by Vera Roberts
It was a small but pivotal victory for the Ferguson family. Anthony could keep his cultural art following through the doors while Ian could bring in more eclectic art lovers in. It was a win-win for everyone. “Thank you, father. You won’t regret it.”
“Oh, I know I won’t because if this fails,” Anthony smiled again, “you’re cut off.”
Two
Just smile and politely wave. They won’t bother you if you give them that much. Don’t answer any questions, don’t say anything. They’ll leave you alone once they have their shot.
It was advice Seren Jones gave her after their interview. She’d asked her what should she do with her newfound notoriety. Seren politely smiled and gave advice. Now Sydney fully understood what she meant.
“Wow, they came out like a pack of wolves, didn’t they?” Sarah glanced out the window of the tinted SUV.
Sydney Walker placed the SUV in park and put on her sunglasses. She wasn’t sure how the paparazzi knew where she was going to be but if she had to guess, someone inside the wedding gown store alerted the media. Great. It was bad enough she had to go shopping for wedding gowns but now she had the media stalking her every move. “I’m waiting for the next news story to come out,” she double-checked her makeup. If she was going to be photographed, she wanted to slay a bit. “I’m quite boring.”
“Well, we know you are but to everyone else, they’re quite fascinated.” Sarah silently counted the number of photographers in front of her. There were five. “It’s not everyday someone is dating the hottest athlete in the world now.”
“He’s hot now because the Kings are in the playoffs,” Sydney mentioned, “if they had a piss poor season, they wouldn’t care about me.”
“Oh, if they had a piss poor season, they would care a whole lot about you, dear.” Sarah opened the door and chuckled. “Believe me on that.”
The women quickly hurried to the store where they rushed inside. A store employee closed the curtains, causing groans from the paparazzi who missed a key opportunity to get a shot of Sydney in a wedding gown. They soon left afterward.
“Now that fun is over,” the storeowner came over with a couple of glasses of champagne, “let’s begin with the real party.”
It was an incredible ride.
After revealing her identity to Seren’s gossip blog, Sydney’s anonymity quickly disappeared while the notoriety around her seemingly grew overnight. Sports reporters, who normally don’t comment on the private lives of athletes, were talking about her. She was an unofficial favorite of the entertainment gossip bloggers. Some speculated she was the reason behind Dean’s supberb play during the season while others wondered what lipstick color she often wore. Next thing Sydney knew, there were various social media accounts dedicated to her, their union, and even going as far as predicting what their future children would look like.
While Sydney found that was nice and fun, she was more serious about getting her artwork known. Sarah acted as a pseudo-manager and handled her social media accounts, leaving Sydney to focus fully on her artwork. Between the wedding planning and art, Sydney found herself extremely time poor.
Thank God for best friends. “I have no idea what I want,” Sydney perused wedding gowns. There was so many and all she saw was endless amounts of fluff and tulle. Not to mention, there were the different shades of white, which she didn’t know even existed. She was already getting a headache.
“Well, you have a lot to choose from,” Sarah sipped her champagne. “A-line, ball gown, mermaid. You can choose off-white, ivory white, or even black.”
“A black wedding gown?” Sydney made a face.
“It’s the in thing.” Sarah shrugged and rolled her eyes. “All of the fashion hotty totties say it’s the new thing.”
“Yay.” Sydney sighed.
“You know I’m not an expert but you don’t sound like a blushing bride.” Sarah mentioned. “Is everything okay, bestie?”
“I just miss Dean,” Sydney replied in a barely-there whisper.
“Are you sure that’s it?” Sarah walked over to Sydney. “Or is it something more?”
“Like?”
“Cold feet?” Sarah raised an arched eyebrow. “It’s okay if you’re having second thoughts. Not everyone wants to jump off a bridge into the abyss.”
“You know you’re not helping, right?” Sydney blinked.
Sarah motioned to a bench and Sydney followed her lead. “What’s going on, Syd?”
“I have an art show in a few of days.” Sarah had arranged Sydney to be a featured artist at a small gallery in the Art District. Demand for her show caused a small hysteria and it was completely sold out. “It’s one thing if people see and praise me online but it’s a different ball game if they see my stuff in person. To be honest, I’m more worried about that than some tulle gown.”
“I’m sure you’ll do great. You have a lot of people who are genuinely interested in your art and I’m sure you’re going to make a lot of sales.” Sarah leaned forward. “Anything else?”
“What if it doesn’t? What if I don’t sell a single piece? What if no one cares?” Sydney thought about what she wanted to do with her life if her art didn’t pan out. She had no clue. The life of an athlete’s wife already began to sound daunting and lonesome. “What if…?”
“What if you stopped worrying and let me handle it?” Sarah interrupted. “You worrying doesn’t help you and the creative process. Let me worry about all of that.” She downed the champagne. “Okay, for real…this is some terrible shit. I know we’re not looking at ten thousand-dollar gowns and they’re serving us carbonated piss and vinegar? I knew something was fishy and that’s why I brought my own.” She dug into her Chloe bag and pulled out a bottle of Sluricane. “Now let’s get this party started, shall we?”
****
Post-game interviews annoyed the shit out of Dean.
When he first started in the majors, he was excited to share his thoughts about his play, his team’s play, and the opposing team. He took questions from everyone and smiled, laughed, and joked with the reporters. He now knew it was a mistake. You were everyone’s favorite as long as you did what they wanted. If you had a bad game or worst yet, a bad season, you became a joke with a never-ending punch line.
He no longer cared. He was sweating profusely. He was exhausted. All he wanted was a hot shower, and equally hot food. However, being an athlete – a very popular one – came great responsibility and if Dean didn’t do any interviews, he would get fined and would be called a poor sport by the press and fans.
So, he sucked it up and dealt with it. He plastered on a fake smile and made sure to keep his head down as he answered questions so no one could get the false impression he actually cared about what they thought. Then he waited for the same tired-ass reporters to ask the same tired-ass questions:
What did you think about that play?
What went through your mind during that time?
Can you tell us how you feel about [insert rising star’s name here]?
What do you hope to accomplish the next game?
It was over and done with in less than a few minutes. It was a few minutes too long for Dean.
He wanted to relax with some Outkast in his ears as he dozed off into dreamland on the plane. Most importantly, he was anxious to get back home to his patient and lonely fiancée. Being on the road was tough but long game stretches were testing his patience and he was sure Sydney was above and beyond tired of it, though she had her own career to keep her busy. She knew it came with the territory and she had no qualms sharing him with others. The season was almost over with playoffs and hopefully, the finals, culminating in a spectacular finish.
Then there was the wedding planning. Sydney and Sarah took charge of most of it, with Dean gladly standing in the background so the women could have their ways. Soon, his family was going to visit him as well as Sydney’s. It would be the first time both families would meet each other. If Dean was completely honest with himsel
f, he was more worried about that than making a goal.
He just wanted to be home already.
****
“Another city, another victory,” Caleb Swagger boomed as he entered the plane.
Coming off a strong 2-0 start in their six-game road trip, the Kings loaded up their plane as they prepared to fly to New Jersey for another battle. They were currently ranked number two in their division after a slow start, though the race for number one was getting closer.
All eyes were on Dean and he shrugged off the attention, both on and off the court. While his fans cared about his play, he also realized his female fans were concerned about what the real deal was between him and Sydney. He laughed off the comments left on his various social media pages, though he was a bit disturbed at the level of thirst-trapping on his Instagram.
He set a mental reminder – to give some of the groupies bottles of water.
After listening to a motivational speech by their coach, Dean tilted his seat back a little and closed his eyes. The moment they arrive, he was going to place a call to Sydney. She might have been asleep but he would leave a message letting her know he was safe and sound. And then he’ll polite remind her to not watch anymore disaster movies before he left.
“Yo, I need some advice,” Kyle Blake sat in the seat next to Dean, jarring the younger blond from an almost sleep.
Dean’s eyes flew open and he slowly turned his head to his teammate. He breathed a slow breath, letting Kyle know to hurry up and get it over with so he could nap. “Yes?”
“You’re good with the chicks, right?” Kyle asked.
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and bit his tongue. Kyle didn’t necessarily hate women but he damn sure wasn’t a feminist. The only women he loved were the ones he was related to and even that was a stretch. “May I help you?”
“Okay, I’m talking to this IG model, right?” Kyle pulled up a woman’s profile. She was beautiful with long brunette hair, olive skin, and brown eyes. She also had a penchant in posing in clothes that were too small and showcased maybe a bit too much. “Her name is Kylie.”
“Kyle and Kylie? Shut the fuck up!” Two-Tone laughed.
“Dude, don’t be mad at the player. I have a hot chick and you have a hot hand.” Kyle shouted back to laughs as Two-Tone flipped him off. He turned his attention back to Dean. “I want to ask her out on a date.”
Dean shrugged. “Go for it.”
“Where do I do?” Kyle asked.
“What?” Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You ask her out, she says yes, and you go to a nice restaurant.”
“And if she orders anything along the lines of steak and lobster, you need to tell her a side of head is also expected later that night!” Two-Tone yelled from the back.
“Thank you, Zach, for your input.” Dean softly shook his head before he turned his attention back to Kyle. “You dig her?”
“Yeah. I mean, we only chatted via DMs but I like her, bro.” Kyle scanned through more of her pictures. “Hey, can Sydney draw a picture of her? I would like to give it to her.”
“Well, I have to see. Syd likes to get to know the subject first and then draw later so it might take a while. She’s really focused on getting her show together this upcoming week so we’ll have to wait for the right time. Maybe we can double-date?” Dean suggested.
“I like that! I’ll keep you posted!” Kyle bumped fists with him.
“And yo, tell her to send a selfie of her medicine cabinet!” Two-Tone chimed in. “Fuck a selfie, bro! You need to see what level of crazy you’re playing with.”
Dean was about to interject until he realized Two-Tone made a point. “He’s right, you know?”
“So, how’s everything with Sydney?” Kyle asked. “I haven’t seen her at any games recently.”
“She’s waiting for all of the attention to die down before she goes to another one. I guess she doesn’t want to be blamed for a bad game or a loss.” Dean shrugged. “No one cares about that other than the fanboys.”
“Well, you can’t blame her,” Kyle added, “it’s a lot of attention and at once. I’m glad her art is doing well.”
“Yeah, I hope she gets her own studio. She’s been looking at places. I told her she could work at home but she prefers to be away and in a different environment.” Dean understood she needed her focus, but he didn’t understand why the studio had to be so far in the Art District from their home. It was easily an hour drive one-way, not counting traffic. It bothered him a little but he didn’t want to come off as the unsupportive fiancée.
“Have you thought about a pre-nup?” Two-Tone chimed in. “Bro, you need to get one.”
“I haven’t thought about it,” Dean lied. In actuality, he thought about it more than he wanted to comfortably admit. While his agent and family strongly suggested he get one, his heart was set against it. He didn’t want to do that to Sydney and he honestly felt she wasn’t with him for his money.
He also didn’t want to be on the receiving end of a joke if things didn’t work out. While Sydney wasn’t starving, she also wasn’t rich. If anyone would benefit the most from their union, it was definitely her.
“You need to really think about it, bro.” Kyle chimed in. “Dude, you have eighty million at stake…”
“It’s actually a hundred,” Dean mentioned.
“A hundred?” Kyle looked around. “How in the hell is he worth a hundred million and I only have twenty?”
“Score eighty goals in a season and we’ll talk,” Dean shook his head.
“For real, bro,” Caleb asked Dean, “what are you going to do?”
“Just gotta think about it,” Dean closed his eyes and put on his headphones. If Sydney didn’t want to sign a prenup, a lot more was at stake than his fortune; Dean would possibly have to give up the woman of his dreams. “And just hope for the best.”
Three
Finding the perfect artist was starting to become the perfect headache.
As Ian scoured through hundreds of artists online, he couldn’t find that one that enticed him. It was one thing to look at a piece of art and smile; everyone does that. But what about a piece of art that makes one gasps? That makes one feel like their heart is about to stop because of shock? That makes one want to stare at it for hours as they try to comprehend different ways to describe the emotions the art illicit from them?
He was looking for that.
Too many artists played it safe nowadays. No one wanted to offend. Everyone wanted to be politically correct. Screw it, Ian thought. The best artists didn’t care who was offended and what anyone thought. They did art because they wanted to; nothing more, nothing less. No one became a great artist by kissing ass and playing by some unspoken rules. They became great artists because they gave a big fuck you to the world and all of the naysayers who said they weren’t going to amount to shit.
Yes, Ian was looking for that hunger. Instead, he found entitlement.
He breathed a sigh of frustration and slammed his laptop shut to take a mental breather. He blamed his big mouth for coming up with an idea that his brain was trying to play catch up. It sounded easy in his head but it was really a task and a half. Many good artists but hardly any great ones. He compared it to someone signing up for American Idol – you may have a nice voice but it doesn’t mean you’re going to be a star.
“You look tortured,” Ian’s assistant, Dominique, stood by the doorway in his office. She was a young beauty with light-colored wavy hair, matching light brown eyes, and a smooth almond skin complexion. Despite the sexual tension between the pair, they never consummated the relationship.
Ian covered his face with a hand and groaned. He let out another one for good measure. “Why did I open my big, fat mouth?” Ian moaned.
“I thought you found a lot of good artists?” Dominique stepped into the office. “I saw a few of the artists you looked at and I thought they were pretty good?”
“I’m not looking for pretty good, and that’s the problem,” Ia
n shook his head, “I’m looking for spectacular.”
“But what are you looking for?” Dominique asked. “You keep giving out generalizations but you’re not being specific.”
“Art is something you feel. It makes you feel alive. When you see a picture, the beauty of it should stun you. When you hear a song on the radio, it should become your instant favorite. When you see a movie, you wonder of the brilliance of the director and actors. Even when you eat food, your mouth should crave it from the first bite and make it a memorable experience. You may not remember the exact dish, but you’ll remember that place and think it was the best damn food you’ve ever had.” Ian’s eyes lit up. “That’s what I’m looking for! That’s the brilliance!”
“You’re looking for your Thriller,” Dominique stated, referring to the iconic Michael Jackson album.
“I’m looking for my Thriller,” Ian agreed. “Hell, I’m looking for my Off the Wall at this point.”
“Well, there’s someone I follow but I don’t know if she’s Thriller or Off the Wall-worthy. She might be a little Control.” Dominique referenced Janet Jackson’s album before she opened her phone and handed it to Ian. “Take a looksee.”
Ian shrugged and breathed another sigh. It didn’t hurt to look at just one more artist before he retired for the day. He glanced down at Dominique’s phone and his eyes widened. Rich and bold colors like yellow, purple, and burgundy stared back at him. A powerful image of a semi-nude black woman with curled fists and a large poufy Afro was at the forefront.
The caption read – Do Not Touch My Hair.
Ian gasped and felt his breath taken away yet again. This time he felt the emotions he wanted to feel – shock, awe, helplessness, intrigue, and a bit of anger.
“My God!” Ian’s eyes widened. “Who is this?”
“Sydney Walker,” Dominique added. “She’s the fiancée of Dean Winchester.”
“Who’s that?” Ian shook his head.