by M. B. Gerard
“I think I will stick to monogamy,” Stephanie broke the silence. Her revelation had the promised effect. The girls looked up in wonder. “You know, for a try. Dating two guys at the same time is awfully exhausting.”
It should do the trick, Stephanie thought. Not that she really intended to stop seeing her two favorite ATP players. At least her remark got a reaction from Angela who, unconvinced, burst out laughing.
“Have you lost your mind? How can you say good-bye to your two eye-candies?” Antonia laughed. Everyone was relieved Stephanie had given the conversation a turn.
“What about you, Angela? You’ve spent quite some time with your Latin cutie, lately,” Carina chirped, unaware of the maneuver that had been necessary due to her. “I mean, that’s what I hear.”
Angela made a face and snorted. “Rumors, rumors.”
As Antonia and Carina engaged in a mocking conversation about the advantages and disadvantages of dating fellow ATP players, Stephanie looked at Elise. Whenever all four of them met Elise would keep quiet about her relationship with Amanda, while the other girls would talk openly about their adventures or misfortunes with boys. If it wasn’t for Carina they could have openly talked about all their relationships. Moreover, Elise and Stephanie’s relationships had a few things in common. Neither of them saw their love interests that often and they had to keep their relationships a secret. Stephanie regretted even more that she had invited Carina for lunch. Stephanie gave Elise a little wink. They would find a better time to discuss secret love affairs. Elise grinned and finally joined in the conversation. She laughed, smiled and nodded when required, as if she had no story of her own to tell.
***
Paola checked her watch. She had arrived late and it had taken a while to get the camera ready, so there was time left but for only one or two question. She looked up at Gabriella Galloway, who sat on a lounge chair and smiled politely. She was much easier to work with than her twin, Paola found. The Galloway twins had had a reputation for being difficult and arrogant, but since the last interview the journalist had felt that this was only true of Lulu. Gaga seemed perfectly nice and affable.
The WTA, Supersport Channel and the twins’ sponsors had come up with the glorious idea to have a series of features with the sisters in which they would function as narrators and presenters for entertaining stories about the WTA tour.
Being unique as twins and yet being so different the producers expected a good show, with Lulu as a new Grand Slam champion and extroverted Top 10 player and Gaga as the little sister, who was fighting her way up to equaling her sister.
The show would start next season, and Paola’s assignment was to produce a nice teaser. Luella had given her a lot to work with already, but she needed some words from Gabriella as well.
“This is your last tournament of the season,” Paola stated. “Luella will play in Istanbul for the first time. Will you be there to support her?”
“Yes, of course. I will come with her and practice with her and during the matches I will cheer for her.”
Gabriella smiled. Paola sighed. She needed more controversy, more spite. Impossible with the nice twin.
“Is there no rivalry between you? You must be jealous of Luella’s big success in Wimbledon.”
Gaga paused. For a moment Paola thought she saw a glimpse of anger surfacing, but Gaga only shook her head.
“No, I’m really happy for her.” Gabriella nodded, as if to convince herself.
This was going nowhere. Paola told her cameraman to stop recording and with a little gesture let him know that his service was no longer needed. He began packing the camera away. Paola turned back to Gabriella who was just about to get up.
“You had a great season,” Paola remarked.
Gaga looked up in surprise. “Thank you,” she said with a smile.
“I guess, most people only see your sister’s accomplishments or will compare hers with your year, right?”
Gabriella nodded. Even though Lulu seemed to be in a post-Grand Slam slump she had nevertheless won a major and in the end that was all that mattered.
“I’m confident that I will win a Grand Slam one day,” Gabriella solemnly said.
Paola raised an eyebrow. She wished she hadn’t turned the camera off. But then again, she was sure Gaga wouldn’t have said it with the camera rolling.
“What will you do to get there? Any adjustments you have in mind?”
“Oh, for sure,” Gabriella smiled. “But it’s too early to say. I’m sure you will find out soon enough with the cameras following us around, right?” She had said it with a snicker.
“This is off the record, Gabriella,” Paola said with a grin. “You can’t leave me here wondering.”
Gabriella laughed. Paola was well-liked among the players and they knew they could trust her with delicate secrets.
“Nothing serious,” Gaga revealed with a smile. She stood up and was about to leave. But then she turned around again, her face stern. “I’m thinking of getting my own team. Coach, hitting partner, trainer. I will become more successful than Lulu. I will win more Grand Slams than her and I will become No. 1 in the world.”
Nothing serious? Flabbergasted, Paola watched the young player walk through the door. Gabriella had sounded dead serious.
***
“I’m starving. We should have gone out for lunch,” Antonia blurted out, rushing through the hallway of their hotel.
“How about room service?”
Reaching the door of their hotel room, Antonia turned around and looked at Martina only to face a familiar mischievous grin. The girls had just won their first round doubles match in Luxembourg. No big deal. But still a good reason for a celebration. A private celebration.
“Room service sounds promising,” Antonia answered.
She opened the door and abandoning her bag on the floor, went straight for the couch. Picking up the phone next to the sofa, she suddenly hesitated. Maybe they could have a bath before ordering food? There was nothing more relaxing, yet spicy as sharing a bath with Martina. She turned around to consult her lover. Martina was still standing in the doorway.
“I think I want to take a bath first. What do you say?”
Martina was holding a brown envelope, turning it around slowly. Absentmindedly, she nodded, then put her bag down on the floor.
“It was on the floor. You trampled over it like a big elephant,” Martina said a bit puzzled, then sat down on the couch.
Elephant? Antonia raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll run the water,” she said with a little snort, disappearing into the bathroom. Adjusting the faucets to find the perfect water temperature she could hear Martina mumble outside. Was she asking her something? The water was too loud.
“I can’t hear you!” Antonia yelled impatiently but with a smile as she could still hear Martina babbling. She hadn’t heard her either. Finally, Antonia stuck her head out of the bathroom. “What were you saying?”
“I said, someone must have slipped it under the door.”
Martina held a large print in her hands. She looked horrified. Antonia frowned.
“What’s going on, gioia?”
“That’s us.”
Martina held up the photo. Wiping her hands clean of foam, Antonia made a step forward and grabbed the picture. She froze immediately. “Cazzo!“
“Do you remember? That was in Melbourne!”
Antonia shook her head, then stared back at the picture she was still holding with shaky hands. “That’s nine months ago. Do you think – ?” Her voice was shaky, too.
Martina nodded. She obviously had the same thought. This looked like blackmail.
“Is there anything else in the envelope?” Antonia asked.
After a quick glance, Martina shook her head. “It’s empty.” She snatched the picture from Antonia’s hand again and turned it around. No message on it either. Casting a glance at her lover, she repressed a nervous laugh and frowned. They had heard blackmail stories in the p
ast, on tour, but had always assumed that they were only horror stories the girls like to tell in the dark and nothing else. Until now.
“Alright.” Martina put the picture down on the coffee table and kept on staring at it. An intimidating silence was now floating through the hotel room. Slowly Antonia sat down next to Martina and took her hand.
“Alright,” she also said. “Guess, we have to prepare for the worst.”
Martina nodded squeezing Antonia’s hand.
“I’m still hungry,” the Italian said. Martina smiled at her lover, but neither of them moved.
***
“You’re on a roll, kiddo,” Angela said with a grin. She was standing in the hotel room doorway and waving two bottles of soda.
“She was just a qualifier,” Elise shrugged but couldn’t help smiling. She really was on a roll and if she could make the quarterfinal here, she would be back in the Top 20.
“You double-bageled her.”
“She’ll get over it,” Elise grinned.
Angela whistled and sat down on the bedside. “I like your new attitude.”
She handed the soda to Elise who had settled down on a chair. Elise had changed so much over the summer that it made Angela smile to think of the timid girl she had visited in her hotel room in the spring and had asked her about boys and eventually about girls.
“How is Amanda?”
Elise smiled. She loved talking about the Australian and Angela was one of the few people she could talk to.
“Good. Preparing for Istanbul.”
“Will you accompany her?”
“Yes,” Elise answered.
She paused. A thought was circling in her mind. “I just have to be careful not to draw too much attention.”
“If you keep on playing like that, you’ll have a good excuse next year to be at the Year End Championships,” Angela said with a smile. Elise nodded, but not convinced. The way to the Top 8 was still long.
“We just have to keep a low profile,” she continued.
“Is it worrying you?” Angela looked at her friend who only shrugged and looked at her soda bottle.
“No.” But then Elise sat back and took a sip. “I’m ok with it. My parents know, that’s the most important thing. But I think there’s already a lot of talk about us, and it’s worrying Amanda.”
Amanda was older and she probably knew much better than Elise how the tour worked in these matters. Perhaps she had good reason to be worried.
“Yes, a couple of people know about you two.” Angela revealed. “Some players, staff. They talk about it.”
The confirmation didn’t cheer Elise up.
“Elise, would you ever consider making it public?”
Elise looked at her friend in surprise. “No,” she stammered. “That’s not possible.”
“Others have done it,” Angela remarked but regretted it almost immediately. Monica Jordan’s infamous coming-out was probably not very motivational for Elise. Looking at Elise’s face she realized that her friend was thinking about Monica as well but was surprised to see her suddenly laugh.
“I should order a red dress. Just in case I get to a Grand Slam final anytime soon and feel the need to declare my love for Amanda,” Elise said grinning.
Angela cracked up. The thought was so absurd that she almost fell off the bed laughing. It was even more absurd to believe that Monica had pulled such a stunt, she thought. Elise was right. It was not possible. Not anymore. Times had changed and a red dress on a Wimbledon Centre Court was only a childhood memory.
“It’s not a bad thing,” Elise mumbled through Angela’s laughter. Her friend leaned forward. Elise had said it so quietly, she wasn’t sure if it had been a question or a statement. “It’s a good thing to love someone.”
Angela smiled at her friend, but the graveness of Elise made her sad.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, it is.”
“I don’t want to make it public. I don’t want us to be the talk of the town. But I don’t want to lie about it either.”
Angela nodded. This sounded like a harder task than winning a Golden Slam.
***
Tom dreaded the thought that in only a few weeks the tennis season would be over. He dreaded the thought of going home for he had no clear concept anymore of where that was and why he should still call it “home”. He had given up his small apartment in Britain when he started to work for the tour and he didn’t feel like crashing on a friend’s sofa, even though he already had invitations to do so. The thought of moving back in with his parents seemed even more frightening. But he sure wanted to see them again. He knew they would love to see him for Christmas.
What had happened to his life? Sitting at his desk editing the video for the tournament site, Tom was lost in his thoughts. His life had come apart at the seams. Only a year ago he was an unknown photojournalist with a passion for tennis. Now he flew around the world and lived out of suitcases. He met new people every week. He loved this life, but in the last couple of weeks he had felt like he was losing his grip.
In the beginning he embraced the new exciting life that had evolved around his new job and the love affair with Ted Curry. There was no hesitation in forgetting about the dull existence he had led back home in Britain. He had invented a new life for himself, with a new task that had occupied him, even when Ted had dumped him in Wimbledon.
But he hadn’t written a word for his blog 30 Love since the U.S. Open. All his work, all the pictures were gone and he had lost all energy for keeping the good idea alive even though he still felt it was a good idea.
With the end of the season in mind he had begun to regularly call his parents and friends again after weeks and weeks of silence. Their delight over his calls had cheered him up, but he was still not sure whether to fly home to Britain or just stay in Bali, his last destination for the year until the new season started again in Australia.
His phone rang and checking the number he sighed. It was a British number, but not his parents’. Thank god he was in Europe. How often did people call him in the middle of the night because they didn’t know he was on the other side of the world?
He answered after the first ring, waiting for a reply. But there was only silence at the other end.
“Hello,” Tom said again into the phone. He waited for another second, then shrugged and hung up. There was work to be done and he had already lost too much time with idleness and racking his brain. With a resolute movement he put away his phone and faced the computer again. Gabriella Galloway, Elise Renard and Mint Rickenbacher had been given a tour through a porcelain factory and his job had been to accompany them and film the eventful afternoon. They had marvelled at the fine china and were each given a nice dish made of porcelain.
It had been a boring event and the girls hadn’t been overly excited about it. With Gabriella and Elise hanging out together most of the time, he had been left with Mint who hadn’t been very communicative at all.
The afternoon had been dull, but he knew how to make it look exciting in the video. Picking the few moments when the girls had cracked up at a joke or had participated in painting some of the porcelain dishes, the finished video looked very entertaining. Candice would be happy.
He transferred the file onto his memory stick and was about to leave the room to take the video to Candice when his phone purred. He picked it up and left the room. It was a text and heading through the corridor he saw that it was from the number that had tried calling him earlier.
He opened the text and stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
How are you? Will you be in London in the off-season? Wanna meet? Ted
Tom suddenly felt shaky. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Yes. Yes, he wanted to see Ted. And no, no, no, he didn’t. Slowly, he walked back to his room. He didn’t feel fit to face Candice right now. What should he do? Closing the door he fell onto his bed and looked at the message again. The words were simple. They didn’t reveal any feelings. What
was he supposed to make of that?
But then he sat up and picked up his phone. Without hesitating he called and a smile flashed over his face when it was answered.
“Mum, may I order your roast turkey for Christmas?” His smile grew even broader when he sensed his mother’s joyful disbelief.
“Yes,” he confirmed it. “Yes, I’m coming home.”
***
It hadn’t been her best match, but Elise had won it 6-3 in the third set. And a hard-fought win was sometimes more useful than an easy straight-set victory. She felt ready now to win some more matches. She opened the door of her hotel room and stepped inside. Throwing her racquet bag next to the bed she turned around to close the door again when she noticed a brown envelope on the floor. She had almost missed it as it was the exact same color as the carpet.
Elise picked it up and turned it around, but there was no writing on it. She looked at the door and shook her head. There was only a tiny clearance between the door and the floor and it must have taken the person who had slid the envelope under the door quite a while to squeeze it through. Why not leave it at the lobby desk for her? She sat on the bed and ripped open the envelope.
It was flat and when she reached in she felt the glossy surface of a photo print. She smiled. Perhaps Tom had taken a really good picture of her yesterday in the porcelain factory and had gotten her a print. Pulling it out she expected herself to be smiling at the camera with one of the dishes, but instead she looked at a different scenario. This was not Luxembourg. This was not in a porcelain factory. Yes, there she was. But not with fine china.
Elise stared at the picture. In the midst of the green hedges of Wimbledon Village Elise was standing in the early morning sun wearing a blue dress and kissing Amanda whose loose red hair glowed like magma in the sunshine.
