Lucky Loser

by Yolanda Wallace

  Sinjin was a study in contrasts. Underneath the jokes and one-liners lay a soft center she let only a few people see. She could blow off adults who asked for her autograph but never turned down a child who made the same request. Her swagger on court projected a self-confidence she didn’t always feel. She shared her body but refused to do the same with her heart. Laure wanted to be the one who helped her meld the disparate halves of her personality into one. She wanted to be the one Sinjin finally gave her heart to, freely and without remorse. To receive it, she had to be able to do the same.

  “Let me see that one.” She reached for a sports daily Gabrielle had cast aside. The Kiss-Off, the headline read. There were two photos beneath the headline. One was of Sinjin blowing a kiss to her supporters in the stands. In the other, Sinjin and Kendall were kissing on a busy sidewalk. “You two make a cute couple.”

  Laure turned the newspaper around so Sinjin and Kendall could see the front page. Kendall nearly choked on the big bite of apple in her mouth. “Crikey, that’s not how it looks. That’s not how it was. We were just—”

  “Ramming your tongues down each other’s throats from the looks of it.”

  *

  The voice came from behind her.

  Sinjin turned to face Viktoriya Vasilyeva. Viktoriya had dropped only one game in the opening round—a dominating performance matched only by Blake Freeman, who had humiliated her first round opponent by double bageling her on Centre Court.

  Viktoriya wasn’t scheduled to play her next match until the following day. She had come to the club for a training session and was on her way out. Sinjin had spotted her on an adjacent court earlier but had not acknowledged her presence. Now she couldn’t be ignored.

  “I saw you on the practice court. You looked good out there.” Viktoriya tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder, a move that always turned the teenage boys in the stands into puddles of hormone-rich goo during her matches. The way her nipples poked at the material of her tight, sweat-darkened T-shirt used to do the same thing to Sinjin. “Then again, you always look good in practice. Too bad you aren’t able to play well when it counts.”

  “Tori.”

  Viktoriya’s eyebrows shot up as if she were surprised to hear Sinjin use the term of endearment.

  Sinjin said something in Russian.

  Viktoriya’s brow furrowed as her face clouded with fury. Muttering something about “Ungrateful wastes of talent,” she whirled around and stomped toward the locker room, her coach, agent, and hitting partner trailing in her wake.

  Laure set the newspaper aside. “What did you say to her?”

  “‘Leave now or I’ll put my fist through your fucking face.’ Or something to that effect. I can’t guarantee nothing was lost in translation.”

  Kendall laughed so loud people at the surrounding tables craned their necks to see what she had found so amusing. “Good one, mate. I have someplace I have to be—wink, wink—so I’ll see you later.”

  Gabrielle pushed her chair away from the table. “And I need to check on your practice court, Laure, before Nicolas has someone’s head.”

  Sinjin and Laure found themselves alone. Or as close to it as possible in a room filled with hundreds of people.

  “She still gets to you, doesn’t she?” Laure asked.

  Sinjin smiled wanly. “More than you know.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Maybe when we’re old and gray. Not right now. I can’t afford the distraction.”

  Laure drummed her fingers on the tabletop, her chin resting on the heel of her hand. “What am I? Am I a distraction as well?”

  “No.” Sinjin rested her hand on Laure’s, stilling her restless fingers. “You’re better than I deserve.”

  Laure’s dour expression didn’t change, but her eyes blazed. Sinjin saw hope blossom in their depths. Despite that encouraging sign, she felt unsettled when she took the court later that afternoon.

  As the fans continued to file into their seats, she took a deep breath and tried to calm down. The time would come to let her emotions take over, but this wasn’t it. She channeled them into her game instead. Her anger, her stress, her fear. All her feelings flowed through her when she played, transferring from her hand to her racquet to the ball. The court was her safe haven. Her sanctuary. Nothing could touch her as long as she was standing between the painted lines.

  When play began, she felt safe. Protected. Invincible. She trounced Emme 6-2, 6-1 in under an hour.

  “Perhaps we should have Viktoriya piss you off every day,” Laure said afterward.

  “No,” Sinjin said, wondering how much the day’s emotional upheaval would affect her in the next round. “Let’s not.”

  “Are we still on for tonight? I could think of an excuse if you’d like to skip the party.”

  “No,” Sinjin said firmly. “The time for excuses is over. I’ll see you tonight.”

  *

  Laure joined Sinjin at the edge of the crowded capsule. The glass pod held up to twenty-five people and it was filled to capacity. “Regular or unleaded?”

  “I have tomorrow off. You don’t.” Sinjin reached for the glass of champagne, leaving Laure with the mineral water. She pointed at the panorama outside the clear glass walls. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  The view from the 443-foot London Eye was spectacular enough to render one speechless. Each of the thirty-two transparent capsules offered unobstructed 360-degree views of the city. On a clear day, passengers could see up to twenty-five miles in all directions as The Eye moved at a snail-like .6 miles per hour. Formerly known as the Millennium Wheel, the architectural wonder rotated continuously, affording riders one of a kind aerial views of, among others, Buckingham Palace, the Houses of Parliament, Battersea Power Station, and the countryside beyond. At the moment, Laure and Sinjin were being treated to the awe-inspiring sight of a picture-perfect sunset as the sun sank over the Thames. When they weren’t posing for pictures with dignitaries who wanted face time with a celebrity.

  Sinjin looked at the gathered executives. “How much longer do we have to play nice?”

  Laure discreetly consulted the sleek designer watch on her wrist. Barely fifteen minutes had passed since the doors had closed and The Eye had been set in slow motion. “You don’t want to know.” She touched her glass to Sinjin’s. “Welcome to the third round.”

  “I would say the same, but you have some work to do.”

  In her next match, Laure would square off against Anaïs Chouinard, a former Wimbledon finalist whose game—and ranking—had seen better days. “I’m not going to break our date. Are you?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  Sinjin sounded confident, but she looked as if she were in over her head. Laure knew the feeling. She was in uncharted territory, too. She was falling for another player. And she was falling hard.

  “How is it you wine experts are able to tell what’s what about a vintage simply by tasting it?” Sinjin asked.

  “Patience, practice, and a strong liver.”

  “No, really. I want to know.”

  Laure was pleasantly surprised by Sinjin’s desire to become informed on a subject about which she was so passionate. Sinjin usually dismissed her other passions—antiques, history, and art—as boring.

  “There are five things to look for. The first is color.”

  She closed her fingers around Sinjin’s. Sinjin’s warm skin provided a sharp contrast to the chilled glass. Laure’s own skin prickled from the heat.

  She raised the champagne flute and tipped it toward Sinjin.

  “Tilting the glass at an angle lets you see the colors, which can give you clues to the variety of grape the vintner used.” She raised the glass to eye level and examined the bubbling champagne. “This test works best on a medium- or full-bodied red like a Syrah or a cabernet instead of champagne, but we’ll make do.”

  She loosened her grip on Sinjin’s fingers but didn’t release them. She was enjoying the contact to
o much to sever the connection. She raised the glass higher.

  “The second stage is swirl. Swirling the wine exposes it to more oxygen and releases the aromatic molecules that make up its bouquet. We’ll skip this step because champagne is a sparkling wine. Swirling would release more bubbles and ruin the bouquet.”

  “Aromatic molecules, huh? If all my teachers looked like you, Professor Fortescue, I would have paid more attention in school.”

  Laure moved her hand to Sinjin’s wrist. She stroked the sensitive area on the underside. She could feel Sinjin’s pulse racing. Or was that hers?

  A camera flashed nearby, but she didn’t pull away. The dangerous game of cat and mouse she and Sinjin were playing was completely out of character for her—and utterly liberating.

  “A wine’s nose determines the drinker’s perception of its flavor. Once you taste it—once you take it into your mouth—the aromatics are exposed to body heat and burst against your tongue.”

  Sinjin’s breath caught. Her eyes widened ever so slightly. “Are we still talking about wine?”

  Laure raised the glass to Sinjin’s lips. “Take a sip. Taste the flavors. Let the champagne flow over your tongue. Let it saturate your taste buds. Feel the weight of it. Feel its length.”

  Sinjin nearly choked on her drink. “Damn,” she said, wiping her chin, “I think I just came.”

  Laure dipped a finger into Sinjin’s glass. Sinjin watched her intently as she raised the finger to her lips and slowly licked the tip. “How was the finish?”

  “I’m craving a cigarette and I don’t even smoke. Does that tell you anything?”

  “Then I won’t ask you about the afterglow. I mean aftertaste.” Laure let the champagne infuse her senses. “I’m getting notes of citrus, vanilla, honey, and toast.” She paused. “Pommery Brut Royal. Ten years old. No, eleven.”

  Sinjin looked astonished. “You barely tasted it. How the hell did you know that?”

  Laure grinned. “I read the label while the bartender poured your glass.”

  “Unfair. Patently unfair.” Sinjin took another sip of her champagne. “I had no idea wine tasting could be so sexy. Or maybe it’s just you.”

  Laure rolled her eyes. “Are all your lines this bad?”

  “No, I have some that are even worse.”

  “I can’t wait to hear them.”

  “If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me? Or how about this one? You must be tired because you’ve been running through my mind all night.”

  As she listened to Sinjin recite one wretched pick-up line after another, Laure sipped her Perrier and gave her the once-over. Not for the first time. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep her eyes off her. Sinjin’s long hair was swept up and pinned into a loose bun. Two dreads, which had been allowed to remain free, framed her face. And what a face it was. Her makeup was subtle but stunning. Her lips were painted an enticing shade of plum. Blush a few shades darker than her cinnamon-colored skin made her high cheekbones look even higher. Black tuxedo pants showed off her long legs. A sequined black halter-style blouse drew attention to her strong arms.

  “You look incredible tonight. More of Stephanie’s line?”

  “I said she had some great looks planned for me.”

  “When her designs make it to the stores, they won’t be on the shelves for long.”

  “I’ll tell her you said so. I love you in that dress. Though I can’t figure out which view I like best. The front or the back.” She took Laure’s hand and spun her in a circle as if they were partners in a ballroom dancing contest.

  Laure was wearing a basic black dress that didn’t look so basic when she turned around and revealed the deeply plunging back. Gabrielle had picked it out. The dress wasn’t really Laure’s style—she would have preferred jeans and a T-shirt—but she liked the dress a little more each time someone said, “Picture, please,” and Sinjin’s hand brushed across her bare skin before settling into the small of her back.

  Sinjin rubbed her neck as if it ached. Earlier that day, she had mentioned feeling stiff and sore after falling asleep on Stephanie’s couch. Had her post-match rubdown not been enough to work out the kinks?

  “Here. Let me.” She placed their empty glasses on a passing waiter’s tray. Then she reached up and massaged the back of Sinjin’s neck, feeling the tension melt away beneath her fingers. Sinjin’s tight body thrummed with energy. Like a bullet waiting to be fired or a thoroughbred yearning to run free. Sinjin groaned when Laure’s thumbs dug into the bunched muscles in her shoulders. Then Laure felt Sinjin’s energy change. She felt it find focus.

  Sinjin turned around. “If you don’t stop that, I’m going to make a public spectacle out of you. Although you would enjoy it immensely at the time, you might kill me later.”

  Laure played innocent. “What could you possibly do to me while we’re suspended one hundred thirty-five meters in the air?”

  Sinjin reached for her. For a moment, Laure thought she meant to pull her into her arms. To grab a handful of her hair and hold her in place. To lean down and press her mouth to hers. Instead, she turned her around and pretended to repair a broken clasp on the strand of pearls around her neck.

  “First, I’d do this.”

  She ran her fingers through the downy-soft hairs on the nape of Laure’s neck. The sensation was electric. Laure pressed her lips together to keep from crying out.

  “Then I’d do this.” She slid one hand from the nape of Laure’s neck to the base of her spine.

  Laure felt her control begin to slip.

  “Then I’d replace my fingers with my tongue.”

  Laure tried to turn around, but Sinjin held her in place. She brought her mouth close to Laure’s ear.

  “I want to feel your body arch underneath mine. I want to move with you. Against you. I want to hear you scream my name again and again, then beg for more. We could do that here or we could go back to your place. What do you say?”

  Laure rubbed the back of her neck to make the tingling stop. She could still feel Sinjin’s breath blowing whisper-soft against her skin. “I say we need to revisit this conversation at a later date.”

  “After you’re retired and we’re no longer in direct competition? That’s six months from now.”

  “Good things come to those who wait.”

  *

  Laure fired a ball against the back of the court. She had twice as many errors as winners in a match that wasn’t as close as the score indicated. She had just lost her serve to go down a break in the second set. She had already lost the first set 6-4. If Anaïs had taken advantage of even half the opportunities she had given her, the match would already be over.

  The crowd, sensing an upset, began to buzz. Was Laure about to become the highest women’s seed to fall?

  She stared at the scoreboard as she waited for the chair umpire to call time. She was down a set and 3-2. If she didn’t get her act together soon, her dream of a second Wimbledon title would come to a premature end.

  She jogged to the baseline as Anaïs prepared to serve to extend her lead. The crowd roared when Laure won the first point. She clenched her fist and glanced at her supporters in the Friends Box. “Let’s go,” Nicolas and Gabrielle yelled in unison. Next to them sat her parents, Henri and Mathilde. Unlike most tennis parents, who were omnipresent during tournaments, her mother and father normally attended championship matches only. Aware this was her last time playing Wimbledon, they had come to England early, arriving via Chunnel that afternoon.

  Drawing energy from the crowd and strength from her parents’ presence, Laure tried to claw her way back into the match. She wasted two break points, though, and Anaïs held serve. Anaïs was two games from the match. And Laure was two games from going home.

  *

  Sinjin stepped on the balcony outside Centre Court. The area was called the Crow’s Nest, but the only birds who flocked there were vultures—agents trying to make deals and players watching their rivals st
ruggle on the courts that sat a few feet below.

  She elbowed her way between a player scouting his next opponent and an agent working his cell phone to claim a place near the railing. She would have to support Laure from a distance. Court Five was packed. Not a seat to be had. She looked at the hand-operated scoreboard. Anaïs was up 6-4, 5-4. When the changeover ended, she would serve for the match.

  “Come on. You can do this.”

  She didn’t know she had said the words out loud until Viktoriya sidled up to her side and said, “Are you rooting for Laure to win or lose? Neither she nor Anaïs are in your side of the draw and neither one has a chance in hell of beating me, so what does it matter to you, anyway? Besides, if Laure lost, she’d do us both a favor. She’d be out of my hair as well as yours. You wouldn’t have to wring your hands over the prospect of playing her in a final neither of you is going to reach. So be honest. Aren’t you rooting for Anaïs just a little bit?”

  Sinjin hated to admit it, but there was an element of truth in what Viktoriya was saying. If Laure lost, she wouldn’t have to worry about competing against her if they reached the championship match. With Laure out of the tournament, she would have one less player to worry about. But she didn’t want to see Laure hurt. A loss this early would devastate her whether it was her last Wimbledon or her first.

  Sinjin faced Viktoriya for the second time in as many days. “What I said yesterday still stands.”

  Viktoriya smirked, her ice blue eyes dancing with merriment. She didn’t look like a woman in danger of losing her number one ranking. She looked like her old self. “I’m not afraid of you, Sinjin. You may talk a big game, but I know you’re a pussycat underneath it all.” She leaned forward until her lips were inches from Sinjin’s ear. “I saw the way you looked at me in the players’ lounge yesterday,” she said in Russian. “You still want me. Let me make you purr, pussy.”