Then I realised I was naked on top and the sheets were halfway down the bed. “Parisa!”
“Better me than your mother,” she pointed out, completely unruffled by the nudity, pulling the curtains open to let some light in. “Your friend has gone back to her own room, by the way. Celeste wanted to know if you were free for breakfast—she’s staying at the Raffles but is easy about where—and you’ve got an hour of press pushed up to before your first match. Sorry.”
I lay back down and pulled the pillow over my head. Moments later, Parisa pulled it away. She looked as fresh as a daisy and like she’d been up for hours at the same time.
“Shower, please. Day’s wasting,” she scolded me, smoothing out the material of her Burberry check dress.
I grunted some kind of reply and made my way to the bathroom.
Celeste met me in the cafe closest to the venue, and it was a nice, familiar feeling to walk in and see her waiting at a table for me. We’d both gone for low-key looks around town, but there was no denying we were still dressed for sports.
“Hey, stranger.”
“Sorry, Cee, injury and recovery wait for no woman. Fighting fit and ready to kick your ass, though.”
She smothered a laugh with a sip of her coffee. “We’ll see. I always have the edge on hard courts.”
“So what’s with the breakfast invite? You don’t normally go for first-day catch ups.” I knew Celeste too well by now to be anything other than blunt with her as I took the seat opposite.
“Has anyone approached you about performance enhancers? Someone within the tour, I mean. Not some random drug dealer.”
“Me? No. I got a steroid injection in my hip, but that’s all documented and cleared by the Tour’s medical team. Why do you ask?”
“There are rumours doing the rounds again. And I’ve had more pee tests than I’ve had trophies lately. It’s starting to feel like every other match. When I question why me again, they say there’s definitely something going around out there.”
“Beats me, but if I was on something performance enhancing, I don’t think I’d be picking up these fickle injuries all year. Or at least, I wouldn’t feel them so much.” I sighed. “And I know you would never, so if anyone is insulting your character, you send them to me, okay?”
Celeste gave me her broadest smile. “You always did have my back. Looking forward to off-season? Mentally, I’m already on the beach.”
“Where to this year?” I asked. Celeste took a joy in her vacations that I envied.
“Mauritius,” she replied. “Assuming I make it to the final here, then the wife will fly out and meet me. Two weeks of no damn tennis, then some actual time at home. Might do us good.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re optimistic about it all again,” I admitted.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about the summer. I respect you too much to be treating you like that, Elin. Forgive me?”
“Already have.” I ordered my own coffee and the delicious-looking fruit salad when the waitress came over.
“What about you? Had enough of the sun this year? I still haven’t recovered from when you invited me skiing in Sweden.”
“It’s not like we ever play in the cold! Ten and a half months of summer is more than enough for me. Anyway, I’m thinking of going to Mexico, staying with some friends who invited me.”
Celeste took her time putting it together, but she was always much too sharp for me. “Mexico, huh? As in, where that Ruiz girl is from? Isn’t that a coincidence?”
“She’s the friend with the place there, yeah. And the boyfriend? So don’t get all gossip mode with me. No story here.”
She said more with the “Mmhmm” than most people could with a whole dictionary at their disposal.
“Do me a favour, could you?” Celeste went on to ask.
“Anything.”
“Keep a record of all the times you get tested after matches. I just have this feeling that the pattern isn’t as random as they say.”
“Sure.” I tried to think when I’d last been called for random testing. Usually once per tournament, but there hadn’t been one in New York. When I’d first starting winning, knocking out bigger names and getting trophies, I used to get grabbed way more often after a match. That’s when I learned to take my in-match hydration way more seriously. Nothing worse than being handed an empty cup when your body was three energy drinks short of being able to pee.
As our food arrived, a young girl broke off from her family who were at the counter settling their bill. Celeste tensed, even less comfortable with the public than I was. I couldn’t blame her; she’d had plenty of negative experiences that I never would, not least because people could be racist idiots. Add to that her coming out when she met her wife, and she felt twice the need to be defensive.
“Hello,” the little girl said, in her crisp little English accent. She looked Chinese, but I knew better than to assume her nationality on that alone. Singapore especially had a large Chinese population, a truly global city. “Are you here to play tennis today?”
She addressed the question to both of us, hands behind her back and sharing eye contact equally.
“We are,” I answered with a smile. “Are you coming to watch?”
She nodded, as though I’d passed some test. Shooting Celeste an adoring look, she continued talking to me. “I want to play, when I’m older. I have my racquet with me.”
I looked over to where a handsome man, presumably her father, was juggling a smaller child, a racquet slung over his shoulder, a backpack no doubt brimming with snacks and toys, all while trying to pay for their meal.
Celeste spoke up, rummaging in her purse. “Do you want to make your racquet lucky?”
The little girl nodded.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Mai,” she answered. “How do
