Interesting exercise this morning, deciding on an image for Mike Crawford - Lewis's trainer. I never describe him physically in the book, but I always had something in mind: good looking but not overly so, early to mid-thirties; totally straight and off-limits to Lewis, although there's got to be a bit of attraction. He's not a major character, but he does have a purpose other than the fact Lewis obviously has a trainer. He is someone Lewis trusts and can confide in. And it is Mike who he opens up to first having decided that a more assertive approach is needed concerning his sexuality within the sport of tennis and with the world at large. I think this guy fits the bill. I would trust that face.
Here's a snippet from his chat with Lewis as they stroll around Melbourne Park the day after his opening match...
“Come on, Mike. We’ll take a wander around and see who’s about. Do a bit of talent spotting,” announced Lewis, who had also decided on his walkabout the previous evening that he mustn’t allow himself to get hung up on Lee Porter, as that would be a recipe for disaster. “There are bound to be some fit guys around and a few cute girls for you to drool over. Those Russians, eh: all legs and blonde hair. Right up your street I would have thought.”
Mike stopped in his tracks, stunned that Lewis had brought up a subject he was normally so reserved about. It wasn’t something that bothered him. He wouldn’t be working for Lewis if it did. But it was a topic that Lewis had never spoken to him about, and something not to be shied from now that he had.
“You can’t go lusting after any of the blokes on the tour!” the trainer laughed. “You might have to play them some day.”
“So?”
Mike accepted the answer, and it was a perfectly good one. “So!” he echoed. “I never really thought about that. Does it happen? I suppose it must. You end up playing someone that you fancy. Shit a
brick!”
Here's a snippet from his chat with Lewis as they stroll around Melbourne Park the day after his opening match...
“Come on, Mike. We’ll take a wander around and see who’s about. Do a bit of talent spotting,” announced Lewis, who had also decided on his walkabout the previous evening that he mustn’t allow himself to get hung up on Lee Porter, as that would be a recipe for disaster. “There are bound to be some fit guys around and a few cute girls for you to drool over. Those Russians, eh: all legs and blonde hair. Right up your street I would have thought.”
Mike stopped in his tracks, stunned that Lewis had brought up a subject he was normally so reserved about. It wasn’t something that bothered him. He wouldn’t be working for Lewis if it did. But it was a topic that Lewis had never spoken to him about, and something not to be shied from now that he had.
“You can’t go lusting after any of the blokes on the tour!” the trainer laughed. “You might have to play them some day.”
“So?”
Mike accepted the answer, and it was a perfectly good one. “So!” he echoed. “I never really thought about that. Does it happen? I suppose it must. You end up playing someone that you fancy. Shit a
brick!”