Chapter 6 – Jordie
CHAPTER SIX
All the shits
Jordie
“Why do you think Coach sent me to this meeting?” she frets as her fingers drum nervously on the steering wheel. “This is my first year, and I haven’t even played a single down of college ball.”
“They said they wanted players who are expected to be drafted into the new WNFL when it kicks off in a couple years. She apparently thinks you’re one of those players.”
Carrie scrunches her face and mumbles, “That’s a lot of pressure.”
I comfort her with a pat on her shoulder. “You have the height and speed they’re looking for. You’ve been shining in practices this summer, not to mention, your football IQ is off the charts. You know the game, Care Bear.”
She snickers and shakes her head. “Maybe you’re right, but I’m still nervous. I need beef jerky to calm my nerves. Buc-ee’s stop?”
“Hell yes. I need to pee too, and they have the best bathrooms.”
We arrive in Houston two hours later, our backseat crammed with goodies and our wallets quite a bit lighter. My eyes lift to the tall buildings as Carrie drives.
“I’ve never been to this part of Houston,” I say.
“That’s the medical center over there,” she says, pointing at a huge complex of buildings that spans many blocks. “I’ve been there a couple times when my mom was guest lecturing for orthopedic residents. Oh, and there’s Hale Cosmetics.”
I dip my head to look up at the building we’re passing. It’s tall and reflects the city in its blue mirrored surface, and the curly crown logo sits near the top. “It’s really pretty. I’ve never bought any of their stuff because I don’t wear makeup much.”
“You’re gorgeous enough without it,” Carrie replies. “Hale has a lot more than just makeup though, like perfumes and skincare products. And we definitely have to take care of our skin since we’re out in the sun so much. You should try their moisturizer and tinted lip balm.”
“I love lip balm,” I say. “I can’t stand for my lips to be all dry and flaky.”
She reaches into her console and pulls out a sealed package. “Here, you can have this one.”
I take it tentatively, noting the gold logo, like the one I’d just seen on the Hale Cosmetics building, set on a glossy black background. The packaging is elegant and looks way more expensive than anything I’ve ever purchased.
“I don’t want to take your stuff, Carrie.”
“Pshh, whatever. That one’s pineapple, and it’s not my favorite. I really like the vanilla one best.”
I giggle when that reminds me of something. “Hey, do you know what an upside down pineapple means?”
Carrie pauses, and then her eyes widen. “Oh my god, Jordie, are you into the swinging lifestyle?”
A snort escapes me as I open the package. “Uh, no. Not at all. But I have a funny story about my sister.”
Her voice pitches higher. “Juliette is a swinger?”
“No, goofball. At least I don’t think she is.
She writes some pretty freaky stuff in her books.
” I pop the top off the lip balm and sniff, inhaling the supple scent of pineapple.
“Anyway, earlier this summer, Jules decided to go on a writing retreat to this island to finish her book and, get this… she accidentally booked it at a swingers’ resort. ”
Carrie howls with laughter. “No she did not.”
“She did,” I confirm with a grin, sliding the balm over my lips. It’s smooth and slick without being greasy, leaving behind a rosy tint on my lips. I rub them together with a pop. “Wow, this feels amazing.”
“Told ya. Now, finish the story about Juliette.” Carrie bobs her dark eyebrows up and down. “Did she… partake of the forbidden pineapple?”
I cackle. “No, but she blushes like a nun in a cucumber patch whenever she talks about it. All she would tell me was she met a guy there and they had a fling. Only one guy,” I specify.
“This is the best story I’ve ever heard. She needs to write a book about it.” Carrie turns into a parking garage and finds a spot for her Jeep before letting out a shaky exhale. “Okay, we’re here. Let’s see what the WNFL wants with us.”
“I guess you’re all wondering why you’re here,” the woman on stage announces, and Carrie, who’s seated to my left, gives me a sly look. “First of all, let me introduce myself. I’m Belinda Benedict, the commissioner for the newly formed Women’s National Football League.”
Cheers go up around the large conference room in a fancy downtown hotel. There are about fifty attendees in padded seats, and the tall woman in a well-tailored taupe suit and heels smiles at our enthusiasm. When the noise dies down, she continues.
“Thank you, thank you. My staff and I are just as excited as you are to get this league kicked off.” Her eyes roam around the room of female athletes. “Three years from today, I hope the majority of you will be preparing for your first season playing in the WNFL.”
Cue more whistles and clapping from the women who are seeing their dreams of playing professional football finally come to fruition.
Three years.
“That will be right after I graduate from college,” I whisper to Carrie, and she bobs her head up and down.
“Me too. Even though it’s my freshman year right now, I took a lot of advanced placement classes in high school, so I should be able to graduate in three years, same time as you.”
We share a warm look, and I pray we end up getting drafted by the same pro team. We haven’t had much time to spend together during practices and team meetings this summer since I’m on offense and she’s a safety on defense, but I can already tell we’re going to be good friends.
Ms. Benedict begins introducing the WNFL staff, and we turn our attention back to the stage. Once she’s introduced us to a financial advisor and some of the medical personnel, Ms. Benedict holds up a red, white, and blue folder.
“You each received one of these when you checked in. We’ve compiled a list of reputable agents, as well as some who are known to be…
problematic. While you are free to sign with anyone you choose, I advise you to be cautious.
You don’t have to go with the first agent who approaches you.
Shop around. Meet with them. Find someone who aligns with your personal and professional values. ”
Ms. Benedict gestures toward the only man on the stage. I like that there are so many women in the upper echelons of the WNFL organization.
“This is Carlos Neyland, and he’s an executive of the company we’ve contracted with to manufacture the uniforms for each team. Mr. Neyland?”
She steps back and lets him take the podium. After greeting us and gushing about how excited he is about the new league, he shifts into a discussion about the actual uniforms.
“And here’s the exciting part. If your jersey is sold, you, as a player, will receive sixty-five percent of the profits.
That is standard across the league and is not something you or your agent can negotiate.
Every player gets the same percentage. The more jerseys or other gear consumers buy, the more money in your pocket. ”
Everyone nods because that sounds fair. Mr. Neyland picks up a clicker and a red and white uniform appears on the large screen behind him.
“Ms. Benedict has authorized me to show you some samples of the uniforms that have been approved.”
He flips to another uniform, this one royal blue and white, then a purple and white one after that.
I crinkle my nose at Carrie. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
She mimics my expression. “White pants. Ugh.”
Shifting my eyes back to the front, I see Belinda Benedict’s cool blue gaze resting on mine. Shit. Then she stands, her eyes still on me. Double shit.
“Miss McNamara, did you have something to share with the class?”
Triple shit. Quadruple shit. All the shits. This is a freaking nightmare. I receive an encouraging elbow from Carrie, so I reluctantly stand, swallowing hard.
“Sorry, Ms. Benedict. I was just concerned about the white pants.”
Murmurs go up around the room, and my face heats.
Mr. Neyland’s brow furrows. “I’m not sure I understand. White is a common color for football pants, and it looks great on screen.”
“Not with a big blood stain on the crotch,” I blurt out, and I hear giggles from the other athletes in the room.
“Women menstruate, Mr. Neyland. It’s just a fact of life, and I’m sure every woman here has been surprised at least once in their life by a pop-in visit from Aunt Flow.
With white pants, that can become obvious very quickly. And on national TV.”
Now it’s Mr. Neyland’s turn to blush. The commissioner approaches him, and they have a whispered conversation as I sit back down.
Ms. Benedict takes the podium once again, one perfectly plucked eyebrow raised as she looks at me. “Thank you for bringing that issue to our attention, Miss McNamara. I’ve instructed Mr. Neyland that all pants should be of a darker color.”
The audience claps, and someone yells, “Right on!”
The commissioner flashes a self-deprecating smile. “While we’ve done our best to cover everything, we may have overlooked some things, and that’s why we’ve invited you all here for this weekend. Your coaches have indicated to us that you’re all draft prospects, so we wanted your input.”
“You want our opinions on stuff?” someone calls out incredulously.
Belinda Benedict leans forward on her forearms, her eyes sharp, though there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “This is your league, ladies. While we won’t be able to fulfill every single request, we do want to know your feelings as a whole on the issues that will directly affect you.”
The slight shifting of butts on seats rustles around the room as Carrie and I share slightly shocked looks.
This wasn’t what we expected at all. We thought they were going to tell us what they expected of us, but somehow, this weekend is about the opposite.
They want to know what they can do for us.
“As you’ve probably been told, this weekend is covered, all expenses paid,” the commissioner continues.
“You’ve all been booked into this hotel, and you’ll find all the information you need in your folders.
” She picks up hers and gives it a little wave.
“You have all day and night tomorrow to meet with each other and discuss. This conference room has been reserved for your use. As for the rest of today, consider it a vacation from your rigorous practice schedules. The hotel has a lovely pool, so why don’t you all head over and enjoy the rest of your day. ”
Carrie and I are reclining on adjacent chairs beside the luxury pool, both of us reading through the substantial amount of information from our WNFL packets when a shadow blocks our sun.
I look up to find Liz Weston standing above us. She plays center for a university in Kansas.
“McNamara,” she growls, and I gulp before sitting up. I’m not easily intimidated, but if I’m being honest, Liz is a bit scary. Her biceps are the size of my head, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her with anything less than a scowl on her face.
“Uh, yeah?”
“I was talking to some of the other girls, and we decided you should be the spokesperson for the group on Sunday,” she declares.
My mouth gapes open. “M-me?”
“Yeah.” That’s all. No explanation. Just yeah.
“I think that’s a great idea,” Carrie chimes in, and I shoot her a laser death glare. She has the grace to look chagrined.
“Why me?” I question.
Liz sits on the open lounger beside me. “You did a great job speaking up about that period stuff today when no one else did. Happened to me once in the middle of a high school game.” The twist of her lips from a perma-scowl to something resembling embarrassment makes her look a bit…
softer? “Most humiliating thing ever. I grabbed a jacket to wrap around my waist while I ran to the locker room to change, but a few people saw it.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I say softly.
She shrugs her Chevrolet-sized shoulders with feigned nonchalance, but I can tell it was something that bothered her.
“It sucked. I mean, I know it’s natural, but you know how high school idiots can be.
They already made constant comments on my femininity since I tend to be a little… rough around the edges.”
“I think you’re feminine,” Carrie says brightly. “You have gorgeous eyelashes. Like a giraffe.” She makes fluttery fingers near her eyes.
Liz frowns at her for a second before bursting into laughter, completely transforming her face. “Thanks, Broxton. Eyelashes by giraffe and body by rhinoceros,” she replies, flexing her enormous muscles.
“You’re built exactly how an offensive lineperson should be built,” I encourage. “You’re an amazing center. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been invited here.”
“Thanks, McNamara,” she says, looking slightly less frightening when she offers me a smile. “What do you think about all the info they gave us?” She tilts her head toward the folder in my hands.
“I like how their focus is that this is a league for women and by women, and it’s not just a tagline. Seems like they’re really trying to support us.”
Liz purses her lips. “I agree, but to be honest, I’m not fond of the team names. Lady Panthers. Lady Dragons. Lady this and Lady that. We know we’re female, and I don’t think that needs to be pointed out. It’s in the title of the league, for fuck’s sake. The Women’s National Football League.”
“That’s true,” Carrie muses. “I think Jordie should get everyone’s input and then mention it during her report.”
“I do too,” Liz agrees. “Like, if I see a dragon flying through the sky, I’m not going to say, ‘Wow, look at that lady dragon.’ I’m going to say, ‘Holy shit, that’s a goddamn dragon!’”
Carrie and I crack up, and we’re treated to another rare smile from Liz Weston as she pushes to her feet. “Okay, McNamara, it’s settled. Thanks for volunteering to give the report to the commissioner on Sunday.”
She pats me on the head, knocking me down the lounger a couple inches before she departs to perform a spectacular cannonball into the pool.
Okaaay. Apparently, I’m now the spokesperson for this whole shebang. I don’t mind, though it feels a lot more like I was volun-told rather than being an actual volunteer.