I’d told my mom I had to grow up sometime, and sometimes, I thought I’d grown up a little too fast. Even now, I was driven by the need to do everything myself and also to care for those around me. I paid my employees well, with benefits packages they wouldn’t find anywhere else. I took care of everyone and everything around me without blinking, without balking.
I’d spent nearly as long without my dad as I’d had him, and all I wanted was for him to be proud of me. Part of that was making sure my family didn’t have to worry about anything after he’d died, especially not my mother, who was grieving deeply but still had to keep six other humans alive.
All that to say, I’d pretty much said yes to every opportunity my agent sent my way: modeling underwear, jeans, socks, tees, boots—all of which I still received promotional packages of, all of which I still wore routinely—doing commercials for sports drinks and supplements, participating in State Farm insurancecommercials for five years straight, and a slew of other things I’d rather not discuss because I was still too embarrassed to even recall them.
I’d racked up a lot of time in front of the camera in my day, had gotten quite good at playing a part, which led to brands still reaching out all these years later, wanting to work with me.
It’d been a long time since I said yes, but when my manager had passed along both of those opportunities—first, a Super Bowl commercial for NFL PLAY 60 and an ad campaign for a name brand clothing company—I knew what I had to do.
It just happened to work out that Delia wanted to go on a research trip for the bar, giving me the perfect opening to ask her to join me.
Though, when I invited her, I hadn’t expected shock as a reaction.
“You want me to come with you to New York?” she asked.
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“But why?”
“New York is an epicenter of nightlife,” I said. “What better place for us to check out some bars and lounges to see what kind of vibe we’re going for at the distillery.”
She gnawed on her bottom lip, considering. “What kind of commercial are you shooting?” she asked. “Am I allowed to be on set?”
“It’s for the NFL’s national youth health and wellness program,” I said, “and we’re shooting in Central Park.”
“But you’re retired.”
I placed a palm over my heart in mock pain. “Ouch, Whiskey. You wound me.”
She giggled and rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“I won’t be the only retired athlete participating, if that makes you feel better. There’s a decent mix of retired guys and current players. Should be a good time.”
“And what about the photoshoot?”
I named the brand, resisting the urge to nervously rub the back of my neck. “I’m not sure what exactly I’ll be modeling,” I added.
Her eyes widened. “Forget the commercial. I want to be on set forthat.”
“You can have whatever you want if you come with me.”
“Deal,” she said quickly, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Perfect. I know it’s short notice, but I have to leave tomorrow.”
“How am I supposed to get a flight that fast?”
“Don’t worry about anything, Delia,” I assured her. “Just show up at the TC airport at ten tomorrow morning, and I’ll have everything taken care of.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Yes!” she shouted at my back as I left. “That’s exactly why I asked!”
My only response was to tip my head back and laugh.
Keeping her in the dark on our travel plans was made worth it when she pulled up the next morning and stepped out of her Jeep, jaw dropping comically.
