On the Line (19 page)

Gradually, I moved off wedding dresses and into evening wear, which I thought would be a whole lot less stressful. I thought,
Who wants to spend her days designing fashions for all these anxious brides?
Plus, it’s such a limited market. With evening wear, I encouraged myself to think in all different styles, from formal to
informal. Gowns. Cocktail dresses. Tops. Accessories. Even tennis and athletic wear. I was all over the place, and before
I knew it I’d developed an entire line, which I started to call Aneres—
Serena
, backward. I thought that was fitting—a backward name, for a fashion-forward line. It took a while, though, for these designs
to see their way into any kind of finished product, because by this point Arnon Milchon had sold his stake in Puma, and Daddy
had negotiated a new sponsorship package with Nike, only here the terms didn’t really allow me to pursue my own line. In the
end, I had to put a lot of my designs on hold. That was cool, because I was finally in business with the top sportswear company
on the planet. It was where I felt I should have been all along. Nike was open to some of my sportswear designs, which was
great, and we put together some memorable, head-turning looks for me that helped to reinforce my burgeoning persona as a true
tennis diva.

Best piece of advice I got on my fashion career? It came from my dad, of all people. I found myself running into so many dead
ends trying to get my clothing line off the ground, and I started to get frustrated. One day, I threw up my hands and announced
I wasn’t going to launch my own line after all. I was going to put my energy into something else. Daddy heard this and sat
me down for a talking-to. He said, “Serena, you don’t drown by falling
into
the water. You drown by letting yourself
stay
there.”

He was right. I’d fallen into the water and wouldn’t let myself swim to shore. I was drowning, and taking my dreams down with
me—hearing no the first time and leaving it at that. But I would never let myself hear no on the tennis court, so why was
I so quick to back down in this endeavor?

As I write this, in January 2009, I’m looking ahead to the launch of my Aneres line on the Home Shopping Network, where we’ll
offer fun, everyday dresses at reasonable prices, along with tops and bags and jewelry—the kind of clothing and accessories
I wish I’d had access to when I first started paying attention to my appearance. There’ll be some high-end stuff, too, but
not so high that most people won’t be able to reach for it.

Here again, it’s such a tremendous validation to be in business with people who value your contribution, to know you’re not
just lending your name to the endeavor but your creativity as well. In the fashion industry, it’s like each item carries a
little piece of you into the marketplace, and with every purchase you’re making a powerful, personal connection with your
customer. It’s such an intimate transaction. You’re out there as a designer, exposed, vulnerable, and if people respond to
your creations there’s such a gratifying feeling of accomplishment that comes your way as a result. It’s unlike any sense
of accomplishment I’ve ever felt on the tennis court, and at the same time I imagine it helps me play a stronger, more confident
game.

Here’s how I see it: when people invest in one of your designs, they’re investing in you. They’re putting it out that they
believe in you and they like what you stand for. They’re standing with you, behind you, alongside you. It’s an endorsement,
just like when I lend my name and enthusiasm to Puma or Nike or Hewlett-Packard. In success, it fills you with all kinds of
empowering, uplifting thoughts and transports you to a place where you start to feel like everyone’s rooting for you to do
well. It puts you in a kind of zone—and, while you’re there, to draw strength from a place most athletes never think to look.

Think. U have been writing these notes for years. Just do it. U want/NEED to win. Nothing is too hard for U. Nothing is too
tough for U. It’s U and only U!!! U R part of the strongest people alive. Nothing is worse than what your grandparents and
great-grandparents went through. Nothing is more difficult. Nothing. Get up, get out and make yourself/your people happy and
proud!

—
MATCH BOOK ENTRY

S
ometimes, it takes a setback to get you jump-started and on your way; you’ll need to turn adversity to advantage if you mean
to compete over the long haul. I suppose I always knew this on some level—it’s human nature in full force!—but it never really
came up in all that time on the court. You’d think a thing like this would be drilled into young players, but it’s not something
that can be taught or coached or anticipated. It takes a bad patch to get you to realize it for yourself. When you find yourself
in the middle of some defining difficulty, you’ve got to roll with it, and figure it out on your own.

It’s like a scene from
The Wizard of Oz.
Dorothy learns that her ruby slippers always held the magical power to return her home, but she never knew to put that power
to use until she realized that home was where she was meant to be, after all. It’s the same with me and tennis. When I was
just starting out, my parents emphasized skill and fitness and strategy. When I was older, playing with different coaches
for the first time, repetition and muscle memory were key. But tennis is a mental game. It has everything to do with the mind-set
you take to the court and the personality you carry off of it—the mental toughness that gets talked about into the ground.
Technique, fitness, muscle memory… those are a given at the professional level, but it’s what you do with your particular
skill set and how you respond to the bad patches and regain your footing that sets you apart.

I didn’t know any of this going in, although if I had I don’t know that the front end of my career would have gone any differently.
I mean, when I finally put two and two together here it’s not like I could click my ruby heels whenever I wanted and start
winning tournament after tournament. If that’s how it worked, we’d all be trading deuce and ad points late into the night,
and no player would ever grab or keep an edge because her opponent would have equal access to the very same edge. No, it’s
an epiphany athletes must reach on their own terms, in their own time, and even then it’s unclear what they’ll make of it.

My first piece of personal adversity was set against our nation’s adversity—September 11, 2001. I had no special claim on
the tragic events of that day, but I was in its middle. Recall that the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon
took place first thing on a Tuesday morning. Recall, too, that the U.S. Open ended the previous weekend, with me on the short-end
of a 6–2, 6–4 loss to Venus in the finals.

A little setup is needed: it had been a decent enough year to that point, despite three straight quarterfinal losses to Jennifer
Capriati, who seemed to have my number that season, and six quarterfinal losses overall, but for the most part I was treading
water. Not great; not bad; just somewhere in between. I was still only nineteen years old, but in just a few years I’d become
a real factor on the tour. Here in 2001 I’d won a couple tournaments, including that controversial Indian Wells win over Kim
Clijsters, but I struggled in the majors leading up to Flushing Meadows. I’d started the year as the 6th-ranked player in
the world, and by the time the Open rolled around I had dropped to 10th—not exactly the direction I meant to be headed. And
then, to lose to Venus like that, in our first-ever matchup in a major final… well, I went from thinking I’d clawed my way
back to a respectable showing to thinking I’d slipped.

The silver lining to my nothing-special season was that I was in love. At least, I
thought
I was in love. Anyway, I was dating a guy I’ll now refer to only as So-and-So. Why? One of my girlfriends told me that the
way you get past a bad breakup is to refuse to speak your ex’s name, so I’m going with that.

Some further setup: following that loss in the Open finals to V, a group of us went out to see Michael Jackson and his brothers
in a reunion concert in New York City. It was the hottest ticket in town. Just the day before, a ticket to the Williams sisters
final had been the second-hottest ticket, but now our moment had passed and the big-city spotlight was on the Jackson brothers.
A group of us decided to go to let off some steam, only Venus stayed back. She was such a dweeb. (Sorry, V!) All these major
artists and special guests were going to be there, like Justin Timberlake, Whitney Houston, and Britney Spears. Venus had
just won the U.S. Open, but she insisted she needed her rest. If it was me, and I’d just won the Open, I’d have made my way
onto that stage and danced my little head off, but that’s the difference between me and V. She’s disciplined, and a little
nerdy; I’m up for any excuse to cut loose and have a good time.

Okay, so that’s the backstory. The frontstory was this: on the morning of September 11, most of my family was up in the air.
Literally. We’d come together for the Open in New York, and we’d gotten through the emotional big deal of our first all-Williams
major final, and now we were dispersing. Lyn was on a flight to Los Angeles. V was headed home to Florida. I was on my way
home to Florida as well, but my plane never got there; we were rerouted to the Washington, D.C., area, not far from where
So-and-So lived, so he drove out to pick me up. Meanwhile, Isha was grounded in New York with my mom. Daddy had left town
a day or two before—he never did stick around too long after a tournament—and Tunde was at home in California.

I was so allover tired that I didn’t sleep the night before, but that just meant I’d sleep on the plane. I was on an early
flight from LaGuardia. No big thing. But then, just after eight thirty in the morning, I awoke with a start. My heart was
racing. I’d always had a keen intuitive sense, and here I had this strange, uneasy feeling. Right there on the plane, the
world felt a little
off
. I couldn’t explain it, and it was only later that I pieced together that this was right around the time the first plane
crashed into the World Trade Center. We landed soon after, just before all U.S. flights were grounded or rerouted for security
measures. As I made my way through the terminal and began to pick up on what was happening, I was scared out of my mind. I
didn’t know where I was at first, but then I figured out that So-and-So was nearby, so he drove out to meet me.

My first thought was for the rest of my family, because a lot of us were flying, but I couldn’t reach anyone on their cell
phones. The circuits were down or overloaded, and so for an agonizing stretch I didn’t know where anyone was or what was going
on. I was all alone. I looked around the airport, and I could see everyone was desperate to plug back in to their families.
There were huge lines at the few airport pay phones, but I could tell from the way everyone was slamming the phone back in
its cradle that they weren’t having much luck, either. It was such a surreal and sad and spooky morning, and I wasn’t near
a television set for the first while, so I was a little unfocused. Frankly, I don’t remember a lot of what happened next,
but I do remember sitting down and praying—for my family, of course, but also for everyone who was trapped in those burning
buildings, the passengers on that hijacked plane, the frightened people on the pay phones, and anyone else caught in the crossfire
of this horrible act of terrorism.

As the picture became clear, I kept thinking,
Oh my God, those poor people!
All this time later, I still can’t get the anguish of that moment out of my mind. I close my eyes, and there it is. And yet,
slowly, the situation with my family began to resolve; it took a couple hours, but V was eventually rerouted to Jacksonville.
My mom and Isha were stuck in their hotel room in midtown Manhattan. For the longest time, no one could reach Lyn and we were
all so frightened, because she had flown out of JFK early that morning on an American Airlines flight to Los Angeles, and
at just that time the thinking was that those cross-country flights were vulnerable. That’s what they kept saying on CNN.
Soon we learned with a great sigh of relief that Lyn’s plane had been safely rerouted to Kansas City—she was stuck there for
a whole week—and after that we were left to grieve for our nation and all these innocent victims and their families, along
with everyone else.

Our family was intact, but our country wasn’t.

A
lot of people don’t fully remember what things were like in the days immediately following those attacks. We’ve blocked it
out because it was such a painful time, but there was a lot of anxiety and tension in the air, especially in New York and
Washington. Confusion, uncertainty, fear… it was all around.

I spent the time holed up at So-and-So’s mother’s house outside D.C. We couldn’t really go anywhere in the aftermath of those
attacks. There was this huge military presence all over the city. So-and-So came over with his brother, and we played video
games to pass the time. We watched a lot of television. I could have driven down to Florida, I suppose, but I chose to stay
put, and part of that decision had to do with the special connection I felt with So-and-So and his family. I really liked
this guy, and it was starting to feel like he really liked me, too.

I should have seen that he wasn’t the guy for me. The signs were all there. Even the way we met was such a cliché: we were
introduced during an ESPN shoot, but then he called my agent and asked her to give me his number so I could call if I was
interested. That’s not the way a real guy should go about asking a girl out—man, it was weak!—but I didn’t see it. I called.
Like an idiot, I called. To this day, I don’t know why. I was bored, I guess. I thought he was cute, I guess. I wanted someone
to talk to, I guess. I was barely nineteen, so what the heck did I know? It wasn’t that I was necessarily attracted to him,
because I wasn’t usually drawn to cute guys. I was drawn to power—that, to me, was attractive. But So-and-So was a professional
football player, so he had that power thing working in his favor.