Love Game - Season 2012 (18 page)

***

Polly turned around and sprinted the few
steps towards Bernadette, who had just served an ace, and together they walked
back to their chairs. They had won the first set.

“Great job on that lob,” Bernadette nodded
approvingly. In the seventh game, Polly had hit a lob over Chili and Teresa,
too high for the Spaniards to reach, but measured just right so that it landed
bang on the baseline. With that shot the Canadians had secured the break of
serve they would hold on to for the rest of the set. Polly smiled proudly. With
Bernadette’s help and guidance she had become a good doubles player and
reliable partner for the veteran.

 “One more set,” Polly said while looking
into the stands and smiling widely. There were quite a few spectators for the
match as they were playing against the young, all-Spanish team of Chili García
López and Teresa Santayana, but the audience cheered for both teams equally.
Was this the atmosphere she would experience at the Olympics? She was really
beginning to look forward to the biggest sporting event of the year. With every
match her motivation to do even better was growing. And now they were only one
set away too qualify for the Olympics, as a win would give their doubles
ranking another boost. In less than five months they had become one of the most
dreaded teams in the competition, having already secured wins in the Charleston
and Barcelona tournaments and in addition reached two finals and three
semifinals. Yes, more and more Polly had the feeling that alongside Bernadette
LeBlanc she had a chance to win an Olympic medal.

“Cecilia and Teresa will qualify for
Spain,” Bernadette mumbled suddenly. She was looking over to their competitors.
“But they are too young and don’t play doubles often enough to be a real
threat. Gabriella and Monica will team up, too.”

“Don’t forget Agnes and Morgana,” Polly
threw in. “They played in Stuttgart together and looked pretty good. They could
be even better on grass.”

Bernadette nodded. “Sure, Morgana is great
on grass. But Agnes is old. I don’t think they will go far.”

Polly raised an eyebrow. Her doubles
partner seemed to have forgotten that Agnes was about the same age as herself.
The Frenchwoman was also one of the best doubles players in the world. Polly
wanted to ask why Bernadette had made this remark but the umpire called time
and they got ready to go back to the court to play the second set.

***

Morgana turned on the little recording
device she had bought a few weeks ago after Bernadette had first knocked on her
hotel room door. She wondered if the rustle of the leaves above them would
disturb the sound quality but she didn’t want to go inside where there were
people everywhere. From their previous meetings Morgana knew the conversations
with Bernadette required privacy.

“How do you know so much about the
Secret
8
?”

“I played doubles with one of them for a
while, so I know a bit about them,” Bernadette answered.

Jamie McKay, Morgana remembered. She had
looked up Bernadette’s doubles partners of the past. From 1997 until 2000,
Jamie and Bernadette played together almost exclusively, in that time becoming
one of the top doubles teams.

“Tell me about the dynamics within the
group,” Morgana asked.

“Monica was the leader,” Bernadette said
promptly, then she laughed quietly. “She was the youngest, but she was always
the leader.”

“So, you were a group of friends?” Morgana
conjectured.

“
They
were a group of friends. And
lovers,” Bernadette added.

“Who was with whom?”

“I can’t say.”

“Because you don’t know?”

“Because I can’t say.”

“You are not allowed?”

“There’s a tacit agreement. Nobody talks.”

Morgana saw the older player bit her lip.
She felt that there was a lot more Bernadette wanted to say. Bernadette opened
her mouth and Morgana held her breath. She waited.

“And Monica is too powerful,” Bernadette
said after a while. “She might look like a retired champ who enjoys life as a
doubles veteran now, but she is still leading the way. This is her scheme.”

Morgana frowned. “What scheme?”

“I can’t say more. I’ve already said too
much.” The Canadian turned away and looked out of the window. Morgana sighed
quietly. She saw her chances to ever use these interviews in her doctoral
thesis going down the drain very quickly. Bernadette’s information was
unusable, as Morgana couldn’t quote any of it. In fact, this wasn’t
information, only tidbits of hearsay by someone who seemed too afraid to ever
talk openly. Why was she so frightened? Morgana remembered the death of her own
character in
Tennis Nurse
. Perhaps Bernadette had received a warning
herself in the past. Daytona was a recurring character in the earlier novels,
however with a minor role and as far as Morgana knew she had retired in one of
the seasons a couple of years back. Nothing spectacular. Morgana shook her
head. And why all the secrecy? What was the big mystery around
Tennis Nurse
and the
Secret 8
?

“So, who is the author of
Tennis Nurse
?”
Morgana asked, hoping that a change of direction might get the Canadian talking
again.

“I don’t know,” Bernadette answered, still
looking out of the window. “Nobody knows.”

“But it must be someone related to the
Secret
8
,” Morgana dug deeper.

“Yes, someone who knew them very well. And
someone who liked them,” Bernadette said with a dry smile. She turned her head.
“All the earlier novels were about them. They loved it, of course. They felt
like superstars. Everybody wanted to read about them. The mystery around the
author only gave it more importance. It was like a secret that wasn’t a secret,
as everybody knew who was who in the novel, but at the same time nobody was
allowed to talk about their love lives and relationships and affairs, and the
fun and friendship on tour. And there it was, out in the open, disguised as
fiction.”

She nodded to herself. “It was daring and
utterly clever. But unfortunately it contributed to their arrogance. They were
presumptuous brats, successful and insufferable.”

A lot of bitterness was audible in those
words, Morgana observed. Most likely Bernadette would have loved to belong to
the group. But didn’t she? Daytona Black was always portrayed as part of the
club.

“You yourself have a very prominent
character in the series,” Morgana carefully stated.

“Daytona?” Bernadette snorted in disgust.
“You don’t know what happens to her.”

“Well, she retires, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, you could say that,” Bernadette
sighed. “She drowns.”

“But – ,” Morgana was confused. “I don’t
remember that.”

“Because the book remained unpublished.”

“How do you know then?”

“Let’s just say I received a copy in
advance.” So, Bernadette was warned indeed, Morgana thought.

“But these were your friends,” she gasped.
“Why would they allow that to happen?”

“They were a bunch of champions, Morgana.”
Bernadette smiled tiredly. “I’m a doubles player.”

Morgana understood. There were many players
who never went past the second round of a tournament, who were cannon fodder
for the top seeds. They were the busy bees who could only make it on the tour
when playing in the doubles competition, too. They played for a modest living,
not for the glory. They loved the game just as well, perhaps even more than
those who won easily.

“I will set you up with someone,”
Bernadette said into the silence. “I can’t tell you more, but she can.”

***

It would be a disaster, Sasha realized. She
hadn’t been in a particularly good mood to begin with, but the first meeting
with one half of the
Happy Ever After Wedding Planners
wasn’t helping to
improve her spirit either. Mr. Clutterbuck’s hoary mustache twitched at the
ends every time the wedding planner said something. Most times he said “I see”.
But Mr. Clutterbuck saw a lot of things Sasha didn’t.

“Would you like a classic wedding cake
tower with personalized bride and bridegroom topper or would you prefer a
fruitcake with sugarcoated rose flowers for example? All of our cakes are
decorated and finished with the utmost attention to detail.”

“I want
Trdelník
and
Vánočkas
,”
Sasha said. “It’s Czech. I’m sure Jaro wants it, too.”

“I see,” Mr. Clutterbuck said, trying to
write down the word he had never heard before. His mustache moved as he tried
to silently form the word with his mouth.

“
Trdelník
and
Vánočkas
,”
Sasha repeated. “We can have one of the fruitcakes as well.”

“A fruitcake it is,” Mr. Clutterbuck said
with relief, making a check mark on his list.

“And I want a huge chiffon cake,” Sasha
demanded.

“I see. Chiffon cake,” Mr. Clutterbuck
mumbled.

“Huge,” Sasha repeated.

“Of course.”

Mr. Clutterbuck wrote everything down, then
turned to Sasha and Kurt again.

“Let’s address the question in which church
you fancy the ceremony to take place. You might know we have beautiful churches
in London and I am certain we will find an appropriate chapel for a
high-profile couple like you,” Mr. Clutterbuck began, but Sasha raised her
hand.

“Not in a church,” she interrupted him.
“I’m not a fan of churches and Jaro isn’t either.”

“I see,” Mr. Clutterbuck said. “I don’t
fancy churches myself. They are so terribly outdated, aren’t they? We’ll find
something more appropriate for young people like you.”

Sasha sighed in relief. At least she had
prevented the worst. Her cell phone buzzed announcing a new message. Sasha
pulled it out while the wedding planner was speaking again.

“For the party. I suggest renting a manor
with a garden. We can provide ice sculptures and balloons,” Mr. Clutterbuck
explained. Balloons? It wasn’t a kid’s birthday party, Sasha wondered. Then she
opened the text message, and the wedding planner’s voice instantly faded to the
background.

Miss Coconut, come to room 873. Quick.

“Mr. Nutterbuck, I – ,” Sasha interrupted
herself, realizing that the words had come out slightly wrong. Miss Coconut. A
reminder of their first kiss and a terribly sweet codename.

“I mean – ,” she started again, still
staring at the words on her phone display.

For more kisses she needed to go to room
873. Did this mean she had to go upstairs or downstairs? What was her own room
number again? She jumped up from her seat. Quick, the message read. Miss
Coconut! Quick!

“I mean, Mr. Cocobutt, I’m really sorry but
I have to leave you now. Kurt will arrange everything with you.”

She avoided looking at her manager who,
surprised by her behavior, had gotten half-way up from the sofa but didn’t stop
her when she rushed out of the room. Then Sasha remembered something important
and turned around.

“We will need
Slivovice
! By the
gallon!“ Then she rushed out again.

“I see,” she could hear the wedding planner
say before the door closed. Sasha checked the room numbers on the doors while
they were flying by. 633, 635. She needed to climb two stories. Twice they had
met in Madrid so far, and every time it had been wonderful. The nights in Spain
were warm and they had left the window open to let the breeze in. Since Indian
Wells Sasha wasn’t leaving anymore, she always stayed the whole night.

The last meters she tried to walk, not run,
so she wouldn’t be out of breath. Lulu shouldn’t see that she had been running.
She raised her hand to knock, then realized she didn’t need to. The door was
left ajar.

***

Gabriella had opened the door a little and
peeked outside. She could hear footsteps running on the hallway carpet and she
had to grin. Sasha had made it to the room in less than five minutes since she
had written the text. That was a record.

Through the small gap she could see Sasha
slow down and approach the door. Quickly Gabriella retreated back into the room
and found a place near the window. She wanted to see Sasha’s face when the
Czech entered the room. The door slowly opened and Sasha stuck her head in. Her
brown hair fell over her face and for a short moment she seemed lost looking
about the dimly lit room. Then her eyes adapted to the low lighting, and when
she saw Gabriella waiting at the window, her face brightened with a wide smile.

“Hello lovely, you saved me from a horrible
meeting with Mr. Peanut Nutterbutter,” the Czech chirped in a very bad British
accent, about to rush towards Gabriella.

“Careful!” the American laughed. Sasha
almost ran over a little table that was placed in the middle of the room.