by Amy L. Gale
An intercom set into the brick column on the left blinks. Of course it’s secure, fans can get crazy when it comes to football. Yeah, kind of like the way groupies act at a concert. My stomach drops to the floor. Maybe Tyler has a similar system, although L.A. and Kansas might as well be on different planets. What’s his demeanor with the fans? I mean, all the entire band does is talk about how much they love the fans, and give them as much of their time and attention as possible. So exactly how much love does Tyler give his fans? As much as Nash does?
Oh God, I sound like some jealous girlfriend. First of all, I’m not even sure where we stand at the moment. Second, it’s his career and meeting fans is part of the deal. Third, Nash and Elle are not me and Tyler, so I’m not destined to fall into their train-wreck of a relationship.
I step out of the car and walk toward the intercom. Okay, time to clear my head of anything not related to this interview. I take a deep breath and press the button.
“Ali Whitman. I’m here to interview Elle for Entertainment Rocks! magazine.”
“I’ll buzz you in.” A voice crackles through the intercom.
The gates slowly open, causing The Crowley’s emblem to separate. How symbolic I jump back into the car and follow the driveway to a monstrous home that can rival the white house. Huge white pillars, probably made of marble, adorn the front porch of the two-story mansion. Tan bricks lead up to a carved wooden door that looks like an entrance to a castle. I pull around the circular driveway, with a mermaid fountain in the middle, and park my car.
Everything about this place is over the top. I can’t help but think of Elle as a princess trapped in a tower. Sure, she can leave anytime she wants, but that would be like being banished to the dark forest. Maybe that’s part of the reason she stays with Nash despite his… downfalls. Why else would she stay with him?
I guess that’s what I’m here to find out. I grab my briefcase and march up the marble steps. Alright Ali, get your game face on. Whatever happens with this feature paves the way for future offers. I’ve got to keep a level head and leave all emotions far away from the paper. I pat down my black pin-striped skirt and ring the doorbell.
Heels click, louder by the second. I take a deep breath. The last time I felt this nervous was when I trudged through the aisle of the church, half blinded by tears as I stepped on the altar to give Josh’s eulogy. I knew I’d never be the same person after I left. It’s kind of ridiculous. There are so many times in my life I should’ve felt this way and didn’t. Does my brain know something I don’t or is it back in self-defense mode?
The noise subsides. Elle pulls open the door and flashes a million-dollar smile. Her long brown hair falls down her back in perfect loose curls, flowing onto her pink sundress. She’s the epitome of beauty, exactly who you’d expect a famous quarterback’s wife to look like. If you put her in a Victorian dress, she can grace the cover of a romance novel with Fabio. Deep blue eyes sweep my body.
I hold out my shaky hand. “Ali Whitman. Nice to meet you.”
She shakes it and takes a step back. “Elle Crowley. Please, come in.”
The inside of the house is something you’d see on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. A crystal chandelier, about the size of my car, hangs in the foyer reflecting prisms of light all around. A double staircase leads to a huge hallway, adorned with numerous colorful paintings and a dark red oriental rug. I scan the room like I’m in a museum, taking myself out of the moment.
Elle clears her throat. “I have some refreshments set out on the patio for us.”
I blink a few times and pull myself back into reality. Great, I’m making the same impression as a star-struck fan. “Please lead the way.” I fidget with my fingers and follow her out to the veranda.
An oval shaped in-ground pool adorned with a waterfall sits in the middle of the property, surrounded by a pool house that is almost the size of my apartment building and landscaping that probably cost more than my college education. An enormous screened in gazebo with lights and a television is to the right of the pool. The cobblestone walkway continues to tennis courts, a basketball court, and an area of pristine grass that Nash might use as his own personal football field. The Playboy mansion has nothing on this place, although from what I hear some of the stories may be similar.
Elle stops at the fanciest picnic table I’ve ever seen overlooking a pond and gardens. “Make yourself at home.” She pours two glasses of lemonade.
I nibble my lip and pop open my briefcase. “I’ll be recording our interview to make sure everything is quoted accurately.” I know I put it in here, where the hell is it? My body temperature rises at least fifteen degrees as I search for the little black tape recorder that will serve as my saving grace. A bead of sweat rolls down my hairline.
“You’re new at this, right?” Elle crosses her legs and sits back in her chair.
And there goes all hopes of taking the professional approach. No matter how hard I plan every last detail of an interview, I wind up dropping the ball somehow. Maybe I’m not cut out for field reporter, or maybe my brain realizes that what Jane wants me to do and what I want to do are on opposite ends of the spectrum. Everyone’s got to start somewhere so I’ve got to go as far as I can with Entertainment Rocks! and get my name out there. The name I make might stick with me forever, so I’ve got to decide what I want it to stand for.
I glance over at Elle. It’s like she’s a lion, watching the zebra prance through the field before taking it down. I’ve heard all the stories and know exactly what I’m dealing with. Now, I just need to survive this interview and write a feature that wows the world. Yep, nothing like setting a nearly unattainable goal. I bump my finger against hard plastic. Thank God, here it is. I pull out the tape recorder and set it on the table, along with my pen and legal pad. I press record.
“I’ve recently took the field reporter position at Entertainment Rocks!” I click open my pen and grab my pad.
She puts her hand over mine. “I was new once too. I get it.” She sips her lemonade. “I like you. You remind me of myself another lifetime ago.”
Wait, where’s the smart talking succubus that spends her time ruining other people’s lives until they mimic hers? Maybe she acts like your friend and cuts your throat in the end, like half the horror movies I’ve seen. The killer ends up being the last person you expect. Or maybe it’s all a publicity ploy. Is Elle really the person the media makes her out to be? Probably not, the truth always seems a little less interesting. When Josh had his accident, there were stories floating around from all angles. Anything from he was wasted on pills and booze to he was getting a blowjob while driving. Bastards. I’ll never forgive the people who insisted on tarnishing his reputation… never. I won’t let anyone else go through that either. Today, the world finds out about the real Elle Crowley.
“The piece I’m featuring is titled Behind the Bench: The Untold Story of Elle and Nash Crowley.” I sip my lemonade, trying to steady my hand as I lift the glass. “So let’s start at the beginning, how did you and Nash meet?”
She leans back and flashes a small smile. “Back in college.” Her face instantly lights up, like it’s Christmas morning and Santa left a puppy. “Freshman year we ran into each other at Evans Hall… literally ran into each other while we were both trying to find English 101.” She chuckles. “Hard to believe Nash was uncoordinated. It’s amazing how things change over the years.” She clears her throat. “Anyway, we pretty much didn’t leave each other’s sight from that day on.”
“I haven’t seen that story in any other interviews before. It’s a cute way to meet. I’m probably the clumsiest person on earth, but it didn’t benefit me in the love department.”
She nods. “No one’s ever asked how we met before. They’re not interested in those kind of stories.” She taps her fingers on her glass. “How about you, are you single?”
Oh boy, this interview is certainly taking an interesting turn. Hey, whatever keeps her talking about things that have n
ever been published in an interview before. It looks like I’m on my way to getting an exclusive interview. “I’m dating someone right now.” If what we’re doing is dating.
“Is he a reporter too?” She raises an eyebrow.
I shake my head. “No, he’s a musician.” Okay, when I hear it out loud it sounds like a conflict of interest. A reporter dating a musician, based on the rules of entertainment we are supposed to be mortal enemies.
“Back in college I didn’t have to share Nash with anyone. He was all mine. Now… I share him with the world. I think you’re about to find out exactly what that’s like.”
What is she doing? It’s like she thinks we’re kindred souls or something. I hate to break it to her, but I’m not her. There’s no way in hell I’d put up with a guy who’s unfaithful.
I leave through my papers. “What’s it like to be married to a famous athlete?”
She smirks. “There’s a question I’m used to. I’ll give you my honest answer this time. It’s great, a dream come true, and at the same time it’s a nightmare.” She locks eyes with me. “You probably know exactly what I’m talking about.”
No, but I may very well be on my way to finding out. Her words mimic something Jenna and Lexie might say. Very philosophical, now if I can translate that into English. “I get it, good and bad, just like anything else.”
Sadness clouds her face. “I can have anything I could possibly want, but nothing I need.”
What the hell does that mean? It’s like she’s talking in riddles. I can’t print that without a clear explanation. Maybe she’s trying to tell me some topics are off limits. “Do you want to move on to the next question?”
She flashes a meek smile. “Let me see your list.”
I hand her the paper and fidget with my fingers while she peruses it. Barbara Walters sure as hell wouldn’t conduct an interview like this. I might as well have Elle come up with her own questions and write the interview herself.
She sets the paper on the table. “How about we nix the questions?”
“Okay, we can try a different approach.” Oh God, I’m way out of my league. How the hell am I supposed to conduct an interview with no questions?
“What’s the one question you are dying to know but don’t want to ask?” Elle sits up straight. “Throw it at me.”
“Why do you stay with Nash when you know he cheats on you?” I cover my mouth with my hand and quickly drop it. The blood drains from my face. Did I just say that out loud? I look down at the table unable to lift my eyes. She’s probably going to throw me out. I mean, if someone said that to me I’d clock them. It’s no one’s business what she does in her marriage other than her and Nash’s. I get it, and I’m here to find out about their life together, but some things are better left unsaid. The subscribers can read between the lines and come up with their own theories.
I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business. Just tell me what you want the public to know about you, Nash, and the reality of being married to a star football player.” I slowly lift my head.
She sighs. “It’s a fair question, and you’re the first reporter to actually ask it.” She pulls her chair closer to the table. “You want to know the truth? Here it is. When I met Nash he was a real guy; nervous, unsure of where life was going to take him, and full of passion. If I could dream up my perfect man, it was him. We had it all those four years and they were the best times of my life. We shared everything, and it was almost like we were the only two people on earth. Nothing else mattered. I never met anyone like him, completely unique in every way yet familiar, like we were made for only each other.”
“It sounds like you found your soulmate. How can anything change that?” I don’t get it. If you find the perfect person wouldn’t everything else in life take second place? I mean, when you find the “right” one you can get through anything together.
“He turned into Nash “the crusher” Crowley. Once there was buzz about him going pro everything changed. It’s like a switch flipped inside him, and he went from a man to a God. Fans crowded him after games, pushing me far into the sidelines. He started spending more time off the field with the team than he ever had. I was almost like one of his frantic fans, trying anything to get his attention. It was like I took a backseat to the pigskin. I was okay with that at first, I mean it’s his career. Everything he worked so hard for.” She gulps her lemonade. “One time when he had a girl on each shoulder for a picture, I couldn’t take it anymore. I walked away, swearing I’d never come back.”
I can understand a little of what she’s going through. Josh didn’t have hopes of going pro, but he was the “Golden Boy” of our small town. The cheerleaders hung on his every word, and just about every girl wanted to date him, but he never made me feel like I was his silver medal. “What made you change your mind?”
Her lips upturn to a smile. “He must’ve left at least two dozen voicemails on my phone and sent flowers every week. I ignored him for two months but when he had a singing telegram sent to my door inviting me to meet him at the 50-yard line I thought he was turning back into the Nash I fell in love with. I trudged down to the 50-yard line, wrapping my scarf around my face to protect me from the frigid wind, but he wasn’t there. My heart sunk, and just as I was about to walk off the field, the PA system started playing I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing by Aerosmith which was our song since the sophomore homecoming dance. I turned around and Nash was on one knee in the middle of the 50-yard line, holding the most beautiful diamond ring I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s so romantic. Your life sounds like a movie.” I jot down a few notes onto the pad. The woman readers are going to fall in love with Nash again once I get this story out there. But, that’s not how the story ends.
“We got married, Nash signed his first pro contract, and it all started again. Only this time, I was pregnant in a new city and couldn’t just walk away hoping he’d stop and see what he’s missing. Then it got worse. The more popular Nash became, the more attention seeking fans appeared, especially the female ones. They acted like half-naked prostitutes, hanging all over him for pictures, asking him to sign their breasts. And I had to stand by and watch because the coach insisted it’s all a show, part of the package. Well, then Coach started spending more and more time with Nash, taking him to strip clubs, and God knows where else. He was coming home at all hours of the night. And then he was on the road with the team, and I was home with my daughter Shana.” Her eyes well with tears but she quickly wipes them away.
“The rumors started, tabloids published pictures of him with other women. Every time I confronted him, he swore up and down it wasn’t true, but I can’t trust him anymore. He’s not that handsome guy that ran into me trying to navigate to class. He’s someone I never see, and don’t even know anymore. The bitterness starts to take over. First, it’s little jabs or sarcastic remarks, then it’s hoping he loses the game after seeing something in a tabloid. Hell, there’s even times I wished he’d get injured so he can come home and we can be the Nash and Elle we once were again.” She lets out a deep breath. “So I guess to answer your question. I stay because I don’t want to let go of the Nash I fell in love with and I believe he still exists.”
Why does this scenario seem all too familiar? Half-naked fans hanging on his every word, being separated and letting your mind concoct scenarios that you’re not entirely sure are false, growing apart because your life suddenly takes a backseat to the rising career of your spouse. It’s like the future is mapped out in front of me and it’s looking pretty bleak. I’m on my way to becoming Elle.
CHAPTER 11—OPPORTUNITY
Earthquakes, shark attacks, ready for another disaster, babe?
Interesting choice of words and they always seem more powerful in print. Am I ready for what’s next? Even though Elle pretty much told me exactly what it’s like, full of heartache and regret, I still can’t stop my heart from fluttering every time I see his name flash across my cell phone s
creen. I text Tyler back.
I draw the line at ritualistic sacrifices;)
Hmm, no promises. I can’t control myself when I’m with you.
Footsteps pound from behind me. I flip my phone over face down on my desk. No need to show anyone else my personal discussions. Especially after the stunt Jake pulled. What an asshole. Whoever said girls fight dirty never worked at Entertainment Rocks! I mean, there’s really no benefit to him other than getting on Jane’s good side. Big deal, she’s got a heart of stone so once he’s no longer useful to her, he’ll be right back here, except alone.
“Hey neighbor. Read your article. Interesting take, you went all girl power with this one.” Jake sips his coffee and walks to his cubicle.
He has no idea of what girl power can accomplish… yet. Dammit, I left Tyler hanging. I glance the length of the hallway to make sure Jake isn’t in view of my phone and quickly snatch it up.
Yeah, I know what that’s like. Is this your way of asking me out?
Ready to have your world rocked… again?
What did you have in mind? I’m starting to think he doesn’t write lyrics. He tends to be a one-liner, of course, it’s a good one, and it always works.
Let me give you a glimpse into my world. Pick you up Saturday at 10 a.m.
So what’s up his sleeve? His world is a universe full of so many activities. Most people choose one thing and stick to it but not Tyler. He’s kind of like a renaissance man, a master of many trades. God knows what I’m in for Saturday.
It’s a date ;) Okay, maybe I should stop with the winky smiley faces. I mean, it’s like I’m a slutty teenager.
Great article by the way. Lexie really loved it.
Tyler read my article? And Lexie read it too? No way in hell I’d think anyone from Devil’s Garden would read anything I wrote again… ever. If Lexie loved it, then that means she can relate to everything Elle said. Normally, it’s amazing to connect with readers but knowing that Lexie found the story remotely interesting scares the crap out of me.
