“On what charge?”
“Bringing the game into disrepute. We’ll also be consulting our legal team on the libellous nature of your comments.”
“It’s not libel if they’re true,” I argued, hoping that was right. “Also, shouldn’t this be some long process? Lots of answering to a panel of people in different locations, then it takes two months to even decide when the decision will be?”
“We can take decisive action when the behaviour merits it,” Tall Suit said, enjoying himself far too much. “You’ll have an opportunity to appeal, of course.”
“In the meantime you can deny me the chance to earn? To defend my titles or win new ones? No way, you can’t do this.”
“The rules and by-laws are very clear,” Tall Suit continued. “Now, if you’ll proceed next door, you’ve been selected for testing. Not so racist now, is it?”
I didn’t bother to argue. I could feel the temper rising in me like lava shooting through my veins, and I’d only make it worse. Unlike Sarah, I had enough experience to control the outbursts just long enough to make them in private. Maybe I could put that on my resume as a life skill once I retired.
I tried counting under my breath as I pushed my way out into the corridor, but it wasn’t distracting me enough.
“Miss Larsson?” A door opened further along the corridor, and a small woman in at least her sixties emerged, lab coat in place. “No rush, dear. Do you need a drink?”
I shook my head. I’d just polished off a full bottle of energy drink coming off court. Tamping down a sarcastic remark, I realised I might be able to get something useful out of the tester.
“I can come in now,” I said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Doris,” she replied, ushering me into the bland space with its sink and singular toilet cubicle—no door. “Now let’s get this over with, shall we?”
My phone had been vibrating on and off since I left court, but I only thought to check it when I got back to my room. Flopping down on the bed in my clean tracksuit, I saw I had something from an unknown number. That wasn’t usual, given how few times I gave my number out.
Any panic about the number having leaked was wiped out by opening the text to see it was signed ‘T xx.’ Parisa must have taken pity on her and given her my number again. I saved the new number before I could think better of it and focused on reading the rest of what she’d sent.
Sorry for silence, phone died on me. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow? T xx
What did she mean about tomorrow? I scrambled for the player’s welcome pack on my nightstand and checked my schedule. The only thing I had was the quarterfinal match which meant… Oh damn, why hadn’t I looked at the whole bracket?
I’d be playing Toni in less than twenty-four hours, and she’d only just started talking to me again. There was a saying for that in English; I just couldn’t think of it for a moment. Oh yeah. Fuck my entire life.
Sleep? Forget it. I grabbed a restless hour here and there, but it wasn’t really worth the effort of lying down in the first place. I went through all my daily routine as though it was any other match, but on the practice court, the other players gave me a wide berth. Must have been something about how I looked as I served ball after ball towards Ezi, stepping in as my rally partner for the day.
It was more frustrating that we were the fourth of the four women’s matches that day, and my ranking meant we were on the biggest of the three courts—the Manolo Santana. Twelve thousand people would get to see every step, every facial expression. I was so used to tuning out crowds, but now that number was horrifying. Would they be able to tell? Was there anything for them to tell? Hadn’t I effectively been ghosted the moment I let her walk away in Miami?
At least I managed a nap in the afternoon, before my final warmup. When I made it down to the locker room, I found Mira waiting. For once she didn’t pass comment on me, concerning herself with whatever was so fascinating on her tablet. Coaching instructions to shake the world, knowing her.
Toni didn’t appear until moments before we were due to walk out. There was much less fuss than at the four slams, but it was still an occasion here in Madrid. The third quarterfinal had just finished in Stadium Two, meaning the winner here would get to play Jodie, a tour stalwart from the US who everyone liked. She didn’t win much in terms of finals, but she was usually in the reckoning most times. Still, it was a potentially simple path to the final, one I would make short work of.
Just had to beat Toni first. Which was fine, as long as I didn’t look directly at her. Or think. Or feel.
If she had looked good when I last saw her in person, Toni was unfairly gorgeous today. Seeing too much of it had generally left me immune to the charms of a woman in tennis gear, but it turned out my libido was ready to make an exception. With her hot pink and navy shorts and vest, it felt like neon arrows to point out her stunning legs and defined arms. The one indicator she might be affected by my presence was her matching baseball cap, all the better to try to hide behind. Toni’s tan had deepened with another round of sunshine tournaments behind her, and she looked all the better for being without me.
We left Mira in the locker room and walked the
