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It seems weird for people to look up to Gustavo. While it is true that players look at someone differently once they become a Grand Slam champion, Gustavo had jumped right from no-name to legend so doesn’t know about the in-between.
He’s in the lounge after his quarterfinal match, watching coverage of his next opponents. Corretja is being pushed around by this young man who could be what Gustavo was three years ago. Juan Carlos Ferrero, jumping up the ranks quickly and charming people along the way.
Gustavo doesn’t immediately notice he’s not the only one invested in this match but long legs swinging up so the feet rest on the ottoman capture his attention. Marat nods his way, then settles in on the couch.
There is a comfortable silence between them for ten minutes. Then suddenly Marat asks, "Which side are you pulling for?"
Gustavo shrugs. "Probably Alex because I know what to expect."
"He is a bit unpredictable," Marat says with a smirk. "But that’s where the fun begins."
It takes Gustavo a few seconds to realize Marat is calling Juan Carlos unpredictable and not because of his tennis ability. "You know Juan Carlos well?"
Marat nods. "We go way back."
Gustavo’s eyes have stayed on the television but he can feel the Russian’s eyes are sizing him up. He’d try to decipher the look but he’s more focused on the close-up of Juan Carlos now on the screen.
"Have you ever tried to use your fame to get someone?"
Gustavo blinks then turns to Marat. "What are you talking about?"
"When you won here, there was probably this one thing you’d always wanted that now seemed attainable."
"I don’t see that way. Maybe helping my family, the people in Brazil but not… that." Gustavo has to look away because it feels he’s suddenly way too close to Marat for comfort.
Marat glances at the television, then shakes his head. "I don’t believe you’re that pure."
"What makes you say that?"
"If you weren’t going to face him next round, and given he’s ahead two sets to none it does seem likely now, you’d be fantasizing about him. Watching the replay and figuring out how to get him to bend to your whim."
"You know this is possible?"
"He’s flexible, this I know."
Gustavo shakes his head, curls falling in his face. "That is not what I meant."
Marat tilts his head so his eyes meet the Brazilian’s. "Maybe not but you are glad to know I said that. I promise you this – if you say the word, I can make it happen."
"I don’t understand. I thought you were saying you had personal experience with Juan Carlos so why…"
"Oh I definitely do. It’s just that Juanqui fantasizes about you, I can understand why he does, and it’s something I’d try to make happen for him if I won a Grand Slam." Marat pats on Gustavo’s thigh and stands up. "That’s just me. If you are too good a person for that…"
The images now in his head are just too much. "You have no idea what is attainable right now."
"Oh really?" Marat cocks his head to the side, then shakes his head. "No, you two still have a tournament to deal with. I would win the… well not Wimbledon because grass sucks, let’s say the US Open to make that happen." There are odd stares from others in the room as they watch Marat leave the lounge.
Gustavo mutters under his breath, "You really don’t need to do that. I would’ve gone with you tonight."