“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.
