Page 13 of Serve
“Well, the reporters asked a question I wanted answered. Who do you want for a coach?” She asked. Tyler looked to the ceiling, embarrassed to admit his choice.
“Scott. I know he left on bad terms, but I want Scott back.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. After the way he treated you, you want him back on your team?” Sania shook her head in wonder. She was a tough woman. It was unusual for her to be flustered, but this was beyond belief.
“He’s an asshole, I know, but I won all of my slams with him in my corner.” He stood up and paced the floor. Scott Turner was his former coach. He’d abandoned him after an embarrassing incident at a hotel in South America, right after a tournament. Now he was coaching a much younger player who seemed on the verge of establishing a successful career.
Sania bit her lip, then scribbled a few notes on hotel stationery. He could tell she was thinking of ways to talk him out of this. Couldn’t blame her; it was her job to protect him.
“Let’s call him right now.”
It was Tyler’s turn to be surprised.
“You really want to? Right now?”
She didn’t bother to answer. Instead, she whipped out her phone and made the call. Tyler’s heart raced. He’d never confronted Scott about his leaving. In fact, they hadn’t spoken since he’d left. The way he’d quit was a sore point for him. He'd announced it to the press, instead of discussing it with him. He claimed Tyler was on the verge of retiring, because he was a loser. He’d never forget reading those words, but he was afraid of changing things. He and Scott, despite their differences, were a winning team for so many years. He wanted that magic back, even if it meant putting up with his homophobia.
“Scott, this is Sania. How’s it going?” She held the phone away from her and put it on speaker. She placed her finger over her lips, hoping Tyler would stay silent.
“Great. I’m busy. What do you want?” His answer was brusque, like he was speaking to a telemarketer. Tyler was surprised he’d answered at all. He and Sania had a mutual loathing for one another.
“We’re interested in bringing you back on the team. What can we offer that will make you say yes?” She got right to the point.
“Well, maybe one hundred percent of Tyler’s earnings, since they won’t be much. He’s on a losing streak, been on one for a long time. Nothing I can do to help him. He’s a loser. Why the hell are you sticking with him? You’re a smart woman. Don’t tell me you can’t see which way the wind is blowing?”
Tyler shut his eyes and fell back on the couch. Maybe he needed to hear this? Was this why Sania had called him up so quickly after he suggested it?
“I’m on Tyler’s team, because he’s a winner. We just held a press conference. He will be back on tour soon, with you or without you.” Her eyes never left Tyler, reading his reactions.
“Well, give him a message for me. I’m through dealing with him. I don’t care how much money he offers, the answer is no. I’ve got a great pupil now. You’ve heard of Travis Johnson? He’s won his last two tournaments, and is breaking into the top fifty as of next week. I’d be crazy to let him go in favor of a thirty-year-old has-been who’s lost the last two slams.”
“Thanks for your time, Scott.” Sania disconnected the call before he said anything else. She reached her hand into her pocket, then pulled it out and placed it on her hip. He spied the square shape of a cigarette pack through the fabric.
“I’m sorry, Tyler.” She murmured, then grabbed her pen and scratched through her notes.
“No, don’t be. I needed to know where I stood. He’s obviously not open to working with me.” He stood and started pacing again. He had no idea what the hell he’d ever done to Scott to make him so resentful.
They both spoke at the same time.
“Why…”
“He’s…”
“Sania, sorry, go ahead. What were you going to say?”
“Why is he so angry with you?” She asked.
“I don’t know. I have my suspicions, but does it really matter? Now you know that he’s not willing to be on our team. In fact, I’d say it’s for the best.” His voice was soft, resigned.
She stood beside him and took his hand. Usually she was all business, so it surprised him.
“I believe in you, not just as a tennis player, but as a person. I really meant it when I told you I’d support you no matter what you decided. Your days of being a winner are far from over. You’re one of the few players who’s never had a serious injury, and you take excellent care of yourself. Thirty is the new twenty, and I think you have a lot more winning to do before you hang up your racket.” She smiled, let go of his hand, and walked over to the mini-bar. “Want a beer?”
“Definitely.”
“I’m putting together a list of candidates, and I’ll get back to you ASAP about them.” Sania said. They’d gone back and forth about coaching options. For Tyler, compatibility was the most important thing. He needed to get along well with his coach. Problem was, since he’d spent most of his career hiding in the closet, he was more standoffish than most players. He’d never made many friends on tour, and his list of coaching candidates was slim.
Sania focused on results. She wanted him to achieve his dream of completing a career grand slam. To do that, you had to win all four major tournaments over the course of your career. He’d won two U.S. Opens, a French Open title, and one at the Australian Open. The only major he’d not conquered was Wimbledon. This tournament was played on grass, a quick surface that didn’t favor his style of play. She knew the only way he’d hoist that particular trophy was to retool his defensive, baseline-oriented style into an attacking game played at the net. He was also older, and playing an attacking game would shorten points. Winning matches quickly was important and would extend his career.
