Page 32 of Serve
“I think I just heard the doorbell. Would you mind getting it? I need to make a phone call, and the girls are saying goodbye to Emm’s parents.” Tyler smiled and mussed his hair.
Chip nodded, and went downstairs. He stopped and checked himself out in the floor-length mirror next to the massive wooden door. He looked a mess, his face all red and damp. The doorbell rang again, so he took a deep breath and opened it.
“Hi sugar. Weren’t expecting me now, were you?” Aunt Dixie took one look at her nephew, dropped her bags and took him in her arms. The torrent of emotions welling up inside burst through at the sight of her.
“Looks like I got here just in time.” She said softly, holding him as the emotions of the last few days broke through.
Chapter Sixteen
Chip- Rome
“Are you ready to watch his interview?”
Aunt Dixie fumbled with the remote while Chip and Tina sat on either side of her. Tyler flew her into Madrid, hoping she’d help Chip with his homesickness, and so far it was working. Now they were in Rome, and she’d taken control of their itinerary.
“It’s always strange seeing him on television, like he’s another person. Even his voice sounds different.” Chip said.
“In a way it is another person. That’s Tyler, the super-professional sports star who’s graced magazine covers and held numerous trophies. You know the real one, the guy who farts in bed and picks his nose when he thinks no one is looking.” Aunt Dixie laughed, while Tina and Chip looked at her with open mouths.
“What are you two gaping at?” Aunt Dixie elbowed Chip. “I’ve known him longer than you, sweet pea.”
“Shhh. They’re starting.” Tina grabbed the remote from Dixie and turned up the volume.
Tyler was on the Euro Sports Channel, being interviewed by Marissa Cantor, a former tennis pro. He was in a deep-blue suit, rare for him to wear, but he was spending the afternoon doing promotional stuff for the tour. Even though Chip had helped him dress, even tying his tie, it took his breath away to see him on television. Dashing was the only word he could think of to describe him, like a model on one of those romance books his aunt was always reading.
“Today we have a popular favorite with tennis fans around the globe, Tyler Florman. Welcome Tyler, good to see you back in action.”
“Thank you, it’s good to be here.” Tyler beamed at the camera.
“I was thrilled when you won Houston, but seeing you hold the trophy in Madrid was even more significant.” Marissa leaned forward in her seat, drawing his eyes to her.
“Well, Houston means a lot to me, because it’s my home tournament. I live close by, and it’s great to win in front of friends and neighbors. Madrid was important because it’s the first Masters’ title I’ve won in two years.” The look of satisfaction on his face shone for the cameras.
“You’ve also jumped back into the top twenty. There were a few observers who thought your career was almost over.” She came right to the point. Tyler shook his head and grinned.
“And they were wrong, weren’t they?” He said. The two laughed, then Marissa asked a tougher question.
“Other players were surprised when you hired Montserrat Hernandez to be your coach. How is that working out for you?”
“Emm is an awesome coach, and obviously she’s helping my game in a big way. She keeps me motivated, and is teaching me skills that are helping me win more tournaments.” He said.
“What they were surprised at was the fact that you hired a woman.” Marissa said. She raised her perfectly drawn eyebrows for effect.
“I think it’s ridiculous that people would be. Amelie Mauresmo did a great job with Andy Murray, so why shouldn’t I hire a woman as well? Emm is a former grand slam champion, and she knows how to win. Her gender has nothing to do with anything. I hired the most qualified person for the job, and it happened to be a woman. Big deal.” He shrugged his shoulders and winked at Marissa.
“You tell her, Tyler!” Aunt Dixie yelled.
Chip shushed her.
“So what’s the future hold for you? I mean, you are obviously back in a big way.” Marissa said.
“I’m taking it one tournament at a time. Beyond that, the goal is Grand Slams.” He said. Beads of sweat appeared on his upper lip.
“The French Open is the next slam, but you’ve won that. I’m thinking Wimbledon is your next goal.”
“Well, yes. I love Paris, and to hold that trophy again would be amazing. But my sights are set on London.” A picture of him holding the trophy at the French Open five years ago appeared on the blue screen behind them. He was covered in red dirt, tears of joy snaking down his cheeks.
“If you win Wimbledon, you will join only eight other men in the history of the sport to have won all four grand slams.” She said. The picture behind them changed to a picture of the players who’d previously won the career grand slam.
