The Singles Game
Page 53
Without another thought, Charlie steadied her feet at the baseline, bounced the ball one time, and tossed it in the air. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Karina react and stick her racket out toward the ball, which went flying out of bounds. It was exactly what Charlie was hoping for: so long as the receiver attempts to return the ball, she was considered ready to receive.
For a moment no one realized what had happened, but then the chair umpire leaned forward into her microphone and announced, ‘Game. Set. Match. Tournament. Congratulations to Charlotte Silver on winning the 2016 Volvo Car Open,’ and the crowd went wild.
Charlie immediately threw both arms into the air and let out a whoop. The sound of the crowd cheering on Center Court combined with her coursing adrenaline made everything clearer, louder, and more pronounced. This was it. She could feel it. This win would surely catapult her ranking into the top ten and improve her seeding for the upcoming French Open. It would signify to the top women that she was a serious contender. This win would thrill the Nike people, confirm to Swarovski that they’d signed the right woman, and no doubt encourage other possible endorsement offers to come forward. Charleston wasn’t the biggest tournament of the year, but it was prestigious. First place there was the real deal.
After Charlie had reached up to adjust her tiny crystal crown, she turned to her player box. In the front row, Todd, next to a rep from the WTA, was beaming. Jake was taking pictures of the scene with his phone. He flashed Charlie a huge grin and motioned for her to smile for the camera. On Jake’s right was an empty seat where Dan had been sitting just moments earlier. Where has he run off to already? He couldn’t take an extra ten seconds to congratulate me? she thought with irritation. But it was her father sitting in the row behind them, an otherwise empty row of four seats, that gave her pause. He was the only one still seated, his hands folded in his lap, his phone nowhere to be seen. Instead, he watched Todd and Jake celebrate with a slightly sad expression. Was he shaking his head? Charlie craned to see better. When her father caught her eye, he smiled, but it was devoid of any happiness. And she understood immediately.
‘I, uh, I think she’s waiting for you,’ the ball girl murmured to Charlie as she motioned across the net. There, standing with her feet hips’ width apart and her racket pulled tight across her midsection, was Karina. The girl stared at Charlie with unbridled hatred.
As Charlie walked toward the net, Karina’s gaze remained fixed. ‘You are not just a slut, but you are a cheater, too,’ Karina whispered.
Charlie reeled back like she’d been hit. She’d never heard the usually affable Karina speak this way. ‘Excuse me?’ she asked, hating her shaky voice.
‘I thought you were different, but I was so wrong.’
Charlie stood dumbstruck. Had this girl, who had screamed and yelled her way through the match, called the line judges names and questioned every call, who herself had tried to cheat her way through match point, really just said those things?
‘It takes a hotshot player to win the point when her opponent’s not ready,’ Karina said, and then, before Charlie could even react, Karina reached out and yanked Charlie’s hand into a viselike handshake. Pumping Charlie’s hand up and down until it hurt, she unceremoniously dropped it, plastered on a fake smile, and nearly shouted, ‘Great match, Charlotte. You should be really proud of yourself,’ before grabbing her bag and walking off the court.
Charlie hit the requisite victory balls into the stands, stood for the trophy presentation and the on-court interviews, and posed for photos with the tournament sponsors, and when she was finished, she was relieved beyond description to find the locker room empty. She stood at the sink mirror, staring at the black skirt with leather trim and bedazzled sneakers and glittering crown, and suddenly felt ridiculous in the very outfit that just hours earlier had made her feel so strong. The tears didn’t come, thankfully, until she stood under the scalding hot shower and let her mind revisit all the things Karina had said. Did everyone think she was with Marco because he was famous? Had she cheated to win? Was she the kind of person who would do such awful things?
Charlie stepped out onto a towel and stood in the cool air, allowing herself to drip-dry for a moment. She was in no rush to get dressed for her celebratory dinner at FIG, where at least twenty people from the WTA and the tournament and her whole entourage would be assembled to fete her. Would they all be holding aloft their champagne glasses while thinking they were toasting a cheater? It was humiliating beyond words. Maybe she could claim illness or a leg cramp or something else and retreat to her hotel room? No, whatever it was would draw more attention than if she actually went for two hours, smiled, and begged off early. If she played it right, she could be under her covers by nine.
‘Charlie? Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize.’
Charlie jumped from the surprise of realizing she had company, but she recognized the voice instantly. Marcy.
‘Marcy, hi! What are you doing here?’ Charlie asked.
Her ex-coach smiled and Charlie felt a wave of relief wash over her. They hadn’t seen each other in many months, and Charlie had often wondered what their first meeting would be like. Marcy looked exactly as Charlie remembered with her straight, super-thick blond hair pulled back at the nape, the kind of all-business ponytail that didn’t move a millimeter and could be worn to the gym or a black-tie banquet. As always, she was dressed casually in white jeans and a V-neck Polo sweater that showed off her fit figure and healthy complexion, and she walked with a kind of bounce in her step that made her seem much closer to twenty-five than to her actual age of thirty-eight. It had been eleven years since Marcy retired from playing professionally, and yet it still looked possible she could pick up a racket and beat anyone dumb enough to challenge her.
‘Sorry to barge in on you like this,’ Marcy said, crossing the distance between them and tossing Charlie a towel.
‘Thanks,’ Charlie said, wrapping the tiny rectangle of scratchy cotton underneath her arms as best she could. She noticed Marcy’s brow, which furrowed slightly. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news – well, at least very annoying news – but the doping people are here. I heard them asking where to find you at the player desk. I figured you were here, and I wanted to give you a heads-up. They’ll be here any minute.’
‘Seriously? Now? Of all times!’ Charlie knew she sounded irritated, as expected, but it was the best news she’d heard in a long time: she’d have to stay in the locker room, within view of the doping official the entire time, until her urine was concentrated enough to test. Which, after a nearly three-hour match where she’d consumed gallons of water, could take an hour. Maybe two. Right after a match was one of the times players most dreaded getting tested, because it could eat up an entire night. Right now it sounded divine.
For a moment no one realized what had happened, but then the chair umpire leaned forward into her microphone and announced, ‘Game. Set. Match. Tournament. Congratulations to Charlotte Silver on winning the 2016 Volvo Car Open,’ and the crowd went wild.
Charlie immediately threw both arms into the air and let out a whoop. The sound of the crowd cheering on Center Court combined with her coursing adrenaline made everything clearer, louder, and more pronounced. This was it. She could feel it. This win would surely catapult her ranking into the top ten and improve her seeding for the upcoming French Open. It would signify to the top women that she was a serious contender. This win would thrill the Nike people, confirm to Swarovski that they’d signed the right woman, and no doubt encourage other possible endorsement offers to come forward. Charleston wasn’t the biggest tournament of the year, but it was prestigious. First place there was the real deal.
After Charlie had reached up to adjust her tiny crystal crown, she turned to her player box. In the front row, Todd, next to a rep from the WTA, was beaming. Jake was taking pictures of the scene with his phone. He flashed Charlie a huge grin and motioned for her to smile for the camera. On Jake’s right was an empty seat where Dan had been sitting just moments earlier. Where has he run off to already? He couldn’t take an extra ten seconds to congratulate me? she thought with irritation. But it was her father sitting in the row behind them, an otherwise empty row of four seats, that gave her pause. He was the only one still seated, his hands folded in his lap, his phone nowhere to be seen. Instead, he watched Todd and Jake celebrate with a slightly sad expression. Was he shaking his head? Charlie craned to see better. When her father caught her eye, he smiled, but it was devoid of any happiness. And she understood immediately.
‘I, uh, I think she’s waiting for you,’ the ball girl murmured to Charlie as she motioned across the net. There, standing with her feet hips’ width apart and her racket pulled tight across her midsection, was Karina. The girl stared at Charlie with unbridled hatred.
As Charlie walked toward the net, Karina’s gaze remained fixed. ‘You are not just a slut, but you are a cheater, too,’ Karina whispered.
Charlie reeled back like she’d been hit. She’d never heard the usually affable Karina speak this way. ‘Excuse me?’ she asked, hating her shaky voice.
‘I thought you were different, but I was so wrong.’
Charlie stood dumbstruck. Had this girl, who had screamed and yelled her way through the match, called the line judges names and questioned every call, who herself had tried to cheat her way through match point, really just said those things?
‘It takes a hotshot player to win the point when her opponent’s not ready,’ Karina said, and then, before Charlie could even react, Karina reached out and yanked Charlie’s hand into a viselike handshake. Pumping Charlie’s hand up and down until it hurt, she unceremoniously dropped it, plastered on a fake smile, and nearly shouted, ‘Great match, Charlotte. You should be really proud of yourself,’ before grabbing her bag and walking off the court.
Charlie hit the requisite victory balls into the stands, stood for the trophy presentation and the on-court interviews, and posed for photos with the tournament sponsors, and when she was finished, she was relieved beyond description to find the locker room empty. She stood at the sink mirror, staring at the black skirt with leather trim and bedazzled sneakers and glittering crown, and suddenly felt ridiculous in the very outfit that just hours earlier had made her feel so strong. The tears didn’t come, thankfully, until she stood under the scalding hot shower and let her mind revisit all the things Karina had said. Did everyone think she was with Marco because he was famous? Had she cheated to win? Was she the kind of person who would do such awful things?
Charlie stepped out onto a towel and stood in the cool air, allowing herself to drip-dry for a moment. She was in no rush to get dressed for her celebratory dinner at FIG, where at least twenty people from the WTA and the tournament and her whole entourage would be assembled to fete her. Would they all be holding aloft their champagne glasses while thinking they were toasting a cheater? It was humiliating beyond words. Maybe she could claim illness or a leg cramp or something else and retreat to her hotel room? No, whatever it was would draw more attention than if she actually went for two hours, smiled, and begged off early. If she played it right, she could be under her covers by nine.
‘Charlie? Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize.’
Charlie jumped from the surprise of realizing she had company, but she recognized the voice instantly. Marcy.
‘Marcy, hi! What are you doing here?’ Charlie asked.
Her ex-coach smiled and Charlie felt a wave of relief wash over her. They hadn’t seen each other in many months, and Charlie had often wondered what their first meeting would be like. Marcy looked exactly as Charlie remembered with her straight, super-thick blond hair pulled back at the nape, the kind of all-business ponytail that didn’t move a millimeter and could be worn to the gym or a black-tie banquet. As always, she was dressed casually in white jeans and a V-neck Polo sweater that showed off her fit figure and healthy complexion, and she walked with a kind of bounce in her step that made her seem much closer to twenty-five than to her actual age of thirty-eight. It had been eleven years since Marcy retired from playing professionally, and yet it still looked possible she could pick up a racket and beat anyone dumb enough to challenge her.
‘Sorry to barge in on you like this,’ Marcy said, crossing the distance between them and tossing Charlie a towel.
‘Thanks,’ Charlie said, wrapping the tiny rectangle of scratchy cotton underneath her arms as best she could. She noticed Marcy’s brow, which furrowed slightly. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news – well, at least very annoying news – but the doping people are here. I heard them asking where to find you at the player desk. I figured you were here, and I wanted to give you a heads-up. They’ll be here any minute.’
‘Seriously? Now? Of all times!’ Charlie knew she sounded irritated, as expected, but it was the best news she’d heard in a long time: she’d have to stay in the locker room, within view of the doping official the entire time, until her urine was concentrated enough to test. Which, after a nearly three-hour match where she’d consumed gallons of water, could take an hour. Maybe two. Right after a match was one of the times players most dreaded getting tested, because it could eat up an entire night. Right now it sounded divine.
