with the matches, the tournaments, the training, the sport, the travel, the competition. It’s like asking a bird if she likes to fly. Is there anything else? Do I like it? It’s the only thing I know.” She glanced at him, reading empathy in his eyes.
“Does this bird fly because she can, or because she loves to?”
“Both,” she said with no hesitation.
“I’m no expert, but I can see your talent spills through your pores. Your fans clearly see that.”
“Sometimes I wonder. Is it really my talent my fans appreciate?”
“Gemma the athlete or Gemma the celebrity?”
“Precisely.”
“That bothers you?”
“I couldn’t care less about being a glassy-eyed celebrity. It’s what I do on the court that should matter. Absolutely nothing else.”
Calm down.
This was not the time or place to lose her wits.
“I don’t see how you can separate the game you play from the business of tennis. The sport needs celebrities to sell expensive advertisements. They are inseparable. Success in one means success in the other.”
“Unfortunately, I understand that,” she said. Her short fuse flirted with her clenching fists, while at the same instant, the airplane accelerated and lifted off the tarmac.
“Then you must also see your stock value is directly proportional to the amount of time you’re in the spotlight, for good or ill.”
“What if I don’t want that? What if I just want to focus on the game and nothing else?”
“If that’s what you want, then your career choices would be consistent with that. Yet here we are.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s always simple, it’s just hard to do. I’m curious now. How did you get to where you are? You must have gotten your fame because of the way you play.”
“Yes, I did. Well, when I first turned pro, but I’ve sputtered since. In general I do well, but my albatross remains. Until I win a Grand Slam, I will not be considered amongst the elite players. I may go down as a celebrity athlete, instead of the athlete who also happened to be a celebrity.”
“Grand Slam?”
“There are four tournaments that propel a career, sustain it, or define it. The first is the Australian Open, then the French Open, followed by Wimbledon, and finally the U.S. Open. I choked at the Australian Open, and you just saw me drop a solid chance at the French. Wimbledon is next, in a few weeks.” She studied the shrinking world from her window. “So, Mister Problem Solver, how would you solve my problem?”
“This is a no-brainer. I won’t even charge you.” He glanced both ways conspiratorially.
Gemma drew near with hesitation. She could smell his cologne. Her feeling of weakness when near him was palpable.
He whispered. “All you have to do is
win
a Grand Slam.” He gave her a wink.
Her mouth dropped open.
“But you can’t share this groundbreaking advice with anyone else,” he whispered. “I make a killing selling my consulting services.”
“That is brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Right. Just win the bloody thing. And, forgive me for asking this, do people pay in hard currency when you provide this type of… what did you call it? Groundbreaking advice?”
He smirked. “Sometimes they even give me kick-ass seats to tennis matches.”
Gemma burst out laughing at the absurdity of his silly–but accurate–advice. She studied his eyes. She saw softness, endearing him to her a bit more.
“Since you so quickly solved that little irritant,” she said as she reached into her carry on bag, “maybe you can explain this Sudoku thing.” She handed him Tish’s booklet.
His eyes lit up. “Gladly.” Like an excited young boy, he explained the game. She watched him, barely hearing a word he spoke. She studied his hands. Powerful. Dangerous.
She had needed this, someone to chat with. Tish was her friend, but with her there was no access to new ideas. Andre was new, smart, funny, and she felt good talking to him. Sure, she was attracted to him, but
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