Love Game - Season 2011 (48 page)

              “See?” she said under her breath. “Best decision ever to come here. You should listen more to other people.”

              Sasha followed her gaze. Tom was at the buffet handing out glasses of punch. Antonia waited for Sasha’s response.

              “What are we going to do now?” Antonia wasn’t able to finish her sentence, as Sasha had already sped across the room.

              What happened next would be the talk of many, many hushed chats in players’ lounges and would eventually become a legend just like the red dress on Wimbledon Center court had become. Everyone knew it had actually happened, but the story was so absurd and incredible that it was told over and over until it took on mythical quality.

              There was a flying punch bowl. A famous female tennis player who jumped over a buffet table. An Italian and an Argentine who jumped after her, helped to grab the punch bowl man and pinned him to the wall so that the famous female tennis player could give him a thorough beating. A famous soccer player who rushed to prevent the worst, but slipped on the punch on the ground, and by falling not only knocked out the famous female tennis player but also kicked the punch bowl into the air, which hit the punch bowl man on the nose.

              Some versions of the story include a low-five the Argentine and the Italian gave each other over the three unconscious bodies lying on the ground, but this was never confirmed.

***

The muezzin was going at it again and it seemed as though he was standing right outside the window.

              Tom pulled the white, clean pillow over his head to shut out the singing but the pillow cover was stiff and it hurt his beaten face. He tried to recall the moment he saw the bowl flying at him for the first time. He had ducked in surprise but then had felt a fist on his cheek. Sasha had punched him right in the face. Suddenly Martina and Antonia were there trying to tear Tom and Sasha apart, while at the same time shouting at him.
Why did you do that? Why did you do it?
It was then that it had dawned on him that this was all to do with his pictures.

              But the pictures had gone. How did they know about it? Many thoughts raced through his mind. Someone else was using them. Someone else was probably blackmailing the girls. He looked up at Sasha who was kicking and hitting with blow after blow, intending to explain the delicate situation when the now empty punch bowl flew at him for the second time. Being held by Martina, he couldn’t dodge.

              Why had he done it? Why?

              Outside the door he could hear nurses walking along the corridor. He was looking for the button to call one of them in, as he needed a painkiller for his head. But he couldn’t find it and he felt too weak to yell for them. Moreover, his headache had probably been caused as much by racking his brain as by the bowl. Why had he done it? And why had it all gone wrong?

              He wanted to do good. Yes, he really wanted to. But it had been wrong to pursue the idea without the consent of the players. But which of them would have agreed to support his idea? None, he was certain of it. He never wanted to do harm, and to think that some unknown person possessed all the evidence and was clearly about to do some harm was terrifying.

              He had to speak to the players, and not only Sasha, Martina and Antonia. There was also Amanda and Elise, who had not taken part in the fight, so they probably didn’t know about the pictures he had taken of them in Wimbledon. They needed to be warned. Yes, he felt the need prevent the worst and help them. He sat up, leaned over to grab his jacket that was lying on the chair and got out his cell phone, when there was a knock on the door. The door was opened and Tom straightened up ready to give the Turkish nurse a smile, when his heart stopped.

              “Ted.”

              It was really him. Ted Curry was standing in the doorway, looking gorgeous and smiling at Tom like the British dork he was, even though no one had ever seemed to realize that except Tom. He raised his left hand to wave at Tom.

              “What are you doing here? How did you know I was here?”

              Tom stared at his ex-lover. He must be dreaming. It took several hours to get from London to Istanbul.

              “How did you get here so fast?”

              “Oh, I was already here,” Ted explained, stepping carefully into the room and looking for a place to sit down but the only chair in the room was occupied by Tom’s belongings. Under the sheets, Tom moved his feet to the side, and understanding the gesture, Ted sat down on the bedside.

              “I flew here this morning to talk to you,” Ted began. “There is something I need to tell you that is haunting my mind. But now all this happened and I’m afraid it’s all too late.”

              He buried his face in his hands.

              “What are you talking about? It’s not too late!”

              Tom couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Ted was here to reconcile. He still wanted to be with Tom. “We can do that. Ted, you were right about
30 Love
. I should have never done that.”

              “But that’s exactly what I’m talking about. It’s too late because I lost the photos, I lost all the files and I’m afraid someone has them and is trying to blackmail the players. Amanda told me that Elise found one of the pictures you had taken of them in Wimbledon. Someone slipped it under her door in Luxembourg.”

              A silence as broad as the Bosporus was spreading over the room. Then Tom breathed in sharply.

              “You stole my pictures?”

              Ted nodded ashamed. “Yes, I did. I’m sorry. I was just so scared that you would go ahead with this idea.”

              “And you lost them?”

              Again Ted nodded. His shoulders sunk and he hung his head.

              “You know you are a dork,” Tom said.

              Ted pressed his lips together. He nodded.

              Tom couldn’t help but feel a rush of warmth and love flowing through his veins. He reached out and grabbed Ted’s hand.

              “Will you help me get them back?”

              Ted looked up and again he nodded. But seeing the look in Tom’s eyes, he suddenly smiled and nodded even more. Yes, he would. Of course, he would. They were in this together.

              The smiled at each other like the two British dorks they were.

***

Would she have to go to rehab? Was there physiotherapy for a broken nose?

              Sasha lay on the hospital bench and decided that she probably couldn’t do anything about the fracture but cool it with an ice pack. The ice and the painkillers that had slowly begun to work caused a numbness that spread all over her body. She felt dizzy. Could she play with a broken nose? Sasha sighed. She needed to call her team. But how would she explain this drama to her management and agent? She had some modeling jobs coming up in the off-season. Would she have to call them off? Sasha moaned. This was the worst-case scenario. Moreover, with Tom being knocked-out and carried away to a different part of the hospital he was unable to answer their questions. She closed her eyes and shifted the ice pack on her nose.

              When she heard the little snicker she thought at first it was her head still pumping with pain, but then decided to open her eyes, almost letting the ice pack tumble from her hand. One of the Galloways was leaning against the door frame, a hand on her hip.

              “I had to see it with my own eyes. I couldn’t believe it.” the twin said, taking a step forward. Sasha noticed that she was limping. Her ankle was taped.

              “And what happened to you?” Sasha sat up on the bed.

              “I sprained my ankle in my match against Morgana.”

              So this was Luella then. The twin took another step closer. “Judging by your marvelous looking face she will have to play one of the alternates tomorrow,” Lulu mused.

              Sasha shrugged. “I don’t know yet if I can play. But I don’t think so.”

              “Guess the season is over for both of us,” Luella said.

              Sasha looked at her. The Galloway’s image was blurry and it felt like Luella was moving towards her. Was she smiling? Would she come and hug Sasha?

              “Yes,” Sasha said wearily. She suddenly felt like crying and very tired. Putting down the ice pack she grabbed the edge of the bench to steady herself.

              Luella made another step towards her. “Shall I call a doctor?”

              Shaking her head slowly, Sasha reached out and touched Luella’s sleeve. It was soft and she could feel the warmth of Lulu’s body through the fabric. Pulling the twin towards her she closed her eyes.

              “You don’t look alright. Are you sure, you don’t want a doctor?”

              Luella’s words became incomprehensible. Why was she talking, Sasha thought. Moving her hands up to Lulu’s neck, touching the warm skin, she immediately felt better. Pulling the Galloway even closer Sasha lay her other hand on Luella’s hip.

              “Sasha!” Luella’s voice sounded angry. She shifted in Sasha’s arms.

              “Yes,” Sasha answered with a thick voice. “I’m here. I was waiting for you. I’m so glad you came.”

              “No,” Lulu began, but Sasha had already leaned forward. With her lips she carefully touched Lulu’s neck and continued mumbling.

              “I’ve always known it. Since that day in Paris, before the match,” she slurred her words. “But I couldn’t cope with your advances. Even when you kissed me that night in Cincy I didn’t know how to feel about it.” She grabbed Lulu more firmly. “But now I know, and I know you want me, too.”

              Sasha turned her head to finally kiss Luella, but the American dodged out with a swift movement.

              “I certainly do not want you,” Luella yelled, breaking free from Sasha’s grip. “What are you talking about? What night in Cincy?”

              Once more Sasha tried to grab Lulu’s sleeve but this time the twin had had enough. With a well-targeted blow she put an end to Sasha’s blurry dreams and an end to whatever magic the painkillers had worked so far. Sasha felt the bones in her nose crack once more and a lightning strike of piercing agony shot to her brain, knocking her out.

              When she came around Sasha felt the coolness of the floor spreading from her temples through her body. She heard voices. Upset voices. The nurses must have found her and would help her now.

              “Why are you doing this, Lu?”

              The words echoed in Sasha’s head. Someone touched her cheek and Sasha could hear herself moan. She tried to open her eyes but it seemed her eyelids were glued together.

              “Get away from that madwoman!”

              The voice sounded exactly the same, Sasha wondered. The nurse was angry and talking to herself. Suddenly, the hand was gone exposing her cheek again to the cold. Then she heard the door being slammed and the room became silent.

              After a long time Sasha opened her eyes. She was all alone. Blood was dripping from her nose onto the floor. Slowly she pulled up her knees and embraced them with her arms. Tears formed in her eyes, and when she blinked for the first time they gushed out.

              With cold fascination she observed the two liquids forming separate pools on the tiles until – in one rush – they finally mingled together as if they had been waiting for each other.