Love Game - Season 2012 (21 page)

But the fourth round was still far away and
so were the Olympics. First she had to survive the first round. Actually, a
third round appearance would have been great for Mint. But reaching the second
week of a Grand Slam still seemed impossible.

The infirmary door opened and Hiroki
Isomira, Natsumi’s coach, popped his head out. The girls leaned forward, eager
and scared at the same time to hear about Natsumi’s injury.

“It’s not as bad as it looked at first,” he
reported. “The ligaments are overstretched and she can’t put any weight on the
foot. But I’m certain she will be able to play the Olympics.”

“The Olympics?” Mint gasped. “What about
Roland Garros? Doesn’t she have fourth round points to defend this year?”

Hiroki nodded. “Yes, but the Olympics are
more important and she will still qualify for them.” He was also the Japanese
women’s Fed Cup captain, and the decision to pull out of the French Open was
certainly a joint decision. “She will fly to Florida tonight and will begin
rehab as soon as possible.”

Natsumi was the best Japanese player and,
even though her ranking had dropped from the Top 20 to the Top 40 since the
Australian Open, she was the key player in the Japanese team. They couldn’t
jeopardize her participation.

Nevertheless, Mint was crestfallen. Natsumi
had become one of the few people she felt comfortable talking openly with –
about her love life, her ever-present stepmother and her fickle friendship with
Chili – and now Natsumi would be away again for another two months.

They said good-bye to Hiroki and left the
building silently.

“Poor Natsumi. From one hospital to
another,” Polly finally spoke.

“I hate hospitals,” Mint muttered.

“Me, too.”

“Have you had any grave injuries yet?” Mint
asked. She couldn’t remember whether Polly had been out of the game for
injury-related problems.

“No,” Polly replied. She walked a little
faster, leaving Mint a step behind. When they reached the parking lot it was
empty. They would have to wait for a cab that would take them to the players’
hotel. Mint wanted to ask Polly if she had any plans for tonight – perhaps they
could watch a movie or play a video game – but the look on Polly’s face made
her shut her mouth again. The Canadian had stopped and looked at the sky. In
the west dark clouds hung deeply over Paris.

“It might rain soon,” Mint remarked
quietly.

Polly nodded. She put her racquet bag on
the asphalt and sat down on top of it. When Mint did the same the Canadian
turned towards her.

“My mom has been in and out of a fair
number of hospitals,” Polly explained. “She has a heart condition. That’s why I
don’t like hospitals.”

She turned away again, and Mint got the
impression Polly didn’t want her to say anything in response. But didn’t you
have to say something consoling or sympathetic? At the very least Polly would
expect her to say how sorry she felt, how much she wished Polly’s mother the
best. Some people wanted to be hugged. Some people wanted to talk more about
their fears and worries. They expected a follow-up question. Mint was thinking
feverishly about the next step, when Polly turned towards her again.

“I hope you make the cut for the Olympics,”
she said with a smile. “I think it will be wonderful.”

Mint nodded and smiled back, relieved that
she wasn’t expected to say anything. Polly had grey eyes, she realized. With a
little bit of green in them. In pictures they looked blue, but grey was better.
Polly was still looking at her. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t even blink
with her grey eyes. Mint leaned on her knees.

“My mother died in a hospital,” Mint
whispered. Polly’s eyes had the color of the sky. “She had a drug problem.
That’s why I don’t like hospitals.”

***

Amanda’s scream was so shrill and full of
despair that Elise dropped the bag she was hauling onto the hotel trolley right
then and there, and rushed to her girlfriend’s side.

They had just arrived at the hotel when the
first raindrops hit the car, but they were not too unhappy about the weather
change as it meant they would spend the evening in their hotel room sorting
pictures, winding down and getting cozy. After spending so many hours on the
road they were looking  forward to a quiet evening together.

“What’s the matter?” Elise demanded to
know. She grabbed Amanda by the shoulders and shook her slightly, but the
Australian seemed to be paralyzed with shock. She was staring at a note the embarrassed-looking
receptionist had handed her. Amanda opened her mouth but only incomprehensible,
broken gibberish came out.

“Give that to me!” Elise commanded and
yanked the paper from Amanda’s hands.

Had an unfortunate splits accident today.
See you at the Olympics
,
the sheet read. Signed
Natsumi
.

“What?” Elise couldn’t believe it. “That’s
not possible.”

“It’s outrageous,” Amanda belted out. She
had found her voice again. “It’s bad enough that Natsumi is injured. I feel
really bad for her. I really, really do! But what does she mean, ‘see you at
the Olympics’? Does that mean she will neither play the French Open nor
Wimbledon? Is her unfortunate splits accident really that severe that she is
willing to squander many, many ranking points. What is going on?”

Amanda gasped for air and Elise grasped the
moment to rush her agitated girlfriend towards the luggage trolley.

“You know what this means,” Amanda groaned.
Elise nodded. They would have to keep the
mara
for another two months.

“Everything will be alright,” she told
Amanda and placed a peck on her red hair. “Take this.” Elise handed the
Australian a huge suitcase.

“Now put it on the trolley.” Amanda
dutifully did as she was told.

“Now help me with the trolley.”

They pushed the over-loaded cart inside the
elevator and Elise pressed the button for the fifth floor. When the elevator
began to ascend Amanda sighed deeply and Elise was relieved. The Australian
seemed to have calmed down. But Elise was wrong.

“Nothing is alright,” Amanda said slowly.
“Something is very, very wrong.”

“Yes, Natsumi is injured again,” Elise
threw in, giving Amanda a disapproving glance. “You could feel a little sorry
for her instead of whining about our dildo dilemma. It’s not as horrible as you
paint it.”

But Amanda didn’t seem to be listening. She
was brooding.

“But is she?” Amanda wondered. “Is she
injured?”

“Are you serious?” Elise was beginning to
question Amanda’s sanity. “Natsumi is one great competitor. Why would she miss
out on two Grand Slams if she wasn’t injured?”

Amanda nodded. “I was simply asking a
question. I’ve also noticed that every time we try to hand back the woodpecker,
she’s unavailable. Either she gets an injury that prevents her from playing the
same tournament as us, like what happened in Madrid, or she loses early in a
tournament, leaving immediately, like in Strasbourg – even though we told her
that we planned to visit her there. She could have come with us in the car if
she wanted to see us. But no, she heads straight to Paris, goes straight to the
practice courts, and gets injured again, checking out on the same day – right
before we arrive.”

“I call that very unlucky,” Elise growled.
“And I think you’re crazy. Perhaps all the driving didn’t do you any good. It’s
time you relax.” She winked at Amanda. “I do have an idea.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve any
woodpeckers, I’m all for it,” Amanda sighed, finally letting go of her
conspiracy theory. She leaned over the trolley and Elise kissed her. Too bad
Amanda wasn’t a fan of the pecker. Elise had actually begun to like the idea.

PLAY THE GAME
                                                       

Paris, France

“Tamara and Ivana will be the team to
beat,” Bernadette mumbled. “They are solid and both have a great serve. So, for
them we need to practice our returns.”

“But they are already out of the
tournament,” Polly remarked. She looked up at Bernadette, who was finishing her
meal. They were sitting in the French Open’s player lounge, having had lunch
after a light hit. A long day was still ahead of them as their doubles match
against Michelle van der Boom and Marieke Bender was scheduled last on Court 3.
A look at the TV confirmed that the second match had only started, a Junior
match. Hopefully, the boys wouldn’t take too long. There were still two matches
to be played after this one.

The day before, Tamara and Ivana, the
top-seeded doubles team from Russia had been upset in a surprise loss to Angela
Porovski and Elise Renard from Germany. If Polly and Bernadette won their match
today they would play the semifinal against the German team.

Impatiently Bernadette placed her knife and
fork on the plate and pushed it to the side.

“I’m thinking ahead, Polly,” she replied.
“I’m thinking about the Olympics.”

Of course, Polly thought. The Olympic Games
was all Bernadette was thinking about.

“Well, then we’ll practice returns as soon
as we hit the grass,” Polly agreed. “Their serves will be even more effective
on a fast surface.”

“Exactly,” Bernadette nodded, satisfied
that her young compatriot was finally beginning to understand the importance of
an extensive training regime.

“It will also be good for my singles game,”
Polly contemplated. “I might have a chance now. Eight players in the Top 60 are
injured and won’t be able to play the Olympic Games.”

Polly had reached the fourth round at
Roland Garros, which meant that after the tournament her ranking would jump
into the Top 70. It wasn’t impossible to slip into the singles draw as an
alternate.

Bernadette pursed her lips. “You want to
play singles, too?”

Polly gulped. Her doubles player eyed her
suspiciously. “Well, if I get the chance, of course I want to play.”

“You stand absolutely no chance of winning
a medal in singles.”

Polly sighed and nodded. That was true. “Of
course, I will concentrate on doubles more.”

Bernadette was still watching her and Polly
began shifting in her chair. Why was Bernadette always such a killjoy? Nothing
Polly did seemed to find the older player’s approval. To ease the tension,
Polly pulled out a flyer she had picked up in the players’ lounge the other
day. It showed Pierre de Coubertin, the father of the Olympic Games, with a
quote.

 “Do you know what it says? Your French is
pretty good.”

“It used to be a lot better. Age.”
Bernadette remarked, tapping her forehead with her finger. “Let me see that.”

Polly handed her the brochure. Bernadette
took a quick look at it and nodded, then put the paper on the table.

“The most important thing in the Olympic
Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life
is not the triumph but the struggle,” Bernadette recited without looking at the
leaflet. “The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought
well.”

Polly smiled. Bernadette knew all these
words by heart. She really loved the Olympic Games.

“Yes,” Polly marveled. “I like that. It’s
not about winning or losing, it’s about how you played the game.”

Bernadette smiled mildly. “That’s
bullshit.”

Polly opened her mouth at the sudden
turnaround, but didn’t object.

“This sentimental attitude won’t get you
anywhere,” Bernadette continued. “Nobody just wants to participate. We all
travel to London to win, to leave our teeth marks on a metal plate and feel its
heaviness around our necks.”

She looked Polly in the eye. “You know what
winning feels like, Polly. You know now what it feels like to lift a trophy. All
the pain, all the practice for simply participating?” She spread her arms. “No.
It’s not about fighting well. It’s about winning. It’s always about winning.”

Polly didn’t answer. Yes, she knew the
feeling of triumph now, having won a couple of tournaments together with
Bernadette and even a smaller tournament in singles. It was wonderful. She also
knew the other feeling of fighting your heart out and still losing. That was
the worst.

“We have a great chance at winning a
medal,” Bernadette whispered, leaning forward on the table. “Let’s take it.
Let’s focus. Let’s work hard. Let’s not just participate. Let’s triumph.”

She leaned back and watched Polly. “Do you
understand that?”

Polly nodded.

“Promise that you will do everything to
win.”

“I promise,” Polly said solemnly.

***

Mint looked through the rows of tables,
indecisive about where to sit down.

There was Gabriella Galloway, with the
glamorous and ever-smiling Amanda and Elise. The German gave Amanda a little
kiss on the cheek and got up – probably to use the bathroom. A chair was free
at their table, but there was no way Mint would sit down next to them. On the
other side of the room were Antonia and Martina, in a lively discussion with
Chili and Teresa as well as two other Spanish girls. In the corner sat the old
gang of Agnes and Candice, Monica and Michelle van der Boom. A couple of other
players were scattered all over the place and, as always, the chair umpires had
taken a separate table.

But the two most important people were
missing. It was the second time Morgana didn’t attend the
Tennis Nurse
trading meeting – this time held at lunch hour as there had been complaints
about the early schedule during the Australian Open.

And Polly wasn’t there. Mint scanned the
room once more, making sure that she hadn’t really missed the Canadian, but
Polly seemed to have skipped the event. Mint let her shoulders hang. She had
enjoyed her last conversation with Polly, but again, she had been unable to
gain any ground. The times she had wanted to ask Polly out or suggest doing
something together, something had held her back. A nagging fear that a date
with Polly or anything that looked slightly like a date would arouse wry looks
or actual ridicule from Chili and her new friends.

It made Mint angry. Why did she even care
what Chili thought? Watching Chili with her Spanish friends Mint realized that
she didn’t belong with them. Or rather Chili didn’t belong with Mint anymore.
She had been her sidekick for years, following Mint everywhere and envying her
for her financial independence and her abilities as a pick-up artist. But ever
since Chili was appointed to play Fed Cup for her country, and with the Olympic
Games coming up, she had been spending most of her free time with her Spanish
friends. She really shouldn’t care about the Spaniard’s opinion, Mint thought.
But she did. Chili had been her best friend, and not even she cared about Mint
anymore.

She approached the table where Agnes and
Monica were sitting, and luckily the older players welcomed her and moved so
Mint could sit down.

“Congratulations. Pretty impressive win
against Yelena and a well-deserved place in the fourth round,” Candice greeted
her, lifting Mint’s mood immediately.

“Thank you,” she smiled. “I hope I can make
the cut for the Olympic Games.”

The other players nodded. Everyone was
thinking about the deadline for the Olympics.

“Aren’t there four American players ahead
of you in the rankings?” Monica wondered.

Yes, that was true, and the Tennis
Federation of each country could only send four singles players to the games.
Mint’s heart sank again when she thought about it.

“Yes, I only qualify for singles if one of
them is unable to play,” she admitted.

“Perhaps you could play doubles,” Agnes
suggested. “It’s possible to only play doubles, even if you don’t enter the
singles competition.”

Mint shrugged. “I don’t ever play doubles.
I’m not really good at it.”

She threw a glance at the other table where
Chili and Martina were fervidly trading books and giggling. On the one hand she
wanted to be part of the group, and on the other hand she felt the need to be
on her own.

“Well, the important thing is taking part,”
Monica tried to cheer her up. “Talk to the Olympic Committee. I’m sure you’ll
find a spot on the team.”

Mint nodded. “Yes, I will. Thank you.” She
looked at Monica, the great singles player, the loner, the rebel – who had
become the great doubles player, the mediator and confidante for so many
younger players. Monica, who had never liked Mint. At least that had been
Mint’s impression.

“Forget the Olympics,” Agnes suddenly said.
“Let’s talk business, ladies!”

She unpacked her bag and pulled out a heap
of books.

“I’ve cleared out my attic in Paris,” Agnes
said. Mint’s eyes grew wide. Judging from the covers these were really old
Tennis
Nurse
novels.

***

The Eiffel Tower stuck out into the blue
sky, poking a few clouds which lazily passed by.

High above the city, Elise and Polly
exchanged a couple of volleys. On the rooftop of the Galeries Lafayette the
Supersport team had prepared a mini clay court for shooting another episode of
the, by now, very popular series with young and upcoming players. Gemma and
Robyn had taken a turn already, playing a couple of points for the camera.

After twenty minutes they were done.

“Thank you, girls,” Paola shouted and gave
Lars, her cameraman, a pat on the back. She approached Polly and Elise.

“The van will take you back to the hotel,”
she informed them.

“Oh, we don’t need it,” Elise smiled. “My
dad will take us out to lunch. He just arrived.”

She pointed to the other side of the roof,
where Robert Renard was waiting for the two girls.

When Elise had packed her racquet bag she
walked over to her dad who was leaning against the balustrade and enjoying the
spectacular view.

“Do you miss Paris?” Elise asked quietly.
Over ten years ago, they had first moved to Germany and then to Florida to
pursue Elise’s tennis career.

“Yes, sometimes,” her dad answered. He kept
looking out onto the streets he had once called home.

“It’s very nice of you to take me out,”
Polly said, joining Elise and her dad.

Robert turned around and smiled. “You’re
welcome. Bernie didn’t want to come?”

Polly and Elise had to giggle while they
made their way to the elevator. It was the first time they had heard anybody
call Bernadette LeBlanc ‘Bernie’.

“She said she’s busy,” Polly answered.

Elise had been glad when Bernadette had
declined the invitation. The older Canadian always had such a sour look on her
face. It probably would have been very dull to have her around.

Robert Renard nodded slowly, stepping into
the arriving lift. “She’s a great player and a very nice person. I’m sure she
can teach you a lot of things.”

Polly nodded and exchanged a quick look
with Elise, who rolled her eyes. Obviously, her dad wasn’t up-to-date. Sure,
Bernadette was a good doubles player – one of the best in the world – but a
nice person? Elise doubted it. She sometimes saw Polly coming from the gym late
at night, knowing that it was Bernadette’s burning ambition which pressured
Polly to generate more and more achievements.

The hall of the Galeries Lafayette looked
like the huge nave of a cathedral, and when they stepped out of the elevator
Polly and Elise were enchanted by the sparkling and colorful goods on display.
They didn’t mind when Robert Renard suggested that he would go outside and get
a cab for them.

“Just be in the front in fifteen minutes,”
Robert winked. “And don’t buy the whole store!”

When Elise’s dad was out of sight, they
started giggling.

“Your dad is sweet,” Polly said. “It’s so
great that you have a family member traveling with you.”

Elise nodded. “Yes, it is. How is your mom?
When was the last time you saw her?”

“She’s fine actually,” Polly answered. “But
I really miss her. I only visited for two days after Indian Wells. It was way
too short.”

They strolled through the rows of show
boxes, checking out the golden watches and jewelry. Elise felt that mentioning
Polly’s mother probably had been the wrong move. Polly seemed lost in thought
while she leaned over a glass case that showed sparkling diamonds.