Naked Hero - The Journey Away

match from Lewis’s supporters’ box. Would that be okay?
    Of course it would be okay! Lewis was overjoyed at the idea – he would have two platonic friends in his box, who between them could arguably make the perfect man, which was as close as he was likely to get for the time being – or so he assumed. It was another part of the fantasy falling into place – the platonic fantasy concerning his American Idol who would show his support in the most public of ways. He couldn’t possibly ask for more – or so he also assumed!
    The meal progressed leisurely and outwardly relaxed. Lewis was pleased to see that Scott wasn’t pre-occupied, looking nervously around, fearing hidden whispers and nudge-nudge wink-wink sniggers. Waiting for the main course, they talked over how best to approach the final, considering the relative weaknesses of Jackson’s game. There wasn’t much to pick on, but the American champion could prove fragile when under pressure. That’s what Lewis had done in the Wimbledon final, kept up the pressure until the mistakes started to creep in. Jackson was a brilliant front runner, relaxing with his lead, and easing his way over the finish line. But he had relaxed too much at Wimbledon and allowed Lewis back into the match. He would not make the same mistake again. Lewis had to stay with him right from the outset, keep the pressure on and make him crack.
    The main course arrived. Scott was a lot more comfortable by this point in the proceedings. The conversation came easy as there was no safer ground for the pair of them than tennis. Mr. Taylor could have happily stayed there all evening. Every time he thought about changing the subject, bringing up what he had really invited Lewis out to discuss, the nerves got the better of him and he shied away. It was his dinner partner who eventually gave him the opening, bringing up himself what was still on the lad’s mind.
    “When do you go back to the States?” asked Lewis.
    “Early next week, supposedly, but I’m not sure yet,” Scott replied. He took a gulp of wine – a rather fine Australian Shiraz that was totally wasted on his normally discerning palate - then at last found the courage to make his move. “It all depends on you.”
    Lewis looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
    “I had a chat with Jim earlier. He thinks it would be a good idea if I were to stay involved with your coaching. He’s especially worried about the clay court season - reckons he needs more help if you’re going to crack it this year. Perhaps we could spend some time after the Open to see how I might fit in. That’s if you’re interested.”
    “Interested!” exclaimed Lewis, his mind doing summersaults in delight as another piece of the fantasy fell into place. “Of course I am! Jim didn’t mention anything. Is he okay with the idea? People might think he’s being eased out.”
    “He might want to be,” Scott replied, realising too late that in his anxiety he had overstepped the mark, and raised a topic that should have been left until after the final. But the words were out, so he felt there could be no harm in more. “Would that be a problem for you? I’m not really sure myself. We’d obviously need to see how things shape up, but if I were to be convinced - would you want me?”
    “Want you! Of course I want you... As a coach that is. Sorry.”
    His normally rock steady hand trembling with nerves, Scott took another gulp of wine then asked, “And is that all?”
    Lewis’s face turned scarlet, and he was momentarily lost for words. He knew the guilty answer, but it was not the answer that he thought Scott needed to hear. Marie was right, Lewis didn’t think through the situation. He saw his platonic fantasy and reached out to get it without concern for the inevitable consequences.
    “I’m not going to act like a twat and make a play for you, Scott,” he replied. “You should know that by now.”
    The glass was shakily deposited , and with eyes fixed forward, Scott made an admission at last. “Perhaps I wouldn’t object if you did,” he managed to stammer.
    Lewis half choked on his food as he stared at his idol – a man who was now even redder in the face than he was. “You’re winding me up. Is this some sort of test?”
    “No,” Scott replied, lowering his eyes to his plate, unable to hold the gaze from across the table for more than a few seconds.
    “So... what are you saying?” asked Lewis, struggling to make sense of it