Twenty-Eight #2
I set my bag down, the reminder that I had won my first title the day before swelling my chest. “I don’t even have it right now,” I said. “We had to stick it in Tomas’s suitcase because it wouldn’t fit anywhere else.”
“That’s a clever way to steal a trophy.”
“He won two of his own, he doesn’t need mine!”
She laughed and threw her arms around me. “Congratulations again. I’m so pleased for you, you thoroughly deserved that win and many more.”
“Thanks,” I said, squeezing her until she yelped. “It’s sure been a rollercoaster.”
“In more ways than one!” She tilted her head, looking me over as she stepped back. “How are things with Miles?” She touched my bracelet. “This is nice.”
The silver charms winked in the sun. I’d worn it throughout the tournament in Brisbane, so glad to have Miles with me on court even when he couldn’t be there watching.
“Things are . . . good. Really good. I’m still worried about the next time we have to play each other, although right now I don’t think I could beat him.
Did you see he demolished Carey Ellsworth the other day? ”
“Yeah, nice of you to let him beat the world number three for once.”
We started stretching, the sun bearing down hot and dry and very Australian. The month the tour spent in my home country had always been my favourite part of the year.
“Miles messaged me the other day,” Katie said as we worked.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, and no I’m not telling you what we talked about.”
“I wasn’t asking!” I cried. “I was just surprised. And pleased, if I’m honest. I’d like you to be friends.”
She tilted her head, theatrically considering. “Hmm, I think we can manage it. He did bring me a lot of sushi after all.”
“He did.”
“And he’s good for you. And makes you happy.”
“He really does.”
Aware that I could probably talk about Miles all day, I changed the subject before my afternoon with Katie devolved into nothing but me gushing about my boyfriend. “How are you feeling about the Open?” I asked as we fetched racquets.
“Good.”
I set a hand on my hip and gave her a look, while around us the thwack of balls and the squeak of shoes was the endless music of our lives.
“Good, really, just . . . a forced sort of good,” she admitted. “Because I’m determined rather than because I think I can really do it. Last season was my best though, so I’m just going to go for it and hope to make this one even better. That’s how it works for mere mortals like me, right?”
“Are you saying I’m not a mere mortal?”
She pressed her smile flat. “Well, your career has really taken off, hasn’t it? You’re making finals and winning titles—”
“Title, singular.”
“—and beating world number threes on centre court at grand slams. That one is plural.”
“Unfortunately. But . . . Katie, you know better than anyone what a mess I am. And I still am! I had a whole meltdown at Miles the night before the final. Turns out fear and doubt don’t magically go away when you’re playing well.
I still have to force myself to believe.
Although, I admit having someone who believes in you when you can’t believe in yourself makes a big difference. ”
She nodded, shrugging. “That does sound nice. But until I find myself a Miles, or rather a Milesina, I’m just going to have to believe in myself.”
“While I’m absolutely second best to this as-yet unknown Milesina, you’ve still got me. So, you’ve got this. What do you want to work on today?”
Scrunchie
Hey, what’s your schedule like tomorrow?
pretty light, i think, except for practice?
i have that exhibition match in the evening though. why?
Nico’s practising with the juniors in the afternoon, so Tomas and I are spending the morning working with him. He’s still not sure he has what it takes for a pro career, and since no one reads tennis like you, I thought you might come along
You super don’t have to though. I know you’re busy
sounds great. something something we owe it to those who came before us to help those who come after us something something
You really are amazing, you know
i’m just out here trying to score points with my boyfriend
Oh, well then do you want to join me and Katie for breakfast, too?
hey, NOW you’re pushing it
MILES WAS ALWAYS busy with media appearances amid his match prep before grand slams – something I’d often envied in a general way. With my flashy rise up the rankings, I’d had a steady increase in requests during tournaments, but because this was the Australian slam, we were inundated.
“You need an agent,” Tomas said as he put down his phone and pencilled yet another thing into my diary. “I can deal with scheduling your media appearances, but I’ve had two calls feeling out sponsorship deals just today and I am not made for hardball negotiations about money.”
“I’m sorry,” I groaned, dropping into the chair. “I know. I’ve just been putting it off.”
“Yes, because you don’t like changing things, in case this exact balance of everything is the only reason you’re currently playing well.”
“Hey!”
He grinned as he looked up. “Tell me I’m wrong!”
“You know I can’t, but you didn’t have to say it.”
Tomas hit play on the TV, and the match of mine he’d been watching before the interruption sped back into life, the camera zooming in as I was about to serve. “Yes, I did, because not letting you get stuck in bad mental grooves is part of my job. Negotiating contracts for you is not though.”
“No, I’ll find someone.”
“Ask Danny for a recommendation maybe. I swear that man knows everyone. Or you could ask Tina. She might even deal with these for you for now if you ask nicely. I know long term you might not want Miles’s sister as your agent and I don’t even pretend to know what’s going on with his business stuff, but whatever it is, she’s been actively looking for additional clients. ”
Because of course Miles’s fight with his parents had made her life hard too.
“She might be grateful for the extra business,” he added when I didn’t answer. “Talk to them maybe. Or call Danny. Either way, it’s not going to change how you’re playing, okay? Even in small ways, life changes every day.”
“Yeah, I know.” I slumped lower in the chair, while on the TV the commentators were discussing my first serve percentage in a way that made me glad I couldn’t hear them while on court. “You’re as bad as Miles for calling me on all my terrible patterns.”
With a smug little smile, Tomas made a note on his pad in his barely legible scrabble-scratch.
“I’m learning from the master. Although—” He hit pause on the replay again, past-Matteo having achieved only two quick service points.
“I had a call from a queer youth charity while you were out, too. They’ve got a pavilion in the grounds and want to schedule a time for you to have a hit for them.
There’s been huge interest from the press, apparently, but I didn’t want to give them an answer without asking you since your dislike of being The Gay Tennis Player isn’t so much a mental rut as a protective rejection of the shit you’ve had to deal with. ”
I stared half-unseeing at my frozen face on the TV screen, caught part way to one of the smiles I apparently produced a lot on court when things were going well.
“Yeah,” I said. “Although Tina tells me I should embrace being The Gay Player as an investment in my career.” I’d always hated people talking about anything but my tennis, though it was hard to know how much of that had been built on fear of bigotry – bigotry I had put a lot of energy into avoiding, perhaps to my own detriment.
Especially since avoiding it would never make it go away.
On the TV, past-Matteo looked like he really wanted to finish that smile. I sighed. “Something something we owe it to those who came before us to help those who come after us something something,” I muttered. And then because Tina had absolutely been right, I said, “Yeah, sure. Let’s do it.”
THERE WAS A lot of press. They talked to the charity organisers, they talked to the gathered crowd, they talked to the kids and teens who’d come to hit with me, and they talked to me.
They took photos in which everyone smiled, and filmed me perform-ing the simple task of just existing and hitting easy balls for a collection of different kids with queer flags pinned to their shirts.
And everyone smiled at me like I was the fucking sun.
It was amazing.
And at the end of the hour when we were wrapping up, a junior who’d been helping entertain the waiting kids made his way over as I was packing away my racquets.
Around us, the crowd was dissipating off into the general excitement of the final qualifying day, Melbourne Park awash with pre-tournament anticipation.
“Excuse me, Mr Russo?”
“Hey, it’s just Mat,” I said, shooting him a smile as I zipped up my bag.