Backstage: A Fake Marriage Romance, page 25
I sigh and look out of the window.
In two hours we’ll be in the United States of America, the land of opportunity and freedom, a country with over a hundred million men over the age of eighteen, and my parents have chosen someone like Elon for my very first official date. While I think about this, my eyes roam the page the magazine has flopped open to in front of me, of the wide receiver making a name for himself at the New England Patriots, who has arms as thick as tree trunks, eyes that dazzle like sapphires and a package I’d need two hands to hold on to.
This is the kind of man I want to meet, and I’m damned if I’m going home without doing so, Elon Madison in the equation or not.
Logan
The journalism may be a pile of shit but at least the photos are good. It’s always pleasing to see how attractive you look coming out of a club at two am, despite what the story is. Not many would argue with that.
“Celebrities, politicians, what’s it going to be next, Logan? A princess?”
They’re pissed, I get that, it doesn’t look good for the team, especially when everything else is finally slotting into place. I shouldn’t have been there the night before the game, even though we went on and won it.
I hold my hands up. “I’m sorry, Doug. I shouldn’t have been out.”
“Ten thousand, and that’s being generous. You’ll make a statement with our press team and do all of the necessary social media bullshit to fix this. The next fucking time I’m taking you off the roster. Why can’t you just keep your dick in your pants? Why can’t any of you rookies these days keep your dicks in your pants?”
He can’t afford to keep me off the roster, but I can’t afford to keep seeing my face all over the paper either. Ten thousand a go makes the thrill of the chase a little less appealing.
“You know, half of the shit they are saying there is made up.”
Doug shakes his head.
“Made up or not, this hurts the team and it hurts me. Why don’t you do us all a favor and lie low for a while, let the papers write about some other hotshot.”
“I can’t help being popular”, I say.
“If this carries on, you won’t be for long. Don’t think you are special. There are a hundred like you and a hundred more ready to come along as soon as you royally fuck things up, which you seem keen to do already.”
“It wasn’t as bad as they make out.”
“My players don’t drink, my players don’t screw around, my players don’t get kicked out of nightclubs at two am for fighting, propped up by a pair of hookers.”
“Come on, those girls were escorts, not hookers, and I wasn’t drunk.”
“Don’t, Logan, I’m not in the mood. Saturday is the biggest game of our season so far and we need to win it.”
“Doug, you can count on me.”
I smile but he doesn’t seem to appreciate it, so I change my mind and make my expression serious.
“Just don’t disappoint the fans”, Doug says. “Disappoint me all you want, disappoint yourself if your self-esteem is that low, just don’t disappoint our fans.”
Anybody would think I’d gone out and shot someone. I know this isn’t exactly an isolated incident, but I’m not exactly the only one doing it, and I make sure it doesn’t affect my performance anyway. Doug doesn’t seem to get that part of it. Football runs in my blood, and no matter what I do the night before, I’m always going to be on top of my game when it comes down to it.
No sex and no drinking before a game is bullshit anyway, everyone knows that.
“It won’t happen again”, I tell Doug, although what I mean by that is I won’t be stupid enough to get caught doing it again.
It seems to be enough for him, and although he’s still far from being alright with me about what happened, he finally lets me go.
Doug’s got some fucking nerve, I think as I drive back home. Where the fuck does he think I’m going to find a princess from anyway?
Carter
I’m fed up of reading about Logan O’Connor. If he’s not on the front page for doing something he shouldn’t be doing, he’s all over the back page for doing something he should. Six touchdown catches in the last three games, twelve now for the season as a whole, an impressive amount of yardage that is almost certain to break at least one record this year and a damn good chance to make it all the way to the Superbowl. Not bad for a rookie year.
I have professional rivalry, and personal admiration for the guy, who seems to be doing everything our rookie can’t. If it wasn’t for the nights out, the skirt-chasing, the bad behavior and the round the clock drinking I’d snap at the opportunity to have him in our team.
He reminds me of me at that age, which means that unless he’s some kind of superhuman, sooner or later he’s going to have to choose one of either of those two paths. From the perspective of a football fan, I hope to God he chooses his sport over his dick, but from the perspective of a quarterback of the rival team, I wouldn’t mind not having him in our way as we try desperately to hold on to a season that’s slipping away from us.
Logan O’Connor is arguably the best talent to come into football since I had my rookie year, which will all go to waste unless someone knocks some sense into him. Going out and having fun is part of what makes this lifestyle great, but the team has always got to come first, not the girls, in every sense of that word.
Next Saturday, when we make the trip across state, I’m going to do everything I can to be that voice of reason. The last thing I want to do is see someone like Logan throw his career away for a five minute fuck in the VIP room of a bullshit club. I’ve been that guy and it never made any sense. All that shit is overrated and none of those girls mean a goddamn thing. All they want is money, attention and to be on the cover of a better magazine for a while.
In my three years as a professional player, I haven’t found anything amongst those shallows worthy of extended periods of my time, and I know that until I quit this sport and come out of the limelight completely, the chances of me doing so will remain the same.
That’s not to say I don’t enjoy what Logan is doing now, I just know how to do it right, and get from it what I want. Logan wasn’t the original pussy chaser and neither was I. I learned how to keep it under covers and out of magazines and I feel like it’s my duty to let Logan know how to do the same. A leopard can’t change its spots after all, it can only hide itself better.
What I’m talking about not finding is love, and that’s unlikely to ever change for anyone in this game of ours. High profile football and the kind of woman it attracts, are not the kind of people you want to be spending the rest of your life with, certainly not in my extensive experience so far.
For me, Superbowl winner and MVP, three years a pro with the kind of statistics already that make Alex Vann Haden nervous, I would desperately like to achieve success away from the field as much as I have on it. Find a girl that loves me, raise a family, travel the world to exotic destinations, but right now, until that option presents itself, which it seems highly unlikely to do in the immediate future, I have to concentrate on other things. Make sure Logan doesn’t throw his career away, and then show him why he’s still not quite the best player in the league.
If that somehow means we have to work together, then so be it. If I had a reformed Logan O’Connor on my side, the pair of us would be absolutely unstoppable.
Chapter Two
Marissa
Mom and Dad are stopping just short of coming on this date with me. I half expect them to accompany me to the restaurant and then pull up chairs either side to take notes, before watching while Elon tries his level best to sleaze in and kiss me, but they aren’t, thank God, because just the thought of it makes me physically shudder.
That doesn’t stop them giving me last minute advice through the window of the car before I’m whisked off to meet him, though, as though I’m about to be interviewed by the CEO of a fortune five hundred company and the future of my entire professional career hinges on my ability to impress him.
“Don’t slouch”, Dad says.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full”, Mom adds.
“Alright, I get it”, I complain, fully prepared to do all that it takes to put him off me as soon as possible, “I’ll make sure I act like a princess.”
I know very little about what has been planned for me, but perhaps that’s for the best. What I do know is that Elon has decided on a lunch date to begin with - apparently after several conversations leading up to this with my parents and not a single consideration I might want to be involved in the process - which is ideal in a way, because it means that when I get this over soon enough, I’ll still have the rest of the day to work out how I can watch the football game in peace. I can’t exactly come to the States at the height of football season and not take advantage of a rarely scheduled Saturday evening game between two rival teams, can I? What kind of a dangerous virgin princess on the look-out for a pair of athletic lovers would that make me?
The car and driver are both his, and on the way to the elaborate venue, I get eyed up in the rear view mirror almost constantly, my appearance clearly too much of a tease for him to keep his filthy eyes off me. I don’t mind it at all, in fact, it kind of turns me on. The thought to do something about it crosses my mind, but if my parents found out I hadn’t even made it to our first date, they’d go absolutely ballistic.
If I string Elon along I’ll have plenty of time here in Boston, and perhaps even further afield if I convince him I’ve always wanted to see New York, so there’s definitely no rush to get started. Mom and Dad will have a week at best, more if they feel like they still can’t trust me, but after that, I’m sure I’ll be on my own. Besides which, as attractive as he is, flirting with the chauffeur isn’t exactly setting my goals all that high, especially for a princess like me.
This whole thing seems utterly ridiculous to me, but if my parents insist on setting me up this way, the least I’m going to do is make sure I enjoy it. What I’m not going to do is bend over and play ball like the rest of the family, and fall into my role as a subservient mistress. If I want to be subservient, I’m going to choose the man to make me feel that way myself, and It’ll only be in the confines of the bedroom. I’m not sure what Elon’s game plan is here, but I’m not prepared to undersell myself, even if he literally bleeds money all over me. Of course, if he’s paying I’m going to let him carry on just to please my parents, while my eyes wander all over the place looking for a pair of real men.
You may think judging him like this is a little unfair, especially before I’ve even met him, but let’s look at the facts so far. One, this whole thing has been conducted like a business negotiation between two owners of two separate companies that could benefit from a merger, two, he has an incredibly poor track record with women and his attitude to the opposite sex is nothing short of archaic, and three, from the photos I’ve seen of him, he just doesn’t look capable of keeping up with me.
A virgin, yes, unimaginative, no.
Elon is sat when I make it to the table, led there by the Maitre D, who presents me like one of the expensive bottles of wine he’s just brought up from his cellar. Elon, already in the process of wiping breadcrumbs from around his mouth, puts the folded serviette down, before standing too and offering me a chubby hand to shake.
He is, and I’m being generous here, larger than his online presence suggested, receding almost to the back of his head, and has pallid and flaky skin like undercooked dough. He is also older than his profile says he is, old enough to make me feel like this lunch date is even more inappropriate than I thought it might be.
I’m invited to sit down, which I do, tentatively, only to feel the weight of Elon’s enormous eyes bear grotesquely down on me and my teenage assets. I have dressed for what I want the second part of the day to consist of, and to throw my parents off the scent of my dastardly plan, so the effect here is consequential but not entirely agreeable.
“So”, Elon says, like the villain in a bad Bond film. “We meet at last.”
“Hi”, I say politely. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Elon breaks the already broken piece of bread, an agitated motion that sprays crumbs liberally over the table, and then without taking his eyes off me, shovels a large piece into the back of his throat. Red lips, cracked skin, eczema on his temples. Is this what my parents aspire of me? He could have more money than anyone else in the world and it wouldn’t matter. He could even be nice and I don’t think I could. Maybe that’s me being shallow, but if I’m going to marry someone and take them to bed, I’d kind of like it to be someone I want to climb on top of.
“You look stunning”, Elon says, “beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“A real princess.”
I smile nervously, I play with my hair, I look around the room and back again and Elon still won’t take his eyes off me. I feel nothing like I did in the car over here, though. This is a completely different sensation from a completely different look. Right now I feel as dirty as hell and not in a good way either. Elon makes me want to shower not slide my fingers inside myself.
“So, Elon”, I say, just to say something to take my mind off it, “What kind of music do you like listening to?”
Elon gives out a weird little noise worryingly similar to the sound my dad seems capable of making when he doesn’t understand something I’ve said and then either pretends he hasn’t heard me or just isn’t interested at all. “Shall we order?” he says instead of responding to me.
I leave it and we order. I’m hungry so it doesn’t bother me, and the faster we eat, the faster we get this over with anyway. I’ve got an afternoon of shopping planned. First for clothes and afterward for men.
“I told your father”, Elon says, “I thought we’d make an excellent couple.”
“Oh yeah?” I say suspiciously.
“Despite the difference in our ages”, Elon goes on.
I’m ready to list the obvious differences in a lot of things between us, but I decide to play it carefully. “I know my parents are keen for us to hit it off”, I say, “but this world is all very new to me.”
“Of course”, Elon says, reaching out to place an unwanted hand on my arm.
“We’re going to need some time to see if we are suitable”, I continue, looking down at his hand until he gets the hint and slowly pulls it away. “It’s important we don’t rush into something, don’t you think?”
“I couldn’t agree more”, Elon says. “Although I’m absolutely convinced we are going to be totally right for each other. The way that your father described you to me. Well, I couldn’t have asked for more.”
“Right”, I say.
“I can give you everything your father has asked”, Elon says. “I’m a very rich man. I can make you very happy.”
“I’m not entirely sure what I can offer you, Elon”, I say, playing dumb.
“Well, status for one”, he says. “You’re extremely beautiful too.”
“You know, I think we should just get to know each other first”, I repeat again, “just to make sure we are on the same page.”
“Yes”, Elon says again, “exactly. It’s going to be fun to get to know each other, I’m absolutely certain of it.”
I want to be sick, and not because the food is off, but because this whole thing feels completely rancid. Before coming here, after the incident with the gardener and the subsequent conversation with my parents, the idea of what I’m doing just didn’t seem real. Now that I’m here, however, that reality has just slapped me in the face like a cold, wet fish.
Great, I’m on holiday in America. Great, I get to spend time away from the watchful eye of my parents, but this? An arranged date with someone who thinks that we are already half way to being in a relationship. I thought this was going to be a meeting, nothing more, naively perhaps, not a discussion on the ins and outs of a project already agreed upon. Elon’s talking like he and me are already some kind of item. I sip my water and compose myself.
“I’m not sure what Mom and Dad will have arranged with you on the phone”, I begin. “But I just want you to be absolutely clear, that you and I are not a given.”
“Oh no”, Elon says, shaking his head. “Of course not, my princess. Where would the fun be if the fish was already caught? I don’t go hunting to catch tame animals, I go hunting to catch something from the wild.”
“And you don’t always get it”, I suggest.
“Oh no, I always get it in the end”, Elon says. “Money buys rifles big enough to trap anything”, he says with a thick smile that shows off dirty teeth, before doubling over in laughter at his own joke.
“You’ll see”, he goes on. “You’ll come round.”
The food comes at just the right time to cut through the tension surrounding us. Ten minutes in his company and he’s already repulsing me. I can’t help but picture my parents rubbing their hands with glee, while I dig into my steak, and Elon waffles on about how much money he’s got, how many businesses he’s crushed, generally how brilliant he is and how well we are going to get on, without any basis for the probability of it.
I smile when he looks for a reaction, nod disingenuously when he wants me to agree, try my best to block out his egotistical diatribe and lose myself in my expensive but overcooked steak and dreams I have of somehow finding my way out of the hole I’ve unfortunately found myself in.
“This is going really well, isn’t it?” Elon says at one point. “I told you it would.”
The gardener had arms like granite rock, a chest of thick toned muscle and a kiss that made me feel like I was floating. In comparison, Elon has worse manners than some of the pet dogs we keep at the country house and worse personal hygiene too.
There are gaps in conversation he fills with elaborate stories about his success, and clearly nothing in common between us, despite his constant insistence to the contrary.
After less than an hour in his company, I’m bored to distraction and desperate for the whole thing to end. It’s so bad, I’m not even sure I can keep up this pretense just on the off chance I’ll meet someone I really want to be with. The saddest thing is, I’m sat here thinking I wish I were anywhere else while Elon seems to think we are getting along like an old married couple. He keeps making reference to us as a pair rather than individuals, and things he has planned for us in the future. Not just the immediate future either, the as yet undiscussed long term future that has to do with houses, families and a shared bedroom. I’ve shuddered twice, and both times I’ve had to pretend it’s because I’m cold. My parents are going to kill me if I don’t agree to another date with him, but if I agree, I might just have to kill myself before the end of it.
