A Girl in the Hotel by hipponette

[Annie]

A Girl in the Hotel

by hipponette

Chapter 1

Marat was getting ready for an afternoon practice. He just got here the night before, and slept the whole day because of jet lag. He was used to it. He pulled a shirt over his head and grabbed his shoes. Sitting on the couch, he put on a pair of socks. And then another. He laced up his shoes and stood up. Grabbing his bag, he swung it on his shoulder and headed out the door.

As he went out, he saw Daniela Hantuchova walking in the hall with her hitting partner for the day. It was like time slowed down for him. And as cheesy movies go, they smiled at each other. They both smiled smirkily at each other. Her hitting partner didn't seem to have noticed him, as she looked ahead. But as soon as she walked past, time went back to its regular speed again. Weird.

He shook his head and headed to the elevators. He was tired....that was it. He was hallucinating. Oh well, on to practice.

-------------------------

Pop...Pop.....Pop....Pop....Pop....Net.

"Goin' for a little too much there, Marat," Dima said from across the net. His fellow Russian had agreed to hit with him because he couldn't find anyone else.

"I know that," Marat replied irritably.

"Geez, ice queen, ease up."

Marat shook his head and put his racket up in apology. Dima put his up as well.

As their practice match went on, Marat's frustrations only grew worse. The balls were flying off his racket and well, it just wasn't a good day.

"You okay, man?" Dima asked him in a changeover.

"Yeah."

"You sure? Normally you'd have your head up," he said.

Marat gave him a look.

Dima rolled his eyes. "You know...Big Marat....ra ra ra," he mocked a giant.

That at least brought a smile to Marat's face. He was still a kid at heart.

"I don't know. I'm just tired, I guess."

"Hey, whatever you say, man."

Minutes later, they were packing up. Dima had won their match, but didn't say anything. Normally he'd be the jolly guy making a crack at everything. But not today. Marat affects everyone's moods.

"You wanna go out to dinner? I think Misha and Igor are coming," Dima offered.

"Nah, I'll do room service tonight. Thanks, though."

They walked out of the gates. They were immediately swarmed by fans who had been watching their practice. Marat felt bad for them. He had put out a half-hearted display of tennis, and now they were facing the bitchy Safin. He lazily scribbled on magazines, caps, shirts, an arm, and tennis balls. When he couldn't take it anymore, he just said "Thanks guys. I have to catch dinner with someone. Thank you," and he walked off. In the background, he heard a small muttering of disappointment and maybe some anger. What a cherry on top of his freakin' ice cream.

He headed in the locker room, changed out of his clothes, and stepped in the shower. For a while, he just stood under the spray, not moving. He sighed. Why me? Why do I have to catch hell all the time? ....I guess it could be worse. A lot worse.

-----------------

He walked in the hallway to his room, looking as sluggish as ever. It was as if even his bag was too heavy for him. He came across Daniela again, and he just looked at her from afar, still walking.

Daniela saw Marat walking in the hallway again. But this time, he looked worse. Sluggish. She furrowed her brow. As they neared each other, she asked, "Long day?" She even stopped for him.

All she got was a grunt of "Yeah." No smile, no real eye contact. He just walked past her, unlocked his door, went in, and shut it resoundingly.

"Okayyyy..." she said softly to herself. She continued walking

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As he finished his glamorous room service dinner, he got ready for bed. As he went in the bathroom, he saw his reflection on the mirror. He'd definitely aged. He was 27, a veteran of the tour, and he was getting tired. He remembered coming in the tour, always clean shaven, tall and lanky, and just eager to play anytime anywhere. Now he was unshaven, his body had definitely grown and changed, and he'd be lying if he said there wasn't a time when he thought about skipping a tournament.

Thinking back to the practice, he thought about the articles he'd read about him. Most wrote about how he should just hang up the tennis clothes and retire; save his dignity. But as soon as that thought entered his mind, images of winning the Davis Cup for his country flashed. That's what he played for.

He sighed. But his look turned fierce. Still staring at the mirror, he looked for the last ounce of confidence he had. As he found it and built it, he told himself:

Hope dies last. Hope dies last. .......I can do this. I'm not gonna bow out. I can still do this. Damn it, I'm gonna make those people shut their mouth.

He found himslef pounding the sink, making his hygienic stuff rattle. He panted.

"I can do this," he whispered. After one last look at the mirror, he took his shirt off, leaving just his track pants on. He climbed into bed, relishing the feel of comfort. It didn't take him long to find sleep.

[Annie]

Chapter 2

Never an early person, Marat got up at 9 in the morning. Changing into the first acceptable articles of clothing he could find, he headed down to the hotel buffet. As he got there, he saw a relatively short line. As he finished stacking his plate with the breakfast of champions, he went to look for a table. He smiled at the sight of Daniela sitting alone, eating her breakfast, reading the paper. Breakfast was every player's slow time.

He headed towards her, working on a greeting. But unfortunately, he had to put that on hold as her coach sat on her table. Marat sighed. He turned around and spotted a table with Dima and Igor.

"Hey!!! Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence!" Dima greeted, even standing up and made "we are not worthy" gestures at him.

Marat and Igor just laughed. The three caught up on what's been happening, since they hadn't seen each other since the Davis Cup final a month ago.

Finishing up their breakfast, Marat asked the guys if they wanted to go running.

"Running? Yesterday you were McGloomy and now you're Little Miss Sunshine?" Dima asked.

"Yeah, well, you know how much of a rollercoaster I am," Marat said.

"I can't," Igor said. "I'm meeting Makiri."

"Uh huh. Yeah. Meeting," Dmitry teased.

"Get a gilfriend, Tursunov," he shot back. He gave Marat a man-hug and gave Dima a peace sign.

"He's got a point," Marat was still laughing.

"Ha ha, I wouldn't be talking, Marat. Get a girlfriend. Maybe you won't be as grumpy everyday. You'll be amazed at what sex can do," he teased. "Oh wait, you already do."

Marat rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, you know I'm right," Dima said smugly.

"I can't go running with you. I have an early practice," Dima told him.

"Fine, I'll run on my own," he said.

"Alright man, I gotta go. Nice to see you not pissed," and with that, Dima dashed off.

Marat chuckled at himself.

[Annie]

Chapter 3

Later that week, it was Day 1 of the first Grand Slam of the year. Marat stood outside of the locker room, with the security guys, waiting for his first round oponent. Minutes later, Benjamin Becker emerged from the room, carrying two bags. The security guys started walking, and Marat gestured for Becker to go first. He did. They were led to tunnels, and soon enough, Marat saw and heard the familiar setting he'd loved.

As the announcer called out Becker, there were random screams. He was pretty young, so no one really knew him. Well, except that he ended Agassi's career last year. So Becker got out, and camera flashes were spotted in the crowd.

After, the announcer seemed to take on a deeper, more suspenseful voice. He introduced Marat, and as soon as the first syllable of his name was said, screams, squeals, whistles, woots, and any other interjections came out of the crowd.

"Let's go, Marat! Let's go!"

"Marrrrrrat!!! Wooo!!!"

That brought a smile to his face. The whole Laver Arena was electrified, camera flashes all over, and bright, because of the night sky. Marat loved night sessions. For a moment, sitting on his chair, he looked around the stadium, amazedly. It had been two years since he played here. And won here. He missed the big, loud, Grand Slam crowd. There was just something about the Australian crowd that he loved.

Three hours later, Marat thanked the crowd for staying with him until early morning. His first round match had turned out to be a marathon match. Although he gave the people their money's worth, it wasn't good news for him. A five-setter in the first round? Oh well, he was just happy he got the W that night.

An hour later, he met with the press. In shorts and a shirt, he stepped in the press room. He sat on the long table, perched up on a stage. He was the man of the hour. Used to the boringness of answering 70 relatively the same questions for the 600th time in your career, Marat automatically answered questions, fiddling with his credential pass.

"Welcome back, Marat."

"Thank you."

"How you feeling?"

Sigh. "Well, it was a little upsetting that I had to play five sets for a first round match. But physically, I feel good. I feel fit and ready."

A journalist from the back: "Fit and ready as in 2005?"

Marat smirked. "Probably not."

Journalists laugh.

He continued, "I mean, I don't think I can top that performance. I mean, compared to last year, I feel ready."

"Marat, I noticed you practiced with Roger when you got here. How was that?"

"It was great. I really haven't talked to Roger a lot before Australia, which was different, because we're like best friends before I got injured."

Scattered laughter.

"Um, he's in fantastic shape. But you guys already know that, don't you?"

More laughter.

"So yeah, it was great hitting with Roger again, and he was thrilled to hit with me too. I think he missed me."

More laughter.

"I don't think he missed you for that semifinal loss here two years ago," a journalist quipped.

Marat chuckled. "No, he didn't. That's probably why he never bothered to call me when I was out," he joked. More love from the writers.

"Marat? How's it like to reunite with the Australian fans?"

"It's fantastic. I mean, I'm so thankful for them supporting me in 2005 and all those years before. They're my best Grand Slam crowd. And I really feel sorry that they missed out last year because of my knee. But look at what I did tonight. I let it go to five sets. On purpose. Just for them," he said.

The journalist crowd ate it up.

An hour or so later, Marat wrapped up with thanking the reporters and leaving the press room. He haggardly walked to the locker room to get his bag. After he headed down to the lobby to wait for his ride.

He put his bag down and lounged on the couch as he waited. He listened to his voicemail messages to pass the time. There was a girl across from him, reading a magazine on her lap. Her hair was down, and she had earphones on. Marat immediately recognized her as Daniela. The whole time, he had his phone on his ear, not really paying attention as the messages played, and he stared at her. His eyes roamed over the long legs showed off by her short shorts, her trademark. Her shoulders were showed off by the spaghetti straps of her top. She had on a cap, making her more oblivious to her surroundings. She was biting her nails. Marat smiled. He wasn't alone.

Just then, a man tapped him on the shoulder and said that his ride was here.

"Thank you," he followed the man. He looked at Daniela to see if she'd look up, but she didn't. So he didn't bother saying goodbye. It's not like they'd talked, anyway.

[Annie]

CHAPTER 4

Three days later, Marat was hitting with Tommy Haas. He'd beaten Sela in the third round. He played another five setter. But he wouldn't let that bring him down. But in today's practice, he's working especially hard. His next opponent? Andy Roddick. Sounds like a Sunday match, but Marat wasn't ranked high enough yet. A third round clash with Roddick was all people could talk about, ever since the draw came out. He was playing Andy tomorrow in a day match. Sucks.

After practice, Marat gave his coach his bag to take with him.

"I'm going running," he said.

"What's with the fascination with running all of a sudden?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I just feel like it. I need to warm down, anyway."

"All right. You still coming with us to dinner?"

"Yeah. See you later," with that, he jogged off. Only to be halted my the mass crowd that was watching him. That was his breather. Minutes later, he started running, his iPod on shuffle. "Under Pressure" by David Bowie played. No shit.

Three miles later, he was jogging back to his hotel. He walked to his room, breathing heavily. As he got to his hall, he saw Daniela trying to open her door and on her cellphone. She felt a presence in the hall and turned to him. She beamed, and waved at him. He was stunned. She looked beautiful smiling like that. Like he was someone she knew on a much higher level. He awkwardly waved to her, and regained his composure enough to smile back. She turned back to her door, opened it, and went in. He'd stared at her until she closed the door. He looked down on his foot, and sighed. Wow.

After showering, he turned on the TV as he got ready for dinner. ESPN was showing Federer's night match. He put on his jeans as he watched Federer hit a screaming backhand to Bjorkman. Shrugging on a white button up shirt, he checked out the score. Federer was murdering him. Finishing up getting dressed, he grabbed his wallet and cellphone and headed out the door.

A few minutes later, he was sitting with Sasha, Dima, and Misha at the table. They were all eating and chatting. They were reminiscing last month's run at the Davis Cup, current and past girlfriends, and soccer (I mean....football). Marat was laughing at Dima's quips, when he noticed Daniela from a table afar. He squinted a bit to see if it was really her. It was.

Daniela was giggling over Jarmila's embarassing story of running into an ex.

"Wow! Oh my God! Are you serious?" she asked.

"Yep, unfortunately."

Daniela giggled more.

From the other side, Marat looked at her giggle. The candlelight on her table made some sort of effect on her that he just loved.

"So she came up to me, all excited, and I was just floored. She was so beautiful. So she asked, 'Are you Dmitry Tursunov?' I said, 'The one and only,' all proud. And she's like, 'OMG, can you give this to Marat?!?!' She hands me a piece of paper with her number on it. Her name was Candi. I just stalked off, sulking," Dima finished his story. The whole table of Russians bursted out in laughter. Except Marat.

"Hey man, c'mon. That was pretty funny," Dima told Marat as he saw his friend not laughing.

"Huh?" Marat looked out of it.

Dima took the hint. "Dude, who are you staring at?"

"What are you talking about?" he went back to eating his food to get Dima off his back.

"You were just staring at someone."

"No I wasn't."

Dima looked back to the direction Marat had been staring at. He gasped. He leaned in to whisper/yell at Marat, "Hantuchova?"

He rolled his eyes. "I was not staring at her."

"Yeah, that's right. You were drooling, man," Dima mocked a dog drooling over a piece of meat and the table roared in laughter again.

"Jesus, grow up, man," Marat said exasperatingly.

"Okay, first, my name isn't Jesus. Second, I wouldn't be talking, because you were putting horns on Misha when we were taking that team picture in Davis Cup."

"You what?!" Misha exclaimed.

Marat looked pooped. The big deal was that it was a formal photo op. Suits and everything. "Okay, I might've held a peace sign on top of your head. By accident."

They had to laugh at that one.

"Back to Marat over here," Dima quipped. "You like her?"

Marat snorted.

As the Russian table grilled their cool-but-now-weird compatriot, Daniela took a break from giggling. Chewing a piece of broccoli, she looked around the restaurant. OMG. Is that....? It's him. She had an amazed look on her face. Jarmila looked up and noticed.

"What?" she asked.

"Huh? Nothing."

Jarmila smiled and pressed, "What is it?"

"It's ah, nothing." Daniela went back to eating her dinner.

"Okayyyy..." Jarmila was puzzled. She looked back behind her to look around. She saw a group of men at a table, laughing loudly. "Oh my God!"

(Buking!) Daniela held a deer-in-a-headlights expression.

"Is that....Marat Safin?" Jarmila asked amazedly. As a newbie, she was still star-struck most of the time.

Dani pretended to look really hard at where Jarmila pointed even though she damn well knew who it was. "Yeah. Yep, that's him." More eating.

"Wow. He's better looking in person," Jarmila chuckled.

"You think so?" Daniela asked.

"Oh, c'mon. Get real. He's fine," she drew out her last word.

Daniela laughed.

Then something dawned on Jarmila. She had the O-face and covered her mouth. "Oh my God. You were staring at him!"

"No I wasn't."

"Yes you were," she was laughing.

"I was not."

"Yes you were. We can do this all night. Look, it's nothing to be embarassed about. I'm sure half the tour is crushing on him."

Dani chuckled wryly at how true that was. So much Marat fangirling in the locker room. But Dani just looked at Jarmila with a blank look.

"Fine, I'll drop it."

"Thank you." And with that, they went back to their dinners.

Back at the Russian table.

"You know what, Marat? Whatever man. That's just not fair. I come to you sharing juicy details of my love life, and you're not sharing yours?!?!" Dima pretended to sulk.

"Hey, I didn't ask for them," Marat supplied coolly.

"But I had to tell someone," Dima joked.

Marat shook his head.

"I'd leave him alone if I were you," Sasha finally talked. "He's taller than you."

For the rest of the time, the four men talked about football. That way Marat actually talked.