THE MUSE

‘She was destined to be my Gradiva, the one who advances, my victory, my wife’

— Salvador Dalí

***

“Absolutely not, chérie! Who in their right mind would think of having alcohol for breakfast?” Elsa snapped, gripping the steering wheel of her car.

“For brunch,” Jenna corrected, attempting to connect her playlist to the stereo. “And a mimosa is barely alcohol. I can’t believe I agreed to this. Why couldn’t we just go out for food? You didn’t even give me enough time to have my coffee.”

Outside, the December fog was slowly beginning to clear over Montreal. The temperature was a mild minus three degrees Celsius, a rare relief for Jenna, who had long since lost her tolerance for the brutal Canadian winters after three years in Paris. It had been two weeks since she returned to her native city. This time, for good. And she was still struggling to shake the jet lag.

They pulled into an empty Starbucks parking lot. Inside, the coffeeshop was completely quiet. They took a cozy table by the window, looking out at the dreary winter landscape.

“Oh dear,” Jenna said thoughtfully, squinting against the blinding white snow. “It’s the worst time to go back to Montreal.”

“Well, if you enjoyed skiing like every normal Canadian, winter wouldn’t seem so dull,” Elsa smirked, adding sugar to her coffee.

Jenna rolled her eyes. “Oh, like every normal Canadian.”

“Do you remember your first and only visit to Bromont, when you showed up in denim overalls instead of a proper ski suit?”

“Yes, and I spent the whole time in the cafe, drinking wine to warm up.”

“Exactly.” Elsa raised an index finger in a mock parental warning. “That’s why, my dear, tennis is the best cure for your blues.”

“I don’t have the blues,” Jenna muttered, staring into her cup.

“Sweetheart, you haven’t stepped outside in two weeks,” Elsa said softly, leaning forward. “It’s time to get back to life. If you stay locked away, Thomas wins. He’ll fade into obscurity without your support anyway, just wait.”

Jenna’s posture stiffened. She despised being pitied more than anything else, and she refused to be seen as a victim. “I don’t care about Thomas.”

“I know you’re hurt—”

“I’m not hurt, Elsa. I’m furious,” Jenna interrupted, her knuckles turning white against her coffee mug. “His success was entirely my doing. I dedicated two and a half years to building his name, transforming him from a broke artist into the toast of Paris. And at his opening night? He thanked the gallery, he thanked his fans—he didn’t offer a single thank you to me.”

Elsa watched her quietly, the playful smirk gone from her face. “He’s an idiot, chérie.”

“He’s irrelevant,” she said, forcing her irritation down and straightening her shoulders.

Jenna was determined to establish herself as a successful art dealer. She yearned for acknowledgement in the art world. It mattered to her far more than financial gain. Yet, here she was, faced with the daunting task of starting all over again.

“Anyway, I haven’t played tennis in two and a half years.”

“No objections allowed!” Elsa countered firmly, her cheerful demeanor instantly returning. “The club is packed on the weekends, but Steve and I have already taken care of everything for you.”

A half hour later, they pulled into the crowded parking lot of the tennis club belonging to Elsa’s husband, Steve. Before they could even reach for their purses, Steve knocked loudly on the driver’s side window, making them both squeal in surprise.

“God, you scared me!” Elsa cried out, rolling down the window.

Steve didn’t stop there and began poking his head through the half-open window. Elsa played along and started closing it back in jerks, causing the glass to gently press against his cheeks. They burst into laughter and exchanged quick, playful kisses that left smacking noises. Jenna watched their antics in bewilderment, wondering what she could possibly have in common with these people anymore.

“Hi, Jenna!” Steve greeted her when they finally finished their lovey-dovey routine and opened the driver’s door. “Welcome back home and to our club! We all missed you a lot, especially Elsa.”

“Thank you guys.” Jenna chose not to say that she missed them too, as it would be a lie, and she saw no advantage in lying to her friends.

“Ready to shake off the rust and show us what you’ve got? We’ve already found a coach for you.”

“A coach? I thought I was playing with Elsa,” Jenna said, turning to her friend.

“I was worried you’d object if I brought it up earlier,” Elsa admitted quickly, hauling a massive Wilson bag from the trunk. “It was already hard enough to finally get you out of the house! So I figured once you’re here, you’d agree to take a few extra classes. It won’t cost you anything, We’ve taken care of it.”

“I can’t do that.” Jenna shook her head.

“No, no, I insist. You’ve just moved back, you don’t have a job yet. Tennis isn’t cheap, but it will do you much more good than a mimosa in the mornings,” Elsa said convincingly, as if she were talking to her fifteen-year-old daughter, Charlotte.

In that moment, a rare twinge of guilt pricked at Jenna. She couldn’t remember the last time she had given Elsa a thoughtful gift or even wished her happy holidays. It wasn’t that she meant to be self-centered; her tendency to approach relationships in a transactional way just happened naturally. Perhaps that was why she usually ended up receiving more than she ever gave. Only once did she make a mistake finding herself in a giving position, and that mistake cost her dearly. Pushing aside her second-guessing about how she treated Elsa, Jenna broke into her first genuine smile in two weeks and replied, “Alright, Mom. Whatever you say.”

All three of them laughed and headed toward the entrance of the sleek, ultra-modern white stone building adorned with a grandiose sign reading ‘Steve Brooks Tennis Academy’.

As soon as they entered the club, an attractive receptionist of Middle Eastern descent greeted them warmly, offering to escort them to the locker rooms.

“Thank you, Leila. That won’t be necessary. I’ll do it,” Steve said, retrieving a pair of magnetic keys ready for the girls to use for the lockers.

They walked past the reception desk through the wide hall where small but noisy groups of club’s members were gathered.

“Get changed and I’ll meet you on the courts,” Steve said, handing Elsa the Wilson bag. “Just be quick. Jenna’s practice starts in fifteen.”

“Of course, honey,” Elsa said, hurrying into the locker room and unzipping the sports bag. She began dumping a colorful pile of premium tennis skirts and tops onto the bench.

Jenna looked at the bright clothes, then back at Elsa. “Are we playing tennis or auditioning for a pop group?”

“Blame Charlotte,” Elsa sighed, tossing a neat blue skirt to Jenna. “I buy her all these gorgeous, stylish sets, and she flatly refuses to wear them. She only wears oversized men’s hoodies and baggy shorts. It’s driving me insane. But since you’re so petite, her clothes are the only ones that will actually fit you. I certainly can’t lend you mine—we could wrap two of you in one of my tennis skirts.”

Jenna waved her off with a sharp roll of her eyes. “Don’t talk nonsense. You look gorgeous, especially after having three kids.”

Jenna held the skirt up against her waist. “Are you sure she won’t mind me raiding her closet?”

“Please, take them. It gives me joy to actually see them on someone,” Elsa said, looking Jenna up and down with genuine admiration. “Seriously, Jenna, it’s unfair. You’re thirty-eight and you still look like a twenty-something college student. Paris must have some magical anti-aging water.”

Jenna smiled, quickly pulling on the tight top. “It’s called a vegetarian diet and expensive lip gloss, honey.”

Elsa’s phone suddenly buzzed loudly on the bench, cutting off her laugh. She glanced at the screen and groaned. “Speak of the devil. Steve is tracking us. Yes, dear, we’re on our way! Third court, got it.”

She began stuffing the remaining clothes back into the bag.

“And you?” Jenna asked, tying her laces. “Are you going to change?”

“No, sweetie. Today it’s just you training. I have to run to my mom’s to pick up the twins early,” Elsa explained rapidly, rolling her eyes. “She promised to take them for the whole weekend, but she called right before I left the house with some new excuse. You know how she is.”

“Okay, but will you come back?”

“Yes, definitely. We can stay here for lunch and get a massage if you want. But you better go now, your practice has already started. Third court!” Elsa urged.

Without hesitation, Jenna grabbed her racket and dashed out of the locker room.

She rushed down the hallway, following the signs for the courts. Glancing at the wall clock reading 11:07, she cursed under her breath. Seven minutes late.

She felt incredibly stupid for agreeing to this. Jenna was never into sports. The only reason she ever picked up a racket was because Elsa had been obsessed with tennis when they were younger, dragging Jenna along to the courts. And here she was, doing it all over again.

Jenna picked up her pace into a jog. She rounded a sharp corner toward court three and slammed hard into someone very tall and incredibly solid.

The impact knocked the wind right out of her, sending her flying backward. A startled gasp cut short in her throat as her feet lost their grip on the slick floor. But before she could hit the ground, a firm hand clamped around her wrist like a vice, instantly halting her momentum and pulling her back from the brink of a nasty fall.

“Are you okay?” a concerned voice asked.

Feeling slightly dizzy, Jenna slowly looked up. In front of her stood a towering figure, nearly six foot seven, his childlike face frozen in fear.

A stunned silence fell between them for a moment, until it was interrupted by a man in a blue polo shirt walking out onto the court.

“Liam!” the man called out loudly. “We barely finished training, and you’re already hitting on girls?”

Jenna felt the guy’s hand still tightly gripping her wrist. It was only when the coach appeared that he gradually loosened his hold and slowly released her.

“No, it’s my fault,” Jenna hastened to say, defending him. “I was late for my lesson and ran right into him. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Oh, so you’re Jenna?” The coach’s eyes brightened, a wide smile spreading across his face.

“Yes, that’s me. And you must be my coach…?” Jenna paused expectantly to catch his name.

“That’s right. Turns out I am. My name is Alex,” he said, extending his hand to Jenna. ‘We’ve been waiting for you. Welcome to our club.’

The young giant continued to stand beside them and quietly listening, his eyes wandering between Jenna and Alex. His innocent boyish expression amused Jenna, particularly whenever she spoke. Slightly hunched over and leaning forward, he seemed to be trying to level himself with the petite Jenna as if to hear her better.

“And this is Liam, our professional tennis player. My student! My pride!” Alex introduced him, giving Liam a hearty pat on the back. “But it’s time for his physical training.” Alex jokingly started nudging him away while Liam was still holding Jenna’s gaze. “Come on, move it, move it. The tournament is next week.”

“I am going!” Liam said through laughter, fending off his coach before heading toward the stairs. Then he looked back at Jenna, his eyes lingering on her for a second too long.