by Nikki Bella
Then she got busy and we had to take a short break, even from the phone stuff. It was like the women could smell it. She’s gone. He’s defenseless. Get him, ladies! Drag him down into some debauchery! Well, I wasn’t defenseless, but I suddenly felt like I was under siege. I don’t want to let myself off the hook, but damn, it was hard.
They were there when I got to practice. They were there while I practiced. They cheered and draped themselves over anything they could find, the least subtle invitation you could imagine, over and over. After practice, they were lining the hallway in the locker room. They pretended like they weren’t obviously there just to give me my pick of them: can I have an autograph for my little brother? Can I ask you a question about fighting? Can you teach me to wrap my hands? How do I get a stomach as flat as yours? But all of that was just a prelude to me telling them when and where it was going to go down.
This little part of me kept nagging, saying “stop, Braden, stop.” I wasn’t even doing anything awful, but the conversations with the women were getting longer. I was getting a little chattier. The attention was making me feel good. Human nature and wiring, I’m telling you. The fact that all I had to do was wait for Alyssa to come back and give me all the attention I’d ever wanted—and the right kind of attention—wasn’t hitting me like it should have. I could tell I was headed into one end of a potential streak of self-destruction. How would it end?
Anyway, it’s not like I was going to do anything. I was just getting antsy.
It’s a terrible thing, to be strong and weak. Most people only know one or the other. I envy them sometimes. It’s harder to have a foot in both worlds.
Things came to a head with the sponsorships. That’s where the tipping point was. I had done a pretty good job of letting my agent handle things. There were always new deals, but not the ones you dream about when you’re getting into the game. There was enough to cover my bases and live a good life, but I wanted to be rolling in cash. I wanted a house like Mason’s. I wanted to be able to take Alyssa anywhere in the world at the drop of a hat. That kind of dough wasn’t there yet.
Then one day after a practice a guy in the nicest suit I had ever seen was outside. He was from Nike. Nike was the one everyone dreamed about, but so far they had limited most of their support to football and basketball players. It was one thing if you were a Michael Jordan or Kobe Bryant or Joe Montana. It was something else entirely if you were a fighter. Every single brawler in the organization could have had a Ph.D. in quantum theory and the media still would have treated us like we were ignorant thugs. And to be fair, there were plenty of those in the fight game as well.
Nike. Nike. As in “Just do it,” all the biggest names, all the biggest contracts…My pulse started racing immediately and for all I know my face was either showing panic or giddiness.
“Braden,” he said. “I’m James Baldwin from Nike. I’m buying you lunch. You’re going to want to say yes to this. And call me Jim.”
I already knew that. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to say yes yesterday. I didn’t even call my agent. James—excuse me, Jim—took me to a high-end restaurant where everyone addressed him by name. He took us to a private room in the back and laid out a deal that surpassed anything I ever could have dreamed of. I thought of Han Solo saying, “I don’t know, I can imagine quite a bit,” when Luke was trying to lure him into helping them with a promise of riches from Princess Leia. I, too, thought I could have imagined quite a bit. Not like this, though. Not even close. The whole thing was kind of like an out of body experience. Astral projection, a symptom of untold riches shoved into my face.
By the end of that lunch—I don’t even know what to call it, there were maybe nine courses and two bottles of wine—I had signed on the proverbial dotted line and we were in business. Big business. If I could keep improving and doing my thing, I was going to set for life. More than set.
Maybe I would buy a Scottish palace for Alyssa. Wrap it up in a bow two miles wide. Maybe a car. Maybe one of each kind of car. I could buy her an island. Maybe even a small planet. She could rule over it at her whim, a sexy intergalactic leader whose people would cheer for her in the streets. Maybe that was going a little too far, but it thrilled me that my thoughts went to her first, to all the things I could give her once this happened.
As soon as the lunch was over I called her, desperate to share the news. She didn’t answer. About two minutes after that I got a message from James Baldwin, my new favorite man at Nike, asking if I could swing by a company party that night. He said there would be some business happening there, but he also wanted to use the night to introduce me to the Nike team.
“Braden, it’s time to see where you belong. You’ll have a good night and you’ll be the star of the show.” I was sure that he said this to all of his clients. I was also sure that he delivered on the promise with all of his clients.
Why the hell not? Surely I deserved a little celebration. It didn’t mean I had to drink, or party, or do anything that I hadn’t been doing. It’s not like I was going to show up at a hotel and go totally off the deep end. Self-control was my middle name since I met Alyssa. It’s not like this was going to hit the reset button for me.
Famous last words. My middle name wasn’t going to save me.
I spent the rest of the day training like a maniac and waiting for a message from Alyssa that never came. My focus wasn’t what it should have been, but I had a lot on my mind. Mason noticed. Of course, he did. When I told him the news he picked me up around the waist and swung me around like we were in a musical. “I am so proud of you.” He said it over and over and I couldn’t get enough of it.
He also gave me all the boilerplate warnings. With great fame/money comes great temptation/power/responsibility, et cetera. He reminded me that, now more than ever, it was time to get my head right and keep it there. He was right, and he didn’t even know the half of it.
“Nike, everyone!” Mason was yelling his head off. He waved all the other guys going and gave a speech about me and my work ethic and my willingness to buckle down and listen when it was time. I was now a shining beacon of hope for all poor, borderline-starving fighters. “Money isn’t everything, but it sure as hell isn’t nothing!”
I accepted the handshakes and backslaps and semi-jokes about buying houses for all of them and paying for their gym memberships.
I hit the showers and kept fighting the kinds of fits of the giggles that I hadn’t had since that first night with Alyssa. Oh my God, the money. But better than that, the freedom that would come with it. The endless amount of choices I would have!
After I was cleaned up I called my mom and told her. She was quiet at first. “That’s amazing, honey,” she finally said.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Normally she would have yelled for Janie to come over to put it on speaker. “Is something wrong with Janie?”
“No, no, Janie’s fine. I’m sorry, it’s just...oh honey, I don’t want to distract you right now. I’m really proud of you. Let’s not talk about it now.” She exhaled loudly and slowly.
“Mom, come on. You know I’ll think about this all night. Just tell me.” I read once that waiting was a skill like anything else. It was a skill I had not cultivated.
Her voice was choked with emotion when she spoke. “It’s been awhile since I’ve heard from your brothers. I’m sure it’s nothing, but...I get anxious. Sean and Ryan were supposed to check in yesterday, and then again today. Haven’t heard a peep and can’t get anyone on the line. You know how it is.”
I sure did. My brothers, when we did talk on the phone or on Skype on those rare occasions that they weren’t on duty, said they were always on pins and needles when I had a fight. Knowing they were always on the verge of combat was that multiplied by about a million. They were always one bullet or explosion away from oblivion, leaving the rest of us behind.
“I’m sure they’re fine, mom.” They have to be. “Probably just out of contact or on maneuvers.”
“Yes. I
’m sure you’re right.” She could not have sounded less convinced. “Hey, let me put Janie on.”
Before I could say anything, Janie was there, jabbering a mile a minute about a book she was reading. Normally it’s easy for me to get excited when someone is talking about his or her passion, but Janie’s book mania had never really sunk in. The book was about a Jewish man who had made it through one of the death camps. It was about how he had survived by keeping a good attitude, a fact that sounded like it could not possibly be true. But it was also about how, once he made it out, he devoted the rest of his life to helping people through a type of therapy he came up with.
Now, for the first time, I said, “I’m going to read that. What’s the title and author again?” I really did want to read it. It also registered that maybe me wanting to read about someone selfless coincided with the fact that I was teetering on the edge of doing something selfish that very night.
“Man’s Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl. It’s short, don’t worry,” she said, laughing. “And don’t get fussy, I was just kidding. I know you could read a lot book, but I know you don’t really have time.”
I laughed too. “Love you, sis. Good night.”
When I hung up the phone it was only five o’clock. No word from Alyssa yet. The party was starting at six. I still hadn’t told James I’d be there or not. The sun was beginning to set, bathing the world in that evening glow that symbolizes the start of party time for a select few. Like myself, in the past.
Decision time. I honestly considered flipping a coin, but I couldn’t find one. Maybe Nike could give me a quarter so I could start using it to make my choices.
Before I knew it I had showered, shaved, and was putting on a suit. It was like an out of body experience. Just getting dressed, nothing has happened yet. Just walking out to my car, haven’t gone anywhere yet. Just pulling out of the driveway, just driving. Just pulling into the hotel where the Nike party is, it’s not like I’m going up there or anything. Just getting in the elevator, just smiling at the stunning hostess who greeted me by name and said everyone is waiting for me. No, she said dying to meet me. Could you actually be excited enough to meet someone that you would die of it? That would make for the most terrible, lamest tombstone.
Then I was stepping onto the rooftop, which had apparently been reserved for my shindig. The city spread out below us in all directions. James glided over with a drink in his hand and shouted for everyone to be quiet. And by everyone, I mean the biggest group of the most gorgeous-looking people I had ever seen. It was like walking into a jewelry shop that sold sparkling, expensive human beings instead of gemstones. And they were all looking at me like I was some mythical creature they had heard about, and now, to their vast delight, I had turned out to be real.
They immediately stopped and applauded. A standing ovation for doing nothing but showing up. Braden Dean, difference maker! Suddenly I was surrounded by well-wishers. James took my arm and introduced me to CEOs and one Prime Minister and a bunch of majority shareholders in this and that and the heads of various boards and philanthropic organizations. I don’t even remember when the drink appeared in my hand, but there it was and I was sipping it. I wasn’t even sure it was my first one. The familiar, boozy heaviness set in. I was starting to feel funny and wise, never a good combination when I was drinking. Braden Dean, genius, the last word on everything.
Everyone wanted to talk to me.
Touch me.
Know everything about me.
Give me anything I asked for.
I was in the fight of my life, trying not to indulge any of them in anything. I just wanted to be a gracious superstar and model center of attention. Things didn’t have to get weird or crazy.
Before long the room was spinning and nothing I did helped. I was trying so hard to keep from passing out or puking that I didn’t even recognize the woman who was suddenly sitting on my lap. I pushed her off, gently, I hope, and checked my phone. Still nothing from Alyssa.
I’m not sure when the party moved to the lobby, but we were downstairs and everything was a noisy kaleidoscope of neon and haze. That’s when I heard it.
“If they went over there to be butchers just so America can be an even bigger warmonger and imperialist, they deserved to die!”
I had a bottle in my hand. I threw it against a wall. The smashing sound registered dimly, as if I had nothing to do with it. “Who said that?” I said.
“Said what, champ?” said James, appearing at my elbow like a summoned genie.
“Who said that about America? About the soldiers?” Or did I say butchers? Everything was starting to run together. I had that sinking feeling of watching a disaster unfold in slow motion, and the even worse realization that I was the cause of it all.
Things got wild after that. The less said the better. But I didn’t realize just how bad it had been until the next morning when I woke up to a text from Alyssa. “Sorry. Dropped my phone in a puddle and couldn’t get it replaced until last night. Looks like you had a busy evening.”
There was nothing else except a link to Youtube. I didn’t click on it. I called her immediately.
“Hey,” she said softly.
“Hi Alyssa. How was your interview? Is everything going…” I trailed off, not wanting to sound like an idiot, just wanting to get to it.
“Braden, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to see you again,” she said. “I’ll run your interview, and I wish you well, but this isn’t going to work. I’m sorry.”
She hung up before I could say anything.
I was left there in a room I didn’t recognize—it turned out that it was the hotel next to the one I had flipped out in—with the link to that youtube video. After what felt like an eternity, I clicked on the link.
Chapter 9
I had just wrapped up the interview with the American sumo. He was, incidentally, as adorable as he was formidable and enormous. No diaper, either. It was one of the more fascinating athlete stories I had heard. Obsessions are always interesting, and to be elite at anything is to traffic in obsession. The point where it tips into pathology is what separates the psychos from the driven-but-not-quite-as-nuts. The interview had been a smash and I knew it was going to do some serious work for me. By the time I finished there was a message from my dad, wanting a report. I called him and gave him the recap, then told him I had to get out of there and eat. What I really meant was I was dying to call Braden. I knew he’d been messaging me but I had been so busy I could barely breathe.
Then I tripped, my phone flew out of my hand, and it managed to land in the only puddle on the entire street. It hadn’t even been raining. I pulled it out of the puddle. The screen flickered for a moment before dying, taking my hopes of a conversation with Braden with it.
I walked to the hotel and explained the situation to the concierge. They sent someone out to get me a new phone but didn’t guarantee a timeframe. My dad had sprung for the nicest hotel for me, of course, the kind of hotel where they’d go get you a new phone if you asked nice.
In my room, I couldn’t decide between napping and getting online to see if Braden was there. He was in an intense training block, so I didn’t expect to see him online. I was right about one part of it: he wasn’t logged in to Skype or any of the chat services we had used.
But he was on the Internet all right. In fact, he was all that anyone could talk about.
When I saw the headline to the video—BRADEN DEAN TRASHES HOTEL FULL OF BEAUTIES!!!—I couldn’t breathe. All I had to do was close the browser. I didn’t have to watch it.
I pushed play. Maybe it took me a second to decide, maybe a year, but I pushed play, telling myself that I wouldn’t cry.
The first shot of the video showed Braden laughing, head thrown back, a gorgeous blond in a red dress squirming around on his lap, both of them sloshing their drinks all over. Then Braden snapped to attention and started barking at someone off screen. The video shifted to a confused looking man at the bar. The shot sh
owed that the entire lobby was full of the beautiful people. What was Braden doing there?
Suddenly he was in the guy’s face, demanding a slurred apology for something. He was bellowing at the top of his lungs, but I could barely understand a word he said. A guy in a suit was trying to calm him down. Braden yelled something like “Stay out of it, James,” and then he took a swing at the guy. Fortunately, he was so drunk that the guy had moved by the time Braden threw the punch. But he connected with one of the bottles on the bar, which shattered.
There was a horrible shot of Braden looking down at his bleeding hand in the seconds before he erupted. Well, erupted might be an insult to volcanoes. This was big. It was almost like he was possessed. Mad, molten, embarrassing. The video goes on for several minutes. He tips over a couch. He throws bottles. The women in the jeweled dresses scatter, screaming. Of course, whoever was filming it wasn’t the only one. There were so many videos out there, and so many comments.
I could only imagine what the feedback on my interview with Braden was going to be. Maybe I wouldn’t even be able to run it now. I knew what dad was going to say. “Cut ties immediately.” And behind it, there would be an “I told you so.” Of course, in fairness to my sometimes domineering dad, he had told me so.
I had packed a few Ambien for the trip but had been so exhausted at the end of every day that I hadn’t needed any. But I took one that night, vowing that I wouldn’t say anything to Braden or my dad until I had slept on it and had some time to think.
I slept deep and dreamlessly, but I didn’t wake rested or calm. Tranquility seemed to be a word that only applied to people who weren’t involved in any way with Braden. Maybe now that included me. A million feelings and thoughts battled in my head. I was so furious with him, and so disappointed. But the second I would think about how he had let me—and himself—down, it would be replaced with one of the many, many thoughts about the things he had done to me, or I had done to him, and how intoxicated we had been on each other. Or I would think about his vulnerability in that first interview.