by Lola Keeley
I didn’t know what to say to her.
I never did really, after matches like that. I considered some platitude or other, but as I turned to say it, she unleashed a torrent of Spanish with her head pressed against her own locker door, racquet bag still over her shoulder. Something about madre and then something else about leche. The speed and the furious tone made me glad that while I spoke fluent French, Swedish, and English, with a decent grasp of German, I had never been able to retain much in Spanish beyond dos cervezas, por favor. All the more annoying when I didn’t even drink beer.
Hoping it wouldn’t backfire, I dropped my things in the locker and turned to comfort her. “Hey, it was a good match.”
“Are you kidding?” She faced me then, dark eyes flashing. “It’s nice of you to patronise me, but that was a massacre out there.”
I shrugged. “Sorry? I mean, you know how it is. We’re all friends until the coin toss, then it’s every woman for herself.”
“6-1, 6-1 is not exactly a great match,” Toni argued. “Damn, I knew you were good. You were great the last time we played, but at least I felt I was in it that time. At one point I thought the line judge was going to forfeit the match for me out of pity.”
“Oh, come on,” I said, reaching out to squeeze her arm. “It wasn’t that bad. Sometimes when a rhythm builds up…”
“Well, if I had to have my ass handed to me, I’m glad it was by you.” Toni’s groan as she said it suggested ‘glad’ was still quite a way off. “Don’t you have to go do your press conference now? Tell the world how you swept me aside?”
“In a few minutes.” They’d come looking for me; Parisa would already be watching the clock. “If it’s any consolation, I really didn’t enjoy it.”
“You didn’t enjoy beating me?” Toni looked faintly amused. “Do you usually enjoy it? With other people?”
“Oh yes.” I nodded my head harder than I needed to. “I mean, I wouldn’t still be doing this if I didn’t love crushing mere mortals, would I?” It was a joke, of course. Please, let her have taken it as one.
“I guess I did call you a goddess and all. Didn’t realise it would go to your head.”
God help me, she actually reached across and rapped her knuckles gently on my head, as though checking for a hollow sound. I think my knees were close to buckling.
“Elin!” Parisa called from the hallway.
I sighed. “Duty calls.”
“Tell them I was gracious in defeat. And when you come back, you can tell me where we’re getting that drink tonight.”
“You really want to get a drink with me?”
“It might be nice to do it on purpose, instead of just finding you hiding in a bar, right?”
“Well, we could meet at my hotel—”
Toni raised an eyebrow.
“No, wait! I mean it has this fancy cocktail bar, on the roof? But you probably know a bunch of cooler places in Brooklyn or something, right?”
“Brooklyn?” Toni shuddered, and I mentally awarded myself a point over Alice. “If I wanted to drink out of jars and see men with terrible beards, there are cheaper ways. No, I like fancy. Where are you staying?”
“Elin!” Great. Mother had joined forces with Parisa in the hallway. There must have been some big-name journalists waiting instead of just the stringers.
“Coming! I’m at the Palace. If you’re gone before I’m done, I’ll see you there at seven?”
“Nice and early. I guess you do have a quarterfinal to prepare for.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all good,” Toni assured me, and just to compound my state of panic, she leaned in to kiss me lightly on the cheek. No big deal. With my closer friends we did it all the time, over the net at the end of matches. Greeting each other at events. No. Big. Deal.
So why was my cheek tingling? Why did I feel myself blushing like I had a sudden, noticeable sunburn? If Toni noticed, she was classy enough not to say anything.
“Go knock ’em dead,” she commanded, and I found myself on auto pilot towards the door. I pulled my sweatband off and shoved it in the pocket of my tracksuit. Fixing my fringe, I let my hair down and mussed it enough to make it look intentional before facing my mother and Parisa.
“Okay,” I said, all business as the door closed behind me. “What am I saying out there?”
Alice was treating herself to an in-room massage when I returned.
“I think that was probably meant for me,” I said, rotating my aching shoulders to drive the point home.
“Oh, Miss Larsson, there was a booking for two, so you can go right after.”
I smiled at her. The girl looked barely twenty, even in her professional white scrubs.
“No problem,” I said, throwing myself down on the sofa next to the massage table. “Make sure you really dig in on her lower back, though.”
Alice flipped me off from where she looked perfectly blissed out under a white towel. “Ignore her, I have a disc problem there.”
“O…kay?”
“Sorry,” I said, not wanting to get our poor masseuse in trouble because of sisters and our endless games. “I’m Elin, by the way.”
“Jasmine. And uh, I know. I’m a really big fan. When I played tennis in school, I used to always pretend to be you.” She dipped her head at the admission. “Sorry, is that really sad?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s sweet. Honestly.”
“If you’re going to keep talking and ruin my bliss, could you at least bring me some gossip?” Alice demanded. I stood up and started prowling the bedroom for something to keep me occupied. I was deliberately not looking at my phone, not for at least an hour. No matter how often it beeped.
“No gossip,” I replied. “I mean, I won my match. But you don’t usually care too much about that stuff.”
Alice answered with a grunt as Jasmine finished up working on her shoulders.
“Then why are you pacing like a caged tiger? Usually after you win, you’re the happiest girl on earth.”
“I’m happy. Well, I didn’t love beating Toni or anything, but that’s the game, right?”
“Toni, is it?”
“Don’t start.”
Alice probably had more teasing in store, but when she looked over at me, I nodded at Jasmine, who moved off to clean her hands and pick out from fresh towels from her bag. Not in front of outsiders.
I sat back down on the sofa. “It wasn’t personal. It’s our job. My career. She understands.”
“I think that’s called being a good loser,” Alice said. “I mean, if she hates you, she’s hardly going to say so to your face, is she?”
“She doesn’t hate me. If she did, why would we be going for drinks tonight?”
That got my sister up and off the table. I looked aside as she covered up, the deference to privacy I’d learned in her teen years, no matter how close we were.
When Jasmine returned with a towel for me, I shed my clothes quickly and got on the table. I was more than used to a brisk sports massage, and I needed it, having skipped the post-match ice bath.
Usually, Alice would wander off and leave me to it, but the promise of some juicy news kept her in place, pulling her robe on as she took my spot on the couch. “And are these drinks some big group event?”
“No…not that I know of. I invited her here. There’s some privacy at least. And you’ve seen the drinks menu. It’s pretty impressive.”
“Should you even be drinking mid-tournament?”
“I’ll have one or two. What? Are you going to tell on me to Mamma?”
“Tell me what?” Of course Mother chose that moment to return. She’d gone off to complain to the concierge about something when we got back from Queens.
“Nothing, Mamma,” I assured her. “Could I have some peace for my massage, both of you? I
t doesn’t exactly relax me to have to talk to you both like this.”
Jasmine began working my calves, and I sighed in relief. I hadn’t realised how tight those muscles where until her capable fingers started digging.
“Alice, komma.”
There was no arguing with mother in that tone, so Alice got up from the sofa.
“Elin, we need to talk about your footwork later. You can’t be that sloppy next time out.”
“Yes, Mamma.” Of course Britta Larsson still wasn’t happy after a match that I’d won so decisively. That was why she made such a great coach, unfortunately for me. Maybe Toni would get a kick out of that when I told her later. Or maybe she’d find it a little sad, that at my age I was still saying “Yes, Mamma” just to keep the peace.
Soon Jasmine and I had the room to ourselves, and I found myself drifting pleasantly as she worked her way up each leg and down each arm. Slow and methodical, she pulled the tension from each overworked muscle, and by the time she got to work on my upper back I was halfway to a coma.
Only when she reached the dip in my back did she hesitate, speaking for the first time over the faint instrumental music that played in the background.
“Ezi told me when I got my booking that you’re having a hip issue. Which side?”
I gestured weakly to the affected hip, and she gave it a tiny squeeze, barely perceptible. We were both relieved when it responded normally, no yelp of pain coming from me.
“I’ll be careful,” Jasmine promised. “Miss…Elin?”
“Mmm?” I asked.
“I would never normally… It’s just this is maybe the one chance I have to be around you, okay?”
Was she seriously going to ask for an autograph? Or maybe a free ticket to my next match? These things did happen in the strangest situations. None of which had prepared me for what came next.
“I could lose my job for even suggesting it, but when I said I wanted to be you, before, what I really meant was I had this huge crush on you. And you know, here you are all gorgeous and naked, and I’m already—”
“Jasmine?” I was glad she couldn’t see my face. If I looked as shocked as I felt, it wouldn’t go well for either of us. “I’m very flattered, but that wouldn’t be appropriate.”
My mind began to whirl with possibilities. Was she some kind of honey trap? I never had come out publicly, no matter how many people seemed to know I was gay all the same. Or was she hoping to lead me to some misbehaviour and make me pay for it down the line? I knew a few people in the sport had paid off one-night stands and other compromising situations. I regretted ever asking Alice and my mother to leave. It wasn’t the first time I’d been propositioned at a vulnerable moment, whether in the gym showers or in the glare of the public eye at some event, but it still always caught me off-guard.
“You sure?” She sounded so confident and was carrying on with my lower back like we were just discussing the weather. I wondered if I should tell her to stop touching me altogether, but I had to confess she was working magic on my sorest areas. I might have been tired of getting treated like some trophy that everyone wanted to get their hands on, but I didn’t want to risk muscle strain by cutting the massage short.
“I’m sure. But um, thank you?” Smooth. So smooth.
“Okay.”
The last few minutes of contact seemed to drag out for at least a week, but I could feel the benefit as soon as she stepped away to wash her hands and start packing up. I made a dash for the bedroom and the shower, hoping Jasmine would be gone by the time I had to start getting ready for my evening drinks.
It wasn’t just the familiarity of the rooftop bar that I liked. It was how the subtle lighting made for lots of quiet, semi-dark corners and terrible conditions for selfie-seekers.
I took up position with my habitual martini. They made them perfectly here; the frosted glass and the spritz of lemon around the rim of the glass were a sharp contrast to the slightly sour drink. I’d never been into drinking alcohol for the sake of it, but this felt like an actual treat every time.
“Do you two need to be alone?” asked an increasingly familiar, slightly smoky voice at my shoulder before tapping me gently on bare skin.
The exhausted, sweating woman I’d left in the locker room was nowhere in evidence. Toni had dressed for the occasion, in a short dark-green dress that looked like it had been made specifically for her. Thin straps, the little purse tucked under one arm, and heels that pushed her over six feet. I could see all over again why there had been plenty of modelling offers, but she had that same slight awkwardness all us tennis girls had when moving around in anything other than sports clothes.
“You looked like you were really enjoying that drink. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“It’s been a funny sort of day since I saw you.”
“Oh, I bet you’ve had more fun than me. Less crying, for a start.” She brushed a strand of hair from her face before it could snag on the minimal lip gloss she was wearing. I noticed her knuckles were red, a little swollen.
“You okay?” I didn’t remember her catching a stray ball to the hand or landing roughly.
“Oh, just my bad mood,” she said, shaking her head. “You really were gracious as hell, but I made the mistake of watching the match back with Xavi. He kept bitching about all the points I ‘gave away’ and it got heated.”
Right. The coach. And presumably boyfriend. With the arguments that got heated.
“Oh…?”
“Don’t worry, we didn’t turn it into a boxing match. I did land a good one on my locker door, though. Pretty stupid, but I’ve got a week to heal now at least.”
“On court, you don’t seem like the punching type. You’re the coolest person I’ve played.”
“Well, I don’t like the cliché of ‘fiery,’ for a start. And it takes a lot for my temper to tip over, but Xavi has a gift for it. He starts me simmering in the morning and… You know what? I don’t want to talk about him. Do you mind?”
I shrugged. Not talking about men was always my preference.
“You were nice about me to the press,” Toni continued, spotting an open table over in the corner. She took me by the wrist, and we snagged it before anyone else could drift that way. The server met us there, and I ordered a second martini while Toni opted for a Dark ’n’ Stormy.
“I actually have no idea what that is,” I admitted once we were alone. “But it sounds intriguing.”
“Dark rum, ginger ale, and a splash of lime,” Toni explained, looking after the server like he might be coming back already. “I think I earned it, don’t you?”
“You sure did. This isn’t too weird?”
“Why? Because you systematically destroyed me out there?” Toni laughed as she said it, reaching across to pat my hand because I must have looked a little worried. “I should know better by now, don’t worry. You really are a machine on court, you know? And I mean that in the best way.”
“Yeah, a machine. Elin Larsson the robot. I’ve heard that before.” Maybe it wasn’t cool to be pouting when you were the one who’d been victorious, but damn did I hate all those non-human comparisons. I had enough of a hard time convincing myself I was a regular person at the best of times. It tapped straight into the anxieties that kept me awake at night, but that wasn’t Toni’s fault.
“Hey, sorry,” she said, when I didn’t quite snap out of it. I wasn’t sorry when it made her reach for my hand again, this time grabbing and squeezing both of them. Usually tactile people made me panic a little, but I found myself relaxing instead of just getting stiffer. “It really was a compliment.”
“I guess that’s why they call me the Volvo of tennis, huh? Safe, reliable, exactly what you expect…”
“Oh, come on.” Our drinks came, and the server scurried off the moment they touched the table’s surface. Clearly we were giving off some tension. To
ni withdrew her hands, so I tucked mine safely back on my lap as we sat opposite each other on the high stools. The view out over Manhattan and its skyscrapers was impressive, familiar, but I couldn’t keep my attention on it.
“What’s really interesting, though,” Toni continued, letting me focus on her again instead of sneaking glances, “is it feels like you don’t even want it anymore, but you can pull it out like you did today and take it anyway. Same at Wimbledon.”
“What…? Who said…? I mean, I don’t…” I was sputtering, completely thrown by how quickly she’d seen through me. “Just because I don’t turn cartwheels every time I win a match doesn’t mean—”
“It’s more than that, isn’t it?” Toni leaned in, knowing what she said would be death for my reputation. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, I swear. I just wondered if everything was okay.”
“Of course I’m okay. There are records to go for, more matches to play. I’m doing the thing I’ve loved since I was tiny. Who wouldn’t be happy?”
Toni slipped off her stool, coming around to stand right next to me. “I thought my career was over, more than once these past two years. I know what it looks like, when things aren’t right.” Her perfume was light and floral, exactly right for her. I wanted to lean in, smell it more clearly against her light-brown skin. “And I’ve watched you for your whole career; we all do. Our coaches and our trainers say ‘see how Elin does it’ so we can learn. This isn’t just you being quiet or humble.”
For a moment I almost cracked and told her. The urge rose up in my chest like a wave cresting over the beach. All those things I could never have mentioned in an interview or to most of my fellow pros. The therapists and the prescriptions, the insomnia and the days when I cried through my workouts until enough endorphins kicked in to get me through. Learning breathing exercises to get me out on court when it felt like the crowd were going to break through the ceiling above me.
