Chapter 10 #2
“Ah, you millennials, always keeping us on our toes when it comes to language,” Paul says backhandedly.
Leo can’t resist a tête-à-tête when it comes to backhands, so he replies, “Uh oh, giving AARP again, Paul.” He covers his sass with a laugh to keep things friendly. “But language really does matter. It shows people respect.” He takes another sip of his iced coffee.
Paul pivots back to Johnny’s plans to return to tour. “Leo, can you talk about what it was like for you when your dad had the stroke? Were you afraid he wouldn’t bounce back?”
“I was just afraid, period,” Leo says, fidgeting with his cup as the all too familiar anxiety from that day creeps back into his body without missing a beat.
“Sorry, it’s really weird talking about him when’s right here,” he continues with a nervous laugh, “but yeah, I was scared he wouldn’t recover, wouldn’t be himself again.
Not just as a coach, but, you know, as my dad, too. ”
“I think, um,” Johnny starts. “I, um, I was just going to say that, I, um—” He trails off, seemingly unable to find the words.
Leo takes off his headphones. “Dad, are you okay?” he says quietly, calmly.
“Yeah, sorry, guys, I just, uh, guess I’m having a senior moment,” Johnny says with a forced smile. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”
“Mind if we take a break, Paul?” Leo asks.
“Oh, of course, of course,” Paul says, swiveling around to Jesse, who’s always standing by in the booth. “Jesse, are there any bottles of water back there?”
Out in the parking lot after the rest of the recording, Leo and Johnny are standing by their cars. Leo’s running out of emotional support iced coffee to sip.
“So, um, what was that all about?” he finally asks in a small voice. Looking at his dad in the glaring afternoon light, he can see how pronounced the bags under his eyes have become.
“What was what?”
“I don’t know,” Leo says at first. Honor that, he then remembers Tess saying about his relationship with his dad. With a steadying breath, he continues, “You just didn’t seem happy with what I was saying, and then you seemed to sort of have trouble with your memory again.”
There’s a pregnant pause in which Leo genuinely thinks about jumping in his SUV and speeding off into the distance.
“Leo, I don’t want you worrying about me. And I don’t want you talking about my health in front of people like Paul. I’m fine. I’ll be back to coaching soon.”
“Dad, of course I worry about you,” Leo says. “And sorry, but fuck Paul.”
“Oh, come on, Leo.”
“What? He lets so much shit slide on his show like it doesn’t matter. Shit that he and people like Sascha say.”
“This is what I mean, Leo. You’ve got to stop worrying about everyone else and worry about your game. I know you’ve had fun with Brian the past couple months, but it’s time to get serious again.”
“You’re acting like I haven’t still been working my ass off, like Brian and I have just been out pounding shots every night.”
“Leo, you’re out of line here,” he says. “What is it? You don’t want me there anymore? You want me to just retire now? You almost said as much in New York.”
Leo shouldn’t be, but he’s surprised his dad would remember a passing moment like that, when Leo asked if he wanted to skip practice because of the heat.
“Dad, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.
I was just afraid you weren’t feeling well,” he says.
“Of course I want you to get back out on tour, but something has to change. I just want what’s best for you. ”
“I appreciate that, but I’m the parent here.”
“Then act like it!” Leo shouts.
From there, it isn’t Leo who jumps in his SUV. “I’ll see you at Delray,” Johnny says, climbing into his car and shutting the door.
“What the fuck,” Leo says, sighing, as he hears the engine start. He’s not sure what just happened, but he’s sure there wasn’t any honor in it.
“Oh good, you’re still here,” Jesse calls out, jogging up with Leo’s phone in his hand. “You forgot this in the studio.”
“Shit, thank you so much,” Leo says. “I wasn’t thinking straight when I left.”
“Yeah, that was—” Jesse starts to say, but finishes his sentence with a grimace. Below a mop of auburn curls, he has a diamond-shaped face with oversized features. Big eyes, big lips. Leo forgot how endearing he is. “Is your dad all right? Are you all right?”
“I … do not know the answer to any of those questions,” Leo says. “But thank you. It’ll be okay. I think.”
“I’ll just go ahead and cut some of that interview in post again.”
“Thanks,” Leo says, shutting his eyes. “I’m sorry I keep ruining your show.”
“Oh, no, please, Paul has that covered on his own.”
With a surprised laugh, Leo asks, “What does that mean?”
“Look, I think you know that Paul has some, shall we say, outdated takes. The show has its loyal listeners, obviously, but all these new players and new fans are coming in and they’re nothing like what he’s used to, so the show isn’t exactly keeping up.
He doesn’t know what tennis fans want anymore.
He doesn’t know how to adapt or pivot. He also doesn’t know how to talk to people with identities different from his.
He still says homosexual,” Jesse says, eyes widening, and Leo laughs.
“Honestly, I don’t know if the show will last. But all this stays between us, okay? ”
“Yeah, of course,” Leo says. “Can I, uh, ask you something?”
“No, I’m clearly unwilling to share,” Jesse says.
Leo’s laughing again. “So, why do you work with him, then?”
“Totally fair question. The totally honest answer is that I just fucking love this sport, and I don’t want to let a job at the network go.
I’ve been here for five years, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t learned a lot from Paul.
I get to go to a ton of tournaments and Slams and edit interviews with players I used to just watch at home on my couch. Players like you.”
Now Leo’s blushing. Has Jesse always been this charming?
“What are you gonna do if the show gets canceled?” Leo asks.
“Hope they have another job for me, I guess. But I have some side hustles, too,” Jesse says. “I don’t know. I’m just crossing my fingers for now.”
“Okay, well, consider mine crossed, too.”
“Thanks, Leo. Anyway, I should get back, but it was good to see you, even if you did ruin the show,” Jesse says, shrugging.
“Yeah, I’m gonna go ahead and post everything you just told me,” Leo says.
“Good luck at Delray!” Jesse says, waving over his head as he walks away.
A couple days before round one of the Delray Beach Open, which is held at the same tennis center where Leo grew up practicing with his dad as a kid, the tournament committee is holding a Fans’ Night—a smart move considering tennis is a religion in this city.
There are merch giveaways, ace contests, a meet-and-greet with players, and a special bar outside center court run by two familiar bartenders: Leo Chambers and Gabe Montoya.
Both of them being from the area, the committee thought it would be perfect to have their two hometown boys pouring regional wines and mixing a signature cocktail called the Orange Slice (it’s really just an Aperol spritz).
Leo couldn’t object to the request because the bar is also giving away reusable water bottles from an eco-friendly company that sponsors him, and they were intent on having him here.
He finds that his brand obligations ahead of tournaments tend to be hit or miss—sometimes literally, like when he was the unlucky star of a dunk tank triggered by fans throwing tennis balls at a target.
So, in comparison, this one could be worse, even if he does have to sling drinks next to Gabe for an entire evening.
Though, part of him is actually happy they still asked Gabe to participate.
The first hour is awkwardly silent. Leo stares straight ahead at the dozens of fans lining up for their complimentary cocktail and an opportunity to ask for an autograph or photo.
His line is growing longer than Gabe’s, and while normally that would give him a petty sense of satisfaction, tonight he can’t help but wonder if it’s because some fans are avoiding Gabe, and that isn’t satisfying in the least.
Finally, Gabe breaks the silence.
“You’ve really got it down to a science over there, huh?”
“What do you mean?” Leo asks, a towel over his shoulder, carefully and precisely measuring out each shot of Aperol, prosecco, and club soda as he dumps them into the wine glass.
“I just mean … it’s one to one to one. You could just eyeball it. Your line might move faster. But if you want to be a real mixologist about it, don’t let me stop you.”
The next guy in Gabe’s line has a US Open Pride shirt on and eagerly asks if he can get a selfie. “Thanks for everything,” he says to Gabe before stepping out of line and showing the photo to a man who appears to be his boyfriend.
Leo turns to the next fan in his line before Gabe can catch him staring and smiling at the interaction.
“Oh, you are just as handsome as we always knew you’d be,” one of Leo’s childhood neighbors, Myrtle, says to him, reaching over the bar to give him a loving tap on the cheek.
He could barely tell who she was at first, considering the size of her sunglasses and wide-brim hat.
“Harry and I are so glad you’re back for the tournament this year.
We’re counting on you to win it agai—oh, sweetie, do an old lady a favor and top mine off with a bit more prosecco.
By the way, are your parents here tonight?
I’ve been meaning to catch up with your mother for ages. ”
Leo, momentarily dropping his mixologist act, adds another splash of prosecco to Myrtle’s drink.
He isn’t sure which of her comments to address, so he just goes for the last one.
“They’re around here somewhere!” he says, and hands over her Orange Slice.
“It’s good to see you, Myrtle. You and Harry better be front row next week. ”