Slammed

by Lola Keeley

  I made my way back to bed, sighing into my pillow as I let sleep pull me back under.

  By the time I reached the airport, I had a replacement phone, but there were no new messages from Toni when the SIM pinged back to life. It still bothered me that she might have come to the door and I missed her by being asleep. Then again, if she really wanted to talk to me there had been other opportunities.

  I didn’t pick up a paper, and I ignored every other alert on my phone. It was only when we landed in LA that a headline caught my eye from the kiosk. Even my bad mood couldn’t erase the habit of picking out Toni’s name whenever it cropped up, and there it was, splashed all over the news about Xavi being busted for doping. My heart started to thump against my ribcage as I took in the whole impact of it. A scandal like that could burn down everything. Anyone tainted by it could be out of tennis for life.

  Jogging over to the newsstand, I paid for a copy of the LA Times and flipped over to the sports section. A quick skim of the opening paragraphs confirmed that Toni had been kept for hours for extended testing. Which also explained why she wouldn’t have had access to her phone. While I’d been thinking the worst of her—that she would deliberately blow me off—she had been having a terrible experience that had most likely tarnished her whole victory. My mouth went dry as I read it all.

  The glimmer of hope was that Toni had been cleared since she received a negative test result, but it said that further tests were still pending. It had completely reduced her win to a punchline in the overall scandal, and I wanted to hit something on her behalf.

  They’d brought my car around for me, so as soon as I was clear of the maze of LAX, I called her on hands-free.

  “Toni, I’m so sorry,” I blurted out as soon as she picked up. I got a stifled sob in response. “Listen, I know you’ve done nothing wrong. So do the media; they’re just burying that fact halfway down the page. Are you okay?”

  “It’s ruined everything,” Toni said, her voice hoarse. “I was so happy, and I just went to pick up my bag before I came to your room. They were waiting for me like… I feel like a criminal.”

  When I replied it was through clenched teeth. “Parisa will know what to do. Interviews or dignified silence, whatever she comes up with will be the right move.”

  “I’m not talking to anyone. I wasn’t even going to answer your call.”

  “You still coming to California?”

  “My flight is in three hours. But Elin—”

  “Come to mine first, okay? I’ll text you my address. We can travel down together Tuesday morning.”

  “No, I’m toxic right now. I think Parisa’s advice would be…”

  I gripped the steering wheel tighter, glad that traffic was moving pretty smoothly. My car was straining at the speed limit, and I had to resist the urge to just floor it.

  “If she told you to stay away from me, I’ll fire her.” Parisa had been with me six years, had improved my life and my career at every turn, but I wouldn’t stand by and let Toni be thrown to the wolves. “Okay, maybe I’ll just sulk with her for a really long time, but if she said anything like that, it’s just reflex. She’s always trying to protect me. I don’t need to be protected from you.”

  “That’s the first thing anyone’s said that makes me feel any better,” Toni admitted, snuffling a little. “Abuela tried, but she had to get home.”

  “Well, in a few hours you’ll be here. I’ll have a car service at the airport for you, just look for the sign. Actually, I’ll have the sign say Larsson in case the press are lurking. Okay? Just look for it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s no problem. Just come get some privacy and get back to enjoying your win. We’ll deal with the media and the ex-coaches and everything else tomorrow.”

  Alice popped over not long after I returned home, to drop off a piece I’d admired at her gallery on my last visit. In return, she got to laugh herself silly at my attempts to tidy an already spotless house and staged an intervention when I got carried away setting up one of the guest rooms.

  “For the love of… Elin, when she gets here, please don’t have the fact you set up a separate room be the first thing you mention. I am amazed sometimes that you’re not still a virgin.”

  “Excuse me, Toni is having a professional crisis.”

  “All the more reason to have some personal fun, wouldn’t you say?” Alice closed the guest room door behind us and ushered me back downstairs. “Especially on the same day as she has to deal with LAX. That saps the life from anyone who passes through it. Wait, how is she here already?”

  I looked to the driveway and groaned. Car service, yes, but not bringing Toni to me.

  “Mamma,” I told her, and Alice took up residence on the sofa. “She was supposed to be going straight to the club.”

  “Then you’d probably better get us a drink. Oh, did you hear it’s supposed to rain later in the week?” Los Angeles residents were usually rendered useless by rain, the city grinding to a halt. Southern California was sunny and dry, and we liked it that way for a reason.

  “It never rains at Indian Wells,” I reminded my sister, grabbing a bottle of white from the wine fridge and a couple of glasses. I was sticking to juice, with play picking up tomorrow.

  “Elin!” my mother called, and I temporarily regretted giving her the keypad combination. No, actually, nothing all that temporary about the regret. “I let you go to Mexico on the condition you train well and stay out of the headlines. What the hell is going on?”

  “First of all, you didn’t let me do anything.”

  My mother strode past me with a pronounced sigh.

  “What I was doing is supporting a friend. Someone who’s very important to me, who hasn’t done anything wrong when it comes to doping or cheating. She’ll be here in a couple of hours, and I want you to remember I said that and treat her accordingly.”

  “Plenty of people cheat without knowing, especially if the coaches are the ones bending the rules,” my mother replied. “If they don’t ask what’s in the smoothie, they can’t get in trouble. Or so they think. What do they call that? Denying it?”

  “Plausible deniability,” Alice supplied, being not helpful at all from behind the pages of the Sports Illustrated she was flicking through. In a minute, she’d find my swimsuit shot in there and ruin it for her completely. In a better mood, I might have warned her.

  “Mamma, what does that even mean? If you’ve been secretly putting speed in my vitamin supplements, now would be a terrible time to mention it.”

  My mother fixed me with a look before muttering something in Swedish. I didn’t catch all of it, but the word otacksam—ungrateful—featured heavily.

  The afternoon stretched out into general chatter. Limited updates on the divorce from my mother, who seemed offended that we’d even bring up the subject. Instead, she nagged me to get out on the court out back and do some positional work. I politely refused, and let Alice tell us all about her latest gallery patron, who seemed to think buying one small sculpture meant he owned the place.

  “Whatever happened to the boyfriend?” my mother asked, earning a groan from my sister.

  “He wasn’t quite right for me,” Alice admitted. “Maybe I should give this new patron a go instead. Teach him how to be rich without being a douche.”

  “And Elin? When is your little girlfriend arriving? If she’s in a fit state, you can get that hour of training done after all.”

  I considered my options. We were way past sputtering refusal. “She’s not, yet, but if Toni becomes my girlfriend…is that going to be a problem? Are we going to fight for two years like we did about Celeste? Or with Hanna before her? Or—”

  “Elin, stop rhyming these girls off like I committed some crime against you. Have I ever had a problem with you being gay?”

  Alice sat up straighter, paying attention again. Eithe
r of our parents directly acknowledging this subject was a rare thing.

  “No, but you might have if I told everyone and suddenly got dropped by Adidas, or Morgan Stanley, or—”

  My mother dismissed that with a wave. “You’ve named two who would never drop you. It’s all about diversity now. If any had left, we would have replaced them. My concern about your dating life was never the girls, but your concentration whenever you got crazy about one. And don’t think I don’t see the timing on this either.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We’ve just had a chat about how tennis makes you bored, you’re ready to walk away. We agree we’re going to try for the record before you quit, as long as you feel okay. Then suddenly with just two slams left to win, there’s a new pretty girl on the scene? It’s so like you, Elin.”

  Before I could argue back, we all heard the distinct sound of a car pulling into the drive again.

  “Behave, both of you. And make sure to focus on Toni’s win. That’s what’s important, not some tinpot scandal.”

  I was waiting by the door as she stepped out, the driver insisting on bringing her bags into the hallway for her.

  “Hey,” I said with a hug. “Sorry, I have visitors, but I can get rid of them in a heartbeat.”

  “Nah, people is good. I’m the extrovert, remember? It fuels me.”

  To hell with Mamma and Alice no doubt staring at us. I gave Toni the most reassuring kiss I could conjure up, brief but firm in purpose as I placed my lips over hers. “That, we can talk about whenever. For now, there’s wine and a fresh audience.”

  “Hello!” Toni called out, going over to greet my family. Within moments they were all laughing together, and I leaned against the edge of the staircase, trying not to think about how well they all fit together.

  My mother insisted on cooking, pulling fresh things I didn’t know I had from my fridge. Since her making anything other than open sandwiches was about as rare as a comet almost hitting the Earth, Alice and I were inclined to shut up and let her.

  Luckily, they left soon after dinner, leaving Toni and I with a large, echoing space and some dishes to do. We stood side by side at the sink, some music playing quietly from the speakers in the living room.

  “Your home is beautiful,” she said, and I looked around imagining her fresh perspective on it. The giant windows and stripped floors, the light that touched every corner. Furniture that Parisa and Alice had helped me pick, after I threatened to “just do an Ikea run.” Of course, the view out over the hills sealed the deal, and when we dried our hands, I led her out to the deck.

  “This is my favourite part,” I told her. “As the sun sets, you can only just see the lines of the court, and the breeze sometimes makes the water in the pool splash a bit like the sea. Once it’s dark, it’s like being all alone on the mountain top. Even though it’s not like that in real life at all.”

  “Well, it’s a home fit for a champion. Sorry, goddess. Thank you for inviting me over. A hotel tonight would just have left me alone and crying again. Mira might be improving my game, but she’s not exactly into the cuddling part of it all.”

  “Better to have a hard-ass for your coach than a cuddler,” I replied, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “You can always find someone else for the cuddling part.”

  She didn’t entirely lean into it. “Listen, it’s not just because of Parisa, but I don’t think we can take this anywhere until everything is cleared. I can’t speak out about the biased testing now, and the last thing I need is being accused of sleeping my way to the top. Everyone knows you’re untouchable when it comes to the authorities, and I’d hate for even one person to think I was using you for some kind of immunity.”

  “Oh, Toni…” I wanted so badly to argue, but I understood only too well what she was wrestling with. “You’re right. Of course. I had no expectations, so you know. The guest room is already made up.”

  “Right, good.” She looked disappointed, at least. “Sorry, it was an awkward conversation and I didn’t think we should wait any longer to have it. The minute all this is calm, though…”

  She kissed me soundly before I could ask what, then pulled away with real reluctance.

  “We should turn in,” I suggested. “Big couple of weeks coming up.”

  Parisa and Celeste were waiting for me after my first-round match, which I’d won without too much of a sweat. I hated getting the wildcard in the early rounds, it always seemed to overwhelm them to come up against a name so soon.

  “I got the data,” Parisa explained, waving printed pages briefly under my nose.

  “And it’s actually worse than the anecdotal evidence,” Celeste finished the thought for her. “But we don’t know what the next step should be. From me, it sounds like just being angry. Cortes Ruiz they’ll say she’s covering her ass after finally getting back in the trophies. Keiko doesn’t feel confident about leading some kind of movement.”

  I considered them both for a moment, scanning the information but not taking much in. The vague feeling that had been nagging at me since Celeste first mentioned it crystallised in that moment. I knew what I had to do, even though the thought of doing it made me feel weak in the knees.

  “It should be me,” I said. “Making it very clear I don’t speak for women of colour, because they’re more than capable of doing so. But as a white, cis woman and world number one in the sport, I have a responsibility to take the heat when a whistle needs to be blown.”

  “Are you sure?” Celeste asked. She had her hands on her hips, almost challenging me. “I know you wouldn’t talk over us, but there’s a real chance the GTA won’t take it well. It could affect your prize money or even your endorsements.”

  “Sure, because I haven’t made enough money already from this sport,” I replied, biting back a laugh. Parisa smiled at me, but with a hint of warning. She didn’t want me to stop bringing in the money yet.

  “Elin, they really don’t want this story to happen,” Parisa said, tapping her foot on the floor, impatient with our sudden enthusiasm. “There’s a chance they’ll make an example of you.”

  “So let them,” I said, lifting my chin and squaring my shoulders to show I wasn’t intimidated. I almost convinced myself. “I have nothing to lose, and everything to win. This sport has been changed and improved, time and time again, by women who stood up and said ‘enough.’ Do better. Be fairer. That’s all we’d be doing—continuing that great tradition.”

  Celeste nodded, her rigid posture relaxing at last. If this had been some kind of test on her part, I seemed to have passed. I clenched my fist in silent resolve not to let anyone down.

  “Okay.” Parisa held her hands up, accepting my decision. “Celeste, let’s go through what we already talked about.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Tennis became almost the secondary concern as that first week at Indian Wells wore on. Every hour seemed to bring a new piece of gossip, new confirmation of someone being over-tested, and along the way some actual matches were played too.

  Toni practically confined herself to her room once we checked in for the tournament. I didn’t get to spend much time with her, but in competitive mode I had a busy schedule to stick to anyway. As angry as events off-court were making me, it had been years since I’d enjoyed my tennis this much.

  Was I trying to make up for everyone else having a rough time? Or was it just one of those purple patches with no nagging injuries, no tricky opposition, and just general good luck? It felt like every ball I hit landed exactly where I imagined and nothing was out of my reach to return. Even in fairly routine wins there was usually a moment of panic, a pushback that I wasn’t expecting, but I went two full matches without any of that drama.

  I met with Celeste for lunch in the players’ dining room, a welcome respite from wandering the grounds and trying to remain unnoticed. Although the grounds held
two huge stadiums, the country club feel could be a little too intimate most days.

  “Hey.” She greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, looking smart and relaxed in her lemon-coloured shift dress. Her hair was expertly styled in short twists, and Celeste managed to look both strong and elegant as she took the seat opposite me. “You all set for later?”

  “Think so,” I said. My next match, third round, was scheduled for the main stadium late afternoon—the prime-time slot. “So assuming I win, and they don’t call me in for testing, I’ll take the first shot in the post-match.”

  “It won’t be a lot of press, though,” Celeste warned. “But enough, probably.”

  “It’s going to take more than one mention. Every match we play is just adding to the stats at this point. So I’ll try—they may not even listen to me. I just don’t want someone else being cracked down on if I can do it with a little protection.”

  “White privilege had to be good for something eventually,” Celeste teased. “Mentioning it now is going to bring up the whole doping mess, and Toni. You want to get entangled with that?”

  “I’m already kind of entangled with part of that anyway,” I admitted. “Since the rumours are already doing the rounds, I thought I might as well tell you. Not that a scandal is exactly making for prime dating conditions.”

  I wanted so badly for Celeste to be happy for me, but there was no smile forthcoming. Just a half-nod of acknowledgement. “Okay. Well, good luck with that.”

  “I know, we have to focus on bigger problems than my love life.” I raised a glass to her. “You want to be at my press conference, then?”

  “I’ll hang around to watch in back, unless that puts you off?”

  “It’s okay, C. You know nothing distracts me.”

  I didn’t quite carry that much swagger into my post-match press conference. While the first two rounds only merited a brief chat with one or two reporters, now the gaggle was starting to gather after each match. Journalists wanted to speculate on how I’d fare in the quarterfinal, which it turned out would be some rising star from Canada whose name I couldn’t seem to retain.