Page 1 of A Summer of Stars

MAY

New York City

“Luna Aldridge Is Returning”

—With Glamour

BEING BOTH Apeople-pleaser and a perfectionist was the most devastating, unbearable combination to have in a person. Let alone in a woman, who already worried too much about what others thought.

With those two problems in the pot, just mix in being a professional athlete with media exposure in the middle of a scandal, and you had yourself a hurricane-sized disaster in the shape of me.

Luna Aldridge: stylish, witty tennis player by day, and anxious people-pleaser during these meetings.

I stared at the tennis court below, watching doubles practice in preparation for this weekend’s matches. Teams of two struck the ball back and forth, serving and hitting forehands.

The tendons in my ankles felt sore watching them dash forward and back, using every nugget of strength in their abdomens until sweat occupied every crevice.

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Deidra responded. She had a tight-knuckled grip on her phone as she stood eerily still at the front of the room. The rest of my PR team—assistants, communicationspecialists, social media managers—was pacing and whispering while I sat watching, waiting, my leg bouncing under the table.

My manager decided I needed a PR team when I won my first women’s singles title at Wimbledon five years ago.

The women’s doubles champions had invited me out that night to celebrate with the rest of the victors. I remember putting on my most coveted denim skirt and wedges, only to go to a club that hosted millionaires. I’ll never forget how the bouncer didn’t ask for my ID because he recognized my face.

“Are you sure? I have it on me!” I argued. I had turned twenty-one a week before, and all of a sudden, turning twenty-one had lost its purpose. Especially in a country whose legal drinking age I met years ago.

You’d think that’d be the most embarrassing part of the story, but the worst part was being photographed in woven wedges while surrounded by designer heels. I met actors, investors, tennis legends, and models that I’d only seen on screen.

It was the first time I was photographed and published as a star rather than the up-and-coming prodigy. “Newest Tennis Champion Gets Cocky,” the headline read. Coach held the limp paper in his hand like a mother holding her daughter’s pregnancy test.

“If I was a guy, I would’ve been patted on the back for taking a night off,” I had protested. Especially because it was five in the morning, and I was in the middle of sprint drills.

He had exhaled. “This is the first and last lesson I’ll give you when it comes to the public: Women, especially in sports, have no choice but to be perfect. And even when they’re perfect, people will still find a way to pull them down. So don’t let what happens out there affect what happens on this court.”

I hired a PR team, led by Deidra, and a stylist, the next day.

Deidra became my partner off the court. But her official title was Public Relations Executive of Professional Tennis Player Luna Aldridge. My Problem Solver during working hours, Friend outside of work, and Uno Rival when I was feeling competitive.

When I met her, she was the first person to explain how my image would affect my career. The best players got the high-paying sponsors and the billboard brand deals. But they also got the most attention. The most criticism. Before her, I thought my only job was out that window, on the court.

“You know how much of a perfectionist she is, Andy—she’ll get the job done,” Deidra said matter-of-factly on the phone.

Perfectionist. That word sounded like a frayed violin string snapping. I used to take pride in that word. I relished perfectionism; it meant no one would have a reason to criticize me.

Not anymore. Now I was a villain. And Deidra was doing her best to handle damage control.

“Okay, thank you. Just send me the DocuSign as soon as possible so we can get this set in stone.”

She had bad news. Good news for her, but bad news for me. Her pursed lips gave it away.

“Do I have to getI Love Charles Elizabethtattooed on my dominant arm?” I teased. Everyone in the room was silent with hesitation. It was as if I asked how much the widow was getting out of the will at a funeral.

I closed my mouth. It was easy to forget that my problems were theirs too. Especially since those issues were usually my next match, rather than career-ending headlines.

Deidra glared. “No, they don’t want the company name on your body.” She leaned against the head of the table, tapping her pen on the wood.

“What do they want, then?” I narrowed my eyes.

“They want you in another relationship as soon as possible.”