Page 45 of Faking the Pass
My older brother had given up what would have no doubt been a stellar, record-breaking NFL career to join the military and become a SEAL. He’d done things the rest of us couldn’t even dream of doing—things that really mattered in the world but didn’t exactly make you a household name.
Wilder stepped forward and took the camera. “No problem. Okay everyone, say ‘Cheese.’”
After taking a couple of shots for the guy, he obligingly took a few more with the man’s friends who’d stepped into the frame.
After the group departed, Wilder and Jessica excused themselves and headed for the dance floor.
I watched them for a few minutes as they moved to the music and smiled into each other’s eyes.
He didn’t seem bothered in the least by the slight, but I was battling an overpowering sense of shame. My dad was right—Wilder was the one who deserved admiration and fandom.
Life truly wasn’t fair.
Rosie tapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”
I shook my head. “Yeah. Yeah, perfect. How are you? Want another glass of champagne?”
“Maybe in a little while,” she said.
Concern painted her face. “What happened? Why do you look like someone ran over your favorite record album in a Hummer—twice?”
For a second I thought about just brushing her off with a lie. And then I didn’t.
“It burns me when people get all excited about meeting me and treat Wilder like he’s a nobody. People should be falling all over themselves to take pictures with him .”
“Oh.” She blinked, obviously surprised by my answer. “I agree, but it’s just the way things are. You’re famous, Pres. You’re a star quarterback and have been for the past twelve years.”
She glanced over at the dance floor. “Wilder seems fine.”
“Yeah, I know, I know. It’s just… when people do stuff like that, it just shines a spotlight on the difference between us.”
Repeating our father’s words, I said, “He’s the real hero.”
Rosie studied my face for a few moments before speaking. “There’s more than one way to be a hero you know.”
She reached out and took my hands, drawing them to her midsection.
“I know you’ve inspired countless little boys to work hard and follow their dreams. And I’ve seen your teammates in post-game interviews. They rave about you. They admire you so much and consider you a great leader.”
Squeezing my hands, she said, “And you’ll always be a hero in my eyes for the way you rescued me from my humiliating situation and took care of me when I was sick. And you came here with me tonight wearing that obscene outfit and answered questions when I didn’t want to.”
She paused before adding, “Presley, you’re every bit the man your brother is.”
She was dead wrong about that, but seeing the tears shining in her eyes put a massive lump in my throat. And I appreciated her trying to make me feel better.
“Yeah, well…” I looked away, uncomfortable with the surge of emotion her words had elicited.
That’s when I spotted Elka Herwin.
“I just saw someone you have to meet,” I said and grabbed Rosie’s hand, beginning to walk toward the Oscar-winning director.
Elka was still riding high off the past year’s triumph with her original script, turning an iconic leggy, blonde doll’s history into brilliant social commentary that was also entertaining enough to have reached blockbuster summer movie status.
Even I had gone to see it, and I’d never played with the doll.
Before that, she’d directed a historical fiction film I’d seen and loved. It had been critically acclaimed but not a huge box office success.
Now though, Elka basically had a blank check to direct any project she wanted to write or adapt.
And I wanted her to meet Rosie.
As soon as she realized where we were heading, Rosie dug in her heels. “No. I can’t. She’s too intimidating.”
“Why? Because she’s done good work? So have you, Rosie.”
She shook her head back and forth. “No. Not like her. She’s on a whole different level. Randy said I don’t have the ‘necessary intellect or gravitas’ to work on films like hers.”
“We’ve already determined Randy is full of shit, right?”
Pulling her by the hand, I started moving again, but Rosie stayed put. I turned back to face her.
“People level up all the time. And it’s always scary. Trust me, you’ll be sorry if you pass up this chance.”
Finally, Rosie nodded her head and started walking beside me willingly, but she looked terrified.
This was Randy’s fault.
I could have wrung his skinny neck for contributing to Rosie’s doubts about her abilities and intelligence, for crushing her self-confidence.
She was beyond worthy of serious roles and Oscar-contending films.
Before we reached her, Elka turned and spotted us. She gave us a big smile and started walking in our direction.
“Congratulations on your wedding,” she said. “I think I’ve watched that video a hundred times—now that was romantic.”
“Thank you so much,” I said then looked over at Rosie who seemed to be struggling to breathe.
I stuck out my hand. “Great to meet you Ms. Herwin.”
“Oh, please call me Elka. Great to meet you, Presley,” she said. “And Rosie, it’s good to finally meet you, too. I saw you in a play in L.A. once. I was very impressed.”
Rosie’s eyes bulged. “You did? Wow, thank you. I admire your work so much, especially Love and the Philosopher .”
I didn’t even know until right now that she’d seen it and loved it too. Of course she had. The woman was my soulmate.
Elka laughed. “Oh, so you’re the one who saw it? Thank you. I’m very proud of that little film. I love historical fiction.”
“Oh me too,” Rosie said.
Seeing an opportunity, I said, “You should do an adaptation of Miss Marjoribanks by Margaret Oliphant. Rosie knows the main character better than the author did. She’s read that book a thousand times.”
“Really?” Elka said. “I’ve read some of Oliphant’s books, but I haven’t read that one. I’ll pick up a copy.”
“It’s wonderful. Presley’s read it as well,” Rosie said. ‘He’s quite a fan.”
“That must be what connected you two,” Elka said. “A mutual love of obscure literature.”
“Something like that,” Rosie said, looking abashed at the lie.
That’s when I decided it was time for some truth.
The whole truth.