Here is the final instalment of the Definition of Cool Series. I’ve written it so that it can be read on its own, but to get the deeper themes I’d recommend that you read the two prequels to this. I hope you enjoy it.
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The Definition of Cool, Part III
The crowd was silent, a single nervous cough, competing with the sound of the tennis ball being bounced off the grass court, could be heard clearly from every seat in Centre Court. Becca Bennett was focused on her task. Breathing is the key. Keep it slow and steady and everything else will follow - that was the mantra. One final deep breath, toss the ball into the air and let the thousands of hours of muscle memory do the rest.
Championship point.
The crowd were willing the plucky Brit to finally get over the line and win her first Grand Slam. As the loser in the previous seven Grand Slam finals, surely this was Becca’s time. She’d earned this moment. The crowd loved her for her attitude, her application and the fact that she never complained, or grunted, she just tried her best and always smiled.
She was the darling of the professional tennis circuit. Her picture adorned Nike adverts around the world. Becca was a superstar, but a superstar without the real accolade of being a Grand Slam winner.
At the other end of the court stood Becca’s nemesis - the towering Lithuanian, Karolina Bagdonas - who stood a foot taller than Becca, moved her athletic weight from one foot to the other awaiting the serve that could end the match.
The ball reached the apex of its thrown arc just as the racket swung at speed to meet it and send it on its way. It was almost the perfect serve, deep into the service box and onto the backhand of Bagdonas, who had to stretch to make the return. Becca was perfectly positioned to hit a cross-court forehand that Bagdonas couldn’t possibly hope to reach.
The ball, hit with ferocious topspin, zipped towards the opponent’s side of the court. The crowd started to shift their weight in readiness to launch themselves into celebration… right up to the point that the ball struck the net chord. It hopped straight up, a good three feet into the air, and fell, slower than seemingly physically possible, onto the top of the net chord, a slight wobble, and then onwards into the court.
The crowd gasped. Bagdonas looked across incredulously and then looked to the sky. Becca took a step forward. How had that happened - it was impossible?
“Deuce!” announced the umpire.
Adrenaline flowed through Becca’s veins. Go again, she thought, muscle memory, muscle memory, was her companion soundtrack. As she tossed the ball into the air she felt a pain in her right eye - a sharp binary pain. She made contact with the ball and miraculously the serve was in. Bagdonas hit a sweet return beyond Becca and won the point.
Becca blinked. She was in agony, there was no way she could continue like this. The rules however dictated that a medical timeout can only happen at a change of ends, or the end of a set - otherwise the player would forfeit the points. She had to continue.
She closed her right eye and served - maybe sheer will and determination would see her through? Bagdonas could sense the change and punished her opponent, grabbing the opportunity she quickly won her service game, levelling the scores in the set.
Becca took the three minute timeout opportunity and rushed to the changing room.
She looked in the mirror, her right eye was bloodshot. She washed her hands and removed the contact lens from her eye which helped reduce the pain from a 10 on the pain scale to a more-manageable 7. Becca’s contact lenses were a constant in her life. She had a strong prescription for myopia, her right eye was -12.5 and she had an additional -2.25 of astigmatism - which in layman’s terms means she couldn’t see much of anything without correction.
Apart from a handful of people, nobody knew about Becca’s vision. Her agents and coaches had always driven home the message that glasses were not an option - neither from a playing perspective, nor from a marketing one. She didn’t even have a pair here at the competition. They’d tried previously to force Becca to get laser treatment, but had yet to find a doctor who would perform the surgery due to concerns about her lens being too thin.
What were her options now? She only had about one minute left of the timeout. She blinked and placed the right contact lens into its case. She quickly put some saline into her eye to try to help clean anything - the sting made her make an involuntary noise. Her vision was so lopsided now that she felt nauseous. She had no choice though, she had to return to the final.
What followed was nothing short of a humiliation. At elite level, the difference between winning and losing is marginal. Once Becca’s stereoscopic vision was compromised she had no hope against an athlete like Bagdonas. The commentary team were dumbfounded about what was happening. Mystery surrounded the medical timeout - what on earth had caused such a change in performance in Becca’s game?
The inevitable “Game, Set and Match” was announced shortly after and the two players shook hands at the net.
“What happened Becca?” Asked Bagdonas.
“Contact lens issues” said Becca, but quickly followed “Well done, you were magnificent as always and deserved to win.”
The trophies were handed out and Becca had to do her eighth-in-a-row loser’s interview.
“Commiserations Becca, that’s a record-breaking result for you - not one you would have wanted. There was a clear change in performance from you after your matchpoint. What happened?”
Becca felt like she was caught in a terrible lie and knew that she had nowhere to go. With her right eye still closed, she replied, “First of all a huge congratulations to Karolina, she deserved this title - she remains the benchmark for the rest of us.” There was applause from the crowd, “I was playing well up to matchpoint - I thought I finally had won there - then I had a terrible pain in my right eye, which was why I took the time out.”
The interviewer noticed that her eye was closed, “I can see it is causing you trouble”.
“Yes it is, but I want to thank my team, and this crowd. I know you’ve always got my back and I can’t tell you how much it means to me. I will go and see my doctor and see what’s up, but I’m sure I’ll be back to give Karolina another game”. The crowd cheered and Becca stepped back making it clear the interview was over.
Back in the changing room Becca was accosted by her team, all looking for an explanation. Becca repeated the story they’d already heard. Nobody seemed to care about the pain and discomfort she was in, it was strictly business - was it always that way?
“I just want to get showered, get home and lie down” she pleaded.
“Get showered and we’ll get you to a qualified optician first Becca” ordered her coach of ten years, a former champion whose career was forged on strength and determination, rather than finesse and artistry.
The esteemed opticians on Harley Street were only too happy to earn some extra funds and accommodated Becca that evening. The optician asked Becca to remove her remaining contact lens and then looked at her eyes with his phoropter. Becca knew it wouldn’t be good news.
She heard the terms, ‘corneal abrasion’, ‘allergic reaction to lens material’ and ‘infection’. It was overwhelming, but the statement that stuck was, “You cannot continue wearing contact lenses”.
She found herself replying, “What does that mean?”.
“It means that you’ll need to wear glasses”, the austere optician replied.
“Is there no alternative? I can’t wear glasses.” Becca responded in a pleading way.
“Why on earth can’t you wear glasses?” the optician asked incredulously.
“I’m not allowed” Becca said in a rather pathetic way. She quickly followed up… “The sponsors, you know. It’s not that I’m not allowed, it’s just that they expect me to look a certain way and my thick glasses are kind of, you know, not sponsor-friendly.” She stopped babbling, realising how silly it all sounded.
The optician gave her a sympathetic look and said, “Well my dear, I’m sorry to be the person to upset sponsors, but your eyes are allergic to the material in contact lenses. It seems that has been an issue that has progressively worsened over time to the point that wearing them at all is going to risk further infection and possible blindness.”
“I cannot possibly, in good faith, suggest anything other than please do not risk your eyes. I cannot stop you from wearing lenses, it’s your body after all, but I must urge you to please, please take my advice.”
“I have antibiotics for you to clear up the infection and I would like to see you next week”.
Becca nodded. “I’ve not got any glasses with me” she whispered.
The optician stifled his incredulity and offered up a trial frame with test lenses in them to allow Becca to at least function enough to get back to her apartment.
When she came out of the test room to the front room her coach gasped at the sight of his protege wearing such apparatus. They left the opticians and were caught by a member of the paparazzi as they hurried to the car.
The picture was quickly picked up by the networks and was trending on Twitter within the hour. “Tennis star in eye crisis!”, “Is Becca Bennett Blind?!”, and the one that opened old wounds, “Becca Bottlebottoms”, were shared and dissected before Becca had a chance to decompress from the final loss and everything else that followed.
She said goodbye to her coach and was alone in her West End apartment. She went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She quickly found her glasses and swapped out the temporary test frames for the real pair that she’d diligently refused to wear.
“What a mess!”
Monday night was to be the players dinner at Wimbledon. It was a glamorous black tie affair and Becca would be expected to attend. She’d resolved to hide away until then and would cross that bridge on Monday. She looked at herself in her glasses. They were black Ray-Bans that were classic in design. They housed strong myopic lenses and her eyes looked small behind the polycarbonate. Was it possible to continue her career wearing these?
She’d not hit a tennis ball whilst wearing glasses since she was at school! She had no concept of if she’d be able to do it. Certainly the glasses she was currently wearing were not going to work - they were too heavy, the lenses too small.
Was she ever going to get over that hurdle and win a Grand Slam? It certainly seemed impossible now. Becca could be proud of her career, but she knew she could have, indeed should have, won one of the majors. Was this it?
The next day came and went in a blur (ironically enough). Becca turned off her phone, the messages and calls were coming through constantly and she wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. Netflix was invented for times like this, so Becca sat on the sofa and binge-watched a US series that she’d heard about, but never had the chance to watch.
Towards the end of the day Becca’s thoughts turned towards the following evening’s gala dinner. She’d been sent a number of dresses and shoes to choose between from a number of designers. She’d not given it any thought at all as all her energy was focused on tennis. Now of course, she had to think about the fact that she’d have to make sure whatever combination she chose worked with her eyewear. This was the first time she admitted to herself that she would be wearing her glasses outside, in front of the public. It was a surprisingly daunting thought and it really shouldn’t have been.
Becca walked into her dressing room where a number of outfits had been laid out by her team. Each designer had written a submission with each ensemble - it was such a privilege being a tennis professional sometimes.
A group of three dresses immediately caught her attention. They were classy, but not too opulent. Timeless would be the best description. She picked up the handwritten letter that accompanied this combination and recognised the logo of the fashion label, Grace.
The note was written by the label’s owner Sarah Macintosh. Becca and Sarah had a shared history that went back to their childhoods. They’d both forged highly successful lives for themselves independently, but they had not kept in touch over the years.
Becca read the note.
Dearest Becca,
How has time passed so quickly? It seems like only yesterday that we used to play tennis together at school.
I’m so proud of what you’ve achieved. Whenever I think I’m out of choices or ideas, I think about you and your resolve, and your guts - you are honestly an inspiration to me, and a whole generation of girls.
I’ve sent you these outfits, not as a ploy to put my label on the hottest tennis star in the galaxy (you are though!), but as my heartfelt homage to you. To this day I grieve for our friendship that never did fulfil its potential. As I’ve learned through my husband Alex, time is not endless. I hope we can rekindle our friendship and it would be a dream to work together with you.
Regardless of what you wear (you’ll look stunning), I hope we can arrange a liaison before the next Wimbledon.
From your friend, Sarah x
Becca thought back to her early encounters with Sarah, when Sarah had given her the moniker ‘Becca Bottlebottoms’. How the tables had turned when Sarah then needed glasses herself and how Becca had found contact lenses and it changed her world. They had a shared history, a connection that was deeper than she’d contemplated before.
She tried on the three recommendations from Sarah and settled on a deep navy-coloured dress which had the most beautiful silver embroidery that would look great in photos. She’d wear her hair up and do her best to walk in the reasonably high heeled shoes that finished the look.
The next day Becca’s stylist arrived to recommend an outfit from the proffered options. Usually Becca took little interest in the ancillary formalities of the tennis circuit and let her team of experts make decisions on her behalf. Maybe it was time for Becca to take ownership of a larger extent of her life?
The stylist was shocked when Becca declared she’d picked her outfit. She’d pushed the idea of Becca going bare-eyed to the event, it was of course an impossible suggestion and Becca disavowed her of the idea.
“I need these to see. They are not a fashion item, they are medical. It’s not a choice.”
The stylist stopped pushing and did Becca’s hair and makeup. “You look, as always, stunning Becca. Enjoy yourself tonight.”
Becca exited her apartment to a series of flashes from the persistent photographer who had camped out all weekend. She tried to look demure and not bookwormish, but she wasn’t convinced it was possible given the thick lenses that adorned her face.
There was a clamour for photos on her arrival at the event, the glare of flashlights off her glasses lenses was a new, rather uncomfortable, experience. Inside the event everyone wanted to talk to her and ask her about the glasses. The attention she received was tenfold what the champion Karolina Bagdonas was getting, which did make her smile at the irony.
The following day the newspapers and TV ran stories about ‘The powerful glasses’, ‘The inch thick lenses’ and ‘The sports star turned librarian’, but it wasn’t anything Becca wasn’t expecting. There was one story done by an actual journalist that noted the dress was made by Sarah Macintosh and discussed the little-known fact that the two had gone to the same school and were the same age.
Becca picked up the letter from Sarah and looked at the contact details she’d put at the bottom of the letter. She picked up her phone and WhatsApp’d a message to Sarah thanking her for the dress. The two ticks indicating that it had delivered turned blue to indicate that Sarah had red it. A response was being typed and so began the rekindling of their relationship.
Becca was to go to train in California with her team. Her coach wasn’t convinced that she’d be able to play in glasses at the requisite level and wanted to work with a top Californian University to look into the options.
Sarah was based in LA, preparing for the fall season and so Becca had arranged to meet up with her old friend. They’d already been discussing a collaboration on clothing and eyewear. Sarah had convinced her that she could design a range of glasses specifically for her to help convince young girls who wore glasses that wearing glasses didn’t stop them being sporty.
Becca turned up at the LA offices of Grace to progress the project, and for Sarah to take measurements and to ensure that the outputs fitted both of their expectations. As she sat in the generous and tasteful reception she had butterflies in her stomach as she awaited the welcome of her old friend.
Sarah embraced her with such warmth that Becca forgot about her nerves and got down to business. Both women were focused and driven when it came to a task, this was a big part of their success, so the afternoon flew by with excellent results.
Sarah had insisted that she would host Becca at her villa. After a heated discussion with her coach it was agreed that Becca would spend the first few days with her friend before immersing herself in the training camp.
Sarah had organised dinner for the pair at the villa and they ate it on the terrace that overlooked the valley below. A fair few glasses of wine were drunk and the two women discussed old times.
“Let me get an iPad, let’s look up some old school friends to see how they’ve got on” suggested Sarah.
Over the next couple of hours they looked up old frenemies to check-in with their lives.
Jenna, who had been horrible to both of them at different points in their school lives, was now a housewife whose Facebook highlight appeared to be the annual family outing to North Wales in their caravan. “I’m surprised they all fit in that’’ giggled Becca. Jenna herself had doubled in size and she was dwarfed by her overweight offspring. She appeared to wear leggings in most photos with her greasy hair tied up in an unkempt ponytail. That said, she seemed to be happy enough.
Steve, who both women had been involved in, had become a successful lawyer and seemed to be living a great life with his young family in Surrey.
The strangest life update they discovered was another boy they had both dated, Scott, the popular captain of the football team. Their research found him. He was now quite considerably overweight, with a bald head that he’d rather pathetically tried to cover with a comb over and he wore a strong pair of glasses in every photo. More shockingly he seemed to be in a long term relationship with a quiet boy from their year who appeared to have blossomed into a beautiful man. They certainly made for a strange couple - in their photos together through the years they could see how Scott had aged badly whilst Chris, his partner had blossomed.
After a lengthy time giggling at some of the updates they discovered they put the iPad down and talked. Both of them apologised for past behaviours against each other.
Sarah looked into Becca’s eyes and held her hands. “I was horrid to you. It was because I was so jealous of you. You were absolutely beautiful, intelligent and you could do anything you put your spirit into. I’m so sorry”
She touched Becca’s cheek and said, “I was confused about my feelings. I really wanted to say to you all those years ago that you are beautiful Becca. You are. If I was lesbian you would be my first love.”
Becca looked back at her and touched her cheek, “Sarah Macintosh, you were the girl we all admired. I thought you were the most sophisticated, confident and beautiful creature I’d ever seen. Then when you got your glasses and found the real you, I thought you were the most powerful person I’d ever met. You were my inspiration in my career. If I were a lesbian…”
The two women kissed each other on the lips. Their glasses clinked off one anothers as they embraced.
After a very intimate hour they agreed that what had just happened was a beautiful thing, but it wasn’t their future. Their friendship was however cemented for the rest of their lives.
A few weeks later Sarah showed Becca the final range of glasses. They were all in Becca’s prescription and were tailor made to fit her geometry perfectly. The pairs designed for on the court were lightweight with sprung arms that folded behind the contours of Becca’s ears to ensure that they would stay in place. Becca loved them!
“I can’t wait to try these on court tomorrow” Becca gushed. “Do you know the strange thing? Since I was outed as a glasses-dependent woman my social media ratings have gone higher, not lower. My agent is perplexed and confused, but more than happy to run with it.”
Sarah laughed, “You always rocked it in glasses Becca, they kind of complete you. I think they might be the final key in you getting that Grand Slam at the US Open next week you know.”
Becca laughed, “Well I’ll take anything I can get! Did I tell you that I got a message from Brad Pitt’s people about setting up a meeting? Can you imagine!”
“You lucky thing! Maybe you can introduce me to some of his friends!” scoffed Sarah.
Bagdonas stood at the opposite end of the court. She bounced the ball, readying her huge serve that delivered the ball at speeds well in excess of 100 mph. She needed a huge serve as she was serving to save Championship Point against Becca Bennett.
There were plenty of commentators who had written off Becca’s chances with her ‘handicap’, she’d proved them wrong on all counts having played the best tennis of her career in her march to the final.
Bagdonas smashed the ball with a desperate ferocity, but Becca’s telepathy seemed to be intact as she guessed the direction perfectly, hitting the sweetest return deep against her opponent’s backhand. Bagdonas managed to hit the return but it didn’t make it over the net.
The crowd erupted, the world watched on, Becca fell to her knees… she’d done it. She looked up to the sky and then looked up to the VIP box in the arena where her close friend Sarah cheered, tears in her eyes.
Becca mouthed ‘thank you’ to her team as the TV commentary went wild exalting the ‘other-worldly’ vision that Becca had shown throughout the tournament.
After receiving the trophy and dispensing of the formalities, Becca joined her team and friends. After many claps on the back, Becca stood face-to-face with Sarah, she held the trophy in one hand and held Sarah’s gaze with her bespeckled eyes.
Sarah smiled. “That is so cool!”
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