Perhaps it was the commotion in the Hallway of Champions, or the exhaustion beginning to settle into her body, but Charlotte almost didn’t notice the feeling of a large hand around her upper arm until it tightened its grip so hard she nearly yelped in pain. Alarmed, she whipped around to see Todd glaring at her with a look of pure hatred.
“What the fuck did you do out there?” he said in a whisper-scream so loud the entire area went instantly silent.
Charlie was so shocked she didn’t say a word.
“Do you hear me? Hello? Hello, Wimbledon loser. Want to explain how anyone in her right mind could possibly throw away an entire set by double-faulting? Please, give me your brilliant analysis, because I am at a total fucking loss.”
Any of the officials or line judges or coaches or journalists who hadn’t heard the first part of Todd’s tantrum had noticed him now. The hallway was so absolutely silent that Charlie wondered if the crowd back on the court could hear him. Still, she was so surprised she couldn’t speak, couldn’t even ask him to let go of her arm, which he was squeezing uncomfortably hard.
“Not one but two double faults! What, were you smoking weed again before this match? Out screwing around with your boyfriend? What was it, Silver? Because for the life of me, I can’t figure out what the fuck happened out there.”
It was the sound of Dan’s voice that finally shook her out of her shock.
“Let go of her arm,” Dan growled, quietly enough that only she and Todd could hear, but with an edge that caused them both to look up.
“Get the fuck out of here, I’m not talking to you,” Todd said. He dropped Charlie’s arm but moved his face even closer to hers.
Dan was on him in a flash, his own hand clamped over Todd’s shoulder. Somewhere behind her, Charlie could hear others gasp as they drew the same conclusion: there was going to be a fight. Quickly, Charlie turned to Dan and gave him a look: Thank you, but I’ve got this. Dan hesitated for a moment but then moved a few steps back.
“I was going to do this in private, but since it seems like you prefer putting on shows, let’s get this over with now. Todd, thank you for your time and expertise, but I will no longer be needing your services.”
For a split second Todd froze, his hands suspended in midair, his mouth hanging open. Then he licked his lips once, twice, three times and snarled, “Yeah, right. You’re lucky I ever agreed to coach you in the first place. You can’t fire me.”
“I just did,” Charlie said.
“Get showered and meet me in the lounge. You and I have a lot to talk about. First on the list is your shitty attitude.”
“I tried to be polite, but I’m not sure how else to say it. You’re fired. Finished. You and I have nothing left to say to each other. Not now, and not ever.” Charlie turned to the small crowd of people who had gathered to listen while pretending not to listen. “Feel free to spread the word: I fired Todd Feltner. And I loved every minute of it.”
22
grovel, plead, beg, and bribe
NEW YORK CITY
AUGUST 2016
Wrapped in a waffle-weave robe with a towel twisted around her head, Charlie peered through the telescope on the windowsill of her suite. From the twentieth floor, the treetops clustered together to make Central Park look like a continuous field of green, with only patches of water and miniature ant people biking or strolling or riding through. Each day for the last two weeks Charlie would watch the sun cast distinctly summer shadows on the trees. Whoever claimed there was nothing bucolic about New York City had clearly never stayed in a park-view penthouse suite at the Ritz-Carlton in high summer.
A knock at the door caused her to glance at the clock. Nearly eight a.m. She padded to the door, looked through the peephole, and threw it open.
“I thought you were breakfast!” Charlie said, launching herself at Piper, who stood in the hotel’s hallway looking slightly rumpled but still glamorous in wide-legged jeans with platform sandals and a tucked-in silk button-down. Oversized sunglasses held back her wavy hair.
“Oooh, does that mean you ordered something? I’m starving.” Piper kissed Charlie’s cheek and pushed right past her, unaware that her gigantic shoulder bag smashed Charlie directly in the chest.
“Yes, and I got a lot, so you’re in luck. Come in,” she said, although Piper had already dropped her bag in the suite’s marble foyer and beelined directly for the picture windows.
“Spectacular,” she declared, glancing at the park for a brief second before swiveling the telescope in the direction of the nearest high-rise. “Have you seen anyone naked yet?”
“I can’t believe you willingly took a red-eye just for me. Wait, come here. Let me see your ring!”
Piper held up her left hand and shrugged. “We went plain gold bands, just because it pissed off my mother. Is that ridiculous?”
“Yes, totally. But so is eloping, and that didn’t stop you.”
Piper looked directly at Charlie. “Do you hate me? You know we only did it because we couldn’t stand our families. The idea of our mothers hashing out a menu for some hideous seated luncheon for all their friends . . .” She shuddered. “We just couldn’t. But you know I missed having you there, right?”
Charlie smiled. “I know. I was devastated not to wear a floor-length, dusty pink gown. And how I regret not having to write a speech and google ‘wedding toast jokes.’ It was heartbreaking, really it was.”
“Yeah, when you put it that way, you definitely do owe me. I am happily married and on my way to a vineyard in South America, and you and I never needed to have a single conversation about up-dos or strippers dressed like policemen. It was a win for everyone.”
“Where is Ronin?”
“Probably asleep already. He went to check in. Fourteenth floor, I think? No view like this, that’s for sure. This is reserved exclusively for number-two ranked players in the world.”
Charlie laughed.
Piper flopped onto a couch in the sitting room. She picked up a folded copy of “Page Six” from the coffee table and held it up for Charlie.
“Please tell me you’re not reading this.”
“Of course I am. But I give you my word, I really don’t care.” The New York papers had gone crazy covering Marco and Natalya frolicking all over the city together. In just the past few days since each had been knocked out in the semis, they’d been photographed at restaurants, shops, nightclubs, and even an upscale sex toy boutique on the Lower East Side. From the pictures, it looked like they did nothing all day long but spend money, make out, and grope one another, but Charlie could all too easily imagine the reality behind the cameras.
Piper pulled the cap off a bottle of Fiji water and took a long slug. “You nervous?”
“You could say that.”
“Arthur Ashe, prime time, women’s final. Pretty big stage,” Piper said, dabbing her lips with the back of a finger. “The biggest, actually.”
Charlie’s heart beat a little faster. “I almost can’t believe it’s happening.”
There was a knock at the door at the same time that Charlie’s phone rang. “That’ll be breakfast. Can you just get it and sign the bill?” she said to Piper as she swiped open the call. “Hello?”
“How are you feeling?” Jake’s voice came through the line in a rush: panicked, excited, thrilled.
“Hanging in there. Piper just got here. Where are you?”
“I’m on my way to Flushing Meadows to meet with the American Express people. We need to work out who’s sitting in your box tonight and who’s in their suite.”
“Charlie! Visitor!” Piper called. Charlie could tell from the tone of her voice that it wasn’t a food delivery. Then, a beat afterward, she heard Dan’s laugh.
“Jake? I’ll call you right back.” She clicked off the phone as he protested and felt a brief stab of guilt, but as soon as she saw Dan, dr
essed for practice with a racket bag slung over his shoulder, Charlie forgot instantly about her brother.
“Hey,” he said, his voice revealing nothing. “I, uh, I didn’t realize you had company.”
“I’m hardly company, Dan,” Piper said.
The suite’s bell rang again.
“That has to be the food,” Charlie said.
Dan flashed Charlie a quick smile.
“Why don’t I get that?” Piper said, looking between the two of them.
The moment she had disappeared into the foyer, Dan crossed the room to Charlie and pulled her into a hug. His US Open T-shirt smelled of laundry detergent and deodorant and sunblock. It felt so good to nuzzle her cheek into the warmth of his neck that it was all Charlie could do not to collapse into him. Neither of them noticed Piper’s return until she pushed the food cart into the living room. Charlie and Dan yanked away from each other as though a parent had just caught them making out in the basement.
“What? You think I didn’t see the writing on the wall for this one?” Piper said, pulling a chocolate croissant from the bread basket. She took a bite, swallowed, and poured herself a cup of black coffee. “Another reason to elope.”
“Elope?” Charlie sputtered, her cheeks already flushing. “Piper, we’re not even—it’s not like—”
Dan merely stood, arms crossed awkwardly, staring off through the windows into Central Park.
“I meant me. Another reason for me to elope. The croissant. To not have to starve myself for a year to fit into some princess wedding dress, that’s all. Is there something you guys want to tell me?” Piper’s widened eyes were all faux innocence.
“Not the time for this . . .” Charlie knew she wouldn’t keep anything from Piper, but it certainly wasn’t a conversation she was ready to have in front of Dan.
“I’m, uh, going to head to the site in a few. I just stopped by to, um, see if you wanted me to take anything? Your racket bag?”
With this, Piper began laughing. “Her racket bag? You two are adorable, you really are. Whatever is going on here isn’t my business. At least not until later tonight, when we’re all toasting a US Open win or drowning a loss in rivers of vodka—and yes, you are having a drink one way or another, Charlie. Then I will want every sordid detail. But until then, suffice it to say, I think you two look adorable together.”
“Piper . . . ,” Charlie warned with a stern look.
“Thanks?” Dan said. He turned to Charlie, who realized she wasn’t the least bit self-conscious standing there in a bathrobe with wet hair. “Do you want me to wait for you or meet you there?”
Charlie turned her face to him and looked directly into his eyes. How had she never noticed their unusual shade of gray before? Or the way he read a book, a real, actual book printed on old-school paper, during every meal he ate alone? Or the way he cracked his knuckles when he was nervous but stopped the moment he noticed someone watching him?
From her tiptoes, Charlie pressed her lips against his. “Go ahead. I’m here for another hour and then I’m supposed to meet Marcy in player dining. I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”
He nodded, kissed her again, waved to Piper, who was busy feigning indifference to the whole scene on the couch, and left. Charlie couldn’t help but smile. Months ago she was skulking around desperate for Marco’s erratic attention. She marveled at how surprised Marco had been when she’d ended it. He, like Todd, had shown her she was making exactly the right decision.
Charlie looked at Piper but said nothing.
“What?” Piper shrugged. “You think this is remotely surprising? It was a matter of when, not if.”
“Oh, come on!” Charlie said. She sat down next to Piper and pulled a pillow into her stomach.
“You and Dan? Please. Anyone with two eyes could’ve seen that one coming.”
“Am I really that predictable?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks.”
“Charlie! A little self-awareness, please. Marco Vallejo? Zeke Leighton? Not what I—or anyone else—would exactly describe as boyfriend material. But doe-eyed Dan with the puritanical work ethic? Who also happens to be tall, kind, and very cute? He’s a no-brainer.”
“We’re taking it slow,” Charlie said, forking a piece of honeydew from a bowl of fruit salad.
“How slow?”
“Exceedingly.”
Piper tilted her head. “You haven’t slept with him yet?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, you’re telling me that, or yes, of course you have?”
“We just both think it’s better not to rush into anything. We acknowledge we’re . . . I don’t know . . . into each other. We just don’t need to dive into bed yet.”
“Really.”
“It’s not like it’s been so long. A month. We didn’t even kiss for the first time until Toronto. Four weeks ago. Things progressed a little in Cincinnati, a little bit more in New Haven, and now here we are.”
“So where does that get you now? Second base? Third?”
Charlie gave Piper the finger. “Laugh all you want. You’re married now and destined to a life of sexless boredom forever and ever. At least I have something to look forward to.”
“Fair point.”
Charlie took a sip of her fully caffeinated coffee—the very first change she instituted after firing Todd—and said, “He’s a pretty great guy, P. Smart, loyal, kind, the whole nine. But you know the best part? Things are just easy when I’m with him. He has a way of boiling the most complicated things down to what really matters. No games, no drama, no is-he-going-to-text-me-does-he-like-me bullshit. It’s really refreshing.”
“Sounds it. I’m happy for you, Charlie. You deserve to date a non-asshole.”
“I’m blushing.” Charlie checked her phone and saw the time. “I have to run. We have a very abbreviated practice today, but I’m meeting with Marcy beforehand.”
Piper stood up and slung her enormous bag back over her shoulder. “I hope you’re going to grovel, plead, beg, and bribe her to coach you again?”
“That about sums it up.”
The two women hugged. Piper took both of Charlie’s hands in her own and said, “Kick some ass tonight, Silver. It’s about f’ing time you won one of these things.”
• • •
Charlie placed her racket bag at a table near the windows, which offered an expansive view onto the stretch of empty practice courts. The hundreds of players who’d already been knocked out in the earlier rounds had left Flushing Meadows. Some took a break and went home; others traveled to wherever their coaches were based for a few days’ intensive work; still others trudged on to the next tournament in preparation for the grueling, Asian swing of the tour, the final stretch before they had six or eight weeks off at the end of the year. Everyone who wasn’t injured or retired would begin again in January in Australia. And although there had been weeks this summer when Charlie thought she might not be among them, she had decided that no matter what happened in this final match, she wanted to give herself one more year.
Player dining, like everywhere else at the Open that day, was nearly empty. Normally it bustled with players and their entourages of managers, coaches, hitting partners, agents, families, and friends. The flat screens hanging from the ceiling usually showed all the live matches happening around the site while mothers and nannies chased young children around the tables, plying them with chocolate milk and cheddar bunnies. You couldn’t walk two feet without hearing at least three languages. Everywhere people jostled for space and called to each other in Spanish, Croatian, Serbian, German, Chinese, Russian, French, and every imaginable accent in the English language. People were busy typing into laptops or iPhones as all sorts of business deals were negotiated and schedules were tweaked and travel plans were booked, canceled, and booked again. She loved the energy of player dining—es
pecially at a Slam—knowing that after so many years on the circuit, she could walk over to pretty much any table in the joint and recognize at least a dozen people. But today it was unnerving to see it so quiet.
Doing a quick calculation of what she had already eaten for breakfast (egg white veggie omelet with rye toast, fruit salad, cottage cheese, and coffee) and what time she would be practicing (three o’clock) and competing (seven that evening), Charlie chose a Greek yogurt parfait with a side of protein-enriched granola and a banana.
“Good luck tonight,” the cashier, a woman who also looked to be in her mid-twenties, said to Charlie as she handed her the receipt.
Charlie smiled and thanked her. When she returned to the table, Marcy was already seated.
“What can I get you?” Charlie asked, placing her tray down. “You want your usual turkey wrap with a Diet Coke?”
Marcy shook her head. “I’m good, I don’t need anything. I already have a tea.” She wrapped her hands around the steaming take-out cup the way someone might if they were enjoying their après-ski hot chocolate, despite the fact the outside temperature was pushing ninety.
Charlie took a seat directly across from her old coach.
Marcy took a sip of tea. “Charlie, I can’t even begin to describe how proud I am of you. Last year at this time you were in a rehab facility. Now you’re hours away from playing a Grand Slam final. It’s truly incredible. You deserve this so much.”
“You deserve it,” Charlie said. She could feel a lump forming in her throat. “Todd did a lot of work on my image, and having Dan travel with me made practices more productive, but you are the one who taught me everything. You picked up right where my father left off and brought my strokes and game to the next level. You taught me to how to eat well without being a lunatic about it, how to get fit without being totally obsessive, how to conduct myself on and off the court. Can you even imagine what you would have done to me if Charleston had happened on your watch and I’d gone ahead to win the match by serving before my opponent was ready?”
The Singles Game Page 34