Hey guys. This is my first fan fic about JC. It's quite long and not yet finished. But I wanna post some here to see what u guys think. The title is "Covergence of the Twain" which was taken from Thomas Hardy's poem. I just thought it was a nice and suitable title for this story. It's quite a weird story, like there are two stories at once (that's why it is called 'convergence of the twain'). Anyway, please tell me what u think, and I'll keep posting.

Convergence of the Twain


Part I

I have fantasies.

Who don’t? I don’t mean I-enjoy-making-love-to-four-men-at-once kind of fantasies. I mean those situations you enjoy making up in your head with yourself as the hero. Yes, I mean that kind of fantasies.

At the age of twenty, I already lost count how many fantasies I have so far. But let’s say, I’m always fantasizing when I’m not sleeping. Dreams are not included because I have no control over that.

But all my fantasies seem to grow out of only one root, that is, my fascination over celebrities. The more famous they are, the more fascinating.

Celebrities are like onions to me. They have many layers that we don’t know where the essence exactly is. The more famous they get, the more layers they gain. I want to peel those onions, just to see what lies beyond what we see. What is behind all that glamour? It is a mystery of the universe that I know I am destined to resolve.

So while others may take fantasies as their vacation from reality, I take it as my life mission. Something I am assigned to complete. And I know I will.

But peeling onions also demand a lot of tears. I have already shed some with a few onions I have tried peeling so far. Unfortunately, what I have found are only never-ending layers of vanity, but no essence inside. Disillusioned, I almost gave up and tried looking for someone ordinary, only to realize that, after a few dates, I could never be bring myself to be interested in any of them. I was born with a thing for celebrities. I can’t help it; it’s my nature.

That is why I’m here today, working for a tennis tournament in Bangkok. I have never been much of a tennis fan. The only match I ever watched is the 2003 US Open Final (By the way, I still don’t know what the hell ‘grand slam’ means. Is it the same as grand prix?). But when my friend Melissa, an organizer of the event, asked me for a hand, I consented eagerly, because I know Andy Roddick, the new US Open Champion, is coming. Being so successful at the moment, who else can be more tempting than him?

********************************************************

Part II - Somewhere over the Rainbow

Tuesday 23rd, time undetermined – somewhere in the sky.

He is flying...

He was ten years old the first time he got a chance to travel by airplane. It was his first tournament outside his homeland, Spain. He remembers how he waved excitedly to the passengers on another departing plane while his family was queuing up to enter the economic cabin. He remembers wondering what it was like, if he got a chance and enough money to travel to many places – all so new, so different. That must be beyond fantastic.

But flying has stopped exciting him ages ago, and now, especially at this moment, the only place he wants to be is home. His body feels so heavy and his legs so fatigued. He wants to lie down in his old, smelly but comfortable bed, to sleep and get over everything, so that tomorrow morning, he will wake up, fresh, renewed, and full of hope and confidence again. But now, after having been trapped in the night sky for the last 13 hours, Juan Carlos feels as if he was caught in the deepest pitch of darkness, as if, he fears, there will be no tomorrow.

These upgraded, adjustable couches for VIP passengers are much more comfortable than those suffocating seats in the economic class. Antonio is sleeping soundly by his side, and seemingly so is everyone in this cabin. His exhausted body tells him to get some rest, too, but, from out of nowhere, thoughts and words keep rallying to his mind, preventing him from the peaceful sleep. Just when he closes his eyes, he sees nothing but the hurt, tearful face of Maria, who had been his girlfriend until 24 hours ago. Her sobs are echoed hauntingly in his head.
“All you ever think about in your life is tennis and yourself!” She said, sobbing, “But tennis is not everything!”
He was mad when she said that. Tennis is his life, something in which he was born to compel. Girlfriends, on the other hand, always come and go. How dare she say such things, when she has been going out with him for only a few months?
But her words seem to unearth some hidden doubts that Juan Carlos has been trying to ignore for a long time. He knows how he has always been praised for his consistent concentration on tennis, while his peers may have been lured away by women or fame. And he is proud of that. But has he got so carried away with tennis, too, that he has totally forgotten about other important things in life? What if she is right? What if tennis really isn’t everything?

These questions pain him, and he is too weary to figure out the answers. Juan Carlos sighs. If only mom was with him right now, she would have been able to answer him with such warm wisdom he could find from nowhere. But now, he could only stare blankly at the sky.

“Oh, mom,” he calls to her. “Help me. I’m so lost. Please don’t let me change into someone I...despise”. His last sentence sounds more like a self-warning, rather than a plea to his late mother.

“Get some sleep, Juan,” Antonio drowsily whispers, “you have a long day tomorrow.”
“I will,” he says. Yes, he still had places to visit, and matches to play. He cannot let such nonsense to ruin his self-worth. Tomorrow he will wake up in another world, letting pass every bad things of today. He tucks himself under a silky blanket, turning the light off.

Having no one to anchor his affection at the moment, loneliness approaches Juan Carlos unaware.

great title!!! goes very well with great story!!!
good setting.. I guess we'll see what's gonna happen

Part III

Ok, I admit this: working in ATP tournament is a paradise.

Where have I been all this time? How come I never paid attention to the sports circle before? I have never imagined that there will be such a world packed with cute athletes in their prime, with six-packed abdominal and nice biceps, walking around topless like this.

In fact, I can live on just by looking at them. Yet I don’t have a crush on any one of them in particular. Though they are handsome and sexy, they lack such glamour and complexity that can really fascinate me. Roddick, still, is my only true expectation here.

“Latest news!” Bobby, one of the ball boys, runs into our office, looking excited, “It has been officially announced: Roddick won’t be coming!”
Before I know, I already let loose a big “WHAT?!?” Everybody turns to look at me. My face is turning red. Oh no, I can’t let these people see me as a groupie, or else they would not let me have a peak at those cute guys in the player lounge again.
“Well, ah, what an irresponsible man he is!” I try to turn their attention away from me, “We...we have already wasted so much money in his promotional posters and billboards. His face is all around this city! What’s about our credibility, then? How are we going to tell the fans? The tickets are all sold out!” Without breathing, I blurt out every sentence continuously as if the world was going to end in the next minute.
“Calm down, calm down, Charlotte,” Melissa taps my back. My nervousness must be so obvious. “No need to panic for them. There’s nothing we can do about it. Roddick has medical proof of his injury. And we are going to tell the fans the truth. I think there will be no problem with that. Things happen and we can’t help it.”
“Oh, ok.” Man, I do sound really desperate. But what the hell I’m doing here anyway if Roddick will not be coming? Sexy guys are appetite to my eyes, but they cannot fulfill my curiosity. Oh, no...I have it all planned, how I’m going to approach Roddick and so on. But now it turns out all useless!
“Don’t worry,” Melissa says, “we still have two superstars left: Moya and Ferrero.”
“Ferrero who?” The name sounds so familiar to me. I must have heard it from somewhere before. It sounds uncannily delicious.
“Oh my God, Charlotte, YOU ARE WORKING IN A TENNIS TOURNAMENT AND YOU DON’T KNOW WHO FERRERO IS???” Melissa is making the whole world know my ignorance about tennis. “HAVE YOU NEVER NOTICED HIS FACE IN THE POSTERS HANGING AROUND HERE?? JUAN CARLOS FERRERO’S A NEW WORLD NO.1!!!”
“Wow,” I do not dare to say that the only reason I agree to work here is Andy Roddick. “No.1? How can this country manage to get such top player? Even Roddick isn’t coming.”
“We signed the deal with him before he became no.1,” another staff adds, looking at me fixedly as if I has just come from outer space, “actually, he has just become no.1 a few weeks ago when he beat Andre Agassi and reached the US Open Final.”
“US Open Final?” Suddenly everything becomes clear to me. Ferrero was that guy Roddick defeated in the final match. Yes, I remember him now: a skinny guy with bleached-blonde hair and grumpy look for most of the times. Yes, I remember how he stood aloof out of the crowded stadium which was all cheering for Roddick. I remember thinking how this guy did no bother to hide his frustration at all. His reddened eyes were bitter and introvert, while everybody else was absorbed in the joyous triumph.
Yes I do remember him. It is funny how all details about him now are reviving so vividly in my head, while all I cared for at that actual moment was Roddick’s victorious aura.
“That Ferrero guy always looks...moody, doesn’t he?” I reluctantly speak up. I saw him only once in that much, so I’m not sure if my assumption is right, “he rarely smiles.”
“Yeah, sullen hottie. Always turn me on,” another volunteer Rita says dreamily, “Have you ever noticed how he plays? He’s so smooth, so quick and so...sensational. Man, I can’t wait to see him in person today.”
“Is he coming today?” Before my question gets answered, Scott, the tournament director, wedges his way in.
“HEY, GIRLS. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? IS EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT? ANY PROBLEMS? DID ANYONE COMPLAIN?”
“Uhh...no, not a single problem.” Nobody wants to inform Scott if there is one anyway. He will only make it worse. “Everything is all right.”
“GOOD, GOOD, GOOD,” he says, “Ok, just make sure there will be no mob on this corridor, ok? And no signing autograph, too, understand? Oh, and you take care of this.”
Scott then thrusts a plastic bag packed with smelly clothes at me. It is somebody’s laundry. No, not again. Why these dumb players never learn to remember that they are supposed to leave their laundry at the hotel?!?
“It is the laundry of Mr. Ferrero.” Everybody’s jaws virtually drop at the mention of his name, including me. “Make sure that he will have it ready by tomorrow.”
“Oh, ok.” I said, still shocked. Oh my God, wrapped in my arms is Juan Carlos Ferrero’s underwear!
Suddenly, the whole office goes silent. It’s him! It’s JUAN CARLOS FERRERO in the flesh walking into our office!
But my excitement over him lasts for only a few seconds. Compared to other glowing, cheerful players, this man looks so dim and small. The old, grey t-shirt he is wearing makes him look even gloomier. His hair is messy and his face unshaven. Although his face has got a handsome frame, his sunburnt skin looks so tired and his eyes so weary beyond his age.
This Ferrero, I conclude, is the most deprived celebrity I have ever seen.
“Oh, Signor Ferrero, are you going to practice now?” Scott suddenly changes his tone of voice. His manner then becomes falsely courteous. This man’s really a brownnosing bastard.
Juan Carlos nods mindlessly. His eyes were so fixed on the rules and regulations on the board that he doesn’t seem to hear what is going on around him at all, as aloof as he was in that final match...
“WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING?” Scott almost shouts, “GO GET TOWELS, BALLS, AND WATER FOR MR.FERRERO. QUICKLY!!”
Everybody nervously runs around to get things ready for him. But I remain still, staring at this wreck of a man, who seems lost in his own world. Suddenly, he looks up to meet my eyes.
They are the same eyes I saw in that match. But such proximity allows me to see something I could never notice on flat screen...
“Ok, everything is ready for you, Mr. Ferrero,” Scott’s tone becomes flattering again. Juan Carlos turns to look at those things they prepare for him absent-mindedly. Suddenly I feel sorry for Juan Carlos that he has to put up with this kind of people everywhere he goes. “Let’s go. These people will guard you all the way down”
A dozen of people in uniform then come enclosing the tennis player and march him along the corridor. But none of them seem to pay any attention whether the man himself is really there or not. Juan Carlos hesitates for a moment, and then follows the crowd obediently.

“Wow,” Melissa exclaims after the parade has gone downstairs. Everybody seems to be breathing properly again. “He looks so normal, doesn’t he?”
“He doesn’t even look as good as other lower-ranked players,” another staff adds, “And he’s getting his wrinkles! He’s not even 25 yet!”
“Yeah,” I say that without really meaning it. My mind is still preoccupied by the look in his eyes a minute ago. I don’t know why, but I feel it’s so simple and earnest, and so unusual...No, most celebrities are supposed to have layers! That’s what they are, the creatures of endless synthetic images. No celebrity will let his soul look directly at you like this. I shake my head, trying to regain my equilibrium. Come on, Charlotte, he’s not even got that glamour! How come you are so interested in him?

But before I go to sleep that night, his weary brown eyes appear before me again...



actually, this is pretty much actual story. Some characters are real, even though I did not use the real names here. It's from my experience working at Thailand Open. I know it's quite detailed. So I hope u guys would not get too bored before u reach the end of this chapter anyway. :)

to be continued...

Ah, now we're getting somewhere with fanfics. Good plot, good characters, good development. Excellent story.

*waits for hot tennis action*

agrees w/ Scottie this time... this fanfic is good! esp the details about what goes on in tournaments... :lol:

i like it too Armada
i especially like the parts where you described him during the US open...i think its very perceptive of you!...well i dont know if ur actually basing this on what his real-life personality seems to be, but i think u capture a part of him that is not really talked about much...cant wait for more :)

Armada! - this is by far one of the best fan fics I've ever read. Thank you so much for sharing it with us! Keep up the terrific work! I can't wait to read the next chapter. :)

*agrees with lily* yeah this is a really good lifelike fanfic, keep it up!

lovin' the details, more more ;)

Well, iceprincess , I can't say I know for sure what his real-life personality is like, but everything I wrote here is from what I inspected in the actual event. In fact, all the details about what he wore that day, the laundry, and the boss are real. And the description of him was written from my impression of him that day. So that's why it looks really lifelike.

However, I'm not as crazy about celebrities as Charlotte, the heroine, :) although I do fantasize about them

* still writing the fourth chapter *

wow p' Jane!!! this third part is really really awesome. I didn't expect anything like this when I read the first two chapteres.. I never thought of JC like this... but somehow the way you decribe everything seemed so right.. it's like... this is who he really is.... this story is really realy good. I'm telling you I've become a fan of your fanfic B) pelase keep it up!!!
so this is what's going on behind the court... pretty interesting..

One word for you armada :WOW. :wub:
this is definietly excellent stuff. love it :lol: i really crave for more
you got other story that you made?
And a very different side of jc pictured there. and it leaving me impression that he's such a gloomy guy haha
not that it make me love him any less :P

Thst is really good, so far. I can't wait to see what happens next!

Congrats Armada!!! :rolleyes: This is probably one of the best ff's I've ever read in my entire life!!! Can't wait to read more and more and more!!!!!!

I like all the details, so I can also learn more English, hehe.

DON'T TAKE TO LONG TO SEND THE NEXT CHAPTER, PLEASEEE!!!!!!!

I forgot to tell u I just got shocked with the underwear part!! hahaha, that was so funny!! Did it really happen to u? Wooww!!! I would be unable to make a sound!! Did he seem so sad that day? Wow, poor guy.

Esther , yeah, it really happened that way. But it's not only underwear, tho. There were a lot of clothes stuffed in that bag. I didn't check it out by my own hands, of course, since that would be rude and intrusive (tho I know that all of us secretly want to do that, anyway). But I know what was in there from the receipt. ^_^ It's a funny kind of pride, u see, to say that, 'hey, Juan Carlos Ferrero's underwear is held captive in my hand!' But we the staff joked about that anyway.

I wouldn't say he seemed soooo sad. I would say he seemed really worn out and extremely bored. He never really acts like that in the public, i.e. when he is with fans. But all my friends working at the tournament agree that he always looks moody behind-the-scene. That's why a lot of people here were not quite impressed with him. Yet he's really cute and playful when he was with Antonio. That even makes me more interested in his personalities. He's definitely different from other celebrities I have seen.

Ok, I'd better not slip too much stuff here, coz I will use it in my fanfic anyway. Thank you ya all for reading, and I'm trying to post a new chapter here as soon as possible.
Btw, black_ang3l, this is my first fanfic in my entire life. I have other stories but not related to JC, so I dont think u wanna read that :)

No armada. i really want to read your other fiction. so actually i'm really referring to other work that is non jc related ^_^ hehehe i was a story eater haha i like to read a lot and i also write some fiction though i never manage to write fanfic i dunno why ( special apologies to someone that i've been promising my fanfic *cough cough* i think i'll run away now :P )

u had a bag of jc's clothes n u didn't look?????!!!!! u must have some amount of selfcontrol! lol

Here it comes, a brand new chapter!!! hope u guys enjoy it. I'm working my butt off for the next one. Wow, I really have fun writing this stuff.

Part IV – Far from the Madding Crowd

Tuesday 23rd, 10.00 am – Bangkok, Thailand

“Welcome to Thailand, Mr. Ferrero.”

A dark-haired girl in silky exotic costume smiles sweetly and hands a big bunch of flowers to him. He thanks her and smiles back politely. Her friendly gestures ease his nerves a bit, but he’s still got a funny feeling in his stomach. He has never known how to act properly among the crowd. On court, that is another story. He knows what he has to do then, and what he has to do is...to play as good tennis as he can, both for himself and for the fans who come to cheer for him. On court, he feels like he knows all of them. Their presence gives him comfort and warmth. But this, this is different.

He doesn’t know who he is at the moment. Here he is, surrounded by a huge bunch of people he doesn’t know. Their faces are all blurred and monotonous. They are looking at him, taking his pictures, and screaming his names. But the names ‘Ferrero’, ‘Juan Carlos’, ‘Mosquito’, ‘Chavalito’, or whatever it is that they shout sound so unfamiliar, so estranged, as if they belong to somebody else. Even though all attention is directed right at him, he feels himself so invisible, so…lonely.

He doesn’t even know how he manages to keep walking. He can’t even feel his legs, due to nonstop matches over the last few days. His brain also feels so numb from lack of sleep. All he can think of now is a big, warm, welcoming bed, so he can lie down and fall asleep, not having to care of what’s going on around him. But his body seems to move by its own mechanism beyond his control. It walks, it waves, and it smiles to the crowd. To his surprise, it even walks to a group of girls at his left, signing autographs which look uncannily like his. The girls go crazy with infatuation, and his body smiles back, automatically. It is as if he was possessed by a spirit called ‘Professional’.

Perhaps Maria was right. Perhaps tennis isn’t really everything that matters. Now he is to market himself along with playing it. He has even repackaged his manners without realizing that himself. Suddenly fear starts to seize him again, fear of losing…his soul.

“Is everything all right?” Antonio tickles his arm, “You look ill.”
“Deadly tired,” he answers. Luckily no one here really understands Spanish. “And sleepy. I wish we could go to the hotel soon.”
“I know,” Antonio’s voice is filled with concern and understanding. Though this doesn’t really help lessen his weariness, it definitely makes him feel more secure. At least he is not trapped in the mass of total strangers all alone. “But they will take you to the press conference first, and then we have to go to the court for some practice. However, we’ll have all the free time after that. So let’s check out the hotel’s spa for some massage. Isn’t that a good idea?”
“That would be great.” Oh, he can’t wait for that. Funnily enough, a few hours ago he wishes for day to come, but now he only wants it to end…

…

“Mr. Ferrero, come this way please. We’ve arranged a VIP room for you.”
The man in grey suit is speaking…
The bald, fat guy in black trousers is speaking…
The red-headed woman is speaking…
They all seem to be speaking to him, looking, and throwing saccharine smile at him. But he has no idea what the hell they are talking about.
“So you don’t have to mingle with other players.”
One thing he can make out, though, is they want to please a man called Juan Carlos Ferrero. But they don’t give a damn about him or what he is feeling at all. That’s ok, however, because he doesn’t give a damn about them either.
Suddenly, the fat guy taps on his back, speaking up right to his ear.
“If there is anything we can do for you, sir, please do not hesitate to ask. We’ll be willing to help. Anything!”
So please get the f*** out of my sight, he thinks. But then he thinks of one thing he actually wants them to help.
“Oh, ok,” he says, taking out a small but stuffed plastic bag from his tennis rucksack “please take care of this laundry for me. I still haven’t had time to manage it.”
“I’ll take care of that promptly,” the fat guy takes the bag eagerly, “Ah, I must excuse me to prepare the towels and practice balls for you beforehand.” Then he rushes ahead to another side of the corridor.

The room goes silent when he walks in. He doesn’t know for sure where this is, but he guesses it must be the court services. The practice schedule attached on the table reminds him of the earlier days, when he and Antonio rushed to book the practice court before everyone. He checks the list on the schedule out, seeing if there is anyone he can play with…
Everybody consciously avoids looking at him. Strange…in one place you have people looking at you as if you were a zoo animal, in another you have people avoid looking at you as if you were a leper, he thinks. But he quickly eliminates such thoughts from his head. Thinking this way could only make him feel worse.
Then he spots another piece of paper headlined ‘Rules and Regulations for Players” attached obscurely on the table. He bends over to read it carefully.
All players must return the towels to the court service.
All players will receive two cans of new balls for practice each day. Disqualified players will be given used balls.
Oh, shit, he thinks, when he reaches the last line:
ATTENTION TO ALL PLAYERS: PLEASE LEAVE YOUR LAUNDRY AT THE HOTEL. COURT SERVICES DO NOT PROVIDE ANY LAUNDRY SERVICE!!!
Everybody leaves their laundry at the hotel, and he should, too. But now he doesn’t know where it is.
Then he senses someone staring boldly at him, so he raises his head up…
It is a girl with the most scrutinizing eyes he has ever seen. Unlike his fans, her eyes are not filled with admiration, but rather with sincere curiosity, as if she is…reading him. Then he notices the familiar bag she’s holding in her arms.
It’s his laundry bag.
This must be why she stared at him like that. She must think he is a snobbish bastard who uses his superstar privilege to leave the laundry here. No, he doesn’t mean it to be like that.
But before he can ask her to have the bag back, a mob of men in uniform comes engulfing him, parading him to the elevator. For a brief moment that he is restored to his old self, now Juan Carlos is swept over by the crowd again.

Oh, by the way, I allude this chapter's name to the novel by Thomas Hardy (again). He's not favorite author, but somehow his works' titles seem to suit my story. Anyway. I'll come back with the next chapter soon!

Armada

:mellow: ...omg that was brilliant Armada! I didn't think that it could get any better than your previous chapters, but you have totally stunned me with Part IV. You've got this amazing talent by which you've made me feel like I suddenly have this greater understanding of JC's persona and for that, I thank you.

i agree with Lily, you really bring out the real Jc and thats just great...keep it coming girl.. :D

hmmm I'm trying to think of something new to say - but I can't! (brain dead!)

the chapter was G-R-E-A-T (again!) hahahahaha it was an interesting one too, written with such insight ... loving it!

another brilliant chapter. oh man a lot of cliffhanger... i swear my curiousity would kill me sometimes soon :wacko:

can't believe it's your first ff!!!!! ^_^
IT's soo much class and the details are just too interesting. I assume that's the way juan feels when surrounded by fans!!!!
Well, keep it coming because it's too cute!! at the time, love the part about juan's mam!! :wub:
and the part talking about how different is juan to the rest of prof. players, sooo true. he's skinny etc. but he's SO HIM!!!! :lol:

lovin' it :wub: I love it ;) keep it coming ;)

that was so gud! poor jc. i dont think he knows where he is. bless.

wow! this is so good! its stunning! I hope someone helps Juanqui to find himself soon though, he is like a little lost boy stuck in a man's body.

nice description mackenzie!!!

Ok, guys, after a long absence, now I've finished the 5th part.

It's much longer than the other part, so I guess that explains my absence. The story hasnt progressed much though, but indeed there're lots of details. I start to feel scared that it's going to be redundant. But I dont wanna quicken the pace just to make the story more dramatic either. Anyway, it's just a fanfic, right? and this is what I wanna write out :) Hope it's not too long or too boring tho. And please let me know what u guys think!

Armada



Part V

I don’t like this at all. My autonomy is being robbed by a man I have just once made an eye contact with.

As I told you, I have always been the master of my mind. As a veteran visualizer, I can conjure up any scene, any situation I want. I can choose to be either with Ashton Kutcher in Monte Carlo, or with Ryan Philippe in Nice. Yes, I can do that all in my head.

But now, in every empty moment, those earnest brown eyes would creep into my consciousness. Without my consent.

Come on, Charlotte. There are so many important things going on in this crazy little world. Children in Africa are still starving. The Middle East conflict is still going on. America still hasn’t found weapons of mass destruction. Women are still unequal to men. The universe is still expanding…Indeed, there are still so many other important things, besides Juan Carlos Ferrero.

Why did he look so lost, so unhappy? Little voice in my head keeps needling me. People with this huge fame should feel so good about themselves more than anyone in the world, shouldn’t they?

Maybe he just had a bad hair day. Normally he may be just as vain and phony as them.

But those brown eyes…

Ok, ENOUGH! I’ve got to stop this. Or else I’m going crazy.

All right, I’m going to approach him. He is to be just another celebrity that I’m meant to pursue. Just another onion to peel. Yes, by this way, I can come back to be myself again...

“Has anyone seen Ferrero coming here today?” I pretend to be checking out the practice schedule. “Scott booked the court for him at 1.00. Now it’s already 12.45 and still no sign of him! Who does he think he is? He can’t have the court all for himself, so he can come anytime he wants!” I make my voice calm but serious, as though I’m talking about the national security.
“Towels and two cans of new balls, please,” says a big, kind-looking man wearing a cap. From his navy-blue pullover, the official fashion of all coaches here, I instantly presume that he’s somebody’s coach. But I have never seen him around before.
“Ah, could you tell me which player are these for, sir? I have to put his name in the borrowers’ list.”
Suddenly the answer materializes in front of me. There he is…the troubled lad, looking humbly at his feet, tucking one hand in his pocket, the other carrying a racquet. His hair remains messy, and his face is still unshaven. But there is something about what he wears today – Sergio Tacchini jacket and shorts, all white from head to toe – that makes him look so different. Somehow so radiant. So...Ferrero. As if the man had just walked right out of the television.
I stare at him, speechless. All my plots evaporate into the air.
“Miss, are you ok?”
“Uhh, yes, sorry,” His coach’s voice brought me back to the present. Geez. How long did I stare at him? His coach must think I’m stupid and creepy. I steal a quick peek at Juan Carlos, but he’s still staring aimlessly at his shoes. Luckily, he didn’t see what a dizzy cow I was. “Here you are, balls and towels. Have fun practicing.”
Have fun practicing? That’s one of the lamest statements I have ever heard of. Even though my evil plans have disappeared, it doesn’t mean that my wit has to go hand in hand with them! Oh, I could have said much better things. Something that would impress him, or even his coach! But all I can come up with is that stupid, cliché ‘Have fun practicing’!
“Thank you,” his coach smiles knowingly. As they are leaving, Senor Ferrero seems to have just awakened to the existence of things around him, including me.
There is a glimpse of recognition in his brown eyes, whose solemnity remains unchanged, if somewhat subdued, by his dashing superstar gloss. For a second, all the butterflies in my stomach are gone, and I completely forget who he is to the world.

For a second, he is just an ordinary boy I knew from yesterday.


“Did Ferrero just come in here? I saw him walking to the elevator with his coach.” Melissa walks into the room, looking excited. “Wow, he looks so hot in tennis outfit! Man...I thought I had just seen a mosquito metamorphose into a butterfly! This is JUAN CARLOS FERRERO that we had expected, not a gaunt scarecrow like yesterday!”

Melissa keeps talking, but my head is too busy replaying what has just happened, especially the eye contact part. Strangely enough, what I found disturbing in his eyes yesterday has become mysteriously comforting instead. I recall those times when my heart beat like crazy by the sight of those glamorous creatures’ smiles, or when I was over the moon by their courteous words. But even their sweetest smiles or friendliest words have never made me truly feel that I belong to their world, or they to mine.

Then there comes this man! This is a man who is evidently at the top of the world, endowed with talent of a genius and glory of a star, but still manages to look uncomfortable under the skin, as if none of this really matters. A man who appears grave and calm, but somehow so fragile, as if he can break into pieces in every minute. A man who is, despite everything, so human.

Wow, that is so profound. Can’t believe a glimpse into a person’s eyes can make shallowhead like me realize such a thing.

“Charlotte?” Melissa shakes my arm. “Are you all right? You just seem to be somewhere else. Have you been listening to me at all?”
“Huh?” I feel like I have just awakened to the existence of the external world. Man, I must have become something like him. “Sorry, Melissa, I had a moment of…blackout,” I almost slip the word epiphany. “What were you saying to me?”
“I’m just asking,” She looks upset, “if you want to go down and see Ferrero play at 4.00 with me. Our shift is already over then. But obviously you don’t care that much.” She shrugs. “Ooops, I forgot. This isn’t Roddick’s match. Why would Charlotte bother to go?”
“Noooo, I would love to go, really.” I twinkly answer. Suddenly, the name ‘Roddick’ or even my longtime fascination over celebrities seems all so foreign, so unfamiliar, like it belongs to the distant past. All I want more than anything at the moment is to see those eyes filled with happiness. I wanna go down and support him every way I can, even telepathically.
Melissa eyes me suspiciously.
“Ah…he’s the best player around, right?” I quickly repress my voice, “So it’s really a great idea to see him play live. You know, in a three-dimensional way.”
For the first time, I genuinely want to keep all feelings to myself, not merely for the sake of looking cool.


“Ladies and Gentlemen, Juan Carlos Ferrerooooooooooooooo”
He enters the court, waving grandly to the crowd. All his weariness that I saw up there seems to be washed away under the spotlight. His outfit seems even whiter and brighter than before, extending his aura to its full extreme.
The applause from the crowd fills the hall. Every pair of eyes focuses on him. They all cheer for him, shouting his name so loud that the floor literally shakes. Their frenzy slowly creeps under my skin.
Oh my God, I have no idea he is this famous.
For a moment, he seems to enjoy himself, strutting to his bench as if conscious of people’s overwhelming attention on him. For a moment, I’m not sure whether I’m seeing the real thing, or just looking at a very very high-quality 3-D cinema.
But once he picks up the racquet, everything else disappears from his eyes. For the first time, since he arrived here yesterday, he seems to become fully alive. He starts knocking a few balls. His eyes fix firmly at Dick Norman, his opponent, as if there is no one else in the hall, or even in the universe.
“Now, the zombie has been restored to the Prince Charming,” Melissa turns to giggle with me, before abruptly shouts with all the voice she has, “COME ON, JUAN! WE LOVE YOUUUUUU!!!”
“Shhhhhhhhh,” I look at her, reproachfully. “Quiet! Or you will scare away all his concentration!!”
But honestly, I don’t believe the man hears any damn thing. His grave face shows that, once he is in the game, nothing else exists.

“Ferrero’s game is so rusty today, don’t you think?” Melissa complains before yelling, “COME ON, FERRERO, WHAT THE F*** ARE YOU DOING? SHOW US WHAT YOU’VE GOT!!”
She is so loud that a few people turn around to look at her. In other cases, I would have lectured her to behave herself. But at the moment, I’m concentrating so hard on the game that I just casually ignore her. Well, not exactly on the game, but rather more on him.
I watch him running from side to side, up in front of the net, hitting the ball vitally. I watch the expression on his face when he misses shots, how he cries out with frustration or sometimes throws his racquet up in the air.
I know tennis is only a game. And normally I would just shrug and say you can’t win forever. That’s all sports are about. You win some and you lose some.
But it doesn’t take much to see that, for this man, tennis is not just a game, but his life.
It’s the tie-break of the second set, 6-5. He’s about to serve for the match.
Come on, Juan Carlos. You can do it. Just one more point.
He tosses the ball upward and hits it forcefully. Unfortunately, it is a little bit too strong. The ball swings out of the line. The audience exclaim in unison with disappointment.
Calm down, calm down.
The second serve is better, but Norman can return it without too much difficulty. That second, he quickly glides forward, and hits topspin. The ball flies to the other side and falls exactly at the line…
The crowd’s cheering fills the hall again. He raises his hands up as a sign of victory, and smiles genuinely. I sigh with relief. He gets himself through for another day.
“Whoa,” Melissa cries out, “that last shot was pretty cool. That kinda made up for this generally boring match. Maybe he needs some more time to adjust to the court.”
“Ummm, yeah. He was not so good today.” I answer halfheartedly, since I have no idea how good he usually is. Yet even though his performance was relatively mediocre today, his determination didn’t seem to be any less than in US Open Final. And that is enough, at least to me.
“By the way, have you given him his laundry?”
“Oh…no, not yet” Shit, I totally forgot about the laundry. Well, that might be the reason why he did not play so well today, wearing old stuff. “I’ll give it to him after he’s taken a bath”.

“What is that, Charlotte? You hold that bag for the past thirty minutes,” Paul, another volunteer, asks me curiously.
“It’s Ferrero’s laundry. I have to return it to him today.”
“Oh I see,” he shrugs, “that Ferrero dude is pretty stuck-up, isn’t he? Nobody sees him smile for once since he sets his feet here. Must be thinking he’s on the top of the world.”
Paul pauses a bit before continuing, “Man, I really wish he was defeated today. I’m so sick of seeing these superstars getting privilege over other players. Oh, also,” he grins, "it must be interesting to see all the stars disqualify so early in the tournament. Scott would go mad! He’s paid a lot of money to these players.”
“Yeah, I heard that.” What Paul just said strikes me. Stuck-up? That quiet Juan Carlos? What has he done to make Paul think so? “By the way, why did you say Ferrero is stuck-up? Did he do anything bad? Did he sneer at anyone?”
“Well, no, nothing that obvious.” Paul answers, shrugging again, “But when people smile at him, he just doesn’t smile back…I mean, do you call this kind of people stuck-up? For God’s sake, it’s just a smile. Why can’t he do it? It is not going to cost him anything.”
“Maybe he just doesn’t feel like it.” Thinking of those brown eyes, I can’t help putting myself in front to defend him.
“But he’s a pro. He’s supposed to do that.”
“But he’s a tennis player, not a movie star.” Suddenly I feel so sick of Paul. Who the hell does he think he is to say shit about JC, just because he does not smile so often? “At least he doesn’t go around and say shit about other people just because they are not ‘nice’ to him.” Words are flowing out of my mouth without censor. “Ooops,” I put my hand over my mouth, “But I don’t mean you. Don’t worry”
Paul, whose face is getting red, is about to say something, before the kid from the locker room runs in and interrupts him.
“Miss Charlotte, Ferrero is leaving.”
I bounce up immediately. No longer care to continue arguing with Paul. I run along the corridor after him and call out, “Senor Ferrero. Wait!”
It takes me two more calls to get him turn back. He stares blankly at me for a second before lit up with recognition. I hand out the bag to him.
“It’s your laundry.”
Oh, he’s walking towards you. He’s walking towards you, Charlotte. Butterflies have returned to my stomach and make a rally in it.
Suddenly I feel so shy I couldn’t look up to his eyes. What the hell is happening to me? The word ‘shy’ has never existed in my dictionary before. I can only stare at his hand, as he reaches closer and closer to me…
“Thank you,” he says quietly. I can feel his breath around my forehead, sensing his stare. I gather all my guts and look up…
He smiles kindly. His eyes, which are normally remote and forlorn, are now bright and happy, resting stably at my face. Oh, he’s actually looking at me, at me! Once again I am lost for words. I quickly look down at my feet again before stuttering out
“Y…you’re welcome,” I try to smile, still staring down. Geez, I don’t know whether I’m smiling or baring my teeth. Oh I can’t stand this anymore…I can’t let him see me as a joke…
“I’m sorry about this laundry thing. By the way, how are…” Before he can finish the sentence, I find myself running off to the office. All blood seems to rush to my head. And my cheeks start to burn.

Oh my God…what the hell I’m doing? I’m running away from him. He must think I’m so rude. This can be the opportunity of a lifetime and I screwed it! Oh my God…

My mind is boiling mad at my untimely shyness and stupidity. But some deeper part of me is leaping with joy. At least I get to see his smile, a genuine smile. And this is all worth it.


P.S. My fanfic is becoming more and more like a novel. Well, I didnt expect it to be this long either!

I like it, you're right about it not getting much anywhere but it's still interesting. I can't believe she ran away from him! :lol:

It's soo good, with the laundry and stuff, and he smiled at you, after you defened him....... :wub:

How cud u run away from him?! lol

Very intriguing Armada. Can't wait for the next bit! ;)

^_^ Hey armada, your fanfic is the furthest from boring!!! you describe sooo correctly juan's appearance, look, smile, concentration on court. I think you just understuand it too well. I really like it. You MuSt continue!!!!! ^_^

First of all, thank u very much u guys for ur patience to read it through, lol.

Well, I think u can see that I give a lot of details and description instead of just going on with the story. To tell u honestly (so some of u may not have to waste ur time reading my story), my fanfic doesnt have that much of a 'story', i.e. the plot is neither dramatic nor full of action. I just wanna portray real life as it is, since normally our lives are not that melodramatic, but there are so full of cute and humorous details. And those details are what I'd like to write about. So yeah...my story is so slow...like French movies. But I try not to make it too redundant though.

Anyway, I really appreciate u guys' comment. That is what actually keeps me writing! :)

Armada

that's cool, I like the variety of fanfics here. Anne's is like a soap opera and then yours is slower and detailed...and I like them both equal!

soap opera hihihihi

Armada I really really like your story, you write it that you're there :D

If Anne's story's a soap opera... I think I'll be scared to hear what mine's like.. :blink:
Well Armada (p'Jane), I kinda realized I don't have many comments about your fanfic posted here coz I talk to you in person about it most of the time... As I told you.. I love your story coz it's just so different and it's based on your own experience during the tournament. This Charlotte girl is a very interesting person.. It's quite funny to see what's going on in her head and there's a lot going on at a time. :rolleyes: I don't think this story is not going anywhere. The pace is pretty good. The details are awesome. Although nothing's happening much but I could picture being there in the scene. Love it when you describe how different he looks when he is and when he's not wearing tennis clothes.. still kinda sad you can't say he looks like a 'fa-rang-trog-kao-sarn' :lol: (sorry guys, inside joke :P )

don't worry pImMy in my fanfic the strangerest things happen, but anyway yours too, *thinking send it to the television makers, have my own TV soap yay*