by M. B. Gerard
Eastbourne, Great Britain
Mint Rickenbacher looked back at the white houses which lined the Grand Parade of the Eastbourne seaside. She and Chili had taken a walk out on the pier, and had settled down in a coffee shop to catch up as they hadn’t seen each other since the first week of Roland Garros in Paris. Chili shrugged, then nodded slowly.
“Good start for you Americans,” Chili said sticking her nose in the sea breeze. Mint had won her match earlier that day as had the Galloways.
“They like the grass. My bet for a nice run in Wimbledon would be on Gabriella though. She is doing great. Actually, she had a very good run in Paris.” Gaga had reached the quarterfinal.
“Yes,” Chili sighed. “Both are doing fine. Luella lost against Sasha in Paris. Could be worse. Yet they are far from being Top 10 material, if you ask me. The constant changing of their coach is ridiculous. It doesn’t make sense at all!”
Mint nodded. The way they hired a new coach several times a year was curious and rare. Tennis players usually stuck with the same team for at least one season in order to build the necessary trust that was needed between a player and a coach. But not the Galloway sisters. Instead, they almost got someone new for each surface.
“They barely have time to get used to one another,” Cecilia continued. “Why would you change your coach that often especially when everything is going well?”
“Yes, I know.” Mint shrugged. She wasn’t extremely close to Lulu and Gaga in spite of being American as well, yet who was close to them anyway? “But maybe that’s their secret.”
“Oh, come on,” Chili teased. “You must know something! These are your compatriots.”
“So? I don’t know anything about them. They keep to themselves most of the time.”
Miffed about Mint’s gruff answer Chili looked out onto the sea. “Like you.”
“What?” Mint shook her head. “You are the one who’s been hanging with all the Spanish girls lately.”
Before the two girls could begin a dispute about each other’s disloyalty, peppered with Spanish swear words by Chili, the familiar face of Natsumi Takashima peeped into the coffee house. Chili grinned. The older player had become a confidant they could ask for help and advice. Most of all, however, they asked her for new Tennis Nurse novels. The bulky purse on Natsumi’s shoulder looked promising.
***
“Aren’t you excited? I’m so excited!”
The loud exclaim put an abrupt stop to Sasha’s contemplation of the English coastal landscape. The Czech player turned around and put a fake and – she was afraid – very forced smile on her lips while nodding at Morgana.
“Oh, I can barely wait.” Sasha’s remark lacked enthusiasm but as usual, the French player was head over heels for what she called ‘the ultimate Tennis Nurse mission’ and didn’t notice the Czech’s annoyed face. Turning back towards the window of the bus, the tall brunette tried to block out Morgana’s ramblings but the view from the road overlooking the sea wasn’t exactly spectacular.
“Have you ever been to Brighton before? I haven’t. I’m so glad to have an opportunity to leave Eastbourne for a couple of hours and maybe find out who the writer of Tennis Nurse is!”
Sasha shook her head at her own stupidity. Why had she told Morgana about the address? Sasha could have at least waited until Wimbledon to reveal the old distribution address of the Tennis Nurse novels. After the French Open she had paid a brief visit to her family in Prague and had found the address written down on a little piece of paper which was buried in one of her old racquet bags. This morning before their matches she had approached Morgana in the players’ lounge and had slipped the French woman the little paper sheet under the table. Morgana’s excitement had been overwhelming. But when Morgana had taken out her notebook and checked an online map for the fastest public transportation from Eastbourne to Brighton, Sasha first thought that she had missed a French joke. They were in the middle of a tournament!
“I will most definitely not go to Brighton,” Sasha had hissed over the table. “This is insane. We both have matches soon, and I want to spend at least the afternoon recovering. I need to be ready for tomorrow.”
But Morgana only smiled.
“Yes, of course, but we would have so much time to talk about the twins. There is something I have found out, but it’s too complicated to tell you here in the players’ café.”
Of course, Sasha had given in and there she was now. Stuck on an old bus with Morgana, on the road to Brighton when she could have stayed at her hotel getting a much needed massage or reading the novel she had just started.
“What if we don’t find anything? What if the address is just the one of a publishing house or something and at the end, we don’t learn anything new? We should have called first.”
“But I told you about it a thousand times already. I couldn’t find any phone number which only highlights the fact that someone is hiding something and it could definitely be the author herself. Boy, can you imagine if we found out about it? Trés magnifique!”
“Sure, that would be fantastic,” Sasha replied slowly. “Now tell me a bit more about Lulu and Gaga. I mean, we still have some time before making it to Brighton so why wouldn’t you take advantage of it and tell me what you know?”
She was dying to hear what Morgana had found out about the twins, even though she hated to admit it. But Morgana smiled brightly and shook her head.
“I will tell you about it later,” Morgana said smugly. “When we stop for a drink.”
Morgana was a tough one. In the end Morgana would probably tell her that Luella was hot for Sasha. As if the Czech hadn’t guessed already after that awkward encounter with Lulu in the French Open locker room. Frustrated Sasha turned back towards the window and nestled down in her seat, watching the British coastline speeding by.
***
They could have been lying there for hours, smiling like Cheshire cats and yet not saying one word because they didn’t have any and there was no need for words anyway.
Amanda was sitting on her bed, her notebook placed on her lap and watching Elise, who looked back at her from the screen. Paris seemed far behind. Too far. Yet, she remembered it all as if it had only happened a few hours earlier. The scare she had gotten, after Elise seemed injured, the moment in the infirmary, and, of course, the hours they had spent kissing in the street. And then the very next day. It had been the first whole day they had spent together, away from any tennis courts and moreover, spend away from their team and Elise’s parents. The view of Paris from the boat was great, but they were constantly surrounded by tourists. Finally they decided to get off the boat and go back along the Seine by renting a bike. It had been a wonderful and unforgettable day.
But the grass season had approached without mercy and while she had gone over to Britain to play Eastbourne, Elise had stayed on the continent to play the smaller grass tournament at ‘s-Hertogenbosch. Having very different tournament schedules due to their rankings, it was hard to keep in touch all the time. When back at their hotels at night, they could finally meet each other in video calls and they would talk endlessly till late at night. It was their only time together and they thought about it all day long.
“Ivana Katina next?”
Amanda wondered about Elise’s prospects against the Russian player. “She is a good player but your game doesn’t suit her. If you can get her on the move and to the net you should be fine. I am looking forward to hearing about your win. I say, Elise Renard in straight sets.”
Amanda’s encouraging words made Elise smile brightly. God, did Amanda love this smile. It lit up Elise’s features and Amanda thought, that one day she would die on the spot because of that look in Elise’s eyes. On the other hand, if that girl ever stopped looking at her like that she’d probably die, too. Repressing a yawn, Elise blushed slightly.
“Thank you,” she said. “I am sure that you will do fine, too. You always do.”
Amanda felt that there was something el
se she wanted to say, but Elise seemed to hesitate. She could be very shy, which only made Amanda even more timid herself especially in front of a webcam.
“I miss you,” Elise said finally. Amanda swallowed hard. Why did they have to be so far from each other? With Elise still ranked in the Top 80, they had no idea when they would see each other again. Sure, Wimbledon was coming up but Elise wasn’t certain that she would make the main draw. If she didn’t qualify they only had three or four days together in the beginning of the Grand Slam.
“I miss you, too.” Amanda was glad that Elise had said it first and she only had to repeat it. She wasn’t good at all at expressing her feelings. She felt it sounded corny coming out of her mouth, if she said it first. Elise repressed another yawn, which made Amanda smile. It was late and playing matches every day had finally taken a toll.
“We should go to sleep, Elise.”
“No, I’m fine!”
Amanda had to laugh. Of course, Elise was tired but she didn’t mind. It was all about being with Amanda, and their evenings in front of their laptops was the only way to be close to each other. Settling further on the comfortable pillows of her bed, Elise kept on smiling at Amanda. She looked a bit feeble-minded but Amanda couldn’t have cared less. It made her love that girl even more as that foolish grin was all she needed. She probably didn’t look any better herself.
All of a sudden, Amanda remembered something. She sat up on her own bed.
“Wait, I need to show you something that a fan gave me today. I’m sure you will love it.”
Putting down her laptop on the bed, Amanda got up and headed straight to the table on the other end of her hotel room. Where did she put it? She rummaged through her belongings which were scattered all across the room. While searching she wondered, if Elise was a neat person. She was German, after all.
“Just a second,” she shouted to the computer on her bed.
Finally, she found what she was looking for. Between a half-empty bottle of water and various packs of overgrips was a tennis-dressed Paddington Bear with the same kind of sun glasses Amanda wore herself. An unusual present, yet a funny one. With a joyful leap Amanda jumped back onto her bed, lifting the bear to the camera.
“Look!”
She waved the bear in front of the webcam.
“If you like, I can send it over to ‘s-Hertogenbosch by express delivery and you won’t have to sleep alone.”
She waited for Elise’s reaction but the girl on the other side didn’t move. Taking the bear down, Amanda saw that Elise’s head was placed on her right arm and she was facing the camera but her eyes were closed.
“Elise?” Amanda asked softly. “Are you sleeping?”
Elise didn’t answer. She had fallen asleep in front of the computer. Putting the bear away, Amanda slipped under the sheets, looked fondly at the relaxed face and listened to the slow breathing on the other side of a fiber optic cable. She wondered when she would actually see that in reality – Elise sleeping next to her.
Thinking about what the future might bring for them, Amanda watched the dreaming girl until Elise’s computer went into stand-by mode and the screen went black.
***
“Has someone ever tried the sausages and mash?” Agnes studied the menu that the pub hostess had given her a few minutes earlier. “British food. What a dilemma!” the French player mumbled, still waiting for an answer from the three other people at her table. After the long and exhausting day, Agnes, Candice, Martina and Antonia had decided to go out to have some traditional British food. They sat inside a cozy pub, safe from the wind and the rain that swept the streets of Eastbourne.
“The fish and chips are good though.” Martina was the first one to give her an answer, Agnes and Antonia simply shrugging their heads in silence. All of them still stared non-plussed at the menu.
“Fish and chips. It’s the only thing I eat when I’m here,” Candice said. “In regard to my hips it’s perhaps not that bad that the grass season is so short.”
“Be daring and have the mash,” her girlfriend Agnes suggested. “Unless you want this deep-fried thing with sauce the guy’s having at the table behind you.”
Candice turned around, following Agnes’s motioning and couldn’t help making a face. The pile of food on the other customer’s plate looked unidentifiable and very greasy. No wonder the empire had crumbled.
“I’m smitten with Britain,” she said with a grin. Agnes laughed at her lover while putting down her menu. They both loved the British season, especially the upcoming championships in Wimbledon. The traditions of the All England Lawn and Croquet Club, the ivy on the brick buildings and the calm atmosphere made the two weeks in Wimbledon special. It was just one event of many in a long year but it was unique.
“I wish we could go back to more grass tournaments. If only for health reasons. The grass season is just too short. Another tournament would be fantastic, in my opinion.”
Antonia sipped on her glass of water and nodded. Squeezed in between the clay and the U.S. hard court season, their time on grass barely lasted a few weeks.
“Any predictions for this year?” Martina asked. “I think Morgana might have a good chance. She loves the grass. And did you see her today? Great ball-striking. Sasha might be a contender, too.”
“You guys could do well in Wimby this year, no?” Antonia mentioned to Agnes. “And by the way, where is Monica?”
Antonia’s question was fair enough. It was strange to not see Monica around. She rarely missed their evenings at the pub and her comments on the British cuisine were hilarious.
“Apparently she went to Brighton,” Agnes explained the absence of her doubles partner. “She left early in the afternoon.”
“Brighton? What for?” asked Candice, obviously surprised.
Agnes shrugged, a bit disarmed. “I don’t know. It seems she has a friend there. Well, that’s what she told me.”
“A friend? Now, that’s news. She never said that she knew some people in Brighton.” Martina raised a suspicious eyebrow, then picked up a dry piece of bread from a small plate placed on the center of the table.
“Probably not tennis related,” Agnes added. “She remained vague about it when I asked her today. So I didn’t insist.”
Agathe’s remark made Candice choke on her beer.
“What? You didn’t insist?” Candice was clearly amused. “Since when do you hold yourself back simply because people don’t seem eager to tell you? Now, that’s news.”
Smiling at her lover’s allusion, Agnes cleared her voice, then looked at Martina and Antonia.
“Let’s talk about tennis for a change. I predict a surprise at Wimbledon.”
***
Being back home had finally brought some peace of mind. At least that’s what it felt like, Tom thought. He hadn’t been back in England for half a year now. His life had just taken off with his assignment to work for the WTA and he had not even had time to think about it. But now, sitting at his desk in the quiet of his hotel room in the heart of Eastbourne, it seemed like the right step. The sea breeze he smelled when walking through the town reminded him of holidays and that’s how he felt right now. He was on holidays in his own country.
Writing little pieces for the WTA website, shooting pictures and producing short video clips with the players had given him the opportunity to get to know them quite well. Most of them were good-natured, easy-going girls who had accepted him quickly into their circle, enjoying his jokes while acknowledging his professional approach and the distance he kept from the players. He wondered, if some already had figured out that he was more interested in a certain male player than all the good-looking tennis girls surrounding him. No, he shook his head. Ted and he had been extremely careful of late. Ted had even persuaded Felicia, his fake girlfriend, to dump Amanda Auster. Not that he needed to push her too hard. Tom had the feeling that Felicia was enjoying the way she was playing with people. She couldn’t have cared less about Amanda’s feelings, which obvious
ly had been true. The encounter between Felicia and Amanda in the Roman gay bar was telling enough regarding how much the break-up had hurt the Australian player. The next day she had lost her match.
Tom only had had two or three assignments with the friendly player so far but he liked her. He felt bad for her results on the court that seemed to have resulted from the private ups and downs she had had to go through in the past month. Her early exit at the French Open was only one of the low points in the first half of the year.
He wondered how much it affected the players to keep silent about their private lives, to watch out for cameras when with their girlfriends, to hold back displays of affection in public places. He knew for himself, how difficult it could be. Sometimes he just wanted to grab Ted Curry and place a kiss on his lips, but he couldn’t. He would never be able to do that, because Ted would never come out publicly. None of the guys would.
The thought made him angry. He stopped midway and looked at the sheet of paper he had scribbled on. Something had to be done. It could not stay like this, he thought. If it was hard for him to endure the secretiveness how hard must it be for players who were constantly followed by the press and watched by millions? Sure, not everyone was the focus of media attention. Through Ted, he had met a few gay players who were ranked beyond the Top 50 and nobody seemed to care about them and their private lives. But from the Top 20 upwards it became extremely difficult to shield one’s love life. He wondered if it would actually be easier to come out and stop with the clandestine dealings. It would be hard in the beginning, but could only free them from the burden of being on the look-out for unwanted eyes or questions.
Slowly he picked up the pen again and continued writing the list he had begun.
