was going on, Sasha thought while biting her lip. And damn, she liked it. Yes, she liked the feel of Gabriella’s ball on her racquet strings. She squinted her eyes to get the thought out of her system.

  “Time,” the Lynn said into the microphone. Sasha nodded and got up. Revenge and a Grand Slam was waiting one game away. It was a no brainer.

  Sasha’s big first serve forced Gabriella to make a huge leap. She touched the ball with her racquet but it went into the net.

  “15 – Love.”

  The next serve was so fast Gabriella could only get her racquet frame on it. With a hollow bang the ball went high into the stands and from across the court Sasha could hear a shout of frustration from Gabriella. It would get her a code violation warning for verbal obscenity, Sasha knew.

  “30 – Love,” the chair umpire announced followed by the inevitable warning for Gabriella. Sasha almost chuckled. Gabriella could be a bit obscene, she remembered.

  The Czech went back to the baseline. She let the ball bounce, concentrated on the toss and served a bomb down the T-line. It was just as fast as the last one, but this time Gabriella answered with a powerful backhand return. They exchanged hard-hit groundstrokes until the baseline rally ended with Gabriella running down a dropshot and pushing a winner down the sideline.

  “30 – 15.”

  The next point was decided by Gabriella with a crosscourt forehand. The American crowd went berserk, and Sasha’s hands began to sweat. She had lost her lead.

  “30 all.”

  Sasha went to the back of the court, giving the ball kid a sign to bring her the towel. She needed a few seconds to regroup. The next point was crucial. Match point for her or break point for Gabriella. Damn the stupid obscenity warning. The thought of Gabriella whispering those words into her ear had completely thrown her. For a moment, she buried her face in the towel and slowly exhaled. She needed a good first serve. Then she gave the towel back and took the balls the ball boy handed her.

  A 116 mph serve forced a floater from Gabriella’s racquet. Rushing to the front of the court, Sasha let it bounce, then hit a spinning forehand into the corner.

  Match point.

  Walking to the back of the court Sasha found the way endlessly long. She tried to breathe steadily to slow her heart rate down. One more bouncing routine, one more toss. Revenge and Grand Slam. Revenge and Grand Slam. The serve she hit wasn’t very fast but it landed in the service box and sometimes that was the wise thing to do. Just get it in. Of course, Gabriella answered with a deep return but Sasha got the ball back just as deep.

  A crosscourt backhand from Gabriella. A short-angled shot from Sasha. Gabriella ran to the net and sent a backhand down the line. The spectators were already shouting in relief as they believed that their American player had saved match point. But Sasha ran the ball down to lift a lob over Gabriella’s head that landed on the baseline. The ball bounced up again and Gabriella rushed back.

  Sasha had stopped at the baseline and watched. Was she really going to do it? Of course, she was. Gabriella was trying to save match point. At the last second, before the ball hit the ground, the American hit the ball back between her legs, sending a roar of excitement through the stadium. It landed short in Sasha’s side of the court. The Czech ran to the net, hit the ball over it – but Gabriella was there. With a backhand slice she took the pace out of the rally, giving herself enough time to position herself again. This was still match point for Sasha.

  Five groundstrokes later, Sasha’s ball clipped the net. It went up into the air, dropped into Gabriella’s side of the court and bounced up again. The crowd collectively inhaled, then stopped breathing. Again, Gabriella ran. Just before the ball hit the ground a second time she shoved her racquet underneath. The ball went high over the net and landed near the service line on Sasha’s side.

  It had almost no pace on it. Sasha knew it would be e
asy to hit. Now she only had to decide where to place her U.S. Open match point winner. With Gabriella waiting for a shot to her backhand as this side of the court was more wide open, Sasha went for the forehand side. She hit the ball hard, aiming for the right corner.

  But then Sasha’s jaw dropped open.

  Gabriella was flying through the air, racquet first, reaching for the laser-like ball. In full stretch she put her racquet on the ball and sent it back. Then her body crashed hard onto the concrete court.

  In unison the crowd let out a moan, indecisive as to whether to watch their American player on the ground or the ball which was sitting up nicely for Sasha to hit it a second time. The court was wide open. No opponent to be able to run down the last shot of this final. Making a few steps to get into the perfect position, Sasha got ready to go for the kill. From the corner of her eye, she saw Gabriella covering her face with her hands. Her mouth was contorted with pain. Dark curls spread over the concrete.

  One more shot. Revenge and a Grand Slam.

  ***

  The hot concrete felt sticky on her bare legs and her shoulders.

  Or perhaps it was Gabriella sticking to the concrete with sweat. When the pain ripped through her torso she had folded her hands before her eyes. She wasn’t sure anymore if she had uttered a sound, but if so it would have been the same moan that came from the thousand mouths surrounding her. She had tried. She really had. But the crowd’s murmur that was audible on the court suddenly seemed two octaves deeper. They were disappointed.

  But more devastating for her than their uttered disappointment over a lost Grand Slam final was the realization that she had failed. Sasha hadn’t looked at her – not once. After every point, at every changeover she had started an attempt to get Sasha’s attention. Just once was she able to catch her glance. And the Czech had frowned and stared back angrily.