Chapter 34
Chloe
Too Well—Reneé Rapp
Chloe: I’m hiding in the bathroom.
Inés: You are not.
Chloe: If I go out there, they are going to make me talk to sponsors and journalists. I hate that.
Inés: You’ll be fine! The sooner you get it over with, the better!
Chloe: Why didn’t you come with me? You could have kept me company.
Inés: I’m playing tomorrow, I wanted to rest up. Plus I avoid press events like the plague.
Chloe: Leaving me to the wolves.. I see how it is ;)
Inés: Go and talk. Have some champagne. Pretend you know things about sneakers.
Inés: When you’re back, I’ll make sure you get a reward.
I sighed loudly. I really wanted that reward.
It was the night before the opening round of the US Open, and while I should have been preparing for tomorrow’s match, instead
I’d been dragged to a sneaker launch for ELITE.
Except in the car ride here, I’d doomscrolled a little too close to the sun, finding more headlines with twisted stories about
me.
Messy Murphy Rude to Restaurant Staff in Local Toronto Institution
Is Messy Murphy Distracted? Legendary Coach Breaks Down Latest Performance.
What to Expect from Murphy at US Open: Mistakes, Breakdowns and Faults
I’d been noticing it more and more. Now I didn’t even brave the comment sections, scared of what I’d find. Inés and I hadn’t
spoken directly about it yet, but sometimes I saw her frowning at her phone, and wondered if she’d seen something.
“Are you okay in there?” A voice from beyond my bathroom stall echoed, a slight accent detectable. “There’s a lot of . . .
sighing. I thought I would check.”
“I’m fine,” I squeaked out, a hand pressing against my face, my embarrassment burning my skin. “I’m hiding from people.”
Her laugh sounded like caramel, soft and friendly. “We could make a support group,” she said, before the sound of a running tap filled the air. “My ex is out there.”
I jumped off the closed toilet lid, opened the door, and peered out of the stall. “Oh, really?” I said, instantly interested
in the gossip. I found the woman washing her hands, her gaze reflected back at me. Something in the back of my mind sparked,
as if we’d already met, but I couldn’t place her. She was short, with a beautiful head of natural curls. “Tell me more.”
She almost looked reluctant for a moment, staring back at me in the mirror, but then lifted her hands from the sink and grabbed
a handful of paper towels. Shrugging, she sighed. “It was a long time ago, it shouldn’t matter.” She threw the paper towels
in the trash. “But I only came to this thing because a friend asked me to and now . . . I regret it.”
I moved closer, leaning against the marble counter. “The breakup or attending?”
She laughed again. “Oh, he broke up with me.”
I drew back, scoffing, “I’m sorry, who the hell does he think he is? You’re hot as hell.”
Her head slanted, an eyebrow raised, before she named him. “Ruari Reilly.”
“Oh.” Realization hit me. Ranked number one, the 6'4" Scot known as much for his backside as his backhand. “That tracks. He’s
an asshole.”
“It’s been a long time, but I’d rather walk through hell than face him again.” She laughed, before her expression turned regretful.
“Sorry, I’m totally dumping on you.”
I shook my head, smiling softly. “Don’t worry, this will probably end up being the highlight of my night.”
“Glad I could help.”
“I’m Chloe, by the way.” I stuck my hand out towards her, glad to have made a friend. “Chloe Murphy.”
“I know who you are,” she said, taking my hand. “Noemi De Rosa.”
“Have we played?” I asked awkwardly.
“Fourth round. Australian Open,” she said, not needing more than a second to recall. The memories revealed themselves, pelting
at me like tennis balls from a ball launcher. “You used up all your challenges and argued with the umpire. Not that you really
needed to. Not with the power you’ve got behind those shots.”
I cringed, embarrassment ready to swallow me whole.
“I’m very sorry. I know I was hardly on my best behavior during the match,” I tried to explain, a faint feeling of sickness
tingling. I’d been a complete brat during that round. To be completely honest, the entire competition. And every single tournament
afterwards. Until now . . . until Inés.
Noemi paused, her eyes searching me as if caught off guard by my words. “It’s fine. Fourth round was the furthest I’ve gotten
in a while. It was bound to end eventually. And you were still the deserved winner, even if it was a little messy.”
I hesitated. “Still, I was out of line. I’ve been trying to . . . you know, work on that.”
A flicker of amusement passed through Noemi’s eyes. “Well, I’ll admit, you were memorable.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
A smile curled her lips. Only small, but real all the same. “I’ll give you this: it takes guts to take accountability when
you’ve been a little bit of a pain in the ass.”
“A little?” I joked.
“Okay, maybe more than a little.” Noemi’s smile widened, and just like that, the tension eased.
I found myself feeling grateful for this interaction, for her forgiveness and how easily it came. I thought back to the last
few weeks, how I’d earned Inés’s friendship. That hadn’t been nearly as simple as a bathroom conversation, but all the same,
it had brought its own reward. It had brought me closer to her than I’d ever imagined.
“Well, I’m glad you don’t hate me,” I joked.
“Tennis is tough enough without carrying grudges.” She turned to the mirror, pulling out a red lipstick and touching up her
makeup.
Before Inés, I’d never thought much about the people I’d left behind, but now it was so easy to see how lonely the journey
could be.
But from the moment I’d walked into the beach house, Scottie had welcomed me. Dylan, although begrudgingly, had treated me
with respect.
“I was taught that everyone I played was my enemy,” I said quietly, feeling far too vulnerable, but what else were women’s
bathrooms for? “My mom used to be a player, and her stories were awful. Her opponents made her feel like an outsider off court.
They practically pushed her out of the sport.”
“Cathy Murphy?” she asked, her curiosity sparked. “My coach used to play with her. She told me some stories.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t want to speak badly. They are secondhand stories after all,” she said.
“No, it’s fine. What is it?”
Noemi let out a heavy breath, her hands dropping to her sides. “It was like . . . my coach said Cathy was horrible to them.
She’d spread stories with the media, trying to sabotage the things they were doing in the sport to make it equal for women.”
I stood quietly, thinking over everything I knew, my childhood full of terrible stories about how hard the other players were
on my mom, how badly they treated her. But I couldn’t argue that the experience she’d warned me about was far different from
how I was being treated.
Maybe it was different now, a different set of women who weren’t here to cut throats in order to win. Or perhaps my mom’s
stories hadn’t told me the entire truth. Maybe it was Dad’s way of keeping me close, under their control.
I smiled politely at Noemi. “Thank you for telling me.”
“It’s what I heard,” she replied, her caramel eyes meeting mine.
“I know.” I smiled. “But I appreciate it. And I meant it before, the apology.”
“I can see that.” She looked me up and down. “There’s definitely something different about you. I can’t put my finger on it,
but this is not the player I met six months ago.”
“Maybe a lot can change in six months.”
Maybe a lot can change in a few weeks, given the right person . . .
“I guess so.” She smiled. “I look forward to meeting you on the court again.”
“You too,” I replied with a nod, preparing to step back into the event. “Maybe this time you’ll have a shot,” I added with
a sly smile.
Noemi smirked, a glint of determination in her eyes. “Don’t worry, I plan to.”
As I walked away, I couldn’t help feeling, for the first time, like I was actually connecting with people. But this time,
not as rivals, but as friends.
What had Inés done to me?
As I reentered the event, I was immediately hit with all the reasons I had fled in the first place. The warehouse buzzed with
the kind of energy I hated—manufactured, overproduced. Neon lights bounced off the metallic fixtures of the sneaker displays,
highlighting everything but the reason I was actually here: to sell a product and smile through the discomfort.
Through the crowd I spotted Calvin and Dani, my publicist, who both looked a little panicked.
Okay, maybe I’d disappeared for a bit too long.
“Where have you been?” Dani stormed towards me. “We need to get some interviews done! I’ve got somebody from The Daily Tea lined up to talk to you!”
Somehow, I couldn’t escape the feeling I was about to be fed to the wolves.
She hauled me across the room, her hand on my back. I managed to grab a glass of non-alcoholic champagne from a waiter. “It was all outlined with ELITE; they have some basic, preauthorized questions to ask.”
Dani had helped me prepare and walked me through a few canned responses to give.
Of course I’m delighted to have my own line!
A partnership with ELITE? Of course it’s what every little girl dreams of.
No, I do not know anything about ELITE’s dodgy business practices, I’m a cute little tennis player. What do I know about the
inner business workings of a multi-million-dollar corporation?
I greeted the journalist, Rachel Kendrick, a tall blonde woman with a polite handshake. Her eyes were already glazed over,
clearly as bored as we all were. She launched into some of the rehearsed questions.
“So, Chloe, how does it feel to have your first sneaker design? It must be pretty cool, right?” the journalist asked, thrusting
her phone out towards me. Beside me, Dani walked away, abandoning me as her phone vibrated in her hand.
I forced a smile. “It’s great. I’m excited. It’s a goal to have something like this, so to achieve it so early in my career
feels great.”