by Lola Keeley
Training hard. Need to rack up some points before the season is out. Glad you’re ok.
I plotted out some replies, but nothing seemed cool and breezy enough. Apparently my unusual interest in my phone had registered with my mother.
“Celeste?”
I shook my head, trying to avoid the scrutiny of her questioning look.
“Just to…uh, Ruiz—you know her, right? She heard I blew out today, was just sending good wishes.”
“Hmm.” Not much ever got past my mother, but what she chose to care about was a mystery until it happened. She seemed happy to let this one go. “Don’t give too many details. Let people speculate on whether you’ll be back or not.”
I hadn’t listened to her about what I should say publicly for most of my career, but that hadn’t stopped her trying to tell me. In that spirit, I made a point of telling Toni I’d be back.
Don’t worry, you’ll still be seeing me in Flushing Meadows. Whoever plays first buys the smoothies, deal?
No instant response that time. Was she already bored? Had she just wandered off already? Then, before I could get into a spiral over it, she started typing.
Sounds good to me.
Maybe the painkillers had finally kicked in, or the stress of the day had eased, but when I closed my eyes and let myself relax against the headrest, I was smiling.
CHAPTER NINE
Arriving in New York was the usual whirlwind. Journalists would crowd into press conferences to ask us questions before opening day, about diet and training and the pure focus they all liked to write about. The US Open was big business, and as the last of the four Grand Slams in the year, it felt like an end-of-term party. Never mind that there were still a bunch of tournaments after it, including the GTA Finals in Singapore that finalised the rankings.
We did all work hard and train hard. Our diets were micromanaged by nutritionists and often personal chefs. But there was a reason we all arrived days before the tournament started: party time.
In London, we’d hidden away in the leafy suburbs, moments away from the stadium. For the US Open, the place to be was Manhattan. The hotels were huge and very fancy, with every kind of restaurant and entertainment right on the doorstep. It made for a fun life, in the days between being driven out to Queens, where we actually played.
My hip was much improved, but I was still working through some stiffness and pain. I hated playing in that not-quite-healed state, as it was basically asking to aggravate it into a worse injury that made me learn some new curse words. The bigger worry was that in trying to shield the hurt part of me, the unnatural movements would upset some other joint or muscle.
Ezi had been having the time of her life with my physio. Though she hated to see me injured, she knew it made me much more dedicated to my programme and eager to heal as fast as possible. It also made the work with her the entire focus of my time, instead of having to squeeze it in around matches and everything else.
She dropped by my suite as I was unpacking, imposing in the doorway at six feet tall even in her running shoes.
“You’re not bending well,” Ezi assessed in two seconds flat, with a soft tut of disappointment. “We might have to modify your serve, at least for the first match.”
“We’ll worry about that tomorrow,” I said. “I’m just stiff from the plane.”
That just earned me a stop-the-bullshit glare. Ezi could have had a gold medal in that, if the Olympics would only make it a sport. She was interrupted by the arrival of Alice, who’d be sharing the suite with me and our mother. Thank God for separate bedrooms.
“Sure these digs are fancy enough?” Alice asked, dropping a pile of bags on the floor of the shared living room. “I mean, is there anything in here that isn’t sculpted from marble or gold?”
It was actually pretty tasteful, with lots of soft touches and very pleasant art on the walls. Only my sister could make it sound like Trump Tower.
“If you don’t like it, I think there’s a backpackers’ hostel…somewhere. If you want to be so authentic.”
“When are you all going to liven up and move to Brooklyn for this? It’s a straighter shot to your little stadium, for a start.”
“We can’t all be ageing hipsters. Now, what do you want to do today? I want to actually see you while we’re here.”
“I thought Ezi would have you locked in the gym by now, honestly.”
“No, she doesn’t pay me enough to do bonus hours,” Ezi complained. “I’m not officially on the clock until tomorrow morning. So I’m going to make the most of being in New York. You two should as well.”
I plucked the plastic folder from my handbag without looking, knowing that Parisa would have placed it there while we were on the plane to Teterboro Airport. Sure enough, it was filled with a stack of invitations and printed requests for my attendance. Sponsors, both of me personally and the tournament, were always keen to have some splashy events. I dropped the pile on the coffee table and gestured for Alice to choose.
“Let’s see…” She began to sift through them, discarding the bland corporate ones right away. “Oh, champagne? Maybe. Something with water polo?”
I shook my head. I wasn’t doing anything that required exerting my hip or wearing a bikini.
“Well, tonight is sorted,” she decided, setting aside a couple of fancy cards that seemed to be exclusively about cocktails. “Let’s start with this little shindig; it’s only a few blocks away. Anna Wintour’s hosting, so you know it’s going to be a good time.”
I had met the infamous fashion editor a few times, since she liked to feature tennis in the magazine whenever she could. I wasn’t hot on her radar in the same way as the girls who really did look like models, but she loved the sport enough to treat me with a great deal of respect. She’d made vague mentions about me doing a cover someday, but to my eternal relief nothing had ever come of it.
“Let’s go,” I said, knowing that if I started stressing about what to wear, we’d never get anywhere. It hadn’t been a long flight, and I didn’t look too crumpled. “What’s the actual event?”
“Something about organic gin and…badminton?” Alice said as we headed down in the elevator. “That doesn’t seem right. But hey, it’s all hitting stuff, right?”
I groaned and fired off a text to Parisa. She would be thrilled that I’d finally shown up to some events without being bribed, coaxed, or dragged. Plus, I wanted her to relax and have some fun too. She could snag all the freebies and promotional stuff and actually use most of it too.
There were press in the lobby as we emerged, but as I’d stayed at the Palace every year for the past five years, I knew how to duck them by that point. After making a sharp turn, we entered a staff-only door by the elevator bank and followed the corridor out to the street.
“Not in the mood for the paparazzi?” Alice teased. “It’s just the Euro press. The Americans don’t really care that much.”
“Still, cameras,” I groaned. “There’ll be plenty at the event, and tonight as well I bet.”
“Good. Wouldn’t want to miss a chance to embarrass you, Elin.” There was just a hint of edge to her voice, like she thought her presence was the reason I’d given a full-body swerve to the public glare.
“You’ve been trying for twenty-seven years and haven’t managed it yet,” I said, and it sounded a lot softer than I meant it to. I just didn’t ever want Alice to doubt that I was proud of her, since I knew beneath her mockery that she was always proud of me. Or I hoped, at least. “Although that winter you had green hair came pretty close.”
“Well, if you ever get sick of blonde…”
“I’ll know green doesn’t suit us. Good note.”
We strode down the sidewalk to the restaurant. The gin company sponsoring it had put up signs that could be seen from space, or at least New Jersey. At least we knew we had the right place.
> Parisa caught up to us at the door, still an expert at running in impossible heels. She and Alice greeted each other with air kisses, and I got a quick hug for my trouble. Parisa had been the advance party, in town for two days already.
“You made it quickly,” I said.
“Your mother was finding things for me to do,” she replied with a shudder. “The only way to escape was if you needed something, so thank you. How come you’re doing the press and promo?”
“Because she’s still in pain, and she’s worried she might crash out early,” Alice answered, linking her arm with Parisa’s and ushering me through the doors. “So she wants to get her face out there, make sure it’s not a waste of time dragging you all here.”
“Alice!” It was a warning and a protest at how quickly she had figured me out. “Not in public, okay? And I’m fine. Ezi has worked her magic.”
I was sure my sister had more to say on the subject, but then she caught sight of a fellow artist in the crowd and was drawn away to talk clay or whatever sculptors actually discussed.
Anyway, she was wrong. I’d been a little sore for matches before, and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference.
Two points. That’s how close I came to losing my first-round match—to an unseeded twenty-year-old. From Belarus. A country even I hadn’t visited, despite my considerable air miles.
And my hip was almost entirely to blame.
When I finally got off court after two hours, I relented on the painkilling shots I’d been leaving for a last resort. If I was going to get past anyone else, I was going to have to accept that additional help.
I spent the start of my next day off in the gym, headphones firmly in place. I knew what speculation would be going on, about my recent injury and the fact I’d come so close to losing to a relative unknown in the first round. Sports media was populated by sharks, and they had their first scent of blood in the water.
Don’t get me wrong; I knew I was lucky to have had so many great headlines and back page splashes. I’d done well from magazines and even the big sports blogs, but it took a hell of a lot of work to get that kind of buzz. What they relished, and what probably sold more papers, was a shocking loss or a hint of scandal. Throw in the tragedy of injury or a personal feud, and the reporters after each match were practically salivating.
Back in the hotel suite, safe from prying eyes, I decided it was no kind of time to stay indoors and wallow. That used to be my preferred way of handling the tougher stuff, but with time I’d realised that I had to face my problems head on. Being up and being active made that much more possible. Besides, I had actually won, in the end.
I knew that the best part of big cities was that nobody paid close attention. With the entire tennis circus in town, attention would be spread across many famous faces, making me just one of many. It was the perfect environment to go out and get a little culture.
While I got dressed in my favourite jeans and a T-shirt not actually designed to play sport in, I flipped on the television coverage for the day. Having been so entrenched in all things recovery, I hadn’t really paid attention to the tournament draw beyond my first-round opponent and whether Celeste was on the same side of the bracket or not.
Okay, fine, I had also checked to see who Toni was facing. She had a tricky match that day against Keiko Kobayashi, the thirteenth seed and one of my best friends on the tour. Most people hated that kind of draw when they were low in the rankings or just starting out. But if Toni was anything like me, she’d be thrilled to draw such a big challenge. An early chance to prove herself and a big name to take down if she won.
Was she any match for Keiko? The little I’d watched since becoming aware of Toni properly wasn’t conclusive. For a moment, I considered calling the concierge and asking them to get me a seat in the players’ section for it. Then I realised two things: It was on one of the outer courts, where there was no players’ section, and the match had already started.
So I didn’t make it any further than the couch for a while. I raided the mini bar for some juice and settled down to see if Toni would make any impact against Keiko. There was some chance, at least. Keiko had been out most of the previous season after knee surgery and wasn’t yet back to her best. A year younger than me, she was clearly feeling the ravages of a long career too.
To listen to everyone’s laundry list of injuries and complaints, it was easy to forget we were amongst some of the fittest people in the world. All sportspeople ended up the same, give or take a few lucky ones here and there. We got our bodies into the best physical condition, and then we pushed them past their limits time and again.
Keiko looked sharp and held her serve as seamlessly as ever. Having to break her was a challenge for anyone, but Toni managed it in the fifth game. The determination on her face was evident even with the camera zoomed out.
My phone lit up with a message from my mother. I ignored it.
I turned my attention back to the television. Keiko had settled into a kind of groove, flicking her long fringe out of her eyes. How she could play with that kind of irritation I had no idea, but most players’ haircuts or style changes fell firmly in the superstition bracket. It had been a few years since Keiko had handed me my ass in Melbourne, reminding the tennis world I wasn’t invincible after all. Coming off the year of my Golden Slam—winning all four majors in the same calendar year and polishing it off with a gold medal at the London Olympics—the media frenzy had been immense. Personally, I’d been relieved that people were talking about me like a human being again.
No matter what Keiko threw at her, Toni kept coming back. She was giving as good as she got and playing like she’d never been injured. I’d never missed more than a couple of months at a time, but even I had adapted my game to allow for wear and tear over the years. I envied that fearlessness, but I worried about it all the same.
Alice came back from whichever merry brunch she’d been at during the last set. I nodded in acknowledgement, unable to tear my eyes from the screen. Toni, much to her own obvious enjoyment, had almost broken Keiko and in the enviable position of holding two match points. Which meant—in layman’s terms—that she had two clear chances to win the thing before Keiko could draw even again or neutralise her.
It was also the kind of moment in which less experienced players tended to choke.
Some of the most accomplished players had come back from Keiko’s position, even in major finals, to clean up and claim the match that seemed rightfully theirs on paper. I was one of them. My mother had told me early on that the points on the board didn’t matter until the match was over. What mattered going into each point was who believed they could win it. Belief trumped a head start if it was strong enough.
“Who’s got you so fascinated?” Alice teased, sitting on the couch opposite and kicking her feet up on the coffee table. “You missed a great breakfast, by the way.”
“Shush!” I warned, as Keiko served again. The rally was short. Sharp. Fierce. And it ended with Toni smashing the ball into a corner that Keiko couldn’t reach.
“Game, set, match, Ms Cortes Ruiz,” said the umpire, his steady tones contrasting with the crowd erupting on all sides.
Toni was on the ground, prostrate in front of the crowd. In love with an underdog as always, they were raising the non-existent roof on her behalf. After scrambling back to her feet, Toni jogged to the net in a daze, shaking Keiko’s hand and accepting muttered words of congratulation. They each shook the umpire’s hand, and Toni raised her hands in acknowledgement of the crowd again.
“Well, that is a shocker,” Mira’s voice said, in post-match commentary. Awesome; she’d branched out from the BBC. No wonder, really, with her experience, but I dreaded to think what she’d be saying about me on television in the coming days. “A real first-round upset, a result that no one would have predicted looking at the draw.”
“Jim,” she addressed her co-co
mmentator, both of them still off-screen as the cameras lingered on Toni and Keiko packing up and leaving court. “Does this mean Ruiz is back on track? Before her injury layoff, there was a lot of speculation that she was ready to step up and bag her first slam.”
“Well, I don’t think she’s at that level yet, Mira.”
Good for you, Jim, I thought. Too many people just agreed with every word she said out of deference. Clearly he had his own opinion.
“No, but has she rediscovered that potential?” Mira didn’t sound pleased at being challenged.
“Oh, for sure, and beating a top seed is always a huge confidence boost. Still, the draw hasn’t been kind to our new giant killer, because next round she faces… Well, let’s have a look at the brackets, shall we?”
The screen brought up the draw and zoomed in on my collision course with Toni, just two rounds away.
“That’s right, Jim, the reward for an unexpected victory—and she has every chance against a lower ranked player in the second round—is to face the top seed and world number one, Elin Larsson. Reward or punishment?”
I tossed the remote aside and leaned back on the cushions with a groan.
“Let’s ask the lady herself,” Jim said, approaching Toni who was coming into shot with her tracksuit top on and racquet bag over her shoulder. Her smile could have powered the Eastern seaboard, bright and beaming. “Antonia Cortes Ruiz, you’ve just knocked out the number thirteen seed, Keiko Kobayashi. How does that feel?”
“Honestly? Kind of amazing. I didn’t know if I had a chance, but it just started going my way.”
“Well, you looked very settled out there, very sure of yourself. Is this your real comeback from injury now? Can you get back to the level you were before?”
The crinkle of a frown between her eyebrows. Jim could have phrased that better.
“I hope so. I’ve worked really hard, and my coach and team have done everything they can to get me back here.”