Brick by Lisa Lang Blakeney
Brick
Clunk.
I hurl my brand new cell phone across the bedroom and it lands dead center inside of the waste bin in the corner. I shouldn’t have looked online, but I couldn’t help it. Every social media site worth reading (and a few that aren’t) is featuring stories about how much of an asshole I am, because I abused, then dumped, the sweetest girl on the planet.
Abused?
What in the actual fuck are they talking about?
There’s even a video being circulated of poor, innocent Lisa sitting among several empty bottles of Pinot Grigio while crying the night away about what a horrible human being I am. A video which seems to have originated from Lisa’s personal Instagram.
Sure, I get it, she’s mad; but to publicly and purposely attack my character like this? I assumed we left things on a civilized note yesterday. Clearly I was wrong. In fact, this very public reaction of hers is baffling to me. The way I remember it, all she really cared about was if I was going to make an appearance on her stupid cooking show. So how is it in a matter of hours, I’ve now become enemy number one on every woman’s hit list?
I suppose dumping the culinary world’s youngest influencer is tantamount to clubbing a baby seal these days, because the comments under this video are downright brutal and they remind me of another dark time in my past.
Everyone knows that Brick beats up women. Remember that incident in college? He was definitely guilty. The school probably paid that girl off.
He’s not even that good of a player, and they pay him millions of dollars? Why are we even talking about this loser? Lisa should have never broken up with the funny guy from that HBO show.
As if he can find anyone better than Lisa Adams. That girl is hot, rich AND she can cook? He’s stupid. I’d marry her sweet ass tomorrow and I don’t even like girls.
As I use my thumb to scroll down the social media site, I can see that there are oodles more comments just like these, but before I can go further down a very toxic rabbit hole, I decide to call my accuser and get an explanation for everything I’m seeing online.
“Hello?”
“Lisa, did you post that video?”
“I sure did.”
I almost choke on my spit at the coolness of her response. I’ve never heard her use this tone of voice before.
“I thought we left the cafe on a friendly note.”
“What’s friendly about being dumped by some second-rate football player?”
That’s when it finally clicks.
I should have listened to my gut when it told me not to get too serious with this woman and I didn’t listen. I was trying to force something which was never there. Lisa is not who I thought she was. In fact, she’s a real bitch.
“Second rate, huh?”
“You had the perfect situation, Brick. I don’t think you understand who I am. You would have become a much more relevant player if you’d just understood the assignment.”
“Let’s be clear, Lisa. You’re not out here curing cancer. In fact, you’re fooling their asses. You cook keto on television and eat macaroni and cheese in private. Take the video down,” I tell her, pissed at her second-rate comment. Who the hell does she think she is?
“That video is my truth and I will not take it down,” she says in a snotty voice.
“You were drunk and alluded to some sort of abuse when you know that is the farthest thing from the truth. Take it down!”
“People interpret things the way they want to,” she says casually. “I have nothing to do with what people think of you.”
“I could sue you for defamation of character, you heartless bitch!” I say, pissed.
I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation. She knows everything I went through in college. The baseless allegations made against me back then still cast a heavy shadow on my career because no matter what I do, some people will always believe that where there’s smoke, there’s fire.
“I’m hanging up now, Brick. I think I feel threatened.”
There’s a tinge of amusement in her voice, as if she’s truly enjoying playing the victim at my expense.
“Wait, Lisa–”
When she hangs up on me, I toss the phone a second time, and this time it lands in the waste bin. A few moments later it rings again and I want to ignore it, but the sound of it vibrating inside the metal trash can is driving me bat shit crazy, so I answer the call on my smart watch instead.
“What?” I answer curtly.
“Brick, it’s Joyce, and I’ve got Phillip on the line as well.”
Joyce and Phillip are my personal dynamic duo. Joyce is my publicist and Phillip is my agent. They’ve been with me almost since the very beginning, when no one thought I had a chance in hell of making the NFL.
The media dubbed me “Mr. Irrelevant” after I was the last player picked in the NFL draft. But I was determined to become very relevant in the world of sports, and with hard work and the help of these two, that’s exactly what I’ve become once I was traded from the team who was last place in the league to where I play now, with the five-time Super Bowl champion team, New York Nighthawks.
“I know who it is.”
“Based on your bitter tone, it’s obvious that you’ve seen all the chatter about your break up online?”
I waltz over to the waste bin and switch the call over to my phone.
“Do you see what they’re saying, Joyce? She’s trying to ruin me!” I explode. “A moment ago I was the rags to riches golden boy in the NFL and now they’re talking about Brick Jennings like I’m some sort of serial killer because of who I decide to date or not date.”
“Okay, first of all, I need you to stop referring to yourself in the third person. That’s weird.”
“Whatever.”
“And I realize the stories may seem a little one-sided–”
“That’s putting it mildly. I never touched that woman unless we were fucking.”
“Well, she didn’t exactly say that you physically abused her.”
“Physical, mental, whatever the fuck, I didn’t do any of it!”
As usual, Joyce is doing all the talking as Phillip sits on the phone and listens quietly. He only speaks up when asked a direct question or if we’re specifically discussing money.
“What do you think, Phillip?” I ask to see if he’s even paying attention.
There’s a pregnant pause on the line and then he asks me the most irritating question as only Phillip can.
“Why did you end things so publicly with her? Did you actually make a conscious decision to jilt her in a neighborhood coffee shop, or was that a spontaneous decision?”
“I didn’t exactly dump her,” I defend myself. “I mean, it was my idea to end things, but she didn’t seem that broken up about it. It felt like we were moving in that direction, anyway.”
“Women are always angry about being dumped,” Joyce adds. “No matter if it was inevitable or not.”
“I’m telling you, she’s faking those tears and using my past to spread believable lies about our relationship. All she seemed to care about yesterday was if I was still going to appear on her show and you should have heard how cavalier she was today. It’s like she’s a different person.”
“You spoke to her today?” Joyce asks, worried.
“Yeah, so?”
“And said what?”
“I told her to take the video down, of course.”
“And what did she say?”
“She said the video was her truth, and she wasn’t doing it. Can I sue her ass for talking to me like I’m some sort of idiot?”
“You could, but you wouldn’t win. Did you see the other video?”
“What other video?”
I sprint over to my laptop computer and type my name in the search engine to see if any other new videos come up.
“There’s footage of you both in the cafe and it looks damning.”
“There’s video?” I say incredulously, because I thought I was being extra careful about picking that place to talk.
“How many times do I have to explain this to you? You are no longer some random kid from Bucks County,” Phillip says sternly. “You’re a highly recognizable football player in New York City. There were a million other places where you could have done this privately.”
“The place doesn’t matter,” I bluster. “The bottom line is that she’s lying and now that she’s shown her hand, I see her for who she really is.”
“So you think this is all a performance? She made some pretty damning accusations in the first video like you were abusive, you cheated on her, and you used her.”
“Are you actually questioning if I’m telling you the truth?”
“Of course not, Brick. I’m just asking you the questions that everyone else is going to ask,” Joyce expertly back peddles. “This is clearly nothing but a smear campaign from a woman who’s probably embarrassed and let her emotions get the better of her. This can be fixed.”
“Great, that’s what I want to hear. So how long do you think it will take things to die down? A few days? A week?”
There’s a brief pause on the line as another call comes in.
“Wait, hold on you two.”
“Who is it?” Joyce asks.
“It’s her.”
“Don’t answer that!” They both order in unison, but I click to the other line, anyway.
“Lisa?”
“I’m coming by in an hour to get my stuff.”
Like some women who try wiggling their way into a man’s space, Lisa has conveniently left items at my apartment over our time together, which I’ve already packed up into an overnight bag in my closet. I can easily send the stuff to her by courier.
“I’ll send you your things.”
“Are you saying I can’t come by there?”
“I thought you felt threatened by me?” I retort sarcastically. “Why would you want to come by my apartment to get things I never said you could leave, anyway? Aren’t you afraid for your life?”
“So you’re going to hold my things hostage?” she asks, angrier than I’ve ever heard before. “What about my Louis Vuitton bag? That purse is worth a lot of money.”
“Since you’re so much more relevant than me, you should know not to ever wear the same thing twice, right? Go buy a new bag.”
I click back over to my call with Joyce and Phillip because they’re still holding.
“I’m back,” I say smugly, proud of myself.
“What did she say?” Joyce asks anxiously.
“She said a whole hell of a lot and none of it was good. I don’t know who I just spoke to just now. That wasn’t the woman I’ve been dating all these months.”
“They never are,” Phillip says.
“I hope you didn’t fan the flames, Brick,” Joyce warns, but I’m not concerned.
“So, what’s the game plan?” I ask them both.
“Well,” Joyce starts in an uneasy voice. “While you were on the other line, I received a text from Ben.”
Ben is the general manager of the Nighthawks, and messages from him are rarely good news for players.
“What did he want?”
“We’re thinking that this problem may take a little longer than a week or two.”
“But I pay you both to make problems like this disappear.”
“This is different. Lisa Adams is different. She’s a major influencer and right now she can do no wrong. The media loves her. The world perceives her as a woman who was hurt by the big football player with a bad reputation, so we need to be careful how we spin this.
“What did Ben say to spook you like this? Why does the team care about my love life? You saw no one telling Tom Brady how to spin his personal drama.”
“Why does every ball player compare themselves to Tom Brady?” Phillip chimes in. “You’re not Tom Brady.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” I say dispassionately. “Can’t we just get an interview with a reputable news outlet and expose her for the complete fake that she is?”
“No, that would be the worst thing you could do. Her fan base is wild. They travel in packs online and they’d figure out a way to turn anything you said publicly into something bad.”
“So, what’s the solution?” I ask, completely frustrated.
“We think you should lie low. The Hawks aren’t in the playoffs, so it’s an early offseason for you, anyway. Why don’t you take some time off? Maybe attend your friend’s wedding you mentioned a few months ago? You were concerned that you would not be able to make it, but now you can, and I think you should go. Take pictures while you’re there and put them on Instagram. Wedding photos always make people appear happy and safe.”
“Is this your idea or the Ben’s?” I ask, not liking that I’m being asked to stay quiet by a team I give everything to when I’m on the football field.
“It’s been highly suggested by the people who we’re negotiating a four year, one-hundred and ten million dollar contract with,” Phillip adds in a callous voice.
“So, this is about the money?”
“It’s always about the money.”
“I’m paid to play football, not be a role model,” I remind him.
“There’s also a personal conduct clause in every player’s contract you need to be mindful of. We don’t want to give them any excuse to negotiate lower.”
“Both of you really think this is necessary?”
“In my professional opinion, yes,” Joyce confirms.
“Okay.”
“Okay, you’ll be attending your friend’s wedding?”
After my grandmother passed away, there wasn’t much of a desire for me to return to Pennsylvania, so I haven’t seen Kyle Hudson, my best friend from childhood in years. Yet still, he’s getting married to his high school sweetheart and asked me months ago to be his best man. If our team had made the playoffs, there was no way I would’ve been able to do it, but now that we’re out, I can.
“Yes, I’ll be going.”
“Is it in Pennsylvania?”
“No, it’s a destination wedding. I’ll be staying at a resort in Turks and Caicos, but I think I’ll fly to Pennsylvania for a little while beforehand. I haven’t been home in a while.”
“Perfect, just be sure to check in with me,” Joyce advises.
“I will.”
“And Brick?” Phillip adds. “No romantic drama while you’re there, please. One scorned woman is enough and we don’t need any more problems with this contract negotiation. If we get this signed, sealed, and delivered, we all eat well for a very long time. ”
“Not to worry, dream team. I’ve learned my lesson. I may be a slow learner, but once I get it, I implement.”
Relationships are the most useless transactions ever. You meet, you get to know each other, you fuck, you fight, then you realize you never knew each other at all and finally you part.
Maybe my dead beat father is not a complete imbecile.
Humans just aren’t supposed to mate for life.