Game of Love (12 page)

After he returned from the restroom, Andre found Gemma fast asleep. She seemed innocent, powerful, perfect. He had often wondered if anyone could truly understand what he went through during his youth. Without a doubt he knew Gemma got it. She got him and his world. Not even his best friends completely understood.

He glanced toward the partition separating first and business class. A few times during the flight, he had felt the unsettling feeling of being watched. He thought it may have been Stella, but she had been asleep most of the flight. He wondered if it had been Roger, snooping. He hoped not, because if he had seen Andre with Gemma, life would get more complicated at work.

Whatever it was, most of the passengers were out now. He opened his blanket and gently placed it across Gemma’s body, then lowered her seat to flat. She stirred, but did not wake. He reclined his chair and turned toward her. He was tempted to make a noise, so she’d wake up and they could talk some more. Instead he thought of this woman, trapped in a world she had not created. He understood that situation all too well.

She shifted, now facing him. Strands of hair covered her face. Gently, he brushed her hair back. His fingers grazed her forehead, causing the tight skin to loosen and ease. Her eyes fluttered momentarily. Suddenly, her hand emerged from beneath the blanket and took his hand in hers, tight against her chest. He felt her heartbeat and gentle breathing. He studied her face, wanting to remember every detail, knowing for once he could use his photographic memory for something he actually wanted to commit to memory.

With her face etched in his mind, he drifted.

“
Mademoiselle. Monsieur.
Please put on your seat belts,” someone said. “Heavy turbulence.” It was the flight attendant.

Gemma rose slightly, trying to remember where she was. Her neck was tight, and a heavy headache weighed her down. Medication always disoriented her. She noticed her hand. That wasn’t her stuffed dog… that was his hand.

Andre woke up. “What’s going on?” he asked, but did not release her hand.

“Turbulence,” she whispered.

He nodded then squeezed her hand. “We’ll be fine.”

Their chairs rose while the plane jolted. Gemma rubbed her temples and turned her head this way and that, hoping to release the tightness in her neck.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Ugh. I think so. My neck is frozen stiff and I have a headache.”

“Face me and scoot closer.”

She did without hesitation.

He laid his hands on her temples and applied a gentle pressure. First light, then stronger. Her eyes did not break from his. His long fingers slid down her jaw, to her neck. She blinked and leaned a bit closer to him as his hands found the back of her neck, then the base of her skull. She was no longer sure if her head hurt, or if her neck was tight. What she wanted was to grab his face and press her lips to his.

“Gemma?”

“Yes?” she muttered.

“You’re drooling.”

“So are you, love.”

He laughed then pulled her into his chest, embracing her completely.

“This is a good day,” she whispered just as the plane shook again.

When breakfast was served, Andre glanced at his watch. They had less than two hours before landing. He thought carefully about what he wanted to say next. He wanted to see her again, but his life was too complicated–and so was hers–and, in any event, that’s not what he wanted. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. But he loved talking to her. Well, maybe love was too strong a word. Really liked? Really-really liked? Whatever it was, he knew he could talk to her freely, because like him, she had also given up youth. Like him, she was trying to make sense of the crazy world they now lived in. They were more alike than different.

“Are you staying in LA, or is this a layover for you?” he asked.

“Staying for a few days, then I’m heading back to London,” she said, forking her fruit salad.

“Are you here for a match or an appearance?”

“No, nothing like that. I just needed to get away for a couple of days. Needed to collect myself before my upcoming matches.”

“So the tabloids were right. You are having a nervous breakdown.”

She poked his hand with her fork. “Careful. I can get nasty.”

He rubbed his hand. “Clearly. So, you’re staying at a hotel, a resort–”

“My home in Malibu.”

“You have a home in Malibu?”

“Yes, Malibu and London. When I’m not traveling, that is. I stay in LA maybe six weeks out of the year. About the same in London. The rest of the time I’m in hotels or on planes.”

“Then your travel life is as bad as mine. That must take some of the fun out of the game. I know it kills me,” he said.

“The travel is dreadful. Absolutely hate it. Some months, like this one, are criminal. French Open, then to another match in the U.K. next week, then possibly the Netherlands, followed by the big one, Wimbledon. Back to back.”

“How does your body hold up with this type of grind?” he asked. When his words registered, he turned beet red. “Wait. What I meant…”

“Very well, thank you very much.” She punched his shoulder.

It was now or never. “Look, since you’re in LA for a couple of days, maybe we can catch up again. I don’t know, maybe get coffee or something, if you have time.”

She stopped eating. “Your bastardized, savage English confuses me. What are you asking?”

“I was just saying that… you know… we should hang out while you’re in LA.”

“So you’re asking me to hang out? On a proper date? With you?”

“If you want. If you have time.” Sweat broke out on his forehead. He picked up his coffee and drank it all.

“I’ll think about it. After all, the way you put it sounded so enticing, I fear my stay in LA would be dreadfully dull if I don’t take you up on that offer.”

“Nice. Laugh at the geek. What’s the score? Gemma two, Andre one?”

“Pitiful attempt, really. By the way, you haven’t scored any points yet.”

He eyed her. She smirked.

“I’ll try harder.”

“I’m sure you’ll try.”

“Well, if you want to break away from your solitary confinement, give me a call.” He wrote his cell phone number on the Air France napkin and handed it to her. “I’m no Leonardo DiCaprio, but I have watched most of his movies.”

She almost snorted again. “That nearly sounded like a normal invitation.” She took the napkin. “I’m curious. That last pitiful invitation notwithstanding, for someone who is a certified geek, you are a balanced chap. I would have thought someone with your background would have been… what’s the word? Less social?”

“Wow. Hold on, I’m updating the scoreboard. If you have any more insults prepared, this may be the time to deliver them.”

“I meant that in a positive way.”

“Obviously. Excuse me while I call my therapist. Note to self, do not accept her Facebook invite.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a geek. It’s just that you’re an atypical geek.”

“There’s another one. Gemma fifteen, Andre zero. Will I score any points?”

“Doubt it.” She sank deep into his eyes. “By the way, it’s love.”

“Sorry?”

“In tennis we don’t have zero. We have love,” she said as she laid her hand on his. “Gemma fifteen, Andre love.”

At the plane’s final descent, Andre stole glances, anticipating the end. The flight had been the best eleven hours he had ever spent. But she would be gone soon, and like it or not, he’d have to accept the impending emptiness that would follow her departure.

When the plane landed and reached the gate, Gemma turned to Andre. “I’ll be escorted off first. Part of the celebrity thing. So let me say bye for now,” she said.

When they rose, she kissed his cheek and then hugged him. “I’m sure we’ll talk soon.”

Her soft lips were like a whisper on his skin. Her body warm and strong. He didn’t want to let go.

She pulled away, her eyes trained on his. “Bye.” She gave him a warm smile, slid on her sunglasses, and followed the flight attendant.

In that moment he had a distinct feeling he understood how sunshine impacted plants. He felt rejuvenated and unstable all at the same time, but he was certain this instability was the source of life. The uncertainty made life worth living.

He wanted the warm pressure of her hand on his again, the hand he held during the flight. He pictured her holding tight, not letting go even during turbulence.

“We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone.”
~Orson Welles

he customs agent processed Gemma’s entry quickly. He also took a picture with her and asked for, and received, her autograph. When she arrived at the gate, an explosion of yells and flashbulbs disoriented her. Gemma froze, scanning for her security. Had they not been told? The crowd converged on her, and she took a tentative step back.