7. Joey
7
Joey
I stare at the pixelated photograph again—one last time, I tell myself—and reread the caption underneath, though it’s already burned into my brain.
Hutch learns some new moves.
The photo shows an “exotic” dancer plastered against Brent’s back as she helps him pull his unbuttoned shirt off on one side. He looks incredibly sexy doing it, better than anyone in Magic Mike, with his hips thrust out and knees a little bent. I can practically see his well-defined abs rippling.
It’s been several days since my humiliation, and while I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, he evidently hasn’t given me another thought. He’s certainly enjoying himself. Jerk.
Okay, that’s a bit unfair. He’s having fun, and no one deserves it more than him. He’s a young, single, rich celebrity-athlete, and a hot one at that. He’s topped several lists declaring him the sexiest or most eligible bachelor. Stories about him pop up almost every day because he’s everywhere—at events, on talk shows and podcasts, in commercials…He’s also very active on his social media, though it’s likely someone manages that for him. At the end of the day, he sells magazines and gets online clicks.
A brief paragraph attempts to add to the titillation:
“Could this be the mystery woman he was spotted with as they entered the Anastasios Midtown Hotel in the early hours of last Saturday morning? Witnesses say the two couldn’t keep their hands off each other.”
Witnesses need their eyes checked. On the other hand, I’m glad these so-called witnesses didn’t have a better view of what was actually happening or at my face when Brent was helping me stay upright.
With a sigh of disgust, I close out the browser and focus on my online textbook. I’m on my lunch break and am supposed to be doing homework for a course I’m taking, but the social media notification with Brent’s name caught my attention.
Before I can dive back into reading about nutritional macros, my cell phone rings.
“Hello.”
“Hi, is this Josefina Desai?”
The female caller has a professional but friendly voice. I hope it’s not a telemarketer. I am so not in the mood.
“Yes, this is she,” I respond with polite hesitance.
“Josefina, this is Marcia Fisk from the New York Firebirds. I understand you sent us your résumé for a position as an assistant athletic trainer.”
“Um, yes…” Over a year ago, when I was about to finish my graduate degree.
“Would you mind sending it to me again?”
I’m puzzled. How is she calling if she doesn’t have the résumé already? Before I can ask, Marcia continues briskly.
“We need an assistant trainer during training camp. It’s a temporary position, only through the preseason until our regular trainer returns from medical leave. Are you still interested—and available?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Wonderful. Are you working now?”
“Yes, I’m—”
“Will that be an issue? We expect you to start no later than mid-July.”
“No, I fin—”
She interrupts me again before I can tell her I finish my residency this week. Not excited about any of the job offers I’ve received so far, I decided to work per diem for the summer while I keep searching.
“Great. Email me your résumé. Assuming it looks good, let’s schedule you for an interview right away. Does the day after tomorrow at two p.m. work for you?”
It doesn’t because I have clients scheduled, but I’m not going to pass up this opportunity. It’s a position with a professional football team, something that would help tremendously with my career goals.
“Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.”
Marcia rattles off her email address, which I type into my open laptop, then ends with, “I’ll send you the address and details for the interview once I receive your email. See you then.”
I sit staring at my phone, my head reeling, wondering what just happened. I’d applied for the seasonal internship with the Firebirds and other local professional sports teams at the same time I’d applied for the residency programs with the hope I’d receive at least one offer. Unfortunately a position with a pro team hadn’t been one of the offers at the time, and I’d been sorely disappointed.
Sports had been a big part of my life when I was young, thanks to my father’s desire for a son. After my parents divorced, I’d slowly stopped participating. I’d lost my sense of self-worth and my competitive edge, having no reason to continue without my father to impress. I’d also started filling out and was too self-conscious about my breasts bouncing as much as the ball when I played.
It wasn’t until high school that a part-time reception job at a physical therapy practice helped me decide to focus on training and rehabilitation. Witnessing athletes devastated by injuries, especially career-ending ones that might have been prevented with proper training, made me realize I wanted to help prevent injuries, not just treat them.
Sometimes I wonder what career I would have chosen had it not been for that fateful job. I love what I do and can’t imagine doing anything else.
Hoping that the interview is another pivotal opportunity that will take me in the right direction, I update my résumé and send it off to Marcia. I doubt anything will come of it, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed.