I called on Ulrika for the first question. She got right to the point. “Elin, have you paid the fine? And are you currently suspended?”
“I haven’t paid, no. Turns out they don’t take PayPal.” I got a mild ripple of laughter. “As far as I know I can’t play this week, or next week, which of course is here at Roland-Garros. I’m here and ready to play, but I’ve been banned for asking a question.”
A French journalist spoke up next, and although I could mostly follow, I waited for the translation to filter through to be sure. “Elin, have you broken the rules? Are you sorry?”
“No, I haven’t broken any rules. My players’ representative and my lawyers are very sure about that. It’s why we want to appeal, but because there was no process followed, it’s hard to do that.”
A woman from the BBC next, who looked about twelve. Her question was long and rambling, but I found my answer quickly enough.
“The body in charge of tennis has a racist, unfair policy. Instead of taking this chance to fix it, they’re punishing me. The reason I spoke up was to protect my fellow players, women of colour, who would likely have been punished more harshly. I have a certain profile, and I want to use it to help their cause. As soon as they’re safe from retaliation, I will step aside because it’s not my place to talk over these women. Once this is resolved, please direct all questions to my friend and colleague, Celeste Rutherford.”
A few cameras were still flashing, and the overheard lights were starting to feel hot. I didn’t envy people who had to be on television every day.
Ulrika chimed in again. “Elin, is it true that you’re doing this because you’re in a romantic relationship with Antonia Cortes Ruiz? Until recently, she was coached by someone who has been suspended for drugs violations. Isn’t it possible any targeted testing was based on that information, and not on race?”
Well. Here it was, the golden opportunity of an opening. I wiped my palms on the tablecloth, shocked at how quickly they’d started to sweat. My mouth was dry, and every thought I tried to form was drowned out by the thundering of my heartbeat, which seemed to fill my whole head. I thought I’d been nervous in my first professional match, in my first final. Those had nothing on the moment right in front of me.
“I didn’t come here to discuss my personal life.” The room’s anticipation deflated a little, along with my own. I really thought I could do it that time, just open my mouth and have the words come out. I glanced down at my phone, saw a message from Toni had lit up the screen just before I said it. Was she watching? Was anywhere carrying it live? “And the patterns go back four years, in both the men’s and women’s competitions. The information has been released widely now, so you’ll just have to look for yourselves. I’m a tennis player, not a journalist.”
The BBC journalist jumped back in and tried to ask another question, but I shook my head. “No, sorry. I want to add something to that answer.”
The murmurs went round. It was usually effort enough to get me to answer a question once, never mind twice. I smiled, and from somewhere the peace slipped over me, the same way it had after telling my parents, after the first time I kissed another girl. The sense of rightness, that I knew exactly who I was, and more importantly who I wanted to be to the world.
“I wasn’t deflecting before, about my relationship with Toni. We are together, although she’s playing today in Strasbourg. I just wanted to be clear that it isn’t why I’m asking these questions or taking this position on the unfair testing procedures.”
A hundred questions came at me then: How long and how did we meet? Did I identify as a lesbian? I just sat there, letting it bubble over and over until it finally died down.
“Elin, what do you want the GTA to do now?” Ulrika asked, giving me a discreet thumbs up that I was more than grateful for.
“I want them to admit they’re wrong to punish me, just for pointing out a problem. I want them to investigate that problem, and I want women of colour to be treated equally to white women when we play tennis. Anytime, anywhere. I want those women who have been unfairly treated to be listened to and apologised to.”
They dutifully nodded along.
“And I want to play in the damn French Open!” I added, grinning as I thumped the table for emphasis. “Thank you, everyone.”
I was sort of amazed my legs worked when I stood up, and that I made it out of there step by step without just dropping to the floor. The moment I was in the anteroom, I tapped on Toni’s name until the phone started ringing.
“Oh my God!” she greeted me, her voice in a register that could make ears bleed. “Did you know that was going out live, like, everywhere? BBC, Eurosport, ESPN? Babe, you just came out to the world. Are you okay?”
Well, when she put it like that… “You know what? I am. I really am. I should have done that a long time ago. But actually, no. This was the right time for me. I got to confirm it, got to tell people, because I have you in my life. I got to tell people I’m gay because it’s also the reason that I’m happy. That’s all thanks to you.”
Toni was quiet for a long moment. “Yeah, I’m pretty great.”
We both cracked up laughing, and the last of my tension ebbed away. “Thank you,” I told
