“Me too,” Toni grumbled, following her in. “They made me redo mine when the first one was, like, a millilitre short. These people need to get a hobby.”
“When did they start testing the person who lost?” I asked, leaning against the side of the lockers. “No offence, Toni.”
“I’ll try not to take any. You’ve never been tested except after a win?” she asked in return, her expression still thunderous.
I held my hands up. I didn’t make the rules.
“Because madam here doesn’t lose all that often,” Celeste filled in the unsaid for us, quirking an eyebrow at me so I’d know she was mostly teasing. “Even so, the law of averages. Which round did you get tested in this time?”
“I, uh… Oh, wait.” I’d done my out-of-competition test right before Brisbane, but nothing else. “I didn’t get tested this time out. Maybe I was scheduled for this, if I’d gone through. Or the final.”
“Keiko and Fatima were both tested after their QF too. Toni and Fatima were both called again, and I know they called Keiko in too, because her match was right before ours, Elin.”
“I’m not really one for noticing patterns,” I said, because someone had to. Toni and Celeste both looked up from where they were rooting around in their lockers. They were clearly waiting for me to say it. “But there’s kind of a common thread here. I’m going through entire tournaments—ones that I’ve won, after publicly taking steroids in my recovery period and declaring it—and nobody is interested in testing me. Everyone who isn’t as pale as me? They’re doing multiple tests per tournament.”
“There it is,” Celeste said on a long exhale, sitting down on the bench. “I don’t know that I’ve got another fight like this in me.”
She had a fair point. As one of the few African-American women in the top of the rankings, and an out lesbian at that, Celeste had more than done her time when it came to winning over hearts and minds. She’d faced injustices that made my blood boil for her, and this felt like one too far.
“You guys really think the GTA… You’re saying their drug-testing policy is racist?”
Celeste turned to Toni, who was clutching her towels. “You can’t tell me the Mexican thing has never been an issue?”
“Of course it has,” Toni replied, her brow furrowed. “I just… That always felt like more of an American problem. Okay, and a Spanish problem. But these big international bodies, they’re supposed to represent us all.”
“And where does the money come from?” Celeste demanded, gesturing with both hands in my direction. “Your Elins, your Jürgens. Look at the president of this and the chairman of that every time there’s an official photo. Not a lot of melanin, is there? When’s the last time you accepted an official handshake from someone who wasn’t an old white dude?”
“There’s Princess Michael of Kent at Wimbledon,” I offered, only able to move the man part of the equation, not the white. “But then she doesn’t even get to use her own name. This setup really is fucked.”
“But if I point it out…” Celeste sounded so weary. I wanted to give her a hug, but I wasn’t sure it would be appreciated. “I’m just another angry black woman. They’ll back off for a couple of months, but nothing will really change. Maybe it’s just the cost of doing business, and I gotta accept it.”
“Celeste—” I tried, but she shut me down.
“I don’t know how many wars I can fight in a day, Elin. Any time someone speaks out, they face some kind of punishment. Not to mention the terrible press coverage that suddenly happens.”
“Well, if anyone is going to do anything, we need some figures,” I said. I couldn’t feel their pain, but I could do something to help and take the burden off my friends who had been fighting too much for too long. “With the cold, hard evidence it’s harder to say anyone’s just being some hysterical female.”
“They won’t release more than they already do,” Toni said, nodding at my point. “That crappy scale they use, to make it look like everyone basically gets the same. There’s a big difference between getting the minimum number of tests and the maximum, but they pass it off as all roughly the same. So some of us must be racking up ones that aren’t being counted. Or they’re not being shared, anyway.”
“You both know Parisa, yes? Well one of the few good things about her being straight is that she has a boyfriend somewhere in the GTA. Now I’m sure they won’t just have a pile of dodgy information sitting there, but he could look. I’m sure if I explained to Parisa, she would see how important it is.”
“You mean, she’d get it ‘cause she’s brown too?” Celeste filled in the blanks again, getting up to head for the showers. “Hell, it’s worth a try.”
“Okay, I’ll speak to her.”
“Thanks, Elin. It might not change a thing, but we have to at least try. You hanging around after this?” Celeste asked.
I looked to Toni almost automatically. “No, I’m flying home tonight,” I said. “Good luck for the final, though.”
“See you in Qatar, then?” Toni asked, heading for the showers.
“Ah, you won’t, actually.” They both looked at me. I wasn’t injured, and the big prizes in the Middle Eastern tournaments were always a draw, especially with no more slams until the French in May. “Or Dubai.”
“Wait, you’re not—”
“No!” I interrupted Toni, not wanting Celeste to know I’d been thinking about leaving the game for good. “I’m just doing a whole targeted thing for this season. Focus on the slams. My mother’s idea.”
“Well, if Britta has a plan…” Celeste said. “We’ll miss you out there, but not the competition.”
“Gotta go,” I replied. My phone had vibrated before I made it to the exit.
Sure you’re okay?
Toni’s text was predictable in a way that made my heart skip just a little. I should have
