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I laugh. He is right, of course. But that seems like a million years ago now. I no longer feel like punching Colt Stackford in the face. And I am still trying to come to grips with what exactly I am feeling for him.
"I mean it," he continues. "Use your nonverbal cues to your benefit. Instead of throwing a fist or giving off some other negative cue like crossing your arms—which you are doing now, by the way—keep eye contact at all times and give off positive cues, even when you are screaming inside like you are about to burst, or like you are an angry elephant about to stampede a village."
"That feels dishonest, like shaking my head yes but internally saying no," I say.
"You are Ethan Blake, one of the greatest defensive ends in the NFL. Stop falling into unhealthy knee-jerk patterns of behavior. If you want to continue living as the darling of the league, you need to pull it together. And quick. Quite frankly, you are running out of time."
"Speaking of time, I'm having a hard time staying focused," I admit. I involuntarily slump my shoulders at this realization. Remaining focused and working hard is one of my strengths, but now it seems just out of my grasp. It is a frustrating feeling.
"That'll never do. You have to pull your head from the clouds, Ethan. Focus is key here."
If only I can describe these clouds for Larry. My head is currently locked in clouds shaped as two humans.
"You seem overwhelmed, and when you compound that with a lack of focus, the results are disastrous. 911 disastrous."
"No kidding," I say sarcastically. Is this man dramatic or what? It is not as simple as he makes it out to sound.
"And your behavior has been, well, how should I put it—"
But before he finishes his thought, I hear a sharp knock at my door and excuse myself to answer it. Standing in the doorway, I see a man in his late 30s with one of the toothiest smiles and flashiest suits I have ever seen. He greets me with a bear hug and a masculine pat on the back. His large hands make thumping sounds just below my shoulder blades. "It's good to see you," he says. "How you feeling champ?" There is something in his smile that makes him look dishonest, and I’m about to kick him about, but I hesitate, thinking how I’m supposed to be rehabilitating my image.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask instead, through gritted teeth.
“Oh, pardon me, Ethan,” Larry says as he waddles over to where I’m standing. “This is my assistant, Dave.”
I’m still a bit weirded out that Dave is so physical when he greets other men. But who am I to say anything? I let my team mate jerk me off in the locker room, right?
Dave looks at me and asks again, “How you feeling, champ?”
I wince at his usage of the word champ, but reply. "Just trying to put this shit storm behind me, man, but I'm hanging in there."
"The hell you are! You’re Ethan fucking Blake!"
"So I've heard," I say, leading him into my apartment. "Why does everyone keep saying that today?"
Dave ignores my question because Larry turns to both of us.
“Dave is an excellent strategic negotiations counsel that I’ve bring on challenging cases,” Larry says walking back to the table. “Dave, tell Ethan your take on the situation, and try not to bore us with technical lawyer bullshit.”
"You're funny,” Dave says with sarcasm. Then he turns to me. “Listen, I'm concerned about negotiating a new deal with the New York Nailers. There's no doubt in my mind that you deserve a spot on this team, but with all of this scandal, if you don't make it, it may be difficult to find you a spot on any NFL team. No one wants to touch a 'head case' as they say."
"A head case? Is that what you think of me?" I ask - a bit surprised.
"Not me man—them! The media and other franchise owners. You might be a tough sell."
I can feel the rhythm of my pulse increase, and I feel a hot wave of anger rise in my chest. I clench a fist. This is all feeling like too much to handle.
"Remember what I said about non-verbal cues," Larry says, noticing my fist and lowered
eyebrows. He is right. I need to make a more conscious effort to remain calm.
Larry opens a notebook and jots down some points. "Any other thoughts, Dave?“ he asks, and then Dave gives a giant sigh.
"Yeah, I gotta say, you've been getting a bit too much action off the field," Dave says, laughing and jabbing me in my side with his elbow. He is trying to be funny, but I really am not in the mood for jokes.
"I actually have a plan," Larry says, continuing his train of thought, and that really grabs our attention. “I’ve been talking with AJ Ledoux over at the Times.”
"What's that?" I ask. "I'm open to any ideas you have, but why are you talking to that man?"
