Match Pointe
Eloise knew her contract ensured that she was Ivan’s responsibility, and this at least gave her comfort that she belonged somewhere. In many respects it was no different from her previous life – she was still paid to dance, she maintained her former nomadic lifestyle – but at the same time, she was no longer competing in the stressful world of ballet, the hotels were five star, her travel first class (if not private jet) and her expense account indulgent, even if she never took advantage of it and always asked for permission to spend regardless (for instance, to purchase clothes more suited to her new lifestyle). Having her needs completely catered for and her whole life organised on her behalf was more than satisfactory.
Yet what she hadn’t realised was how accustomed she had become to interacting with a bevy of virile male ballet dancers. She might not have had many sexual relationships, but she desperately missed the physicality of men and the feeling of their muscled limbs against her own, their hands sliding along her taut curves and over her legs, neck and face. Their sheer strength in lifting her petite form into the air as though she were a feather, and effortlessly catching her as she fell. The physicality of dance was the part that made her feel connected, like she belonged. Suddenly she’d been removed from this overtly sensate world and thrust into a life where no one touched her at all, and her longing for more had taken her completely by surprise.
Ivan appeared absorbed in her beauty and grace but never once approached her. Although their contract clearly facilitated, among other things, a sexual relationship should they be so inclined, she was comfortable with the fact that it was all about dancing, as she wasn’t exactly attracted to him. The contract also stipulated that she should not be sexually intimate with anyone else – not that she had the opportunity for that. So she accepted her enforced celibacy without complaint, knowing that going against Caesar’s rules was never an option she could consider.
Lifestyle
Ivan never asked Eloise to watch him play, but she did learn first-hand that tennis was one of the busiest sports in the world. Whereas soccer had one World Cup every four years, tennis had four grand slams every year. And the top players were also required to compete in mandatory ATP World Tour Masters 1000 series that added to their ATP rankings each year in Asia, America and Europe.
Eloise soon grew accustomed to the heavy demands of the tennis calendar as Ivan competed in Monte Carlo, Munich, Madrid, Rome … It was a never-ending whirlwind of airports, stadiums, crowds, cars and hotels and she danced for him before every match he played. He always chose the particular ballet and the precise scene he wished her to perform. Sometimes it was for as little as ten minutes, at other times it was for a couple of hours. During some tournaments he would have her perform the same scene before each match.
It allowed little time for her to reflect on what she might be missing back in London. If the truth were told, Eloise felt like her previous lifestyle was in ultra-slow motion compared with this – like comparing a snail with Usain Bolt. She had no concerns about keeping physically active when they were on tour, particularly as Ivan often asked her to dance again after he’d won a match to help him unwind, which she did willingly.
All of these tournaments led up to the French Open: the true beginning of her eight-grand-slam commitment to Caesar, and the end of her one and only escape clause. Everything up until this point had been preliminary, allowing her time to adjust to her new lifestyle. Once the grand slam commenced, there was no turning back. But although she appreciated the gesture of Caesar’s ‘trial run’, in her mind the clause was superfluous. Once she had committed to something, her disciplined self would always see it through.
Before the French Open, Ivan asked her to perform the final scene of Swan Lake. She wondered whether he envisaged his opponent as the dying white swan and himself as the victorious black swan. She had read that some athletes used the soundtrack of movies like Rocky to psych themselves up before a major match, and perhaps this was Ivan’s version of the same thing.
Being the perfectionist she was, she took her job seriously and aimed at improving her performance with each match Ivan played – just as he did. The philosophy seemed to be working, since the more she danced, the more he won, including the title of Number One for the third consecutive year. Ivan was in top form and Eloise was confident he would continue to win, ensuring her position as his private ballerina – she liked to think of herself as his lucky charm and felt she was contributing to his success.
After Ivan won the title in Paris, Caesar hosted an elaborate private dinner for Ivan, his coach, his manager, Anna and Eloise to celebrate. At the end of the evening he asked if he could have a private word with Eloise and agreed to escort her back to her hotel.
As they sat down at a table in the hotel bar, he began, ‘So, how is everything going, Eloise?’
‘Very well, Caesar. I’m really pleased for him.’
‘And how are you adjusting to your new life?’
‘Pretty well, actually. It’s certainly busy, but I do feel that Ivan appreciates my dancing for him.’
‘There’s no doubting that. He has told me himself on many occasions the motivating impact your dancing has on his game. I believe we both have you to thank for helping secure his Number One world ranking. From my perspective you are fulfilling your role perfectly, Eloise. I couldn’t hope for more.’
Eloise blushed at his words of praise. ‘Thank you, Caesar. I’ve certainly tried to do my best.’
‘So you will commit to the entire term of the contract?’
‘I always had every intention of doing so.’
He smiled at her conviction.
‘You do realise there is no guarantee that Ivan will remain Number One?’
She hadn’t given much thought to the other players on the circuit, other than briefly flicking through the profiles Caesar had provided her with after their initial meeting.
‘Are there ever any guarantees in life?’ She laughed. ‘It’s OK, I’ll take my chances.’
‘I like your style, Eloise.’ He noted that she seemed much more relaxed than when they had last met, not as emotionally distraught. It seemed this lifestyle was working for her.
‘And are you still comfortable with the contract as is?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Then let’s get the formalities out of the way, shall we?’ He handed her a thick black pen, which she accepted, and she signed the document he placed in front of her.
‘Let me welcome you officially to my world, Eloise. I believe you’ve made an excellent choice.’ He signed his flamboyant signature below hers, sealing her fate, then immediately called the waiter over and ordered them both a celebratory glass of 1996 Dom Pérignon.
Two chilled flutes of champagne swiftly arrived at their table. ‘Cheers to the game!’ he toasted.
Caesar was thrilled that his combined love of ballet and tennis was proving to be a formidable formula, and one that had the potential of making him wealthier with each title. Ivan’s victory in the French Open was simply icing on the proverbial cake if his forecasts proved to be correct.
WIMBLEDON I
June–July
Surprise
Given his recent form, it was only to be expected that Ivan should have a smooth run through to the semifinals of Wimbledon. But he met a glitch in his comfortable winning streak when playing against a young, up-and-coming Australian who took everyone by surprise. This opponent proved a worthy competitor, pushing Ivan into extensive rallies and forcing him to hit winners even he was a little shocked to have executed. The Australian’s tenacity and self-confidence certainly captured the eye of sports commentators, and there were lengthy discussions about whether he had the skill and drive to become the next big drawcard of the tennis world.
The crowd was thrilled with the five-set marathon, which, after many hours, saw the top seed proceed to the final – just as the bookmakers, including Caesar, had predicted he would. Although Ivan was pleased with his performance and eventual win, there was no doubting his thirty-one-year-old body felt the additional strain of such a challenging match. It ensured his personal physiotherapist was more than occupied for the next thirty-six hours leading up the final.
In keeping with the noble traditions of Wimbledon, the atmosphere at the gentlemen’s championship final was cordially electric. Ivan’s opponent was the twenty-six-year-old Swede Stephan Nordstrom.
Nordstrom had never been in a final at the All England Club, even though he had convincingly won the Australian Open earlier in the year, his first ever grand-slam victory. His form could be erratic and nobody was sure whether he was a one-slam wonder or set to settle in for the long haul, given that his win had occurred when the world’s Number One was absent from Melbourne Park. One thing was certain, however: the truth would be discovered by the end of the day.
There was not much time for Eloise to dance for Ivan before the final, as his coach took complete responsibility for orchestrating his every movement before he walked onto centre court. Eloise did her best in the twelve minutes she had been allocated, but she could tell he was distracted by nerves as he prepared to defend his Wimbledon title for the third time. His coach seemed as nervous as Ivan, so she assumed this tournament meant more to them than any of those he played leading up to it. After all, the Championships at Wimbledon were the most prestigious of all the grand slams – the slam all players dreamt of winning the moment the game of tennis took their lives hostage.
Right in the middle of Eloise’s performance, the coach opened the door, declaring that her time with Ivan was over.
Ivan looked a little flustered as he walked over to her. ‘Thank you, Eloise. Unfortunately my time is running out. I have a ticket for you, should you be interested in watching the final.’
It was unusual enough for him to speak to her after she danced for him, let alone offer her a ticket to one of his matches.
‘Thank you, Ivan, that is very thoughtful. Bonne chance.’
And with that she was immediately guided away so his coach could have final words with him before the match.
It was a warm, sunny day so Eloise wore a tailored emerald dress with mid-length sleeves that came to just above her knees, pairing it with court shoes and a matching handbag. She had changed her outfit when she found a guide to sartorial standards included with her ticket. It amounted to ‘No riffraff, please, we’re Wimbledon’. Apparently short skirts, bare midriffs, jeans, trainers, bomber jackets and sleeveless tops were all deemed inappropriate attire. She also opted to wear her hair in a sensible low braid, just in case her unruly flowing curls were deemed unacceptable and she was refused entry. She would hate to cause a scene and any embarrassment to Ivan.
Even after reading the sartorial guide, Eloise was surprised at the formal attire of some of the people bustling around the Wimbledon members’ enclosure. As she attempted to blend in, she felt like she was walking around inside a Burberry catalogue.
Staring at her ticket to ensure she was in the right place, she suddenly heard a vaguely familiar voice calling from behind her.
‘Elle, over here! Eloise?’
Elle? Only one person had ever called her that. She turned around and came face to face with Liam’s warm eyes and friendly smile.
‘My goodness, hi! I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!’
‘The universe works in mysterious ways! How are you?’
‘I’m really well, thanks. How about you?’
‘Same, although I’d prefer to be playing in the final.’
‘You play?’
‘I do.’ He laughed.
‘I’m sorry, I had no idea.’
‘No need for apologies, you didn’t ask and I didn’t say. Besides, most people hadn’t heard of me before yesterday. If Borisov hadn’t had the stamina and experience to last five sets in the semis, I’d be playing Nordstrom on centre court today. But that’s how the cookie crumbles.’
‘You played Ivan?’ She was astonished.
‘Yeah, you know, world Number One, presumably the person you are here to watch,’ he said with a cheeky grin.
She wasn’t sure how to answer, and thought it best to keep their conversation focused on him. ‘You certainly take losing well.’
‘I gave it my all on the day, that’s as much as I can expect from myself. It was a strong effort but he’s a great player – obviously. It’s just a game – admittedly a game I would have loved to win – but I had a good run, and made it much further than I’ve done here before, so I can’t complain.’
She remembered his positive attitude from when she met him in the pub, but still found herself shaking her head in surprise. ‘I wish I could be more like that.’
‘I know my day will come; I didn’t reach the Wimbledon final this year, but maybe next year, who knows?’ His high-voltage smile was on full display. ‘Hey, are you going to be around later? I’d love to catch up with you, but right now my coach is waiting for me in the stands. We need to be able to analyse my opposition in detail.’
‘Oh, sure, of course, I’d love to catch up. Sounds great!’ Spending some time with someone other than herself sounded like too good an opportunity to miss – especially someone like Liam.
‘Excellent!’ He pulled a card out of his back pocket and handed it to her. ‘Call me after the match and I’ll see if we can find something more potent to drink than an untouched pint – I have the next week off so I can let loose.’ His grin exploded into a heartfelt smile.
‘Sure!’ Eloise looked down at the card. ‘Noah?’
‘Yeah, that’s me. Liam Noah Levique. Not using my real name makes it easier for me to stay incognito when I meet beautiful strangers, and my nan always called me Noah, so it sort of stuck as my tennis name.’
‘Well, that makes sense. I’m not great at the whole tennis thing but at least I’ve heard of Noah Levique. You really did give Ivan a hard time.’ She knew more than anyone how flustered and aching Ivan had been after such a brutal match. Noah had put up a mammoth fight.
‘And I hope to do it again, only next time I’ll win.’ He winked at her as a flustered man began approaching from the stands. ‘Gotta go – see ya, Elle! Call me. Tonight!’ He held his forefinger and thumb to the side of his face as once again he jogged away from her with the boundless energy of an excitable puppy.
Eloise held the card to her chest and couldn’t help but smile as she considered the amazing coincidence that Liam was actually Noah Levique, a professional tennis player – and obviously a good one at that. Never in a million years …
She heard the polite announcement asking everyone to find their seats as soon as possible and settled in to watch her first ever professional tennis match.
The young woman next to her was dressed in blue, with her face covered in blue and yellow zinc.
‘Who are you going for, Russia or Sweden?’ the woman asked, in an American accent.
‘Russia – how about you?’ Eloise asked with a smile, given the answer was so obvious.
‘Who do you think? Sweden – of course. With him in the game, tennis has just got a whole lot hotter. He could do me any time!’ With that she screamed and waved her arms in the air as Stephan Nordstrom was introduced and walked onto centre court for his first Wimbledon final.
There was something overwhelmingly charismatic about Stephan Nordstrom, everyone else in view almost diminished as he took centre stage. Eloise felt a strong attraction seed in her belly. And suddenly she had far greater interest in the match about to be played. Like the rest of the crowd, she watched in absolute awe as the two players shook hands and commenced their first game.
Today, on centre court at the All England Club, it was abundantly clear that each player wanted this title as desperately as the other. And by all accounts, they would fight to the death to have it.
Eloise could barely sit still in her seat. The pangs of guilt were like shards of glass penetrating her skin as she found herself continually drawn to Nordstrom more than Ivan; it was difficult not to be. Her remorse deepened when she caught herself spontaneously clapping as Nordstrom sent a backhand winner flying down the line after an epic rally, almost knocking out a linesperson as the ball continued its destructive path.
Nordstrom’s response was electrifying as he pumped his fists into the air and released what sounded like a lion’s roar. Ivan continued on smoothly, undeterred by the Swede’s momentum on the other side of the net, maintaining his trademark cool, calm and collected persona while the fifth set climbed into double digits. Both players remained supreme professionals in front of an utterly engrossed crowd. Decorum was apparently everything at Wimbledon, and the umpire’s reminders of ‘Quiet, please’ felt like a restraining order on a ball of energy. Not one person could tell which way the match would go and all were literally sitting on the edge of their seats, gasping at the force and stamina behind each point.
The battle of the titans was won in four hours and fifty-three minutes … by first-time Wimbledon champion Stephan Nordstrom. Both players collapsed in sheer exhaustion before hauling their tortured bodies to the net to shake hands with each other and the umpire.
Stephan stripped off his shirt, flaunting his bronzed and superbly defined chest and abdominals, pumping both clenched fists high in the air and unleashing another almighty roar to the global audience. The power of his voice reverberated around the arena, causing the crowd to roar in return as he flung his shirt and sweatbands into the stands.
Eloise was as engaged as anyone, her hands becoming numb from clapping so hard. Discovering Noah had made the semifinals only added to her now undeniable interest in the game, and more particularly in its ranking system. Ivan’s failure to win didn’t result in his losing his status as Number One, but it did mean it was definitely under threat.
Carefree
Ivan went into complete hibernation after losing the momentous match. His coach informed Eloise that she would not see him for at least two days. Therefore she eagerly called Noah, knowing she wouldn’t be letting anyone down and thrilled to have an opportunity to see him again.
She was staying at the Dorchester, and was delighted to see a very funky Noah arrive in the foyer wearing faded red jeans, a white V-neck T-shirt and a fitted navy blazer with the sleeves pushed up above his elbows. She found herself staring at him, more than a little mesmerised, drawn towards his confident, casual stride and muscled body. She was caught a little off guard when he rushed up and scooped her off the ground in a bear hug, swinging her around before kissing her on both cheeks.
‘You look hot!’ were his first words as he returned her feet to the ground.
Eloise hadn’t been sure what to wear and had changed outfits five times, before deciding at the last minute to be bold, choosing a deep burgundy lace bodycon mini-dress with a boat neckline, a gathered front and, most importantly, a plunging scooped back. She wasn’t big-breasted, but she felt good in the dress because it showed off her slender, toned legs and the muscular definition of her back.
Before she had the opportunity to respond to his compliment he took hold of her hand. ‘Let’s get you out of here to some place more in our age bracket.’
The uniformed doorman motioned for a black cab to approach and held the door open for Eloise while Noah bounded around to the cabbie, handing him a card.
‘Right you are, sir,’ came the confirmation from the driver’s seat as Noah settled in beside Eloise.
‘So, Liam – Noah – where are you from?’
‘Ah, the inquisition begins. You know I much prefer talking about you,’ he countered with a grin.
‘No way – it’s time for you to answer some questions! It’s only fair.’
‘OK, OK, I give in. My dad is French and my mum is Australian. They divorced when I was young and I lived with my mum in Townsville but spent my holidays with Dad in Europe which was handy for competing as a junior.’
‘Right – but you, well, I’m not sure how I should say this …’
‘You’re asking about my perpetual suntan? Are you sure that’s politically correct?’ His dimples showed that he didn’t mind talking about it and was just having some fun.
‘Let’s just say you are beautifully bronzed compared with me.’
‘No doubt about it. But that’s not to say there is anything wrong with your delicate alabaster skin. You just need to keep out of the sun more than me.’ As he held her hand in the back of the cab, his thumb caressed her palm and she could feel his warmth as tingles raced up her arm. ‘My nan is Aboriginal, and just in case you hadn’t worked it out, that’s where I get my exceptional sense of tribal rhythm.’
She couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Well, of course! I’d like to see some of that rhythm one day.’
She had never been so comfortable talking to a member of the opposite sex. He was so easygoing that she felt completely relaxed, laughing and chatting to him without any self-consciousness or pretence.
‘I’m hoping you’ll get that chance tonight when we hit the dance floor – unless you’re referring to my tennis?’
‘So cheeky! I’d love to see both.’
They looked at each other and smiled, both sensing their relationship was set to move way beyond their last fleeting yet fortuitous meeting.
The driver turned off Kensington High Street onto Derry Street and pulled over. Noah promptly paid and jumped out to open Eloise’s door, and they made their way up in the lift to The Roof Gardens, Virgin’s rooftop club.
She had heard about the club from some of the other dancers, but had never been there before. It was weird having lived in London for so long yet realising there was still so much to discover and experience.
‘Normally it wouldn’t be open tonight. One of the perks of being sponsored by Virgin, I guess,’ he said with a cheeky wink.
‘Ah, I see!’ She smiled back.
‘Come on.’ He grabbed hold of her hand and excitedly headed towards the bar. ‘Tommy makes awesome cocktails. I’ll introduce you.’
Eloise couldn’t believe the size and lushness of the rooftop garden. The flora looked almost technicoloured against the somewhat monochromatic landscape of London.
They found a table for two within the garden, and just as they had settled in, two French pear martinis arrived along with some canapés, compliments of the chef. Just as Noah had promised, they would be drinking something stronger than a pint. Eloise was not used to spirits, but the fresh-tasting vodka and champagne concoction slid down her throat all too easily, while their discussion flowed effortlessly amidst interruptions of congratulations from the staff, who obviously knew Noah well.
The grey clouds in the sky turned a vivid orange as the sun finally began to set on the mild evening. Eloise couldn’t remember a night out when she had felt so at ease; this was one of the rare occasions when she was able to have a few drinks without having to worry about a performance the next day. It was on this basis that she happily reached for her second martini when another round of drinks arrived at their table as if by magic.