Chapter 22 Aria
Aria
Griffin thinks Aria doesn’t see him watching her while she lip-syncs along to “The Very Top,” her song the crew picked for the shoot. It’s a song about a woman being at the top of her game and all of her exes coming out of the woodwork. It’s an excellent pick for the product.
Aria basks in Griffin’s attention, feeling more energy in each step, actually pressing into the vocals, even though a recorded track will play in the final commercial.
Aria suspects Griffin’s actually come to categorize her as a friend; hopefully it’s not just her projecting her own feelings on him.
He’s not that good of an actor, even if he’s come miles since that very first time she pulled him onstage and he almost melted into an embarrassed puddle.
“All right, we got the shot!” the producer calls out with a slap on her clipboard. “Five-minute break, then we go to the final shot with Griffin.”
Aria steps down off the collapsible stage, and Griffin meets her, a bottle of Level Up held out.
“Wanna get a sip and really get into it?” he asks.
Aria looks left then right. “Don’t tell anyone, but I hate the stuff. It’s got a weird aftertaste.”
“All for the cause, I guess,” Griffin says.
Aria shrinks a little. She doesn’t want Griffin to think she’s a sellout. “Well, I don’t mean it that way. I’m sure other people love it, and of course we’ve got this setup between us.”
Griffin looks away. “You know, I was starting to have so much fun with it, I forgot it’s all a setup for a bit.” There’s a wistfulness to his voice Aria can’t help but notice.
Aria reaches out and grasps his bicep, taken aback by the firmness of it. “I don’t see any issue with leaning into the fun. I’m enjoying our time together. I mean, you’re way better than I expected.”
Griffin laughs. “And what did you expect?”
Aria won’t say it. Griffin is already sorely misunderstood about the depth of what he has to offer the world. She won’t pile on by admitting that she expected the professional athlete stereotypes.
“Come on. You can tell me.”
Aria sighs. She’d rather not, but at Griffin’s request she elaborates.
“You’re not like the typical pro player.
Trust me, I’ve come across many—and from all different leagues—and most of them want money, women, parties, fame, and nothing else.
Let me just say, none of them would have gone out of their way to offer me a ride when my driver ghosted. ”
“Not even basic decency, huh?” Griffin says.
If only he understood. It’s more than basic decency.
It’s being considerate of others, seeing beyond oneself.
Kindness. It’s a groundedness that requires resistance to all the forces of fame, the ones that promise the famous person that they are the be-all and end-all—that they are of utmost importance, unlike some.
“I think it’s easy in the whirlwind of it all, the admiration from their fans, to lose sight of what really matters.”
“All right! Break’s over!” Kelsey marches back up. “You’re doing great, but we need to stay on schedule. Directors?” She marches toward the crew, who snap to attention, and soon the final segment is underway.
Aria is directed back onto the small stage in front of the mic. Griffin is set up in front of the stage where he will act like he’s attending Aria’s performance before tossing the bottle of Level Up to Aria.
“Aria, you leave the mic in the stand, but pretend like you’re singing into it, then when Griffin throws the bottle, you catch it. Crack the lid, take a sip, then say, ‘Time to level up!’”
Aria nods.
“Do we really think she should take a sip?” Griffin asks. “It seems like it would interrupt the flow.”
The producer throws Griffin an offended look at his questioning, and just when Aria assumes Griffin would back down, he holds the man’s eye. Is Griffin Hayes going toe-to-toe with this producer? Is this the on-the-field version of him?
“Well. I guess—”
“I’ll take a drink. Probably would sell more to see a pro tight end happily drinking it.”
The producer’s face lights up. “That’s actually a really good point. Yes, we’ll have Griffin dance, take a drink, then throw it to Aria, who says the tagline.”
Aria bites back the smile that teases at her lips. Did Griffin really just go out of his way to help her avoid sipping the drink she hates? He’s giving every action hero a run for their money right now. Aria will need to get him a gift before this arrangement is over.
A sudden ache passes through her chest as the thought lands; inevitably this PR deal between the two of them will come to an end.
She pushes it away. At this rate, maybe the two of them could stay friends.
But what are the chances that Griffin would continue to find time for her in his busy schedule?
The music cuts on, and Griffin dances in front of the stage, swaying and bobbing his head along to the beat.
He mouths the lyrics like any true fan and takes a healthy slug of the drink.
Aria is so mesmerized she almost misses the catch when he tosses the drink her way, perfectly aimed at her hands.
She snags the bottle, beams at it, then turns back to the mic and announces, “It’s time to level up!”
The producer turns to the camera operator. “We get it?”
He smiles at the playback screen. “Oh yeah! You guys are naturals.”
“All right then,” the producer announces. “Aria, Griffin, thank you. You’re free to go! Crew, let’s break down and load up ASAP. We’re pushing up on the end of our time.”
Aria and Griffin wander off to the side of the field, and almost instantaneously the small stage is broken into pieces and wheeled out, the cameras and sound booms packed into their travel cases, the crew scurrying quickly until they all disappear like a parade of ants carrying their spoils.
Even Kelsey disappears without a goodbye.
Aria walks out into the middle of the field, stretches out her arms, and looks up to the domed ceiling. “Wild to think you play out here every weekend—or many—you know what I mean.”
Griffin joins her on the field. “I could say the same for you and all of your venues.”
Aria sits and lies down on the turf. Griffin does the same.
“Usually this is never the view I’m going for on the field, but I have to say, taking a load off right now feels great.”
Aria, lying beside him, laughs. “For today, it’s a great view.”
Griffin turns his head to look at her. “Hey. I know this might be overstepping. I’m definitely not an expert, but I was thinking about your music.”
“I know I said you have more talents than just football, but I can’t bring you on my songwriting team.”
“Ha ha. Very funny. No, I was thinking about the pickle you’re in. About how you want to dig deeper, be more vulnerable in your music . . . I think you should do it.”
Aria keeps her eyes trained on the domed ceiling high above. If only he knew how impossible that is—at least at this juncture.
“Unfortunately, I have a contract for the other stuff.”
“But you could blend it. The other parts of you are not separate from that music; they’re just a deeper level of it. You’re powerful and badass, but you also have feelings and all of the other tender parts that make us human.”
Aria has considered this herself, and she doesn’t necessarily disagree.
But it’s a risk trying to push this. There’s a chance she might be able to take some of the risks she’s been yearning for and still meet the brief of the album the studio requires, but what if the fans hate it? What if she lets people down?
Not to mention the fact that the record label will hold her to her contract, and if she doesn’t meet their requirements, there will be delays until she creates another album. There is nothing sadder than an artist fading into irrelevance because she isn’t making music.
“I don’t hate the idea. I’ve thought about it.”
“Aria, if anyone can make this work, it’s you. You deserve to do the work you love.”
Aria feels a flutter in her middle, and she spreads her hands out, palms down on the turf, reminding herself to keep her feet on the ground. Under this sprawling dome, row upon row of seats soaring to the heights surrounding her, Aria feels small. Especially so when she admits, “I’m afraid too.”
“Yeah?”
The single syllable from Griffin floods Aria with comfort.
“What if I try it and it doesn’t work? What will everyone say? I’ll be a failure. Everything I worked for forgotten.”
“And what if you don’t try?”
Griffin doesn’t know that he is asking the very question that keeps her wrestling with the possibility of the endeavor. She hasn’t admitted it to anyone. Not even Bailey. But something about lying here on this massive field, two small people, makes the truth feel easy to admit.
“I’m afraid if I don’t try, what I keep holding on to won’t matter anymore either.”
“I don’t think you need advice. You already know what you need to do.” Griffin says it gently, like it’s a natural conclusion as opposed to a command.
Aria drops her head to the side to get a look at Griffin. Beside her he doesn’t look like the professional football player the public knows and loves; he looks like her dear friend. One who deserves all the same good he wishes upon her.
“And as for you, maybe you can spread your wings too. Get involved in some things outside of football. Foster a snake from the animal shelter.”
“Can’t say I’m a reptile guy, but I agree. Like they say, football isn’t forever, so at some point, I need to figure myself out. Let’s just hope I’m not disappointed by what I find.”
For a guy so capable and genuine, Griffin is a bit of a dummy when it comes to understanding himself. Surely it’s as obvious to everyone else in his life as it is to Aria.
“I know I joke a lot, Griff, but I mean it. As soon as you open yourself up to new things, life will meet you there with a whole menu of options. The only thing limiting who you are is your tunnel vision.”
Griffin sighs. “It’s hard to become something new when you’ve worked your whole life to become another thing.”
“Like a wise person once told me, ‘If there’s anyone that can do it, it’s you.’”
Griffin looks over, grinning. “Using my own words against me? Sneaky but effective. I promise I’ll give it some work.”
“I’m always here to brainstorm. It’s basically part of my job in the scope of songwriting.”
Both of them look back to the dome above them.
“It must be a lot of work behind the scenes, writing the songs, getting the music right, and then having all the producers weigh in to get it ready for release. I’ve always wondered what goes into making a song from start to finish.”
A rush of energy that feels very much like electricity runs through Aria.
She can’t remember the last time a friend or acquaintance had any interest in the less glamorous parts of her job.
Usually the friends—the few she actually kept for any amount of time—fell away when it came to hours in the studio, reappearing when it was time for the parties or the celebrity-studded red carpets.
“I’m sure somewhere between these appearances I can give you a rundown.” Aria tries hard to sound unaffected and cool.
“Lucky me.”
Aria turns her head toward Griffin, and he’s already looking at her.
Their eyes lock, and her heart picks up.
She won’t look away, not when his gaze is so intense that it lights her up.
The world in that moment seems to slow, to zoom in on just the two of them, and in the middle of it, the brush of his hand against hers on the turf breaks their eye contact.
Griffin tangles his fingers into hers. “I believe in you, Aria.” He squeezes, then takes his hand away.
Her breath is so shallow and rapid that it’s almost gone entirely, so much so that it feels like time is warping, but eventually she finds her wherewithal.
“I believe in you too, Griff. Seriously, give yourself a chance, and you’ll be amazed by you outside of football.”
And with a loud metallic clang like a lever being thrown, the lights around the field go out, and they’re cast into darkness.
“Time to load out!” The producer’s voice calls from somewhere over in the hidden corridors of the tunnel.
Finally, with grinning faces, Aria and Griffin get to their feet to leave the field.
Never before has she wanted to stay longer on any sporting field, but here at Griffin’s side in the darkness, speaking truths to one another, she might just be able to stay forever.