Page 61 of Off the Mark
“We have another week and a half of events planned for all of you before the big day,” the emcee continued, “but many of us so look forward to this press event. A chance for the media to interview some of the brightest stars in our sport and for the fans to ask questions as well. After, please stay for drinks, photo opportunities, and more mingling.”
The air buzzed with excitement and whispered conversations. I noticed the extra interest in me, some pointing fingers. There was a complicated stirring of pride in my chest at being recognized as Charlie’s pretend boyfriend.
“So let’s begin, shall we?” the emcee asked, pointing to a reporter in the crowd. “Caroline, do you want to start us off?”
For the first twenty minutes, a sea of sports reporters—some local, some national—asked standard questions of the women on the panel. They went back and forth on wins and losses, overall rankings, cross-training regimens. It all seemed fairly normal, though next to me Dempsey’s body language was tensing up the longer it went on.
A reporter my age, in a red button-up shirt and square-rimmed glasses, stood.
Dempsey muttered a string of curse words under her breath.
“I’m James Clark with Sports Night Extreme.” He turned his body toward Charlie. “Charlie Maddox, you’re a rising star, and we’ve been tracking your career since your first X Games win.”
Charlie smiled smoothly. “Thank you, I appreciate the follow.”
“Do you want to tell our reader base why you ride dirt bikes?”
Her smile widened. “Who doesn’t want to learn how tofly?”
The audience tittered, and a few people clapped.
“Great answer,” James replied. “And I meant to say earlier that I’m sorry about some of your recent losses on the track. It seems tough out there for you right now.”
Charlie kept her smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Competing with these women up here next to me, and all the others in the audience, is a privilege. Whether I win or lose.”
“And what did Malcolm think about those pictures taken of you partying in Philly the night before this convention began?”
Around us, people laughed a little awkwardly. Charlie stiffened, pursing her lips.
“What did mydadthink of me going to a bar with some friends?” she asked, in a tone that let everyone know how stupid she thought the question was.
“Do you need me to repeat the question?” James asked, in a tone that let everyone know he knew exactly what he was doing.
Charlie shifted in her chair. “He was mostly just disappointed he wasn’t there to hang out with us.”
The audience laughed again, less nervously.
“Okay, you got me there,” James replied with both hands up. “But here’s something I wanted to get your opinion on. Do you think professional athletes in the spotlight have a responsibility to their fans? A responsibility to have a public image that’s more professional? More respectable?”
Charlie slowly leaned forward. “Personally, I’ve always found respectability to be a concept wielded against people in our society who act in ways that threaten the status quo. So what I want to know is: do you ask men this same question?”
“Young fans look up to you, Charlie,” he said, ignoring her response. “They see you on social media and what they’re seeing is a professional athlete getting falling-down drunk, compromising her health and her performance, seemingly without remorse. If I was a parent and my children were interested in any bike-related sport, I would tell them not to support you.”
Charlie frowned. “Is there anything that I’m doing while I’m on that bike that’s offensive to children? Apart from affecting the sensitive egos of some of the men in the crowd?”
That same crowd murmured, and Dempsey’s expression was more pleased, less anxious. Meanwhile, I was torn between total obsession with Charlie and an urge to drag this piece of shit reporter out of the room by his neck.
“Now I’m not talking about you, James,” she added. “I’m saying that if youwerein the crowd at a race, I wouldn’t want you supporting me. Because here you are, at a convention for a male-dominated sport, where the women sitting up here with me have been on the receiving end of bullying, pay inequality, andendlessdiscrimination. Instead of pointing out what’s truly offensive in this sport—everything I just said—you’re trying to write a story about a time I got a little drunk with some friends?”
There was a long pause, then James laughed sarcastically. “You don’t have to come for me, Ms. Maddox. I’m only repeating what’s already been said about you online. The court of public opiniondoeshave an impact on people’s careers these days. I was trying to be nice, give you a chance to respond.”
“You have my response then,” she snapped.
The crowd was silent for a few awkward seconds. Until the emcee jumped in with a cheerful, “Let’s take a quick break. We’ll be right back.”
I wasn’t aware that I’d stepped forward until Dempsey placed a hand on my arm. I tore my gaze away from Charlie—who looked rightfully pissed off—and sent a questioning eyebrow at her agent.
“James Clark has always been such a sexist shithead,” she muttered. “He baited her on purpose. In fact, he’s known for the way he writes about women. We’ve been trying to get him uninvited to these events for years.”
