Game of Love (34 page)

The talking head announced, “
Gemma Lennon has been seen with someone new. Who is this mystery man? Is it really over with Johnny?
”

They had pictures of them. Pictures from the day at Maurice’s and others showing Andre in a tux, entering her limousine. None of the pictures proved they were together. But if they were followed tonight, there would be pictures of them holding, embracing, kissing.

Was the stalker involved?

If so, then the media blitz was about to go on a feeding frenzy. But that didn’t make sense. The first time Andre had seen the stalker was at the airport. Gemma had not been there. This was about him, not her.

He downed the beer while watching the program, amazed at the amount of drivel that could be generated from nothing. Looking back, it was fortunate she had left when she did. She was right, the hotel staff would have probably sold the story, if they hadn’t already. But how did the press know about them? He was beginning to see patterns and possible answers from his virus, but nothing conclusive.

His phone rang. It was Gemma.

“Are you upset?” she asked.

“They have our pictures, Gem.”

“What are you talking about?”

“TV. They’re talking about us.”

“They what? How the hell? Channel, please.”

They listened to the talking heads in silence. He elected to not mention his stalker. No sense in worrying her further. This was his problem. She already had plenty on her mind.

“Do you think we were followed tonight?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said then thought about the stalker. “Maybe.”

“If they got pictures of us… in the rain… this could be disastrous.”

“Disastrous? Aren’t you being a bit dramatic?”

“When you’ve lived twenty-four hours in my shoes, then feel free to lecture me. Otherwise trust me. This shit gets ugly fast. And I don’t want any part of this. I better ring Wesley. He’ll know what to do.”

“Gem,” he said, but the line was already dead.

“It is dangerous to let the public behind the scenes. They are easily disillusioned and then they are angry with you, for it was the illusion they loved.”
~W. Somerset Maugham

ndre awoke to a blistering headache. The breakfast and double espresso at the hotel restaurant were starting to help when he caught a segment on the overhead television. He crept toward it.

“Can you increase the volume?” he asked the waitress.

Two toothy hosts smiled.

“
Is Gemma prancing around with an American? Sources tell us there is a special person in her life, and he’s here in London.
”

They cut to some of the same pictures he had seen the night before. Back to the co-host.

“She doesn’t waste time, does she?”

Laughter.

“
No, she doesn’t. Odd timing, wouldn’t you say? Wimbledon begins this weekend and with her injury, you’d think she’d want to be focused on her game.”

“I’d say few tennis diehards will be surprised. She’s always been more interested in the celebrity side of her life than on the competition.”

“A shame. She had a brilliant Aegon tournament, then this. It’s a questionable time to be playing Romeo and Juliet days before Wimbledon.
”

“Typical for her, I’m afraid.”

“I’d venture to say the tennis gods don’t mind having a celebrity in their midst. She has drawn more new eyeballs to tennis than any other athlete. She may never win a Grand Slam, but she’ll have her rabid fans.”

Andre spun to the waitress. “Another double espresso, please.”

Why were they browbeating her? Was this typical? Also, how did they know he was an American? Who was their source? Multiple variables, but not impossible to solve. The emerging patterns from his virus were providing an interesting angle. If the data was right, Gemma would have to watch those around her carefully.

After his meal, he took a stroll through Notting Hill. He breathed in the scents from the restaurants and bakeries. He thought of the invisible forces, the controlling puppet masters that hid in the shadows. She was the puppet, and everyone else was riding her to the bank.

At the newsstand, he picked up the gossip paper. She was splashed on the cover.

“
Who is her mystery American lover?
” A sub-heading wrote. “
She’s ready to quit tennis for him.
”

He read another newspaper’s headline. “‘
She cheated on me, again!’ Johnny confesses to a friend.
”

Andre laughed then clenched his fists. He bought all the papers at the newsstand then hurled them into a trashcan. “My contribution to eliminating pollution,” he told a gawking passer-by.

Gemma stepped into physical therapy and was confronted by an anxious Wesley.

“Why are you here?” Gemma asked.

“Anything else you want to share with me?”

“I’m here for therapy, and you’re not therapeutic.”

“Haven’t you seen the damn headlines?”

She frowned. “We talked about this last night–”

“The new headlines. Gemma and her
American
lover. Those headlines.”

Her jaw dropped. She had not read today’s newspaper yet. How did they know he was an American? She composed herself. “What’s your point?”

“Five years ago you told me you wanted to be bigger than anyone else. I did that for you. What I expect is the truth. You owe me that much.”

He was right. He’d been there for her when she’d thought her career was over before it’d even started. But she’d been a child then. So much had changed since. “He’s a friend, that’s all.” She wouldn’t–couldn’t–tell Wesley the truth. She didn’t need his lectures, nor did she completely trust him after the Johnny Flauto mess.

“So how did this get out?”

“Rubbish is fabricated every day. You should know, you’ve created plenty in your time. Let them say what they want. My personal life will not be addressed. Who I choose to befriend is my business.”

“The word in the press and TV is you are not focused on Wimbledon–”

“That’s nothing new. That’s their favorite tune.”

“And you have confided to someone you will quit tennis for him. The sponsors are calling me, demanding an official position. Tell me that’s not true.”

Her entire career they’d said the same thing about her. Time and again, her dedication to tennis had been questioned. They spoke about her dismissively, conceding she had the talent, but her actions were those of one who was more interested in landing an acting role rather than competing on the big stage. And she had gone and done just that with
Triton Warriors
. She wouldn’t give them one more reason to discredit her. She needed to show the world she was the real deal.

“Where do they come up with this trash?” she asked.

He held her shoulders. “Did you consider maybe it’s your new friend who spread that rumor? Trying to make some money off your friendship?”

She laughed. “Bollocks! Solid crap!” She shrugged his hands off her shoulders.

“Gemma, celebrities need to stay with celebrities. The average person can’t be trusted. They don’t get this world. It’s not their fault. They just don’t have the slightest clue of how this world works.”

“So celebrities can be trusted? Say, like Johnny? Wesley, instead of second-guessing my ability to choose friends, why don’t you find out who’s spreading this shit? In fact, find out why the paparazzi always seem to know my whereabouts. Work on that and don’t worry about my priorities.”

“Gemma–” he said

“Wesley, please leave. I need to prepare for Wimbledon.”

“Call me. We need to discuss this. We made a commitment to each other. We need to work through this together.”

When he left, she dropped to the bench.
Why now?

Hours later, Tish joined Gemma in her kitchen, huddled over a countertop littered with the day’s newspapers and online articles about Gemma’s new romance.

“You’ve shaken the hornet’s nest,” Tish said.

“How the hell did I manage to do that?”

“By bringing him here. The press have gotten wind and now the word is out.”

Gemma felt drained. Her therapy had been solid and her training even better. She would be ready for Wimbledon, and furthermore, for once, she was happy. Andre was hers. When she had stepped out after therapy, the larger than ever crowds, and the dozens of voice messages about the ‘American’ proved this time the media wanted answers.

Now they knew his name. This thing was spinning out of control. From TV to Twitter to Facebook, the rumors were flying. They had taken some truths and combined them with lies, giving credibility to the story. She wanted this to go away.

“And you invited him to tonight’s Nikon party. Might as well call it your official coming-out party. I bet the paparazzi will be clamoring for his picture now. G, you say you two are friends. This is a lot to put a friend through. If there’s more to you two, you need to tell Wesley so he can protect both of you.”

“He’s a friend. That’s all.”

“Just friends? Nothing more?”

“Tennis is what matters. Tennis wins over everything and everyone.”

She wanted to collapse. Already she was lying about him, to her best friend now. With each lie and deception, the walls closed in further. Could she trust anyone? Even with Tish, she had to be elusive.