Chapter Six Los Angeles
Vivienne Cross arrived exactly ten minutes late.
Carmen Vale never got tired of being annoyed with Vivienne. Ten minutes was Vivienne’s signature act, not late enough for someone to leave, but late enough to establish that she was a bad bitch or so she thought. Carmen had known her for fourteen years, and Vivienne had never arrived first.
She slid into the seat across from Carmen at The Ivy like she was bothered to be there and had better things to be doing.
Her Prada sunglasses stayed on just long enough to feel intentional before she removed them and placed them on the table.
Carmen was more focused on her burger and fries than the show being put on by this woman who she could not stand.
“Sorry,” Vivienne said. “Traffic.”
“Bitch, you live four blocks away. Eat something you look like the ghost of Karen Carpenter.”
Vivienne smiled faintly. “So I am on the shot, so that will be a no for food. You know if I arrived early, you might think I was excited to see you.”
Carmen lifted her martini. “Facelift is finally settled, I see. Congrats. I was starting to worry.”
“Nice play, I see what you are doing here with your jokes and your burger,” Vivienne said. “I don’t get facelifts. I get results.”
Vivienne’s smile widened just slightly. They had been doing this long enough that the insults had lost their edge but it still gave both of them life.
The waiter appeared with sparkling water. Vivienne waited until he left before speaking again.
“Your quarterback,” she said.
Carmen took a slow sip. “Your quarterback.”
Vivienne’s eyebrow lifted. Carmen slid her phone across the table. ESPN headline.
THE LEAGUE’S NEW RIVALRY: ASHTON VS. REYES.
Vivienne read it. Laughed softly. “Well.”
“Opening week of the season and it’s official,” Carmen said. “That’s how long it took.”
“The league loves this shit and so does my bank account.”
Vivienne handed the phone back. “Nothing sells like two men in tights trying to destroy each other on field. It’s like a bunch of fucking buff Peter Pans prancing around acting manly. ”
“Especially when they’re both beautiful.”
“That too.”
Vivienne leaned back, scanning the restaurant once, checking for any sports agents, but all she was getting was Hollywood pricks jerking each other off. Then she folded her hands. “They’re building a marketing narrative around the rivalry.”
“You saw the ratings for their first meeting.”
“Thirty fucking million watched.”
Vivienne slid a folder across the table. Carmen opened it. Her eyebrows rose by a few degrees. “Designer underwear,” she said. “No expense is spared. Print. Commercials. Billboards. All the things, bitch.”
“Both of them.”
“Both of them.”
Carmen was quiet for a moment, not reading.
“They understand,” Vivienne said carefully, “that putting those two men in the same room with that much skin and fucking baby oil is going to generate a certain kind of attention. There will be a certain amount of backlash, but frankly backlash sells outside of racist celebrity Tweets from 2014.”
“That’s the point.”
“The league will want credit for the demographics.”
“The league can have it.”
Vivienne set the folder down.
“I’ll need to speak with my Piper first,” Vivienne said.
“Of course.”
“He’s particular about his image.”
Carmen smiled. “So is mine. He’ll do it anyway, he loves being naked on camera, remember how big his Sports Illustrated spread in the Body Issue was post-MVP?”
Vivienne looked at her steadily. “I sure do, Piper has refused that issue three times. He is such a fucking prude sometimes. You sound certain about Noah?”
“I know what Noah wants.”
“And what does Noah want?”
Carmen finished her martini. “Another shot at Piper Ashton.”
“Easy, bitch,” Vivienne said. “We are still 1-0 against each other.”
Vivienne considered that. Then she closed the folder and picked up the menu. The decision was made.
“Lord help us,” she said. “Into the eye of the storm we go, two bitches and their quarterbacks.”
Carmen took a bite of her burger, her eyes fully rolled to the back of her head at that point.
***
Vivienne’s office had a view of the Hollywood sign and deliberately uncomfortable chairs, a combination that was intentional.
Piper sat in one of them and kept his posture where it was, because giving Vivienne the satisfaction of watching him shift around was not something he wanted to show his agent/manager combo.
She flipped the campaign proposal across the desk.
Piper barely caught it and opened the first page.
“Oh fuck no,” he said.
Vivienne leaned back. “Read it again.”
“I read it.”
“You looked at it.”
He read it again. The campaign was clean, the photography concept, the brand positioning. He had no objection to any of it except the obvious one, which Vivienne was waiting for him to name and which he had no intention of naming first.
“They are going to surround us with fucking stuffed lions?” he said.
“This concept is absurd in all the right ways.”
“And the other client?” Piper asked.
“Noah Reyes,” Vivienne replied.
Piper set the proposal on the desk. “Viv, it’s a fuck no from me.”
“You keep saying that. You know we need to work on your image, the entire country thinks you are uptight.”
“I keep meaning it. And I don’t care what the country thinks of me. I am me, am I not good enough for the angry villagers?”
Vivienne folded her hands.
They sat silently for what felt like a while.
“The campaign needs the rivalry, they need you, and honey you need the attention,” Vivienne said.
“That’s the creative concept. Two quarterbacks, opposing styles, same product.
The loose MVP and the uptight neurotic with the perfect throw.
The contrast is a tale as old as time. They threw in lavish stuffed taxidermy for effect and ridiculousness. ”
“Find a different contrast. This sounds like a marketing team designing a fucking romance arc.”
“Ignore that shit. They want you specifically.”
“Well they can’t have me.”
Vivienne opened a different folder. Piper recognized the header.
His licensing portfolio, the accumulated endorsements, the image approval clauses, the contracts he had signed or approved through the structured web of representation that Jayson had assembled over the years. Vivienne tapped a page near the bottom.
“Jayson has already reviewed the agreement and given the green light.”
Piper looked at the page. He looked past Vivienne.
“He reviewed it,” Piper said.
“He flagged it as a brand pivot for you, and baby we know you need one.”
Jayson’s flags always gave Piper anxiety.
“The photoshoot is one day,” Vivienne continued. “Studio controlled environment. Professional context. The brand handles everything.”
“And Reyes?”
“Has not yet confirmed.”
Piper breathed in for a moment, flashing back to the moment on the field. That wink.
“Though I understand Carmen is optimistic, that bitch is always optimistic.”
Piper looked out the window. The Hollywood sign sat in the afternoon light, the dry hills primed for burning.
“One day,” Piper said.
“One day, mostly naked. An easy $5,000,000.”
“Controlled environment.”
“Completely.”
He picked up the proposal again. I mean what’s the worst thing that could happen? He was reading the photography concept, which involved the two of them in close proximity under studio lights for twenty-four hours.
“I’ll need final image approval, and it looks like they are filming behind-the-scenes footage,” he said.
“Already in the rider.”
He set it down. “Okay, let’s do this.”
He understood she had known he would say yes before he walked through the door. Irritating and accurate.
He signed where she indicated. His pen moved steadily.
He thought about the fact that Jayson had reviewed the agreement and made it a point to call out Piper’s image. Joan, this fucker treats me like a child, but what would I do without him?
***
Carmen slid the proposal across the table at exactly the moment Noah reached for his Celsius. He grabbed the contract with his free hand. He read it quickly as he chugged his energy drink.
“Piper Ashton,” he said.
“He’s confirmed,” Carmen replied.
Noah set the proposal down. “When?”
“This morning.”
He looked at Carmen. She was watching him with the expression she used when she already knew what he was going to say and was waiting for him to catch up.
“When’s the shoot?” he said.
“One day. Studio in Culver City. Full campaign, print, digital, billboards.”
“And the concept?”
“Rivals,” Carmen said. “The brand wants the contrast. You and Ashton, same product, opposing philosophies.”
Noah looked at the photography breakdown and mood-board. The lighting concepts. The wardrobe notes, which were minimal. The taxidermy lions were an odd choice, he thought.
He turned a page. Studied the layout. Turned another.
“He said yes,” Noah confirmed.
“Signed this morning.”
Noah closed the folder. He thought about Piper at the hash marks after the game, hand still extended, the look on his face that said something had shifted and he had already classified it as a problem to be solved.
Piper Ashton was going to spend a day in close proximity under hot lights in animal print boxer briefs hugging his perfect ass.
Noah did not have to think long and already knew his answer.
“Okay,” Noah said.
Carmen blinked. “That’s it?”
“What else do you need?” Noah stood. “Send me the call time.”
Carmen looked at him steadily. “Noah.”
“Carmen.”
“Don’t make this complicated. I need you to be on good behavior.”
“I’m not making anything, the dude is too fucking uptight to cause any problems with,” Noah said. “I’m shooting a campaign half naked, he will be a prick to me, and I will smile because they are paying me millions to smile.”
He picked up his jacket. “He’s the one who’s going to make it complicated.”
Carmen said nothing. She had clocked exactly what he’d said and what he hadn’t.
Noah headed for the door. He was ignoring the potential pushback from his mother Sofia, which was going to come the moment she heard about this stunt.
Luckily she was busy with his father, Mateo, at the winery he just purchased for his father in Walla Walla, Washington.
The very winery his father had worked at when Noah was a kid, picking grapes to support the family and give his kids a better life than his own.
“One day,” Carmen said behind him.
“One day in my fucking underwear,” he agreed.