The Pop Princess

Nolan stood alone in the hotel garage and watched George Herbert Walker III's car disappear up the ramp. The argument in the elevator had accomplished nothing with Katherine's father. It had, at least, told the man that a check would not buy silence from him.

A valet recognized him. Across the garage, a family began to turn his way.

"That's Callahan," someone whispered.

Nolan went back inside and called Peter to bring the car around. Winning the Super Bowl had made him welcome almost anywhere. It had also made the simple act of standing still in public difficult.

Miami had not finished celebrating. Two days after the game, banners still hung over the streets and temporary stages still occupied the beach. On the ride, Nolan looked at them through the glass and told Peter to head for South Beach.

"There'll be a crowd," Peter said. "If you want to get away for a few hours, Key West would be easier."

"I'm not going to sunbathe. Call the organizers first. I don't want you improvising security for me."

Peter made the call. By the time they arrived, the event staff had cleared a route from the car to the stage. The host had expected music and souvenir sales, not the quarterback who had won the game on Sunday. Nolan's appearance turned the beach into another Cowboys celebration.

He answered questions, tossed a few signed footballs into the crowd and stayed through twenty minutes of cheers. When the host asked why he had not flown back to Dallas, Nolan glanced at the performance schedule.

"I heard Britney Spears was singing here," he said.

"You're a fan?"

"Sure. Who isn't?"

The answer brought a fresh shout from the people waiting for her set. Nolan knew how quickly a casual line from him would travel. He also knew a great deal about the pressures that fame could bring to a seventeen-year-old singer. He had no intention of sharing those memories on a beach-stage microphone. They belonged to a future she had not lived, and some of what the tabloids would later call fact had always been gossip.

What he did remember clearly was the machinery around her: cameras that would chase a crisis instead of giving her room to recover, years of decisions made by other people in her name, and a public campaign demanding that she regain control of her own life. He could not turn an uncertain memory into a warning she would trust. Nor could he presume she needed rescuing by a football player she had not met. He could, for now, treat her work seriously and leave her choices with her.

Britney had heard him from backstage. Her debut album, ...Baby One More Time, had arrived only weeks earlier; suddenly even a Super Bowl champion knew her name. Felicia Culotta, who was with her, suggested that the organizers might have arranged the moment.

"Maybe," Britney said. She had watched the comeback on television. Up close, Nolan looked even taller than he had on the screen. "What am I supposed to say to him?"

"Hello is enough," Felicia said. "You've met famous people before."

Nolan approached only after the stage manager waved him into the cleared area. He introduced himself to both women, told Britney he had enjoyed hearing her new single, and asked Felicia whether her team would consider a brief appearance in a film he was backing.

"Which film?" Britney asked.

"Happy Death Day. It's in preparation. Lisa Virgil is handling it."

Britney's calendar was full through the middle of the year. She thanked him, but a film made by a football player was not an offer she could evaluate between sound check and a performance. Felicia took Lisa's contact details so the proposal could be reviewed through the usual channels.

"No pressure," Nolan told them. "I came to hear you sing."

He moved aside when the crew called Britney to the stage. She closed the music program to a beach full of people who knew the new single. Nolan watched from a staff area, hearing the audience take up the chorus without needing to catch every word.

Afterward, the host announced an album signing. Nolan agreed to sign football souvenirs at a neighboring table. The extra attraction kept the crowd on the beach, but it also created a problem: the line for the champion soon ran past Britney's table and around the temporary fencing. One man who had joined the wrong line complained to staff when he reached her. She gave him a practiced smile; Felicia asked a steward to separate the queues.

Nolan saw what was happening. He sent Peter to Felicia with a proposal. Anyone buying the album could join the football line without starting at the back; anyone buying a football could collect a copy of the album at Britney's table before leaving. The staff printed simple vouchers and made both queues move in the same direction.

Britney's stock sold out earlier than the label had projected. Nolan's line still curled around the barriers. When she came over to thank him, he stood to meet her rather than asking her to interrupt the signing from the other side of the table.

"You didn't have to do that," she said.

"The two lines were fighting each other. They work better together."

"You make it sound obvious."

"It wasn't obvious to the man who built the barriers."

She laughed. Her hands were tired from signing all afternoon, and his shoulder ached from the same work. Felicia suggested a meal once the final guests were gone. Nolan agreed. They went as a group, with Peter driving and Felicia joining them at the table.

Over dinner, he asked about the tour and listened as Britney described the work behind the album. He had opinions about the difference between a stage image she chose and one a marketing department chose for her. She had opinions of her own. Felicia kept track of the time and the next day's commitments.

"You still want that cameo?" Britney asked.

"Only if the script, schedule and your team all agree. Lisa can send you the pages."

"Send them. That isn't a yes yet."

"I know."

Reporters were outside when the group left. Their cameras caught Nolan, Britney and Felicia together, which was enough to produce questions Nolan had not asked for. Felicia stayed beside the singer as they moved to the car. Peter drove them back to their hotel, and Nolan made no attempt to turn a professional conversation into anything else.

"That's going to sell papers," Britney said, looking through the rear window.

"Maybe albums, too," Felicia replied. "I'll speak to the label in the morning."

At his own hotel, Nolan found Katherine, Lisa, Susan and Kelsey watching the coverage. Mia was staying on a lower floor. The television showed him leaving the restaurant with Britney and Felicia, then cut to Sunday night's touchdown.

"You went to South Beach without telling us?" Katherine asked.

"Peter knew where I was. The organizers knew. Half of Miami knew by the time I arrived."

"That isn't what she asked," Kelsey said.

Nolan told them about the signing, the vouchers and Lisa's film. Lisa wanted the contact details immediately; Susan wanted to know whether the automaker that had bought his Super Bowl commercial had seen the size of his crowd.

"I didn't take a dime for the signatures," he said. "But I gave every sponsor in the country a number to think about."

Lisa's expression softened. "You're learning to earn your keep."

"I've been doing that for years."

"Then take a vacation," she said. "You look as if that last drive is still happening in your legs."

Katherine caught his wrist as he reached for the remote. "No more interviews tonight."

"I wasn't calling one."

"You were checking whether they got your good side."

Susan turned off the television before he could argue. The women were amused by the coverage, irritated that he had vanished for an afternoon, and unwilling to let a headline dictate their night. Lisa proposed that the coming days belong to them. Nolan agreed. Their intimacy was not a punishment for being photographed with a singer; it was the part of their life they had barely seen during the playoff run, and each of them wanted it back.

They went to Key West. Susan moved appointments, Lisa cleared calls from the calendar, and Nolan spent the next two weeks eating, sleeping and letting the ache fade. Katherine and Kelsey took the same break. No one mistook the trip for the life they would have once the franchise began to take shape.

In the mornings they swam or stayed on the beach until the heat drove them indoors. In the evenings they spent time together without the game's clock running in Nolan's head. Lisa and Katherine spoke openly about the possibility of another child, but neither treated a vacation as a promise. Nolan listened to what each woman wanted and did not presume that the household shared a single answer.

One evening Lisa proposed another round of mahjong. The game had become their favorite way to settle an argument that had nothing to do with football. Nolan watched them arrange the tiles and was content to be left out.

"You're too quiet," Katherine said.

"I'm wondering what silence costs in Los Angeles."

"More than we can afford."

Michael Ovitz had called the previous day. The league's expansion meeting was three days away. Nolan had to fly to Atlanta; the others had commitments of their own. Lisa and Susan would return to Los Angeles. Katherine needed to finish work in Texas, and Kelsey had a Dallas lease to close.

"Vacation's over," Nolan said.

Peter met him for the flight. On the eve of the meeting, they landed in Atlanta without the rest of the household. Ovitz was waiting with the bid team and a revised stack of figures.

"The Houston group raised its offer," he said before Nolan had taken a seat. "Bob McNair brought the mayor in, too. I want you next to me when we present."

Nolan set down his bag. He had won a game that had seemed lost. This contest did not have a scoreboard, and its fourth quarter was about to begin.