Page 1 of Keeping Busy
Maddox
1
How the hell did my life get here?I whispered to myself, looking up at the ornate cathedral ceiling. I thought about the last few months, and shook my head. The truth was that I only had myself to blame. I was the one who latched onto Ainsley, even though I knew that she didn’t have a damn thing going for herself and was only with me because I’m Maddox Mayhew. I was the one who repeatedly made bad decisions where she was concerned. I was the one who was out of control on June 21st -the one who drank until I passed out and didn’t hear the shit that was happening right under my nose.
Of course I never expected Ainsley to be my downfall, she was just something to do for a minute. I never expected her to have another dude in my house. I never expected them to be getting high, and having sex in my house. And I definitely didn’t expect her to blame me, when he flipped out and beat her ass in my house. Then I was arrested in my own house, removed from my own house, and charged with assault and battery from an event that took place in my own house.
If it hadn’t been for the cameras from the extensive security system I’d installed capturing the whole shit and vindicating me, I would have lost everything. My career. My livelihood. My future. My reputation. My name.
As it was, I still took a hit. While it took mere hours for the story about me being arrested and held for assault and battery against Ainsley Neuberg to hit the media, it took two days for my team to get my security footage to Ainsley’s team, and even longer for her to recant the story and clear my name. Normally, the media isn’t even pressed about what football players are into during the off-season, but leave it to me and my fuck ups to draw all kinds of unwanted attention. Especially the attention that I caught from several women’s groups calling for the Leopards to release me, and seriously threatening my endorsement deals.
It didn’t help my cause at all, that even after she recanted her lie, Ainsley went on every talk show, podcast, blog or vlog that would have her. She accused me of having been abusive during our entire time together. Not physically abusive, needless to say, but mentally, emotionally and verbally abusive, which of course drove her to take drugs and sleep with other men. I had to threaten to take legal action against her to get her crazy, attention-seeking ass to stand down. It was a shit show.
And while her stories were obviously untrue, I still felt like the consensus was, “that’s what I got for messing around with a white chick. A black man should know better.” My reputation was in the toilet, and I was coming into my last season under the current contract, not turning shit around and quickly didn’t bode well for my prospects as an unrestricted free-agent. The only thing that I had going for me was the numbers I posted last season. All good. Voted back to the Pro-Bowl for the seventh time, nominated for the Art Rooney Award - I had a good season. But the shenanigans with Ainsley did take a toll.
Luckily, my professional team was loyal. My agent, Ayana Truesdale, who I referred to as “True” was definitely loyal to me, even though she was disappointed in me for “taking up with Ainsley’s ass” in the first place. My attorney, Brandon, was loyal, but he didn’t have a choice, since 1; he’s my younger brother and 2; I paid for him to get the law degree. And finally, my sports management team stuck with me. Sydnie Whitmore was my rep, and she knew her shit. Things were going to turn around for me, I just had to figure out how to be patient while they did.
At the moment, I was sitting in church. I planned to be patient, but a little divine intervention never hurt. It wasn’t Sunday morning or anything. Actually, it was a Tuesday afternoon and I was sitting in a pew at St. Phillip Neri Catholic church on the South Side of Chicago. It wasn’t my “home” church, but I had grown up a few blocks away. I was actually raised at (read: forced to attend by my grandmother) Fellowship Baptist Church, but when my grandmother needed a hit of Jesus during the mid-week, she wasn’t too proud to walk down to the local Catholic church and say her prayers, believing that we had different ways of doing so, but we all served the same Jesus.
“Lord,” I began the prayer, having no idea where it would end up, “I know I’ve been doing things the “Maddox” way and fuck...messing them up. But I want to try to walk with you, Man. I just need you to show me that you’re walking with me. Amen.” I crossed myself in the name of the father, the son, and the Holy Spirit, having no idea why I was doing it, except that was what my grandmother had always done, then stood up. I walked over to where they kept the candles, placed a few bills in the donation box, then lit a candle for my grandmother (God rest her soul), one for the homeless, and one for the helpless, then I headed back to my grandmother’s house. True was flying into Chicago to meet with me, and she was bringing Sydnie Whitmore with her. It was time to take action.
Sydnie Whitmore was impressive as hell. As far as I was concerned, it would be hard for me to do better. She double majored at Walker University, earning degrees in both Economics and Communication & Media. She was educated, highly skilled and had mastered the art of the “spin.”
“Look, Maddox.” She said to me, her serious brown eyes piercing mine. “Let’s be real. It’s not just the clusterfuck that happened on your premises the night of June 21st that has affected your reputation and cachet. It was the bar brawl that…”
“That wasn’t a brawl.” I muttered.
“Stop being an asshole and listen to her Maddox. You pulled both of us away from sunny California to finish cleaning up your shit before training camp. Stop being an asshole.” True chastised.
“It’s sunny here, too, True.” I couldn’t help pointing out, just to mess with her.
She ignored me. Well, actually she rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, but then she ignored me.
Technically, True worked for me, but if you viewed our dynamic, it would be hard to tell. True was a mother figure in my life. She treated me, and talked to me the same way she talked to her own son, who was also in the league and was one of my closest dudes. She fought for me, like she fought for him, too. Pulled my coat-tail, and praised me the same, as well. She was a mama bear and a pit bull in a skirt. I hired her on draft day. There was never a doubt in my mind that she would be my agent. She was willing to and capable of moving mountains for her clients.
I turned my gaze back to Sydnie. She was a pretty girl. Skin the color of dark chocolate, creamy and smooth. She wore her naturally curly hair wild and loose in a huge afro. Her eyes were dark brown, and intelligent. She didn’t miss much.
“What were you saying?” I asked her.
“What has affected your reputation was the bar brawl that happened, allegedly because a patron got a little too friendly with Ainsley Neuberg. Then there was the car accident, and the rumors about you being drunk when it happened...with Ainsley in the truck. Then there was the time that you climbed into Buckingham Fountain with her to…”
“Which was the dumbest shit ever.” True cut in. “How are you gonna disrespect your hometown like that, Busy?”
She called me by my childhood nickname, but that didn’t really soften the blow. “Come on, True. You know I would never disrespect Chicago like that. I wasn’t trying to climb into Buckingham Fountain. Who the fuck tries to climb into Buckingham Fountain?”
“I don’t know. But your ass was in there. With...her.”
Nobody hated Ainsley Neuberg more than Ayana Truesdale. If Ainsley ever ended up missing, I would already know who to suspect.
“I was trying to get her dumb ass out.” I defended myself.
“Maybe if you weren’t drunk, you would’ve known that getting in there yourself was dumb as hell.” She eyed me meanly, but I knew it was all love. “Do I need to find a 12 step program for you, Busy? Tell me now, while we’re in the off season, and still have a few weeks before training camp.”
“I’m good.” I assured her. “I’m not drinking. I don’t even wanna think about drinking.”
She softened her glare. “Look, I know this is about your grandmother, I know it is. Her death has been...devastating for every member of your family.”
I wanted to tune her out, because the last thing I wanted to do was talk about my grandmother, but I didn’t. I needed to man-up and stop wallowing in my self-pity.
