Page 54 of Carrie Soto Is Back

Jones:She danced on the court.

Lakin:That’s not gloating?

Jones:I don’t know. But—

Lakin:If she has to come back, fine, I say. You know, I was one of the people saying from the beginning that it’s her right to do it.

Jones:Yes, you did say that. I remember that.

Lakin:But is it not another thing entirely to come back and then act like an animal? “I am going to hold their beating hearts in my hand”? Where is the grace? The poise? This is a sport of ladies and gentlemen.

Jones:I’m not sure I agree with that. But your point, Briggs, I understand. Carrie Soto is a loud, abrasive player. She always has been. If we thought she’d mellow out, we were wrong.

Hadley:Unfortunately, Gloria, I agree with you on that. Looking forward, she’s up against Carla Perez. Perez is a tough opponent. Can Carrie hold her own?

Jones:I’m not saying no—

Lakin:I would not bet on her, I’ll say that.

I am sitting in myhotel room, watching Nicki play Andressa Machado. She has one set behind her; it’s 7–6 in the second. Machado is serving, and Nicki is running all over the court, making every shot. I don’t know how running with that much speed and hitting with that much intensity doesn’t deplete her.

Nicki gets Machado to match point. Machado serves it low and wide; Nicki runs and hits the backhand with full force. It flies past Machado, sealing the match for Nicki. The crowd cheers. The commentators are fawning over her. “Nicki Chan sails to the third round, as if anyone had any doubt!”

No one but me seems to notice that as Nicki walks off the court, she’s favoring her left ankle.

The phone rings, and I assume it’s my father. That ankle won’t have gotten by him either. But it isn’t my father at all, it’s Bowe.

“Oh, hi,” I say.

“I mopped the floor with Lomal,” Bowe says. I can hear his smile through the phone.

“I heard,” I say. “Congratulations.”

He says, “Congrats on beating Flores.”

“Thank you, thank you. She never stood a chance.”

“No,” he says. “She didn’t. But we all knew that, didn’t we?”

“Knew what?”

“That you were going to come back and it would be like you never left.”

“It might be a little early to say that,” I say.

“You have something, Carrie,” Bowe says. “You always have.”

“And so have you.”

“Do you really think that?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. “I do.”

Bowe is quiet for a moment—a second too long. “Are you still there?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he says, but his voice becomes low and quiet, breathy almost. “Carrie, let me come up to your room.”

I freeze.

---