Chase made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “Towing makes it easier. If a jet ski pulls you to the wave and you don’t have to paddle, you’re not working as hard.”
“Have you ever surfed the waves at Nazaré?” I asked with feigned innocence.
He glanced away. “Uh, no. I’m only repeating the watercooler talk in the industry.”
“Gotcha.” I cocked my head. “So how do you know I wasn’t working as hard if you haven’t surfed waves as gigantic as I have?”
I’d poked him hard, right in his ego, before I could help myself. I couldn’t believe that sitting here, talking to the most respected surf magazine in the world with a billion-dollar company supporting me, I still had to prove I was just as good.
His gaze hardened. “You know what, I think that came out wrong. But let’s move on to a happier subject, okay?”
My eyes narrowed, thoughts in sudden disarray. His line of questioning wasn’t technically a shock. I’d heard some version of his ideas my entire life. It was jarring though—Aerial put their trust in this magazine as a partner, as a media source responsible for launching this next step in my career.
Should I trust this guy if a company as good as Aerial did?
“Okay,” I said slowly, still wary. My spine was straightening, my body pulling back into my chair. “What’s your next question?”
His posture seemed to loosen as mine only tightened. “How about we talk about your incredible win at Jaws? That video of you was all any surfer was talking about for a while.”
I could hear the curt edge of my tone when I replied, “That was the culmination of fifteen years of dedication and hard work.”
His writing stopped for a second before resuming. “Did you get a lot of praise from other surfers in the industry? Anyone you want to share with us?”
I relaxed, just a little. “I did, yeah. Kalei Peleke and Prue Dorsey, who I’ve known since my first tour. And other big wave surfers who really paved the way for women like me: Maya Batista, Arya Young, Malia Kim. The sisterhood and camaraderie among women in this sport is really powerful.”
He nodded as his pen moved. “Finn Travis wrote a really nice piece about you online, didn’t he? He’s a super nice guy.”
Super nice guy was downplaying it. Finn Travis was famous and highly respected, and he always supported women, our talents, and our ability to ride the biggest waves. An hour after I finished at Jaws, there was a text on my phone from Finn that read: You’re a fucking superstar, Serena!
He and his wife, Avery, had opened an eco-friendly, sustainable hotel in Playa Vieja a few years back, so when he wasn’t crushing the gnarliest waves, he was saving the environment in his free time. I’d always admired that about him. In fact, Finn’s intertwined careers of surfing and activism was the first thing I thought of when Aerial called.
“That was a dream come true,” I admitted. “Finn is a surfer I really admire.”
“Must be cool to see that kind of encouragement from your community,” Chase continued. He looked at me expectantly, and I knew what he wanted to hear.
What he wanted to hear wasn’t the truth though, and if Aerial had brought me on to raise awareness of disparities in my sport, I wasn’t going to censor myself.
“Yes and no,” I said. “I received a ton of support, yes, but the majority of that support came from other women. You’ll recall a few of my male colleagues, even more famous than Finn, had very dismissive things to say about me online and in public.”
His forehead wrinkled, but I didn’t buy the act. “That doesn’t ring a bell for me.”
I maintained his eye contact. “They said I didn’t deserve the win because I’d been reckless, putting other surfers at risk because I couldn’t handle those sets.”
“Do you think you were being reckless?” he asked in an I’m only playing devil’s advocate tone of voice.
“No, and if I was, I was no more or less reckless than any surfer out there attempting to level up in their sport. They don’t get publicly criticized by their peers, though.”
He fiddled with his notes, looking annoyed with me. “Listen, Serena—”
“They said I got lucky,” I continued, speaking over him. “That I wasn’t ready. And, believe me, their public statements were more diplomatic. I saw way too many comments on the YouTube video that will haunt my dreams.” I swallowed hard. “And have had way too many things said to me, face-to-face, right on the beach.”
He placed his pen down, like he was dealing with an unruly teenager he wanted to keep quiet. “What’s your point then?”
Fiery red flashed at the edges of my vision, but I tamped it down as best I could. If this was getting written about, it was extra important that I chose my words carefully. “My point is that we cover up and ignore the ugly truths of this sport because it’s always been viewed as a group of athletes who are chill, who are into good vibes, who just want to hang on the beach all day. That’s never been the reality though. Sexism, toxic masculinity, racism, bigotry in all of its forms are all alive and well within surfing, and we all need to be working together to do something about it.”
Behind me, Cope shuffled his feet, and I’d known him long enough to decipher his tiny cues of support.
Chase closed his notebook and settled back in his chair. “Isn’t that everywhere, though?”
“So?”
“So, seems to me that kind of stuff eventually goes away on its own.”
I arched my eyebrow. “You just described entrenched discrimination the way a doctor talks about a random rash on your arm.”
He dropped his elbows to his knees. “What I’m saying here is that surfing is fun. It’s the happy sport. The more you talk about it, the more you shine a light on… stuff like that… the worse it gets, right? And besides.” He flipped open his notebook again. “I’m not really here to talk about sexism. I’m here for a lifestyle story. What do you put in your smoothies? Best playlists to work out to? Things like that.”
Dread and anger spread through the pit of my stomach. “That’s not what Aerial wants with this interview. They’re pioneers. They talk about real things, things that matter.”
“I’m sorry to say this, but it is what they want.”
His tone was definitely patronizing now.
My lips pressed into a thin line. I was pissed and so over being careful. “If Heavy isn’t willing to write about and elevate these issues, to be a part of actual change, then you haven’t been listening to the communities who have been shouting about this for years. I’m only talking about my experience. There are other experiences we need to listen to—stories from queer surfers, non-binary folks, Black surfers, surfers of color… basically any athlete that isn’t given sponsorships or platforms or financial backing to compete. It means they’re locked out of the tours and the circuits. Their contributions are completely erased or ignored all together.” I reached forward and tapped his notebook. “This isn’t new. It’s always been there.”
I watched Chase become more and more uncomfortable the longer I talked. But I wasn’t uncomfortable at all. It was what I’d said at the end—about money and sponsors—that had tiny sparks, the first beginnings of an idea, going off in my brain.
“Serena.” He turned off his tape recorder, and the reality of what I’d done came storming back in. My cheeks got hot, my neck flushed. “Maybe we should reschedule this for next week, give you some time to think about your answers.”
I reared back, surprised. “You’re ending the interview? We just got started.”
“For next week,” he said mildly, “I’ll bring more specific lifestyle questions like we talked about.” Another flash of that placating smile. “Listen, and I don’t mean this to be offensive, but think of it as a puff piece. It’s fluffy, it’s fun, it’s lighthearted. Okay? I won’t tell Aerial, and we can redo the whole thing.”
He was being nice, but not in an actually nice way. Nice because I got the distinct impression he pitied me. He
shuffled his tools back into his bag before standing with his hand outstretched. I shook it, feeling slimy.
But then I stood up—I was almost as tall as he was, and I enjoyed that he couldn’t physically look down on me. “Every day women are treated unfairly in this sport. I think my favorite smoothie recipes can wait, don’t you?”
“I think I know what my readers want to see more than you do,” he said with a shrug. “Can I offer a word of advice?”
My molars were already grinding.
“Aerial wants this piece to do well and officially launch you as their brand ambassador. It would behoove you to do what they’re asking.”
Chase stepped past me as my hands curled into fists, and I restrained a howl of frustration. Plus a new anxiety, brought on by Chase’s advice, that I needed to play by the rules if I wanted to keep my own financial backing. I rubbed my forehead, confused about the game I was playing. Because I didn’t know the rules, and Aerial was supposed to be on my team.
“I’ll escort you to the car, Ms. Swift.” It was Cope, right behind me, kindness in his voice. His hand barely grazed the small of my back, but it felt like a lifeline. I walked out of the office and passed Chase, who was holding the door open. His eyes narrowed as Cope walked by, then his face lit up in recognition.
“I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before,” he said, staring at my bodyguard. “You’re Copeland McDaniels’s son, right?”
I touched my hair and tried to discreetly make eye contact with Cope. He wasn’t looking at me though. He was looking at Chase like the guy was a new punching bag at the gym.
“I am his son,” he said.
“Wow.” Chase shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. “What a legend your dad was. I wish I could have known him.”
Cope took a step closer to Chase and dropped his voice. “I wish you could have known him too. And it’s such a weird coincidence, what Ms. Swift was talking about, because my dad was a huge proponent for equality and standing up for what’s right. He taught me and my sister to do the same. Always.” Cope slid his hands into his pockets with an easy grin. “Can I offer a word of advice? If you really think my dad was a legend, then you’ll include everything she just said in your article.”
12
Cope
Serena and I were halfway down the hallway, heading toward the elevators, when Marty Lattimore appeared out of nowhere.
He startled us both, but that was to be expected. After spending the past half-hour watching that douchey shithead dismiss Serena’s experiences with a condescending smile I wanted to smack, we were both on edge.
“Serena, Mr. McDaniels, how nice bumping into you here,” he said, clapping his hands together. He nodded to his left. “This is my office. My brother’s is two doors down. This is a lovely bit of serendipity in the middle of a busy day.”
Serena caught her breath and managed to say, “It sure is.” But there were lines around her mouth and a tightness around her eyes. “We were just heading—”
“How was the interview? He’s coming to speak with me next. He didn’t grill you, did he?” He laughed at his own joke. Meanwhile, Serena paled.
“I’m hoping it turns out okay.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will,” he said. “Listen, this is actually perfect timing for another reason. A reason that’s… a little bit embarrassing, a little bit sensitive.” He made a face as he said embarrassing and sensitive. All the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. “Do you mind stepping into my office?”
“Of course, not a problem.”
Marty held open the door for her, but she turned to me and said, “After you, Mr. McDaniels.”
That was twice now that she’d looked to me for comfort or soothing, and my foolish heart wanted to read between the lines.
“Sure thing,” I said. Hand on my tie, I stepped into Marty’s office, which appeared exactly as I would have imagined it. Repurposed wood. Photos of him on mountain tops and on snowboards. Maps of the globe and graphics depicting their environmental impact. Awards for innovation and humanitarian work.
I thought about what Quentin had said. In the world of big corporations, there are no good guys, only guys that are good at lying.
It would be hard for someone like this to lie though.
I placed myself on the far wall, out of Marty’s line of sight, but close enough so Serena knew I was there. Her fingers were doing that twisting thing again.
“What can I help you with?” she asked.
Marty perched on the edge of his desk, posture relaxed. Face open. “Like I said, it’s a little bit embarrassing. It’s regarding one of our lawyers, Catalina Flores. Does that name ring a bell?”
She brightened. “Yeah, for sure. I only met her once though, just outside the building.”
“Catalina is a wonderful lawyer, and with a company as large as ours, we always need someone with a brilliant legal mind to make sure we’re not breaking any laws,” he said. “Funny thing though. Some of Catalina’s private files have gone missing from her computer. Very important files. We run a tight ship here, so that’s the embarrassing part of this. She’s not sure what happened to them.”
Serena’s smile was puzzled. “Um… work files? She and I talked about surfing. I invited her to come with us one morning. That was the extent of it.”
Marty mirrored her expression. “So strange. She didn’t hand anything to you by accident? You see, we’ve got new security cameras out front. They’d been put up that morning, as luck would have it. We reviewed the footage to make sure, gosh, that we hadn’t had a break-in or something equally as nefarious.”
Something about his tone and posture was familiar to me, tapping at a memory or a dream, maybe.
And those hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up again. Serena reached behind her head and tangled her fingers in her bun. I considered the motion.
“Because of those cameras,” he said. “We saw her run into you.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re right,” she said. “She crashed into me with quite a bit of power. Almost knocked me off my feet.”
“Knocked your bag to the ground, right?” Marty asked. Smooth as butter.
“Um… yeah, if you say so.” Her fingers tugged. Twisted. “It was a pretty uneventful meeting.”
He was silent, but in a friendly way. As if he was waiting for an admission. “So you didn’t end up with anything from our office, then?”
She frowned. “No, not at all. I’m sorry, I wish I could be helpful, but I really have no idea about anything like that.”
He rubbed his hands together and shrugged like it was no big deal. “Ah, well. I had to ask. It’s the oddest thing. We can’t find it anywhere, and Catalina is a wreck over it.”
“Can I say hi before I go? I don’t know where her office is.”
Marty was already hustling us out of his. “You know, she’s gone home for the day. I don’t know if it’s the stress or what, but she said she hasn’t been feeling well.”
Serena’s fingers kept twisting and tangling. But she still patted Marty on the arm before turning around back to the elevators. “No worries. Give her my best, and I hope you guys find what you’re looking for.”
I followed my wife down the hallway. A woman who was many things—confident, infuriating, brash, courageous.
And, if I remembered her little tells correctly, had just lied right to Marty’s face.
13
Cope
Serena was silent again on the way home, but this silence had a different pattern to it. Less jumble of nerves and more intense thinking. She’d curled her fingers into her hair so frequently the bun fell apart, golden hair spilling over her shoulders. Every time I looked in the mirror, she was facing the window. I could see the jagged, white scar down her cheek and her teeth, worrying at her bottom lip.
As I pulled into the driveway, I was debating my own next moves and grounding myself in the job at hand. I’d fought with Serena, laughed with her, been in our house
, been pressed against her body in an elevator, and witnessed her take a lot of shit she didn’t deserve.
My self-control was liable to snap with the slightest provocation. I wanted to crawl into the back seat and let her lay her head in my lap, like I used to when she had hard days. Stroke her hair until she fell asleep.
Instead, I turned around, expecting her to be in motion. She wasn’t.
She was watching me.
“Weird day, huh?” I said.
She burst out laughing. “You could say that, yeah.” She dropped her head into her hands, where she moaned or growled. I couldn’t tell.
“Serena.”
When she looked back up, her entire face was flushed. I’d accidentally said her name the way I used to. The way a husband says the name of the wife he loves.
“I, uh…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Listen, that Chase dude was an asshole. The whole way through. And I thought you were incredible.”
Her brown eyes widened.
“Your points were clear, your passion was engaging, and everything you said was absolutely true. He shouldn’t have dismissed you. Although, ironically enough, him dismissing you proved your points.”
She exhaled out of her mouth, long and slow. “Marty and Dave promised me a platform where I could be honest about sexism. They promised a platform and informed me they were all in to put some real action behind it as a company. So why did I just sit down with a magazine writer they recommended who was clearly uncomfortable with the subject? And who swore Aerial wanted a puff piece?” She rubbed her forehead with a deep frown. “Dora’s been talking to me about productive places to use my anger, and I thought working with Aerial would be like that. That didn’t feel productive, though. That really pissed me off.”
“Marty didn’t tell you they planned your first profile to be fluffy?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Two days ago, I met with a marketing team who promised change was what they wanted. Those questions Chase was asking, all the ways he was not listening to me, that’s not change. That’s things staying the same. And if he’s not angry about the injustice in our sport, he’s not paying attention.”
Out of the Blue Page 9