by K. P. Haigh
"Hi! You're Montgomery, right?" Leslie asks.
"Yeah, I'm Monty. Nice to meet you."
She gives me a full smile. "Can I get you anything: water, tea, glass of bubbly?"
Umm, champagne? If they're offering, I'm taking. While it would be the better life decision to refrain from boarding the alcohol train until the event tonight, my willpower is shot after dealing with my new grouch of a boss all day.
I accept the offer, and two seconds later another woman walks over with a flute in hand. She hands it to me and introduces herself as Dhrea, the woman who's going to handle my makeup. Considering that her gorgeous terra cotta skin looks dewy and flawless while also looking product-free, I know I am in good hands.
I sit down in a plush black leather seat, and Leslie examines my hair while Dhrea starts to pick colors out of the drawer in front of me.
"Okay, lady, so what are we thinking today? Subdued updo? Wild, voluminous curls? You tell me, and I'll make it happen."
I have no doubt this team could transform me into a Victoria Secret model—at least from the neck up—if I asked them to.
When I said yes to attending the event, I set aside a black strapless cocktail dress while I was packing up. It's not fancy, but it'll fade into the background well, and that's my game plan: don't stand out, just ride the wave, and don't get pulled under. I think it's a winning strategy, even though Andie sent me about ten sad face emojis when I texted her a picture of what I was planning to wear.
If she were here, she'd be doing it up big—full sequin style with va-va-voom hair and an attitude to match.
"Umm, can you do some beach-y waves?" It's more than I could ever attempt to accomplish myself. I may be twenty-three years old, but I still don't know how to do my own hair. I top out at messy buns and side braids.
"Done. What do you think, Dhrea?" Leslie turns to her partner in crime while continuing to weave her fingers through my hair, getting a sense for its texture and fullness.
"Peachy undertones with a bit of bronzer. We'll pull off sun-kissed California girl like pros." They give each other a high five, and it’s kind of exciting to have this lady power team working on me.
Leslie and Dhrea start talking about a recent restaurant opening and the few Seattle celebrities that came out for the event. Apparently, some wives and girlfriends of Seattle's football players came in for this whole primping service before it.
While they're busy talking, a woman with gorgeous red hair comes in and sits down in the seat next to me, and a stylist starts to cut her hair. The redhead has her phone in hand the whole time, not even acknowledging that there are people around her.
I wish I had enough guts to do the same sometimes, but I always worry about being rude. So, instead, I sit and sip my drink, trying to pay attention to the back and forth of the conversation.
Leslie mentions a name that sounds familiar: Cameron Holt. I feel like I've heard Baron mention it, or maybe I've just heard it in passing.
"Who's that?" I ask with my eyes closed while Dhrea paints on my foundation. I may not be able to see their faces, but I can feel their surprise rattling through the air like a rubber band that just snapped.
"He's the quarterback of the Hawks," Leslie explains. Then she adds in a stage whisper, "And a fine piece of ass on wheels, at that."
Right. Football. I should pay attention, even though the idea of trying to memorize the players and their positions sounds on par with memorizing names of battles and the years they occurred for history class.
"Mmm, have you seen the new trade? If he plays even half as good as he looks, we're going to the championship, baby," Dhrea adds.
I turn bright red, but Dhrea must have really done the foundation well because they keep going.
Leslie frowns. "Yeah, he has that animal nickname."
I can't handle it any more. I jump in before we get too much further down this road. "Bear?"
Dhrea snaps her fingers together. "That's the one! Damn, he's hot."
"Yeah. He's my boyfriend." I try to say the words without any hint of jealously or possession. He's a public persona; if I start getting upset that random strangers find him attractive…well, I'll be angry forever, and it would be way too awkward to sit here and pretend I don't know who he is.
"Good job, girl. He's a catch." Leslie says it like I nailed a job interview or scored a sweet apartment.
I blush again, but this time for altogether different reasons. I am the girlfriend of a professional football player. There's a certain amount of spotlight that naturally deflects to me simply because of where I'm standing.
"What position is he playing? I forget," Dhrea asks.
"Umm…" I should know this. I really should. He's told me before, and I can't for the life of me remember the string of words he put together. "Wide running backer?" My tone tilts up at the end.
Both of the women laugh lightly. Leslie unhooks the curling iron from my hair and pats me on the shoulder. "Oh honey, that's not a position."
I quickly fumble to cover up my mistake. "I don't know much about sports. We met at a bar and I didn't realize he was a football player."
"No shame in that," Dhrea says with a comforting smile.
"So, was it love at first sight? I mean, I love him, and I haven't even seen him in person yet," Leslie teases.
"Umm, not exactly." I swallow another sip of bubbly and then tell them our story. My rant about football. How Baron pursued me even though I hate sports. About how we fit in every other way. How I wanted more adventure in my life and that moving to Seattle came up at just the right time to be a crazy but not unrealistic option.
They're enraptured with every detail while they continue to work on me like the fairy godmothers they are, and before I know it, they're doing the final touches. They both give me hugs like we've been BFs forever and start to work on cleaning up the explosion of hair and makeup products around me.
I take a look at myself in the mirror, and I'm pleased to see that I still look like myself, just a version that's walking around with perfect lighting and some flawless brows. I could get used to this.
I pop out of my seat, ready to check out at the front desk. The woman sitting one seat over looks up from her phone and gives me a dazzling smile. I look behind me, positive she must be looking at someone else, but it's just the entrance behind me, and the only thing there is open air. Huh. Strange.
I give her a tentative smile, and she hops out of her seat and extends her hand. "I couldn't help but overhear—did you say you were going with Bear Richards to the team event tonight?"
I nod tentatively, unsure of how to react. I thought this woman was absorbed in her phone the entire time she was sitting next to me, but she must have been paying attention, which makes my brain start to rewind through my last hour of conversation.
"Well, that's so exciting." She glances down at her phone. "I didn't catch your name."
"Um, I'm Montgomery." As soon as I introduce myself, I wonder if this is a situation where you use a fake name. I mean, is that tactic only reserved for creepy guys at bars, or is it acceptable to become Ashley or Melissa when a stranger is coming across a little…well…strange?
The woman taps something into her phone, and I decide I am thoroughly weirded out by this encounter.
"Um, I have to get going. Nice, umm, meeting you." I know I'm being overly polite, but I am awful at extracting myself from awkward situations. I let myself off the hook and don't wait for a response. I head over to the main counter and thank Leslie and Dhrea before ducking outside.
I can't shake the strange feeling that my life is about to get a lot less normal. It follows me back to my apartment three blocks away, and it doesn't budge when I peel off my clothes and change into my dress.
At least I have Baron. I quickly fill my clutch with the tiny containers of extra makeup Dhrea gave me with a wink and advice about reapplying if my makeup got smudged, and then I walk out of my studio toward the elevator to Baron's condo.
My life is going up, but I'm still worried the cable might break and send me hurtling back down to the ground level I started on.
We've only been at the Columbia Tower for fifteen minutes, but I've had enough socializing to last the next five years.
My cheeks are piled high into tight balls, and they're starting to cramp from all the effort. They're not secret powerhouse muscles; they're tiny mounds of fat that have never seen this much unrelenting physical activity, and right now they're screaming at me to put them out of their misery.
But, I'm here on the arm of the new player, and apparently that makes us both fresh conversational meat. I'm about to start rattling off my name, Social Security number, and ATM PIN to the next person who asks who I am and what I do.
Baron's face lights up when another couple starts to walk toward us, and I turn to see a man who’s at least a foot larger than Baron in every direction holding the hand of a woman who is at least a foot smaller than me in every way. They're a striking pair. His deep brown skin is a perfect shadow to her bright ivory. The way they lean in toward each other is so absentminded, you can tell they've been together for so long their bodies naturally pull together, curving into their own ying and yang.
"Monty, this is Zane, one of my best friends, and his wife, Georgie. We all went to college together, and I never thought we'd ever get to play on the same team again, but here we are!" Baron and Zane clap each other on the back, sharing wide, easy grins. It's the first time I feel like I can breathe easy tonight.
Georgie turns to me and opens her arms out wide. "I'm sorry, but I feel like I need to give you a hug right now. I've heard so much about you, and I'm sure you already know this, but Baron is one of the sweetest guys in the world. I am just so glad you two found each other."
I let Georgie step in and hug me, and even though the forwardness feels slightly foreign in this room of fake smiles and awkward introductions, I'll take any ounce of genuine kindness I can get.
Baron and Zane start talking about video games and when they're going to get together to play some new one that just came out, and Georgie rolls her eyes while grinning from ear to ear.
"These two. They are so far past the bromance stage, it's a full-on man-and-wife situation going on here. Zane might be my husband, but I am without a doubt his second wife."
"What does that make us?" If we're the significant others of two man-wives, then are we sister-wives? Or in-laws? This is new family tree territory.
"Comrades." Georgie flashes me a grin. She pulls her phone out of her purse and hands it to me. “Here, put your number in. We have to hang out, and not just at games either. You’re family now.”
There’s nothing like being in a room full of strangers to make you miss your best friend. Even though I don’t have Andie here, I’m grateful for Georgie tonight.
As I finish tapping in the last digit into her phone, I hear someone shout Zane across the crowd. The two man-wives standing next to me break their conversation with frowns, and Zane looks over to find the voice that is interrupting their wifely conversation.
Zane's head drops with a tiny shake. "Sorry dude, it's Rick. I'm sure he has something completely useless but incredibly important to tell me, and I have to walk all the way over to him to hear it."
Georgie gives me a soft, apologetic smile. "Hang in there. These are tough at first. They get easier. We'll find you later, k?"
It's good to know I'm not the only person who finds conversation with people I've never met before to rank below getting a deep clean at the dentist—and not some little use the swirling brush for a little longer sort of appointment, the hack at plaque on your teeth with the world's smallest ice pick type.
Zane and Georgie grab hands and make their way back toward the dense part of the crowd. I barely know them, but I feel like my security blanket just grew legs and walked away from me.
Baron wraps his arm around me and tugs at my waist, turning us away from the crowd and toward one of the back walls. I know by the way the cotton pulls against my skin in his tight grip, he would much rather there be fewer layers between him and me right now.
I don't think that's really the right way to start off the introductions to the rest of the room—Hi, here's my full Monty.
He leans down and grazes his lips against my ear. "I'm sorry about this, baby. We only have to stay for another hour, and then we can head home."
My smiles fades into pleasure. I would so rather be home right now, for so many reasons, but when Baron pulls away, I press my lips back up into place. I came here to be his girlfriend, and I can tough it out for another sixty minutes. Too bad I didn't wear a watch; I wouldn't mind a countdown clock right now. We're at a football banquet—isn't there a scoreboard around here somewhere?
"You must Baron and Montgomery," says a new voice, catching us from behind. I turn around and see a swirl of tight blonde curls that graze the top of a long, sequined red dress. I'd noticed it from across the room a few times, and it looks more like something Jessica Rabbit would wear to a movie premiere than a football team event, but I can't say this woman doesn't pull it off flawlessly. She may be overdressed, but she wears it like a badge of honor, as if she'd be offended if anyone tried to outshine her.
I don't think that's happening any time soon. The sun is starting to set, but I'm pretty sure her dress is giving it a run for its money.
Baron stretches out his hand. "Yup. I'm Bear, and this is Monty." The woman takes his hand with a giggle, and I have the sudden urge to sucker punch her.
I mumble a greeting instead and reach out my own hand.
She glances at it like I just finished a shift at the local auto shop and quickly looks back up at Baron with wide eyes and a bright smile. "It's so nice to meet you. I'm Rochelle."
She says it without mentioning what player she's attached to, even though it's painfully obvious from the rock she's sporting on her left hand that it's not some low-level rookie. I look up and see Baron smiling back at her like she's any one of the other people we've talked to.
Seriously, dude. This woman is gorgeous with a side of pure evil; take that smile down a notch.
I keep my eye out for Georgie, hoping she and Zane come back and crash our conversation—soon.
"…and you decided to tag along, huh?" Rochelle's voice crashes into my thoughts, and I realize she's looking straight at me.
I give her a weak smile, unable to decipher if she meant tonight or to Seattle or what. I get the feeling Rochelle is not the sort of person you ask to repeat herself. I don't want to move my name higher up on her shit list any more than I somehow already have.
A small ting ting ting cuts through the conversation of the room, and everyone looks over to see Coach Naylor standing up at the front stage.
"Oh shoot," Rochelle says with a puppy dog whimper. "I was going to get champagne before Joe started his speech. Would you be a dear?" She looks over at Baron with eyes wider than a billboard of the word please. It's obnoxious, and even though I know I'm going to have to see this woman again, I have decided I do not like her, not one single bit.
Baron responds like a gentleman and says, “Sure thing,” before quickly wading across the room to the bar to grab a flute for the stupid woman.
Rochelle turns to me, her eyes pulled into tiny, unsympathetic slits. "You're not going to last two weeks here. You should just pack up your bags and go home."
My jaw drops. Did I just experience a weird lip-reading misinterpretation? She couldn't have actually just told me to give up and move home. That's absurd; she doesn't even know me.
"You're not team material, and that's what this is." She glances around the room and adds a dramatic little twirl of her pointer finger. "We're a team, players and wives, and you are not marriage material. So, I would walk away now before we chew you up and spit you back out like the trash you are."
What the actual fuck is happening right now? I can't jog my brain into working. I have no words to form a coherent reply to this woman's crazy
. I don't even know what triggered her, let alone how to handle it.
Baron walks back over with two flutes, one for Rochelle and one for me. Normally, I would spend this moment being grateful for dating such a keeper, but right now, I think I might puke into this glass, and it is way too tiny to catch the entirety of this spew. I quickly excuse myself and race down the hall to find a bathroom.
I turn left and get out of eyesight of everyone, and then I stop. My breathing is jumping erratically. What the hell is going on right now? I feel like I just walked onto the Mean Girls set and didn't even realize it.
An arm reaches out and pulls me two steps into the bathroom. I stumble in and look over to find its owner, and Georgie is staring back at me with wide eyes and her phone screen turned toward me. Its neon glow is starkly white against the soft light of the women's restroom. She quickly glances back and leans down to check the space underneath each of the wooden stall doors.
When her head pops back up, her lips are pulled down into a frown. "We have a problem."
A problem? I can't figure out how I've already created such a scene that Rochelle is coming after me like a vulture pecking at soon-to-be dead meat. "What do you mean?"
"Did you talk to a reporter today?" Georgie asks, her tone laced with concern. At least she doesn't seem to be upset at me about whatever this is.
I am so confused though. I didn't talk to anyone today except for the people at the salon. "No."
"Are you sure?" she asks again.
I pinch my eyes closed and try to think through my afternoon. It was just Leslie and Dhrea, but they aren't reporters. There was that one woman sitting next to me… No, that's crazy.
I open my eyes slowly, trying to figure out what comes next. "Maybe accidentally… Why, what's going on?"
"This." Georgie hands over her phone, and I look down to see an article in the sports section of a local news station: New Player Brings Hatred of Sports to the Team Spirit.
I want to vomit. I don't want to keep scrolling, but my thumb has other plans.
