A Summer of Stars

1

“Luna Aldridge Is Returning”

—With Glamour

BEING BOTH A people-pleaser and a perfectionist was the most devastating, unbearable combination to have in a person. Let alone in a woman, who already worried too much about what others thought.

With those two problems in the pot, just mix in being a professional athlete with media exposure in the middle of a scandal, and you had yourself a hurricane-sized disaster in the shape of me.

Luna Aldridge: stylish, witty tennis player by day, and anxious people-pleaser during these meetings.

I stared at the tennis court below, watching doubles practice in preparation for this weekend’s matches. Teams of two struck the ball back and forth, serving and hitting forehands.

The tendons in my ankles felt sore watching them dash forward and back, using every nugget of strength in their abdomens until sweat occupied every crevice.

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Deidra responded.

She had a tight-knuckled grip on her phone as she stood eerily still at the front of the room.

The rest of my PR team—assistants, communication specialists, social media managers—was pacing and whispering while I sat watching, waiting, my leg bouncing under the table.

My manager decided I needed a PR team when I won my first women’s singles title at Wimbledon five years ago.

The women’s doubles champions had invited me out that night to celebrate with the rest of the victors. I remember putting on my most coveted denim skirt and wedges, only to go to a club that hosted millionaires. I’ll never forget how the bouncer didn’t ask for my ID because he recognized my face.

“Are you sure? I have it on me!” I argued. I had turned twenty-one a week before, and all of a sudden, turning twenty-one had lost its purpose. Especially in a country whose legal drinking age I met years ago.

You’d think that’d be the most embarrassing part of the story, but the worst part was being photographed in woven wedges while surrounded by designer heels. I met actors, investors, tennis legends, and models that I’d only seen on screen.

It was the first time I was photographed and published as a star rather than the up-and-coming prodigy. “Newest Tennis Champion Gets Cocky,” the headline read. Coach held the limp paper in his hand like a mother holding her daughter’s pregnancy test.

“If I was a guy, I would’ve been patted on the back for taking a night off,” I had protested. Especially because it was five in the morning, and I was in the middle of sprint drills.

He had exhaled. “This is the first and last lesson I’ll give you when it comes to the public: Women, especially in sports, have no choice but to be perfect.

And even when they’re perfect, people will still find a way to pull them down.

So don’t let what happens out there affect what happens on this court. ”

I hired a PR team, led by Deidra, and a stylist, the next day.

Deidra became my partner off the court. But her official title was Public Relations Executive of Professional Tennis Player Luna Aldridge. My Problem Solver during working hours, Friend outside of work, and Uno Rival when I was feeling competitive.

When I met her, she was the first person to explain how my image would affect my career. The best players got the high-paying sponsors and the billboard brand deals. But they also got the most attention. The most criticism. Before her, I thought my only job was out that window, on the court.

“You know how much of a perfectionist she is, Andy—she’ll get the job done,” Deidra said matter-of-factly on the phone.

Perfectionist. That word sounded like a frayed violin string snapping. I used to take pride in that word. I relished perfectionism; it meant no one would have a reason to criticize me.

Not anymore. Now I was a villain. And Deidra was doing her best to handle damage control.

“Okay, thank you. Just send me the DocuSign as soon as possible so we can get this set in stone.”

She had bad news. Good news for her, but bad news for me. Her pursed lips gave it away.

“Do I have to get I Love Charles Elizabeth tattooed on my dominant arm?” I teased. Everyone in the room was silent with hesitation. It was as if I asked how much the widow was getting out of the will at a funeral.

I closed my mouth. It was easy to forget that my problems were theirs too. Especially since those issues were usually my next match, rather than career-ending headlines.

Deidra glared. “No, they don’t want the company name on your body.” She leaned against the head of the table, tapping her pen on the wood.

“What do they want, then?” I narrowed my eyes.

“They want you in another relationship as soon as possible.”

It was like a rope was thrown over my diaphragm and pulled tight, like twine on a gift. Except the gift was also being crushed in a vise.

“Why? That makes no sense. All they wanted before was for me to wear a few rings at events. There isn’t anything else I can do to keep them on as a sponsor?”

“They know they’re the only sponsor you have left.”

Shit. “Leverage,” I huffed.

“This was the only agreement we could come to in order to keep them on.”

“A relationship, Dee? Really?”

She sighed. “They’re a jewelry company whose main message is ‘Love, It Sparkles.’ How did you think they were going to react to the situation?”

I perched my elbows on the table, dropping my chin onto my clasped hands. “No, I get it,” I breathed.

If this was what needed to happen to hold on to my last sponsor, then I’d get it done. “How does this work? Do we have a PowerPoint presentation to go through men Princess Diaries–style?”

The women—Serena, Cecilia, Willow, Mary—on my team (who were also my friends outside this room) snickered. Deidra glared at them and nodded her head. They funneled out like herded sheep.

Once everyone was out, she crossed her arms, building her chest up with confidence. Then she spoke. “You’re going to date Kieran Alexander.”

Her words echoed in my ears as if I had been the victim of a nearby explosion.

Kieran Alexander.

I’d never heard the words date and Kieran in the same sentence, but now I knew I was allergic to them. Suddenly, I was going into anaphylaxis. My skin was hot, my stomach tumbled with nausea, my airways were closing up, and my mind was reeling.

The physical letters that formed the name Kieran pissed me off. They should all be banned and discarded from the alphabet, never to be used again. I’d lose half the letters in my name and sign off on being called Lu in order to support this law. I’d make that sacrifice for the good of the world.

The anxious muscles in my legs pushed me out of my chair, feeling the need to move—think, strategize, calculate a plan that wasn’t this. I bit my tongue, shaking my head. If I spoke, it wasn’t going to be professional.

Deidra watched me pace, waiting for my response.

“There must be someone else. I will date anyone else,” I said firmly.

“It needs to be him,” she responded decisively.

Her coldness caught me off guard. This was her job, I knew that. But not caring wasn’t like her.

Unless—“You picked him, didn’t you?”

“I chose him because I know it will work.”

This wasn’t fair. But after the last eight months, I was beginning to learn that nothing about life was fair.

“You know what happened,” I urged, reminding her, but more so myself. This scandal was some twisted lie. She knew that. She was part of our tight circle who knew the truth.

But she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter that I know what actually happened.

What matters is what people think happened.

Perception matters more than truth in these scenarios—you should know that more than anyone by now—and we need a solution to change their perception of you before you get back on that court. Mr. Alexander is our solution.”

The doorknob turned. In walked Amir Kumar, my friend and nutritionist. “Luna, you’ll never believe who was working at Guac My World today—”

I shook my head as a warning, widening my eyes to say not the time. Amir shut his mouth, mirroring my reaction with twice the horror.

“Leave the smoothie, Kumar,” Deidra stated.

He nodded his head and put the smoothie down on the table, then spun around on one foot and walked back out.

When the door shut, I spoke up. “You’re not telling me why it has to be him, though.”

“Mr. Alexander’s team is trying to promote his upcoming romance film. However, he’s garnered the reputation of a—”

“Frat boy.”

“—bachelor. Seeing him in a romantic relationship would help make his character more believable and increase ticket sales.”

“So he needs me.”

“No, you need each other.”

“Why can’t his team find someone else?”

“His team can find someone else, Luna. We are the ones who can’t.

You also already know him—the public has seen the two of you interact in years past, so it’ll make this more believable.

But if you’re not going to come out about the truth, then we need to be strategic about this.

Your last and only sponsor wants you in a relationship to market their love-inspired jewelry.

And the public sees you as a toxic, stuck-up, unloving woman because the world’s most popular tennis star said so.

So if the public trusts tennis’s prince so much, then I’m positive they’ll listen to Hollywood’s king. ”