Love Game - Season 2011 (17 page)

The alarm bell went off and Amanda shut it off immediately. Elise hadn’t written a message. The Australian got up, stumbled into the bathroom and began her morning routine. After she had dressed in her joggers and a shirt she picked up her cell phone again. There was no message from Elise.

Suddenly, Amanda was worried. Of course, she told herself, there had to be a simple explanation for Elise’s silence but Amanda couldn’t help feeling troubled by the missing message. She sighed. That was exactly what she didn’t need before an important match. Perhaps Elise was stuck in a dead zone. Sure, that was it, Amanda calmed herself down, but there was only one way to find out and put her at ease again.

She dialed Elise’s number. Waiting for a second, she heard the dialing tone, so the service was available. Embarrassed by what now seemed an overreaction, Amanda was just about to hang up again when Elise answered the phone.

“Hey.” The German sounded surprised and awkward at the same time.

“Hi, Elise,” Amanda tried to sound cheerful. “How is your tournament going?”

Elise was playing a challenger to get more matches under her belt and gain some ranking points. It was going fine, she answered. She had reached the quarterfinal which was however suspended due to rain. Amanda could hear in her voice that Elise was waiting for Amanda to come forward with whatever reason there was for calling her.

“Will you try to qualify for Roland Garros?”

“Yes,” Elise answered. “Of course.”

Of course, she would. Amanda felt stupid. Suddenly, this week’s excitement over Elise’s texts seemed like a trap. These were probably mass messages directed to several people at once and not her specifically. Once again she had fooled herself and gotten herself into an awkward situation with the German girl. She could hear Elise breathing on the other side of the line. She really had to stop making a fool out of herself.

“If I qualify –,” Elise began, ”would you like to play doubles with me?”

“No,” Amanda quickly answered. She had to stay away from Elise. “No, thank you. I really have to concentrate on singles in Paris. I have to defend too many points.”

That Elise fully understood and there was nothing left to talk about. After a quick exchange of pleasantries they hung up.

***

Thank you, darling, but I’m gay as a goose.

Sitting in the most boring meeting with his racquet sponsor to discuss the shooting of the next TV spot, being pestered by the WTA No. 1 player in the world, whose name made him desire the little Italian dumplings – but only when served hot and raw by Tom Richardson himself – and who had just proposed including a kiss between them in the joint advertisement, Ted couldn’t help coming up with goofy thoughts. He imagined Carina’s face if he actually said it out loud – with a high-pitched voice and blinking his eyes wildly. Out, loud and proud. Would she fall dead on the floor? She was well-known for being very prudish. And would he get an award, if she fell dead on the floor?

He told himself to see reason and concentrated again on the conversation. With a serious face he turned to Carina.

“I don’t think that’s a wise idea considering my relationship with Felicia. I’m trying to leave the rogue image behind, you see. Let’s keep the advert focused on the sport.”

His manager nodded vehemently and Carina frowned, but looked like she accepted it. No kiss with Ted Curry in their next commercial.

When the meeting was over, he tried to sneak away quickly but Carina was faster. She caught up with him and slipped her arm under his.

“I know the best Italian restaurants in Rome,” she purred. “My uncle’s family lives here, you know.”

“Really? How nice,” Ted muttered. He had to think! Quickly. How could he get rid of the Knocker? From the corner of his eye he saw the solution.

“I’m sorry, Carina, but I’ve to go visit Mrs. Murphy!”

He squirmed free of her grip and hastened to the door.

“Mrs. Murphy?” he could hear her mumble, while he slipped inside the men’s room. He almost laughed in relief.

“I’ll wait for you, Ted!” Carina shouted through the closing door. Damn! A quick check of the bathroom confirmed that it had no window. He was stuck and he could think of only one solution to his problem. He took out his cell phone and called Felicia.

“Where are you?” Ted shouted. Felicia was watching doubles. That was good. Ted had feared she had gone on a shopping spree around the city. “You need to come to the player’s area. I’m in the men’s room on the second floor. Call me before you get there.”

For the first time in a week he was glad that Felicia was here in Rome. Even though she had dutifully showed up in his box during his matches, off court she had become a nuisance. Ted would have preferred to spend his precious time with Tom, as for the first time since the tour moved to Europe the ATP and the WTA had a joint tournament. Felicia and Tom. Two parallel loves. A fake one and a secret one. It sounded like a vaudeville show and it was draining all his energy.

When his cell phone rang he went outside and just when Carina Gnocchi was about to get her hands on him again, Felicia turned around the corner with a big smile on her face and saved him. After getting rid of the Knocker they walked outside.

“Thank god, I’m an actress!” Felicia was all smiles. That was a bit of an overstatement, but Ted kept his mouth shut.

“What are your plans for tonight?” Felicia kept on babbling. Ted hesitated.

“Oh, just a short visit to one of the bars on Piazza Navona with Tom,” he said casually. He hadn’t planned to invite Felicia.

“Piazza Navona? Don’t tell me you’re going to this club, what’s the name? Frankie’s?”

Ted hated it, but she had guessed right. He shrugged in defeat.

“Frankie’s? You’re going to Frankie’s?”

No need to be that smart to get Felicia’s excitement about the hip Roman gay and lesbian club. It was obvious and now Ted found himself in a dilemma. It wouldn’t have been nice not to ask her. After all, he owed the Aussie singer for her quick rescue mission.

“Would you like to come?”

“Are you kidding? I so want to go there, Teddy! And perhaps I’ll find my very own Sophia Laurence there.”

Felicia raised a suggestive eyebrow to which Ted only replied with a weary smile.

“Loren. It’s Sophia Loren, Felicia.”

***

“Sasha, wait!”

Immediately, yet a bit surprised, Sasha Mrachova turned around. Morgana Doré was rushing over the path towards her. Sasha gave her waiting team a little nod and they left her behind.

With a little yelp Morgana stopped in front of her and gestured to Sasha to sit down on one of the benches in front of the outside court where Sasha had just finished her practice. But the Czech shook her head. First Morgana should let her know why she was in such a hurry. It seemed really important, but with the French girl you never knew. She came up with the strangest ideas sometimes. Now, Morgana just shrugged and put down her bag. She pulled the zipper open and took out a book. Sasha frowned, as she recognized the cover.

Each page seemed tagged by a million little markup stickers, but Morgana flipped through the pages and quickly found what she had been looking for.

“The tall, svelte Czech player’s glory lay in the past, but everyone had to admit it was a very glorious past that had catapulted her to the untouchable echelons of legendary players,” Morgana read out loud. “But a series of injuries had kept the talented Daria away from the court for a long time and the tennis world wondered if she would ever be able to get to the place where she once belonged.”

Sasha’s heart began to beat faster and she felt the blood withdraw from her face. Snapping shut the book Morgana was reading from, the Czech had a look around before bending over to the French.

“Are you crazy! Keep your voice down. There’s no need for people to hear these things.”

“So you read them, too?”

“Used to.” Sasha hated to admit it. ”But I don’t want to talk about that.
Tennis Nurse
is a bunch of crap.”

Morgana smiled politely before nodding.

“Don’t worry, I’m not interested in the cheap storyline and, of course, it has nothing like the eloquence of Proust.”

“Of course.” Sasha rolled her eyes. Here we go again, she thought. Morgana was losing herself in highfalutin talk nobody was able to understand. She was about to shut the French player up with a snotty remark, when Morgana pointed out a name on the page.

“It’s you. This Daria is you. Just like the other characters. That’s us. These books are about us.”

Sasha decided to play it cool. No need to get drawn into the French girl’s mysterious brain work.

“Yeah, I know that and so what? As I told you, I stopped reading them so I don’t mind. Who cares, anyway?”

Morgana raised an eyebrow.

“
Oui
. But aren’t you curious to know who writes these? Obviously the author knows a lot about us so she has to be among us. Or even better, she has to be one of us. Aren’t you curious to know who this Danielle Fairbanks is? Someone is hiding himself behind this pseudonym. I think there’s a mole among us.”

Curious? Morgana was a smart one. She knew that this word was like throwing a challenge to Sasha, a challenge she couldn’t refuse. Because yes, she was curious in the end. If there was one sure thing about the French player, it was that she was a good observer. An excellent one. Sasha mind was racing. It could come in handy regarding the Galloway mystery. Perhaps Morgana was an opportunity she could use. Passing her arm around the French’s shoulders, Sasha cleared her voice.

“Morgana,
chérie
, I might have something that could interest you. A deal.”

***

The jolly
ménage à trois
of Tom, Felicia and Ted abandoned the crowded Via di San Giovanni and entered the hottest gay club of Rome – Frankie’s. The name and its graffiti-bedaubed entrance itself suggested none of the excitement that waited inside with hot dancers – male and female – a bar that was famous for its cocktails and the club that looked like an old ballroom.

They had decided not to stay too long, as Ted still had a doubles match to play the next day, but as soon as they had crossed the threshold Tom knew this was going to be a long night out. A DJ was playing electronic tunes while a sea of people were dancing under the high ceiling of the ballroom.

“Champagne?” Ted asked his companions, leading the group to the bar.

“Champagne!” Felicia replied with a huge grin. Did she ever had thoughts of her own, Tom wondered. He sighed. Even though he had been irritated by the constant presence of Felicia, he only had to take one look at the crowd to understand that Felicia would probably abandon the two guys sooner rather than later when her eyes fell on some Italian girl. The female species of Rome was compelling, he had to admit. Nevertheless, he had no intention spending more time than necessary with Felicia.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he said, giving Ted a light kiss on the cheek. “I need to make room for the bubbly first.”

Tom backed away from the full bar and went to the bathroom, which was as ritzy as the rest of the club.

When he was leaving the urinal Tom stepped to one of the stainless steel sinks to wash his hands when his eyes fell on a tall, strong guy. Glancing over Tom had the feeling he had seen him before somewhere, though he couldn’t remember where. Smiling politely, Tom held his hands under the warm water but winced as the soap went directly into a little paper cut, an unfortunate
30 Love
mishap from when he had been writing his list of evidence in his hotel room in the afternoon.

“Damn it.”

The young guy smiled and quickly took a roll of band aid out of the pocket of his jeans and gave it to him.

“A very good friend of mine has a lot of blisters. She keeps them in stock.”

Tom thanked him, but when he looked the stranger in the eye he couldn’t help but gasp. Now he knew where he had seen this guy before. It was Jaro Bradka, a defense player for Manchester City, Tom’s home club, and Sasha Mrachova’s boyfriend. Or should he say alleged boyfriend given the circumstances? What would a straight guy be doing at Frankie’s, lending him band aid, for heaven’s sake? Giving Jaro his best smile, he tore off a strip and put it on the cut.

“Thank you,” he said, giving the roll back. Jaro winked and left the bathroom. Tom was flabbergasted. Was Sasha here at the club? He tried to remember all the patron’s faces he had seen so far. Could he have missed her?

This was bigger than some doubles players’ affair. Even though Antonia and Martina were good singles players, too. They were both consistently ranked in the Top 50 for the last couple of years, and Antonia even went as high as Top 30. But no one was interested in Antonia and Martina when they could have Sasha Mrachova.

Suddenly he felt anger growing in him. Why was it that all the great players remained in their cozy little closets? Money, of course, he thought grimly. Sasha was a Top 10 player, a former No. 1 and a Grand Slam winner. She had made millions on the court and just as much off the court as a model. Even though he understood her desire to keep her private life private and remain low profile he detested the fact that she lied to people pretending to be with Jaro. He felt no pity for her. She had nothing to lose, it seemed, being a millionairess. And yet, she could be a role model for young people and could challenge the ugly stereotypes that still persisted in people’s minds and also in the tennis world. What would it matter if he wrote a story about Martina and Antonia?

Sasha was his story.

***

“I think you should play next round for me.”

Here we go again, Gabriella thought. New city, same old story. In the end, she had to play the difficult opponents.

“And then, if everything goes fine, it’ll be Amanda. The oldie will be for me,” Luella grinned.