Game of Love (25 page)

By early afternoon, Andre’s migraine had gotten progressively worse. His doctor had told him to manage the pressures surrounding his life. Great advice.

The phone call with his dad earlier had also contributed greatly. Another head-butting session over his deteriorating relationship with his niece and sister-in-law. The man was as obstinate as a cinder block.

But the good news didn’t stop there.

He stepped outside the Homeland Security facility to catch fresh air and try to understand what he had just heard over lunch from the director of the department.

“
Your office insisted on an early start. We were told you had another engagement at the end of the week.
”

Andre didn’t have any other engagements on his calendar. That had been a lie. It was at best two days of work, unnecessary for an immediate start. He could’ve had one more day of rest. Why had Roger forced the issue?

Andre’s phone rang. It was Gemma.

Here we go.
He wanted to show detachment and lack of care, but when he tapped the
Answer
icon, the smile that broke out on his face was uncontrollable. “Hi, Gem.”

“Did I catch you at a bad time? Are you busy?”

“Perfect time.”

Urgency laced her voice, but she hesitated, the silence spreading like an unbreachable crevasse.

“How are you, Gem?”

“I guess it depends. The movie premiere… how much of it did you catch?”

He closed his eyes and spoke. “Are you and Greasy-Hair-Guy together?”

“If I just said no, would you believe me? Would that be enough?”

“You don’t owe me an explanation–”

“Please answer me. If I said no, would you believe me?”

“Of course.”

More silence, then a muffled sound. “In that case, I’ll tell you everything.”

She told him about their past relationship, about Australia, about their breakup, and the plan to appear as friends to minimize the media fall-out.

“And the kiss?” he asked. “I can’t imagine that was part of the plan.”

“That was not a kiss. That was a drunk who caught me off guard.”

“Why would a prominent actor do something so careless?”

“I don’t know. Publicity? Fried brain cells? Who knows? What I do know is I felt humiliated, betrayed.”

“Betrayed? By him?”

“By him, by my team, by everyone who’s conspiring against me. Now the press are having a field day. The celebrity rags love it because it’s fresh content, and the sports press are browbeating me because it’s more of the same.”

“They’re all idiots. If they’d been looking, or if they cared, they would’ve seen something was wrong.”

“Okay, what are you talking about?”

“When we kissed, your eyes were closed, you were in the moment. With Greasy-Hair-Guy, your eyes were wide open. Definitely not in the moment. Your eyes showed no joy.”

Silence. “There is no joy when a drunk forces himself on me.”

“Next time, consider kneeing said drunk in the balls.”

A delicious laugh escaped her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Forget him. What’s the situation with the paparazzi?” The story about Australia had put a new fear in him. They were not just a nuisance; they were dangerous.

“I’ve had to increase the security team around my home. They found some asshole living in one of my trees. Can you believe it?”

“I’m thinking of taking a trip to the UK for just a couple of days. What do you think?” He wanted to be there, to shelter her like he had in LA.

She sniffled. “I’d love to see you again, but please don’t. I need to focus on the tournament. These are critical days as I prepare for Wimbledon. With the right momentum, I should be able to peak at Wimbledon. I love that you would do that for me, but I need to focus on what’s really important.”

His chest went warm.

“Wait. That came out wrong. What I meant–”

“You don’t have to explain. I understand what you meant.”

He should not have been surprised or hurt. Tennis was the priority, not their silly little nothing. He would have to understand. As much as the words stung, he would accept it.

“Look, I’ll return to LA soon after Wimbledon. Let’s plan for that, okay? We’ll get coffee again.”

Would he be there? “Sounds great,” he said, knowing he’d probably be in military headquarters in various locations around the world. “Coffee, croissant, and Nutella. But no sharing this time. We’ll get two.” That breakfast would not happen for a good four months from now. How much would have changed by then? “Go and rest. Win, and the sports press will pipe down quickly.”

“Thanks, Andre. For being there.”

“I’m only a call away.”

“You know, you’re not bad for an American. I may need to reconsider my long-held beliefs.”

“Gem, knock ‘em dead.”

“I’ll knee them in the bullocks, as you so aptly recommended. Cheers,” she said, and hung up.

“I miss you,” he told the dead connection.

“I let my racquet do the talking.”
~Pete Sampras

n Friday morning, Gemma woke determined to win the Aegon Classic.

She could have been smart and sat out this tournament, waited for Wimbledon, saving her strength and minimizing the wear and tear. She had been out of tournament play for months, though, and her mental agility and timing improved by continually competing against those who wanted to defeat her. Practice was never enough. She needed to be on the court, fighting the fight, absorbing the strong serves, returning, and digging out the impossible plays.

Aegon and Topshelf Open were the path to winning her first Grand Slam. Unlike the Australian Open, where she had choked, in the French she had fought a good fight. The game turned with momentum. And momentum was on her side.

Wonder what he’s doing now?
She wished thoughts of Andre wouldn’t just creep up on her. One day with him had left a permanent mark on her.

The first round match ended faster than it started. Gemma’s warm up with her hitting coach had proven to be more challenging. The match ended in less than forty minutes. She won in straight sets and felt stronger than ever.

“We should withdraw from the Topshelf Open,” Bedric said when she wrapped up interviews. “You don’t need to compete in back-to-back tournaments before Wimbledon.”

“You may be right. Ask me again if we win the third round match.”

The second and third rounds were barely competitive. She was a machine, breaking service against her opponents, not allowing them to win points even when they served. Grass was her favorite court surface, and it showed.

“I am going to withdraw you from Topshelf,” Bedric said.

“Let’s discuss it if I win the quarterfinal match.”

She put on a clinic at the quarterfinal match, not conceding one game. She won 6-0, 6-0, and the buzz in the circuit was that Gemma had the potential to be the spoiler or dark-horse at Wimbledon. She didn’t care for what the odd-makers had to say.

“Gemma, about Topshelf–” Bedric started.

“I was going to ask you about that. When were you planning on withdrawing me? You are my coach after all. You should be the one thinking of these things.” She grinned.

Bedric didn’t bother arguing.

The night before the semifinal match, an interviewer stumped her.

“What do you think of Johnny Flauto’s comment? Do you want to say something to him?” the interviewer asked, then flashed an all-tooth smile.

Gemma blinked. “Since I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ll have to say no comment.”

“Would you like me to tell you?” More all-tooth smile.

“No, thank you.”

Although she won the semifinal match, for the first time in the tournament, she had to work a bit harder to break service against her opponent. She did win, and that’s what mattered, but she committed over two dozen unforced errors. She knew her final match against Petra would not be as forgiving. Gemma would have to be at her best.

During the press conference, a question stopped her in place.

“Gemma, rumors are that Johnny will be coming to your final match. Anything you’d care to share?”

She hesitated, wishing she could throw her water bottle at the journalist. Instead she said, “It is always a treat when my friends come to my matches.”

Once in her room, she searched the net and found an interview with Johnny.

“
No, I’ve been staying away from her matches. Focus is key for her as you can imagine. I don’t want anyone to blame me if something goes wrong. Particularly Gemma. She would hurt me.
” Then he laughed like a hyena.

She slammed the laptop closed. Now was not the time to get angry. She would not get derailed.

Her concern was Andre. How would he interpret this news? She had not spoken to him in days. She had planned to talk to Andre after the tournament, but she felt it important to talk to him now in case he was getting suspicious. If she was being honest, she also wanted to call because she missed him and his calming voice. Like an addict, she wanted to feel his energy again.

“Hey you,” she said.

“Hi, Gem.”

God, how she loved that nickname.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Just wanted to say hi. How are you?”

“Livin’ the dream.”

“That good?”