Page 118 of Carrie Soto Is Back

Soto lost to Cortez in Melbourne earlier this season. But she has been gaining momentum all year and has won Wimbledon nine times previously. Still, betting odds are putting Cortez ahead by 3 to 2.

It will be, no doubt, a rousing event—the Rookie vs. the Comeback.

When asked, Carrie Soto said, quote, “I am eager to get on the court and show Ingrid Cortez why I’ve long dominated at Wimbledon,” unquote. Ingrid Cortez said this morning, quote, “I beat her in Melbourne. I’ll beat her again today,” unquote. Oof. Harsh words for such ladies. Watch out, gents.

In just a few hours, we will know the victor.

SOTO VS. CORTEZ

Wimbledon 1995

Final

I am standing at CentreCourt. The grass, which just two short weeks ago was a lively green, is now pale and bone dry. I inhale and take in the distinct and glorious sight of the Wimbledon final court. I hold back the smile on my face.

Ingrid Cortez is standing on the opposite side of the net, fixing her sweatband. Her golden hair shines in the sun; her long limbs hover delicately at the baseline.

She smiles at me. It’s not so much a friendly gesture as a baring of teeth.

I adjust my visor. I close my eyes.

Then I toss the ball into the air and open up the court with a flat first serve that fires right over the net, wide to her backhand.

We rally for the point until I hit a slice that she can’t return.

First point mine.

I look up to the stands at Gwen and Ali. And then, in the royal box, I see Princess Diana.

Once my eye lands on her, it is hard to look away. She is wearing a pale yellow dress and blazer, and she is, as always, the most elegant woman I’ve ever seen.

I know that so many people across the world feel a kinship with her. But right now, mine feels especially sharp. I want to win, today, with her here. I want to say to her,They can’t make us go away just because they are done with us.

I refocus as I set for my next serve.

I take a breath. Before I even know what I am doing, my left arm tosses the ball as my right arm comes up to meet it. The ball goes screaming past Cortez’s racket and bounces just inside the sideline. An ace.

I don’t bother to smile at Cortez, to even give her the satisfaction of my satisfaction. I show nothing, as if this is nothing. Beating her is nothing to me.

But the truth is, I can feel the hum beginning in my bones.

I take the set.

—

At the end of the second set, we go to a tiebreaker.

The championship and the record are in the palm of my hand.

But I can feel myself tightening up as victory gets closer; the hum starts to fade into the background.

Cortez takes the tiebreaker.

—

Third set, 5–4. I’m up, but it’s Cortez’s serve next.

For a moment, as Cortez begins her toss, I have this flash of wanting it all to be over, wanting to see how it all ends.

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