Chapter 4

"I mean it kid you gotta get some more suits. I can't have you appearing anymore in the same suit and tie."

"I've only worn it twice though."

"Yeah, once on ESPN tonight, and once on Fox Sports after you got drafted."

Shane and his agent, Frank Gerrard, were having a discussion about Shane's choice of clothing for his ESPN appearance. Thinking nothing of it, Shane had put his suit on; his only suit. Frank had spotted it in an instant as the same suit he'd worn on Fox just after the draft. It was a nice suit, Shane thought. According to Frank that didn't matter, in Frank's eyes he should change something every time.

It hadn't been bad enough that when he got up for training Tom was waiting with an evil smile, and a stack of weights. It hadn't been bad enough that the coaches had demanded that he do double duty studying the Chicago defense for the game Monday night, and studying the Chicago offense so he could emulate their quarterback in practice. No, it wasn't even bad enough that he'd spent more than five hours in an ESPN studio being accosted by the crew and fans there just so they could ask him four questions in front of a camera. Frank still had to call and tell him he hadn't dressed right. Shane felt like a thirteen year old.

Navigating his way through Manhattan in his old truck, his blue tie now loose around his collar, and his jacket sitting in the passenger seat, Shane peered through the windshield trying to find his way off the island and back to the training center. Tom's directions were crammed into the dash board along with his phone. Frank's voice warbled though its speaker as Shane drove.

"Look kid," Frank said. He sounded exasperated with the whole talk. "I wrote your contract, I work with your accountant. You need to loosen your opinion of money."

"It's not about the money Frank." But it was. Shane worried daily about his future as a professional athlete. It was only with Dozer's help in Orlando and a rejuvenated approach in New York that he didn't carry that concern onto the field. Since becoming a millionaire, the most money he'd spent was on a deposit for an apartment that he would move into tomorrow, assuming the keys had arrived like Valerie said they would.

"Don't give me that shit," Frank said. "I'll bet you're in that beat up truck instead of a cab right now, because you didn't want to spend the cash."

"Hey," Shane said. "I like this truck, and I don't have to be an idiot just because I'm a millionaire."

"Nope," Frank said. "You don't have to be poor either."

Holding a grudge, Shane agreed to look for another suit. Frank wanted him to buy a half dozen. Picking his way through a city that was still foreign to him, he was glad it was after nine P.M., and that traffic wasn't frightening. An inspiration hit him as he finally found the street he was supposed to be on, and he flipped his phone open at the next light. It was answered on the third ring.

"Ohio," Valerie said over the line. "Did your key not fit?"

"I dunno," Shane replied. "I've been at ESPN all damn afternoon and evening."

"All afternoon and evening, how long were you on camera?" Shane could hear the whimsical tone of her amusement.

"You know exactly what happened don't you?"

"I can guess," she said. A giggle came over the phone. "Let me guess ... you got there at least two hours before they needed you, sat in a makeup chair for forty minutes. They offered you bottled water and hors d'oeuvres instead of a real meal, and when it was all said and done you were behind camera for less than five minutes. TO make it all worse, the entire crew hunted you down begging for an autograph while you were trying to leave."

"Yeah, that was about it." Shane sighed. She'd even gotten the autograph part right. "I wasn't calling you about the key though; I have a question for you."

"Goody, Is it about property or my plans after you move into your apartment?"

"Uh, no."

"Well, I'm sure I can come up with some excitement about another subject, what do you need?"

"According to my agent, I need suits." Shane was beginning to feel two feet tall. Not knowing what had made him think asking Valerie was a brilliant idea, he stuck it out. "He says I need variety."

"How many suits do you have?" Prepared to change the subject if she was amused by his question, he was unprepared for her flat question. Mild interest was all he heard from her. No disdain or amusement.

"Well," Shane said. "Just the one."

"He's right," Valerie said. "You're going to need at least three or four. Daddy has an entire closet of suits."

"Ok ... so I'll go buy a suit."

"You knew that already didn't you?"

"Yeah," Shane said. "I wanted to ask you how to do it low key. After Applebee's and the ESPN experience, I don't want to just walk into Macys."

"Oh god no," Valerie snorted. "Macys is the lowest place I would consider, and only if you called ahead and got a personal appointment set up first."

"A shopping appointment?" It didn't seem realistic to Shane.

"Yeah, but forget about Macys," Valerie said. Shane could hear her clicking her nails in thought. "I think Daddy uses Brooks Brothers, but you'd be just as well at Barneys."

"Ok," Shane said. "I'll head there after practice tomorrow."

"Take a cab," Valerie said. She was realizing that without the full rundown, he'd have an uncomfortable time. "And call ahead, ask for the concierge. Tell them who you are, what time you'll show up, and what you'll be looking for."

While she was giving him the plan, he turned into the parking lot at the training center. In the middle of her speech, he switched the phone off of speaker, and plucked his jacket off the passenger seat on his way out of the truck.

"By the time you get there, the concierge will have a personal shopper assigned to you with several suit selections already figured out," Valerie said.

"Thanks," he said. "I probably would have just walked into a department store if I hadn't thought to call you first."

"Hey, I can handle shopping anytime," she said, and then pushed forward. "Do you want me to come?'

"Nah, I want to do it myself."

"Ok, but you know you're about to spend a good chunk of money on these clothes right?"

"What's a 'good chunk of money' then?"

"A single suit will probably run you one to two grand."

Shane choked, and thought he could feel a small part of his mind implode. The suit he was wearing only ran him three hundred.

"Of course you'll need ties and shirts, and then there's the shoes."

"Uh, I just got back to the training center," Shane said. He wasn't feeling well all of a sudden. "I better let you go so I can find those keys."

"Ok Ohio, good luck tomorrow." Thinking he could hear her laughter as she hung up, Shane closed his phone.

Once again, Tom was the only one in the building when he got inside. The smaller man was sitting in the lounge watching ESPN and eating from a large bag of Cheetos. Without saying a word, he jerked his thumb over his head and pointed at the kitchenette. On the counter was a manila envelope and a large greenish milkshake looking drink. Sighing, Shane took a sip of what he knew was his protein supplement. It tasted just as bad as it looked.

"What's up Tom?" Shane sat into a couch with a heavy thump. The green shake was still clutched in his left hand. He decided to take the largest drinks he could handle just to make it go down faster.

"Saw your interview on ESPN," Tom said.

"Yeah, that was weird."

"Kinda felt like you were a different person I bet."

"Sorta, felt like I was in someone else's shoes for a while."

Together they watched ESPN, and vegetated. Shane's muscles were sore from the workout, his brain was sore from the interview process, and his ears were sore from listening to Frank Gerrard tell him he was dressed wrong.

ESPN was showing a NFL season preview, commentators were discussing the coming season and all the interesting matchups it held. Shane wasn't interested in much of it. His main concern was New York's schedule. He did perk up when the show turned to the rookie prospects of the year were discussed.

"Rookie quarterback Shane Ellsworth," the announcer said. "Who's been traded to New York, has shown quite a bit of promise with the Liberty."

"Absolutely," the other announcer, a former quarterback himself, said. "Word on the street was that Ellsworth wasn't fitting in down in Orlando, and seems to have corrected himself in New York."

"For purposes of our discussion this evening though, Ellsworth should have little effect on his team in the upcoming season."

"For sure, as hot as his star will rise, he's got at least a season of clipboards and team meetings before we expect to see him in much action."

"Ok then," the original announcer said. "Moving on, how about Jamal Taylor. Coming out of Michigan? This former Wolverine cornerback out ran his entire team in training camp, and brings blazing speed to Carolina's aging defense."

"Taylor has his work cut out for him. He's on a defense whose members are ancient by NFL standards. If the rumor mill is to be believed, this kid better play for many years at the rate he's going."

"Yeah, without a doubt, Taylor's skills need to live up to the hype, because apparently he's already bought a nine thousand square foot house in Charlotte, and got his mother a home back in the Detroit suburbs."

"Nine thousand square feet? That's almost as big as your place huh Tim?"

Having enough of the show, Shane stood up and made for his bed. The last inch of shake in his cup went down with a shudder before he dropped it in the sink on his way. He remembered playing against Jamal Taylor. They'd only been competitors for two years. It looked like Jamal had dropped out after his sophomore season. A nine thousand square foot house had probably cost him most of his signing bonus money.

Shane had a lot to contemplate. He was concerned about spending money on a suit, and Jamal was dropping major coin on a house that was four times what he needed. By comparison, Shane hadn't spent anything. Not anything significant anyway. He went to sleep wondering how Jamal's decisions would work. He decided to ask his accountant during the break at practice.

The morning practice was brutal, they ran positions and drilled against the plays they thought Chicago would run from last season, based on their success with them, and then they had offensive meetings. Each starter from Chicago was evaluated, each member of the offense added in their thoughts on the opposition. By noon, Shane was dying for the break, and eager to eat, relax, and call his accountant and the concierge at Barneys like Valerie had suggested. Then he'd have to meet Tom the taskmaster in the weight room.

"Donald, it's Shane Ellsworth," Shane said into the phone. He was lying on his bed after lunch, and still had a good hour before Tom was scheduled to destroy his upper body. "I was hoping you'd have time for some questions."

"Ok Shane," Donald said. He'd been recommended by the Players Association, which meant that he was probably reliable and trustworthy. "I've got a few minutes, what's up?"

"Should I buy a house?"

"Technically, your tax situation would benefit from a mortgage," Donald said. "A home mortgage is a great debt to have; you build credit, build equity with your payments instead of just picking up rent receipts, and you get a tax cut on any interest you pay."

"So how do I do it?"

Donald went on to explain to Shane that he should just get a realtor he liked, find a home he wanted, and give Donald the realtor's phone number at that point. Kind enough to take the time, Donald went on to explain that his services included bill and account management for wealthy customer. Shane counted as a wealthy customer.

Before he hung up, Shane ended up giving Donald his new address, and the accountant assured him that the power, water, and other monthly bills would be handled from his office. It was surprising to Shane who grew up watching his Mom and Dad spend an hour every Tuesday night massaging the Ellsworth family bank account.

"So," Shane said. "I'm supposed to buy some suits tonight."

"Perfect Shane," Donald said. His voice was encouraging, but Shane felt like the pool he'd stepped in got deeper and deeper. "Since you're a contractor to the Team, most of the things you pay out of pocket for are also deductible."

"So buying an expensive suit is good for my taxes?"

"Sounds kinda wrong doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

"It doesn't feel right," Donald said. "But think of it like this, you wouldn't own a suit to play football, so you own one because the team requires that you make all appearances or travel for team business in one ... therefore it's a business expense."

"Cool," Shane said. His life was complicated, but the perks were looking nice. "I'll buy several then, and not feel bad about it."

"Buy a big truck too, same as the clothes, if you use it to get to practices, I can use it as a write off. Just like the house, go find one, and call me."

The conversation died a minute later and Shane ended the call, and dialed information. When a sexy sounding operator asked him 'What number' he told her Barneys, and waited. A natty sounding man answered, and Shane confirmed that he was the concierge.

When Shane introduced himself over the phone, Andre, the concierge, became much more helpful. Eager to get Shane into the store he set up an appointment with Shane for later that evening. Shane would have to haul his things to his new apartment first, but he only had the two duffel bags he'd brought from Orlando and one box of things that were shipped to him from his old apartment.

"I packed all my stuff up for whenever we're leaving." Tom had been waiting for him at the door when he got to the weight room.

"I guess we'll move out there when we're done today," Shane said.

"Cool," Tom said, then pulled the door open with a flourish. "Let's do this."

Leonard Washington and the rest of the offensive line were already in the room.

"Oh the rookie came to play," Washington said. He was wearing a team tee that was drenched in sweat, and the rest of his line men came to linger as Shane and Tom entered.

"Find a flat bench, and I'll hook up the chains." Tom was pulling a Rubbermaid container from the corner of the wall. Using a hand dolly, he maneuvered it to the bench where Shane laid his towel. The linemen followed.

"I didn't know you guys in training had to chain the quarterbacks to the benches." Laughter followed Leonard's remark, but everyone, including Leonard was watching with an interesting eye. Tom was known to be smart, and if he was putting his brains into weight lifting, the linemen were interested.

"Louie Simmons squats over nine hundred, benches six hundred, and dead lifts more than seven hundred," Tom said. He was setting the bench press up for Shane's regular two hundred and twenty five pounds. "Chain dragging is one of his methods, as Shane presses, the bar rises like normal. Only now he picks up the chains as he lifts, which raises the weight. He'll start at about two hundred thirty pounds, but by the time he gets his arms extended, he's pushing two forty."

"So this Louie guy can throw weight," Leonard said. It was clear that he was interested, and skeptical.

"Yep," Tom said. He had one chain clipped to Shane's bar, and was moving to the other side to attaché a second chain. "He's a serious power lifter, competes around the world and is no less of an athlete than football players. Plus he's a fifty year old dude."

More than a few faces showed respect when Tom mentioned the age of Louie Simmons. As much as Shane wanted them to leave, the linemen circled his bench and watched as he struggled hard to get through Tom's workout. Even with the exercises torturing Shane in brand new ways the workout proved difficult, because Tom's techniques had upset the entire room. Linemen were following Shane and Tom from station to station asking Tom questions about Louie Simmons, and all the ideas Tom had.

"Tom, I want you to do my routine," Leonard Washington said. Everyone else had left the room when Shane collapsed after the last set. Shane was sprawled on the floor. Tom was pulling on his arms. Wrenching them over his head, Tom said it would prevent the acids from building up in his muscles too much.

"I don't think the coaches will let me mess with you Leonard," Tom said as Shane sat back up. "They don't like the starters messing around too much with their workouts."

"So put something together for the line. Get the backups busting their asses, and perfect it so I can do it in the off season. I'm not getting younger and faster, but I know you can make me stronger."

"You're only thirty two Leonard," Tom said. "I can make you faster."

"I'm talking to Coach and Greg." Leonard left to find the Reed Franklin or the head trainer, Greg Hamilton, without another word.

"You better make sure you have all your notes together." Shane was standing back up and toweling off.

"Think they're going to want to meet with me?" Tom loved the environment of the team, but not being one of the players, he still didn't quite grasp their mentality.

'You got the entire offensive line thinking they can be stronger," Shane said. "They're going to want to talk about that about five seconds after Leonard finds them."

"I need go get my books." Tom left Shane alone in the weight room holding a towel.

Having time to catch a shower before he was supposed to be anywhere, he got rinsed off. Knowing it would be there, and that he needed it, he retrieved his post workout protein shake from the training fridge. It was a milky brown concoction. Sighing, Shane put the drink to his lips, and took in the first sip. It was chocolate, not good chocolate, but not the green swill from the night before either.

The next time he saw Tom, he was hauling a cart full of notebooks down the hall. Shane was just finishing up watching some game tape of Chicago when he saw the slender man and his pile of literature.

"What's that?"

"Coach is willing to let me work on routines for anyone whose average play time is expected to be less than ten plays."

"So you're the workout bitch now?"

"If I can get one in ten to improve," Tom said. "I'll get a permanent position."

"Hey, that's great," Shane clapped Tom on the shoulder. "One step closer right?"

"Yeah," Tom said. Stress etched his face. "They wanted to ream me for blindsiding them with this. I told them I was just answering questions. If I hadn't had all my notes about power lifting and nutrition, I think they'd have just kicked me out."

"But they didn't."

"Yeah, now I have to work up routines for twenty players by next Tuesday. Mr. Hamilton has to approve them all, and I have to make every weight room session personally if he approves."

"Don't act like you're not excited."

"I'm totally wacked out of my head," Tom said. His face was flush from the thrill of breaking through. "And I'm terrified of screwing it all up."

"Welcome to my world."

They left the training facility by four P.M. All of their things were packed into Shane's truck. Neither man had much to pack, mostly clothes. Tom's notebooks took up more room than anything else.

Just as it was supposed to, the gate at the new apartment slid open after Shane waved the electronic parking pass over the sensor. Tom was quiet as they pulled into Shane's parking space. The old truck was wedged between a Jaguar and a new BMW. Able to get all of their things into the elevator, they only made the one trip. Tom then spent ten minutes wandering the apartment getting used to the place.