Chapter 21
“Got damn, Rapp! Is your ass ever coming back? We need to start looking for a new center?” Ford yelled into the phone.
“We have two backup centers. Remember Bennett and Akinyemi?” I reminded him.
“Don’t make me cuss you out, man. You know you the best. You really finna quit?” Jones chimed in.
“No, Ford said that. I’m just…chilling. Training camp ain’t started. We got weeks before that. I’m hanging with my girl until her tour is over. I’m working out, eating right. I’ll be back, and we gon’ take the Cup this time,” I avowed.
“You damn right! So, y’all good? Everything’s cool?” Ford probed.
“Yep. She’s everything and she just so happens to be crazy about your boy,” I shared.
“Who knew she had a thing for ugly men? That’s craaaazy,” Ford mused.
“I mean, your wife likes Black men, right? Yet, she chose you,” I pointed out.
“Motherfucker, I’m Black!” Ford spat.
Jones laughed. “So, Rapp, her final show is here, right?”
“Yeah, the final US show, and that’s why I called you and had you call hating-ass Ford. Ish is gonna set up VIP packages for y’all and whoever you wanna bring with you. Can’t wait for y’all to really meet her and for her to meet y’all for real, too, not that official team party introduction shit. You’re the closest thing I have to family.”
“We are your family, with your homely ass,” Ford quipped. “And I’m hyped about the concert. Thank you, man! Listen, this is a big improvement from ole girl with the unbalanced ass and thighs. Bambina’s shit matches up real good. It’s mad symmetrical.”
“Not too much on my woman. Don’t be looking at her body,” I warned.
“I don’t be looking at it now. I got a wife. I looked at it before we reconciled.”
“Y’all stupid. Look…thanks, Rapp. Nuri’s gonna be excited as hell,” Jones said.
“No problem. Hey, make sure you tell Stick he’s getting the VIP package, too, him and Coco.”
“Will do,” Jones agreed.
* * *
We were in L.A. for her penultimate domestic show. I knew this stop would be star-studded. I was prepared for that. Plus, I’d met countless stars backstage at her other shows. There were tons of photos of me with them on Instagram that bore proof of that. But this? I wasn’t ready for this.
We’d barely touched down in L.A. when Ishmia received a call from Big South insisting we have dinner with him and his family….at his house.
Both of us.
Including me.
He invited me and her.
Yes, I was in a relationship with an actual celebrity. No, I wasn’t really used to her level of fame, but I shouldn’t have been this nervous about going to the house of a man I’d met before. Nevertheless, I damn near shit myself at the mere thought.
We went the day before the show. Ishmia thought it’d be fine for us to dress casually. I just couldn’t see how that was right. The man was music royalty, an icon in the Black community, but since she wore a track suit, I decided maybe jeans and a t-shirt would be okay for me.
Dude came to the door of his huge house in white basketball shorts and a white hoodie, a big grin on his face as he greeted us. There was a little boy, maybe five or six years old, standing next to him. The little guy had reddish copper hair. I knew he’d inherited it from Big South’s wife.
“There she is! You look good, Bambina!” he boomed, pulling Ishmia into a hug.
Once he released her, he turned his attention to me. Now, I wasn’t short by any definition of the word, but Big South was fucking gargantuan, and I can admit he was intimidating. You could tell he was a big man from watching his interviews and performances, but the first time I saw him in person at the team party showed me the magnitude of his presence. Big South could make some men feel like a bitch without even opening his mouth. I didn’t feel like a bitch and might’ve even been able to kick his ass if need be, but I instinctively knew it would be a hard won victory.
Proffering his hand to me, he said, “Orlando Rapp. We’ve met before, right? Good to see you again.”
I took his hand and nodded. “Yeah, same here.”
“Y’all come on in the dining room and let’s eat.”
We followed him into his massive formal dining room where everything was marble and gold. His wife and five of their kids plus their granddaughter were already seated. The little ones were super well-behaved, too.
“Bambina, you know my wife and kids. The little one is my daughter Ella’s baby girl, Miami. She’s spending the week with us. Ain’t that right, Pawpaw’s baby?” Big South said, cooing at the beautiful toddler. “Orlando, this is my wife, Jo, and our kids—Nat, Lena, Lil’ Everett, and the twins, Ever and Jonah. Baby, you remember Bambina, and this is her dude, Orlando Rapp. He also happens to be the Sires’ center.”
We all exchanged greetings and began filling our plates with the food situated in the center of the table. It was good, too, what you’d expect from a billionaire—steak, lobster, fresh vegetables. I had a crazy case of the itis when we were done, at which time Big South invited both me and Ishmia to his study where he handed me a cigar—a damn King of Denmark cigar—and offered me a seat in one of the sleek leather chairs. Ishmia perched herself on my lap.
Sitting across from me in an identical chair, Big South held his unlit cigar in his hand as he began to speak. “Orlando, I told Bambina I wanted to talk to you, and she insisted on being in the room when I did. She’s very protective of you, which leads me to believe you’re good to her.”
I nodded, wrapping an arm around her. “I try to be.”
“Yeah, well…I need you to know that she’s special to me. I heard rumors about how she was being treated, and the shit hit me hard. I’m sure you know my daughter’s story. I ain’t never got over that shit, and I made a promise to myself that if I ever got wind of another Black girl or woman being mistreated, I was gonna step in.
“I had my people reach out to her, told her I wanted to be her mentor, and I became somewhat of a surrogate father to her. When she was ready to break from Smoke, I helped her make it happen.”
“Yeah, he located me a great lawyer who found the cracks in the contract to set me free from Patrick’s management and his record company, added me to his roster at Southbound. He’s been great and I’m thankful. But he won’t let me thank him anymore,” Ishmia shared.
“That’s beautiful. Thank you for helping her. I’m in your debt, Mr. South,” I said.
He smiled. “Call me South. That’s what my friends call me, and you don’t owe me nothing. Helping Bambina fixed some shit inside of me, you know? I carry a lot of guilt about my daughter. Anyway, I need you to know I don’t play about BB. Don’t do shit to hurt her. She’s been through enough. I’d make sure Smoke disappeared, but she won’t give me the go-ahead. I can make your ass disappear, too, my nigga. Believe that.”
“If I ever lost my mind and hurt her, I’d help you make me disappear. I love her. All I got is my hockey family and her. I ain’t tryna fuck up either of them,” I said.
He studied me for a moment before nodding. “Good. Good. So…what do your teammates think about this? The coaches? They think you gon’ get special treatment since you’re with an owner?”
“I hope they all know me well enough to know I don’t require special treatment from anyone. I always arrive to the ice at my best. Me loving her ain’t gonna change that.”
He looked at Ishmia. “Okay, you were right, Bambina. This nigga got sense.”
I laughed and squeezed my woman to me as South lit his cigar and passed me the lighter.