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“Who the hell are you?” I ask instead, through gritted teeth.
“Oh, pardon me, Ethan,” Larry says as he waddles over to where I’m standing. “This is my assistant, Dave.”
I’m still a bit weirded out that Dave is so physical when he greets other men. But who am I to say anything? I let my team mate jerk me off in the locker room, right?
Dave looks at me and asks again, “How you feeling, champ?”
I wince at his usage of the word champ, but reply. "Just trying to put this shit storm behind me, man, but I'm hanging in there."
"The hell you are! You’re Ethan fucking Blake!"
"So I've heard," I say, leading him into my apartment. "Why does everyone keep saying that today?"
Dave ignores my question because Larry turns to both of us.
“Dave is an excellent strategic negotiations counsel that I’ve bring on challenging cases,” Larry says walking back to the table. “Dave, tell Ethan your take on the situation, and try not to bore us with technical lawyer bullshit.”
"You're funny,” Dave says with sarcasm. Then he turns to me. “Listen, I'm concerned about negotiating a new deal with the New York Nailers. There's no doubt in my mind that you deserve a spot on this team, but with all of this scandal, if you don't make it, it may be difficult to find you a spot on any NFL team. No one wants to touch a 'head case' as they say."
"A head case? Is that what you think of me?" I ask - a bit surprised.
"Not me man—them! The media and other franchise owners. You might be a tough sell."
I can feel the rhythm of my pulse increase, and I feel a hot wave of anger rise in my chest. I clench a fist. This is all feeling like too much to handle.
"Remember what I said about non-verbal cues," Larry says, noticing my fist and lowered eyebrows. He is right. I need to make a more conscious effort to remain calm.
Larry opens a notebook and jots down some points. "Any other thoughts, Dave?“ he asks, and then Dave gives a giant sigh.
"Yeah, I gotta say, you've been getting a bit too much action off the field," Dave says, laughing and jabbing me in my side with his elbow. He is trying to be funny, but I really am not in the mood for jokes.
"I actually have a plan," Larry says, continuing his train of thought, and that really grabs our attention. “I’ve been talking with AJ Ledoux over at the Times.”
"What's that?" I ask. "I'm open to any ideas you have, but why are you talking to that man?"
"There's one way that we can wash you of these scandals," Larry says. "While the SportsNation highlights are damning, we can flip the story. It's like that old saying, 'if you don't like what people are saying, change the story,' and in this case, I think it would work brilliantly."
"How can we change the story when the evidence is captured on video? I just don't understand," I say, furrowing my eyebrows. “And why have you been talking to AJ? You didn’t answer my question.”
> "Right now, the media – basically spurred on by AJ - is painting you as a willing participant in these actions," Larry says. I can hear Dave giggle at the word 'action' and I wonder if he is secretly 12 years old. “Ninety-nine percent of the anger is because of his daily column where he takes you and runs you over the coals. But I know he’s open to a deal.”
Larry continues, "What if you weren't a willing participant after all? What if you were seduced and strong-armed?"
"That's not what—" I begin to say, but Larry cuts me off. I know I just said that I was open to any ideas, but now I really am not so sure that is true.
"You know what the new script should be? Well, I'll tell you even if you don't want to hear it. The new story should tell the world that Julianna deceived and seduced you, and Colt accosted you in that locker room."
“But that’s not true,” I say, standing up. “She didn’t do anything like that. In fact…”
But Larry doesn’t let me finish. “I know that, but who cares?” he asks me. When I don’t answer, he looks at me. “Listen to me, Ethan, AJ Ledoux has his sights set on only one person – Julianna Heaton. None of this shit would have blown up if he hadn’t been stoking the fires this entire time. Now you can stay on the burning bus that he’s pushing into a ditch, or you can get out. But if you get out, you gotta help him push. Now what’s it gonna be – your career, or your cock?”
* * *
That night, I can't sleep. It doesn't feel right. How can I throw Julianna and Colt under the bus? The media would have a field day with that kind of story. I am pacing from one room to another. The entire place makes me feel claustrophobic, like a caged animal. I have to get out of my apartment. It is 9 pm and I know my favorite pub, Black and Bull, down the street is still serving food. I grab my jacket, keys, and wallet and head out the door.
The place seems a little more crowded than usual for a weeknight, and just as I am about to turn around and head back home, thinking it may have been a bad idea to come, I find an open booth in a far back corner of the room. This place is great for a number of reasons, but my favorites are that the seating offers a lot of privacy, the number of different beers on tap are staggering, and the burger, well—you might as well ask for a bib with that burger. Take one bite and melted bleu cheese gushes out and offsets the crunchy slabs of bacon placed on top of the patty. If I was to have sex with a burger, and I realize that's a strange thought—this burger would be it.
I settle into the dark wood and red vinyl booth and the waitress hands me a menu. I immediately look at the beer listing. I need something to mellow me out. There are ales, wheat beers, lagers, IPAs—why are IPAs so popular these days? I can't understand it. And then I see the darker beers—stouts and porters. Yes, that is what I am in the mood for, something substantial, like a meal in a pint. I am buried in the beer menu when someone approaches my table. I think it is the waitress, so I begin to order. "I think I'll have the dark—"
