My day with Burrow passed in a few hours and predictably, I hadn't met Elena's quota; I barely scratched the surface. I reported to her desk the following day anyway, ready to tell her that Burrow's schedule ended sooner than I thought it would and I wasn't about to follow him back to his place where he would be getting his much deserved rest. After the conversation I'd had with Burrow yesterday, I was injected with a kind of confidence as I walked through the door of the headquarters and into the PR department, sitting at my desk. I pulled out my camera, plugged in the memory card reader to my computer, and began sifting through my photos.
I was halfway to her quota at least, and maybe that would be enough to placate her. I landed on that cover-boy photo of Burrow giving the camera a candid smile right before a pass when, in perfect timing, Elena came by and poked her nose into my computer. "Oh my gosh, look at him!" She cooed. That photo alone, I'd hoped, should send his fan base to mania. "He's so adorable. I trust you have 199 other photos that look exactly like this, Avery?"
"Not quite," I said, swiveling in my chair to face her, my shift in position forcing her to take a step back and look down at me. She folded her arms over her chest expectantly. "I didn't have as much time with him as I wanted, and he's not at headquarters today, so..." I hoped it would end there; the thing I didn't like most about taking photographs of other people was that I didn't want to be invasive. I didn't have that natural inconspicuous trait that most other photographers who took pictures of people had. My mom always told me she painted scenery because she didn't have to worry about the trees moving out of place.
Elena huffed and thought for a moment, her expression curling downward in defeat. I had half a mind she was going to fire my ass right there — she was unpredictable that way — but instead, she lit up. "Genius! Avery, you're a genius." She clapped her hands. "Ever since Joe Burrow came on the scene, he's been the object of so many female fans' attention. I bet they want to get to know him more, and meet the guy under the helmet."
I narrowed my eyes, anxious to hear where she was going with this.
She continued, "Think of it this way. Don't we all want to know what our favorite actors, musicians, athletes are doing in their downtime? It's the reason why so many people tuned in to watch Keeping Up With the Kardashians." Wearing a maniacal grin, she dropped her hands on my shoulders. "'On the Prowl: A Day With Cincinnati's New Favorite Bengal.'"
I visibly grimaced, not liking the idea at all. As much as I liked trash reality television, there was something about exploiting Burrow for views that sat poorly in my stomach. I supposed this put all of my guilty pleasure binge watching into perspective. She took my immediate silence as a segue into her next words; she looked me up and down before lifting her chin up.
"Don't think you're going to let someone else pick up your slack just because you came up with a good idea, Avery," she said, tone a warning. "I expect you to deliver the rest of the photos by the end of tomorrow, or else. I'll make the arrangements with Burrow's agent. As for the photos you have now... Edit and post them accordingly."
All that without so much as a 'Thank you.' I held back my sigh and swiveled back to face my computer, already hearing her walk away as her heels clacked against even the carpet. "Aye aye, captain," I muttered.
I only got as far as uploading my photos onto my computer before an iced matcha latte was set right beside me at my desk. I grinned; now this was the kind of morning greeting I needed. Looking over my shoulder, I watched as Spencer circled around me and onto the other side of our shared cubicle to sit at his own computer.
"Good morning, Spence," I said, taking the straw of my latte in my fingers and cheekily taking a sip. "How did you know?"
"Well, after what happened yesterday, I just had a feeling you needed a pick-me-up," he said, exhaling sharply through a small 'O' he'd made with his lips before his face disappeared behind his monitor.
My expression dipped a bit. "What do you mean?" Had Burrow told everyone about what my dad did? Suddenly, the matcha latte tasted bitter.
Spencer jutted his head out to knit his brows at me, looking confused. "I just mean you had to hang out with Burrow all day and you must have been bored," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "But now that I think about it, you should have brought me an iced coffee — the rest of us had to switch off between, like, two or three groups of players."
I was relieved that Burrow had seemed to keep my embarrassment a secret after all, at least from people who were in my circle. I supposed if he had told anyone in the locker room, I wouldn't care so much — it's not like the players could point me out in a room of the entire office — but I wouldn't have been as thrilled if me being single and my dad trying to set me up with NFL players was known by someone like Trish.
"I'm not that lucky," I said, sighing and beginning to sift through the photos. "I've gotta follow Burrow around for some little psycho guinea pig project that Elena assigned me."
"You're going to do what?"
Here's the reason why I didn't want Trish hearing the rumor about me being single and looking for an NFL boyfriend: She was obsessively in love with Burrow and had not looked at me the same after I took that shot of him arriving at the AFC Championship game. When we first met, she and I actually clicked — she and Spencer were good acquaintances, both studying journalism at our same school. Anyone who was friends with Spencer was good and right in my book. Trish studied social media marketing and going viral was supposed to be her thing; I hated that she thought I was stealing her thunder, because I definitely only wanted her to shine.
So the viral photo was the first strike in her eyes. Hearing about my new assignment following Burrow around? That would be the second strike. I cleared my throat and gave her a friendly smile. "Well, Elena wasn't satisfied with the pics I took of Burrow yesterday, so tomorrow she wants me to follow him around and see what he does when he's not at headquarters."
She glared at me and didn't bother hiding it. "Really? Don't you think that sounds more like something for Instagram stories?" Her responsibility.
I shrugged my shoulders.
"It sounds like it would be. Maybe we'll be working together tomorrow, then, and she just hasn't told you."
She seemed to take this as patronizing and scoffed, heading to her own desk and practically slamming her things down before taking a seat.
Spencer and I exchanged looks.
"Don't feel too bad," Spencer whispered to me. "You know she just really, really likes Joe."
I came to wonder if she knew anything about his personality or was one of those girls who just liked his looks, though I realized it didn't matter if I was just hurting her. She had every right to be territorial, for the more I thought about it, the more it made sense for this assignment to be on-the-scene coverage instead of uploading pictures of Burrow's day after the fact. There was nothing I could do, though; I had the feeling that if I opposed Elena one more time, she would actually fire me, and I needed at least a few more months here to pay off the majority of my student loans. Given that all three of us went to the same pricey school, Trish must have realized she wanted to keep her job, too. Feeling defeated, I laser-focused on my work to make time go by, making the mental note to apologize to Trish when the situation had diffused.
Like most artists, I agonized over my work, and a deadline didn't make things any easier for me. When I took photos of scenery and came home to edit them, I often found myself wishing one detail from one photo was in another missing it and vice versa. I got that perfectionist trait from my mom who rolled her eyes every time my dad threw caution to the wind over most things. One thing I would say about my dad, though, was when it came to coaching, he was just about as meticulous; it was a hidden trait of his that I bet went unnoticed a lot of time by my mom. At least Burrow was photogenic, which softened the blow of the otherwise grueling editing process.
A photo Burrow had taken of me popped up and I almost forgot he snapped it in the middle of us passing back and forth yesterday. I winced at myself on the other side of the lens, but technically speaking, I noticed his eye for composition. The photo had a very raw quality to it, capturing my casual tosses of the ball in the snow as if it was just like any other day at the park. He had even caught a picture of me smiling in his direction, even if it was a little blurry — he must have just snapped it right before catching the ball.
Then, the photo of him and his teammates on the way to the cafeteria. I turned that one black and white and was, for once, satisfied with the way it looked. The lack of color provided more dimension and contrast to the photo than it had before. It wasn't my assignment — just a photo I'd taken out of the blue — and it was among my favorite ones.
Before I knew it, the day of work was over.
-
"Hey, Shot Caller,"
A familiar voice and name pulled me out of focus as I was kneeling down, taking an up-close shot of morning dew on an evergreen tree near the outside perimeter of the Bengals outdoor practice field. I pulled my lens down and looked over my shoulder to see Burrow, the subject of my new assignment. I flashed him a soft smile before turning my attention back down to my photograph, muttering from behind my lens, "Morning, Burrow."
"Did I interrupt you?" He seemed to not have realized I was taking photos.
"Oh, no, not at all," I said, standing up and packing my camera back up in my bag. I brought larger gear than usual, knowing I was in for a day. It was already a pain in the neck (and back, for that) to carry everything, though after a while, I knew the heaviness would fade away. "I was just testing out the camera. You guys have such fancy ones here, I couldn't help myself."
"That is bigger than the one you had the other day," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm glad they're giving you guys good stuff to work with."
"It's the one nice thing about Elena. She really knows how to rally for more resources for the PR department." A half-hearted chuckle left my lips. "So, she told you what we would be up to today, right?"
"I would be having a pesky but cute photographer following me around all day, yes." The words came from his mouth casually as if he expected me to completely disregard what he'd just called me. Pesky? Fine. Cute?
He continued, "My agent gave me a rundown. Luckily for you I had more planned today than just playing video games, but don't be surprised if we end up doing that at the end of all this."
I didn't know how someone of his status, with so much pressure on him, could even think about video games at a time as pivotal as preparing for the Super Bowl. But it reminded me of the way my dad spent every night before a big game at McNeese: with a tub of popcorn on his lap, in hysterical laughter over the movie Billy Madison in our living room. I remembered finding him for the first time, at just seven years old, up past my bedtime and padding over to him.
"You can't take life too seriously, Ave," he said, offering me a handful of popcorn, which my mom did not want me to have on account of upcoming dentist appointments. "If ya do, ya really miss all the good stuff. So go ahead — have some popcorn."
I thought about those words often, especially in my teenage years. They made up the exact careless motto that my dad seemed to live by. I, on the other hand, didn't like leaving things up to chance; I liked to watch carefully for what I wanted and dive in when the time was right.
Burrow led us to the parking garage, unlocking his shiny Bengal-orange Camaro. I was blown away by how luxurious it was — and partly by how frivolous it was — but it was just one whip in a line-up of other big-time cars that made my neon green Kia Soul look like a clown car.
"Impressive. Do I have to sit on the roof?"
"I'll just send it out for rush detailing as soon as I drop you back off," he teased.
We drove out of the headquarters and, for once, I enjoyed being the passenger and taking in the sights of the city as we listened to his music quietly. For a second I wondered if I had been too quiet — if I should talk more — but I concluded he might enjoy the peace once in a while. I fully expected to be driven to his high-rise bachelor pad somewhere in the nicer district, though we headed more in the direction of my apartment. Not wanting to make any assumptions, I glanced over at Burrow and asked, "What's on the agenda today, Burrow?"
He turned the volume down on his music, a Kid Cudi track I wasn't familiar with. "We're gonna be doing a little bit of driving if you don't mind." As if I had a choice. "The Hamilton County Food Bank is doing some drop-offs today to some local food pantries around the city, and I'm going to give some stuff away."
At first instinct I thought he must have scheduled that for today to look good for this day-in-the-life photo essay, but then I remembered from my own time volunteering back in St. Charles that food banks had to abide by strict delivery schedules. "Really? That sounds fun, actually," I said, smiling at him.
"Ideally we'd be spending the days leading up to the Super Bowl preparing for it, but I don't think we were expecting to go to the Super Bowl." He chuckled. "I'd already had this planned months in advance, though, and I wasn't gonna miss it for the world."
We rolled up to the first stop — a branch of the Cincinnati Public Library — and I saw the Hamilton County Food Bank truck waiting right outside, cementing this generous thing Burrow was about to do. I unpacked my camera from my larger gear bag and opted to carry my fanny pack across my chest. "Ready whenever you are," I told him, draping my camera around my neck.
Inside, we kept our footsteps gentle as we trekked across the carpet, passing the circulation desk, Burrow following the sound of a reading program going on in the kids zone of the library. He gave humble waves to each librarian and patron that he passed, not wanting to bring too much attention to himself to ruin the surprise I predicted he had planned for a certain group further in the library. I snapped photos of him as he briefly greeted each person who recognized him, making sure to catch not only his greeting but the starstruck faces around him. This was a situation that called for non-stop clicking of the camera, which I hated but knew was necessary. It wasn't hard to get great shots, though; everyone's faces were aglow.
A librarian met us right before the door to the kids zone, but large windows separating it from the rest of the library gave me a peek of what — and who — waited inside. A group of two dozen kids sat cross-legged on the floor, attention fully on the librarian who read a book aloud to them. From here, I could tell from the cover that it was a children's novel about football. Older patrons, who I assumed were the kids' parents, sat in a line of folding chairs along the walls, listening to the reader as well. The bright yellow ceiling lights of the kids zone illuminated the rest of the somewhat dim corridor of this portion of the library, and Burrow's silhouette was made prominent. Click.
The reader closed the book at what I assumed was the last chapter, and spoke a few words that I could only hear muffled through the glass windows. "Thank you all for coming to the special read along and food pantry event," she said. I could only understand her in and out. "The reason we chose a book about sports... our very own Bengals are going to the Super Bowl... special guest..."
A pair of staff members opened the double doors for Burrow as he was welcomed in, the reader's voice loud and clear now as she announced, "Cincinnati Bengals quarterback, No. 9, Joe Burrow!"