Grand Slam (10 page)

We arrived at Rod Laver arena in a stretch limo driven by a chauffeur who looked like Danny de Vito. Inside the arena, Emilio introduced me to his coach.

‘John, this is Emily.'

‘Actually, it's —'

John the coach said, ‘Fucking around with some slag again, Emilio?'

My mouth fell open.

‘Come now,' said Emilio. ‘Emily is no
puta
. You see? I will play the tennis with Robbie Dick and everyone will be happy.'

‘This is bullshit,' mumbled John as he walked away.

Robbie Dick was being interviewed when we arrived at the practice court. I'd called all my Melbourne media contacts. There were lots of journos and photographers, even a television camera. Emilio certainly knew how to make an entrance, always arriving late so everyone could watch him walk into a room, onto a court.

‘
Hola amigos
!' All heads turned.

I met Robbie Dick and, while I blushed at his size and beauty, he gushed over the chance to meet and play tennis with the great Emilio Méndez. The two men were interviewed together being all jokey and happy, then the ump called time for everyone to move off the courts so the game could begin.

The journos took their seats, photographers took up position and before I could find a shady spot to sit (there was none), Emilio approached, lifting his lucky charm from around his neck.

‘You will take care of this for me, Emily?' He stood close. ‘I cannot wear it when I play. I always leave it with someone I trust.'

‘Oh, that's nice of you to say, Emilio.'

I held out my hand to take it, but he placed the chain around my neck. ‘This is the safest place for it.'

‘All right. I'll look after it for you.'

Emilio kissed my cheek and before he could run off to play tennis, a journalist called out, ‘What's your name, sweetheart?' A photographer stood next to him, camera aimed at us.

‘Who, me? You don't need —'

‘Emily!' said Emilio. ‘Emilio and Emily!' He laughed and put his arm around me, posing for the camera.

‘Actually —'

‘Surname?' said the scribbling journo. I didn't know him. Probably from the
Herald Sun
, in place of my regular guy.

‘You don't need my surname.'

‘What is your surname?' said Emilio.

‘Emilio,' I whispered so softly he had to put his ear near my mouth. ‘I shouldn't be in these photos.'

‘It is all right,' he whispered back right into my ear, then called out, ‘Take your photograph.'

‘Surname?' the guy asked again.

‘Jesus,' I mumbled.

‘Jesus!' said Emilio. ‘Emily Jesus.'

‘No! It's —'

‘She is very religious, aren't you,
querida
? Very chaste. A good Catholic girl.'

‘Actually —'

‘And now!' said Emilio. ‘I must play the tennis.'

Robbie Dick was a good tennis player, perfect for our purposes. He looked great, held his own, but wasn't so good that Emilio couldn't relax and have fun with it. Emilio let Robbie win a few games, everyone laughed, cameras snapped away.

About an hour into the match, I got a call from Charlotte. ‘Rosalind said you have to come back to the office now.'

‘What? Why?'

‘She said you shouldn't spend so much time with the tennis player and you have work to do here before you go home.'

‘Oh, for God's sake.' This was typical Rosalind – sending me on an important assignment then pulling me away from it, changing the goal posts for her deranged pleasure. And, knowing her, there was probably something seriously important I needed to do but she hadn't issued details, hoping I'd screw up. She'd be able to say, ‘But I
told
her to come back to the office!'

‘All right, I'll come.' I found Teresa and explained that I was needed at work, and to please call me when the game had finished.

‘We do not need you.'

Ouch. I glanced around the court, checked that everyone seemed to have what they needed, and left, taking a smelly taxi, not a stretch limo, back to Emilio's hotel to collect my crappy old car. So much for lifestyles of the rich and famous.

Back at the office, Rosalind wasn't even there – she'd left early for an appointment. Charlotte had gone home. I checked my tidy desk for a note, message, something. There was nothing.

I said to Marcus, ‘Rosalind wanted me, apparently.'

He shrugged. ‘I didn't know about it.'

‘Charlotte called me.'

He shrugged again. ‘Charlotte's been Rosalind's good little secretary all day. I'm hoping I'll be made redundant so I can go on a cruise with your man.'

In my car on the way home, my mobile rang and I pulled over to answer it. It was Teresa, telling me that Emilio was very upset I'd left today with his special lucky charm.

Oh crap. I'd forgotten about that. My hand went automatically to my chest. I could feel the amulet under my top. ‘I'm so sorry.'

‘It is fortunate, that he did not notice until the end of the match that you had left.'

‘I'll have it couriered to the hotel.'

‘You will not. Bring it when you come for dinner.'

‘Dinner? But I —'

‘Come at six, please.' She hung up.

Six? No way could I get home and back to the hotel in time. I carried on home. Where Mum and Dad were watching the news.

‘Is that you, dear?' Mum pointed at the image of Emilio decorating me with his lucky charm.

How perfect. The footage from today's celebrity match included a few seconds of the game itself, and a lengthy snippet of my romantic moment with Emilio.

‘Yeah.' I sighed and sat.

‘Did you go to the supermarket?'

‘Supermarket?'

‘There's a list. Didn't you take it?'

‘I didn't know.'

She went to the kitchen. Came back with a shopping list that contained at least fifty items. ‘Here it is.'

‘Why can't you get it delivered?'

Mum looked hurt, like I'd just announced I wished she wasn't my mother, which I sometimes want to do.

‘You said you'd help if you came to live here! Besides, I don't want those supermarket people handling my bananas.'

‘Okay, well, can this stuff wait till tomorrow?'

‘Yes, dear, except we're almost out of milk so we need that plus your father's All-Bran. And I've run out of prunes and vitamin D. And Tim Tams. They're on special this week. Your father loves those. And —' she snatched the list from my hand ‘— we need this and this and this.'

‘All right.' Sigh. ‘I'll do it tonight on my way home.'

On the way back to Crown, Lucy called me. When I pulled over and saw her number come up, I felt strangely relieved. Lucy was such a solid presence in my life, the sensible one, the nurse. The one who made choices based on intellect rather than emotion. She was tough and suffered no fools. A dose of Lucy was often what I needed.

‘Hi!' I said, happy.

‘Marry him.'

‘Who?'

‘Emilio Méndez.'

‘Very funny.'

‘You should. He's gorgeous, rich, famous. What more could you want?'

‘He calls me Emily.'

‘Emily's a nice name and besides, he might have finally met the love of his life. You know.
The one
. But don't sleep with him yet. From what I've heard, that's a deal breaker.'

I called Emilio from the hotel lobby. ‘It's
Erica
. Erica Jewell.'

‘Who? Ah, Emily! You are late. I wanted you here at six.'

‘Sorry, I had to —'

‘Come to my room,
querida
. I am not ready.'

When he opened the door to his suite, Emilio was seemingly alone, and wearing only his undies, which he filled very well. Mentally I added to Lucy's list of gorgeous, rich, famous . . . and mentally gave myself a slap across the face.

He looked me up and down, gave an approving nod. ‘I like this dress.' He stepped back. ‘You have nice legs.'

‘Where's Teresa?' I peered past him.

‘She has dinner in her room.'

‘She's not dining with us?'

But Emilio's eyes were now on my chest, staring at his lucky charm, which I'd kept around my neck so I wouldn't, God forbid, lose it. ‘Ah,
mi amuleto
. It suits you well.'

I went to remove it, hand it back, but he put a hand on my arm. ‘Please, continue to wear it. It makes me feel . . .
fortunado
. Lucky.' He beckoned me in.

‘I'll just wait here.'

‘But you must come in!' He opened the door wider. A housemaid walked past, spotted Emilio, looked me up and down, smirked.

‘Bloody hell.' I walked into his room and sat on the sofa.

‘Would you like herbal tea?' He stood in front of me, crotch at nose height.

‘No, thank you.' I looked at my watch.

He bent forward, inspected my wig. ‘What is happening under? It is a mess, yes?'

‘I don't always have time to style it, you know?'

‘Ah,
eres tan adorable
. You want to look your best for me.'

‘Well . . .'

‘Do not be embarrassed. Most women want this.' He swept a hand over his body.

I smiled. Nodded. What to say?

Emilio took me to an Italian restaurant on the promenade near the hotel, overlooking the Yarra River. We sat outside, right at the front so Emilio could smile at passersby and be recognised. Some stopped to get a photo with him, others asked for an autograph. The waiter came.

I read from the wine list. ‘I'd like a glass of —'

‘Perrier,' said Emilio. ‘
Dos
.' He held up two fingers.

As the waiter walked away, Emilio sighed with happiness and sat back in his chair, hands behind his head, gazing across the table at me. ‘Last year I earned over thirty million dollars.'

‘Thirty million! I can't imagine what I'd do with that much money.'

‘One day I will show you my wardrobe. And my cars. Then you will know how I spend it.'

‘Don't you give any of it away? I mean, there's so much good you could do.'

‘I have my charities. I give them my time. Tomorrow I have a lunch!'

‘Such hardship,' I muttered.

‘I want to know about your boyfriend.' Emilio leaned in with his elbow on the table, hand supporting his chin.

‘You mean Jack? He's not my boyfriend.' I said it quite snippily. ‘We're just . . .' How to say bed-pals without sounding like a
puta
?

‘You are
amigos
. Friends.'

‘Yes. We're friends.'

‘This pleases me.'

I was rendered suddenly speechless by the sight of Jack and Sharon Stone strolling along the promenade. She wore a short, tight-fitting white dress, and heels that put her pretty close to Jack's six feet four. People stared at them. All the people. Jack was looking at me. I realised my hand was in Emilio's – how did that happen? – and I snatched it away, throwing myself back in the chair, putting distance between us. Jack headed my way, followed by Shazza. I smiled up at him. The waiter came with our drinks.

‘Mineral water,' said Jack, eyes fixed on my wig.

‘Hey y'all.' Shaz checked out Emilio, eyebrows raised.

‘Emilio,' I said, ‘you've met my . . . friend, Jack Jones, and his, ah, friend, Sharon.'

‘Well!' said Emilio. ‘This is a very good evening!
Muy bueno
. You will join us? Emily was just telling me about you,
Yack
. That you are just friends because, I thought you might be her lover.'

‘No.' Jack's eyes were on me. ‘I mean, no to joining you.' He glanced at Emilio. ‘Thank you.'

Sharon said, ‘Can I have your autograph?'

‘
Si
! You have a pen?'

While Emilio signed his name on the soft-yet-firm white underside of Sharon's forearm, right next to a small rose tattoo, I asked Jack, ‘How was your trip?'

‘All right.'

‘Find out anything?'

‘One or two things.'

‘What are you guys doing?' I glanced at Sharon. Maybe she and I could swap places. She could stay here with Emilio and I could carry on with Jack.

‘Working. And you?'

‘Yep, working.'

‘Undercover, Emily?'

‘Ha, ha.'

‘I'll leave you to it.'

I smiled. ‘Bye.'

Jack touched Sharon's elbow. She said goodbye and they walked away.

‘There is a magnificent couple,' said Emilio. ‘Now I understand why
Yack
is not your lover, because he is Sharon's lover.'

A gushing fan arrived for a photo with Emilio and I watched the magnificent couple over my shoulder. They walked slowly, taking in the scenery; the lights on the river, the buskers. Like any couple really except they didn't hold hands or touch each other, unlike me and my new boyfriend. They stopped to admire some street art – a guy sitting on the pavement, drawing on it with chalk. Jack crouched before him and they spoke. The guy looked nervous, glancing around. Sharon discreetly stood on his hand with her stiletto. The guy's face contorted and he looked like he was shitting himself. I checked to see if anyone else had noticed. Apparently not; it all seemed pretty normal and casual from a distance. Sharon moved her foot and Jack placed what looked like a note in the guy's upturned hat. The guy took the note and pocketed it. They spoke a bit more, and Jack and Sharon walked on. Jack glanced over his shoulder at me. I gave him a little wave but he turned away without acknowledging it.

At his insistence, I escorted Emilio to the door of his hotel room but not one step further, not even for herbal tea and whatever Lucy thought I should be doing to please my new boyfriend, not even to assist Emilio choose an outfit for the following day's charity lunch. Except he got sulky so I said, ‘I'll help you choose an outfit then I have to go.'

Emilio addressed his wardrobe. ‘I have a very good feeling about you, Emily.'

‘Actually, my name's —'

‘Would you wear
mi amuleto
? Keep it safe for me?' He turned to me, gave it a little tap with his forefinger.

‘What, forever?'

‘Oh, no,
ángel
. For this tournament. I think you make me lucky.'

I blew out a relieved breath. ‘Okay. Sure.'

‘What time will you come in the morning?'

‘Morning?'

‘You speak English, don't you,
querida
? What time will you come to me in the morning? We have the important charity lunch.'

I didn't know what to say. I told him I had to go to work. I told him that JD and Rosalind would attend the important charity lunch. That she was more senior than me and it was so important, surely Emilio would expect the most senior executives of Dega to attend? Besides, I had other very important things to do. He sulked and put on his Gleam toothpaste T-shirt.

I took the lift down to the ground floor. I'd intended going straight to my car in the car park, but found myself in the hotel lobby instead, staring out through the windows to the river promenade. I left the building and headed for the restaurant we'd been to earlier. The street art guy was still there. I stood in front of him, watched him draw. It was bleak. Buildings, all black and grey.

‘I like your art,' I lied.

He looked up. ‘Thank you.' Strong accent.

‘Where are you from?'

‘Melbourne.'

‘I mean before.'

He looked around, but not at me. ‘Why you want know?'

‘I'm interested in people. Especially artists. What influences them,' I thought to add.

‘Russia.' He shrugged.