by Jo Frances
Matty took one of the items from a sea of bags. “Love this vest,” she sighed. “It was just genius to put him in it.”
“Hmm,” Helene agreed. “Like a hip hop gentleman farmer.”
Chase wasn’t sure what that was, so he just ignored the conversation and looked out of the window. He would never understand the references fashion people made.
In between swipes of her lipstick, Maddy asked, “Helene, where do you want us to drop you off?”
“Drop me off at my apartment. I gotta get ready. Chase, I’m gonna pick you up at 7:30. Are you gonna need any help getting dressed?”
Biting off a sarcastic remark, Chase simply shook his head. After a day with these two women, he knew they actually did see him as a toddler. “I’m good.”
It wasn’t the answer she wanted, so Helene turned to Matty and talked as if he weren’t there. “All the same, I’ll get to Chase’s apartment early and see if he put the tux on right. At least we don’t have to worry about hair and makeup with this one.”
The Founders Ball was a huge event, but not to anyone in Chase’s circle---except Jamie. Shortly after they got back together last year, a huge box was sent to her house. Inside was an elaborate brocade box with an invitation. Unfortunately, the date was for her dad’s 55th birthday, and she was flying home with her brother to celebrate. Jamie smiled at the box ruefully before putting it away. “These invitations are, like, gold” she said. “I’d better not tell anyone from my agency I’ve been invited, they’ll make me go.”
He didn’t understand what it meant back then, but based on how hard Helene had worked just to get him invited, he realized that Jamie had given up a lot in not going. When he asked her about it, she would only say that she was being invited because of her short lived relationship with Sean Foley, the rock star. Now here he was, not just preparing to go, but on his way to meet someone he was probably going to have sex with before the night was over.
The SUV slowed to a halt in front of his building, and Chase got out absentmindedly nodding to whatever it was Matty was telling him before he shut the door in her face.
Three hours later, after he had buzzed her inside his apartment, Helene walked into Chase’s bedroom as he was getting dressed. Before he could protest, Helene waved him off. “Oh for god’s sake, you can take your clothes off in a locker room full of cameras, but not in front of a middle aged woman?” She looked him up and down. “You look good, sweetie. Amy’s going to be very happy. Did I tell you she’s a good gift giver?”
As they pulled up to the entrance, Chase took in the crowd. It was the about the same size as the ones that greeted the players before every home game, but instead of young kids or rabid fans waiting for autographs, this was a group of mostly women.
Then he noticed something else: there were a lot of photographers out. In fact, they had taken up the area behind the barricades, and still more were flanking the red carpet. He turned to Helene.
“Why are there so many photographers here? This is just some kind of party, right?”
She looked past his shoulders at the upcoming red carpet. “Sweetie, this isn’t quite the NBA finals of society events, but it’s pretty damn close. It’s the----” she struggled to find an analogy.
“It’s the first round playoffs?” Chase offered.
“Exactly! And you, my dear, are about to take one for the team.”
Chase nodded encouragingly. “Good one, Helene.”
When the car door opened, Chase made sure he had his public face on; a face he had perfected in the mirror during the interviews: open, confident and relaxed. Helene walked in front of him, towards a young woman dressed in black, carrying a clipboard and wearing a headset. “Chase Reston, basketball player, formerly with the Orange County Waves,” before she could finish, the Headset girl was already speaking into her mouthpiece, telegraphing the information up ahead. Chase watched as the next Headset girl up the chain moved a celebrity along, then announced the name of the next one to the awaiting photographers.
Helene fussed with her shawl. “Ahh, crap, Jennifer Burke is in front of us,” she said. “Her movie was number one in the box office this weekend, we have a long wait ahead of us.” Apparently a long wait was two minutes, because it didn’t take long before Chase found himself facing the bank of photographers, Helene discreetly off to the side, making sure the various people holding clipboards were getting his name right.
Somewhere in the crowd a female screamed, and a voice yelled out, “Chase I love you!” After hearing that, he allowed himself to relax. Someone here knew who he was. He waved and smiled sincerely in their direction, eliciting more screams.
Inside the museum, decorated to look like an ancient Egyptian temple, the scene was of controlled, but frenetic activity. Chase felt out of place. The people were much older than even his mother and looked none too pleased at having his hulking frame standing next to them. He looked with interest at the few young women standing there until he realized they were the bored trophy wives and not the daughters of these men, as he had first thought. Helene gently led him up the stairs. “Those are the fuddy-duddies,” she explained, “The board members and the Old Guard. All the money goes to them and their causes but they act as if they’re doing us a favor by letting us be here. Let’s go upstairs and meet some fun people.”
Helene was right. On the upper floors were the celebrities he had expected. There were several sports figures there, but they were superstars, and at a much higher level than he was. In their eyes, he wouldn’t be their equal; he would be a fan. And Chase had too much pride to subject himself to that. When Helene gestured towards them, he shook his head slightly, and they moved on.
Which didn’t mean he wasn’t recognized. Chase began to feel relaxed as more and more people; women, mostly, began talking to him. He was amazed to discover that he didn’t even have to move; that they came to him. He was used to this, in a way, but from strangers---not from people who had TV shows or movies he recognized. He was soon deep in conversation with a reality show actress; ironically, the one Matty thought he should go out with. Larissa’s entire face looked as if it had been painted on. On TV she just looked like someone who wore too much makeup, but up close it almost looked like a mask. Still, she wasn’t as aggressive or fake as the other girls, and seemed more like someone from his high school. Chase thought it wouldn’t be so bad to hang out with Larissa for the rest of the event.
This compatibility wasn’t missed on Helene. She disappeared for a few minutes and returned with Amy Weatherby in tow. “Excuse us for a minute,” she said and not-so-subtly elbowed Larissa out of the way. Chase smiled apologetically. “Hey, nice talking to you,” he told Larissa before turning his attention to Amy.
“Chase, have you met one of my clients, Amy?”
Chase turned and looked into the gray cool eyes of the object of his 9th grade infatuation. She was prettier in person, but the fine lines around her eyes reminded him that she wasn’t the high school cheerleader he remembered.
She smiled at him confidently, a smile which said that she had always had her looks, and now she was famous and rich to boot. Her cocky expression said that a disgraced athlete, no matter how young and virile, was not someone who would be able to resist her. “Hello. Chase. Nice to meet you.” Amy’s voice was still light and girlish.
“Hey.” The awkwardness of the situation was obvious to him. Amy may have been an actor, but he wasn’t, and he suddenly found himself wishing he hadn’t agreed to this.
As if reading his mind, Helene stepped in quickly to pick up the silence. “Well. You two are seated next to each other at dinner, and you can get to know each other a little better.” Just then a photographer came up to them. The press pass around his neck read New York Post. “Can I get a picture of the three of you?” This was a formality, and after one perfunctory shot, he got to the point. “Great, thanks. Now Helene, would you mind
if I took a few of Chase and Amy together?” Amy moved closer to Chase and put her arm around him. Reflexively, he did the same, and put an arm around her waist as one photographer, then several others who hurried over to them did the same before dissolving into the crowd again.
“Is this your first time at the Founder’s Ball?” Amy tried to start the conversation again as Helene discreetly walked away.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” he didn’t mean to be, but Chase was suddenly annoyed. Was it that obvious he didn’t belong here?
Her smile didn’t waver. “OK, I won’t ask. Why don’t you ask me a question now, so that everyone who’s watching us thinks we’re actually having a good time?” She leaned in close as if telling him a secret. “I’m a lot of fun, Chase. And I’ll be good for your career, too.”
She stepped away from him and tilted her head becomingly. “What do you say?”
Chase took her in. The combination of that beautiful cold face paired with a thin, but lush body stirred his interest. There were worse things in life than hooking up with a pretty actress. Chase put his arm around her waist and walked her into the crowd. “Let’s go have some fun.”
They stayed together throughout the evening. At dinner several people came up to their table, wanting to talk about “projects” they wanted her to be involved in. Chase, who had little experience in schmoozing, was impressed by how good Amy was at it. She was good at keeping all her options open while committing to nothing.
At the same time, she was finely attuned to his needs. If his attention started to wander, or if he got bored, she was there, focusing her attention onto him and drawing him back to her. A phrase came to him, “professional girlfriend.” It was what the guys on the team called the women who worked at trying to be their girlfriends the way someone would work at their career. Ambitiously, methodically and with a plan. These women went to all the games, went to the same clubs, gyms and even moved into the same neighborhoods they did; all in the hopes of catching their eye. But with Amy, the phrase meant something else. He could see that she would be the type of girlfriend who would do all the work in a relationship. She would be the type who made sure all his needs were met without demanding anything in return. And she would be…professional, not personal about it. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to have anything to do with her after tonight, but at least he knew what it would be like.
As he expected, Amy even made the decision about what to do after the party easy for him. “My driver can give you a ride back,” she offered. Yet once they were in the car, it was clear they were going to go back to her place. They sat close to each other without touching, giving each other a few minutes more of anticipation.
She lived in one of the new developments by Chelsea Piers, and it was big, by Manhattan standards. Amy didn’t bother turning on the lights---the floor to ceiling windows illuminated the room and afforded a view of the East River down below. Chase stood in front of them now, anticipating what was going to happen next. He didn’t let himself think about Jamie. That part of his life was gone, and it had been too long since he had had sex.
Amy came back into the room. She had stripped out of everything except a black lace bra and a matching string thong. Chase nodded in appreciation and began taking off his jacket. Amy led him gently to the sofa where he began kissing her without much passion. He needed release, nothing more. As if reading his mind, Amy slid down and began undoing first the button, then the zipper on his pants. “I’m good at this,” she said, as if reassuring him. “You’re going to want to fuck me before you know it.”
At the sensation of her mouth on him, Chase groaned. It had been too long. After a few minutes, he looked down at her, eyes half closed, her tongue running down the length of his shaft. He thought to himself, “shit, Amy Weatherby is blowing me right now” and quickly lost control.
He decided to spend the night just because he was tired, and because, if he were really being honest with himself, he wanted her to pleasure him again. The first time had been too quick, and he was curious to see if she was as good as she said she was. She seemed happy he was staying. He stripped down to his boxers and while he was in the bathroom brushing his teeth (“there’s a new toothbrush in the right-hand drawer” she instructed him) she hung up his tuxedo against the door.
“You looked good tonight,” she said to him possessively. “But you’re definitely going to do the walk of shame tomorrow morning wearing that.”
He noticed that she still kept her lingerie on as they got between the smooth silk sheets of her bed. “Isn’t that going to be uncomfortable to sleep in?” he asked, remembering what Jaime and had told him: lace was scratchy against your skin, and anything that hoisted your breasts up as if they were on a platter was not made for sleeping in. But instead, Amy shook her head. “I like feeling sexy,” she told him, and he thought of the phrase again: professional girlfriend.
Satisfied and drained, Chase was able to sleep the whole night through for the first time in weeks. When he woke up at six the next morning, he felt better than he had in a long time. Amy was already up, and when he turned to her, she knew exactly what he wanted. He lasted a lot longer this time, and Chase had to admit that she was talented. Amy Weatherby went beyond enthusiasm or even experience. As he watched her and felt her mouth and hands working him to draw out every last bit of desire from him, he wondered idly if learning how to give great oral was something you learned in acting school.
The doorman in Amy’s building didn’t blink as he came out of the elevators, greeting him with a cheerful “good morning, sir” as if a six foot, nine inch tall man coming out of the elevators wearing a tuxedo at 7 in the morning was a perfectly normal occurrence. But then again, given Amy’s skills, he had probably seen it all before. As Chase stood on the sidewalk hailing a cab, he noticed that someone was talking pictures of him across the street. This wasn’t that unusual---from the minute he stepped onto the basketball arena to the minute he got in his car, every moment of his life was captured by dozens of cell phones pointed his way. But for one, he wasn’t in a basketball arena and two, this wasn’t a cell phone, but a professional looking camera with a massively long lens attached to it. They must be waiting for some other guy, he thought to himself as the cab drove him home.
Chapter Five
Jamie
It seemed only fair to Jamie that if the only man who you ever loved was going to leave you, you would at least have some warning. Maybe you would start fighting about small, nonsensical things so that after he left you could say, “oh, he was trying to distance himself from me, I should have seen that coming.” That’s what happened to one of her friends.
Or maybe, like another friend, you would find unexplained phone numbers in his cell phone, and a girl would answer, “hey baby” in a sexy voice when you hit redial while he was taking a shower.
But to wake up one morning and have your boyfriend tell you he loved you over and over again while he made love to you, and then suddenly never hear from him again struck her as being just a little bit unfair. Most people had time to prepare, why couldn’t she?
Jamie wondered if this was the reason she woke up everyday feeling as if she had to crawl out of a deep, dark hole. The worst part was, in the split second before she woke up, she would still feel like she used to---happy and secure in the feeling that she was loved. But then, she would remember that Chase was gone, and that sharp feeling of pain would come over her. She’d want nothing more than to go back to sleep then, just to make that feeling go away.
She knew what happened, but she didn’t understand it. The day after Chase left her standing in his kitchen, his picture was all over the sports pages: point shaving scandal, it screamed. Her brother Luke, who had been Chase’s teammate in college had explained how serious the accusation was. “It could mean a lifetime ban from basketball,” he warned.
“Luke, he wouldn’t do anything like that,
” she insisted. “Chase doesn’t even drink!” Luke nodded in agreement. “I know, it’s probably a big misunderstanding. Maybe they have him confused with another player.”
So, for that first week, she left him alone. He needs to focus on clearing his name, her friends and family said, and she accepted that if this was what he needed then she would be happy to give it to him. No matter how much it hurt.
Then, it looked as if there were some substance to the accusation. The networks played a grainy video of him coming out of the elevators over and over again. There was nothing more to it than that, but apparently this was the same floor that the people under surveillance for gambling were on. With this evidence, Chase could no longer deny that he was involved, and the story took on a life of its own.
Chase’s friends were stunned and began to wonder if they had really known him at all. Jamie remained strong. “I don’t believe it,” she told anyone who would listen. “There’s more to this.” Swallowing her pride, she called him and tried not to cry when it repeatedly went to voicemail. He’s pushing you away because he’s embarrassed, was the new mantra. Jamie knew how proud Chase was, and this made some sense to her. So she waited another week for him to reach out to her. She imagined the conversation perfectly. “Hey, baby,” he would say when she answered. “I’m so sorry---” she would cut him off before he could finish apologizing for what he had put her through. “I don’t care about what happened,” she would tell him. “I promised you I would never leave you again, and I won’t---no matter what happened, or what happens next. Just come home.” But that phone call never came, and when she finally decided to take matters in her own hands and call him, she was stunned to discover that he had disconnected his number.
Frantic, she called his close friends. “Please,” she asked them. “Do you have his new number?” But they had been just as shocked as she was. A few called him on another phone while she was on the line just to make sure. “Sorry, Jamie,” they would then say quietly. “You’re right, that number doesn’t work. I haven’t heard from him, and he didn’t pick up my calls or return my messages either.”