Hello, Privet! #1: Hello/Привет

Chapter 32

ANTON

Today Henry and I are practicing backhand drives, while guys from ESPN are taking videos and photographs of our practice. We are having it in these nice tennis courts in West Orange, New Jersey, and we have started since seven in the morning. It is now ten.

The devochka is sitting by the fence with the producers from ESPN. She said they would interview me. There have been many of these now because of the US Open in a few weeks. This is the big event we are all preparing for. The Grand Slam. I won in the US Open in 1999 and 2002. After that I could not win it again. I would only reach the quarterfinals, sometimes only the first or second round (it has happened) and lose to players who have vanished from the top 100. I am still here though. I keep coming back to this tournament. Again, the reporters come here to ask me what I'm planning to win it again. That's what she said they want to know. But I don't know the answers. I don't know how to win.

"Anton!" Henry shouts. "What's going on with you?" He knows I think too much about this. In a match, once I start thinking about it, I can't stop and then I lose confidence. I start making mistakes.

"I'm okay."

"You're playing a lot of trash today, Anton. What's wrong?"

I shake my head and push up my wristbands. My shoulder hurts. My arm has not been the same since my surgery. How will I ever play at my best again if I'm like this?

Stop.

Focus.

I breathe. I grip my racket harder and then wipe the sweat off my forehead.

Just keep hitting the ball.

SOPHIE

Tal's timing sucks. It really does. A day before I leave for LA, he calls me up and says simply, "I'm here."

"Where?"

"In New York."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not. I just got in yesterday."

"Wow, you really came."

"Yeah. I want to see you. Meet me at—Aquagrill?"

"Okay, call me."

I have so much to do before I leave. I haven't even packed yet. I have no idea how long we're staying. It all depends on Anton—it can be one week at most, or he could be out in two days. And then I have to do a PR thing for the ATP. They're doing this "What it's like to be a tennis player?" blog of the tennis players, and Anton is one of the two players chosen to write the blog this week, for the Countrywide Classic. Obviously, I'm the one who's going to write it—and the idea that I have to do this—write down what Anton is thinking—fills me with some apprehension.

John had said, "Relax, just make it casual, let him be funny, you know what to leave out, and before you give it to Jane, show it to me if you want."

The thing I'm worried about is how much I should let the world know about him, without giving too much away. If I over-edit it, it's going to end up sounding fake, and if I go for authenticity I might offend a lot of people. Anton is the kind of guy who says exactly what he thinks. This isn't going to be easy.

Now, I haven't worried out about Tal coming over for the past few weeks because even if he said he was coming, I didn't really think he would fly all the way here just to see me. He is someone who said things and then didn't do them, so I am a little nonplussed when he actually appears.

Now here he is, we're at Aquagrill, and he's staring at me, and I realize I haven't said a word the entire time, so now I say, "How was the flight?"

Tal had shaved off his goatee. He kept the sideburns though. He is wearing a navy sport coat and a white shirt, jeans and desert boots. He's completely changed his attire here, compared to when we were in Israel. "It was fine."

"Goody." I look at my red snapper and feel my stomach turn.

Tal is saying, "I have been looking at a few schools—"

Schools? Oh, right. He wants to go to film school here. I smile awkwardly and drink my beer.

"So you're really serious about this, huh? Film school?"

"It's something that I've always wanted to do," Tal agrees, checking my reaction as if seeking my affirmation, as if this was something we had planned together.

I say nothing.

"So, where are you staying again?" I ask.

"My aunt's house in Westchester."

"How long are you staying?" I ask, to be polite.

"Maybe a month, I don't know."

"Oh—"

"While I'm here, where should we go?"

"Oh—I'll be in LA tomorrow, maybe for a week or so," I tell him, even if he didn't ask.

"For your job?"

"Yes."

"You work for a tennis player? Anton Akhmerov, right?"

"Yeah, you know him?"

"He's in the BMW ads," he says. "And those cameras."

"That's the guy." I swirl my beer around in my glass.

"Maybe I'll see you there."

What is he talking about? I blink at him. "Where? In LA?"

Tal nods. "Yes. We can meet there."

I doubt it and it shows in my face.

"No, it's good. I'll visit UCLA and Berkeley. I want to ask about their film program, and then I'll go to the Getty Museum, LACMA... I don't know—maybe we can see a concert." He flips out his phone, and I'm wondering if he is going to play with that thing here—now. Why am I here? Why am I even talking to him? What am I doing with him? Why can't he understand that it's over? Even if I don't say it, I must have dropped a million hints. I once overheard Connor saying to a girl (who is now an ex-girlfriend) that sometimes guys need to have it spelled out for them because guys are not mind readers. I guess I should just tell Tal. This is the part I hate the most. I am such a coward. Why can't I bring myself to tell him it's over? People think it's so hard getting dumped, but it's just as hard dumping someone.

Tal is showing me his phone. "They have The Renegades at the Hollywood Palladium next week. That's in LA, right? What do you think?"

I hear myself saying, "Sure, I like The Renegades...but I don't know, okay?"

He looks at me seriously. "I wish you'd decide now, because I'm going to buy the tickets—and they cost about two hundred dollars each—"

Why isn't he getting the hint? "Okay. Whatever you want."

He grins. "Yeah? Great—then I'll see you in Los Angeles—in about a week?"

"Okay. Sure."

"Where are you staying?"

Why is he acting like this all of a sudden? Like he actually plans to follow through this time. But I'm not going to hold my breath. "I don't know yet. Anton decides these things. Just call me when you get there."