Double Act

Maldec was one of the greatest players to ever step foot on court. He’d won more competitions than he had room for in his trophy cabinet, and rumour had it that he had resorted to giving them away at children’s birthday parties.

The press loved him; his grace, his style, his work ethic, and they especially loved the fact that every time they predicted he would ‘go all the way’, they happened to be right. And for as long as I had been on the tour, they had compared me to him.

I hated when they did that.

My strokes, they said, had a little something Maldecian about them. My serves were just in his style, like I had been studying him all my life as some kind of a tennis disciple. We were even from the same country. Hell, I could hardly grab a coffee without the commentators’ box saying my walk looked like his.

But I had won plenty of tournaments myself so far and I hadn’t won them by being mistaken for Maldec. No, I had earned those trophies and I had earned my spot on the Olympic national team, too.

So when I arrived at the complex on the first day of practice, I was delighted to be wearing my country's stripes for the first time as a professional athlete in my own right. It was a big moment. I had a spring in my step- nothing like Maldec’s loping gait, by the way- as I headed for the gym to warm up and meet the coach.

But when I got there, I knew immediately that something was up. Coach Ingres was practically buzzing with excitement and it seemed he could hardly keep his feet on the ground as he took my hand and shook it excitedly.

He looked over his shoulder and that’s when I saw him.

Maldec entered the gym with the easy smile everyone seemed so taken with, loping over to us like a large moose in a tracksuit. He grinned at me, clearly part of whatever joke this was. God, I hated him. I smiled politely back, but avoided shaking his hand by taking a drink from my water bottle.

“Great news,” Ingres said. “We’ve decided that you two will be playing doubles at the Olympics.”

I immediately choked on my water, spitting it out and narrowly missing spraying Ingres with backwash.

“I-I’m sorry?” I coughed, trying to dislodge the water from my windpipe while also secretly hoping I might pass out from lack of oxygen. Maybe when I woke up again this wouldn’t be happening.

“Doubles! Isn’t it great?” Ingres replied, his grin looking like it might swallow his whole face. “If anyone can make our country proud, it’ll be you two. I know it. You’re practically duplicates already.”

I was about to protest again but Maldec jumped in first.

“That’s fantastic news.” He turned to me, fixing me with his self-confident gaze. “Can you believe we’ve never played doubles together before? This is gonna be so much fun.”

I stared at Maldec’s back as he retreated back through the gym, angling for the machine I had planned to use. If there was ever a time to have Superman’s laser vision…

It was dark by the time my brother, Leo, found me on the court. All around was steeped in darkness, but floodlights illuminated the court, which resembled a concrete island in a storm.

And that’s what it had always been for me. Tennis was a refuge, a place where I could come to be better than I thought I was, to defy my own expectations and everyone else’s along with them. But none of that mattered if no one believed I had done it under my own steam, if they all thought I was somehow riding Maldec’s coattails. And now, I would have to play with him and the mini-me accusations would never end. It made my blood boil just thinking about it.

So, Leo turned up to see me smashing balls with such force that more of them were ending up outside the fences than in them.

“Look out,” Leo said, grinning. “There’s a maniac on the floor.”

I rolled my eyes. Leo could never resist a cheap quote.

“I’d ask what’s got you all hot and bothered,” he said, dodging a stray ball. “But I think it might have something to do with your new partner?”

“He’s not my partner,” I replied, sending a ball sailing on the last word. Leo watched it arc across the court before landing in the rubbish bin with a thud.

“Right…Look, I know it’s not ideal, but think of it this way- you’ll definitely win.” He walked over and nudged me. “You’ve always wanted to play in the Olympics. Hell, you’ve been pretending to stand on the podium since we were old enough to sing the national anthem. Remember, you used to put me in bronze and your elephant soft toy in silver?”

I grimaced; I had forgotten about that. The competitive streak runs deep, I guess.

“Sorry about that,” I said.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, laughing.

I watched him as he picked up a ball, juggling it with his feet like a football. Leo had always been so confident in himself; if something didn’t work, he tried something else and if someone said he couldn’t, you could guarantee he would. I envied him for that.

Whatever I did, I had to work hard for and I was not about to let that work get brushed aside.

“Mine!” Maldec shouted the next day at practice, lunging from the net to intercept the ball.

At the baseline, I rolled my eyes. I had been perfectly ready to return it, but Maldec hadn’t given me the chance. His shot, of course, sailed beautifully across the net, landing neatly in the corner of the court.

Grinning, Maldec turned around.

“Not too bad for an old man, eh?” He said, raising his hand for a high five. Begrudgingly, I returned it and headed to the baseline to serve. Bouncing the ball again and again, it took everything in me not to aim directly for his smug back.

Maldec peered over his shoulder.

“Taking your time back there, huh? Am I putting you off?” He winked, laughing, and the guys who were hitting with us on the other side of the net joined in.

Hahaha, real original. I rolled my eyes and proceeded to immediately serve a double fault. Maybe Maldec was right, he was putting me off, more than he knew.

After the session, which had been long and infuriating, I wanted nothing more than a shower and to go home. I wasn’t sure I could put up with this for an entire Olympics. As I was drying off, considering bribing a physio to say I had a muscle tear or smoking some weed to fail my drug test, I heard something. Low voices on the other side of the locker room.

Creeping closer, I peered around the corner and realised it was Coach Ingres.

“How do you feel?” He said to someone who I couldn’t see.

The other person sighed.

“I have to be honest…not great.” I realised with a start that the other person was Maldec. 

He sounded different, even to how he had sounded earlier on the court. All of that easy self-confidence was gone, replaced by something else. Tiredness, or frustration maybe?

“I’ve had too many setbacks. I can’t keep doing this. I’m going to take it as a sign if we don’t make it out of the first round.” Maldec paused, but Ingres didn’t respond. He knew what was coming. 

“If we don’t win this match, I’m done. I’m leaving.”

What?

Surprised that the sound of my jaw hitting the floor hadn’t alerted the two of them to my presence, I decided to take my opportunity and tiptoe out of the locker room.

Safely outside, I breathed in the early evening air and then fistpumped it with all of my might. Leave! Retire! Before I know it, Maldec could be one of those silver-haired ex-champions sitting in the box at matches- though not my matches, mind you. I would be rid of these endless comparisons and finally be able to get on with my own career.

But wait. I stopped fist-pumping. What had he said? Much as I wanted to hear Maldec’s exit music playing in my head, I couldn’t ignore what came before that magic word, ‘leave’.

If we lose.

Suddenly, I was faced with a decision. If I wanted him off the tour, I would have to throw the match. I had never lost a single game on purpose, let alone a match, not even to my brother when we were kids. But this was different. This was for the greater good. My greater good.

And besides, the Olympics didn’t affect your ranking. The fans would watch me, young and full of promise, weighed down by an ageing player and think, huh, maybe they aren’t that similar after all.

Well, then. So be it.

Then, it was time. I hadn’t exactly imagined the entrance to my first Olympic match looking for the nearest bin, but here we were. I was planning to throw the match, but the flags, the crowd shouting the national anthem and my family sitting in the box were not making it easy. I felt sick.

As Maldec and I entered the court, I could feel Leo’s eyes burning into me, but I didn’t return his gaze. My brother knows me too well; I knew that if he looked in my eyes, he would read exactly what I was planning as if I had written him an essay.

So I kept my eyes down as the national anthem played and I murmured the words; I kept my eyes down as we headed for our bench. I could feel Maldec beside me. His posture was as casual as ever, but up close, he was tense. The muscles in his neck bulged and his grip around the racquet was so tight that his knuckles turned white.

I found myself wondering if he had always played this way. As swift and determined as he appeared to onlookers, had he always been this wound up underneath? Like a piece of taut wire which threatened to snap and send shrapnel flying?

I didn’t know, but I couldn’t think about it. Not now.

Finally, after a warm up and a quick break, we stepped onto court, the bright sun pulling heat off the surface in waves. Our opponents, two brothers from a well-known tennis dynasty, glanced nervously between the two of us. They expect to lose, I realised. Well, they can thank me for this later.

The brother began by serving a low, fast ball over the net. Maldec returned it with ease, placing it between our two opponents before either had a chance to react. The crowd cheered. Maldec relaxed, just a little.

We tapped racquets, but before I could make my way to the baseline, Maldec put a hand on my arm.

“Thanks for doing this, kid.” He kept his voice low, but his eyes were fixed on mine.

Surprised to find my throat tight- I probably just hadn’t drunk enough water- I just nodded and walked to the back of the court.

The brother served another fast ball, barely scraping over the net. Let. He served again. I should have known where the ball was going; I should have watched where the last one landed and predicted it. And I had. But I pretended I hadn’t and lunged to the left as if expecting it to swing wide. I missed as it sailed down the centre line.

“All right, don’t worry,” Maldec muttered as we swapped places again.

I didn’t respond, just kept my head down and hoped that the crowd would see a determined player instead of a guilty one.

The next few games carried on the same way. I hit just enough winners to play without suspicion, so to those watching, I simply looked like a player having an off day. Groundstokes dipped into the net, serves sailed long, and the audience groaned with each perceived slight.

And yet, I could feel their excitement.

As much as they adored Maldec, carrying posters of his face and shouting out offers of marriage from the stands, there was something exciting about an upset. The air was electric. They wanted a change, I realised. And I was going to give it to them.

On the way to the bench after a lost service game, I made eye contact with Leo. His face was stony and, immediately, I knew that he knew. I expected him to shout, maybe give me the finger and storm off, but he didn’t. He just looked at me and shook his head.

This isn’t what we did this for, he was saying. All the late nights, hitting around on the court, missing parties and birthdays to go to tennis camps and intensives. All that work, and you’re going to throw it away, for your ego.

But I shook my head as if he had spoken directly to me. He was wrong. I wasn’t throwing it away. It was one match. I could complain about a blister or say the sun was in my eyes, and then…then Maldec would be gone.

I snuck a glance at him, sitting next to me on the bench. His head was down.

Then, he looked up and I realised at the same time he did that the crowd was chanting. But they weren’t saying his name. For the first time that Maldec had been on a court in a very long time, the crowd was chanting someone else’s name. Mine.

“Huh,” Maldec intoned, looking around the stadium.

I chuckled nervously. I had dreamed about this moment since the first time I picked up a racquet. But right now it felt…wrong. Out of place.

“I don’t know why they’re doing that,” I muttered. “I’m not playing well.”

“I know why. They like you,” Maldec said, turning to me. He glanced over at the clock, but it had been paused while one of the brothers had his foot taped. He looked back at me and I tried not to squirm under his gaze. “You know, everyone wants this. A crowd cheering your name, urging you to get back up. And they think they can get there by being the best, the most ruthless, winning the most matches. But do you know what it really is?”

I shook my head, glancing at the crowd around us.

“They like you. They’ve never liked me because of my playing or my records or trophies, though they like it when I win and so do I. No, they like who I am. And, it seems, they like who you are, too.”

“The mini-Maldec,” I said sarcastically, hearing the countless similar comments in my head.

“No.” Maldec put a hand on my wrist. “Maldec 2.0. New and improved. You’re not me because I couldn’t do what you do. You’re something completely different…I’m sorry if you’ve been made to feel like you’re playing in my shadow. The truth is, I never discouraged them when they compared us. I actually encouraged it because I was flattered. Being compared to you, with your fresh play and tactical mind…”

He shrugged.

“I was honoured. And if I have to leave them in someone’s hands…” He gestured to the fans around us. “I’m glad it’s you.”

I looked at him for a long moment, the sound of the crowd dying away. I glanced towards my box where Leo had been sitting; he was gone.

“Shit.”

Maldec looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

“We’re going to have to win, aren’t we?”

The post-match press room was packed. Reporters were standing on top of each other, spilling out of the room with their microphones stuck through the doorway. Maldec, sitting next to me at the table, pointed to a reporter in the second row. The reporter stood.

“What happened today?” She asked, while those around her nodded. “I mean, it’s no secret you guys were the clear favourites. You started out a bit rough and, even though you rallied in the second set, it wasn’t enough. Can you walk us through the loss?”

“Uhh, the sun was in our eyes?” Maldec said, shrugging. The room chuckled and, for once, I wasn’t angry that Maldec had stolen my line. I was too worried about what he would say next. 

We had tried our best, but it hadn’t been enough to make up for my temporary insanity in trying to throw the match. Was I about to sit next to one of the greatest players of all time while he announced his retirement, knowing that I was partly to blame? Okay, maybe a bit more than partly.

Another reporter stood up.

“What does this mean for you now, Maldec?”

The room was silent. I could hardly bear to listen and had to stop myself from putting my fingers in my ears like a scared child. Because that was how I felt. I had been selfish and that may have cost this man his career. Maldec took a deep breath.

“To be honest, recently I haven’t been too sure. But after today, I think there might be room for me yet on the court.” He turned to me. “What do you think?”

I looked at him and, standing behind him with the coaches, at Leo.

“I guess it’d be okay if you stuck around. At least for a little while.”

Maldec smiled.

“And we’ll play plenty more doubles together, we promise!” The room seemed to exhale as Maldec joked, glad not to lose him just yet.

“We’ll see about that.” I replied. He laughed and suddenly, I was glad he was there with me.