Not Just a Player

by Lana Baker

  “Shoulda thought about that before you started using strippers as barbells.”

  I clench my fists. Because if that’s what he leads with, I can only imagine how much worse this is going to get. At least a bit of press coverage might lead to a donations boost for the kids’ hospice, even though I hate the thought of them thinking I used them for the attention.

  “Okay? Right. So after that, we’ll slowly ramp up. These journalists aren’t stupid—they’ll be able to spot a fake easily. The trick is to feed it to them slowly. I’ll get in touch with some of the publicists I know. We’ll find an up-and-coming actress who needs the exposure. You’ll date. You’ll fall in love. You’ll gush about how wonderful it is. You’ll get married in some tropical paradise. We’ll sell the pictures to a women’s glossy. Your new wife can gush about how happy she is; how you’re the perfect gentleman. Think about it—this could open you up to a whole new audience. Denny and Dale are the heart-throbs of the team. Well, now you’re gonna have a new army of fans who are just holding out for you to get divorced!”

  I stare at him. From the triumphant look on his face, I can tell I’m supposed to be impressed by his plan. “I don’t want to be a heartthrob. I just want to play football and be left alone.”

  “Well suck it up, pretty boy. Because it’s not one or the other anymore.” Coach leans closer to me, eyes narrowed. “What would your father think of this, you so close to being booted off the team? Huh?”

  It’s a low blow, and I know he knows that. I swallow. It’s as if I’ve just been tackled by the entire defensive line. I feel winded. No—I feel crushed.

  My father was a factory worker. Worked all hours of the day and night. No matter how late he got home, he still made time to take me to practice. He came and watched all my games. He coached me as much as he could. All he ever wanted was for me to realize my dream of playing pro-football. No; more than that. I know how much it would have meant to him if his boy went out there and won a championship ring. I haven’t done that yet. I need to.

  He’d be crushed if I squandered my chance by going out and getting drunk.

  There’s a niggling feeling in my stomach that tells me I’m making it worse for myself by agreeing to this plan, but what choice do I have? That other problem can wait—I can’t get thrown off the team, especially not with a cloud of disgrace hanging over my head. I’ll never play again.

  I need that ring. I need to make my father proud.

  Besides, Darla’s probably talking crap. There’s no way she’s going to actually go to the media. She’s have nothing left to hold over my head. No power.

  “Fine,” I say in a hollow voice. “I’ll do it. How long for?”

  Jackson looks at Charlie. “We need this to seem real,” he says with a sigh. “But you’ve seen yourself how some celebrity marriages just crash and burn. I would say six months at the very least?”

  Charlie leans over and claps my shoulder. “It’ll fly by, son. You won’t even notice it you’ll be so busy with the season.”

  “So I’m not allowed to date?”

  He snorts. “Of course not. But look. We’ll see you right. We’ll find you some hot little piece of ass. You’re not even gonna want to look at another woman. I guarantee it. Right, Jackson?”

  I would beg to differ. There’s only one person on my mind. If I thought she hated me last night, I can only imagine how she’s going to react when she sees that I’m marrying some dumb actress I have nothing in common with.

  “Yes, and I need to warn you. This plan relies on you appearing to turn your life around. Believe me when I say the media isn’t stupid. They need to think this is real. If they don’t, you’ll be outed as a sham and your reputation will be as bad as ever.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I sigh, unable to hide my anger.

  “No, Jake. I’m gonna need your assurance that you’ll work at this. You’ll need to be on twenty-four-seven. Oh, don’t look so glum. We’ll lease you a mansion in the hills. You’ll want for nothing. Jake, this is going to be fun. I guarantee it.”

  I stare at his lips, watching them move. But I’m not taking anything in. Living out of hotel rooms was starting to feel hollow—but now it’s my only connection to Rose.

  “Wait, I’ll have to move out of the Greenboro Court?”

  Jackson rolls his eyes. “Of course. The huge house is part of the fairytale.”

  I have no choice. I need to go along with this. At least I’ve got some time—hopefully I can iron things out with Rose before I… leave to marry somebody else? How the hell am I going to explain that? She doesn’t even want to speak to me right now—just wait until she hears what they’ve got planned.

  “How long do I have before…”

  “I’ve got my assistant looking for a suitable home as we speak. You’ll be in your new place within a couple of days, all going well.”

  Great.

  Just fucking great.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rose

  I stare at the pile of bills on the table. What the hell? This situation is worse than I thought and I have no idea how it got that way.

  I’d cry, only I feel too numb to even do that. And anyway, Sam will get home from school any moment and I don’t want him to worry. It’s my problem. And I’m going to fix it.

  The only problem is I have no idea how.

  I don’t remember getting home because I was in such a daze that complete strangers had to warn me not to cross the street in front of traffic. As soon as I did make it home, I did two things. The first thing was to call Van. I got her voicemail. No surprise—she works most hours of the day and most of the night, plus she travels for work two or three weeks out of four.

  The second thing was to pull my battered old laptop out from under the bed and try and put together a resume. I’ve looked at countless careers websites and I’m still none the wiser. I got my job at the Greenboro Court through a friend—I don’t think I’ve ever even had a resume.

  There’s also the fact that I don’t have a reference I can use. I mean, I could put down Marcus’s name but who’s going to hire me if they think I’m a hooker? It makes my blood boil. I called a couple of attorneys but didn’t get past their secretaries. I had hoped they might take my case for free on a no-win no-fee basis, but they didn’t seem interested. Now, if I’d been hit by a bus, it might have been a different story. One of them even told me that straight out.

  I turn my attention back to the document on my screen. It’s blank apart from my name and the word ‘resume’ at the top. I stare at it, but my eyes keep turning back to the bills. The power is overdue. I’ve already called my phone company to change my plan from bill to prepay. The internet is a luxury we won’t be able to afford much longer, but that’s a catch 22—Sam needs it for school and I need it to find a job.

  Something needs to give. I’ve got five hundred dollars in my checking account and one more paycheck due. That’s not much of a safety net. I’ve got to make rent and bills. And pay for food. It’s. Just. Not. Possible.

  And then I can’t hold the tears back. We’ve had some dark periods, Sam and me, but there was never a point where I wasn’t able to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. Until now. And I’ve only got myself to blame. Marcus was right. Why did I sneak up to Jake’s room? Of course it looked suspicious. It doesn’t matter that it was none of Luca’s business. I shouldn’t have given him the ammunition he needed to take me down.

  My stupid crush might have made us homeless. That’s the reality I need to face.

  I tell myself to hush the hell up and do something constructive, but I can’t see the screen through my tears. How can I even start to spin this? I’m a hotel receptionist with no high school diploma let alone a college degree. I’ve just been fired because my boss thinks I was operating as a hooker for our guests.

  I mean… How? How do I work with this? Even a politician would struggle to spin it.

  I bury my head in my hands. It’s too much. I know I’m s
upposed to be chipper and grateful and all sorts of other plucky-single-mom stereotypes, but I can’t do it. This is rock bottom. And there’s no ladder or rope to get me out of it.

  To make things even worse, I’m too wrapped up in my problems to hear the door creak open. The first indication I have that Sam is home is a loud gasp.

  “What’s wrong, Mom?”

  I cover my eyes with my hands. “Nothing, sweetie.”

  “Mom?” he runs to my side, eyes wide with concern.

  I glance past him to the door, where my mother is standing, holding his book bag.

  “Honey, it’s fine,” I laugh, smoothing his hair. “Momma just watched a sad movie is all.”

  He looks up at me and I see my own eyes staring back at me. Skeptical. “Oh yeah? What movie?”

  I smile. This time it’s genuine. Here’s the one thing I’ve done right in the world: this clever, sensitive little kid. Whose life I’ve just ruined. My face crumples. “It was an old movie,” I gasp through racking sobs. “Sad. It’s heartbreaking.”

  He wraps his little arms around me and hugs me. “It’s okay, Mom,” he says solemnly. “It’s only a movie. It’s not real.”

  “Thanks, baby,” I whisper, patting him on the back. When did he get so grown up?

  “And if bad guys come? Mom, I’ll protect you. So you don’t need to worry.”

  My own mother is over to us quick as a flash, spinning Sam around and pushing him in the direction of his bedroom just as my face crumples. “Go wash up, honey. Your mom is being silly.”

  When the door slams shut, the cheery smile vanishes from her face. “What’s going on? Why are you home this early?”

  “They fired me.”

  “Oh.” She exhales loudly a couple of times. “Oh.”

  “Yeah.” I try to force a smile. “It’s not good.”

  “What happened, honey? It must be bad. You’ve been working there for years. Did they let a lot of people go?”

  I sniff. There’s no easy way to put this except to just say it. “Mom, Marcus accused me of being a hooker.”

  “What?” she barks.

  “Yeah. A couple of days ago I had this guest call and ask if I could come to his room to… look at something.” Now that I play it back in my head, it all seems so foolish. I should have told him I’d call maintenance. Instead, I’d carried on flirting with him like I didn’t have a care in the world. “Luca told Marcus.”

  “I don’t understand, Rose. You’re saying that’s why you were fired? Why would they think you were a hooker for going to a guest’s room? That’s absurd. You’re the receptionist.”

  I shake my head. “Well, I did something dumb. Instead of just going up there, I snuck up through the basement. It looks suspicious.”

  Her forehead crumples. I hear the shower stop and know we don’t have much time. She knows it too. “They can’t just do that.”

  “They can. I had a casual contract. I’ve already tried to find an attorney but the ones I’ve spoken to aren’t interested. It’s not a money-maker for them.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  I shrug. Sam slams out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. “Look for a new job, I guess? I’ll speak to Van and see if she knows of anything.”

  “I told you—you should have got your GED.”

  I nod miserably. “I know. You were right too, Mom. I just… I was taking each day at a time. I thought I had a future at the hotel.” I smile weakly. “Maybe this is the career shake up I need, right?”

  Neither of us believes that. I’m not some bright spark with the time or the money to retrain. I need any job right now.

  “Tell the landlord you’re moving. Come and stay with me.”

  “Mom, no.”

  “Yes,” she says, grabbing my hand. “You need to save every cent you can now that you’re looking for work. You’ll have breathing room at my place.”

  “But you’ve got a one-bed apartment. Sam is eight. He’s a whirlwind. I appreciate you helping out, but having him around full time would drive you crazy.”

  She shrugs. “He’s my grandchild, sweetie. I like having him around.”

  I shake my head. It’s too much to put on her shoulders; not just me, but an eight-year-old. He’s a great kid, but he’s still a kid—complete with anti-Christ-like mood swings when he’s had too much sugar or not enough sleep.

  “No, Mom. You’ve already done so much for us.”

  She reaches over and strokes my hair. “Come on, Rose. What else are you going to do? I’m not going to watch you fall behind on rent and get evicted. We’ll work through this thing.”

  Tears prick at my eyes again. “Thanks, Mom. I’m sorry for being such a screw-up. I’ll pay you back for this one day.”

  She pulls me to her and kisses the top of my head. “Don’t be silly, honey.”

  “Grandma, why are you kissing my mom?” Sam yells, bounding from his room.

  She turns to him and holds out her arms. He cringes as if she’s just mortally offended him. “Because she’s my daughter. Do you want a kiss?”

  “Eugh, no thank you.”

  We all laugh.

  “Honey, how do you feel about coming to stay at your grandma’s tonight? We’ll stay up late and eat ice cream from the carton and—”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes,” he says, jumping up and down. He holds his hand up in the air as if he’s still in class. “Grandma, can we watch Horrible Histories?”

  She smiles indulgently. “You want to watch that again? You must have seen them all a hundred times.”

  “One hundred and one,” he says triumphantly. “Can we start from the beginning again?”

  “Of course.” She pats his head and looks at me meaningfully. “Your mom is going to call Auntie Van and they’re going to have a big long chat about boring adult stuff. Go on, Sam. If you can beat me to the front door I’ll let you choose the ice cream flavor.”

  He frowns up at her. I can almost see the little cogs working in his mind to figure out if she’s trying to trick him. Seconds later, he’s bolted for the front door without even bothering to put his shoes on.

  “Thanks, Mom.” I get up to go find his sneakers. “Will you make sure he puts these on? I don’t want him stepping on glass or something.”

  “Yes, honey. Now. Do what I said. Call Van. She’s a smart cookie—I bet she can help you figure this out.”

  I walk back to the table and pick up my phone as soon as I’ve seen Mom out. I try Van’s cellphone first, but it goes straight to voicemail. It’s still early so I try her office next. Her assistant says she’s out at a client function. Crossing my fingers behind my back, I try her home number in the hope that she’s left early and gone home, which would be the most un-Van thing she has ever done. But I’m desperate—it’s worth a shot.

  I’m prepared to hear her answering machine message. What I’m not prepared for is Jackson’s media-trained voice.

  “Carter residence.”

  I suck in a breath and debate hanging up. But then I remember she has caller id. “Hi Jackson,” I say, as cheerily as I can.

  “Oh hey, Rose. How are you? Did you enjoy last night?”

  “Yeah, it was great,” I trill.

  “Oh.” He sounds confused. “Oh, that’s good. You didn’t seem to be having the best time. Look, Van is out. I’m not expecting her back until… oh… after nine probably. Can I pass her a message?”

  I swallow. “Um, no. It’s okay.” Even I can hear the way my voice falters.

  “Rose? Are you okay? You sound…”

  And then it happens. I find myself spilling my heart to a guy I don’t particularly like. And it feels strangely good—I don’t care about him, so unlike Mom or Van, I’m not afraid of worrying him. “No, Jackson. I’m not. I lost my job today. Fired. No payout, just the wages I’ve earned. That’s gonna net me less than five hundred bucks after taxes. I’ve got another five hundred in the bank. I’m fucked, Jackson. Fucked.”

  I take a breath. T
here’s no sound on the other end of the line. I don’t know what came over me just then, but it does feel like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders.

  “Look, Jackson? I’m sorry for the information overload. Do me a favor? Don’t say anything to Van. I’d kinda prefer if she doesn’t know how worried I am.”

  “No problem,” he mutters. “No problem at all. I’m here if you need to talk.”

  “Thanks, Jackson.” I dial off, feeling like maybe I got my best friend’s boyfriend all wrong.

  I’m finally making progress on my resume when there’s a knock at the door. My heart races. Mom hasn’t called so it can only be Van. Great—I need her advice about how best to describe my job.

  I rush to the door and tear it open.

  “Thank god you’re he…” I frown. “Jackson?”

  He gives a little shrug. “Hi, Rose.”

  “I thought you were Van.”

  “No. She’s not home yet.”

  “Come in.” I step aside and let him pass. I don’t think we’ve ever socialized before without Van. “What’s up?”

  He crosses the room and eases himself down on the couch, carefully holding his pant legs to avoid creasing. A part of me wants to mock, but I stop myself from going there. He was nice to me earlier and I need every friend I can get right now. Even if they’re…

  Stop it, Rose, I scream in my head.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,” he says.

  “Oh yeah?”

  I have no idea what this is about. I don’t know much about him, except that he works in public relations. But I don’t know what that involves. A thought seizes me—maybe he wants to help me get my job back at the hotel. But I never told him the whole story, so he wouldn’t know about the hooker thing.

  “This might sound a little… unorthodox,” he says slowly, like he’s carefully choosing every word.

  “Oh?”

  “It concerns our mutual friend, Jake Thorne.”