“What?”
“I am just saying that when you were a child, I spoke in…grandiosities. But, Carrie, there is no actual unequivocal greatest in the world. Tennis doesn’t work like that. The world doesn’t work like that.”
“I’m not going to sit here and be insulted.”
“How am I insulting you? I am telling you there is no one way to define the greatest of all time. You’re focusing right now on rankings. But what about the person who gets the most titles over the span of their career? Are they the greatest? How about the person with the fastest recorded serve? Or the highest paid? I’m asking you to take a minute and recalibrate your expectations.”
“Excuse me?” I said, standing up. “Recalibrate my expectations?”
“Carrie,” my father said. “Please listen to me.”
“No,” I said, putting my hands up. “Don’t use your calm voice and act like you’re being nice. Because you’re not. Having someone on this planet who is as good as me—or better—means I have not achieved my goal. If you would like to coach someone who is fine being second, go coach someone else.”
I threw my napkin down and walked out of the restaurant. I made my way through the lobby to the parking lot. I was still furious by the time my father caught up to me by my car.
“Carolina, stop, you’re making a scene,” he said.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is?” I shouted. It felt shocking to me, to hear my own voice that loud. “To give everything you have to something and still not be able to grasp it! To fail to reach the top day after day and be expected to do it with a smile on your face? Maybe I’m not allowed to make a scene on the court, but I will make a scene here, Dad. It is the very least you can give me. Just for once in my life, let me scream about something!”
There were people gathering in the parking lot, and each one of them, I could tell, knew my name. Knew my father’s name. Knew exactly what they were witnessing.
“WHAT ARE YOU ALL LOOKING AT? GO ON ABOUT YOUR SAD LITTLE DAYS!”
I got in my convertible and drove away.
* * *
—
The second I got back to my hotel suite, I sat down on the sofa and grabbed the phone off the side table. I put it in front of me and stared at it for a brief moment before picking up the receiver and dialing.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Carrie.” My heart rate was rising; I could feel my face flushing. I kept looking at the door, knowing my father could walk through it at any moment.
“The Battle Axe! Finally!” Lars Van de Berg said. “I have left you countless messages.”
He’d been calling more and more as Mary-Louise’s career began to plateau.
“Yes, well,” I said. “It has been a complicated call to return.”
“Yes, I’d imagine it is.”
“I’m the number two player in the world,” I said. I cradled the phone between my ear and my shoulder. I hunched over, my elbows on my knees. “I should be number one.”
“I agree,” Lars said.
“Javier thinks that being second is a great achievement and I should be proud,” I said.
“Well, he is your father. I have three children, and I want, very much, for them to be happy,” Lars said. “But sometimes I think being the very best is antithetical to being happy.”
“Yes,” I said. “Exactly.” I stood up and carried the phone with me to my balcony. I watched the palm trees sway in the wind. There was a breeze coming through, and I was thankful for it, despite the January chill in Florida.
“Carrie, listen to me. I am one of the best coaches in women’s tennis, you know this. Everyone has known this since I coached Chrissy Salvos to take eight titles in ’62. What Mary-Louise and I have done together is truly spectacular, given her ability. But she is not performing at the level I need.”
“This would hasten the end of her career,” I say. “If you were to leave her now.”
“It might. But you cannot worry about that.”
“She’d be worried about it, if the situation were reversed. She’d be considering my feelings.”
“Yes,” he said, then sighed. “She would. And she wonders why she never reached her full potential. Look, I have never coached a player with as much natural talent as you. And as coaches, we can’t do our best work without the perfect player. I will never know what I am truly capable of until I have the chance to coach someone as good as you. I need you to do my greatest work. I am a sculptor. And you are the finest piece of clay I could ever work with. I saw that back in ’68 when you first played Mary-Louise. And I will tell you now what I told your father then: He has done a fine job honing your talent. And I can take it from here.”