Love Game - Season 2011 (25 page)

              “The fish and chips are good though.” Martina was the first one to give her an answer, Agnes and Antonia simply shrugging their heads in silence. All of them still stared non-plussed at the menu.

              “Fish and chips. It’s the only thing I eat when I’m here,” Candice said. “In regard to my hips it’s perhaps not that bad that the grass season is so short.”

              “Be daring and have the mash,” her girlfriend Agnes suggested. “Unless you want this deep-fried thing with sauce the guy’s having at the table behind you.”

              Candice turned around, following Agnes’s motioning and couldn’t help making a face. The pile of food on the other customer’s plate looked unidentifiable and very greasy. No wonder the empire had crumbled.

              “I’m smitten with Britain,” she said with a grin. Agnes laughed at her lover while putting down her menu. They both loved the British season, especially the upcoming championships in Wimbledon. The traditions of the All England Lawn and Croquet Club, the ivy on the brick buildings and the calm atmosphere made the two weeks in Wimbledon special. It was just one event of many in a long year but it was unique.

              “I wish we could go back to more grass tournaments. If only for health reasons. The grass season is just too short. Another tournament would be fantastic, in my opinion.”

              Antonia sipped on her glass of water and nodded. Squeezed in between the clay and the U.S. hard court season, their time on grass barely lasted a few weeks.

              “Any predictions for this year?” Martina asked. “I think Morgana might have a good chance. She loves the grass. And did you see her today? Great ball-striking. Sasha might be a contender, too.”

              “You guys could do well in Wimby this year,
no
?” Antonia mentioned to Agnes. “And by the way, where is Monica?”

              Antonia’s question was fair enough. It was strange to not see Monica around. She rarely missed their evenings at the pub and her comments on the British
cuisine
were hilarious.

              “Apparently she went to Brighton,” Agnes explained the absence of her doubles partner. “She left early in the afternoon.”

              “Brighton? What for?” asked Candice, obviously surprised.

              Agnes shrugged, a bit disarmed. “I don’t know. It seems she has a friend there. Well, that’s what she told me.”

              “A friend? Now, that’s news. She never said that she knew some people in Brighton.” Martina raised a suspicious eyebrow, then picked up a dry piece of bread from a small plate placed on the center of the table.

              “Probably not tennis related,” Agnes added. “She remained vague about it when I asked her today. So I didn’t insist.”

              Agathe’s remark made Candice choke on her beer.

              “What? You didn’t insist?” Candice was clearly amused. “Since when do you hold yourself back simply because people don’t seem eager to tell you? Now, that’s news.”

              Smiling at her lover’s allusion, Agnes cleared her voice, then looked at Martina and Antonia.

              “Let’s talk about tennis for a change. I predict a surprise at Wimbledon.”

***

Being back home had finally brought some peace of mind. At least that’s what it felt like, Tom thought. He hadn’t been back in England for half a year now. His life had just taken off with his assignment to work for the WTA and he had not even had time to think about it. But now, sitting at his desk in the quiet of his hotel room in the heart of Eastbourne, it seemed like the right step. The sea breeze he smelled when walking through the town reminded him of holidays and that’s how he felt right now. He was on holidays in his own country.

              Writing little pieces for the WTA website, shooting pictures and producing short video clips with the players had given him the opportunity to get to know them quite well. Most of them were good-natured, easy-going girls who had accepted him quickly into their circle, enjoying his jokes while acknowledging his professional approach and the distance he kept from the players. He wondered, if some already had figured out that he was more interested in a certain male player than all the good-looking tennis girls surrounding him. No, he shook his head. Ted and he had been extremely careful of late. Ted had even persuaded Felicia, his fake girlfriend, to dump Amanda Auster. Not that he needed to push her too hard. Tom had the feeling that Felicia was enjoying the way she was playing with people. She couldn’t have cared less about Amanda’s feelings, which obviously had been true. The encounter between Felicia and Amanda in the Roman gay bar was telling enough regarding how much the break-up had hurt the Australian player. The next day she had lost her match.

              Tom only had had two or three assignments with the friendly player so far but he liked her. He felt bad for her results on the court that seemed to have resulted from the private ups and downs she had had to go through in the past month. Her early exit at the French Open was only one of the low points in the first half of the year.

              He wondered how much it affected the players to keep silent about their private lives, to watch out for cameras when with their girlfriends, to hold back displays of affection in public places. He knew for himself, how difficult it could be. Sometimes he just wanted to grab Ted Curry and place a kiss on his lips, but he couldn’t. He would never be able to do that, because Ted would never come out publicly. None of the guys would.

              The thought made him angry. He stopped midway and looked at the sheet of paper he had scribbled on. Something had to be done. It could not stay like this, he thought. If it was hard for him to endure the secretiveness how hard must it be for players who were constantly followed by the press and watched by millions? Sure, not everyone was the focus of media attention. Through Ted, he had met a few gay players who were ranked beyond the Top 50 and nobody seemed to care about them and their private lives. But from the Top 20 upwards it became extremely difficult to shield one’s love life. He wondered if it would actually be easier to come out and stop with the clandestine dealings. It would be hard in the beginning, but could only free them from the burden of being on the look-out for unwanted eyes or questions.

              Slowly he picked up the pen again and continued writing the list he had begun.

Confirmed:
Amanda: gay & everybody knows but no one says a word
Antonia: in a rel w/dubs partner…
Martina: w/Antonia
Agnes: former Top 10 singles player, in rel w/Candice
Monica: the only out player (CO: 2005), former No 1 singles, now only dubs w/Agnes

Rumors:
Sasha: fiancé visits gay bars (Rome), she had rumors herself when younger, is stalking (?) the Galloways
Mint: not much, just hints, maybe w/ Cecilia (?)
Cecilia: Spanish player, hangs more with the Spanish Fed Cup team mates since her election than with Mint

              After finishing the list he circled Sasha’s name and drew an arrow. At the end he wrote in capital letter:

CONFIRMATION NEEDED!

              He wasn’t interested in the lower ranked players. He was looking for confirmation about the big fish. At least Top 30. Because only big fish made a big splash. And a big splash was needed in the conservative world of tennis.

***

“Who?”
              “
Tennis Nurse
! The novels!” Shouting, so the old man could hear her, Morgana highlighted her speech by standing on her tiptoes as if it would make her words clearer to the obviously half-deaf man. Mr. Murray, as the door plate indicated.

              The man shook his head.

              “What is that? I have never heard of such a thing. Now if you will excuse me, there is a documentary about pets about to start on TV. Have a nice day.”

              He closed the door and skeptically, Sasha and Morgana observed the red door in silence, but it didn’t open again. Sasha snorted. Of course, Morgana’s ‘
Tennis Nurse
mission’ had lamentably failed and not only had it cost the Czech player an afternoon but she was soaking wet now, her umbrella having broken into pieces under the gushing rain as soon as she had stepped out of the bus. And now this old man had no idea about any novels. This was no publishing house. Morgana clearly had gotten it wrong.

              “At what time does the next bus leave for Eastbourne?” Sasha’s voice was gloomy and for the first time, the French player noticed it. It seemed like her enthusiasm had been smashed at the same time as the old man had closed the door with a loud bang. She had messed up big time.

              “8 P.M.”

              “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Why not say it in British, if they were here. Sasha clenched her fists. It was not even five which meant that they were stuck in Brighton for three more hours.

              “Maybe I can call a cab. I will pay for it!” Morgana knew that she had to make up for the failed expedition because she was the one to blame but for some reason, Sasha shook her head impatiently.

              “No. Let’s find a bar somewhere. It’s my first time in Brighton. At least let’s have a drink. But don’t you even dare to talk to me about
Tennis Nurse
again!”

              The first bar that showed up on their path looked like a traditional English pub which would serve their need to get out of the rain as well as their thirst for a lager. Both players stepped into the half-empty place called Mandy’s.

              “What’s your poison, gorgeous?” A tall, red-headed girl with a nose piercing showed up behind the counter and winked at them. Sasha sighed. Great. Of all places, they had landed in a lesbian bar.

              “A G & T for me. We’ll take that table there, in the corner. Thanks.”

              They settled down in the dark corner and as soon as the drinks arrived – carrot juice for Morgana – Sasha felt better. If the first cocktail soothed her frustration, the second glass opened the door to the introspection of her closeted life. That was clearly a terrain Sasha didn’t want to enter right now. A third cocktail was needed to quickly advance to wonderland. Sasha gave the waitress a nod and tapped the empty glass, missing Morgana’s raised eye-brow.

              After sipping half of the Gin & Tonic she felt light, in peace and actually glad to be here with Morgana. What a great bar with great music and a cheerful crowd that had showed up a few minutes before. Drawing the last drops of her cocktail through her straw, Sasha swallowed and raised her hands before shouting from the top of her lungs, “Empty!”

              Several heads turned in their direction.

              “Maybe we should go now,” Morgana said uneasily. “I guess you need some rest. You shouldn’t have had this third cocktail.”

              “Oh, shut up, party pooper and get me another one! I like it here. What a great place to be!”

              “Don’t you want to know what I found out about the Galloways?” Morgana smiled slyly. “I tell you what we will do. We will leave the bar, get a cab and talk a little bit, alright?”

              “No, Morgana. I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to go to the bar over there and order that drink myself.” The Czech player was slurring her words. She hadn’t even listened to Morgana. Sasha managed to stand up with difficulty and swept away an invisible comment with her hand.  “Bye bye, Birdie!”

              Unsteadily, she made her way to the bar and leaned on the counter. Waiting for the bartender to mix the drink, she turned her head only to stare at a woman sitting there on a stool. She looked extraordinary. Sasha was struck by the woman’s clear-cut features and blue eyes. It felt like she had known this girl for ages. For a moment Sasha forgot about her good intentions to focus only on tennis and felt a rush of desire and excitement flowing through her veins. She bent towards the girl.

“Can I buy you a drink?” she whispered.

***

“So, let’s get started,” Paola said into the microphone. “Hello, Luella.”

              “I’m Gabriella.”

              “Oh. I’m sorry. That must happen to you all the time!”

Paola Scetti burst out laughing. What a typical start for her! Not only had she been late, she also seemed completely unprepared. She shrugged the embarrassment away and started anew. A good interview began with a nice, friendly atmosphere anyway. She had learned that little by little on tour.

              “Gabriella, then. And hello, Luella,” she said to the other twin. “How are the most famous sisters on tour?”

              A reluctant nod welcomed Paola’s question.

              “Excellent results so far for the two of you. Is 2011 finally going to be your year?”

              “I guess it is more the logical continuation of 2010, to speak for myself,” Luella answered. “I finished the past season with very promising results and with a career high ranking. So 2011 will be my year, yes.”

              Paola smiled at the young woman in front of her and nodded quietly. Luella was full of herself. She had an enormous ego like so many athletes the journalist had met over the years. The question was if Lulu had the consistency to back it up with good results. In Paola’s opinion it was Gabriella who deserved a lot more praise. She had steadily worked on her game and had improved tremendously over the last month.

              “Do you share your sister’s point of view, Gabriella?”

              Gaga remained silent for a moment, passed her tongue over her lips then frowned. She was focused, looking for the right words. She didn’t rush into things as her sister did. She was the calmer one.