Marcy smiled. She knew exactly what Charlie meant. “Are you kidding? I would’ve made you give the damn title back.”
“Exactly. Todd encouraged that strategy.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I hated myself after that match. Hated him, too.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Charlie. You have what it takes to win it fair and square. You didn’t need to pull a stunt like that.”
“I know that now. Which is one of the reasons why I fired Todd. Go on, say it. You told me so.”
“I told you so. But don’t be so hard on yourself, Charlie.”
“Well, anyway. All of this was my really long, convoluted way of saying I’m sorry.”
“You don’t owe me an apology. We worked together almost ten years. Taking you from juniors to the pros was one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done—even better than when I went through it myself. It’s okay you wanted a new perspective. It’s healthy.”
“In theory.”
“Sometimes in reality, too. It doesn’t sound like Todd was the right fit, but there are plenty of terrific coaches out there.”
“I want you,” Charlie blurted out, although she had planned an entire pitch, even written it out so she said exactly what she meant and didn’t forget anything. “I want to work with you again.”
Marcy was quiet.
“I know you must hate me, Marce, or at the very least think I’m an idiot, which I completely was for ending what we had. But is there any way you would consider coming back to my team? Just for a year. One year. I’m going to go back to college after that. And in this next year, I want to work my ass off and try to win tournaments I haven’t won yet, but I also want to take the time to check out these incredible countries I visit every twelve months but have never really seen. I know it’s a lot to ask, especially after everything, but . . . will you join me?”
When Marcy smiled sadly, Charlie knew it wasn’t going to happen.
“I miss watching Love It or List It with you,” Charlie said.
Marcy barked her short, staccato laugh. “I miss it, too. Have you been watching Fixer Upper? Chip and Johanna used to annoy the hell out of me, but I’m kind of into them now.”
“Me too! I’m a little sick of her obsession with light cabinets and dark countertops, but I can forgive her.”
“Charlie?” Marcy cleared her throat, then took a sip of tea as if to fortify her willpower. “I can’t come back to coach you.”
Charlie felt her cheeks redden. Of course Marcy didn’t want to come back after the way Charlie had treated her. She felt stupid for even asking.
“I’d love to work with you again. It hardly even felt like work, did it? But I’m taking some . . . personal time. I’m pregnant.”
Charlie felt a wave of instant relief. “You’re pregnant? For real?”
“Fourth round of in vitro was a charm. I’m just past the twelve-week mark. I’m due next February.”
“Oh my god. Congratulations! I know you’ve been trying for so long, and I didn’t want to ask how it was going . . . I’m just so happy for you guys!”
Marcy’s entire face lit up. “Thanks. We are thrilled! But as you can imagine, Will’s keeping me on a short leash for the next six months. No international travel at all, and no travel anywhere after the seventh month. So as you can see, I’m not cut out for tour work right now.”
Charlie laughed. “No, I would say not.”
“But, Charlie? I would if I could.”
“You mean that?” Charlie asked, feeling a lump form in her throat.
“I do. I’d be back in a heartbeat. Those were some of the best years of my career.”
“Mine too,” said Charlie, wiping a stray tear.
“Hey! No crying on the day of a final. This is all good stuff. How are you feeling about tonight?”
Charlie smiled through her tears. She knew only part of the emotion was connected to Marcy, that so much of it was being overwhelmed with the reality of making it to the finals of the US Open. As an American. And the favorite. She’d be playing under the lights that evening on her home turf, the crowd of twenty-three thousand screaming her name over and over and over again. It was almost too much to understand.
Charlie took a drink of water. “I don’t even know where I’m at. Physically, I’m feeling strong and ready. Emotionally, I’m a nervous wreck. I guess I’m also relieved to be playing Karina and not Natalya.”
“I was in the Mercedes suite for the semis against Natalya. You just undid her game. Took it apart point by point. You controlled the pace of the match and didn’t give her an inch. You were focused, methodical, and entirely in control. I don’t need to tell you that winning straight sets in a Slam semi is pretty damn impressive, and if you can do it there—against Natalya Ivanov—you can do it tonight, too.”
“Thank you,” Charlie said. She sat up straighter and pushed her shoulders back. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Always. Your baby is so lucky to have you as her mom.”
“Her?”
“It has to be a girl.”
“She is a girl.”
“You know already?” Charlie asked, eyes wide.
“They have a blood test now for old moms like me. Yes, a girl. Maybe one day you’ll help me teach her to play?”
Charlie walked around the table, slid in the banquette next to Marcy, and gave her a proper hug. “I’d be honored.”
23
charlotte silver ready to play
US OPEN
AUGUST 2016
Charlie watched as Karina Geiger fielded the questions from the ESPN reporter. The two women were standing in the long hallway that led from the locker room to the court at Arthur Ashe Stadium. Surrounding them both were framed black-and-white photos of all the champions who had played that court, either a year or a decade or a half century before them: Steffi, Pete, Andre, Roger, Stefan, Jennifer, Marco, Chrissy, Martina, Rinaldo, John, Serena, Jimmy, Natalya, Venus, Rafa, Andy, Maria. Otherwise it wasn’t fancy, or particularly impressive—just a windowless corridor that felt dark and a bit industrial if it weren’t for the legends staring down from every direction.
“What do you hope to accomplish at this match today?” the woman reporter asked Karina, thrusting the microphone under her chin.
Karina, normally friendly, couldn’t keep the look of disdain off her face. “Accomplish?” she asked in accented English. Karina looked at the reporter pointedly. “Well, I’m not here today to work on my backhand,” she said, and pulled back on her oversized headphones.
“Good luck, Karina!” the reporter called, but Karina had already slung her racket bag over her shoulder and proceeded to the door, where she would bounce and pace, waiting for Charlie to do her interview so both women could be formally announced onto the court.
“And here we have Charlotte Silver, number-two ranked woman in the world and clearly the crowd favorite here in Flushing Meadows today. Charlotte, how are you feeling right now?”
Reporters loved this question, and every player in the history of the game gave a variation on a theme: “I’m feeling really confident in my game right now. I’m ready.”
Which is exactly what Charlie said. She was surprised, as she always was, when the reporter nodded enthusiastically, as though Charlie had just shared a great revelation.
“It must be quite the experience to be standing in the company of such legends,” the woman stated, her lipsticked mouth hovering centimeters from the microphone.
Charlie waited for the question, but as is often the case, there wasn’t one.
“It sure is,” Charlie said, looking directly into the woman’s eyes. She could see the cameraman zoom in for a close-up over the reporter’s shoulder. “And this is an especially poignant night for me. It will be my second-to-last US Open ever.”
&nbs
p; Charlie could feel the quiet descend on the hallway before she could hear it.
“Does that mean . . . are you saying . . . is this a retirement announcement?” the reporter sputtered.
Charlie leaned forward and caught Dan winking at her. He and Jake already knew her plan, but this would be the first her father was hearing about it. She took the microphone, and rather than answer the reporter, she looked off to the side, directly at her father. “Yes, it is. Regardless of whether I win or lose here tonight, I’m only going to play professionally for one more year. Next year’s US Open will be my last major tournament.”
The surprise on Mr. Silver’s face was second only to the reporter’s, who was clearly not prepared to deviate from the usual pregame script. She coughed for a minute, began to ask a question, and then stopped. Finally, she said, “It’s unusual, no, for a player who’s only twenty-five and by all accounts at the peak of her career to retire? Any further explanation of your decision? What will come next for Charlotte Silver?”
Charlie only said, “Please excuse me, but I have a match to play.”
“Yes, yes,” the reporter murmured, obviously having forgotten all about the reason for the interview in light of her breaking news scoop. “We wish you the best of luck today. And always.”
Charlie immediately felt her father’s hand clamp over her shoulder. She turned to face him and threw her arms around his neck. “It’s time,” she said into his neck.
“You’re certain?” he asked so only she could hear.
She pulled back a bit and nodded. “Yes. One more year. It finally feels like enough.”
Her father’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “It’s more than enough; it’s incredible what you’ve accomplished. How hard you’ve worked. But the best part of all is that you feel that for yourself. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”
“I know, Dad. And I appreciate it, more than you know.”
“Charlotte? Karina? Time for the introductions,” Isabel called out, checking the giant digital clock that was counting down the seconds from its perch above the court entrance.
Her father kissed her cheek. Behind him, Dan grinned at her and gave her a knowing look, while Jake flashed her a thumbs up. A tournament official motioned for Charlie’s and Karina’s entourages to follow him through another exit, where he would escort them to their respective player boxes. The door to the court was for players only. The women would have to walk through it alone.
Charlie listened as the announcer called out Karina’s career highlights and accomplishments: ranked as high as number three in the world; made it to the finals of a Grand Slam three times and won two of them; youngest woman in the last ten years to win two consecutive Slams. The screen showed the rowdy American crowd cheering, as they would for any final contender, but it was obvious they were anxious for Charlie. By the time the announcer began calling Charlie’s stats, the crowd drowned out his voice. Charlie tried to listen to his biography of her, to hear how he encapsulated the last twenty-odd years of her life into a single paragraph, but the noise and the emotion were too overwhelming. When it was finally time for her to take her first steps on the legendary court, she was so overcome that Isabel had to give her a firm push.
The applause was thunderous. It sounded like it began in the sections closest to Charlie’s entrance and rolled from box to box, section to section, and side to side with the strength of a hurricane. There wasn’t a person seated in the entire stadium: it seemed as though each and every one of the twenty-three thousand people who had come out that gorgeous August evening was on his or her feet, whooping and clapping. When she raised her hand and waved to them, they roared their response. Charlie could feel the reverberations in her chest, the sounds of excitement that almost bordered on hysteria.
As Charlie lined her rackets up against her chair and cracked open the first of her Gatorade bottles, she glanced toward her player box. In the very front row were Jake and Benjy, sitting side by side. No doubt the stadium cameras were having a field day with those two: Sports Illustrated had just released their new issue, the first time in history they featured an openly gay athlete on the cover. Benjy was pictured in his Dolphins uniform and helmet, war paint under his eyes, staring straight at the camera with his bulging arms crossed over his massive chest. The headline above the photo read “DEAL WITH IT” in a massive white font and just underneath, in smaller lettering: “Football’s Favorite Quarterback Comes Out and Couldn’t Care Less What You Have to Say About It.” As expected, the media went crazy when Benjy had first made the announcement earlier in the summer, but after a few weeks of nonstop coverage and carefully scripted statements of support from the NFL, the story was beginning to fade. Charlie had never seen Jake happier. Next to them sat her father and Eileen. A small, family-only wedding ceremony was planned for the following month, and Charlie already had her gift picked out: two round-the-world tickets for them to explore, relax, and hopefully visit her in far-flung cities.
In the row behind them were Piper and Ronin, who would be leaving on a middle-of-the-night flight for their honeymoon in South America. Piper caught Charlie’s eyes and opened her own so wide that Charlie burst out laughing. Charlie nodded. Piper gave her a look that said, “Seriously?” and glanced furtively to her right where none other than Zeke Leighton sat, waving cheerily to Charlie and mugging for the cameras. Every time a camera found him and splashed his image over the huge screens papering the stadium, the crowd went crazy. From the third and last row, Dan sat alone. She knew her father and Jake and probably Piper, too, had invited him to sit together, but he liked to watch from his seat behind the others and examine every point with the focused attention of a surgeon at work. He would calculate and analyze. He would will her to win. And when it was over, whether she’d won decisively or lost humiliatingly or something in between, he would wrap his arms around her and ask if she wanted to try the new Korean noodle place he’d read about. Charlie saw him massaging his forehead in nervous circles, but she smiled at him anyway.
The warm-up went by so quickly that the coin toss nearly caught Charlie by surprise. When the chair umpire indicated that Charlie had won, she automatically chose to serve. Karina flashed her a single hard look and began to retreat back to her chair, where the women would have a final minute of quiet before official play commenced, but Charlie called her name.
The ball boys and girls, the line judges, the chair umpire, and the thousands of fans all watched as Karina slowly turned around. Her enormous frame, all muscle, was surprisingly agile, and she covered the distance to the net in three long strides. She raised a single eyebrow.
Charlie moved toward the net and stood closer to Karina than either of them liked: she was acutely aware of the cameras and wanted to avoid being overheard. Leaning in, Charlie’s lips nearly touching her opponent’s ear and her heart beating fast, she said, “I’m sorry for what I did at Charleston. It was a shitty way to win.”
Karina took two steps back and looked Charlie in the eye. They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds before Karina nodded. “Thank you.”
Back at her chair, Charlie took a sip of Gatorade and a bite of banana. Thirty seconds to start time. She took a final look at her player box and felt an enormous rush of gratitude for the people in her life, and then, with her last remaining seconds, she pulled the laminated photo she had kept in her racket bag for as long as she could remember and propped it against her chair’s armrest. Today, her mother would watch from the best seat in the house.
Charlie jogged to her spot on the baseline as Karina strode to hers. She bounced on her toes, waiting for her nerves to settle, for the familiar and addictive feeling of calm to settle over her. Across the net, her opponent took deep, gulping breaths, obviously trying to control her own adrenaline overload. The chair umpire leaned forward and in a commanding voice announced, “First set. Charlotte Silver ready to serve. Play!”
She took a
deep breath and tried to exhale as slowly as possible. It was happening. Charlie planted her feet, bounced the ball three times, and with a clear mind, tossed it into the air. The ball disappeared into the stadium lights, and Charlie felt a momentary stab of panic and uncertainty, but still she launched her body upward, a combination of muscle memory and faith and fervent hope, knowing she was ready for anything.
acknowledgments
TK
about the author
LAUREN WEISBERGER is the New York Times bestselling author of The Devil Wears Prada, which was published in forty languages and made into a major motion picture starring Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway. Weisberger’s four other novels, Everyone Worth Knowing, Last Night at Chateau Marmont, Chasing Harry Winston, and Revenge Wears Prada, were all top-ten New York Times bestsellers. A graduate of Cornell University, she lives in Connecticut with her husband and two children. Visit LaurenWeisberger.com.
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