Carrie Soto Is Back(36)

Transcript


    Sports Australia


    SportsLine with Stephen Mastiff




Stephen Mastiff: Pivoting to women’s singles for a moment, who are we keeping an eye on here, mate?

Harrison Trawley, editor of SportsPages Australia: Well, Nicki Chan, obviously. Everyone is expecting her in the final. But also, I’m looking at Ingrid Cortez, I’m looking at Natasha Antonovich. I’m excited to see some quick, daring moves from her. And I think power hitters like Odette Moretti out of Italy will have a good showing.

Mastiff: I notice you’re not mentioning Soto.

Trawley: [laughs] No, nobody’s looking at Soto for this. But if we want to talk about Americans, I think perhaps Carla Perez could seize the moment.





MID-JANUARY


    The night before the Australian Open


My father and I are sitting on the patio of my hotel suite, looking out over the city, discussing the draw, which was announced earlier today. I’m in section 7. In my first match I’ll be playing a twenty-two-year-old Czech serve-and-volley player named Madlenka Dvo?áková. We are playing day 1 at Rod Laver Arena, the highest-profile court.

“It is not an accident,” my father says. “That they have you center court against a low-ranked player. You’re unseeded, but they are behind you.”

I shake my head. “They just know it will make them money. To keep me in the tournament as long as they can.”

I look out over the small slice of Melbourne that we can see from my hotel, including the Yarra River as it crosses through the city. I have sat outside looking at this river so many times in my life—as a rookie, as a challenger, as a champion. Now it’s as a comeback. I am both stunned to find myself here again and positively sure I’ve never left.

“You’ll go out there tomorrow,” my father says, “and you’ll beat her, no le vas a dar tiempo ni de pensar.”

I inhale sharply—imagining the opposite of what my father is describing. What if tomorrow I lose in the first round? What if this whole thing is over before it’s even begun? The idea of it is so humiliating, I feel nauseated.

The phone rings, and the clang of it startles me. I walk into the bedroom to answer it. “Hello?”

“Good luck tomorrow,” Bowe says.

“You too.”

“Fucking crush her. Make her bleed.”

“Will do,” I say. “You too.”

“We can do this,” Bowe says. “At least, you can. I know it.”

“Thank you,” I say, almost choking on the words. I am suddenly embarrassed at how transparent the emotion in my voice is. “I guess this is it. No turning back now.”

“No, I suppose not,” he says. “But you wouldn’t turn back even if you could, Soto.”





THE 1995


   AUSTRALIAN


   OPEN





When I wake up in the morning, I feel a hum in my bones that I have not felt in years. It is startling, the buzz of unexpected joy.

It is still early as I get out of bed. The sun has not yet risen. I feel a sense of control that I sometimes get when I wake up before the rest of the world. I have the feeling that the day’s events are mine to determine, that I hold everything in the palm of my hand.

I get up to get ready for a short run. I throw on dolphin shorts and a T-shirt, a pair of sneakers. I go down to the lobby. But before I can get out the front door of the hotel, the woman behind the check-in desk stops me.

“Ms. Soto?” she says.

“Yes?” I want to get running. “What is it?”

“A package arrived for you,” she says.

She hands me a padded envelope with a return address from Gwen. I rip the end off. Inside, there is a gift box not much bigger than a book. On top is a note in Gwen’s unmistakable cursive.

If anyone can do this, it is you.

Track One —G.



I open the gift box to see a Discman with a pair of headphones plugged in, a CD already in it. It is Elton John’s Caribou. I look at the first song and laugh.

“Ms. Soto?” the woman says, clasping her hands together.

“Yes?”

“Would you mind terribly if I asked for an autograph?”

I sigh, but then I remember there are a lot of people who wish I would crawl into a hole right now. So I’ll take a kind face over that. “Sure, yes, of course you can,” I say.

She hands me a piece of paper and a pen. “Oh, wow, Ms. Soto, this is…this is just amazing,” she says. “Thank you so much.”

I take the pen and I scrawl Take ’em all down, Carrie Soto across the paper and hand it back to her.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Soto,” she says. “I’ve been a fan of yours since I was thirteen and you won here back in ’85. I was there in the stands with my father. He loves you too.”

“You don’t mind that I’m an arrogant, ambitious bitch?”

She laughs. “No, I do not,” she says.

“I’m going to win today,” I tell her.

“I have no doubt,” she says.

I nod at her, take the Discman out of the box, and put the headphones on. I tap the desk and smile at her as I make my way back toward the door. I press play and start running out of the lobby.