Page 26 of Match Point

“Make itthreedrinks, and you have a deal,” I replied.

“Mr. deGrom?” an aide called. “They’re waiting for you in the press room.”

“I’m envying your retirement right now,” Dominic said as he walked away.

“It’s the best!” I called after him. “In fact, I might have an afternoon beer while watching the Moreau match!”

He flashed me a smile and disappeared into the press room.

12

Miranda

The next day, I took my seat in the VIP section to watch Tristan’s first round match. He grinned for the crowd during warm-ups, and signed autographs before the match began while joking with the spectators. He seemed like his normal, goofy self that the home crowd loved.

But I could tell it was forced.

Despite his weak backhand, he managed to beat his opponent that day in four sets: 6 - 4, 4 - 6, 6 - 3, 6 - 4. Even though it was a match he was heavily favored to win, he pumped his fist and tossed his cap into the crowd after winning. And for a few heartbeats, it looked like he was staring directly up at me in the crowd.

His second round match the next day didn’t go so well. His opponent had clearly watched the tape of Tristan’s first game, and spotted the weakness in his backhand. He hammered Tristan’s left side, over and over, every single point of every single game. Tristan eventually became frustrated by this, and tried hurrying to that side so he could use his forehand instead. But of course that opened up the entire rest of the court, which his opponent took advantage of.

While he was down in the third set, Tristan tried switching to a two-handed backhand. But he was out of practice, and sent both shots sailing long.

Tristan didn’t have much spark after that, and lost in straight sets: 4 - 6, 2 - 6, 1 - 6.

The Melbourne crowd, which had been hoping their hometown boy would go deep into the tournament, was disappointed with the showing. Many fans booed Tristan as he packed up his gear. Eventually, the Aussie turned his cap around to shield most of his view from the angry crowd.

I felt bad for him. I knew what it was like to lose on the big stage, and in front of a home crowd. I’d had my share of embarrassing losses at the US Open. I left the stands and went down to the tunnels leading to the press room.

Tristan was already inside, taking questions from reporters. I stood outside and listened for a minute or two.

“Tristan, it’s clear that something is wrong with your backhand. Have you been playing through an injury?”

“Ask any player on tour if they’re playing through an injury, and every single man and woman will say they are,” he replied.

“But yours seemed quite obvious. Especially considering the way Anthony focused on that side the entire match.”

“I have some aches I’m working through with my coach,” he said bluntly. “Some rest will do me good, then I’ll be proper fit for the French Open.”

“Are you disappointed losing in the second round here, in front of your fans?” someone else asked.

“Disappointed?” He snorted. “I was disappointed when Ted Lasso left Richmond AFC and went home to Kansas. I’m disappointed when ALDI is out of Vegemite. When I lose here in Melbourne Park, I’m proper fuckingdevastated.”

The curse caused a flurry of camera flashes from the photographers in the room, and the reporters all talked over one-another to ask the next question. I turned away from the room… and almost ran right into Tristan’s coach.

“Thanks for trying,” he said. “Shame he’s so bloody stubborn.”

I sighed. “Yeah. It is. Do you knowwhy?Is it because he was embarrassed to be coached by a woman?”

His coach shook his head. “It’s not that. I get the impression it’s personal, though. You two have any kind of history together?”

We kissed at a party fourteen years ago. And then never spoke again until this week.

“Not really,” I said. “Barely had any interaction at the Academy. Think he’ll ask for my help again?”

“I hope not.” He held up a hand before I could demand to know why. “Not because you weren’t good. You were. But because I want him to spend the next three months resting before Roland Garros. By then, hopefully his oblique will be healed and we won’t need to switch up his backhand. But if we do need you, I won’t hesitate to call. Enjoy retirement, Miranda. You’d make a good coach, if you want to go that route.”

I left the tunnel before Tristan could see me. If he didn’t want to see me, then I didn’t want to see him.

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