Slammed

by Lola Keeley

  I understood in that moment what I had been asking Alice to give up just for the sake of a holiday. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I hope no one ever says anything that needs me to smack them in the mouth, because I don’t want you to have to hear it. Just know if they ever did, I would have your back. Every time.”

  “You’re not such a bad sister, sometimes,” Alice admitted, pulling away from me. “But maybe this is what happened with Toni, a little bit. You said something harmless to you, but you didn’t realise what it sounded like to her? It’s just an idea; I’m not saying you’re in the wrong.”

  I pressed the button to unlock my car and walked towards it. “I think you might have a point. Come over before I leave, yeah?”

  “If I have time. I have a date tomorrow. But you’ll get details on that later,” Alice told me. We each reversed out in our separate cars and headed out the same direction until I turned down onto Mulholland and enjoyed the rolling hills with their killer views all the way home.

  I got a friendly reminder e-mail from the shirts at the GTA after I officially registered for the Madrid Open. I silently told them to go screw themselves and finished packing for my trip home.

  Toni stayed in touch; I had to give her that much credit. But by the time I landed in Stockholm, it all felt a little too strained. I decided to let her off the hook, as much as it pained me to type every word.

  Going to sea with my dad for a few days, will be out of contact. Kick butt in Colombia, see you in Madrid x

  Of course, she didn’t reply all that quickly, but when she did it was about the best reply I could have hoped for, considering.

  I really miss you Elin

  What else could I tell her but the truth?

  I miss you too

  I left it at that, because there was no way to change what was happening over the next few weeks anyway. It would give me time and space to work out what to do about the drug testing problem and also check in on my parents and how their divorce was progressing. My mother had told me very little beyond checking I was sticking to my non-competition training schedule.

  Spring in Sweden was a bracing slap in the face after months in tropical climates. I came out of the gate at Arlanda to find my father waiting for me, bundled up in a sensible coat and carrying one for me. He knew by now I was never quite adjusted enough, and I pulled it on gladly as we walked to the car.

  “I’m glad you came, äskling.”

  “Me too, Pappa. Hey, did you ever speak to Alice about why she doesn’t like to come home?”

  He nodded. “It’s not a problem, as long as we’re fit enough to travel. One day when we’re not, she agreed we’ll talk about it then.”

  “I didn’t know,” I replied. “Am I a bad person? A bad sister to not realise?”

  “No, no. Alice is happy, her life is good. She doesn’t dwell on the little things that might still bring her down. And honey, you’re busy. Now, do you want to choose the radio station?”

  I reached out to press the buttons and scan for something, but my father playfully knocked my hand away. “Remember, Elin. If you want to pick the music, you have to be driving the car.”

  I groaned. Some things really didn’t change.

  After one of my gym sessions the following week, we met up at the Kulturhuset, the cinema and arts centre that I used to hang around in the little free time I had as a teenager. My dad had it in mind to see some German movie that he’d heard about, and I was in the mood to humour him since my mother had gone to some coaches’ retreat in Spain. I tried not to think about how much closer that probably put her to Toni now that she’d be done with her South American tournament. It was going to be the best part of a month before I would seeing her again.

  “Now Elin, I made sure they have subtitles since I know your German is terrible these days.”

  “I can follow along,” I said, lying only a little. “Actually, could we just grab coffee for now? Maybe catch a later showing?” The glass-walled building made a busy but pleasant spot to sit and watch the world go by. I didn’t get to do that very often.

  He still guided me through crowds with a protective hand at my back. When I’d first started playing in front of big crowds, he’d been my unofficial bodyguard. What I liked most about being back here was how little anyone cared about celebrity, that even when they recognised me they almost never reacted. It was as close to anonymity as I got, and I felt so much better for it.

  We found a table for two with a view out over the square and the bustle of the cafe behind us.

  “Your mother tells me you have a new woman on the scene,” he began, stirring his hot chocolate. “Do I know her?”

  “You and Mamma still talk?”

  “We’re getting divorced, not going to war. We talk. The house is going to sell, it’s fine.”

  I sipped my coffee. “Well, as long as you still gossip about us kids, I suppose it’s okay. You don’t know Toni, but you’d like her. Assuming she is still dating me. I guess we’ll find out in Madrid.” The texts had tapered out again, and I was feeling sorry for myself.

  “You know, I have instructions to tell you that retirement is not so fun. That you’ll miss your world when you leave it, that you won’t know what to do with your days.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. My mother really did work every angle.

  “I think the time’s coming,” I said. “Not quite yet, but the next injury, the next bad run… I don’t see me coming back from that. Which is fine; I have plans. But I got it into my head, thinking about a family of my own…”

  My father’s face lit up. Great, I’d just started the “when do I get grandchildren” countdown. Rookie mistake.

  “Anyway, I probably scared Toni off by thinking out loud.”

  “If she’s meant to be, she won’t scare so easily,” my father said. “And you retire when you’re ready. There’s always a space for you on the boat.”

  “Oh great, that fixes everything,” I said. “You won’t be disappointed? I know you don’t come to all the matches now, but you got me into all this, just as much as Mamma.”

  He took my hand, all reassurance and gruff affection. “You’ll never disappoint me, Elin. Now, I’m going to browse the stores downstairs. Why don’t you call this lady friend of yours and make things a little less distant, hmm?”

  “That might not be enough.”

  “No way my girl gives up that easily,” he insisted. “Now, don’t come downstairs until you feel better about it all.”

  What choice did I have?

  I called Toni without second guessing or checking her playing schedule. I just tapped her name and made it happen. Direct action—that was the right idea. What had taken me so long?

  It rang for almost too long, but just before I gave up the line clicked into life.

  “Toni, hi, I know it’s going to be a while before I see you, but I was just thinking—”

  “Antonia is in for her sports massage,” Mira responded. “And she’s trying very hard to improve her ranking before May, so if you care for her Elin, you’ll keep it to minimum contact.

  “Did she ask you to field calls from me?” I would rather the call had just gone to voicemail.

  “Yes, we’re developing a good system, just the two of us. She just wants to focus on tennis, nothing else too serious.”

  Wow. That had to be a reaction to my stupid rambling about the future and my plans. Toni had been so freaked out she had Mira running interference between us.

  “It’s just a chat, Mira.” I tried to brush it off. “Wish her luck from me and I’ll…see her whenever.”

  Making my way downstairs, I saw my father waiting by the doors. Only then did I notice that he’d aged, that the tall stocky man I was used to had begun to stoop a little, his shoulders seemed a little less broad. When he noticed me, I forced myself to plaster a smile on my
face and gave him a thumbs up. No need to disappoint him the way I’d ruined things for myself.

  The call came on the Friday, the day before I left for the Madrid Open.

  “Miss Larsson, we have you scheduled for your press conference on Monday at 11 a.m.,” the man from the GTA told me. “We’d appreciate if you could issue that apology before your first match commences.”

  They had realised how little tennis I was playing, despite being fit. Madrid was going to be my last warmup for the French Open too, so they’d have a limited window to get a punishment approved. Sink or swim time.

  Which didn’t mean I had to let them in on my plans.

  “Of course, that would be a perfect venue for my statement,” I agreed. Not that I had decided what that statement might be. Parisa was on the trail of some kind of e-mail or memo that confirmed the extra testing of players who weren’t white. “Thanks for the reminder.”

  “We really would like to put all this behind us. I’m sure you understand.” I understood all too well. Their office politics also didn’t bother me anywhere near as much as the prospect of being around Toni again.

  “Oh, I understand completely. Do watch for my comments.”

  It wasn’t career suicide if I did it for good reasons, surely?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I went into a kind of hibernation mode, insisting on no visitors once I checked in to my Madrid hotel, and I booked private sessions as early as possible on the practice courts. My mother was thrilled, but Parisa pulled me aside on the Sunday.

  “You know Toni left messages for you at reception. Something about changing her number.”

  Well, that was something. Not exactly an explanation for why I’d heard nothing since Mira picked up, but close enough. I shrugged off Toni’s concerns, ignored the messages, and threw myself into a daily routine of exercise, meditation, and shutting the world out with my headphones. Lonely, sure, but I’d never felt more focused on the task ahead.

  It was fun to be back on clay. Most of the courts year-round were hard like at the US and Australian Opens, but the distinctive red dirt gave a bounce and a way of playing that challenged all of us. There were specialists who kicked ass every year in France and Spain, only to wilt on grass at Wimbledon soon after. I was lucky enough to be an all-surface kind of player, but I couldn’t rely on speed here like I usually did. I had to be much more strategic, and even then, weird things would still happen that I couldn’t account for.

  More than the tennis, I was keyed up for the press conference. Others would talk before and after me, the first glimpse of the top seeds before we launched into a fast and furious week where winning meant playing a full match every day.

  I kept the music playing in my ears until the last possible moment, removing my headphones only once I was seated. The same inane questions started us off: How was I playing, was I fit, did I think I could win the tournament? I gave routine answers that didn’t require much thought. I wondered how far the GTA would go in forcing me to talk about the drug-testing problem. I hadn’t discussed anything even close to it, and my allocated time was ticking down.

  Sure enough, a man I didn’t recognise shot his hand up and asked his question even though I was calling on someone in front of him. I watched him, the camera flashes and noise of the crowd fading out for me.

  “Miss Larsson, before you took some time off you raised some questions about the tour’s drug testing. Is there anything else you want to say on that?”

  There was the engineered opportunity, and all I had to do was take it.

  “I did mention that, because the women affected by unfair and biased testing were right to fear that they would face retribution for mentioning it in public. I offered to raise the subject because I have a certain amount of privilege and I wanted to use it for good, but not to speak for those women.”

  The murmurs went around the room.

  “It turns out they were right to be worried about that. I’ve already been threatened with fines and a playing ban just for asking the question. Which makes you think, doesn’t it? If there’s no problem, no racist policy, then why would anyone warn me not to talk about it?”

  Faking innocence wasn’t going to convince anyone, so I said it about as straight and sarcastic as it felt. The room knew what was up, and I got sympathetic looks from some of the regular journalists who’d been covering me for years.

  “So I guess I’d just ask the GTA to release some figures that clear this whole mess up. If there’s no problem, they shouldn’t have any problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a match to get warmed up for.”

  I left the room with my phone already ringing, vibrating away in my pocket it. I ignored it for the short walk to the practice courts, where I hit the crap out of any ball unlucky enough to get near me. After that, my first-round opponent didn’t know what hit her. She retired in the second set, and it felt like a mercy killing.

  I repeated the process on the Tuesday, swapping the press conference for coffee with Celeste and Keiko, the most social I’d been since hanging around Stockholm with my dad.

  “They really came for you in Miami?” Celeste asked, frowning at her kale smoothie.

  “I’m surprised I wasn’t handcuffed with the trophy still in my hands,” I said. “You know this just means you were right. I’m happy to be the target if it means you get actual justice for this. I didn’t get tested after winning yesterday. You?”

  Celeste nodded but Keiko shook her head. “I bet I get pulled in today, though. I can’t tell you the last time I got more than two matches without a test.”

  “And I got one test in Miami, despite winning the whole thing. What are they up to?” I wondered out loud.

  “You have to figure they’re protecting someone, in this case another one of the white players getting tested as little as you. Or they suspect someone after Xavi, and all they know it’s the coach of one of the women of colour, so they want to flush that out.” Celeste laid out the options nice and clear. “Or it’s a random pattern that’s somehow going wrong, and they don’t want to fix it even though they have to know about it by now.”

  “That about sums it up,” Keiko agrees. “I really don’t need this bullshit; my year has already been up and down like a yo-yo. Hey, where’s the plus one? Celeste told me you and Ruiz are a thing now.”

  I glanced around the lounge on instinct, but Toni was nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t on until the evening match. At least I thought so; I had deliberately avoided looking at the brackets this time out.

  “Yeah, well, we’re not joined at the hip. And it’s… You know, it’s nothing serious so don’t start with me, you two. Shouldn’t we be…saving the sport or something?”

  We cracked up laughing at that. “Anyway, I haven’t heard anything since they called about the press conference. No shady suits showing up at my door. Let them investigate and maybe all the extra testing will stop.” Toni appeared then, with Mira at her side. Nobody else had brought their coach into the players’ lounge with them, and I took it as my cue to leave.

  And like I said, it was just like the day before. This time we made it through the whole second set, but I was done with the match in less than an hour. It was rare I got the chance to double-bagel someone, but sure enough it finished 6-0, 6-0. Efficiency felt good, and I resigned myself to another quiet night in. It wouldn’t make me particularly happy, but it was going to be great for my ranking points and my bank balance.

  Wednesday brought the third round and the chance to watch Sarah Harrow in the match before mine. She kept her temper this time and disposed of Fatima over the full three sets, shocking just about everyone. I was glad to have avoided her so far, and I really didn’t fancy a rematch when the little punk had the wind in her sails. Luckily, we couldn’t meet before the semis on Friday.

  I didn’t get such an easy run, but I did get a win. When I was asked to step
aside on the way to the locker room, I thought I might finally be getting a drugs test. For a moment I panicked, wondering if someone would falsify my result to get me in real trouble. That was a paranoid thought too far.

  Instead of a bored-looking nurse and a plastic cup, I was brought into another sort of storage room where the same three suits from Miami were waiting for me. Clearly the Global Tennis Association let its staff rack up the miles along with the players and umpires.

  “You didn’t retract your statement,” the tallest one says, his comb-over a little tragic under the fluorescent lights. “In fact, Miss Larsson, you doubled down.”

  “I did.” I pulled myself onto the desk to sit, in the absence of any chairs. “Why? Because nobody has answered the original questions I raised. We want proof the testing is fair, and that women of colour are not being targeted. It’s that simple.”

  “You’ll be invited to a meeting next week,” the short, rounder version of Mr Suit interrupted. “At which a fine will be levied. Can we assume you won’t attend?”

  I pointed at him and winked, full of confidence I didn’t entirely feel. “You’ve been paying attention.”

  “Then we will proceed with further disciplinary action immediately. Regardless of where you finish in this competition, it will be announced on Saturday that you are suspended from all GTA Tour events for thirty days. Ninety if there are further incidents.”

  “On what charge?”

  “Bringing the game into disrepute. We’ll also be consulting our legal team on the libellous nature of your comments.”

  “It’s not libel if they’re true,” I argued, hoping that was right. “Also, shouldn’t this be some long process? Lots of answering to a panel of people in different locations, then it takes two months to even decide when the decision will be?”

  “We can take decisive action when the behaviour merits it,” Tall Suit said, enjoying himself far too much. “You’ll have an opportunity to appeal, of course.”