The first recorded message is from Rae, whispering, “Uh, shit’s happening. Have you heard anything from Jet? Call me.”
Jet’s next. “Hey, it’s me. You’ve probably already heard the news, but I’ll call you again when I get a chance. They’re bringing us together for another meeting before the press conference, so I have to turn off my phone. But I’ll try to call after that. If I’m allowed. Whatever. Love you.”
What. The. Hell?
Rae: “Okay, so is this effed up, or what? I can’t talk specifics, but we just had a meeting with everyone, and it’s not good. I could probably get fired for calling you, but what the heck was that guy thinking? Idiot! I’ve never liked him, but everyone puts up with his bullshit, because he wins games. Jet’s face was scary during the meeting. We’re not allowed to talk about it here, though. Are you under a gag order, too? Call me, text me, something.”
Jet: “They’re sending us home early, since we can’t get anything done here with the media crawling all over the place. I’m worried you haven’t gotten in touch, but maybe you’re busy? Coach’s press conference is next. Then we have one more debriefing so they can tell us—again—not to talk to anyone. What a mess. See you later?”
For the first time ever, I wish I had a TV in my office. A quick scroll through the feed notifications on my phone tells me Keaton Busch is the “idiot” at the center of whatever this is, but I’d have to click on the link to get the full story, and I’m somewhat afraid of what I’ll find when I do that. Obviously, I’m about to be disappointed, but not surprised, by yet another of my favorite players. Something tells me I’d be better off to wait for Jet to get home and tell me the unfiltered version.
Before I can receive any more cryptic texts, I shoot a message of my own to both Jet and Rae.
I’ve been slammed here at work, so I have no idea what’s going on. Gonna try to keep it that way. Is anyone dead?
A few minutes later, Rae texts back: Busch probably wishes he was
Jet: We shouldn’t text about this.
I’m willing to leave it at that for now. OK
Rae: Whatever. Cat’s out of the bag. Keeping mum shows support for that moron
Jet: I’ll tell you about it later, Maura
Jet replies with as much finality as you can put into a text bubble on a phone screen.
Rae: Talk over dinner? At Jet’s? What’s on Beau’s menu tonight, Knox?
Me: Don’t know. I eat whatever he puts in front of me
Rae: Any chance he can toss me a salad?
My heart drops. I love my friend, but the idea of listening to her sarcastic asides while Jet gets me up to speed tires me. On the other hand, there’s no way to tactfully tell her I’d rather be alone with Jet tonight, and he’s too nice (and afraid of her) to dare reject her self-invite.
Sure enough, after a slight pause, Jet replies: OK
Rae: See you later, then. 6:00?
We all agree to that time, and I exit from the text interface.
For several seconds afterward, I stare at the Internet icon on my phone’s screen, but I resist tapping it. I’d rather hear the news, whatever it is, from friends.
Chastity buzzes me to announce my next appointment, saving me from any further temptation.
Of course, there’s no way for me to avoid the news for the rest of the day. It’s the talk of the office. My co-workers are obsessed. Being who I am and whom I’m dating, they assume I have the inside scoop and won’t stop trying to tease details from me, no matter how many times I tell them I don’t have any more information than they do. Probably less, since I’m getting the details in drips and drabs. My brother won’t stop sending me news story links I don’t have the time or inclination to read. Every person who walks through my door and sits across the desk from me spends the first five minutes of their appointment discussing it. It’s a titillating topic, a scandal that has even stronger legs than the guy at the center of it all.
Mr. Tight End stands accused of running a sex-for-money game involving groupies and other NFL players all over the league and has been suspended without pay pending further investigation. The charges are simple; implications are anything but.
This is beyond disheartening, even considering my admiration for Mr. Tight End as a person waned long ago. Coach Bauer encourages all the guys to have fun and show their personalities, but Keaton takes it to a whole new level with his inappropriate social media posts throughout the week and lewd gestures on the field, many of which have earned him hefty fines. His touchdown dances are fan favorites, and I used to love them, too, but now I recognize them as another piece of his somewhat obnoxious “Look at Me!” persona, something that shouldn’t have a place in a game about teamwork and collaboration.
The veteran players, including Jet, chalk it up to the guy being relatively young and trying to make a name for himself. Last season was only his fourth; he spent his rookie season sidelined by injury. For the most part, his teammates have encouraged what they deem his “youthful enthusiasm” and
