92. Human Origami #2
Everyone takes a seat. I’m living in an uncomfortable pause between known and unknown where no one rushes to assure me that my presence here is because I was wronged and they’re here to defend me.
After a beat too long, the GM begins again.
“Dr. Morgan, we’re here because of the incident on Friday night and how we want to approach it from PR and legal standpoints.
The team issued a brief perfunctory statement on Saturday, as did Mr. Ranger—” He indicates Layton who studiously avoids my gaze.
“Counsel has suggested we may need to make a move to prevent this from becoming a story, so we need to tackle this head-on—pardon the pun—to determine our next course of action.”
The awkward silence falls for just long enough that I realize I’m shivering. Of course, I am. Everyone else here has on three layers more than I do and except for the women, easily another ninety pounds.
A man I’ve never met before but I know from the organization chart is the team’s attorney begins introducing his team. He ends with an introduction to the league’s legal counsel for employee rights.
Employee rights are not the same thing as my rights as a woman, or a citizen of the US, or a resident of Florida.
Do they think they can fire me for being assaulted?
Or for dressing in a manner that doesn’t represent team values or some other crap?
So far as I can remember, I don’t have a morality clause in my contract.
Aside from the egregious stuff I’d guess is in every offer of employment.
Before he can begin another sentence, I ask, “Do I need legal representation for this meeting? My attorney is willing to meet, but it would need to be scheduled appropriately.”
Layton’s head whips my way, and his eyes try to communicate something that I cannot read.
I don’t even try to decipher his face, aside from the urgency and boredom I see written there. It’s too late.
Participating in this ambush is enough. What do they think… that they can protect the image of the club by eliminating me from the payroll?
“Why would you need legal counsel?” the attorney says blandly.
Layton’s eyes close. Resignation hits his features, and he turns his face to the room.
“Why is the league’s attorney here for a matter that doesn’t require contract negotiation? Isn’t it the job of league counsel to hire and fire and negotiate player trades?” I reply sharply.
“Mr. Shapiro was in town on vacation with his family. When I got the call on Saturday morning that there had been an incident, his family and my family were having breakfast. We both believe that his presence will add a layer of protection for the team, the league, the players involved, and for you, Dr. Morgan.”
Oh. Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting. “Then thank you for your time and insight, Mr. Shapiro.”
“Dr. Morgan, our team wants you to know that we are prepared to stand with you in any legal proceedings that may arise from Friday’s incident. Your personal attorney is welcome to debrief with the team as you see fit. We want to make sure we hear what happened in your words.”
I nod, feeling like I missed all the cues when I walked into the room and more than a bit like a fool.
“We asked Mr. Ranger to be here to do the same. The others present were witnesses and not directly involved. As such, they do not require the resources you or he may need.”
“Thank you.” It’s genuine.
When all eyes turn to me, I explain what happened on Friday night at the club. I leave out my wardrobe and the pregame beverages. No matter how far we’ve come, there’s still a sizable minority who will think I bear some responsibility because of how I was dressed or that I like to dance.
The legal team follows up with a handful of questions before offering the floor to public affairs.
“Livy,” Tasha Williams begins. “I have only one question and I need your truthful response.”
“Of course.”
She floats a picture on the screen. I’ve seen it.
I’ve studied it, actually. It’s me on Friday after the police arrived and the club’s house lights had been turned all the way on.
My back is to Layton’s front. My arms are in front of me, a stance of self-protection.
The pink wig dangles from my fingers. Layton’s hands are wrapped around my biceps.
The image is a still shot, caught as he rubbed me from shoulders to forearms to keep me warm.
I miss that warmth. The same loss of adrenaline and courage mixes with the air-conditioned environment surrounding me now.
“Are you and Mr. Ranger involved?”
I hear what she doesn’t say. She doesn’t ask him if we’re involved.
“I—”
“No.” The answer is gruff and final. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t impugn Miss Morgan’s character by assuming anything about her dating life.
Or mine, for that matter. That accusation doesn’t even matter to the situation at hand.
But the answer is no. We’re not even friends.
She’s the team’s PT and, in that role, has been one hundred percent professional. ”
He presses both fists to the table and stands, leveling everyone in the room with his anger. Easygoing, charismatic Layton is nowhere in sight. “If you’ll excuse me.” And with no glance at me or anyone else, he grabs his cell phone and keys and leaves the room.
I don’t let my eyes follow him. I’m stunned at his dismissing everyone in the room.
But especially me. We’re not even friends.
Again, yet again, I’m less than. Almost good enough, but not. As if even friendship with me is something that Layton Ranger won’t deign to accept.
I hear Tommy’s parting words: You’re great, Livy, it’s just not enough. I want more, and you can’t give me that.
“Livy?”
I re-enter the room, trying not to feel the sting of Layton’s words. “Mr. Ranger said it plainly. There’s nothing between us. I’m thankful he was there Friday night and that due to his quick thinking, nothing worse happened.”
“He drove you home that night?”
“He did.”
“Has he been to your home before?”
“No. Tasha, I was clear. Mr. Ranger was clear. I didn’t argue when someone I could trust—a friendly face who stayed with me when the police were questioning witnesses and when I was hurting and scared—didn’t put me in a cab not knowing if I’d make it home safely.
“The picture is a snapshot of a moment but doesn’t tell the story that you or the news wants it to. Tustin was hostile during the altercation. I didn’t want to leave myself vulnerable. I can only assume Mr. Ranger would stand sentry for any teammate, especially one who had been hurt.”
Dr. Silverberg pipes in, “Livy, I’m glad you had someone in your corner when that all went down. How’s your neck?”
“It was stiff until I woke up this morning. I’m not concerned it’s anything other than a strain from resistance.”
“Glad to hear it.” To the room, he adds, “Is there anything further for Dr. Morgan before she gets back to patients?”
“Just one.” The lead attorney levels me with his gaze and then again with his words.
“I want to reiterate that we have a nonfraternization policy with our employees. Should you entertain a sexual relationship with a player, that will be grounds for termination.” He raises his eyebrows as if waiting for me to acknowledge and acquiesce.
I hold his gaze, not breaking. He eventually tires of my delay. “Do you understand?”
“Was Mr. Ranger given the same speech?”
The room falls silent, but a grin plays at Tasha’s lips. Most of her team sits a little taller. After all, they’re women and were probably briefed about expectations prior to this meeting.
“I’m sorry,” the attorney questions indignantly, obviously surprised at my gall, and falsely assuming I’ll apologize.
“Your apology is accepted. Thank you.” I stand and show myself out.
No one gets to dismiss me after telling me not to whore myself out.
I do not need to be challenged by a man who assumes I need a lecture when and where a male employee does not.
The leadership of this team needs to understand that male-dominated does not mean male-dominant.
I won’t accept that I am less than anyone else on this team.
Do I command seven figures? No.
Do I have sponsors lined up that drive revenue back into the team? No.
Do I deserve a lecture about sex because I don’t? Heck no.
They can try, but I won’t accept that from anyone.
Though, if I’m honest, that less than thing is a theme in my life.
Less than my parents expect.
Less than my sister can tolerate.
Less than Tommy wanted in a wife.
And, evidently, less than Layton Ranger will accept in even a friend.
I need to take Dr. Silverberg up on his offer of that cottage down the coast. An escape to wallow in my frustration, to snuggle with Kyle, to avoid the photographers may be just what the doctor ordered.
When I grab my phone to send my boss a message, I see what I missed as I walked into the meeting.
Layton: Saturday was shit, but thanks all the same. You ready for this?
How in the world do I answer that now?