Chapter 8 #2
“I can’t believe it’s only nine AM and I’ve already been peed on by a koala and had to break the news to someone that Roger the Buff Kangaroo passed away,” Leo says. “Can’t wait for what other fresh hells await today.”
“You’re practicing with Gabe this morning,” Brian says straight-faced after Leo meets up with him in the players’ gym.
“Ha ha, very funny,” Leo says, starting to increase his speed on the exercise bike.
“Nothing funny about it,” Brian says sternly.
Okay, wow, he has a great poker face.
“You’ll be on court with him starting at eleven.”
Geez, he’s not even flinching.
“You know, if you’re trying to get my heart rate up, I can just bump this thing up a gear,” Leo says, pedaling at a steady pace now.
“Again, not a joke.”
“Brian.”
“Leo.”
“Brian, no. No. Brian. Brian. No.”
Leo isn’t pedaling anymore.
“As your interim head coach, I’m making this strategic decision on your behalf. I really think this will be good for you. Gabe has gotten the better of you for too many seasons now. It’s time you found a new approach. I say, if you can’t beat him, join him.”
“But—”
“Keep pedaling,” Brian says firmly. “Don’t you think it would be a smart move to practice with the guy whose game you can’t quite figure out?
And for y’all to bury the hatchet? Especially since you’re both coming into this season under a microscope?
I don’t need to remind you about your dad’s current situation, nor do I need to remind you about Gabe’s. ”
Leo hates when Brian uses words like “nor.” And “Gabe.” He’s always so clear-headed, so reasonable. It makes it impossible to argue with him, not that Leo doesn’t try.
“What happened to the other Brian, the Christmas version?” Leo asks. “You know, the fun one? The jolly one! Remember? Can’t we keep the good vibes going? Can’t we just practice with Ollie?” He flashes a desperate smile.
“Christmas is over,” Brian says a bit too ominously. “Sorry, that was dark. And anyway, Ollie’s already booked up for the day, and I scheduled this practice with Gabe two weeks ago. You know how far out we have to book these sessions.”
“Two weeks ago?” Leo shouts. “Why didn’t you give me a heads-up? I saw Ollie at the koala thing this morning, and he didn’t even mention he’s practicing with someone else!”
“Oh yeah, how was that? I love those little guys,” Brian says. “You know, a lot of them have chlamydia.”
“I’ve heard that,” Leo says. “Don’t change the subject.”
“Leo, I’m just trying to be the best coach I can be while your dad’s at home,” Brian says, crossing his bulging arms, which honestly rival those of Roger the Buff Kangaroo.
“I’m stepping up here and making this call.
I really think hitting with Gabe will improve your game.
I wouldn’t have set this up if I didn’t think it would help you in the long run. And it’s just this once.”
Leo studies Brian’s stern face. He knows he’s being a brat about this, that he shouldn’t let his grudge match with Gabe get in the way of preparing for his actual round one match on Monday.
And Brian, unfortunately, does have a point.
He and Gabe are both in vulnerable positions right now.
The nice thing to do would be to come together with Gabe in this moment, not create more distance between them.
The other nice thing to do would be to trust Brian as he attempts something new in Johnny’s absence.
But couldn’t he have just quit while they were ahead after the whole Christmas carol thing?
“Besides,” Brian adds, as Leo continues pedaling his way through this thought process, “don’t you want to be a good ally to Gabe?”
If Leo were on a real bike, he would steer it directly off the nearest cliff.
Like all of the courts at Melbourne Park, the practice court on which Leo finds himself this morning is a distinct cornflower blue.
The courts on these grounds are like reflecting pools, near mirror images of the bright and clear Australian sky above.
It’s summer Down Under, and while Leo’s never been too affected by the change in time and season on this side of Earth, watching Gabe walk onto the court suddenly has him feeling like he’s upside down.
It’s not that he’s starstruck. No, definitely not!
But, admittedly, he is seeing Gabe in a different light now.
Yes, Gabe is literally luminous in this morning Melbourne light, but it’s something more than that.
Leo didn’t even think it was an option for someone to be openly queer on the men’s tour.
With absolutely no precedent, no example, no role model, it seemed all too likely that time would simply march on to the beat of the status quo, each of them keeping to themselves.
History had shown them that was the way, and so it went.
But here is Gabe, setting that precedent, showing that example, serving as that role model for other players, especially young ones.
Maybe he … is a hero? Oh, no. Haha. Gross.
“Hey,” Gabe says, meeting Leo by the net.
Why did you put that heart emoji on my post?
“Hey,” Leo says.
Then, in unison: “So, I—”
“Oh, sorry, go ahead,” Leo says.
“No, no, you were saying something,” Gabe says.
“Oh, no, it’s okay.”
“Oh, okay.”
Leo feels sixteen again.
Off to the side, their coaches are chatting before practice begins. Except, Leo doesn’t recognize Gabe’s coach as the guy he’s been working with for the past several years.
“So, uh, who’s that?” Leo asks.
“Oh, that’s Diego. He’s my new coach,” Gabe says. “We’ve been working together since the off-season.”
“Oh,” Leo says. “New season, new coach, huh?”
“Yeah, all the better to beat you with,” Gabe says, and then shakes his head a little, his face turning more serious. “No, um, actually, my old coach wasn’t exactly … on the same page with me about going public. So, we decided to go our separate ways.”
“Shit. That sucks,” Leo says, surprised at his sudden sympathy for Gabe. “I—I’m sorry.”
“Guess we’re both down a coach, aren’t we?” Gabe asks a bit too eagerly, then cringes. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I just meant—”
“Let’s get started, shall we?” Brian interrupts, approaching them with the usual determined glint in his eye, and leads Leo back to the baseline.
“All right, LC, just feel it out. You’re not playing for anything here.
I just want you to have some time to get used to the pace of his game and start recognizing more patterns of play without the pressure of a real match. ”
Right, right, just with the pressure of practicing with a longtime rival who recently became a gay sports icon. Got it.
Brian leans a little closer to add, “Don’t be afraid to mix it up, either.
I want us to keep working on adding more variety, more tools you can use if your A game isn’t there.
More slices, more volleys, maybe even a drop shot here and there.
” He pats Leo on the shoulder and jogs to the side of the court.
Then, he jogs right back. “Oh, and try to ignore the cameras. We’re working on getting rid of them. ”
Leo’s used to fans gathering around the practice courts, iPhones at the ready, but as he scans the crowd that’s formed, he sees what Brian’s talking about: actual photographers with telephoto lenses have surrounded them now, too.
Why didn’t he expect this? Of course they would be here, itching to get a photo of newly out Gabe during his Australian Open prep—and with his partner in drama, Leo, too.
He attempts to put the press out of his mind and goes for broke on nearly every one of his shots, using the quickness of the court to his advantage and ripping winners past Gabe.
He tries out some slicing to keep Gabe off balance.
He attempts a couple drop shots, for better or worse.
Brian’s right: There’s nothing at stake here, so why not swing for the fences?
Why not give the photographers some great content?
But Leo knows it’s not quite that simple.
It’s, well—was that a crack in Gabe’s facade earlier?
When he pivoted from his typical fighting words to an actual moment of vulnerability about losing his coach?
It might have been. And it’s this one serious moment that seems to be helping Leo clear the breath caught in his throat for the first time.
His forehand and backhand are firing at full power—he’s even throwing in some backhand slices, albeit with varying success—and Gabe seems vulnerable in his game, too, missing many of his shots long or sending them into the net.
Fidgeting with his backward cap after each point, he’s looking less and less like the confident cover star Leo’s been confronted by on every newsstand and looking more and more …
nervous? What—and Leo can’t stress this enough—the fuck?
After an hour and a half, their session is over, and Leo is technically ahead in their match.
It doesn’t feel like he’s won anything, considering this was just a practice match and, while Gabe did raise his level as the practice continued, he wasn’t his usual sinister, slicing self.
Leo wants to chalk it up to Gabe simply being a little rusty since he hasn’t played any tournaments yet this season, but he knows better than that.
Gabe must have a ton on his mind, made worse by the increased presence of journalists and photographers.
As freeing as it must be to have finally come out, the new expectations of being The Only Gay Man In Tennis must carry their own type of pressure, not to mention the betrayal he must be feeling after parting ways with his coach.
The ATP hasn’t even said anything about his coming out, either, let alone celebrated it. Damn. That really sucks.
Whoa, hold up. Nope. Gabe is still an asshole until proven otherwise. And the case is still wide open.
But then, why, as he and Gabe make their way through the locker room, is Leo glancing around to see if any of the guys are talking shit about Gabe or giving him dirty looks?
Why is he anxiously watching for their reactions like he does with his dad?
Why is he feeling—what’s the word—protective? This is not normal. ABORT. ABORT.
“Hey,” Gabe says, approaching Leo at his locker.
“Hey!” Leo practically shouts, his left eye on the verge of twitching. “What’s up?”
“What I said earlier, about us both being down a coach, I didn’t mean to sound so, you know, flippant about it,” he says. Leo can sense Gabe carefully choosing his words. That’s a first. “I’m sure it’s been hard on you. I saw your Instagram post.”
Yeah, I know, you commented a heart emoji.
“Oh, yeah, it’s fine, I knew what you meant. But thanks,” Leo says. Even though you think I’m a daddy’s boy. “It’s been okay, I guess.” It’s been traumatic. “He’ll be back at Delray.” But who knows after that.
“Oh, good. Good. I’m playing Delray, too. All right. Well,” Gabe says. Fresh out of nice sentiments, he starts to make his way back to his locker.
“Congrats, by the way,” Leo says quickly. “On, you know—”
“Being gay?” Gabe says with a smirk as he turns around.
“No, no,” Leo says. “I mean, well, yes, but—”
“I’m fucking with you,” Gabe says, sounding like his usual snarky self again. “Thanks, Leo. But don’t think this changes anything. That practice match was a fluke. And by the way, you should put more of your legs and hips into your drop shot. I can tell you’re focusing on your arm too much.”
Did Gabe just reference Leo’s legs and hips? Gulp.
“A fluke, sure,” he says, moving right along. “You just didn’t feel like making any of your forehands today.”
Gabe shrugs. “Thought you could use a win.”
“I won plenty of matches in Sydney and Adelaide this month, thank you very much.”
“I know,” Gabe says. He gives him a small smile, then turns back to his locker.