Six Days of Sun

Soleil Baptiste

Every year since local football legend Maddox Mayhew started his summer football camp, he ended it with an over-the-top year-end gala for the children who attended.

It was a high-end affair—black tie, golden trophies, delicious food, professional athlete sightings, and fanfare.

The entire thing rivaled the ESPY Awards in its grandeur.

It was the hottest ticket in Chicago during the month of August, and my best friend had managed to snag two tickets.

Bryanna Stansbury was one of the most popular MUAs on the South Side of the city, and she also happened to be my best friend.

When the wife of Maddox Mayhew had unexpectedly come into town, needing her face beat to the gawds for an event, she had a hard time finding a last-minute makeup artist. Luckily, somebody suggested somebody who suggested Bryanna.

The rest was history. Bryanna slayed the beat and was rewarded with the tickets as a tip on top of the tip.

The two of us currently stood in one of the elegantly appointed bathrooms at Manor Montimiere, the venue where the gala took place, scrutinizing and fine-tuning ourselves in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

I smoothed my gold beaded gown, taking care to make sure that my split wasn’t revealing too much thigh.

Bryanna adjusted the fall of the skirt of her dress, fingering the delicate floral appliques.

We’d already scoped out our seats. We were in no hurry to rush back to the half-empty ballroom.

It was still early, so we left the restroom ready to explore the fancifulness of the grand lobby area.

“I wanna view the options for the silent auction,” I told her. “I’ve always heard that Maddox Mayhew has really good options.”

I worked for the Chicago Bison, which was the city’s professional basketball team, as the Youth Sports Coordinator.

My job was to organize team-branded basketball camps and clinics around the city.

I mostly worked with schools and park districts.

I also coordinated with both to bring Bison-branded fitness challenges into their buildings.

One would think that because I was so hands-on with the youth of the city, I would’ve already been plugged into Maddox Mayhew and his youth camp’s annual gala, but nah.

I was basketball; he was football. The two didn’t really mix.

“You think we’ll be able to afford anything?” Bryanna asked me.

“I hope so. I heard that he has options for varying price points.”

Bryanna and I approached the smaller ballroom that had been designated for auction items. There were already several invitees milling around. We joined them.

“Ooh, a set of that luggage that’s been all over the internet.” Bryanna picked up the card that held the details for bidding on the high-end luggage. “The opening bid is two hundred dollars. That’s a steal because it usually starts around four hundred.”

While she decided whether or not to bid, I walked a few paces away from her.

I picked up a description card for a four-pack of tickets on the fifty-yard line to see the Londynville Lions take on our Chicago Coyotes.

Now, that was right up my alley. I could bring my dad, Bryanna, and my favorite uncle, Lance.

The opening bid was two hundred dollars.

“Oh, this must be the two-hundred-dollar section,” I muttered to myself as Bryanna rejoined me.

“I did it.”

My eyes widened. “For real?”

“For real. I want that luggage.”

“Well, good luck, boo.”

“Thanks. You going for the”—she picked up the card—“family four-pack of game tickets?”

“Maybe.” I gave a shrug. “I wanna look around first.”

And we did. We considered bidding on what was labeled as “The Ultimate Super Bowl Weekend package” as well as a behind-the-scenes private tour of the new Obama Center.

“Hi, ladies,” a pretty black woman wearing a simple black dress said to us.

“Hey,” we greeted her.

“Do you have a minute for me to talk to you about a giveaway we’re doing?”

Bryanna narrowed her eyes. “What kind of giveaway?”

Black Dress launched into her spiel. “The owner of the Chicago Coyotes, Jim Beckenbracken, is a philanthropist at heart. Through the Coyotes’ many charitable organizations, he’s able to give back to make the lives of others better.”

She wasn’t reading it from her notes or anything, but the speech was definitely memorized.

“His most recent endeavor,” she continued, sounding like a voiceover on a commercial, “is a state-of-the-art specialty pediatric wing at Immaculate Angels Hospital. He is hosting a charity event for his many friends, peers, and colleagues at the recently opened Quietude Resort and Spa on Iredia Island in the Caribbean. And as a gesture of goodwill, three lucky guests from this gala will win the opportunity to attend as well.”

“Wait. So what’s the prize again?” Bryanna asked. “A trip to Iredia and the opportunity to rub elbows with the rich and wealthy?”

The woman smiled. “A seven-night, all-expenses-paid trip to Quietude Resort and Spa. Did I forget to mention that several players will be along for the trip, and that there will be curated opportunities to enjoy experiences with them?”

“Wow,” Bryanna said. “Seven nights?”

“Which players will be there?” I questioned.

Bryanna giggled. Then she turned to the woman. “My bestie is a huge Coyotes fan.”

“I’m really not, but my dad doesn’t have any sons, so . . . I’m his companion when it comes to watching games,” I told the woman. “The Coyotes are our favorite team.”

“All of the players haven’t been finalized, but we are expecting at least nine to ten to attend. As of right now, only Preston Wilcox has confirmed.”

I tried not to smile, because Preston Wilcox was my favorite eye-candy as far as players went . . . with his fine ass. While it was true that he didn’t have the best reputation, and there was a rumor out there that he was a deadbeat dad to his child, I still thought he was fine.

“What are the dates?” Bryanna pulled out her phone and started swiping.

The woman quoted dates during the third week of June.

“Awww.” My bestie let out a groan. “That’s the week of Color Con—the West Coast convention for MUAs. Oh well. Count me out.”

“How many people can the winner bring on the trip?” I asked.

“Just one. Only the person whose name is pulled is invited on the trip.”

“One last question. Is the trip transferrable?” Father’s Day was coming up. A trip to a luxury resort to hang out with some of the players from his favorite football team would make a great present for my dad.

“We don’t specifically state that it’s non-transferable. If you would like to gift the trip, I’m pretty sure that could be worked out. But it would need to be run by legal before something like that could happen. If you win the trip and can’t make the trip—the prize is forfeited.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “I’m in.” What did I have to lose? The giveaway was free and wouldn’t cost me anything to participate. Besides, it was an opportunity for me to send my dad on a cool-ass trip.