Page 60 of Hell Bent
“If that’s why, they’re pretty ignorant. More than half of retired NFL players go broke.”
He stared at me. “No way.”
“Way. I guess you get used to making the big bucks and don’t make a plan. And have forty or fifty more years of lifeahead of you to spend money in, of course. That’s where it’s better not to be a superstar and not get used to it in the first place. And then there’s the TBI deal. Traumatic brain injury. How about brokeandpsychotic? Would that make you want to sign up?”
He said, “Man.”
“I know, right? Maybe we should tell Alix to run for her life.”
“So you don’t give women good presents or anything, I guess. Because then it would be all about your money, and you couldn’t tell if they were gold-diggers or not.”
“What?” I asked. “Where does this come from?”
“My mom said that you probably blew all the soccer money on women, because you never bought a house and never married anyone, just had a bunch of hot girlfriends, but that you’d probably learned your lesson now that you’ve ‘fallen down the ladder of success.’ That was before you started playing for the NFL, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I agreed. It was a comfort to realize your family held you in such high regard.
“Yeah,” Ben said. “This is a pretty nice place, I guess, but it’s still not a house. You don’t have much of a car, and Alix said that dinner we had was, like, the third time you guys had gone out. The first time was a burger place, and this one wasn’t all that fancy either. There weren’t even tablecloths or anything, so I figured …”
I said, “I didn’t blow all the money on women and I’m not doing it now, but not because they’re gold-diggers. I’m not extravagant, because that would be stupid, but I’ve had plenty of money to buy reasonable presents when necessary. And to take women out, too.” Geez, I sounded stuffy.
“Oh.” Ben considered that. “So youaregoing to get Alix a birthday present.”
“What? Of course. Whenever that comes up.”
“Dude,” Ben said, “it’s in about two weeks. January fifteenth.”
I stared at him. “How would you know that? You haven’t been getting in her wallet, have you?”
He sighed. “Maybe because she bought a bottle of wine at the grocery store and had to show her ID, and the clerk made a joke about her turning thirty and it being all downhill from there? No, I haven’t been getting in her wallet. Nice. Would I tell you if I had? No. So obviously, that isn’t how.”
“All right,” I said. “Good to know.”
“So what are you going to get her,” he asked, “that isn’t extravagant? How do you not be insulting if you’re some multi-millionaire and she’s an electrician if it’snotextravagant? What, you’re going to get her a vacuum cleaner or something? Or—hey. Here’s a good one. Welding gloves.” He was laughing. “Dude. Face it. You’re just cheap.”
“She’s not a welder, though,” I said. “So the welding gloves are out. And excuse me? I’m cheap? In what way? Do not say ‘the car.’ I like my car. It’s a hybrid. It’s environmentally conscious andextremelypractical.”
Ben rolled his eyes. I said, “Wait and see,” and stood up. And he made cheeping noises like a little baby bird.
Yes, he did. Unfortunately for my quasi-parental authority, I laughed.
I wasn’t laughingat seven o’clock Sunday morning.
I’d talked to both Alix and Ben from the hotel the night before. Ben had continued to express his low opinion of starting his school assignments with his new tutor “when the term hasn’t even started yet!”
When I’d said, “First, I’m taking you to see your mom a week from Tuesday as well as your school days being shorter, and weneed to be sure you’re keeping up. And what are you going to do otherwise, watch TV all day?” he'd answered, “Yeah, because that’s what a persondoesduring their break! It’s not like I have any friends to hang out with.” To which I’d answered, “Hence Thomas. Hanging out with youandhelping you with school.”
“Yeah,” he’d muttered, “like I’m going to be enjoying hanging out with some old guy.” Thomas was twenty-two, played Ultimate Frisbee, and was long-haired and cool. Possibly toocool for Ben, but I thought Ben was just intimidated.
My conversation with Alix had been shorter. Too short, in fact. Her answers had been nearly monosyllabic, with none of the teasing I was used to getting from her, and all kinds of alarm bells had gone off. Now, they were going off more.
“Ben will be at your game,” she was saying, “but I can’t make it.”
“What?” I said. “Of course you don’t have to come, and I know it’s early, a ten o’clock game, but …”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m getting him an Uber, and we put the app on his phone so he can get home. I’m sure he’ll be all right. He says he will. He’s?—”
“Of course he’ll be all right. What’s going on with you, though? Look, I know it’s a lot, Ben and Solange and all that, especially since you’re supposed to be on your life reboot or whatever this is, and you’re working that job. If it’s that, go on and take a big old step back. I can get Thomas to stay with him on the weekends.”
