Chapter Four
B.D.
In his tight yellow polo shirt and black denim shorts that hugged all the right muscles, Larenz didn’t come across like any other Black guy I’d grown up with around St. Louis.
He was animated and jumped around a lot as he tried to entertain us with icebreakers and jokes.
He was a cornball, in that dorky Carlton Banks from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air kinda way.
He persisted, even when members of our summer orientation group of ten athletes from assorted teams didn’t crack a smile or laugh at his attempts at humor. It impressed me. I liked it.
He definitely came across a little soft, so I wondered if he was you-know-what.
I’d always had dark-skinned girlfriends, and Larenz matched exactly what I liked in that department, though I was not thinking of him that way.
He had a huge, flashy smile that highlighted his sizable mouth and lips, deep waves with a low and tight fade, and he spoke with subjects and verbs that agreed.
His diction and voice cadence rivaled any newscaster or sports reporter I watched on television.
As we toured the campus in ninety-degree heat, I remembered Larenz not breaking a sweat.
But nature couldn’t hold back or tame my signature Rick Fox curls from gradually transitioning into a frizzy fro.
He slowly but surely made our summer orientation group laugh with his silly stories about all the mistakes he made his first year at the Missouri campus—mistakes he didn’t want us to make when we returned to school in the fall.
I was impressed at him not losing his balance or direction while walking backward and showing us, the new student athletes, around campus.
His picture was everywhere we went—posters for student government, the career center, the campus tour team, newspaper editorial team, and residential life.
I was captivated and impressed with Larenz, despite him being quite the square and a nerd.
Yet, at the time, I couldn’t figure out why I was so enthralled.
That evening, during the summer orientation leaders’ talent showcase in the Student Union ballroom where we started the day, I found myself letting loose and laughing out loud at all of Larenz’s antics, as he clearly was the star of the group.
True to his nature, Larenz closed out the show with a corny lip sync and solo dance performance to a medley of “I Hear a Symphony” by the Supremes, “We Built This City” by Starship, “Cherish” by Madonna, “It’s Not Unusual” by Tom Jones, and “Love Is a Contact Sport” by Whitney Houston.
As he finished the number, Larenz and one of the other guy orientation leaders joined hands and did a little same-sex bump and grind dance together.
Then they led the other orientation leaders out into the crowd and pulled some of us onto the stage for audience participation.
When Larenz grabbed my hand to dance, I prayed none of my athlete classmates could pick up on the thoughts I’d been having about Larenz all day during orientation.
Most importantly, I prayed no one thought I was gay.
Probably not. We were athletes. And there was no such thing as gay college basketball players.
Later that night, Larenz stood in his open dorm room doorway, changing the staff member on-duty door sign, as I was heading down the hallway to the community bathroom on our floor for a shower.
“Hey you!” he called out. “Just gonna walk by and not say hello to your dance partner?”
“What’s up?” I said, pausing, and a little annoyed, as I remembered how embarrassed I was being pulled up on stage by Larenz.
Without being too obvious, I scanned his Black Student Association T-shirt and black sweat shorts.
I was self-conscious standing practically naked in the hallway outside Larenz’s door, smelling a little musky, and shirtless except for my gold chain, with a white towel around my waist, do-rag on my head, and shower caddy in one hand.
I’d just finished playing a pickup game with some of my new teammates on the courts outside the dorm we were staying in.
After my nightly abs and stretching workout, I wanted to take a quick shower before crashing for the night.
Day one of orientation had drained me, and the next day’s schedule had us up for a sunrise run and weightlifting session with the basketball team, breakfast at seven in the morning, and then advising and class registration shortly after.
“Just seeing what you’re up to. Making small talk while I get some work done.”
“As you can see…” I held my free hand up. “The shower is what’s up.”
“You can stop back by after and when you’re dressed, if you want,” Larenz said with a smile.
A bunch of printed-out spreadsheets were on the floor behind him, and his Gateway was open on his desk, which overlooked the campus quad.
Must be nice, and he must be rich, owning a laptop, I thought.
I’d have to remember where the public computer lab was or figure out how to scrape up some money to get my own computer during the rest of summer break.
“I’ll be up for a while. The door will be open.
I gotta make sure y’all don’t go sneaking out over to Greek Row tonight and getting red cup drunk. ”
My heart fluttered at Larenz’s invitation to come back to his room. Silly me, I wondered, did he know? Could he tell? Was I giving off some kind of vibe? Could he read my mind? Was he ? I needed to temper my excitement about Larenz making conversation with me. I was an athlete. He was not.
“Gimme fifteen minutes.”
“Take your time. I’ll be here.”
“Fa’sho.”
Seven minutes later, I was back at Larenz’s room.
I couldn’t believe he’d invited me to stop by and talk.
I mean, I knew it was his job to be nice as an orientation leader.
But I hadn’t seen or heard anyone else being invited in his room.
I hoped I was playing it cool, masking whatever feelings or nerves I thought I was having around him.
“Come on in,” Larenz said. “But we gotta keep the door open during summer orientation. They don’t want us having any favorites or any alleged inappropriate relationships with our group members. It’s department policy. I like having my single room on campus, so I follow the rules to keep it.”
“Lucky you,” I said, struggling to sit in an empty chair at Larenz’s desk.
I scooted out and my legs took up half the room.
Larenz’s room was decorated in blue, with a blue comforter, blue-ish paintings, and blue and white holiday lights hung around the perimeter of the ceiling.
“I think I’ll get assigned to the athlete’s dorm, where everything is taller, wider, or longer to accommodate us. And I’ll have roommates, I think.”
“Yeah, most likely. But you’ll get so much different and better food in that residence hall. Jealous.”
“Oh yeah? How do you know?”
“I know everything in detail about this campus. I’m an orientation leader, after all. What’s your name again? Where you from?”
“I’m B.D. King, and I’m from St. Louis.”
He held out his hand to me. So formal.
“I’m Larenz Ross, and I rise like a phoenix. Larenz like the actor. Ross like the singer from my hometown Detroit. The phoenix as in Renaissance, my high school.”
“You said that same cornball line earlier at orientation.”
“I’m glad you paid attention. It’s part of my script, I guess.” He hunched his shoulders. “Where you get a name like B.D. King? What’s it short for?”
As I looked around his room and noticed all of his nice things, I said, “Must be the St. Louis thing. We can be a little country where I’m from.
Someone in my family musta listened to the blues.
You heard of B.B. King, right?” I laughed, a little from embarrassment, a little from the standing joke I used about my nickname.
“Word on the street is that B.D. stands for big dick. At least that’s what my girlfriends have called it…
I mean, called me. Especially with these size thirteens I wear. ”
Larenz looked down at my flip-flops, then slowly panned up to my eyes.
“Girlfriends? Really?” Larenz’s voice deepened with his questions, as he stared at me, his eyes lingering on mine in the way I’d been used to women staring at me.
I’d grown used to the attention and compliments about my height, my golden bronze skin, my athleticism, and my prowess on and off the basketball court.
I could tell, now, Larenz definitely was something.
How did he know to make small talk with me?
Did he sense something in me that I couldn’t see?
“Don’t be jealous, Larenz,” I said, laughing. “I know you as the Missouri College Poster Boy must get your fair share of…whatever or whoever you want on campus. I saw how you and that other guy were grinding on each other onstage tonight.”
“You mean Diego?” Larenz’s voice rose as he said the name. “He’s my coworker. Part of the skit we wrote for my dance finale.”
“I see,” I said. “A nice perk of the job. Bumping and grinding.”
“Don’t you be jealous, B.D. King,” he said. “Anyway, you’d be surprised how I get down. But that’s nunya. I’m your summer orientation leader. Friendly, but not friends, as they taught us during training.”
I didn’t know how to respond to his “friendly, but not friends” statement.
I guess I had no reason to think someone like Larenz could be my friend or more.
Besides, I barely knew Larenz or Diego, so I wasn’t jealous of them per se.
I think it was seeing them be so free in front of a crowd of people and not caring.
That was making me feel some kind of way.
So I said, “But you can get down like that with a coworker, I see. If you say so, sir.”
“Sir?”
“Yessir.”
“I’m a college junior. I may be your elder, but I’m far from a sir. I just turned twenty in May.”
“Again, if you say so…sir. I’m nineteen, almost twenty in August, so you’re my elder.”