Carrie Soto Is Back(16)

The bulk of the commentators…they wanted a woman whose eyes would tear up with gratitude, as if she owed them her victory, as if she owed them everything she had.

I don’t know if it had ever been within me to act like that, but by the age of twenty, it was long gone.

And it cost me.

By the time I was a Grand Slam champion, ranked number two in the world, I had fewer endorsement deals than any of the other players in the top ten. I had no real friendships on the tour or elsewhere.

And while I’d slept around a lot, the longest relationship I’d ever had was with an actor I’d been with a few times at the Chateau Marmont when he was filming in L.A.

He was a huge tennis fan. He’d been there when I won Wimbledon the year before. Maybe it was because of that that I had thought he might actually like me. But after a few weeks, without warning, he stopped calling.

I convinced myself that he’d lost my number. So I tracked down his agent and tried to leave him a message. Upon hearing his agent’s cringing pause, I realized he hadn’t lost my number at all.

So I fucking better be ranked number one. What else did I have?

“Stepanova’s not as good as I am, Dad,” I said. “But she’s still squeaking out way more titles than she should, and that’s how she’s beating me in the end-of-the-year rankings.”

“You go weeks at a time where you’re ranked number one,” he said. “The end-of-the-year ranking is not the best metric.”

“I’m supposed to be the greatest by all metrics,” I said.

My father put his fork down and looked at me as I continued.

“If I am not number one at the end of the year, it is because I did not win enough of the right matches, and thus I am not yet the greatest.”

My father frowned. “Como quieras, Carolina.”

“We need to work harder,” I said. “Both of us. We need to be out on the court twice as much. You need to look inside your little bag of tricks and come up with another angle I’m not seeing. Stepanova has gotten quicker now, to keep up with me. Have you noticed that?”

“Hija, you are everything we wanted you to be. And time will show that you are the better player,” he said. “Stepanova’s going to be out in just a few years. She’s already ruining her shoulder. And then your reign will be longer.”

“If I am number one only after she’s done, I’m not the greatest. She is.”

“But you will go down in history as the more decorated player.”

“I want the record to show that now. We need a plan.”

My father pushed his plate away. “Hija, I don’t know how much better you can get.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I think I have done you a disservice,” my father finally said, looking me in the eye. “I told you from such a young age that you could be the very best. But I never explained to you that it’s about aiming for excellence, not about stats.”

“What?”

“I am just saying that when you were a child, I spoke in…grandiosities. But, Carrie, there is no actual unequivocal greatest in the world. Tennis doesn’t work like that. The world doesn’t work like that.”

“I’m not going to sit here and be insulted.”

“How am I insulting you? I am telling you there is no one way to define the greatest of all time. You’re focusing right now on rankings. But what about the person who gets the most titles over the span of their career? Are they the greatest? How about the person with the fastest recorded serve? Or the highest paid? I’m asking you to take a minute and recalibrate your expectations.”

“Excuse me?” I said, standing up. “Recalibrate my expectations?”

“Carrie,” my father said. “Please listen to me.”

“No,” I said, putting my hands up. “Don’t use your calm voice and act like you’re being nice. Because you’re not. Having someone on this planet who is as good as me—or better—means I have not achieved my goal. If you would like to coach someone who is fine being second, go coach someone else.”

I threw my napkin down and walked out of the restaurant. I made my way through the lobby to the parking lot. I was still furious by the time my father caught up to me by my car.

“Carolina, stop, you’re making a scene,” he said.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is?” I shouted. It felt shocking to me, to hear my own voice that loud. “To give everything you have to something and still not be able to grasp it! To fail to reach the top day after day and be expected to do it with a smile on your face? Maybe I’m not allowed to make a scene on the court, but I will make a scene here, Dad. It is the very least you can give me. Just for once in my life, let me scream about something!”

There were people gathering in the parking lot, and each one of them, I could tell, knew my name. Knew my father’s name. Knew exactly what they were witnessing.

“WHAT ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT? GO ON ABOUT YOUR SAD LITTLE DAYS!”

I got in my convertible and drove away.



* * *



—

The second I got back to my hotel suite, I sat down on the sofa and grabbed the phone off the side table. I put it in front of me and stared at it for a brief moment before picking up the receiver and dialing.