33. Joey
33
Joey
T he only thing I need to make my life more perfect is to find the perfect job. My search is going slowly. I’m seeking a position that utilizes all my training and skills and is ideally located, so that I have an easy commute from an affordable area when I eventually leave Brent’s place.
Once I find the job, I can begin the search for an apartment. I need the safety net of having somewhere to go—just in case. The professor had returned and my sublet was over. It was a sad day when I had to return Indy. I’ve decided I’m going to adopt a cat when I move into my own place.
But it’s beginning to look like the dream job doesn’t exist, or at least, some other lucky person has already taken it. In the meantime, DeShawn and CJ hired me for additional treatments at home, wanting more than the trainers at work can give them due to time constraints. The sessions are with Brent hovering, of course, to make sure CJ behaves.
“The guys nicknamed him Horndog, and he’s earned the name,” he’d said. “No way I’m leaving you alone with him.”
Though CJ still flirts with me, toned down since Brent and I became official, I don’t think he’d really try anything. He and Brent are not only teammates, but friends. And I think he’s found a woman, one who isn’t falling at his feet, who has his attention these days.
Besides the freelance work, I also found a temporary assignment through an agency. I like the location on the Upper West Side, not too far from Brent’s building, but I don’t really like the job itself. However, the paycheck from it allows me to continue paying my student loans and buy our groceries and incidentals. It feels good to contribute even a small amount to the expenses, though it annoys Brent when I do.
It also allowed me to put together a surprise birthday dinner celebration for his thirtieth birthday. I invited his friends and teammates, as well as his mom and sisters. With the money I saved by living with Brent, I bought him an expensive birthday present—a beautiful wall piece made of thin layers of painted metal that looked like liquid glass. It’s by an artist from Connecticut whose artwork I’ve had my eye on, waiting for the day I could afford it. It makes me happy to have bought it for Brent instead.
Living with him makes it easy for me to believe we’re a real couple in a normal relationship. His penthouse is starting to feel like home, but I tell myself not to become accustomed to any of it. When he was cleared to play sooner than expected, I awkwardly brought up the subject of moving out.
Brent casually responded with, “I know you were staying here until my rehab was done, but you don’t need to leave right away. I mean, what’s the point of moving out until you find out where you’ll be working?”
I like to think it’s because he wants me to stay, but that’s probably wishful thinking on my part. Besides, I don’t want to think about moving out of his place yet. It has nothing to do with its luxury or spaciousness. It has everything to do with the man himself and not wanting to leave the perfect bubble I’m living in with him.
But bubbles are fragile, and they ultimately pop.
Thankful I only have one more week at the temp job, I go into the conference room for a staff meeting to find my coworkers huddled around, looking at something on a phone. They all become suspiciously silent when I enter the room, and no one will meet my eyes.
It has something to do with me, and it’s not good. My stomach swirls with nerves. I would have preferred to pretend everything is normal, but I decide it’s better to face whatever it is head-on.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
No one says anything for a moment. It’s Kelly who eventually faces me with a smug smile. She’s a couple of years older than me and works the front desk. And for some reason she has disliked me from the moment we met. It escalated to sly remarks about me and Brent after she saw him pick me up in his Ferrari once.
Since Brent hasn’t made our relationship public yet, I’ve tried to explain to her that he’s a family friend whom I’ve known for years and that I work for him. She continues to insinuate I’m nothing more than a groupie, a jersey chaser. Since her attitude threatens to bring out all my insecurities, I do my best to stay away from her unless absolutely necessary.
“Hey, Joey. We were just wondering if you saw this photo of you that’s going viral. If it was me, I’d want to know.” She smiles at me with fake sympathy and walks to me with her phone held out. With no choice but to take it, I do so and see the most horrendous photo of me posted on social media.
I’m always aware of fans and paparazzi with their cameras on the rare occasions when Brent and I go out together in public. I try my best to stay in the background except when we do small, more private outings, like when he asks me to go with him to the children’s hospitals and fire stations. But even there, we stick to our story that I’m his physical therapist and trainer, as well as a family friend, to explain why we spend a lot of time with one another.
Still, someone spotted us while we were taking a walk in Central Park. The photographer caught me at the worst possible moment. I was wearing a windbreaker, and the breeze must have blown at the precise moment the photo was taken because it’s billowed out in front of me, giving me a very heavy shape. To make things worse, I was grimacing from trying to control my hair, which I’d worn loose. It was flying around my head, making me look like Medusa.
I skim the comments section—big mistake. Most of them are hateful and mean. I make sure not a muscle on my face moves in reaction, aware of the eyes of my coworkers on me, including Kelly. I bet she’s waiting expectantly for some kind of dramatic response that she can use to add fuel to the story.
Despite my mortification, I won’t give her the satisfaction. Of course, there’s nothing I can do about the deep flush of humiliation on my face, so I keep my voice nonchalant as I hand the phone back and shrug, then smile. It feels like my face is going to crack.
“Thank you for your concern and for letting me know.”
I take some small measure of satisfaction at Kelly’s disappointment at my composure.
“It doesn’t bother you, all these awful things people are saying in the comments?”
Yes, it does.
“Why should it? They don’t know me, and I don’t know them.”
Sensible words, except that I still want to crawl into a dark hole and curl up into a fetal position.
“I would just die,” Kelly says, echoing my thoughts. “Now that it’s online, it’s there forever. You should sue whoever took the photo and posted it. And poor Brent.”
I stiffen. “What about him?”
“I mean he—”
“He’s going to be mad as hell, I bet,” interjects Mitch, another trainer. He’s been one of the more welcoming and helpful coworkers since I started this job. “I’d be pissed off if someone talked about my girlfriend like that.” He looks at me, and I have the uncomfortable sense he’s sending me an underlying message.
I smile at him. “I’m not his girlfriend.” Oh, how it hurts to say that, especially in this moment. “Besides, he doesn’t pay attention to this kind of stuff. If he did, he wouldn’t have time or energy for anything else. Should we start the meeting so we can all go home on time?”
I was humiliated before, but now I’m embarrassed on Brent’s behalf. After all, I’m a nobody, but he’s a public figure, a sports hero, with an image to maintain. I’ve followed him on social media and in the tabloids for years, and the women he’s been with before have never let themselves be caught in such an unflattering way.
Maybe they don’t have any unflattering angles. Is that why he doesn’t want anyone to find out we’re involved? Is he ashamed to be seen with me…as a couple?
The thought gives me pause, but I can’t think about it here, with Kelly still watching me. I make sure my expression stays serenely blank and try to pay attention to the meeting. I breathe a sigh of relief when it’s over and I can leave and go home. My temporary home.
But before I can make my getaway, Mitch stops me after everyone else shuffles out of the conference room.
“Hey, Joey.”
Impatient to leave, I nevertheless smile at him. He did stick up for me, after all.
“Since you’re not dating Brent, I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime.”
Ah. That’s what that earlier look was. Shoot.
“Oh. Um. I don’t…” I’ve always been awkward in these situations, not having had a lot of practice. I can’t remember the last time someone asked me on a date. “I don’t date coworkers, Mitch. I’m…I’m sorry.”
He shrugs and grins. “No problem. You’re here for just one more week, right? I’ll ask next week. Same time, same place?”
God, no. I don’t want to go through this again in a week. But I just smile and escape.
On my way to the penthouse, I feel like people are staring at me on the subway, though I’m probably being paranoid. I keep my head down and avoid eye contact.
When I reach Brent’s place, I find him playing on his Xbox. A quick glance at the giant screen shows cars racing through the streets, causing mayhem. Brent barely looks up. “Hey, baby. How was work?”
Still stinging from the online comments I read, I answer over my shoulder as I head for the bedroom to change. “Fine.” Not waiting for a response, I shut the door behind me and head for the shower, where I can let the tears of humiliation flow.
I’ve barely stepped under the water when Brent opens the glass door. “What’s the matter?” he demands.
“What? Nothing. I’m just tired. Long day.”
He stares at me intently, trying to read my face. I put my head under the water and close my eyes. When I open them, he’s gone and I can finally release the emotions roiling like acid inside me.