Chapter Twenty-One Los Angeles
The cocktail event ran exactly as Vivienne described.
Lovergirl by Teena Marie filled the room.
Piper stood near the bar with a glass of champagne and waited to be released from yet another party he did not want to be at.
A league VP he recognized but couldn’t name stopped nearby.
“Great game Sunday.”
“Thank you.”
“You and Reyes are really something this year.”
“The level of play across the league has been exceptional.”
The man laughed as if Piper had said something charming. Piper held his expression steady. He knew the difference between saying something and giving someone something that they wanted to hear, and this guy wanted the details.
A woman joined them. Media pass, probably, mid-forties, tired looking.
“You and Noah Reyes. Is it as competitive off the field as it looks on television?”
“Competition lives at the game level, and we don’t have a personal relationship,” Piper said. “Off the field, we’re professionals.”
“But you respect each other.”
“I respect anyone performing at that level.”
She smiled. “Very diplomatic.”
“That’s football.”
It was also the safest possible answer Piper could give this woman. The conversation drifted to broadcast deals and numbers that sounded important and felt empty. Piper nodded at the right moments.
Vivienne appeared at his elbow twenty minutes later. “The underwear brand wants to extend. Extra million. We have final cut.”
“Fine.”
“One more thing.”
“Yes.”
“They captured behind-the-scenes footage at the shoot. You and Reyes goofing off between takes. Laughing and being annoyed by each other. It’s good footage.”
“Okay. Let them do whatever.”
Piper turned his head a fraction. “You said we have final cut? I don’t even remember a camera crew.”
“Apparently it was a lot of iPhone footage.”
“Viv. Make sure they don’t embarrass me.”
“I will watch the footage frame by frame. I will pull anything that is questionable. Did anything questionable happen on that shoot?”
“Nope,” Piper replied.
She glanced around the room. “Unless you’ve developed a sudden interest in this, you can get the fuck out of here.”
“I haven’t.”
“Good. I’d hate to think I dressed for this for free.”
***
He was in the car by nine-fifteen. The freeway was clear.
Late enough that the worst of the traffic had passed.
Piper drove without music, both hands on the wheel.
The city moved around him, large and indifferent.
He replayed the conversations at the party.
Nothing had gone wrong and the VP had been satisfied.
The media rep had gotten what she came for so Vivienne had let him leave early.
Everything had been handled and he was going to get an extra million from the underwear brand for no extra work.
***
The weight room was nearly empty.
Piper finished his set on the bench press and racked the bar. Tank was supposed to be spotting, but instead he had pulled up a stool and was sitting off to the side, watching him.
“Go ahead.” Tank tilted his head.
“Go ahead what?” Piper asked.
“You’ve been making that face all day.”
“I have a lot of faces.” Piper laughed.
“Not useful ones.”
Tank let out a short breath and looked down, then back up.
“What do you want?” Tank asked.
“From the season?”
“No.” Tank held his gaze. “What do you actually fucking want? Right now.”
Piper stood, grabbed his water bottle, and took a long drink.
“Why are you asking?”
“Because I’ve played seven seasons with you and I’ve never heard you want anything that wasn’t a ring or a stat. I don’t know if that’s real or just the answer you give.”
Piper sat back down.
“That’s bleak.”
“Little bit. But you’ve been fucking off. Like you’re learning something you didn’t expect.”
Piper looked across the room. He had escaped these conversations in the past because he had no idea what the fucking answer was and Joan was no help.
It had always been the easiest place to exist.
“I’m figuring something out,” he said.
Tank nodded. “What?”
Piper shook his head. “Not yet.”
Tank sat with it. “That’s it?”
“It’s more than it sounds.”
“I know it is.”
Tank leaned forward. “You’ve been running this shit so long I don’t think you know if you’re still choosing it.”
“When you are ready,” Tank said, “let me know. I’m not going anywhere.”
Piper let out a deep breath. “I know.”
“I don’t know what the next thing is,” Piper said.
“Nobody does,” Tank said. “That’s the point.”
He stood, grabbed his bag, and put his hand on Piper’s shoulder.
“Go get your fucking life together,” he said. “You’re going to get to the point where you and Joan aren’t going to get through this alone.”
He headed toward the door.
“Thanks Tank,” Piper said.
Tank paused.
“Don’t thank me, communicate with me, bro,” he said.
He walked out. Piper stayed another minute, then picked up his phone and called Noah.
Noah answered on the second ring.
“I think I’ve been figuring something out.”
“Yeah?” Noah said.
“I think we need to get through the season first before we rush into things,” Piper continued.
Noah laughed quietly. “There it is.”
“Our teams are tied.”
“I was waiting for you to say that.”
“It matters.”
“So do other things.”
Piper smiled slightly.
“We’ll see.”
“Night, sexy. We are not deciding what this is until the end of the season. It’s a deal.”
***
The underwear campaign’s behind-the-scenes commercial hit, and the reaction was colossal.
The cut included rough iPhone video from between takes and was released without Piper or Noah ever approving the spot.
The locker room television looped it without sound. Everyone was watching the last twenty seconds of the commercial, that was the moment generating the most conversation. The footage caught Noah and Piper entering the single occupancy bathroom together.
Piper sat at his locker, phone in one hand, tape in the other. Messages stacked faster than he could read them.
He texted Vivienne. Did they send you this shit?
Three dots. This is scorched earth. Do not respond to anyone. We’re dealing with it.
Three dots, a pause, then a GIF from the movie Waiting to Exhale. Angela Bassett lighting the match, and throwing it into her ex-husband’s BMW.
Piper almost laughed.
A second message came from Vivienne.
Do not try to manage this alone.
He finished wrapping his wrist and opened up the ad on his X feed since he hadn’t seen the entire edit yet.
The camera stayed longer than it should have. Close enough to suggest something, the bathroom door closing and the look on their faces as they entered.
Tank glanced up at the screen.
“They’re calling it a cultural moment.”
“They’re trying to sell underwear.”
“Sure. Also, everyone thinks you two got together on that set.”
“Everyone is wrong.”
The clip restarted.
“So, what happened in the bathroom?”
Piper took his time. Tank stood and walked over, stopping just inside his space. “Can’t two guys go piss at the same fucking time, Jesus Christ.”
“I’m going to say something,” Tank said.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Piper kept his eyes on his hands.
“You don’t look at people like that,” Tank said.
“The photographer gave direction,” Piper said finally.
“Going into the bathroom, was that directed?”
Piper did not answer him.
Tank nodded. “You can see where it stops.”
Piper looked up and watched it without looking away. He figured Taylor Love, the creative director, had decided to film his own fantasy. He’d deal with him later.
“Practice in twenty.”
Tank held still. “That’s what you’ve got.”
“That’s what matters. This is all a distraction.”
“No,” Tank said. “Piper this is blowing up.”
“Stay off social.”
Piper walked past him. Practice was supposed to narrow everything, but it didn’t, and his throws showed the strain of it all.
***
By the time he got home, the commercial had spread beyond containment.
He stood in the kitchen. His phone buzzed.
Vivienne: We are handling the brand. Don’t speak to anyone, including teammates. Do not post. We were promised final cut and they will fucking pay for this.
Then Noah.
You good with this?
Piper looked at the message, then typed.
Vivienne says they’re building a case.
The reply came fast.
That’s not what I asked.
Piper leaned against the counter. Let’s keep the story simple.
Noah’s response was immediate. The story is simple. Two guys went to the bathroom to fucking piss.
Piper stared at the screen, knowing full well there was no pissing that occurred.
He started to type, Big game in San Francisco. Don’t get hurt.
Three dots kept appearing. Denial is so on brand for you, Ashton.