Love Game - Season 2012 (12 page)

Martina and Antonia shook their heads. So
they only had Anastasia Stea so far. Tom thanked them and accompanied them to
the door. Just when he was about to close it, Martina turned around.

“I thought of someone,” she said pensively.
“I don’t really know her. I think most of the gay girls stay far away from her
because she is a known homophobe.”

“Who are you talking about?” Tom asked, in
his mind going through the list again. He couldn’t think of anybody.

“The Knocker,” Martina whispered before she
turned around and left.

***

“Is this really necessary?”

Sasha stared at the pile of brochures which
Kurt had spread out on the glass coffee table in front of her. When her manager
announced his visit to Dubai, picked her up at the airport and called an
immediate meeting in his hotel room, Sasha knew that it meant trouble. She
hadn’t even had time to bring her luggage to her room.

“We need to get this out of the way,
Sasha.”

Her manager leaned back on the couch and
sighed, which made Sasha angry. It wasn’t him who had to make a decision.

“Where and when?” she finally asked.

“I thought, London,” Kurt said, happy that
Sasha would actually go along with his plan. “During the Olympic Games would be
a good time, I think. Right after the tennis competition.”

“But after the Olympics I need to get ready
for the hardcourt season,” Sasha protested, rubbing her nose nervously. “Can’t
we do it after the U.S. Open or in the off-season.”

But Kurt shook his head.

“This is urgent. Waiting so long would send
out the wrong signal to our sponsors and business partners,” Kurt reminded her.
“Also, during the Olympics we will get the most media attention, and not just
tennis media.”

“I need to talk to Jaro first,” she said.

“I already talked to his management,” Kurt
threw in. “They are happy with the timing, even more so with the location. It’s
in the middle of the Premier League season.”

This had to be a conspiracy, Sasha thought.
Did she have any say in this at all?

“So, what’s your plan with these?” Sasha
said defiantly, pointing at the brochures.

“Well, we can’t organize it ourselves, can
we?” Kurt shrugged. “We need a wedding planner, of course.”

“Of course.”

Sasha picked up a brochure, overflowing
with roses and ornaments, and frowned.

“I want a small wedding,” she proclaimed.
“Jaro, too! We talked about it last year in the fall. Nothing big, just some
friends.”

“Alright, alright,” Kurt calmed her down.
“Now, let’s please take a look at the wedding planners I prescreened. All of
them are based in England and have good reputations.”

But before she could take a look, he picked
up one and gave it to Sasha.

“I think we should go with these,” he said,
tapping the brochure. He was apparently excited about the plan. Sasha took a
closer look at the information. A photo on the back of the brochure told her
that the ‘Happy Ever After Wedding Planners’ were Mr. Alvin Clutterbuck and
Miss Daisy Hardwood. They looked like a couple in their sixties. Was Kurt
really sure these two were capable of throwing a party?

“I hope this is the right decision,” she
said.

“Knock on hardwood,” Kurt joked. “But they
are the only ones willing to come and visit us abroad for an appointment.”

With her schedule that was certainly
convenient, Sasha had to admit. But she couldn’t help it that Miss Hardwood’s
permed hair and Mr. Clutterbucks thick eyeglasses gave her a bad feeling.

“I’m still not sure this is necessary,”
Sasha mumbled.

“Yes, it is, and it’s not that hard,” Kurt
said. “Just say ‘yes’.”

He winked at her, but Sasha couldn’t laugh
at his little pun. This could only end as a nightmare. A horror movie. The
title would say ‘For Whom The Wedding Bells Toll”. Starring Sasha Mrachova.

***

With a little hop Morgana jumped over a
pile of books she had taken out of her suitcase and stacked on the floor. These
were the new novels, published in the last six months. The Frenchwoman kneeled
down and counted the piles. Yes, everything was in order. There were the rare
collector’s items, dating back to the late nineties, tattered by the many hands
they had passed through. Next to the small heap another stack of books
contained the novels that had come out between 2000 and 2004. Then there had
been a hiatus of almost two years before the next
Tennis Nurse
novel was
published. Morgana wondered if the players back then had ever found out why the
author didn’t write during that time. She made a mental note to inquire about
the publication gap. The third pile was the largest, not only because
publications of new books had become more frequent after 2006, but also Morgana
had been able to buy them right away before they went out of print and could
only be obtained by trading during the Grand Slam
Tennis Nurse
dinners.

Carefully, she placed them back into two
medium-sized metal suitcases she had bought solely for the transport of her
book collection. She closed the suitcases, turned the combination to lock them
and placed them under the desk. Then Morgana pulled out a smaller suitcase. She
hauled it up onto the desk and turned the lamp on.

“
Les autographes
,” she mumbled to
herself, grabbing a pack of pictures and placing it carefully on the table.
They were almost complete. Only two autographs of players who had been
competing between 1998 and 2004 were still missing.

She then sat down on the chair and looked
through the rest of the sheets she spread out on her desk. In the last couple
of days, she had started compiling a list of players who had been active in the
late 1990s and early 2000s who had played doubles with each other. The quest
had been quite laborious as there were no complete records available online.
After some fruitless searches, Morgana had finally persuaded Alice Chevallier,
a service staff rookie, to do the research for her. The French girl wasn’t
happy about it but couldn’t say no either. Morgana had promised to return the
favor one day. On her days off, she had gone through the records excerpting the
data she needed.

The first two players Morgana investigated
were Monica Jordan and Agnes Lion, who had become a very successful doubles
team in the last couple of years. After hitting the tour in 1996 Monica had
mostly played with Brazilian star player, Alessandra Calhau, if she played
doubles at all. Usually, they only played during the Grand Slams. Only in a
couple of matches had she partnered with other players, among them Canadian
players Susan McKay and her sister Jamie, as well as Bernadette LeBlanc.
Morgana had only completed the list up until 2001, the year Monica had left the
tennis tour under a huge scandal, only to vanish without a trace for several
years.

Agnes Lion, on the other hand, had only
played doubles occasionally in the early stages of her career. She sometimes
played with Bernadette or with Italian Florentina Bonelli. The Italian player’s
highest ranking was No. 13 in 1999, when she made quarterfinals of both the
French Open and the U.S. Open. She had left the tour in 2001 with a back
injury.

Morgana checked her watch. It was 9:30
p.m.. She got up to get ready for bed.

She really needed to find out more about
these players, Morgana thought while she brushed her teeth. The only ones still
active from that generation were Monica, Agnes and Bernadette, and Morgana took
into account that this fact was perhaps misleading her to make erroneous
conclusions. Perhaps these were not the players connected with the
Tennis
Nurse
novel series at all, but then again there was the blowfish incident
and the death of her character, which undeniably led to Agnes. However, Morgana
had to admit that it could be someone else who had been informing the author of
the novel series of what was going on on the tour. A reporter maybe. Or a
physio.

She went to bed and closed her eyes. But
she couldn’t fall asleep, her mind kept on working. There was someone else who
seemed good friends with Monica and Agnes, and who had a reputation of being
very open with intimate details of other players’ lives. Yes, Morgana thought,
making a mental note. She needed to talk to Michelle van der Boom.

***

Gabriella felt a little better. But just a
little. The view from the rooftop swimming pool had been stunning and the
massage had done wonders to her back and her legs, but had also relaxed her to
the point that all the disappointment of the last weeks had rushed freely
through her body. In the end, she had been lying on the massage table and
crying through the hole in the headrest. While going down in the elevator, she
decided to go to bed – and go directly to bed and not pass the hotel bar.

The elevator door opened and all Gabriella
could see at first was a huge mountain of bags and suitcases piled onto a cart,
which moaned under the weight and which came rolling towards her. Gabriella
couldn’t see who was on the other side of the trolley but she could hear a
woman huffing and puffing. People were so selfish, Gabriella thought. That
person could have at least taken a look before she decided to occupy the whole
elevator. The last thing Gabriella wanted after her bad luck today was to be
crushed to death by an overloaded luggage cart, so she stepped to the side of
the cabin and retreated into the back corner.

She heard the woman step forward on the
other side of the trolley and push a floor button. The doors closed and the elevator
began to ascend. She was going up again!

“What did you do?” she asked across the
heap of luggage. “I wanted to go down!”

“Oh,” the voice on the other side sounded
startled. “I didn’t know anybody was in here.”

There was a bit of a rustling sound and a
bag was removed from the top of the luggage mountain. From the other side,
Sasha Mrachova was staring at her.

“Sasha,” Gabriella said coolly. She
reconsidered. It was probably better to be rolled over by a luggage cart than
spend time with Sasha, who was lusting after her irresistible twin sister.

The Czech’s jaw had dropped but she didn’t
say anything. Then she pushed the bag back, blocking the view, and – judging
from the sound of it – began hammering the floor buttons.

“What are you doing?” Gabriella yelled over
the luggage.

“I’m stopping the elevator. I’m sorry,”
Sasha stuttered. “I will get out. You can have the elevator to yourself. I
don’t need it.”

Gabriella had to chuckle. Of course! Sasha
thought it was Luella in the elevator. Nobody knew that Gabriella was in Dubai
except Paola, Gemma and Robyn. Sasha was probably afraid she’d knock her out
again.

“You better be quick or I will come over,”
Gabriella shouted to the other side.

“No!” Sasha stammered. She was still
hitting the buttons but the elevator didn’t stop.

“We are on the twelfth floor. Why don’t you
just press thirteen?” Gabriella suggested smugly.

“Yes, I did,” Sasha cried. But the elevator
didn’t stop. “There’s something wrong.”

Of course, now it was the elevator.
Gabriella snorted. No wonder Sasha was after Luella. She had to be as
feeble-minded as Rafael. Her sister seemed to attract those people. Perhaps
Gabriella should be glad that Sasha didn’t want her. How annoying it would be
to have a girlfriend like her?

“I’m coming over,” she declared with a
Terminator voice.

“No,” Sasha begged. “I found the right
button. I’ll get out in a second.”

A clank, followed by a long beep was
audible from across the heap of luggage. Then the elevator came to a screeching
stop. Gabriella waited but the doors didn’t open.

“What did you do?” she asked once again.
This time Sasha didn’t answer.

With a sigh Gabriella pulled down the
topmost bags from the trolley, then pulled herself up and peered over to the
other side. Sasha was cowering on the floor, covering her face with her hands.
Was she crying? Gabriella shook her head. How could she have once found Sasha
attractive or interesting? This girl was anything but impressive. Turning her
head, Gabriella took a look at the floor button board. Most of the buttons had
been activated and one button blinking. Sasha had broken the glass and pressed
the emergency stop button behind it.

“That button is in case the ropes snap,”
she explained impatiently. “Now we are stuck.”

“I’m sorry, Luella,” was Sasha sobbing. She
really was crying.

Gabriella sighed and crawled over to the
other side.

“Come on,” she said conciliatorily and
reached out her hand. After a long moment, Sasha took her hand and Gabriella
pulled her up. When was the last time they had touched? A hand-shake at the
net, no doubt. The Wimbledon final? Yes, Gabriella thought but then had to
correct herself. No, the last time had been in Cincinnati and she had kissed
Sasha in front of a vending machine. Only half a year ago, in a hallway, late
at night. How could she have forgotten about it? For weeks and weeks, she had
craved the taste of coconut and peanut butter in her mouth.