Love Game - Season 2012 (33 page)

“I know,” Luella nodded. “Rafael left me.”

“I’m sorry.” Gabriella wasn’t. In fact, she
wasn’t interested in the least in whether Lulu was with someone or not. It was
such a relief not to be informed about her sister’s intimate life on a daily
basis.

“Do you have someone?” Lulu asked, setting
off Gabriella’s alarm. This was dangerous territory. But on the other hand –
did she still care what Luella thought? No, she didn’t. And there was no reason
to pretend any longer that she was an underfucked bore.

“I had,” she answered.

Luella looked up. Gabriella could tell from
the look on her face that she hadn’t expected this answer.

“Did you break up?”

Gabriella shrugged.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Luella
asked.

“No, thanks,” Gabriella snapped back. But
then she realized something curious. This had to be the first time – probably
in their whole lives – that Lulu asked about Gabriella’s personal life. She
didn’t moan and lament about the break-up with Rafael. She wanted to talk about
Gabriella. It was confusing, to say the least.

“Not sure you would like it,” Gabriella
cautiously added.

“Do you even care these days what I like or
do not like,” Lulu wondered.

No, Gabriella didn’t. Or did she? She swallowed
hard. Would it hurt if Lulu rejected her? Would it hurt if Lulu jumped up and
ran out of the room?

There was only one way to find out. She
opened her mouth – and while she was still thinking of how to put it, the words
had come out already.

“I’m sleeping with women. I had a love
affair with a fellow player.”

Lulu looked up and Gabriella didn’t look
away. She waited. Finally, her twin nodded, digesting the news.

“With whom?”

Another question, Gabriella noticed. She
bit her lip. But why the hell not?

“Sasha.”

“What?” Lulu opened her mouth wide in
surprise. “She stalked me!”

“No, Lulu!” Now Gabriella was yelling, too.
“No! Why do you always believe that it’s about you? It’s not about you!” That
was so typical for Luella. Nothing had changed at all.

“She never wanted you. She wanted me,”
Gabriella continued, but her voice was breaking. Then she began sobbing. “She
loved me.”

“But – ,” Luella stood up from the chair,
unsure what to make of all this new information and her crying sister. “But
Sasha was about to get married.”

“Business!” Gabriella croaked through the
tears.

“But – .” Luella seemed even more confused.
She slowly came closer. Gabriella shot her an angry look. What was so hard to
understand?

“But all this couldn’t be just business,”
Lulu wondered. “If it was business it went horribly wrong. Why arrange a big,
fat Czech wedding at the fucking Olympics and then blow it off during the
ceremony and crash a car? Also, Sasha said herself that Jaro cheated on her.”

Gabriella looked up. “She said that?”

Lulu nodded, relieved that she could get
her sister’s attention. She stepped closer to Gabriella.

“She said someone closest to her deceived
her. I mean, really. She didn’t give his name, but there can only be one reason
to cause such a huge scandal. She also said in her statement that this was the
reason she would take a timeout. She will be back for the U.S. Open.”

Someone closest. Gabriella let her head
sink. She really had lost Sasha.

“She didn’t mean Jaro. She was talking
about me. I deceived her.”

Luella frowned. “You? What did you do?”

Gabriella took a moment to gather herself.
Then she looked at her sister.

“I pretended to be you.”

Luella caught her breath. “Why?” she
whispered.

Gabriella sighed. “Because I wanted to be
like you. I wanted to have what you have.”

A long silence followed her confession. But
this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was almost peaceful. After a while Luella
lightly put her hand on Gabriella’s back.

“But I have nothing,” she said. “No
friends, no lover, no titles.”

The sun made shadows of their silhouettes
against the wall and Lulu’s hand was warm.

“You won those two insignificant
international tournaments,” Gabriella eventually corrected her sister with a
smile.

“Yeah, right,” Lulu said laconically. “Back
at you.”

Then they hugged, and it felt like there
had never been anything wrong between them.

***

Elise tossed and turned under the sheets,
finally waking up from a dream. With closed eyes she listened to the rain
outside. The weather forecast wasn’t good for Montréal and it could very well
be that tomorrow would be a long day full of locker room idleness. Sleepily she
reached out her hand to touch Amanda next to her – but the other side of the
bed was empty and cold.

“Amanda?” she whispered, while opening her
eyes and waiting for them to get used to the darkness. A movement was visible
next to the window.

“Keep on sleeping, sweetheart,” Amanda said
quietly. But Elise was awake now. What was Amanda doing there? She threw away
the blanket, crawled out of bed and went over to Amanda.

Caught in a million rain drops, the light
of a yellow street lamp was running down the window pane. Elise kissed the
Australian’s neck lightly, snuggled next to Amanda on the big lounge chair and
put her arms around her.

“It’s not your fault the woodpecker
disappeared,” Elise said.

“I know,” Amanda replied.

“Then please come to bed again.” But Amanda
shook her head. Over dinner they had discussed the mess Natsumi was in. Amanda
had been furious with her Japanese friend as Natsumi refused to let them in on
any details about the
mara
mystery. But the stubborn silence eventually
began to worry the couple. Natsumi couldn’t keep secrets, meaning that this one
had to be serious – a matter of life and death.

After learning that the
mara
was
lost, their Japanese friend had failed miserably at the Olympics. She had also
tumbled out in the first round of the Montréal tournament and had left without
talking to Amanda and Elise again.

“I thought about selling the apartment in
Florida,” the Australian finally mumbled. “It’s the worst timing to do so but I
could gain an extra 120,000 or so. With the money from the apartment and the
money I saved after my U.S. Open I could help Natsumi with 670,000 bucks.”

“Natsumi didn’t say anything. Perhaps she
can find a solution herself,” Elise suggested, stroking Amanda’s hair. “Her
family seems to have money.”

“I doubt that Nats would tell her family if
she was in trouble. She’d rather die a stupid harakiri death than ask anyone
for help.”

Amanda turned her body a little bit and
grabbed Elise around the waist.

“Proud Japanese,” she added while resting
her head on Elise’s shoulder and watching the yellow rivers on the window.
“That’s why we need to help her whether or not she asks for it.”

Elise nodded and kissed Amanda’s forehead.
“I’ve saved about 200,000 dollars,” she whispered into Amanda’s ear.

“Well, 870,000 should be a good start. It’s
about two-thirds of the money. We are three people and if Natsumi can rustle up
the other third everything should be fine.”

They both fell silent. How could an old
wood phallus be so valuable? 1.3 million dollars. The sum was incredible.

“We probably could have gotten a
diamond-studded platinum pecker for half the sum,” Elise joked. The absurdity
of this misery actually wasn’t funny but they needed a laugh badly. Amanda
giggled at the thought of such a shiny toy.

“Well, speaking of peckers,” she purred.
“We might not be able to afford anything with diamonds, but I know a nice One
Dollar shop with lots of fun stuff.”

BARKING UP

THE WRONG TREE

New York City, United States

In the silence of the hotel room – above
the linen and the carpet that dampened every sound, left of the beige curtain
and a little right of the chair – the sound that had escaped her throat hovered
in the air, unable to decide where to go. Sasha opened her eyes and tried to
find it. When she did she slowly closed her mouth.

It was only seconds ago but she couldn’t
remember whether she had woken up and then moaned because she still knew what
she had been dreaming of – or whether she had sighed so loudly in her sleep
that it had made her wake up.

So vivid. Too vivid. The memory of all
those nights.

Sasha took a look at the clock on the
nightstand. It was 6:43. She jumped out of bed and ripped open the curtains and
the window to let in a good breeze of New York’s fresh air. The already blue
sky promised a wonderful day at the U.S. Open. Then she took the skipping-rope
and began. After tonight’s dream she shouldn’t even consider going down to
breakfast without doing a hundred jumps.

Five, six, seven, eight.
The roped whipped over the floor.

Lulu – No! Gabriella! – was pulling up
Sasha’s shirt. It was tight. She had trouble taking it off.

Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen.
She was pulling and Sasha was curling up
into the sheets.

Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one.
Sasha needed to jump faster to get these
ideas out of her head. Lulu, Gabriella – what did it matter. They were both
manipulative bitches who had cost her another Wimbledon title.

Fifty-three, fifty-four.
Kisses on her stomach. Dark curls, like a
curtain, slowly drawn over her body. Dampening the sound.

Sixty-eight.
Sasha was panting. She had her eyes closed. Strong,
confident hands. How much she needed Gabriella’s strong hands.

Seventy-six, seventy-seven.
Sasha jumped higher and faster. She should
call Anastasia later and set up a date for tonight. Yes, that was a good idea.
Even though the last time she had made it into Anastasia’s bed – with the
intention to screw the thought of Gabriella out of her mind – she couldn’t perform.
She just didn’t feel like it. The touch of Anastasia’s body was comforting but
Sasha didn’t desire her. She only wanted – .

“This time it will be better,” she quickly
said to herself, trying not to lose count.

Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine.
Hundred.

Sasha threw the rope into the corner and
fell onto her bed.

What could she do against the Galloways?
How could she get Gabriella’s murmurs out of her ear and her touch off her
skin? How to unteach her own nerves, her muscles and her tongue what they had
been doing for many happy months?

“I need to take control again,” Sasha
whispered. “I need to get revenge.”

She took out her cell phone and opened the
WTA app. The draw of the U.S. Open was hard to read on the small screen but she
could make out the Galloways’ names. Lulu was out. She had already lost against
Carina Gnocchi in three tough sets. Actually she had played really well. But
the Knocker had won with perseverance, as always.

Gabriella. Where was the other twin? Sasha
found her on the other half of the draw sheet. With her finger she followed the
lines that connected the players like members of a family tree. Instead of
marriages there were matches.

Gabriella and she were in different halves
of the draw. Meaning, they could only meet in the last match of the tournament,
in the final. Only Carina Gnocchi and Morgana Doré were in Sasha’s way, as she
could meet these Top 10 players in the quarterfinal and the semifinal. On the
other side Gabriella had an easy draw. The only player who could bother her was
Marieke Bender. Gabriella had a horrible record against her. A quick check of
the head to head confirmed that of four encounters the Galloway twin had lost –
four. But Gabriella was a much better player now and full of confidence after
her Wimbledon win. There was a good chance that she could win against the aging
Dutch champion.

Sasha sat up straight on the bed and nodded
to herself.

How fitting, she thought. No marriage for
her, but tennis. A showdown on the court. One final match of revenge.

***

“Where is everybody?”

Elise gave Polly a hug and looked around.
The Canadian shrugged.

“I’ve been waiting for ten minutes but I
haven’t seen Paola yet,” she answered.

They were standing at the U.S. Open
players’ help desk and waited for the Supersport reporter to arrive with Lars.
Today’s task was spending a day with the ball kids and learn how to roll the
ball as precisely and quickly as the kids did. The girls and boys would be the
teachers and the players the students. Elise leaned against the desk and
sighed.

“She’s always late,” she stated the
obvious.

Polly laughed. “We should know by now and
preventively arrive ten minutes later for every shooting.”

“Oh, ten minutes more sleep,” Elise
dreamed. “That would have been lovely.”

“Didn’t you sleep well?”

Elise frowned. For a moment she looked like
she wanted to tell Polly something. Was something worrying the German, Polly
wondered. But then Elise shook her head.

“No, no,” she quickly said. “I just had to
finish the
Tennis Nurse
novel last night.”

Polly laughed, but then she remembered
something.

“Can we swap novels soon? Morgana doesn’t
give me any novels anymore,” she told Elise.

“Yes, I know!” Elise exclaimed. “I visited
her this morning to get a new one and she said it wouldn’t be responsible to
let me read
Tennis Nurse
. It was perhaps too early in the morning.
Morgana can be so sensitive about the time.”

Polly shook her head. “No, she is convinced
that the novels do damage. She told me she knows someone who informs her about
the real story behind
Tennis Nurse
and that it is a way to indoctrinate
the readers.”

Elise chuckled. “She’s nuts. Who would say
that about these novels?”

Polly shrugged. “Someone named Larissa
Perkins. That’s ‘the source’ as Morgana calls her. Apparently she worked for
the WTA back in the day and knows everything.”

Elise was still laughing. “Indoctrinate?
That’s the best joke I’ve heard in a while.”

“This probably means that Morgana won’t be
at the
Tennis Nurse
trading dinner,” Polly grumbled. “She didn’t go at
all this year. It’s a real loss.”

She looked around again and checked her
watch. It was almost fifteen minutes after the arranged time but Paola was
nowhere to be seen.

“Perhaps she is busy preparing an interview
with Sasha,” Elise wondered. “She made a statement this morning. Have you read
it?”

Polly shook her head.

“Me neither,” Elise said. “Apparently Jaro
was cheating on her.”

“Oh, no,” Polly frowned. “Poor Sasha. No
wonder she blew off the wedding.”

Elise shrugged. “I’m not so sure Jaro is
the problem. Perhaps he cheated on her, but perhaps he had good reason. Who
knows.”

“You don’t like Sasha?”

“Not particularily,” Elise admitted. Then
she looked around. “I really wonder where Paola is. I could have done something
better with my time. And all the ball kids must be waiting, too.”

So Elise didn’t want to talk about Sasha,
Polly realized with surprise. She grinned a little. Was there a history between
Sasha and Elise? No, it couldn’t be. These two hardly knew each other or had
any mutual friends.

Suddenly a hand tapped her shoulder and
Polly turned around.

“Telephone for you,” Alice Chevallier said
with a grin. With her lips she silently said the word ‘Paola’.

The Supersport journalist apologized a
gazillion times for not showing up. She had overslept and begged them to wait.

***

The sun blinded them when Gabriella and
Lulu stepped out of the cab.

“We are late,” Gabriella remarked.

“So is Paola, I bet.” Lulu winked at her
younger twin and walked towards the main building.

“Will you stay a couple of days longer?”
Gabriella asked. Lulu had lost her third round match the other day.

“I will stay as long as I’m needed,” Lulu
said, squeezing her sister’s arm. Gabriella smiled. Since talking things out in
Montréal the sisters had had dinner regularly and even went out together in
Cincinnati. They were not back where they used to be but neither felt they
needed to be. They both had their own lives now and Gabriella was more than
surprised how well Lulu had taken the news about Sasha. Perhaps because the
recent break-up with Rafael and her struggles on court had humbled the older
twin. They would need more time to build a new rapport, but the fresh beginning
was promising.

Like her sister last year, Gabriella had fared
badly so far in the American pre-Slam series. She had only reached the second
round in Montréal, however her surprise loss was explained by a long grass
court season and fatigue. Her third round loss in Cincinnati was credited to
Michelle van der Boom. The Dutch player had decided to give it one more try on
the singles tour after tasting blood in the Olympics doubles competition and
the tournaments before. Michelle was still a great player and had received a
wildcard into the tournament. Gabriella’s loss was disappointing, but accepted
by the American press.

“Not this time,” she mumbled. She had to do
much better in the U.S. Open, otherwise a storm of critique was about to hit
her.

“Are you worried?” Her sister asked,
holding the door to the building open for Gabriella.

Gabriella tilted her head.

“Thinking about Sasha? Or Marieke?” Lulu
teased her.

“Both, actually,” Gabriella said. Lulu
stepped closer and put her arm around Gabriella’s shoulders.

Having her sister by her side again would
hopefully give her enough strength to play her best tennis at her home slam.
What Lulu went through in the past season she had to endure now – the high
expectations after her Wimbledon title, the marathon of interviews and
requests, the fans who wouldn’t let her leave after a practice until she had
signed every photo and every magazine. Combined with the fact that Sasha had
gone missing, it was fair to say that Gabriella felt terrible. Her best tennis
in her condition probably wasn’t enough to beat Marieke Bender.

“If you work out your little problem with
Sasha you will feel confident again,” Lulu said, giving her a pat on the back.

“But how?” Gabriella grunted. “I can’t talk
to her. She only plays her match and then she is gone again. She is constantly
guarded by her team. I have no chance to talk to her in private.”

Lulu contemplated. “When would you meet her
on court?”

“In the final,” Gabriella answered
immediately. She had looked it up as soon as the draw had come out.

“Well,” her twin said, opening her hands in
a there-you-have-it gesture. “As long as Sasha is in the tournament you must
win your matches, too. Playing the final is your best chance to talk to her.
She wouldn’t withdraw only to avoid you.”

Gabriella pondered over the slight chance
she had of meeting Sasha in the last match of the U.S. Open.

But a slight chance was better than no
chance. She had to take it.

***

It was almost past nine, which was late for
Candice, but today she would stay in bed a little longer than usual. She closed
her eyes, opened her mouth and let the taste of caviar spread over her tongue.
Why get up if you’re being fed deli food by your girlfriend?

“What a nice gesture,” Candice mumbled with
her mouth full.

The hamper had been brought half an hour
ago by the bellboy with a note from Sasha Mrachova.
Thank you
, it said.

“You definitely deserve it,” Agnes grinned,
while munching on her own caviar toast. “What next?”

“The olives with lemon zest,” Candice
ordered, opening her mouth for the next deli load. She really deserved the
indulgence, having saved Sasha’s ass – and with the ass a whole lot of money
and embarrassment, Candice thought.

Her plan had worked brilliantly. It was all
a matter of presentation, and a good communications manager could sell dirt for
gold. You just had to take the publicly known facts, add a few words and let
the audience construct a plausible story around it themselves. The real story –
two gay people getting married as a cover, with one of the two getting cold
feet at the last minute – would stay in the dark.