Grand Slam (15 page)

As the limo pulled out from the kerb, I tried to make myself feel better by remembering that I
do
love Chaddy. But with Lucy, not Emilio. Not even with my mother. And certainly not on Saturday morning. Saturday morning at Chaddy! The only thing worse is pre-Christmas at Chaddy. Or Boxing Day sales.

Jack wasn't happy when I said I had to go shopping with Emilio.

‘You're telling me you
have
to go.'

‘JD's orders.'

He'd given me a shitty look. ‘Well, Sharon's keen to visit some wineries . . .'

Bastard. Bitch.

Steve had reminded me, ‘Remember what I told you —'

‘I know, I know.'

And they'd all left, except Emilio. Mum took me aside and asked me about the Italian man.

‘He's not Italian, Mum. He's Spanish.'

‘It's all the same.'

‘No, it's not. Actually, he's Australian now.'

Emilio had waited in the car while I had a quick shower, dressed and pushed my hair into some kind of acceptable shape. He was speaking Spanish into his phone when I got in the car, opened for me by the Danny de Vito driver. Emilio stayed on the call as we drove along. The car was several miles long. By the time the back of it passed through the start of an intersection, the front was already through the other side. The driver took his time, sitting there behind a darkly tinted screen. Emilio and I could have done anything in the back and he wouldn't have known. Oh, I shouldn't think those things. Law of attraction, and all that.

Emilio stopped talking and gave me a look. He hung up. Did he hear my thoughts? He moved closer and whispered in my ear.

‘Do you know, Emily, even with your unattractive hair, I am having feelings of attraction for you.'

‘Really?' Should I feel flattered? I suppose many women would. My hair wasn't that bad, was it? I tried to see my reflection in the window. The car turned onto Poath Road. I pointed. ‘Chadstone's over there. We're going the wrong way.'

‘But I must not engage in the sexual activity when I play in a tournament.'

‘No?' I watched over my shoulder as Chadstone grew further away.

‘It will damage my concentration.'

I looked at him. He was smiling at me, very sexily. He moved closer.

‘Oh. Um. Emilio —'

He took hold of my hips and I let out a yelp as he pulled me down on the long bench seat. He lay on top of me and kissed my neck.

‘Emilio!' I pushed his chest. ‘Emilio, stop it!'

‘It is all right. I have told the driver to take a detour.' He kissed my face all over. ‘We can have some fun, yes?'

‘No! Emilio . . .' I struggled under him.

‘It is harmless, Emily. I know how chaste you are.' He blew onto my neck, which tickled and I couldn't help but giggle, scrunching up my shoulders to stop him getting in there. He nuzzled his way in and blurted, and made hungry eating noises like a parent does into a child's neck and I screamed laughing.

‘
Stop!
'

Emilio didn't stop but the car did, and I tried to see where we were. I worried someone would be able to see in. Imagine if someone snapped a pic of me lying on the back seat of a stretch limo under Emilio Méndez? And put it on Facebook. My stomach flipped at the thought of it. At least Jack wasn't on Facebook. That's because he'd rather eat his own vomit.

Then I heard the bells of the level crossing. The limo's engine cut out. Something crawled up my spine.

‘Emilio, get up.' I shoved him. ‘Emilio!'

He sat up, laughing, pushing hair out of his eyes.

I sat up also, looking around, horrified to see that the limo was parked right over the crossing. There were no cars in front of us, and none directly behind. Had the car broken down? Emilio moved to the front and tapped on the glass partition.

I stared up the tracks, watching the train approach. It was coming fast. An express? I tried the door. It was locked. ‘Emilio!'

He looked at me. ‘The driver has gone.'

‘
What?
Oh, Jesus. The train's coming!'

We tried all the doors. Banged on the windows. People were out there, waving at us, telling us the train was coming.

I kicked the windows.

Emilio yelled in Spanish.

The train's horn sounded in a continuous blast. There was the scream of brakes and wheels on tracks and the screams of people on the streets; all the noises willing the train to stop. I threw myself against the far side of the car, shut my eyes and wrapped my arms around my head. Emilio held me, putting his body between me and the train.

‘It will be all right, Emily!'

I could hear the grinding whine of the train's locked brakes, its desperate horn. I squeezed my eyes tighter, tried to press my body through the wall of the car. And then, a dull crunch, and the car rocked gently. There was complete quiet for just a moment before shouts, car horns, the sounds of movement. I looked. Emilio laughed. The train had nudged the limo and stopped. There it was – the flat front of the train less than two metres from my face, taking up the entire view through the cracked windows. I slid to the floor and sat there.

We sat at the outside table of a café adjacent to Hughesdale train station. Someone brought us coffee. I heard sirens. Emilio still wanted to go to Chadstone.

‘But Emilio, we've had a very traumatic experience.'

‘Yes, Emilita. Shopping will make us calm. Would you rather sit in a police station?'

‘I think the police will want to talk to us. That driver abandoned us.' I looked around. ‘Where did he go?'

‘I do not know.'

‘Did you know him? He was the driver who took us to the tennis last week.'

‘I do not know.' He shrugged. ‘Teresa organises the vehicles.'

Three ambulances, two police cars, a fire truck and two tow trucks turned out. Only one towie was needed, although he stood there gazing at the scene, scratching his head. The train had backed up so the gates could open and let traffic through. The police wanted to talk to us. They asked if we'd been aware of the car breaking down, if the driver had given us warning, who the driver was,
where
he was and what the car company was called. They said someone had seen him running away. Emilio gave them Teresa's phone number. We knew nothing. We went to Chadstone on the bus.

Emilio hadn't been on a bus in years. He told me he lived in South America for a while with his wealthy father and took the bus just to be rebellious. I used my Myki card to pay but Emilio didn't have one, so he didn't pay. Instead he gave the driver a fifty-dollar note and as the driver sat there staring at it, Emilio strode down the aisle, saying hello to everyone. The driver and I looked at each other, then he shrugged and drove on, pocketing the money. Emilio chatted to people but no-one talked to him. Instead they stared out the windows. I was worried he might start offering autographs so I pushed him to the end of the aisle and onto the back seat.

‘When you have found
mi
amuleto
, life will again be
perfecto
.'

I patted his hand. ‘We'll find it. In the meantime, just remember that you're the best tennis player in the world and everyone loves you.'

‘
Me amas
, Emily?'

‘Sure – what?'

‘You love me?'

‘Um . . . look over there, Emilio. That's where my friend Lucy and I used to go for a milkshake after school.'

‘I must meet your friend! We will get along well, I am sure.'

I thought about Lucy meeting Emilio and being starstruck, and then I thought about Lucy meeting Sharon Stone and wanting to kill her. Maybe I should organise a dinner party at Mum's and invite them all. And Charlotte Johnson. I smiled at the thought of it. Especially at the thought of Mum having a ‘foreigner' at her dining table. As a teenager I'd often daydreamed about turning up at Mum's after school with a bunch of friends, all with unpronounceable surnames and ‘strange' outfits. I giggled.

‘What is amusing you,
querida
?'

‘Oh, nothing. I'm just . . . thinking about something funny.'

Emilio took my hand and kissed the back of it. ‘You are happy because we are so right together, you and I. Emilio and Emily. We are meant to be. Even though you have made a terrible evil against me.' He tickled under my chin. ‘When this tennis is finished, we will have the
amorio
, yes?'

‘
Amorio
?'

‘There is something about you that tempts me.'

‘Me?'

‘We will sleep together and I have a happy memory.'

The lady in front of us turned and gave me a dirty look. It was the kind of look my mother would give if she'd overheard such a conversation. Then she'd come home and talk about the hussy on the bus. There'd be no mention of the bloke and his presumptuous behaviour. I pretended to look for something in my bag.

‘Emilio, why do you think the driver abandoned us?' I thought I should let Jack know about it, in case. In case what? In case I wanted him to panic about my safety and rush to my side?

Emilio shrugged. ‘Who knows? In Peru, this kind of thing happens all the time. A man would kill you for one Australian dollar.'

‘Really?'

‘
Si
.'

‘But the driver didn't steal from us.'

‘No. He did not.'

‘I was thinking about yesterday, at the charity lunch.'

‘Yes, Melbourne is a very violent city. I am pleased to live in Sydney.'

‘It's a bit of a coincidence, don't you think? That we'd get robbed by armed gunmen yesterday then today a chauffeur tries to kill us.' My stomach did another one of those flip things. Is that what really happened? The driver had tried to
kill
us?

‘Death today was unlikely. Australian trains do not travel very fast. He was able to stop, you see?'

‘But he did run into us. Just.'

‘Yes.' He took my hand and kissed it again. ‘But we are here, alive, and we are going to the greatest shopping centre in the universe!'

I extracted my hand. ‘The universe?'

‘
Si
. I hear it is that remarkable.'

‘Okay, well, I hope you're not disappointed.'

We got off the bus at the Coles supermarket entrance. Impressive start to our Chadstone Shopping Centre adventure.

‘Where shall we go first,
ángel
?' He held my hand and I let him. It was a very European thing to do. It didn't necessarily mean anything, did it? ‘I want to buy you a gift.'

A gift! Tiffany's came to mind and I quickly erased it. I didn't want to remind him of the missing amulet. Also, accepting a gift from Tiffany's might give him the wrong idea. I wondered if Emilio was always attracted to much older women. And I wondered how many of his ‘girlfriends' lasted longer than the duration of a tennis tournament. Probably long enough for them to have an
amorio
before he realised how disappointing they were and moved on. What a poor, confused boy he was. And yet, so charming and brave and handsome. I hoped he'd meet someone special one day. Someone patient and worthy and the same age.

‘Have you been to David Jones?' I checked the centre map.

‘Yes, in Sydney. But let us go there and see what we find on the way.' He looked around. ‘It is annoying we do not have someone to carry the shopping bags.'

Oh, yes. How annoying. I often say to Lucy when we're shopping at Chaddy, ‘You forgot to bring someone to carry the bags.' As we walked I could see that people recognised Emilio. Some stared openly, pointing and saying, ‘That's Emilio Méndez.' I hoped I looked all right; I didn't want people thinking I wasn't worthy of him. How horrible to be a celebrity. Imagine not being able to go out shopping in tracky dacks and without make-up and with hair looking like mine. Fans aimed their phones at us. Emilio smiled and waved to them. Some came up for an autograph. He laughed and obliged. Someone asked me for an autograph. I signed ‘Emily' by mistake. Then someone pointed out that I was the reason Emilio might lose the tournament. That I'd been the one charged with safeguarding the famous, precious amulet and instead of protecting it, I'd given it to an armed man.

Emilio had to stop the growing crowd from shouting abuse at me. ‘Come now,
mis amigos
, Emily is committed to finding my stolen
amuleto
, and helping me win this tournament.' He gave me a squeeze. ‘Besides, she is
muy bonito
, no?'

They murmured their acceptance and took photos of us. I stood with my arm around Emilio's waist, smiling but trying to look shamefaced at the same time. I mean, what else could I do to save myself from a lynching?

By the time we reached Lululemon, the crowd of people wanting autographs on various things including their skin, or photographs with Emilio, was thick around us. Emilio laughed and posed, lapping up the love. I took the opportunity to step away and phone Jack about the train incident. When I took my phone from my bag, I saw that he'd tried to call me. I dialled, and he answered straightaway.

‘Are you all right?' He sounded anxious. ‘I'm on my way back.'

‘Back from where? What have you heard?'

‘The news report that said Emilio Méndez and his girlfriend were involved in an accident at Hughesdale train station.'

Bugger, I'd been hoping we could keep Emilio's name out of this. ‘That's why I'm calling you.' Jack was in his car, on speaker. Roof down. I could hear the road noise. ‘Can you talk?'

‘Tell me what happened.'

Was Sharon in the car? Were they on the way to a nice winery for a picnic by the lake? There was part of me — the really childish part — that wanted to launch into a whiny description of the horror, to say how distressed I was and that I thought he should come and get me. But knowing Sharon might be listening, and because it was a ridiculous thing to do anyway, I told him the mechanical details of the event, leaving out the part about Emilio blurting in my neck and making me laugh so hard I nearly wet my pants. ‘But I'm fine. You don't need to come back from wherever you are.'

The road noise stopped and the phone was taken off speaker. Had he pulled over? ‘Who was the driver of the limousine?'

I shrugged. ‘Don't know. Same guy who drove us to Rod Laver the other day. He looked like Danny de Vito. Emilio said his manager organises his cars. He just told the guy where to go and that was it.'

‘Who's his manager?'

‘Teresa someone.'

‘Have you talked to the police?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Where are you now?'

‘Chadstone. Shopping, believe it or not.'

‘Emilio's either very brave or very stupid. Does he realise he could be a target?'

‘Why would someone want to hurt Emilio?'

‘
I
want to hurt him.' Then, ‘Why were you travelling south down Poath Road by the way? Isn't that heading away from Chadstone?'

Oh. ‘Um, Emilio wanted to see the sights.'

‘The sights of Hughesdale?'

‘Yep.' Now I'd lost sight of Emilio. Was he still in there? Two security guards arrived. ‘I'd better go. Emilio's being swamped by fans.'

He sighed, loudly. ‘I'll call you later. Please be careful, Erica.'

‘Okay. See ya.' I nearly said ‘Love you' by mistake, like I sometimes say to Lucy.

The security guards had thinned out the crowd and Emilio staggered toward me, laughing, pen still working furiously.

‘This is amazing! I love Chadstone Shopping Centre!'

‘You see? Everyone still loves you.'

I pulled him away from the last couple of fans and into Lululemon, but not before the security guards got an autograph each. Inside the store I took a deep breath, thinking how much I'd like to be at my desk right now. Or cooking with my mother. What a big, eventful day so far, and it wasn't even midday. Emilio looked around, made his way to the counter to chat with the girls behind it. They got their phones and asked me to take pictures of them with Emilio. No-one asked for a picture of me. I bought a cap for Emilio to wear and told him to put on his sunglasses, telling him I had a peculiar phobia about being crushed to death in a stampeding crowd of tennis fans.

Inside La Joyería jewellery store – where I got the fake charm – was a life-size cardboard cutout of Emilio Méndez wearing his precious amulet and his Rolex watch across his knuckles. The latest trend in watch-wearing, it seemed, as all posh watch ads with famous people showed them wearing the watches across their knuckles instead of on their wrists. Including Vladimir Vavilov, who was wearing his Patek Philippe on his knuckles and who was not only staring broodily at us from a poster, but who also happened to be in the store, batting off fans and staring broodily at Emilio.

Emilio gazed at the image of himself, at his amulet. Gold replicas were displayed on a navy suede cushion in the window of the store. I stood in front of them so Emilio wouldn't see. Like a mother distracting a sulky child, I said, ‘Look, Emilio, there's Vladimir Vavilov!'

‘Vladimir, my man!' Emilio pushed through the chattering, excited crowd and took Vlad's hand in one of those blokey, high-five type handshakes. Vlad's expression didn't change from broody. Emilio could take some sulky lessons from him. Russian people never seem very happy, but then in Russia it's pretty cold, and I don't think they have a very good sense of humour. Maybe because of those dictators. Or was it communists? Vlad was probably jealous of Emilio living in Australia now, even though Vlad was still top dog on the tennis circuit. There were also those rumours that Vavilov's family had connections with the Russian mafia, and that wouldn't make you smile much either in case they knocked you on the head with a tyre iron and threw you into the boot of a car. Or was it the Italian mafia that did that? I thought how much the paparazzi would have loved to be lurking at Chaddy right now.

There was a tap on my shoulder and I turned to find Charlotte Johnson standing there.

‘Hi!' I said. ‘Fancy seeing you here.'

‘I love Chadstone.'

‘Yeah, it's great, isn't it? But I wouldn't usually come on a Saturday morning.'

‘Oh, no, me either.'