Chapter Twelve
Parker
I was pumped.
Here I was, coming out for the draft early, pretty much going through life in either a constant state of arousal or just as eager to sprint at top speed in pads, make impossible catches, burn cornerbacks and safeties so bad they’d have to go to the sidelines and get their ankles re-taped, and score touchdowns.
Maybe ‘pumped’ is the wrong word. I was cooking, and mistaking that particular kind of heat and pressure for excitement. I knew I was going to sign with Tristan, and attend his firm’s legendary party, and he’d get me a rookie contract that would not only pay out, but allow me to forget about everything but being great. The twenty percent he was forcing me to invest was fine—hell, I was planning on making it forty percent, anyway. Lock it away, forget about it, get to work.
On the way back to my hotel I’d already started texting. A lot of college players who had even a hint of a chance at going in the draft were still doing the agency circuit. Some of my boys, players I’d known since high school or even those on my college team, had been in New York and were on the way to check out 360 and Thorne Enterprises, and a lot of other guys I’d rubbed elbows with, literally, were in town, too. I hoped Grogan was still around. I got the word out and by the time I got to my room enough had gotten back to me that I knew the party would be on.
Amber had already left town and I was surprised I felt relieved when her text showed up on my screen. She represented a level of temptation no mortal man could resist. I saw a flash of Lily sitting in her office across from me, and decided to leave it up to others to get the word out to members of the opposite sex. All I wanted to do was get drunk and blow off some steam with a group of people who might have been having the same kind of week I was. Or that’s what I was telling myself.
I called the bartender I’d met the night before with Amber. He recommended a club where he knew the pros went during the season, and even gave me the name of one of the managers. It took about a sentence and a half on the phone before the guy knew what I wanted.
“So, Parker, you’re saying there’ll be a lot of top draft picks showing up?”
“Hell yes.”
“Perfect. We’ll comp it. Anyone under age?”
“No.” As if I knew.
He chuckled. “All right. Hey, look, we’ll keep an eye on things, but we’re not babysitters, you know what I’m saying?”
“Well, good, because I’m a grown ass man and so is everyone who’ll be there.”
“Yeah, that’s not what I’m saying. Look, Parker, this is a business for us. We do it right, that’s why professional athletes choose us over about fifteen other clubs in this city. When I say we’re comping your evening, I mean the whole deal. VIP lounge, top shelf everything. We’ve had, uh, well, evenings where people aren’t used to it. Usually there are veterans around looking out for the rookies. You understand, right?”
“Course. Don’t worry, everyone’s trying to make an impression this week. Best behavior.”
“Sure. Just, look out for each other, alright? We stay out of our customers’ business unless something puts our club at risk, is all I’m saying.”
“You got it.”
“One last thing,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“We can, well, get the word out. Unless you’d rather this remain a more private thing.”
I figured he was talking about women, not necessarily anyone else. “Hell yes, we’re not looking for a sausage fest. The more the merrier.”
“Fair enough. We’ll look forward to seeing you tonight.”
I hung up. By this time we’d created a group text for everyone who was interested and all I had to do was fire off the address. Grogan was going to be there, along with at least twenty others I knew. The rest, well, what was a party without new people to get to know?
Shawn and I went out to dinner together. Both of us were feeling the pinch in our bank accounts. A week in the city was more expensive than we expected, even with agents falling all over each other to get us rides and feed us. They couldn’t pay for our rooms or give as walking around money. So even though we both wanted to try out some of the famous restaurants and grab a steak the size of a large pizza and four times thicker, we just macked down some burritos. I ate one and was almost too full, while Grogan was seriously considering having a third.
“Dude, you’ll be too full to dance.”
He laughed. “Silly receiver.”
But we grabbed a taxi and headed out.
“Think we’re too early?” I asked in the cab.
“Yeah. It’s not like college, Park, these things start late, I hear.”
“Well, I’m not taking you back to my hotel.”
He rolled his eyes. “I heard there’s an amusement park inside the city.”
“Yeah? Let’s check it out.”
It was a classic place. There was a single wooden roller coaster, two different kinds of bumper cars, a haunted house, all the classic scam games, and some slower rides that reminded me of low end versions of the little kid stuff at Disneyland. People moved out of Grogan’s way like reverse-gravity.
Even though we were trying to conserve cash, neither of us could resist the little BB-shooting machine guns with the paper targets that had red stars on them.
Grogan thought he shot out the entire target and wanted a prize. The carnie took his abused target and started to slide it around on top of a white piece of paper, unfolding torn nibs from underneath. Then he pulled out a freakin’ magnifying glass and said, “Oh, sorry. Afraid not. I see some red.”
Grogan leaned forward and the guy looked up. And had to keep looking up. And then he looked to the left and to the right, realizing, I was sure, he’d never seen shoulders that wide before. The lights from the other nearby games were completely blocked from his view.
“I don’t see any red.”
The man blinked. I tried not to laugh. Without a word he reached up and grabbed the biggest damned stuffed gorilla I had ever seen in my life.
“No, the rabbit.”
The man gulped and slid to his left, unhooking a gigantic white bunny rabbit with great floppy ears, a pink nose, and whiskers.
We made it about twelve steps before two girls came up to us. One was blond and had wavy hair that reached all the way down to her ass. The other was a brunette with pixie cut that matched her lithe little body.
The blonde stood right in front of Shawn. “You won that?”
“Sure did.”
“You going to give it to someone?”
He smiled. “I was thinking about keeping it, but then again, I’m not sure it’ll survive the baggage handling.”
“You could always buy it a ticket.”
We laughed at that.
The pixie cocked a hip and checked me out with a quick down and up glance. “Been on the roller coaster yet?”
“Nope.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?”
They turned and we watched their tiny asses moving away from us inside their jeans.
“Shit, how old do you think they are, Shawn?”
“Eighteen. I hope.”
“I doubt it.”
We followed them and rode the roller coaster. When we got off they looked up at us again. Both of them had these cute little expressions, frowning and slightly squinting, like they hadn’t made up their minds about us yet, but weren’t quite ready to ditch us like empty soda cups.
“You’re not from here, are you?” the pixie asked.
We grinned, but didn’t say anything.
The blonde said, “Want to go on the Haunted House?”
I peered a little more closely at the blonde. In the yellow carnival lights it was hard to tell, so finally I said, “Hey, look, how old are you?”
They looked at each other, rolled their eyes, and turned around, done with us. We did not check them out as they left, instead just about falling over each other laughing.
“Hey!” Grogan’s voiced caused everyone in the vicinity to turn.
He jogged over to the girls and I actually heard a few people gasp when they saw how graceful he could move in spite of his size.
He handed the girls the rabbit and turned around before they had a chance to say anything, trotting back to me.
“Park, let’s get the hell outta here.”
When we got to the club, our buddies were already there, sitting in the VIP section, looking a little out of place and trying to decide between the hundred-dollar-a-bottle comped champagne or the practically frozen bottles of Grey Goose.
Shouts went up for us and one other player who showed up at the same time. Just as I looked over at Grogan, I saw he had the same expression as me, thinking this whole thing was a big mistake.
Then the front doors opened, and the women came in.
Poured in is more accurate. A bouncer at the front was letting them in for free while holding men back and making them pay what I guessed was a double cover charge. We could hear bitching out front, which made the whole place feel more exclusive. At the entrance to the VIP lounge, another bouncer was picking and choosing particular hot females to let through the ropes. It seemed rude as hell to me, and I could tell Grogan was actually about to say something, but I shook my head when he looked at me. The women acted like it was just the most natural thing in the world.
As much as the players in the room were used to college girls hanging all over them, this was a whole new level of confidence and aggression few if any of us had faced. Behind the pancake makeup, some of these ladies looked to be pushing forty, which was fine, except there was something about the way they came up and wrapped their claws around arms that required a lot of vodka to start getting consumed at a rapid pace. In ten minutes, the dance floor was full, and Grogan and I were shrugging and having fun, letting the loud, thumping music take over.
There were some men we didn’t know, too. Quite a few of them. Then I recognized an NFL player, Caesar Silvius, grinning with his trademark gold tooth and waving me over. He was sitting with a guy in a dark suit with fat stripes. His hair was slicked straight back. I was buzzing on shots of vodka already, so I just went with whatever popped into my head.
“Jesus, Caesar, nice to meet you!”
“You too, Parker.” He smiled and gripped my hand like all the players do, but he didn’t get up. It pissed me off. The truth was, he wasn’t someone I really wanted to meet. Caesar had been considered one of the few absolute locks coming out of college. And from what I’d seen of him in interviews, it went to his head.
Caesar was sitting there acting like he deserved the respect of a hall of famer because three years before he’d been a top five draft pick. If I’d had to bet right there that night, it would be that he might not even be in the league in another year.
I turned my attention to his companion.
“Fredo! You broke my heart!” I shouted over the music.
I reached to shake the greaseball’s hand as I said it and they both blinked, not getting the reference. How does anybody make it to their twenties without seeing Godfather 1 and 2?
Caesar said, “Parker, my man, this is my agent, Tony Coniglio. You ain't signed yet, did you?”
“Pretty much. I’m going with Thorne.”
“Pretty much don’t sound like a signature to me,” Caesar said. “Do me a favor and hear my man out.”
I hesitated, but not for long. There is a code in the sport. A lot of cocky idiots ignore it, but they learn their lesson in about ten minutes as a rookie. Our college coach had managed to get it through our thick skulls that respect was just as much an important part of the game as confidence was. It was a fine line to be brash as possible and still show the men that had gone before the respect they deserved, but I’d learned to walk that line as well as I could.
I sat. Caesar smiled again and signaled a waitress with a nod.
“Yes, Mr. Silvius?” the waitress addressed him.
He reached up and put one of his huge rough paws on her arm. It made me want to wince, but she must have been used to it.
“You got my scotch back there in my locker?” Caesar asked.
“Of course. I’ll bring it right away,” she responded with a smile.
She turned to go, but he held on, tugging her back. “What’s your name, baby?”
She smiled and said, “I’m Kat.”
“Well, Kat, you keep an eye on me tonight, ‘cause I’m sure keepin’ my eye on you.” It was an attempt to flirt, but it sounded borderline creepy to me.
She did look a little nervous. I could see Coniglio out of the corner of my eye grinning at her. I looked down, hoping the waitress wouldn’t associate this pair with me.
“Uh, yes, sir. I’ll keep my eye out,” she replied timidly.
“Go on, then, get that scotch for me.”
She walked away like someone who wished she’d taken a job in a coffee shop. I decided to get it over with.
I looked right at Caesar. “Look, I’m signing with Thorne, but if you want me to listen to the short pitch, I will.”
Caesar glanced at his agent, and I thought I caught a flicker of nervousness, which surprised me. I looked quickly over at Coniglio and saw his face go from anger to a big smile. I just gave him my best “get on with it” stare.
“Parker, Thorne’s good,” Coniglio said, his slick hair shining in the club lights. “Lots of agents are good. But I’ll treat you like the man you are. None of this twenty percent reserved for an investment ‘counselor’ who’s in his pocket. You just try cashing that out and wait ‘til you see the doubletalk. Treat it like what it is…a commission so huge he’d be up on charges if it weren’t for the pencil pushers he’s hired on your nickel to cover his ass.”
“But the people on his list are world class by any standard,” I retorted. “I checked some of them out. Some of their firms are a hundred years old, and they’ve got people who’ve been managing funds longer than Tristan’s been alive.”
“Buncha old fuckers who’ve been porking their clients for decades,” the agent said.
“If you say so.” I was tempted to tell him I was going to invest more of my money with a proper fund anyway, but something warned me to keep my mouth shut and just let him talk.
“Look, Park. I fly under the radar,” he said. “You won’t see me spending your money on some office with a view. I don’t even keep an office. Work right out of my home. I keep my overheads low, and that’s why my commission is less than any of those brand name shysters.”
“Ever negotiate a deal with Nike?” I asked.
“Hell yes. Tons of ‘em. Ain’t that right, Caesar.”
“That’s right, Tony,” Caesar said.
I looked at Caesar. He had that gold-toothed smile, but it was tighter now. I saw sweat on his temple. Maybe it was because the room had heated up, but I wasn’t sweating anymore, and I’d just gotten off the dance floor. I wanted to get away from them.
“Look, guys, thanks, I appreciate it. But I’ve made up my mind.”
I made a motion to stand, and Caesar actually flinched and put his hand on my shoulder.
“You ain’t even heard the man out yet,” Caesar said.
I stood, pressing through the pressure from his hand. Coniglio made a motion and Caesar took his hand off my shoulder as though he’d been trained. It creeped me out.
“I’m just out to have a good time,” I said, trying to change the topic.
Then Caesar did stand.
“Well, why didn’t you say so? See that cute little number in the pink lingerie?” he asked, pointing. Before I could say anything he called out, “Hey, Shirley!”
She walked over, hips swinging. “Heyyyyy, Caesar! How you doing?”
There was no doubt in my mind she was a pro. And I didn’t hold it against her, but I doubted she was a very expensive one.
I thought, fuck this. I took a step and Caesar put his arm around me. He was fucking strong. I started to reach for his wrist to peel him off me when he spoke in my ear. It was as though he was trying to keep his voice all chummy and friendly, but I heard the high pitched desperation in there.
“Parker, man, Shirley here’ll let you do a line off her tits in the bathroom right now, and that’s just for starters.” Shirley looked at Caesar then her face opened up in that grin again.
“Anything you want, honey. You just name it,” Shirley agreed.
I was so stunned, my hand had frozen on his wrist. Caesar was reaching into his pocket, and I saw the flash of a yellow little vial, suddenly his arm was no longer on me, and then he was no longer in my view.
“What the fuck?” Coniglio shouted.
Grogan had picked Caesar up like the stocky, muscle-bound running back may as well have been the pixie from the amusement park. Then gently, with the respect due some asshole who’d gotten to the NFL before us, Grogan placed him in the booth next to his greaseball agent.
“Everything okay, Park?” Grogan asked me.
I was tempted to tell Grogan what Caesar had just said, just to get it out there, but then something made me think that would have given me a terrible reputation among the teams I was hoping would be coming after me on draft day. I was freaked out and worried, but I wasn’t about to act like some whiny little bitch. I looked up at my friend, realizing that’s what he’d become in one short week, and I knew I wouldn’t lie to him, either.
I just said, “Thanks, Shawn. I’m cool.”
Caesar wasn’t looking at either of us, but at Coniglio, who was trying to give Grogan a hard stare. It was the wrong move.
With one extremely long arm, Grogan reached over the table and grabbed the man’s shirt, tie, and both jacket collars all in one single enormous hand. Caesar was absolutely in a panic at that point, but the lineman’s other hand went down slowly and inevitably on his shoulder, compressing him so firmly into the padded seat all the protest in him just vanished. Then he slid Coniglio up onto the table like a dead squid and said, “This is our party. You want to leave on your feet or flying through the door?”
Shirley nervously vanished. I stifled my amusement. It was the way Grogan said it. No cursing, no gravelly voice or even anger. He was asking a question about two possible facts that were as real as left or right.
Coniglio gulped and nodded. Grogan helped him out by bringing him all the way over and setting him on his feet.
Caesar had to shift around the booth in order not to get too close to his doom. Caesar suddenly looked old and haggard. I realized he still must have been only about twenty-seven years old, and remembered my friend, Jason, snorting cocaine and scraping the youth off his teenage features day by day.
I wasn’t smiling anymore. The two miserable assholes left together without another damn word, and I grabbed a bottle of Grey Goose and took a swig right out of the top.
It must have been the last thing Grogan wanted to see. I’d already thanked him, and felt like a fool, and didn’t want to make a bigger idiot out of myself, but I was miserable when he shook his head and went back to the dance floor.
A couple of other guys came up and asked me what the commotion had been about.
“Just some asshole agent making a hard sell,” I replied.
“Yeah? What’d he say? What was Caesar doing?” one of them asked.
I looked at them. “Look, just avoid that cocksucker like the fucking plague. We here to have a good time, or what?”
They laughed, and I took another drink, right from the bottle.
The night turned into a bit of a blur from there. At one point I bumped into Shirley again. Her eyes didn’t have the slightest bit of recognition in them. At first it surprised me, and then I remembered seeing the exact same look on Jason’s face when he was wired.
I don’t even know what time it was when we started to roll outside. I was stumbling. If my mission had been to get shit-faced and nearly into serious trouble before getting my ass back to my hotel and trying to sleep through a hangover, I suppose I could have called it fucking well accomplished. Once outside, the flashbulbs surprised me.
Some scruffy looking shitheads barked a few questions at me, but some of the more sober players had taken charge and basically got between me and the paparazzi. I saw something pink brush by and felt something grab my arm as a few flashes went of.
A voice I didn’t recognize said, “Get the fuck off him, bitch.”
Grogan and I took a cab back to the hotel together.
One thing I remember clear as day from that night was Grogan getting me to my hotel, telling the cabbie to wait right there. He got me as far as the elevator. The door opened, and he said, “Hey, Parker, if this is the way you like to go about your business, you could do me a favor and lose my number.”
I stood there wobbling, looking at him. I took a breath to say something but was afraid I would slur my dumbass words and so I just let it catch in my throat. I managed at least to look in his eyes and nod as the doors closed.
I don’t remember getting to my room after that, but when I woke up in the morning, I was a damn wreck, and it was only partly the hangover. What made it terrible was I had not had the same feeling—though far, far more intense years before—since I heard that Jason had ditched me in a way that was never going to give either of us a second chance.