Chapter 18
Last night ended too late to talk to Robbie about the morning’s transportation, so here I am, up thirty minutes early, heading down the hallway to ask, as an adult man, for a permission slip for a field trip through the sky.
I have no idea if he’s had enough time to cool down from our blowup last night, but I really hope he has. Holding my breath, I knock on his door.
No answer. I knock again.
Finally, he opens the door, dressed in his athleisure for the day. “Good morning,” he says, with a fully unreadable tone, and stares at me, waiting for a response.
“Good morning. Very formal,” I respond, echoing his robot voice. “What’s going on?”
“Well, I was in the middle of my morning meditation. And that’s not going on anymore…” Great. I’ve declined his prized Nike deal, and it’s driven him to meditation. After sharing many hotel rooms with him, I’m painfully familiar with his morning routine, and meditation has never been on the list.
“Ah, sorry to interrupt.”
“It’s fine. What’s up?”
“Well…just wanted to say…I have a ride today, so I can just meet you there.”
“You have a ride?”
“I do.”
“With Diego?”
“With Diego.”
He frowns. “Why do you need to go with him? Isn’t his ride the same as ours?”
“Well, he…has a different ride today.”
“Can you just say what that means?” Robbie says, frustration growing.
I open my mouth and brace for impact. “It’s…a helicopter.”
Robbie bobs his head. Slowly. And we stare at each other as his wheels turn. After a moment of silence, he finally responds.
“All right. Sounds fun.”
“Sounds fun?” I repeat. “I thought you’d have more to say than that.”
“Austin, when you get a yes, just hang up the phone.”
“Right, yeah. Okay. Thank you,” I say, eyeing him, waiting for some sort of catch.
“But we need to make something of this.”
And there it is.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
He opens his door wider. Four shopping bags, branded with Nike swooshes, are sitting on the floor.
“Nike already sent things?”
“Bags were in my room when I got back.” The devil works fast, but PR works faster.
“Wait. Is this from them?” I ask, gesturing to his zip-up hoodie and sweatpants.
“Maybe,” Robbie says coyly. “My commission.”
I push past him and take a look at what they sent: shorts, tees, hats, headbands, three pairs of shoes in my exact size…
I throw on a light blue jacket. It’s clean and classic and reminds me of something Eriksson would wear when he was younger.
“Are you gonna fight me for this?” I ask Robbie, checking myself out in the mirror.
“Nope,” Robbie says. “Wear it in your helicopter. It’s gonna be windy. And take lots of video and photos, so we can post them.”
I turn to him, my eyebrow raised. “I need a phone for that, Rob.”
“No, you don’t. You need a Charlotte for that.”
I squint.
“We need to get you active on social again if we want this contract. And Charlotte’s going to help.
” Robbie scoops up all four bags and places them awkwardly in my arms. “So go on your romantic ride, but your helicopter’s gonna have a third wheel.
She’ll be with us the whole day. I already talked to her. ”
He struts over to the door and holds it open for me to leave.
“And when you touch down,” he continues, “we’re putting all of this out of our minds, and we’re gonna have the best match of our lives. Sound good?”
He grins as if he just hit a drop shot, and slowly closes the door.
I stand alone in the hall.
Who just won here? I got my helicopter. He got a step closer to his dream sponsorship deal, a chaperone for my ride, and some of my free shit. Fuck, I think he did.
“Yeah, sounds good,” I say to no one.
—
Just off the highway, Diego and I pull up to half a dozen helicopters sparkling against the river. When she spots our car, Charlotte jogs over to us, hand on her hat from the Met, wind whipping her hair.
“So happy you’re joining us!” Diego says to her, opening his door and raising his voice over the helicopter engines. “I’ve heard lots about you—the famous Charlotte.”
“Yes, very famous—only slightly more than you,” she says with a grin.
Char holds out her hand to shake, but he goes in for a big hello hug. She shoots me a look, her chin on his shoulder, and I know what she’s probably thinking. He’s even better-looking in person.
Welcome to what I’ve been talking about.
She hugs me next. “Auz, I miss you.”
“You just saw me.”
“It’s not the same when we’re not attached at the hip by phone.”
“Are you sure you have time for all this? Robbie didn’t give me the details.”
“Are you kidding? This is awesome. And my boss loves me and loves tennis, so a PTO request was an immediate yes. I’m all yours today—let’s bank some content. Speaking of…”
She hands me her phone. “Log in, please.”
“For real? Is there any other way to do this?”
“Why? What am I gonna find in there, your unanswered DMs to fitness influencers?”
Diego cackles, and my face turns the color of his shirt.
“Ugh.” I tap out my password. “Here ya go, my whole life in your hands.”
“Aw,” she says, touching the top of my head. “It always has been.”
Diego smirks at us, truly enjoying this heartwarming exchange.
“How are you feeling about today?” she asks as Diego goes off to get us checked in.
“You know on The Bachelor where everyone’s riding in helicopters and saying they’re nervous and excited?” Char hasn’t missed a season, which means I’ve been forced to watch plenty of episodes myself.
“Always both nervous and excited. Can’t have one without the other,” she says.
“Feeling a lot of that right now.”
“Well, it’s an exciting time to be you, Auzzie,” she says. “And how’s this going?” She nods toward Diego.
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “I don’t know if he likes me.”
She turns back to me, completing an eye roll that runs through her entire body. “I love you so much,” she says, “but you’re a fucking idiot.”
—
I feel it in my stomach when we lift off the ground.
Diego’s strapped into his seat next to me, looking very official in his headset. Char’s in front of us, her phone up. She’s already in filmmaker mode.
As we climb higher and higher into the sky, I dig my fingers into my armrest, waiting for my nerves to settle. Diego, on the other hand, is loving every second. You couldn’t pry the grin off his face with the Jaws of Life.
The pilot’s muffled voice enters our ears. “All right, folks, we’ll start by flying south and looping around Downtown. Approximate flight time is fifteen minutes.” We hang a turn, and there goes my stomach again, somersaulting into oblivion.
“How you doing over there?” Diego asks, turning to me. I think he can sense my fear, because he actually waits for an answer. “Wanna hold hands?” he adds.
I laugh. And blush. And now I’m more nervous about him than about the height. “I’ll be good, just getting used to it.”
“I want you to enjoy this view.”
“Holy shit,” I say, finally looking up and breaking my death stare at my feet.
Out the window to our left, the skyscrapers of Manhattan race beside us, concrete and glass soaring like giants above the streets.
Diego points as we circle the bottom of Manhattan.
“One World Trade. It’s the tallest building in the United States—”
“Wait. Can I guess?” I ask, interrupting.
“Go ahead.”
“I’ll say…525,600 feet.” I have literally no idea how tall it is, but this game sounds fun.
“Not even close.”
“That’s including the tip!”
“I don’t know what it is in feet, but that is not even close,” he says, shaking his head. “One World Trade is 541 meters. Meters. I don’t use your imperial system.”
“Boys, can I interrupt your measuring contest for the reason I’m here, please?” Char asks, pointing her phone at us. “Auz, adjust your jacket there so I can see the logo.” What a professional.
“Charlotte, will you send those to me?” Diego asks.
“Diego,” she says, abruptly looking up, “are you asking for my phone number?”
“Charlotte, please be chill,” I tell her. Also, stop flirting with my love interest. Her stupid smirk remains.
“I’ll put us all on a thread,” she says. “Auz, our messages will be waiting for you when you get your phone back.”
The pilot enters our ears again. “Making a slight turn, and we’re approximately six minutes away.” This time I’m ready for the turn and brace for it, shoving my weight against the back of my seat. Diego goes full Bachelorette and lets out a “Woooo!” as we glide across the cloud-scattered sky.
The smile hasn’t left his face the entire trip, and I feel like I’ve finally caught up to his excitement.
Far in the distance, I spot Arthur Ashe Stadium peaking up above Queens, and I try to take all of this in: Diego beside me, my sister across from me, and all my dreams racing toward me in front—as I sit in a fucking helicopter.
I don’t think I’ve felt joy like this in a long time, and I try to commit this moment to memory. I deserve to remember it.
“Oh, before I forget…” I say, unfastening Diego’s watch.
“Hold on to it for a bit,” he says, waving me off. “You don’t have your phone. Don’t you need to know what time it is?”
“Wearing it makes me so nervous.”
“A lot of things make you nervous,” he replies. He really has no idea. “I’ve got another one. I can wear it if I win,” he adds.
“When you win.”
“Back at you, Hardy Boy,” Diego says, and I glance over to Charlotte in time to catch her mouthing Hardy Boy and basically melting into her seat.
“Can we do a lap around the grounds, please?” Diego asks the pilot, raising his voice and leaning closer to him, even though I’m sure the man can hear us perfectly fine through his headset.
“I’ll get you as close as they’ll let me,” he replies, and we take a sharp turn and a dip—and a minute later we’re circling the stadiums, the field courts, the practice courts, all bright blue postage stamps below us.
There’s the enormous steel globe from the World’s Fair, the boardwalk, the fountains in front of Ashe…
Diego turns to me, deepening his voice. “One day…all of this will be ours.”
Not his. Not mine. Ours. And yes, I know he’s trying to be dramatic and funny and quote The Lion King or something, but that ours builds a house in my heart. I wish I could bottle this feeling and drink it before every single match.
I feel unstoppable.
—
Charlotte managed to sneak in a little bit of actual work today and is meeting some editor for an Aperol spritz before my match. We’re about to separate when she pulls me in for a hug.
“Okay, I get it. You love me,” I say as my lungs slowly collapse.
“You are going to kill it today. It’s a fact,” she says. “And, Diego”—she turns, arms open for him next—“I wish I could watch your match too.”
“I know where your loyalties are,” he replies as they embrace.
“Break a leg, guys,” she shouts as Diego and I start toward the locker room.
“She wants us to break a leg?” he asks, confused.
“No, it’s, like, an acting thing.” I shake my head.
“She was a theater kid growing up, a big favorite at the San Bernardino Community Playhouse—I’m sure you’ve heard of it.
She’s a really good singer, but girl cannot dance to save her life.
They cast her as the lead in Footloose, and that poor town should’ve kept dancing illegal,” I say.
“That’s a famous joke from my dad that we kept to ourselves. ”
“I’ve never seen Footloose.”
“That’s okay. I’ve seen it enough for both of us—three times, plus a dress rehearsal, because I am a very good brother,” I say. “Anyway, she thinks it’s bad luck to say good luck.”
“Right, I think I knew that.”
“So she wishes the end of my tennis career before every match.”
“It’s cute,” Diego says.
“It’s scary.”
Robbie spots us from down the hallway, and he twirls his finger to hurry me along. Time for work. The helicopter was fun, but now we’ve got legs to break.