It's 7:30 in the morning at Los Angeles' Chateau Marmont. The hotel's famous gothic-nouveau facade is still shaded; the sun hasn't yet risen high enough above Hollywood to brighten its alabaster balconies and broad-striped awnings. In the morning quietude, a matte black Tesla has silently pulled up the driveway. Taylor Fritz steps out. A lithe six-foot-five, he is Southern California-handsome—longish hair, big smile, tanned skin—and he looks very much like someone who could be famous. That is to say: he fits the scene. Setting notwithstanding, his starry vibe can be attributed, first and foremost, to his damn good tennis game. Fritz might have been predestined for the sporting limelight. He was brought up in an athletic family: Fritz's mother, Kathy May, was a professional tennis player who reached the number 10 spot in the world in 1977. His father, Guy, also competed professionally. Fritz's first rackets recollection was "playing mini-tennis with my Dad's college friends. He always had players at our house, on our court. I was too little to do anything except stand really close to the net." |
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