If we had been playing for points, that one was worthy of winning a championship.
The rally continued, both of us working up a sweat. No more chatter was exchanged over the squeal of sliding feet on the smooth surface, and we were hitting hard enough for the grunts of exertion to hit levels that people tut at and call unladylike. Toni was much louder, including her exasperation when she missed a net shot or didn’t get to the ball quite quickly enough. Her raw power was astounding up close, but it was her precision that impressed me most of all. More often than not, the ball was placed within millimetres of going out, but Toni never looked worried that she may have miscalculated.
She had been training hard, and it showed. A good showing over the next two weeks and she’d be seeded for the French Open.
I called mercy after a good half hour, in need of a drink. The vending machine spat out an energy something-or-other in orange, and I gulped it down while Toni fetched a drink from her bag. Her visit here had been planned, then.
“Is this how you always get ready?” Toni asked as we drained our drinks, sitting on opposite ends of a bench like we had to leave room for an umpire’s chair between us. “I thought it would be all spa treatments and yoga chants today.”
“Well, you know my track record on massages lately,” I reminded her. “I’ll take it easy this week, use the matches for most of my working out. The real work is next week, or if I get an easy draw, the week after.”
“Must be cool, to just assume you’ll see the second week every time,” Toni said, her voice still a little tight. “When’s the last time someone dumped your ass out before middle Sunday?”
“The way you’re playing now, you could do it,” I admitted. “I’ll be hoping to avoid you and Celeste in the draw this time.”
“You don’t have to kiss up; I already forgave you,” Toni scoffed.
“Toni, listen to me.” I got up and walked the short distance to her. “There’s no kissing up, I swear. You’ve upped your game, and if I wasn’t as good as I am, I’d be worried you were coming for me. I’ll let everyone else work it out on their own time. But you’re going to play your way back into being seeded before long. From there, it’s all yours.”
She waved me off, but I saw the glint in her eye. Part of her, at least, believed me.
“Got another half hour in you, old timer?” she teased.
“I’ve only got six years on you, and if I can point out that I just won the last two slams?” I tried for arrogant and was surprised that I didn’t entirely hate it.
“That’s more like it,” she said, patting me on the ass with her—my—racquet as she got back on court. “Will you tell me how you have this strung? I like how it hits.”
“Sure,” I said. “I need to hit the stringers soon anyway. I’m running out of ready-strung ones. Berti travels with the tour—make sure you always go to him.”
“Okay, and while we’re sharing, I’m splitting with Xavi. My new coach is signed, but we don’t announce until the weekend.”
I stopped short of the baseline and turned back to face her. Instead of letting Xavi embarrass her, Toni had cleaned house. I smiled. It was hard not to like that about her.
“Who?” I asked. Any number of retired pros would be eligible, strong choices in every direction.
She hesitated on the other side of the court. Maybe we weren’t friends again after all, not quite. “Oh hell, who would you tell? It’s Mira.”
“Mira? As in Mira Sobotka? Who hates me?”
“I told you, she doesn’t. She’s a bit bored with just commentating. So she wants to get back into coaching. Apparently I have potential.”
It was a smart choice, and Mira wouldn’t give up television money for just anyone. She had to see real promise in Toni, which meant I officially wasn’t the only one.
“Congratulations,” I said, picking up a couple of discarded balls. “That’s a big move. One that might make the difference when it comes to the trophies.”
“Hope so,” Toni said. “Now come on, I want to finish destroying you out here.”
Chapter Seventeen
I didn’t avoid Celeste for long at the Australian Open, and she promptly demolished me in the quarterfinals, playing some of the best tennis of her career. I didn’t mind on balance; the Australian heat always sapped my energy in a way no other tournament did.
More importantly, her opponent in the semi-finals was none other than Toni. After the initial niggle of I could have played her instead, I re-dedicated myself to cheering Toni on. Sure, it was a little disloyal, but our newly repaired relationship deserved that much. Celeste and I had always been more traditional rivals, even when we’d been together. She’d never expect me to cheer for her success at the expense of my own. We just didn’t work that way.
Toni took Celeste to three sets, which nobody saw coming. The talk of the arena was the difference Mira had already made to Toni’s match management and how she played much more strategically. I might not have liked the woman, but I sure as hell respected her craft. I tried not to be jealous when I saw her hugging Toni as soon as she came off court.
I went to congratulate both women on a great match only to find they’d both been detained for drug testing, again. Unusual that both women from the same match would be called, but I supposed randomness must allow for that sometimes.
Celeste was less than thrilled when she finally got free of them. She almost took the door off its hinges when she stormed in.
“I am so sick of peeing in front of these weirdos in suits,” she announced, scuffing her bag across the floor. “I’m starting to
