Off Court - Chapter 4.2

The room was as nice as the corridor. There was an enormous double bed and enough floor space for a badminton court! Okay, that might be an exaggeration. In my head, badminton courts are tiny. It’s like, a drop shot must barely exist when you can cross them in three steps, right?

“Leo!” Camillo hissed.

I stopped thinking about badminton and looked at him. I definitely hadn’t been thinking out loud this time, but I had to focus. His deep brown eyes were so wide – his muscles so tense. He looked… nervous. Something nagged at me again. The thing that had been bugging me all day. Suddenly my happiness to see him felt a little less buzz-y.

“Sorry,” I said.

I looked from him to the woman who was sitting at a table by the far wall. She was wearing a well-fitting pantsuit and her platinum blonde hair was cut short. Her hooked nose and her cool grey eyes were pointed straight at me.

“Hello,” I said, “I’d say nice to meet you but…”

She nodded, then gestured to the two chairs on the opposite side of the small wooden table – beautifully varnished though.

I looked at Camillo, who looked round to me at the same moment. There was far too much going on in his face to even attempt to read it. So we took our seats, and ten of the most awkward minutes of my life began.

“Look, this isn’t personal. I’ve got a kid – I have to provide for her somehow,” she began.

I looked over at the double bed, but couldn’t bring myself to scoff. Camillo, of course, filled this gap.

“You could probably buy several hundred loaves of bread with the cost of this room,” he said.

She glared at him. “A private education costs more than a loaf of bread, and you know that’s what I mean. There’s nothing out there for a young girl from the local state school. I have to provide for my child’s future. And don’t talk to me about money, future grand slam champion.”

Camillo tensed even further. “If you think we play for the money – or, that all of us do – you are dead wrong.”

She shrugged. “Well then it’s a miraculous side effect, I suppose. Some of us, however, weren’t blessed with such wonderful talents.”

Camillo gripped the edge of the table. If I wasn’t terrified to show an ounce of affection in front of someone who wanted to sell my crush on him, I’d have put an arm round his shoulder to try and calm him down. Either she was crap at research, or as good as me at putting her foot in her mouth.

“Blessed is … one way to describe my life.” Camillo was nearly growling. Oh God, this could not have been going worse.

“Uh, Madame, just be aware… Like, you know his history, right?” I was nearly choking – Camillo was shaking so bad.

“Yes,” she said, “But Monsieur Tamer does not know mine. I’ll thank him to think about how he feels right now and not make any more assumptions about me.”

Camillo let out a long, deep breath and the veins that were popping out all over his forearms started to relax.

“Fine,” he whispered, “So, money? How much?”

“Well, I’m afraid it’ll look a bit suspicious if you transfer me a large sum all at once, and you don’t want any extra attention of course.”

If I’d had a racquet, I’d have been on the edge of smashing it, but I could almost feel Camillo’s tension exuding from him. Apparently, I would have to be the calm one. This was going to go great.

“So you want regular payments then? And if we do that you’ll delete the picture?” I said.

“Yes, and no.” She smiled with one side of her mouth, as if she regretted this. “Regular payments for my daughter’s education is indeed what I want. But if I delete the picture, what’s to stop you from cancelling your payment?”

“Oh, wait,” I said, looking jerkily from her to Camillo and back. “Can I see the picture?”

Her sadness broke for a moment and she just looked surprised. “Oh, of course. Sorry, showed it to Monsieur Tamer before you got here.”

She had it full screen on a tablet. One of the most humiliating moments of my life. Or, it should have been. Camillo had used me to vent his frustration. And either he thought of me as just anyone, in which case he’d use anyone in such a way – or he knew how I felt about him, and wanted to feel loved, or something. I’d thought about this on the way back to my hotel the night before, and I really wasn’t sure which was the worse prospect.

But I just felt sorry for him. He broke it off so quick, and he’d been so regretful. Everyone gets a bit crazy at times.

“Okay,” I said, “Just wanted to make sure you had it.”

That maybe wasn’t entirely true. I also kind of wanted it as a profile picture one day. Even the colouring – the purples of the lights and the blue of my t-shirt… God it was perfect.

“Alright, so how do we know you won’t take the money for a bit then sell the picture, or just use it in your own story? I don’t want to sound like a narcissist but I’m sure that’d get you plenty of money. Actually, why are you even doing this?” I leaned forward and looked into her eyes. I’d talked myself through the logic. Either way she’d get money, this way she had to blackmail someone.

Her face screwed up and she leaned back away from me. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m not in the business of outing people for money. But again, I do need money from somewhere.”

“You know,” Camillo said. He was also leaning back and had such a horrid snarl on his face that I nearly recoiled from him. “I almost want you just to release it. Zoe was convinced I was just using her to cover my sexuality for our entire relationship. Biphobic as hell, obviously, but maybe it would be good just to get this out of the way.”

Now I did recoil from him. In fact, I sprang from my seat. My confidence was channelling itself through him again, but through anger this time, not trust. “Dude! Maybe you, the golden child, could deal with that! People would talk about it for ten minutes, then they’d be predicting which grand slam you’re going to win this year. People still call me “the guy who went five sets with the world number one, only to lose after five hours of play!” Now I’d just be “the guy who snogged Camillo Tamer” every time I played someone big enough to get TV coverage.”

For a moment, the thought of slapping him across the face pushed my crush out of my mind. How dare he just play around with the idea of outing me as if it was just a little toy to be fidgeted with? It might be surprising how little I thought about it, but being gay was still a huge part of me that was always threatening to ruin my life. I couldn’t let it get at my career. I glared down at Camillo, willing him to see sense.

Camillo looked down at the table for a moment, then a shudder ran through his body and he looked up at me. “Okay, Léo. I’m sorry. This is all my fault, of course. I don’t know what I was thinking. Christ, I’m an arsehole.”

I took a deep breath and sat down. I said to him, “So, we take the deal?”

He shook his head. “I take the deal. Like I said, this is my fault. And I’m sorry. I really hope you can forgive me.”

“Of course,” I said, probably far too fast. In fact, I regretted saying it almost as immediately. I just wanted everything to be okay between us, even if I was the one who’d been wronged.

“Alright,” the journalist said. Christ, I didn’t even know her name – this was ridiculous! She was speaking softly, as she continued, “I don’t want to cause you any more pain. But please, I need this. Do we have a deal?”

I nodded, then looked round at Camillo. He stared into my eyes for a solid ten seconds – during which the butterflies in my stomach did backflips – then looked back at the journalist and nodded.

“Okay then,” she said, “Here are my bank details.”