by M. B. Gerard
Going once again through the incidents she had witnessed with the twins, Sasha thought about the moment when she was hiding in the toilet booth. Outside at the basins one of the Galloways had talked to Elise Renard about the Tennis Nurse novels. At first she was convinced that it had been Gaga but then Sasha had reassessed her conclusion based on Gaga’s obvious ignorance of the novel series. Or had that been Luella? It would make sense that it had been Luella being impolite and loud-mouthed after a lost match. And yet, nothing made sense in this mystery. The only thing Sasha knew was that the twins switched matches, that one of them read Tennis Nurse and that Luella was having an affair with the fitness trainer, if Morgana was right. However, this didn’t disqualify her from reading the novels and hitting on other women. Perhaps Luella was a bisexual nymphomaniac. Or perhaps Gabriella was? Sasha let out a frustrated and loud groan. The more she got absorbed into the Galloway mystery the more she was unable to solve it. These twins were just killing her. She gave her racquet bag a hard kick when all of a sudden the door opened and Amanda Auster stepped in.
Sasha got up immediately and steadied herself. She needed to hurry and get ready for her press conference. She said hello to Amanda noticing that the redhead seemed completely absentminded. The Australian was due on court next, playing her third round against Ivana Katina and she was nervously fiddling with a blue bracelet while taking off her street shoes. Sasha took her towel and quickly headed to the shower.
Paris, France
“We don’t have to meet tonight. We can meet another time,” Elise said into her phone, knowing very well that there might not be time at all, at least not here in Paris.
It was only twenty minutes after Amanda had finished her press conference for her third round match. She had lost to Ivana Katina in three tough sets. For last year’s finalist this was a devastating and embarrassing result. Amanda wouldn’t feel like having a nice evening with her, Elise had figured. Amanda probably would like to be alone or with her team to process the loss.
“Yes, another time maybe,” Amanda answered meekly.
It was the answer Elise had expected. She normally liked to have some time to herself after a bad result. However, she secretly had hoped for a different answer. She sure would have done everything possible to cheer Amanda up.
“That’s ok. I understand that.” She tried not to sound too disappointed.
“Thank you, Elise. I’ll call you, ok?”
“Of course,” Elise answered. She guessed that Amanda had probably booked her hotel for a week at least. It might be possible that she would be around for another two or three days. If Elise could win her next match, she herself would have to stay for at least another two days and there was perhaps a chance that they could have dinner at the end of the week before Amanda left Paris.
But would Amanda really call Elise? The young German doubted it. The dinner invitation seemed to have been Dan Metic’s idea anyway. Amanda’s coach probably just wanted to be polite after Amanda and Elise had played doubles together so successfully in Stuttgart. It had been a nice gesture and Elise had been happy to spend some time with Amanda. After their practice Elise had been so delighted about the invitation that she had given Amanda the little bracelet in the locker room wishing her luck for the third round and Amanda had in fact been wearing it during the match against Ivana. It had not brought her luck at all. Elise wondered if Amanda had taken it off already or even thrown it away.
“Just give me a call whenever you feel like it,” Elise said. She just knew Amanda wouldn’t call.
“Yes, sure,” the Australian replied. “Good luck to you today.”
Elise felt the lump in her throat and swallowed hard. She herself had to play her third round match today. It wouldn’t be easy. She had to play Tamara Parova, a Top 10 player, she had played twice before but never beaten. Elise thanked Amanda and hung up. She sat in the buzzing players’ lounge checking on the court where she was due to play. The ongoing match was still in the first set. She’d probably had to wait another hour or two. A lot of time to think about Amanda, she realized and sighed.
***
Tamara looked up to her box into the stern faces watching her. Again she had been broken by the young German opponent. German-French she should say. The loud support Elise Renard was receiving from the crowd had helped her overcome the abysmal performance she had put on display in the first set. Buoyed by overwhelming applause Elise had fought back like a tigress and had clinched the second set 6-4 against Tamara.
Heading into the decider the young German had a good start as Tamara’s racquet string broke on a crucial point giving Elise an advantage and an important game. From then on the young girl on the other side of the net seemed to be on fire. She had already hit seven aces, each one cheered by her French supporters and Elise’s horrendous number of unforced errors she had hit in the first set now seemed a lifetime away. As if she was mocking Tamara now, she hit winner after winner, giving the Russian the runaround.
Tamara got up and walked over to the opposite baseline. It was a interesting mixture of agitation and anger Tamara sensed in her young opponent whenever they passed each other at the change of ends. Tamara figured that if she accidentally ran into the German Elise would probably punch her out of unspecified frustration but would still feel excited about the attention she’d received from the audience for it. Like a prizefighter, Tamara thought stepping up to the baseline to serve. But then she shook her head. There was no time to think about Elise’s personality. She was trailing 2-4 in the third set and she needed to hold. A loss in the third round of a Grand Slam would have been a bad result. Moreover, to someone ranked outside the Top 100. Elise Renard was a qualifier, Tamara thought grimply. Well, to be honest, she was playing like a Top 20 player now. At least Top 20, Tamara had to admit.
Besides that, Elise had grown up on clay, whereas Tamara had never liked the red surface. It was a remarkable comeback for the young player after she had been sidelined almost the entire summer in the previous season.
Tamara tucked the second ball under her skirt and got ready to serve. Nothing but a qualifier, she thought and tossed the ball up.
Her first serve went out wide but a deep second serve induced Elise to hit a forehand return long.
“15 – Love,” the chair umpire announced.
Tamara tossed the ball high into the air and sent a good shot down the T, but Elise’s return clipped the net cord and dropped dead for a winner. The French crowd cheered in unison for Elise.
In the next rally the German player forced Tamara to hit a short ball, and routinely dispatched it with an drive volley
15 – 30.
Suddenly Tamara was on the back foot again. Tamara needed to hold, she knew it, but the double fault she produced for 15 – 40 certainly did not help. In frustration she let out a loud wail. With a bang her racquet hit the clay, but she refrained from kicking it with her foot to avoid a warning by the umpire.
The Parisian crowd had begun to cheer for Elise again, some of the spectators booed Tamara’s outburst. The Russian breathed in deeply before picking up her racquet and turning around to accept new balls from the ball girl.
After her first service went wide, Tamara opted for a safe shot on her second service. It went into the service box but was punished by Elise with a pinpoint down-the-line winner right on the baseline. Still looking at the spot where the ball had hit the clay, Tamara could hear her opponent’s loud “C’mon” from the other side of the court.
Elise would serve for the match.
***
“There is no question that Renard has the game to get back to the top,” Samantha Watts said into her microphone while looking down upon the court. “She has the big serve that helps her set up easy winners but also terrific variation on that serve. She can shorten up the power and find angles in the service box.”
“She really has all the serves in the bag,” Hugh Andrews agreed. “It makes it very tough for the returner to know which one to co
ver, and how fast it’s going to come at them.”
“On the other hand she has great touch throwing in nifty drop shots after she has opened the front of the court with her big ground strokes. Starting with the second set she really worked herself into this match and now has the upper hand.”
“I’m certain Parova would have been able to impose her Top 10 status if she stayed tight to Renard,” Hugh said into the microphone. “But this is a very comfortable lead for the young German, and even if she gets nervous she has two attempts to serve it out, and her service games have been almost flawless in the third set.”
Sam nodded. “Tamara must pick up her game or this could be over in a few minutes.”
With amazement they both had watched the German player go up 5-2 in the third set. Since her knee injury Elise Renard had struggled to string together more than two or three wins. The Australian summer had not been very successful for the friendly player. However, only a week ago Sam, Hugh and Paola had discussed the good performance of Elise Renard in Stuttgart. All of the German girls were doing great, most of all Carina Gnocchi, the world No. 1 with Italian roots and Angela Porovski, the second best player in the German team. With Stephanie Moeller and a regaining Elise Renard the German team had good chances to win the Fed Cup team competition in the following years. Watching Elise Renard come back so strong in her first Grand Slam main draw of this season was exciting.
Walking to the baseline the German girl was cheered on by a loud and ongoing applause from the Parisian crowd.
“This would be a great upset and definitely could give this year’s French Open a new twist. Renard has the chance to go really deep in this tournament and she’s on track to become the crowd favorite.”
Sam agreed. The young player had shown the ability to capture the hearts of the otherwise often rude French audience. Even though she trained in Florida and Germany and was playing for the German Fed Cup team, it felt as if Elise Renard was playing on home turf. She was embraced by the French audience much more than Morgana Doré, who was French and a Top 10 player after all.
Two brilliant serves gave Elise Renard a 30-0 lead in this important game. The next serve was deep into the corner but Tamara managed to get it back. After a few baseline shots Tamara hit a crosscourt forehand deep into the corner. Elise was running it down and was just about to hit the ball when all of a sudden her right knee buckled. For a second, Sam feared the young woman would fall to the ground but she only wobbled before stopping in her tracks and leaning heavily onto her racquet. The ball was gone and Tamara got ready again to receive another serve but Elise didn’t step to the baseline but instead carefully walked to her chair. A loud and terrified murmur ran through the stands. Everyone knew that the Elise had lost almost a whole season due to her knee injury.
“She calls a trainer,” Hugh commented with a stern voice.
“Hopefully it’s just a temporary fright,” Sam said into the microphone. “It would be a shame if she had to give up at this point.” But she feared the worst. What player would call a trainer being two points away from winning the match if it wasn’t serious?
After an injury time-out in which she received a short examination and was bandaged to support the knee, Elise got up and made a few steps. Apparently she had no problem walking. In unison the spectators let out a loud sigh of relief as play continued. But after another rally it became clear that the German was unable to make quick steps from one side to another. She refrained from going into the corners and Tamara, who had nothing to lose but sensed a chance to break the young player began to hit the balls closer and closer to the lines. Elise got broken on her serve.
“There’s obviously something wrong with her knee,” Sam said gravely. Even the crowd had gone silent in the last game. For the next twenty minutes the French audience had not much to cheer for. Tamara had picked up her game as well as her hopes to turn the match around and rigorously went for the lines.
In the end it was Tamara who won the third set 6-4, winning five games in a row and therefore the match.
“It’s really sad for Renard, who had worked so hard to get up two breaks in the third set,” Hugh said watching the players shake hands on the court. Elise went to her chair and sat down burying her head in the towel. She was crying.
“Let’s just hope that it’s nothing serious and can be sorted out quickly.”
***
Even though their little secret pact seemed to be going smoothly, there was one moment when Luella thought that perhaps she should have played by the rules – when Gabriella lost while pretending to be her on court.
A strong sentiment of injustice spread over her. This was not some piddling, little tournament. This was the French Open and Gabriella had screwed up during a Grand Slam while everyone thought that it was actually her, Luella, who had lost. There was nothing she could do about it. She had to accept the fact that Roland Garros was over for her this year. The only good thing was the fact that this was Paris, the shopping capital par excellence.
Looking at herself in the mirror of the fitting room, Lulu pouted. The knee-length skirt suited her even though she was soon heading to England where an umbrella probably came in more handy than summer clothing. But why not go on a shopping spree? It was a harmless little pleasure that felt justifiable now that Gabriella had lost Lulu’s match. Other players indulged in chocolate, cake and whipped cream after a bad loss. Her perfect hips had to be grateful that she preferred bags and dresses. Putting her own clothes back on, she grabbed the skirt and quickly stepped out of the fitting room. 200 € was a bargain dutifully compensating for a Grand Slam defeat.
As she left the fitting room, her eyes caught a figure quickly disappearing behind a mannequin. Only the straw hat and a glimpse of large sunglasses were visible. Luella rolled her eyes. Sasha was following her again. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Not this time as she hadn’t gone to Les Champs Elysées like most of the players did but to La rue de Rivoli in the 4th arrondissement. The chances that she would find herself in the same store as Sasha were virtually nonexistent. However, the Czech was there, now pretending to look at jerseys. Why couldn’t she stop following Lulu and instead make believe a little more with her boyfriend? The Galloway knew the answer. Lulu was awesome and hot, and even though she wasn’t into girls at all, it flattered her that Sasha might have a crush on her. But the constant stalking was becoming slightly annoying to say the least.
Holding back a sigh, Lulu turned her head only to notice someone else she knew. One of the photographers who were working for the WTA website was standing outside in the street, a camera in hand. His eyes were staring intently at Sasha. Now he was aiming the camera through the shop window. Luella quickly turned her head away pretending to go through some tops on a clothes rail. What exactly was going on here? Lulu bit her lower lip, trying to remember the guy’s name. Todd? Tim? Tom! It was Tom! Obviously he was on a secret mission and to Luella’s amusement he was failing to be invisible just as much as the Czech player he followed.
“C’est pour un cadeau?”
Not understanding a single word of what the salesgirl had told her, Lulu shook her head and handed her the skirt she intended to buy. Sasha was about to leave the store. Where was she going now? To hide behind a streetlamp? Luella paid and grabbed her bag.
Sasha had positioned herself on the other side of the road, boiously waiting for Lulu to leave the store. Hiding behind a tree was Tom, observing Sasha. This couldn’t possibly be an official job assignment, Luella thought. Strolling down the street she sensed that Sasha and Tom were walking behind her. She put on her sunglasses and walked faster. If she was actually part of an absurd scenario where she was followed by a mad woman who was herself followed by a guy who clandestinely took photos of her, Lulu figured she could at least have a bit fun with them. With a big grin she headed for the Châtelet Metro station and took the next train to the red light district of Pigalle.
***
Where the hell could she get flowers no
w? She had never needed a flower bouquet before so Amanda had no idea if there even was a flower shop on the Roland Garros site. She was pretty sure there was none. So she made her way to the reception desk for players’ services.
“Can you get me a flower bouquet?”
The young woman behind the desk looked up discombobulated. Granted, Amanda usually asked for dinner reservations or room service chocolate or massage appointments or a private cab. Not flowers. After a short moment, however, the girl gave her a huge smile.
“Sure, any specific flowers or color combinations?”
Amanda hadn’t thought about that. The only flowers she could name were roses. But roses were a bit too much, she thought.
“No, just a simple bouquet,” she told the young woman. “But I need it as soon as possible.”
The young woman hesitated but then suddenly turned away and ducked down behind her desk. Within seconds she popped up again holding a spray of yellow flowers in hand.
“Something like this?” She held out her hand and lowered her voice. “It’s a left-over from Yelena Kovalenko’s ex- boyfriend. She apparently dumped him this morning when he showed up after partying the whole night. She didn’t want the bouquet.”
Amanda looked at the flowers. Should she take a used bouquet? But then she concluded that this was probably her best chance to get flowers. She nodded.
“Yes, the bouquet looks lovely. Just put it on my bill!”
“Oh, but it’s free. He just left it here. But if you like,” she said with a smile, “you can give me a recommendation. I just started working here in Roland Garros but I would love to work on the tour. My name is Alice.”
