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Chapter Text

I look for a picture of you to keep in my pocket, but I can't seem to find one where you look how I remember. – Why Didn't You Stop Me? (Mitski)

The Taco Bell he ate for breakfast at the Junior US Open is trying to murder him through his asshole. Art is sweating on the toilet, mildly dissociating as he contemplates and then regrets every choice that has led him to this moment. What was it like, to want to stand up? To have even a shred of dignity?

“Art, come on, we’re gonna miss Tashi Duncan’s match!”

Patrick bangs on the hotel bathroom’s door so hard that it shakes. Art groans.

“I’m not coming, Patrick. I’m shitting through a needle right now. You have to just go without me.”

“Fiiiine,” Patrick groans dramatically. “But you’re gonna regret this, mark my words.”

Art’s stomach roils. He blinks up into the yellow light of the bathroom, watching the silver chain lightly sway next to the bare lightbulb. Then, he lets out another great fart.

”I’m sure I will.”

And so, Patrick heads off to see Tashi play alone. Hours pass, accompanied only by a disgusting symphony of every sound he didn’t know his body was capable of making. He plays snake on his phone a few hundred times once the thought of a creature eating doesn’t send him dry-heaving. All the while, Patrick is sending him blurry photographs that are going to eat into his family’s data plan. He shits through the entire party, and then his phone stops buzzing.

It’s dark outside by the time his body finally has ejected everything. Art crawls into bed in his underwear, still sweating. Mercifully, he falls asleep right away. But he doesn’t get to sleep for long, because Patrick arrives back at the hotel when it’s still dark. He shucks off his clothes and flops into bed next to Art with a loud oomph . The faint scent of floral perfume wafts off of him.

”You know, my mom has a name for this kind of thing. She says you’re a dirty stayout,” he mumbles into his pillow. Patrick scoffs.

“It’s only three AM. That’s not even Walk of Shame hours.”

“You had sex with her?” says Art, blearily.

“No. Just kissing. But it was really good. We got in some over the clothes action.”

Art yawns. Already, his body is growing heavy with sleep again.

“Did you get her number?”

“No. She said I could only have it if I beat you.”

He moves in closer, groaning with disgust when he rolls into a damp patch of Art’s sweat. Art laughs.

“That won't be hard. I feel like shit.”

*

Who Will Be the 2006 Tennis Prodigies to Beat After Moving On from the Juniors? — New York Times

US Open

Patrick Zweig, 17, United States of America

Zweig, who grew up on Long Island, began attending the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy at the age of 12. He won the U.S. Open title by beating his own doubles partner, Art Donaldson, the No. 5 seed, who he also beat at the French Open this year. The duo, dubbed by some as “Fire and Ice,” won the doubles championship at both the US Open and Wimbledon this year.

Also notable is his dominance in the field as an American, unheard of since Andy Roddick won two juniors slams in the year 2000. Zweig, however, stated in a press conference that he doesn’t put too much stock into his current success. According to him, “Winning the Junior US Open is usually a curse.”

Tashi Duncan, 17, United States of America

Unsurprising to anyone, this is Tashi Duncan’s second US Open win and third Grand Slam just this year. The No 1 seed in women’s tennis two years in a row, Duncan has managed the impossible by having neither generational wealth nor an association with a prestigious tennis academy (though, as she admits, she has spent a lot of time at the Paseo Club in Santa Clarita). Instead, she has clawed her way to the top on sheer talent and charisma, rapidly becoming one of the most exciting new tennis players since Venus and Serena stepped out onto the court.

Duncan is slated to attend Stanford in fall 2007, an unusual move for a player of her caliber. However, she has no intent to toss away the racket upon graduation. In her own words, “I’ll be back. And you know it, cos Adidas is keeping the faith.”

*

Patrick’s had a lot of girlfriends in the past, but he’s never been quite so besotted with anyone as he is Tashi Duncan. Sporadic hookups become texting late into the night, and then one day he asks if Art wants to be introduced in a tone that suggests his approval will seal the deal. Art agrees, out of curiosity more than anything. What on earth is making Tashi different than any of the other girls Patrick has fucked and then tossed aside?

So, weeks before graduation, they take a trip to Orlando to meet up with Tashi at Epcot. According to Patrick, she’s attending “some senior trip for some honor society club she’s in, you know how it is.” Having spent his entire education at a tennis academy, he really doesn’t, but he’s more than happy to sneak off to Disney World for a clandestine meeting. Maybe Tashi will illuminate him about what going to public school is like while he’s there.

They set off early in the morning to avoid the heat, but it doesn't do them any good. By the time they get to Epcot, the sun is melting the asphalt into an oversize fly trap designed to keep them stuck in the parking lot. Chunks of it are still stuck to his shoes when he enters the park, making his steps uneven and painful. Patrick is radiating a sharp musk; his sweaty armpits are already leaking through his shirt.

Tashi tells Patrick to wait for her by the big Epcot ball so that they’re easy to find when she sneaks away from her classmates. Art uses the opportunity to pull out the new digital camera he got for his birthday to take pictures. Patrick refuses to take a normal photo, instead opting to give the camera a middle finger, throw stupid faces, and lunge into asinine poses. He pulls Art in, grabs the camera, and flips it to take a joint selfie. Before he hands it back, he gives Art a big smooch on the forehead.

”You gotta learn to live in the moment, man.”

Art rubs the kiss off of his head, feeling much warmer than before. He pockets the camera and looks around as though anything is more innately interesting than documenting the fact that they're  on a road trip together. 

Patrick grabs his wrist like a vice. “That’s her over there.”

He waves, unmoving, as Tashi saunters over, folded map of the park in hand. She’s cool and composed, hair slightly frizzy from the wet heat. Art has seen her play on television in the last year, curled up in pushed-together beds with Patrick. Her game is both technically sound and entirely natural in a way that makes Art feel hopelessly rigid. And she’s beautiful, obviously — Patrick never fucks below a ten. Beauty, skill, hard to get. . .it’s easy to see the appeal.

Then, Patrick lets go of his wrist and runs towards Tashi to greet her with a kiss. She responds with some enthusiasm, immediately followed by a squeak of disapproval when Patrick picks her up and twirls her around. And Art realizes that, though he’s been brought here to tell Patrick whether or not he approves, it’s not actually a choice at all. The adolescent chain binding them together eroded and broke a long time ago.

*

Course Schedule: Communication — Art Donaldson

STATS 60: Introduction to Statistical Methods: Precalculus

COMM 1B: Media, Culture, and Society

COMM 177SW: Specialized Writing and Reporting: Sports Journalism

Course Schedule: Communication — Tashi Duncan

COMM 1: Intro to Communication

COMM 108: Media Processes and Effects

COMM 177SW: Specialized Writing and Reporting: Sports Journalism

*

One brisk morning in October, Art receives the extraordinarily grim news that he’s going to have to work with Tashi on a class project. The good mood from his lovely fall walk is completely ruined when he sees their names chalked sloppily next to each other on the board. Their sports journalism teacher has paired all students in alphabetical order for a sure-to-be-tedious assignment where they have to interview a varsity softball player together. Art exchanges phone numbers with Tashi reluctantly, and wonders if this is all some karmic punishment for being gay.

(Last summer, a random man at the gym had come onto him, which made him puke in the bathroom, and then made him start thinking. The first thought – maybe I should have tried it. The second thought – no one can ever know about this.)

They meet for lunch in the canteen the next day, still sweaty from tennis practice. Just as usual, he beelines to the salad bar — but Tashi gets there first. She builds up an identical salad to his usual fare (lettuce blend, chicken, egg, raisins, apple, apple cider vinegar, salt, and pepper) so he adds a few croutons to his own to avoid looking like an intentional copycat. He sits down across from her, attempting to not look too sullen, and takes a too-large bite of his egg. She grimaces.

“This is weird.”

”Is it?”

Tashi rolls her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. I know you don’t like me. And I know that Patrick has already asked you to deliver little reports about what I’m up to, and that you’ve been too much of a pussy to refuse.”

She folds her arms, challenging him to disagree. Art snaps a carrot between his teeth, thinking.

“He peeked at my schedule last summer while I was in the bathroom and noticed that it overlapped with yours. So I didn’t get the chance to lie about never seeing you.”

Tashi stabs her salad aggressively and takes a large bite.

“You could've dropped the class,” she says through a wad of lettuce.

“What?!”

She shakes her head and points at him with her fork.

“So you didn't have to see me. Since you hate me so fucking much.”

Art resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. This doesn't protect his pride; the hot flush of embarrassment blossoming on his face betrays him.

“I don't hate you!”

Maddeningly, Tashi keeps her composure. 

“Yes you do. You don’t smile at me. You don’t say hi. We don't have lunch together. We don't do anything together, even though I am dating your best friend since childhood. And you just admitted that you fully intended to lie to Patrick about never seeing me, even though you see me basically every day.” She stabs at her salad again; the fork punctures the styrofoam plate. “The worst part is that I don't even have it in me to be mad at you. Because it’s all kind of pathetic what you're going through, so it feels mean.”

Now it’s Art’s turn to stab at his salad. He breaks a crouton in half instead of picking it up, and then puts down his fork. It feels too on the nose to eat it while Tashi watches.

“Would it seem less pathetic if I tried to be nicer to you?”

Tashi’s expression softens. She quirks a smile, and steals a radish from his plate.

”Maybe.” 

*

Letter to the Editor: Responding to “Gay Athletes Speak Out About Homophobia on Campus” — The Stanford Daily

Opinion by Letter to the Editor

Dear Editor,

My name is Jeanette Sandberg, and I’m the president of the Pride in Stanford Sports (PSS) club, an alliance of LGBTQ+A varsity and intramural sports players. Myself and my fellow board members (Joshua Treesom, Jamie Kaling, and Bethany Tungsdall) read the article and decided we had to speak up, because our cause was entirely misrepresented to the point of the paper putting words into our mouths.

First — no, we are not saying that student athletes who stay in the closet are bad people. PSS has a number of closeted members and recognizes that many reasons for remaining closeted, such as a need for financial support or a fear of getting fired for your sexual orientation, are legitimate. The claims that PSS is “hardline” on needing students to be out is a misrepresentation of our actual belief, which is that if you can be out, then it is positive to do so. Very few sports players of means and opportunity are willing to take that risk, perhaps because many LGBT groups have not emphasized inclusion in sports as an important aspect of public life. We similarly call on individuals to come out as allies of the LGBT community, as straight people are most likely to listen to other straight people.

Second – the article incorrectly frames Stanford administrators as completely helpless in protecting their LGBT athletes from, as your reporter put it, “garden-variety homophobia normalized in the sports world.” Administrators should be confidently telling students they will not lose their sports scholarships just because they are gay. They should censure coaches or teammates who make gay students feel uncomfortable, or worse, remove them from teams. Instead, they merely log student complaints, and do absolutely nothing. Meanwhile, in the last five years, six students have lost their sports scholarships due to this type of forced removal. At least a dozen gay students have dropped out of athletic classes due to harassment by their fellow classmates or instructors.

Finally, PSS objects to the paper juxtaposing us with other gay organizations on campus to frame our demands as extreme. PSS is closely affiliated with Pride in the Arts (PITA), LGBT Student Council Caucus (SCC), and Stanford Pride, often tabling at events together as well as studying together at Qspot. PITA and LGBT SCC would surely tell you ( did surely tell you?) when asked that their “lack of militancy” is because their demands were quickly met by administrators, faculty, and their fellow students. They would also acknowledge that most of them would not face financial repercussions for being either allied or out as gay — something that our gay and even allied students cannot take for granted due to their relative dependence on scholarships. If the choice is between an education and being true to oneself, then it is unconscionable for demands to fall on deaf ears.

In the future, we hope that Stanford Daily reporters do not misrepresent PSS so egregiously again. And, of course, we hope that the administration meets our demands sooner rather than later.

Signed,

Jeanette Sandberg — President/intramural softball 

Joshua Treesom — Vice president/varsity men’s basketball 

Bethany Tungsdall — Treasurer/varsity women’s track and field

Jamie Kaling — Secretary/varsity women’s volleyball

Tashi Duncan — Member at large/varsity women’s tennis

Jason Delaney — Member at large/intramural men’s volleyball

Art Donaldson — Member at large/varsity men’s tennis

Stephanie Gross — Member at large/varsity women’s basketball

Todd Hamilton — Member at large/chess

Jeanette Sandberg is a junior studying Feminist, Gender, and Sexuality Studies 

*

Overnight, being a gay ally at Stanford becomes cool. Art walks around in a daze the first time he sees a Duncanator shirt printed with rainbow lettering, Tashi squared-up looking serious on the back. Women he’s never met ask for his signature and then try to turn him into a purse, as though his proximity to Tashi will confer them some semblance of her status. Men hit on him at the gym so often that he concedes and loses his virginity in the locker room. He becomes a bit of a whore for a while afterwards because, as it turns out, fucking hot strangers is pretty good time. And it’s pretty easy when all you have to say is “yes.”

Still, he hasn’t gotten up the nerve to tell either his family or Patrick. His family, because it seems like a whole thing, and Patrick, because things have already been weird between them for a while. His eagerness to have frequent Tashi-reports has curdled into obvious jealousy as his game has gotten worse and worse. Maybe they could have a laugh about it if Art would just tell him that he was gay. . .but then he might let slip all of the sexual fantasies he had about Patrick as teenagers, and the thought of his revulsion is just unbearable. So, it’s easier to let him believe, for now, that Art is trying to steal his girl.

In the spring of their freshman year, the lie crumbles. Patrick comes to Stanford for his first ever visit three days earlier than expected due to a spectacular flame-out at Indian Wells. He appears at the tennis court in the middle of Art’s practice without warning, and then chases him around to the bemusement of his teammates. And then he’s on top of Art, pinning him to the ground and blowing a raspberry into his throat. Art struggles playfully, and then remembers he’s already on thin ice with his straight teammates whose newfound allyship is surface level at best. He pushes Patrick off of him a little too forcefully. Patrick frowns, tugs at his ear playfully, and then slugs him on the shoulder.

“Hello to you, too.”

Art punches him back and then pulls Patrick up off of the ground along with him. He waves goodbye to his teammates.

“We’re gonna get something to eat,” he says, as though they care. In the hyper-competitive, individualistic world of tennis, their investment in his growth as a player only goes so far. And rankings-wise, he’s seen better days.

He picks up his heavy gear and lurches towards the gate, waving Patrick to follow after him. Together, they head to the cafeteria.

The conversational rhythm they fall into as they walk is easy and familiar, as though nothing has changed since they saw each other last summer. But despite his ADHD, Patrick is attentive enough to notice that people are looking at Art a little differently. When the third girl waves at him, he smiles.

“You’re really getting around, huh?”

”Oh — uh, yeah.”

Another girl waves – blonde, pretty. Patrick leers at her ass as she walks away.

“Wow, I didn’t know you had it in you, Donaldson. Moving in on my girlfriend and sleeping with these other chicks – hope you’re wrapping it up.”

Art scoffs, punching open the door to the student union. Seeing Patrick’s jealousy in the flesh is making his stomach hurt.

“Shut the fuck up, man. You know Tashi’s not like that.”

Before they arrive at the cafeteria, Patrick pauses. He steps back, pale-faced, until the gear on his back is perched on top of an empty tabling booth. Art turns to look at whatever horror has caught Patrick’s eye and finds that it’s the student bookstore. Right out front — the rainbow Duncanator merchandise. Patrick’s face twists through a range of intense emotions so quickly that Art can barely keep up. Betrayal, fear, and strangely, something like pride.

“Since when is Tashi —”

But he can’t finish the sentence. And Art realizes, selfishly, that this might be the last time that the universe makes it easy for him to come out to his best friend. 

“Why wouldn’t she be? A lot of people are these days.”

Patrick nods slowly, chewing it over.

”She just never told me she was bisexual,” he says in a small voice. “Or gay or. . .whatever this is.”

Art clears his throat. 

“She’s not. But I am. She joined the Pride in Stanford Sports club to support me when I came out as gay and. . .here we are.”

Patrick is rendered speechless again. The silence is making him want to sink into the floor, leaving nothing but his gear behind.

“Everyone knows but me,” he says, finally. “You told everyone in the world that you were gay. . .except me. And you both kept it from me.” Patrick’s eyes are shining; he tries to subtly brush away the tears. “Why?”

A wave of revulsion crashes over him. Here he is pouring his fucking heart out to his straight roommate and, of course, he can’t manage to think about anything but his own feelings for three seconds.

“Maybe everything isn’t about you, Patrick,” he says.

Patrick barks out a high-pitched, hysterical laugh. 

“Oh fuck off. You’re unbelievable. The most self-centered person I know, telling me that I need to think about someone else.” He turns to face Art and steps onto his back foot as though he’s going to rear back and hit him, but then thinks better of it. “You know, if you could see outside of your own head for three seconds, you’d have noticed that I’m bisexual. Maybe one day, if you’re lucky, you’ll realize you’re not the only gay person in the world. But you’ve got such a fucking victim complex that you probably won't.”

I’m bisexual. The words feel like a slap, so Art follows his instincts and hits back. He shoves Patrick in the chest hard enough to throw him off balance, but not enough to make a scene.

“Go to hell, asshole!”

Leaning against a table for balance, he gives Art the finger. Then, shaking his head, he marches off.

“I’m already there.”

Chapter Text

Donaldson wins the final Western & Southern Financial Group Masters title, becomes first openly gay American player to win tournament – The Cincinnati Enquirer

By James Shneebly

America’s Art Donaldson captured his first Cincinnati Open title while playing against Serbian Novak Djokovik on Sunday evening. Donaldson won 4-6, 7-6, 6-2. He is the first openly gay player to ever win the tournament. 

“It’s been almost ten years since an American won this tournament, so that’s pretty exciting,” says Donaldson in a post-match interview. “I think it’s proof that America’s investment in tennis academies, in American players, is really paying off. I’m thrilled to be part of that next generation of players, and to influence what it might look like to be an American player in the 21st century.”

Donaldson mentioned Tashi Duncan, an American women’s tennis player, in his post-match interview, saying that he felt she was an important part of this new generation of American players as well. On Sunday, Duncan defeated Nathalie Dechy in the Women’s Open singles tournament 6-0, 6-0. 

Djokovik won the first set 4-6, indicating that the final might have been a repeat of last year in which the Swiss player Roger Federer defeated American James Blake. However, Donaldson rallied by the second set, clawing to his win with a 7-6 margin in the tiebreaker. By the third set, the sun had come out from behind the clouds, brightening the court. Donaldson benefitted from this, winning handily 6-2 in the third set. 

This has been an impressive season for Donaldson, who has quickly jumped into the top 100 following a year playing college tennis at Stanford University. His coach, former top 50 men’s player Declan Barnes, is also gay, though his coming-out occurred after he retired from the court.

*

After they just-barely lose in the mixed-doubles quarterfinals at Wimbledon, Tashi and Art stumble together into an overpriced gay bar in Soho. The neon lights flash punishingly, overlaid with strange music that sounds like it was made in a mechanic’s workshop. Tashi finds them a table in a secluded corner in the back and then urges him forth to get drinks at the bar. Trying to shoulder past a pack of seven-foot bears for a mojito is never her idea of a good time.

Anyway, he’s become good at this — the art of catching the bartender’s eye. Pose the body. Flash the credit card. Give him a wink. Sometimes they recognize Art from television, and they tell him stories about feeling “represented”, or about how their mom absolutely hates him, and they hand him a discounted tequila shot. 

(Never free. He’s not that famous. Not yet.)

This time, the bartender doesn’t recognize him, so the drinks come (unfortunately) full price. He carries them delicately back to the table, careful to not splash any onto himself. As he approaches, Tashi claps dramatically as though he’s a circus performer. She plants a sticky kiss on his cheek when he places her drink down in front of her.

”New lipgloss?” he says, wiping it off his face. Tashi wrinkles her nose.

”It’s sponsored. Don’t take offers from Bath & Body Works.”

Art clinks his drink against hers, which is still on the table. He takes a sip; it’s too sweet, and not boozy enough.

“I don’t think I have to worry about offers from them.“

Tashi shakes her head and takes a long drink of her own.

”I was at a really boring sales meeting with them the other day and they were talking about cornering the ’gay market.’ If you keep doing well in singles they’re gonna want a piece of you.”

”Big if.”

She shrugs, smiles. “Not that big.”

They drink in silence for a while, watching the bar’s patrons dance and flirt in packs. There are a few other low-level tennis players here who came to Wimbledon to watch the masters at work. Tashi, who seemingly has the face of every player in the top 500 memorized, stares a little too long at all of them. None of them are out, except for Art.

“Are you seeing anyone lately?” he asks. Tashi shakes her head.

“Honestly, nobody since Patrick. I don't know why. It just gets busy on tour, I guess. Are you?”

“No. For basically the same reason, actually. Except for the whole. . .dating Patrick part.”

Tashi gives him a knowing look that makes his stomach flip. He laughs in a way that both feels and sounds extremely fake.

“What? We never. . .it wasn't like that.”

Tashi scoffs. “Oh come on, nothing? Really?”

“Did he tell you we did stuff, when you guys were together or something?”

It’s sharp, accusatory. Tashi hangs her head in a way that fills him with shame. He realizes in that moment that she might be his only real friend in the world, and he's completely fucking it up.

“No. I asked him, but he got skittish and weird about it,” she says, before he can apologize. Tashi taps on her glass with her pretty pink fingernails. “Figured it was a safe bet that you did.”

Art downs the rest of his mojito for bravery. “It was. He um, taught me to jerk off.”

Tashi looks up, eyes shining with mirth. “No way.”

”He was jerking off and we were in close quarters so I caught him when I was trying to get back to sleep. I asked him what he was doing and he told me it felt really good so. . .he showed me how by jerking off in front of me until he. . .you know.”

”Fuck, that’s hot. That’s like, a porno,” says Tashi.

”Well, we were twelve, so I hope not,” says Art. Tashi barks out a laugh so loud it draws attention to their table. A knot in his chest loosens; he starts laughing too.

”You had to have other times though. When you were legal age,” she says, daubing away her tears with a napkin. “Like, nobody does that sort of thing only once.”

”Honestly, I don’t remember. It was a tennis academy. The entire place was weird.”

It’s a half-truth, but Tashi lets it go. She picks up her drink and swirls it to indicate that the glass is empty, save for ice.

“Buy me another round, Art.”

He heads back to the bar to grab two additional mojitos. It’s even more packed now, and people are far less willing to move because there’s a drag queen onstage doing an elaborate performance set to Material Girl. He settles for watching her too, though he’s never really cared for drag. Leaning into the effeminate stereotypes thrown at gay men as they’re growing up, flaunting it proudly , making money off of it — if he thinks about it too much, it makes him a little queasy.

Tashi has no such reservations. When the drag queen saunters past him towards their table, she cheers and reaches out with a dollar bill. The drag queen winks and blows her a kiss, which makes Tashi burst into giggles. Something unrecognizable flutters in Art’s stomach. It’s probably nothing.

*

American Tennis Players Pose for the No H8 Campaign — Buzzfeed.com

The FIRST American tennis players EVER have posed for the No H8 campaign in support of gay marriage. Here are their pictures as well as their reasons for signing on. Way to spread the “love” guys!

American tennis players Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson have become household names ever since they won the mixed-doubles final at the US Open last summer.

They are also PROUD supporters of the LGBT community.

@TashiDuncan  

I am proud to be American, but it is wrong & shameful that gay marriage is still illegal in the United States! This should not be a divisive issue. #loveislove #stopthehate 

@ArtDonaldson

I support the right of gay people to marry in all 50 states.

Today, the No H8 campaign shared a photo of the famous tennis duo on their Twitter account! See the picture below.

@NOH8Campaign

Olympics stars Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson pose for #NOH8!

*

This time, they make it to the semifinals at Wimbledon, which feels more sour than getting nowhere at all. The energy isn’t right for a gay bar, so they go to their shared hotel room instead. It’s not typical for a woman to share a room with a man in the tennis world — but what about them is typical? Everyone has known for years that Art is gay, gay, gay , so it’s not like they’re going to start up any rumors by staying together. Nothing scandalous about rooming with someone you’re not planning on sleeping with.

Tashi is freshly showered and sitting next to him on the bed in her cotton, Adidas-brand pajamas. Her head is resting on his shoulder, hot body tucked into his side. It’s good that there’s air conditioning in here, or else she’d be making him overheat. His cheeks are flushed from proximity, and from whiskey.

”This blows,” she moans. “This really, really blows.”

She takes another sip of her whiskey, grimacing. They were too lazy to go further than raiding the hotel room’s alcohol, and now, hours later, they’ve drunk all the way to stuff neither of them likes.

“It’s not fair that they don’t offer mixed-sex pairings at regular tournaments. My rank improves when I’m playing with you, which makes my coach think I should keep playing doubles, but I’m just not compatible with the other women playing doubles right now. Because they suck.” She looks up at him, a serious line dug into her brow. “You should get a sex change.”

Art throws his head back in a laugh.

”You want me to chop my dick off just to help your career?”

”I dunno! No? Maybe! You could do drag or something. Be a trailblazer.”

He pictures himself done up in tennis-standard makeup, a wig, and a white tennis skirt, strutting onto the field with his hairy calves out. Ridiculous.

”Why do I have to be the one to get a sex change? Come over to men’s tennis. You’re skinny enough. If you cut your hair and dressed down, who would know the difference?”

Tashi shakes her head. “My boobs are too perky, I couldn’t hide them. Plus, you’re already gay, so there would be fewer questions.”

Art mulls it over as he takes a long sip of his drink. Lately, he and Tashi have been calling each other for hours, breaking through the monotony of tour by trading their joys, sorrows, and above all, boredom. Everyone in men’s tennis is so fucking boring and straight , with the other gay guys being total closet cases, and women’s tennis doesn’t seem much better.

”Art?” says Tashi in a small voice. “Can I try something?”

She rests her hand on his bare thigh. It feels delicate and warm, and something in his stomach stirs. He tilts his head to look at her, noticing, as if for the first time, the pretty curve of her lips and eyelashes. And he thinks oh, oh of course , and kisses her.

It’s strange, kissing Tashi. He’s kissed women before, back in high school, but it never lit up his brain like this. Tashi tastes like her sticky lip gloss, plastic and sweet. It smears up to his nose as he kisses her deeper, blends with the salt of her skin and her neutral lotion. She’s soft, stubble-free, and clean, so unlike the barely-shaved men he’s hooked up with in barren, one-bedroom apartments. Not that he’s disliked that, or he wouldn’t keep seeking it out.

Tashi pushes him onto his back, her empty glass toppling onto the floor. She straddles his leg and grinds against it. She’s wet.

”I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

And that strange feeling flutters in his stomach again.

”Me too.”

*

Tennis Players Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson: “It Gets Better”– YouTube

Tashi: Hey everyone! I’m Tashi Duncan.

Art: And I’m Art Donaldson!

Tashi: We heard about the recent suicides of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered teens, and felt that it was important to say something. 

Art: It gets better.

Tashi: It gets so much better.

Art: Growing up as a gay kid in Wisconsin, I didn't know anyone like myself. Back then, the only time you ever heard “gay” was as an insult.

Tashi: [resting her hand on his] That must have been so difficult.

Art: [squeezing her hand] It really was.

Tashi: That’s why we’re teaming up with the Trevor Project and It Gets Better to tell you to please. . .just hang on.

Art: Back then, I didn't know you could have a career in tennis and be gay. But you can! 

Tashi: You can be whoever and whatever you want to be, just as long as you grow up to be it.

Art: So take a deep breath, hold your head high. . .

Art and Tashi: And we’ll see you on the court!