Naked Hero - The Journey Away

better about myself - to know that someone like him is prepared to help me. And he does help. He’s got a lot of savvy. He gets my head right. What do you think, Chantal? You mentioned that Scott had helped you once before.”
    Chantal looked up, puzzled for a moment; then she dragged herself out of the introspection. “I like him. We met a long time ago. It’s strange - I was advised to speak to him about my head as well. Confidence, Lewis. He knows all about that - and for me it was a big problem at the time... the inner doubts. Scott Taylor never had any inner doubts about his tennis... You and I are similar in a way, Lewis, we have a history of losing in the head. But not so similar - I lose because of me and me alone, my own doubts about my ability to win. That’s never been your problem. I don’t think that you doubt your own ability. You just worry about what others think, fret about what’s happening around you. That’s easier to fix. I’m sure Scott can do that for you.”
    Lewis adored Chantal, but she could be a bit serious at times, and tonight she seemed on top form where that was concerned. He was in no mood to indulge her though, and Marie had already made it clear that it was best to keep things light. “We would make a good team then!” was the sparkly response. “Perhaps we should play doubles for a laugh. Let’s enter the French! I always get knocked out in the first week, so it would be good to get some extra court time playing doubles.”
    “Now that would be a French farce I would love to witness,” laughed Marie.
    Lewis feigned indignity. “It wouldn’t be a farce! We would win no problem. It would probably be my only chance to win something at Roland Garros. We have to do it, Chantal.”
    “Once I give up all hope of winning the singles title perhaps,” she replied.
    Lewis clacked his tongue. “Ah! Individual glory! It used to be so different. Billie Jean entered everything, and won most of them. How times have changed,” he said with a shake of his head.
    “And you would do this at Wimbledon, where you might win again?” asked Chantal.
    “Okay, point taken,” said Lewis, raising his hands in surrender. “We’ll wait a few more years then. But what about food though? Do you want to order? I don’t know how much longer Scott will be – but I’m going to wait.”
    “No, we’ll wait as well. No match tomorrow, so it’s okay,” said Chantal before reaching out to take a sip from her glass.
    “How’s the wine, it looks good?” asked Lewis.
    “Yes, it’s lovely!” piped Chantal, making more of an effort to compartmentalise her troubles. “It’s French of course. I know the Australian wines are really good, but this is in my blood. Are you still not drinking? I’m sure one glass would do no harm.”
    “You old temptress! ” Lewis laughed. “But no, I won’t thanks. I’m on a mission, so I’ll stick to fizzy water. But you can’t believe how shlozzled I’m going to get once I lose here.”
    The look on Chantal’s face suggested a lecture was on the cards. She was one of the few people outside his inner circle who knew of the problem and the challenge he had set by going on the wagon. But thankfully he was saved by a timely arrival.
    “Hey, here he is!” exclaimed Lewis as he stood up to greet Scott who was being shown to the table by the maître d’. “You know Chantal... Well, of course you do. And this is Marie... her... err... partner... yes, her partner.”
    Lewis sat down and resolved to stay quiet for a few minutes, berating himself for the flustered introduction. But Scott seemed to take it all in his stride, gallantly kissing French female cheeks and saying a few words fluently in the language. He looked totally at ease as he took his place at the table, all smiles and very dashing in a smart Italian suit, apologising profusely for keeping them waiting – an overlong match having detained him at Melbourne Park. Some wine was poured for him, which was tasted and complimented – Scott identifying the variety and region it hailed from without recourse to the label. After a few minutes of small talk he took control and beckoned a waiter to bring menus to the table. Lewis watched all this, mightily impressed. As well as gentlemanly charm, Scott Taylor had style and confidence, seemingly unfazed by his surroundings or the company. There was an element of class that Lewis wished for himself, and he realised that there was a lot more beyond the