So, I was hanging out with Tom Brady last night. I do this once in a while. Last night, we were hanging out at the Allegiant Stadium. He turns to me and says, “Anthony, get me your sister’s phone number.” He hands me his unlocked phone.
I scan through mine, but I don’t have her number in it.
“Why do you want her number?”
“I’m tired of these super models. Want something real.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be back.” I hand him his phone back.
I leave, with plans to call my mom and get my sister’s number, but then I think better of it. He’s not going to like her and she’s not going to like him. I just know it.
So I go back to where we were all hanging out, but he’s not there. All the buds are gone.
So I start wandering around the stadium asking, “Have you seen Tom Brady?” to everyone, which gets me some strange looks, and then security shows up demanding to know why I’m looking for Tom Brady, who am I anyway, and why am I wandering around the stadium without credentials?
I say, “I’m just a friend of Tom Brady.”
“If you’re a friend, just call him up.”
I’m like, “He’s never given me his number.”
“Then he’s not a friend of yours is he?”
It gets kinda uncomfortable because I know who he is, and he knows who I am, but I wouldn’t say we’re exactly friends. It’s not like I’m a best buddy or anything, but I do hang out with him once in a while.
Finally one of the guys that I was hanging with comes by, and I’m like, “Gronk knows me!”
Gronk pokes his head in and it doesn’t register in my mind that it would be strange for him to be where the LV Raiders play.
He’s like, “Anthony! What’s up man?”
“These folks don’t think I know Tom Brady.”
“Yeah he does,” Gronk says. “We were just hanging out over in training room C.”
Relieved, I relax a bit.
“Hey, Tom’s gone out to eat at Ceasar’s Palace. Want to come?”
“Yeah, sure,” I say.
Gronk drives me there in, of all things, an open topped Jeep caked in mud. It’s filthy inside and out.
By the time we get there, my white tee shirt is kind of dirty.
We go into to Ceasar’s to a restaurant and I wind up back at a table with Tom and his other buddies, but they are all wearing coats and ties, including Gronk who somehow changed out of workout gear between the Jeep and the restaurant. People are looking at me weird as I am the only man in the place without a coat and tie.
I sit down across from Tom Brady, and he turns and raises an eyebrow at me. “Well?” he asks.
“I talked to my sister,” I said, “But she says you’re too old for her. She says it would be like dating her uncle.”
I don’t know why I say this because, in actuality my sister is older than Tom.
He gives me a sad look. “Convince her, Anthony,” he says.
So I spend the rest of the night wandering around LV trying to find a pretty, girl next door type—not supermodel, but attractive and simple—because I know that’s what Tom likes. But every time I talk to a girl and ask if she can be my sister, she finds an excuse to get lost.
Eventually, as with all instances of times I hang out with Tom Brady, I get drunk or something, pass out, and wind up back home in my bed with no memory of what happened later that night, somehow believing that I don’t actually know Tom Brady at all.
This happens from time-to-time. But at least lately Gisele has not been around during these events, since they are divorced now. So that means I won’t have any more dreams about Gisele asking me to help her with jiu jitsu because her trainer is off for the day.
On the other hand, apologies to my sister, for making that decision for her.
Stephen B. Anthony is the author of Transmigrant, an epic science fiction thriller, available on both Amazon and Audible. The first seven chapters are available on this website for free.
Was this a dream you had? 😆 Glad to see you back!!