“Think so,” I said. My next match, third round, was scheduled for the main stadium late afternoon—the prime-time slot. “So assuming I win, and they don’t call me in for testing, I’ll take the first shot in the post-match.”
“It won’t be a lot of press, though,” Celeste warned. “But enough, probably.”
“It’s going to take more than one mention. Every match we play is just adding to the stats at this point. So I’ll try—they may not even listen to me. I just don’t want someone else being cracked down on if I can do it with a little protection.”
“White privilege had to be good for something eventually,” Celeste teased. “Mentioning it now is going to bring up the whole doping mess, and Toni. You want to get entangled with that?”
“I’m already kind of entangled with part of that anyway,” I admitted. “Since the rumours are already doing the rounds, I thought I might as well tell you. Not that a scandal is exactly making for prime dating conditions.”
I wanted so badly for Celeste to be happy for me, but there was no smile forthcoming. Just a half-nod of acknowledgement. “Okay. Well, good luck with that.”
“I know, we have to focus on bigger problems than my love life.” I raised a glass to her. “You want to be at my press conference, then?”
“I’ll hang around to watch in back, unless that puts you off?”
“It’s okay, C. You know nothing distracts me.”
I didn’t quite carry that much swagger into my post-match press conference. While the first two rounds only merited a brief chat with one or two reporters, now the gaggle was starting to gather after each match. Journalists wanted to speculate on how I’d fare in the quarterfinal, which it turned out would be some rising star from Canada whose name I couldn’t seem to retain.
They wanted, essentially, to ask the same questions as every other time. I bit my tongue, kept my answers brief, and waited for an opening. If nobody dared bring up Xavi and the doping, I’d have to force it into the conversation myself. Not exactly my strong point.
It took a little help from home in the end. Ulrika from C More Sports, who brought sports coverage to most of Scandinavia, started her question with a familiar “Hej.”
“Elin, you must have seen the coverage that at least one coach has been suspended for offering to supply weight-loss pills containing a banned substance.”
“Yes, I know who you mean.”
“Is it true this man, Xavi Arrigo, approached you as well?”
That sent the room into a frenzy. Thanks for nothing, Ulrika.
“No, he did not approach me about any kind of pills or substance. He did offer his services as a coach, which, as you can see, I had no interest in. I happen to think I have the best coach working in tennis today. And no, my mother didn’t order me to say that.”
Some polite laughter.
“I want to address the larger issue, though, here on the women’s tour. There’s information out there to support what many of us have suspected for a while now. There’s an unfair selection process when it comes to in-competition testing.”
“Are you saying you get tested too much?” Ulrika asked, coming right along with me even as others clamoured to ask their questions.
“No, quite the opposite. I’ve won entire tournaments without being tested once. I’ve had some tests, sure, but I’ve since found out that other players are being tested after every round, even if they’ve lost the match. And sadly, there’s a pattern.”
“What’s the pattern, Elin?” The guy from ESPN asked. I looked up, catching Celeste’s eye.
“Well, white players like me are skipping through with minimal testing, almost none. Women of colour are being tested heavily, too much probably, and it’s happening too much to be a coincidence.”
“Elin—” He started again, but I stood to leave.
“It’s not just gossip between players; the numbers are out there if you investigate. I know you guys can do that, so you can tell the story, okay?”
I left with the room in uproar. It might not even make a headline, but I hoped they’d at least start looking.
I was settling down for the evening with my one glass of wine and a mindless action movie cued up on the television in my hotel room. I could have driven home again, all two or three hours of it depending on traffic, but it quickly got too tiring during the hustle and bustle of the championship, so I’d taken up the suite set aside for me at the Hyatt. I’d had plenty of offers to go to dinner, to hang out with some of the other girls, but I’d blown it off in favour of a long bath and a few hours with my brain hopefully in neutral.
So, of course, then came the knock at my door. Getting on to this floor meant getting a special key card, and hotel security had a very short list of who was allowed one. I debated not answering, since almost all the lights were off in preparation for the film. Still, what the hell. If someone needed to interrupt me, they’d have to live with my pyjamas-and-robe combination.
“You did it,” Toni said, pushing right past me as soon as I opened the door. “I can’t believe you actually did it.”
“Called out people being racist? Yeah, I did. I’m not expecting a medal for it.”
She stopped long enough to glare at me. “I mean, you’re going to get tangled up in my mess. They all think it’s just a matter of time until something shows up in one of my tests, and then someone’s going to start asking why you’re getting involved at all.”
“Because my friends are being targeted,” I replied. “It’s not just about you, but I’m glad your ego is surviving this difficult time in one piece.”
“It’s already online, you know that? It’s making all the other stuff come right back to the front. I don’t want to be a
