Love Game - Season 2011 (8 page)

“Thank you,” Elise said and without another word she walked away.

Melbourne, Australia

“Why now? Why not wait till we get back home?” Gabriella followed her sister through the corridor of their Melbourne hotel.

“Because we need one. That’s why. Just look at you!” Luella turned around, pointing at Gaga’s hips.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying I’m not fit? I played two matches today!”

“We need to get fitter!” Lulu grabbed Gaga’s hand and pulled her through the door of Room 324. Inside Mick Ecklund, their coach was waiting. He had a bored face, knowing that he would have nothing to say in the procedures that were about to take place.

“You are late, girls! They are already waiting.” He pointed to the door that connected the room with the next one.

“Good,” Lulu said sitting down in a chair. “Where are their CVs? And can I get a water, please?” She clapped her hands and Mick got up to look for a glass of water.

Gabriella found herself a lounge chair in the back of the room. She had no intention of taking part in the show except to prevent the worst. She sighed. As if her day had not been strenuous enough, Luella had set up job interviews for a new fitness trainer feeling that they needed one as soon as possible after the previous trainer had left them without warning, after only a week in Brisbane. It was typical for Luella to rush things. That was her way on the court and off the court. That was also the reason Gabriella was the more consistent player. It was a fact the twins never spoke about as they both knew their careers were a joint effort.

Today Gaga had played both the singles match for Luella and an arduous doubles match together with her sister. After the doubles match she had to convince her sister, that she couldn’t possibly play the match against Sasha the next day. She felt exhausted and needed the free day that was granted the players at a Grand Slam. This evening she would have preferred to talk about tactics for Lulu’s match but Luella was already involved in the inspection of tanned, buff Latino guys.

Latino guys? Yes, all of them, Gabriella realized when scanning the room.

After another twenty minutes she was convinced that Luella had made the pre-selection of suitable contenders based solely on their resemblance to Enrique Martinez. Was that the name of that Spanish rock singer Lulu would listen to all the time? Gabriella couldn’t remember even though she had to endure his music on every drive between the hotel and the tournament site.

She closed her eyes and frowned. Now she had one of his terrible tunes stuck in her head. She tried to think of something neutral like tennis balls flying over a net and soon fell asleep on the big, comfortable couch. She missed the big moment when Lulu proudly announced Rafael as new fitness coach for the Galloway twins.

***

It was a glorious evening and Tamara Parova and Ivana Katina felt the need to celebrate their first doubles quarterfinal of the year with a nice dinner at a good restaurant. They had played together only a couple of times before the Australian Open but they complemented each other really well and had achieved their first success in Tokyo last year by reaching the final, followed by their first trophy on home soil in Moscow. Even though they were both regarded as singles players foremost doubles seemed like good fun as they had become good friends and it also served their skills at the net.

They had chosen a seafood Bar & Grill not far from the hotel with a nice terrace but the restaurant terrace was already jam-packed and they agreed to take a table inside. They had just begun to sip soft drinks when a small scene at the restaurant’s reception desk caught their eye. A tall blonde woman was arguing with the young woman who had just showed Tamara and Ivana to their table. Obviously something had gone wrong with her reservation. There was also a woman with curly red hair who seemed embarrassed by the disturbance her friend caused. She looked constantly to the exit apparently ready to split any second.

Soon several staff members marched out to the terrace and approached an elderly couple. From the gestures of the waiters and the couple Ivana concluded that the waiters explained that there had been a mistake with their reservation and the couple had to move to a different table to make space for the new guests.

“Who do they think they are?” Tamara shook her head in disgust when the blonde and the red-haired women passed their table. She had only seen their backs but Ivana who was seated in the corner had a better view. With a surprised look on her face she turned to her friend.

“That was Amanda! With Felicia Del Castro!”

“Who?” Tamara didn’t know the last name.

“Amanda, the Oister!” Ivana clarified, turning her head around the corner to watch the two women sit down at the free table. She looked back at Tamara. “Felicia is a singer and TV show host. She’s also Australian,” she whispered.

Tamara shook her head, unconcerned by the news. Ivana was three years younger than her and apparently knew all sorts of celebrities. Tamara had never heard of that singer and she didn’t care anyway as their food arrived and they dug in.

“I didn’t know Amanda was friends with celebrities. She seems so low key all the time,” Tamara wondered while skillfully butchering a big lobster. “Maybe this Felicia is an old friend from school?”

“Yes, maybe a friend.”

Ivana stole another glance around the corner. The table Amanda and Felicia were sitting at now was at the far end of the terrace hidden from the other outside tables by a bamboo hedgerow, but from inside Tamara and Ivana had a good view of the pair through the glass window. She almost dropped her spoon into the soup bowl. Felicia was bending forward over the table and kissing Amanda Auster. Then she leaned back again and gave the red-haired tennis player a huge smile.

“Or maybe not,” Ivana gasped. She turned her head to Tamara for confirmation, but the Russian was occupied with cracking a pincer. She never saw the kiss and Ivana decided to keep it to herself.

***

“Morgana Doré versus Angela Porovski. France versus Germany. Wine versus beer.”

Hugh Andrews was a nice guy and a pretty pleasant colleague, but Samantha Watts couldn’t help but shake her head, glancing at her colleague, sure that it was only a matter of time until the British commentator would come up with an Eiffel Tower reference. She checked her microphone which was ready to go, when all of a sudden the countdown appeared in big, bold red letters in front of them and within a minute, they were on the air. Quarterfinals day. That meant excitement and hopefully several high-quality matches. Hopefully the excitement prevented Hugh from coming up with his ridiculous ‘versus’ comparisons.

“Good afternoon everyone. It is Samantha Watts commenting for Supersport.”

“And I’m Hugh Andrews and we will be here for you for all quarterfinals today.”

“Today the first quarterfinal will see Morgana Doré from France taking on Angela Porovski from Germany. Any thoughts, Hugh?”

Sipping on his tea Hugh Andrews shrugged, as if people could not only hear him but see him as well.

“The Eiffel Tower versus the autobahn.”

Bang! That was quick, Sam thought, glad that Hugh was continuing with his analysis.

“It’s the first time that Porovski makes it to the quarterfinals while Doré is obviously the more experienced player and one of the favorites of the tournament,” Hugh mused. But the German seems to be really in top form this week so my guess is that both will have their chances. I think, we will witness a great, memorable clash between Angie and Morgie.”

Morgie? Sam couldn’t help but shake her head again in amazement.

Then she chuckled and decided to enjoy this afternoon with Hugh. The players entered the court. It was the same routine as ever – official picture at the net, the umpire in charge of the toss and finally the warm-up. Tennis was a world made of a thousand rituals and Sam loved it.

“The German’s strong forehand against the French woman’s effective serve and groundstrokes,” Sam picked up the commenting. “It should be a very tight match even though Morgana is a hot contender as you just said. But let’s not forget that Porovski is a very hard worker. She is extremely fit and could become the surprise of this tournament.”

Besides being tireless and ambitious, Angela Porovski was a fun character – one of the rare gems that showed up from time to time on the tour. The German was well appreciated among the girls and her extroverted personality brought along a lightness that was well needed at times. As both players went to their respective sides of the net, Samantha Watts leaned forward on her desk and took a deep breath.

Down on the court Rumanian umpire Anastasia Stea switched on her microphone.

“Angela Porovski to serve.”

***

She felt the excitement in her every vein. In every muscle. In her toes. She wanted to burst into a little sprint, punch the walls of the stadium and hand out high fives to the spectators who were cheering for her. But instead she regally walked off the court into the catacombs of the Rod Laver Arena with her little trademark wave.

She was back. Back in the game, back in the ring and she just made her first semifinal since she had been runner-up at the U.S. Open two years ago. Who would say now she was over and done for? Sasha was already looking forward to the press conference. Entering the locker room her joy gave way to a commiserative feeling. There was Gabriella Galloway whom she had just beaten sitting in the corner of the room. She looked teary. Sasha knew how a loss in a Grand Slam quarterfinal felt. Perhaps a few comforting words would be nice? Sasha hesitated.

She wasn’t disliked by the other players. But the fact that she had been so successful at an early age separated her from her peers. They looked up to her and at the same time feared her as she was known for her will to win. And today she had proven again that this will was unbroken. She might have lost the first set to Gabriella but she fought her way back into the match, saved two match points and forced a tiebreak in the second set which she eventually won. The third set had been her show. She won the match 3-6, 7-6, 6-2.

Sasha crossed the room and Gabriella quickly got up and walked over to her locker, avoiding Sasha’s eyes. While she passed the Czech player Sasha followed her with a side glance. Gabriella had a fine body and her long dark hair looked even darker when it was wet. And she apparently read
Tennis Nurse
novels. Sasha couldn’t help grinning. She loved the fact that she knew a little secret. Yes, she should say something nice, she decided.

“You made me work really hard,” Sasha said looking at Gabriella’s back.

“Yes.” Gabriella didn’t look her way but was taking out a towel.

“Perhaps your sister will have the chance to get revenge for you in the final,” Sasha said with a smile. There was a chance that Luella Galloway would make it to the final. She had been playing exceptionally well the last couple of days and several experts predicted a final clash between Luella and Sasha. The younger woman turned around to face Sasha. There was cold fury in her eyes.

“If you ever make it to the final,” she spit out before she rushed off to the showers. It sounded like a warning. Sasha was surprised. The outburst was uncalled for and – unlike her sister – Gabriella was known as a mostly friendly though reserved girl. The loss must have hurt her badly. Sasha shook her head.

She took a shower herself and when she got out, Gabriella had already changed, ready to leave the room. Sasha approached the younger player with a smile.

“Listen, I just tried to be nice. I know what it feels like,” she said. Then she winked at Gabriella “Maybe you just need some time-out with a certain tennis nurse to smile again?” It was an attempt to pull Gabriella onto common ground and create the secret unity an allusion to the
Tennis Nurse
trash novels always produced.

“What are you talking about?” Gabriella looked at her with real incomprehension in her eyes before she left the locker room. Sasha was stunned. This girl had never heard of
Tennis Nurse
.

***

“Any new names?” Lynn asked Agnes. They were sitting on a couch in a cozy restaurant back room for a special private function. Several players along with a few umpires and officials had gathered for the regular Grand Slam
Tennis Nurse
Trading Dinner.

“Are you spying on me for the Love Game?” Agnes laughed. Lynn gave her a wink which confirmed Agnes’s suspicion but the French player shook her head.

“Too early to tell, Lynn. There is someone I’m keeping an eye on. I actually gave her a
Tennis Nurse
novel which she gave back to me – at the players’ party of all places. She insisted she never opened it but the battered state the book is in and her clumsy attempt to give it back under the table suggest she knows the story.”