Naked Hero - The Journey Away

His appointment with the box at the start of the second week appeared secure. And it was the box that he wanted - Roberts having delighted the home nation by winning the previous evening. The Rod Laver Arena beckoned, on primetime television. Everything was falling into place, just as Lee had expected. But he was far from relaxed. Something was niggling at him. It was the same annoying little niggle that he had experienced on the opening day when he attended the tournament and had heard that voice.
    It wasn’t until the second set that Lee had started to take note of it. He had been too wrapped up in Lewis’s performance prior to that. But when the American commentator was asked a question by his colleague about the German fans, there was something in his tone, and the way he answered, that echoed back to five days before. As the second set progressed, Lee became sure - it was the same voice. He cursed himself for not making enquiries at the time. It would have been so easy at Melbourne Park to have gleamed information. But he would do that now, whilst keeping an eye on his prize. Lee fetched his laptop and accessed the internet in an attempt to find out what in the blazes was going on.
    Scott Taylor !
    The full name took only seconds to establish having already heard the first part of it on television. It rang a bell, but without further searching, Lee couldn’t put a face to it, even though he had probably seen the man before as there had been mention of him playing a Wimbledon final. But tennis in those days mattered little to Lee, and he had no real recollection of the American Scott Taylor.
    The face when it did come was vaguely familiar , ruggedly good looking, although not one that Lee was particularly drawn to as he wasn’t a big fan of ginger hair and freckles. But it didn’t matter a flying fruitcake if Lee liked the face or not - it was how it came across to Lewis that was the concern for Mr. Porter as he was sure the American’s involvement went beyond commentating on his matches. And there was further cause for concern from the sporting images Lee found! Ginger hair aside, the guy looked good – ruggedly butch with a seriously fit body which was annoyingly sexy in the short shorts that he used to wear when whacking the shit out of a tennis ball.
    Having fuelled his unease with the physical appearance, Lee hoped for some comfort elsewhere. But he didn’t find any with Scott’s playing career when that was quickly researched. It was obvious the American had a prominent place in the history of his sport: five Grand Slam titles and ranked number one for almost three years. The Old King from Lewis’s world, yet around the same age as Lee – another perturbing factor for Mr. Porter, as that fitted in too nicely with Lee’s perception of Lewis’s type.
    Vexed, Lee then went in search of more personal information, and here he was left frustrated as there was little to be found. There was no blog where Scott told the world all about himself; he wasn’t on a social network doing a daily dump of his life; nor was he on Twitter sharing his deepest thoughts. All Lee could garner were a few basic facts: he’d been married and got divorced just over a year ago; there had been no kids; he had a house in Aspen and was a very keen golfer.
    ‘What is it you’re hiding?’ Lee wondered . Anyone with that degree of fame, who had so little to say about himself, must be hiding something in Lee’s opinion.
    He returned his attention back to the television. The third set was going with serve, but it sounded like Lewis was still in control. Victory was near. Lee, however, was no more at ease... Married! That was no comfort whatsoever. Not to someone like Lee Porter, whose promiscuous history included plenty of men with a wedding ring on their finger.
    ***
    Meanwhile in Melbourne, f rom his position in the ABC commentary box overlooking the Hisense Arena, Scott Taylor watched Lewis as he served out to take the third set into a tie-break.
    It had been a tricky experience commentating on Macleod for the first time. Scott had found it difficult to remain detached during the match, just as he had found it difficult over the previous four days to remain detached whenever he was in Lewis’s company. The lad was infectious – a real pleasure to be around. And it wasn’t just his youthful edgy looks that Scott was drawn to – the whole package was a delight, off and on the court. He made Scott feel good in a noble