Page 2 of Caught off Guard

You’re Denzel, remember?

“Enjoy the rest of your night.” I caught her open mouth before she shut it tight, then shifted my eyes to Luther.

Thank God we were within twenty feet of the secluded VIP section, my destination for the night. I directed my attention ahead to my teammates Dorrian and Vince, who were barely visible behind a sheer curtain where throes of women of various sizes and hues hovered around them like flies. The closer I got to them, the more I could see how hard they were partying.

In addition to bottles of rum, tequila, and wine covering the table, each of my teammates had a couple of women draped across their laps. The women who weren’t glued to them eyed me as I approached the booth. Like the vultures I passed on my way in, they stared as if they wanted to gobble me up. When I gave them the Denzel, they giggled as if they had nothing but air between their ears.

Although I wanted to give my guys grace, I couldn’t relate to their behavior. At their age, I was married and settled down with my wife, Cece. Clubs were never our thing.

I thought about Cece’s natural beauty and above-average intellect, which drew me to her along with her care for others. As an educator and empath, Cece was attuned to the needs of people. She was a classy woman, my college sweetheart who stayed by my side even when I couldn’t rub two pennies together.

Because of her gifts, I learned how to look beyond the masks that people wore and put my guard down. From a smile that didn’t reach someone’s eyes to a spine that wasn’t quite straight enough, I paid attention not only to what people said but also whether their actions matched their words. That ability, along with my God-given athleticism, helped me build and sustain an empire valued at over one billion dollars.

My teammates still called me “Old Faithful” because until the day Cece died, I worshipped the ground she walked on. My philosophy was that a soulmate was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I had been a faithful husband.

Because I experienced the gold standard of relationships early in life, I was not tempted by the women who threw themselves at me when I was married. The ones with the banging bodies who slipped into my hotel room during out-of-town games never caught my eye. Even after Cece’s death, I wasn’t drawn to the thirsty women around me. Once you experienced the crème de la crème of women, thrift store knockoffs could stay on the shelves where they belonged.

“The champ is here. You good, Egbon?” Dorrian Attah, my host for the evening and a third-year teammate of the Torch, shouted to me, his heavy Nigerian accent, drawing attention my way as I ascended the steps near the corner of the booth where he rose to greet me.

He called me the Yoruba term that meant brother and dabbed me up with his free hand. After beaming like a proud papa, he lifted a glass of what looked like Louis XIII cognac from the table toward me. A series of “hellos” filled the space as the small crowd clinked their varied glasses of liquor. Dorrian winked at the half-naked ladies closer to him.

“Ladies, allow me to introduce you to the GOAT—the first overall pick in the 2005 draft with an eighty-nine-point-two free throw percentage. He is the Torch’s leading scorer with an average of twenty-five points per game—Mr. Cairo ‘Old Faithful’ Kinney.”

Applause and enthusiastic cheers broke out. I rolled my eyes at Dorrian for being so animated, then plastered a grin on my face as I greeted everyone with my canned smile.

“Hello, everyone. I see you started the party without me.” I picked up a nearly empty bottle, examined it, and set it back on the table.

Although I commented on the party, I didn’t care if they included me or not. It was the fifth anniversary of Cece’s death, and I wasn’t in the mood to act childish. The only reason I cameout tonight was to be cordial as the captain of our team. I learned long ago to meet my mentees where they were, so if Club Ecstasy was their destination of choice, so be it. I would stay half an hour longer and bounce.

Although I couldn’t see Dorrian’s eyes behind his dark shades, I could tell by his slower than normal cadence that he wasn’t 100 percent on top of his game. If he was partying at my house, I might have let his behavior slide, but since we were in public, I couldn’t ignore his behavior.

“Don’t go overboard with all that liquor.” I pointed around the room. “There are cameras and phones everywhere.”

Dorrian grinned.

“I got you, Old Faithful. Somebody has to be the life of the party though. Right, omo tó dùn?” He nuzzled the neck of the curvy ebony beauty who now sat on his lap.

She squirmed and giggled like an innocent schoolgirl before nodding her approval. I slid into the booth next to Dorrian, familiar with his foreign phrase calling his lady ‘my baby.’

“You still bummed about your anniversary?” His loud question caught me off guard.

Several heads around us turned my way, waiting for my response.

“Dude, why the hell are you sharing my business in this raunchy ass club?”

Anger filled my voice as I continued to avoid the pitiful looks of the people around me. I was nobody’s victim.

If Dorrian wasn’t like the little brother I never had, I would have cursed him all the way out. But, just like him, I was being watched too.

When Dorrian first joined the team as a center, he tried to fit in too hard, coming across as callous and hasty in his decision-making on and off the court. I chalked it up to his youth. At twenty-five, he poked into my business more than Iwanted but had proven he had a great heart and good intentions when it came to me. The guy had a sixth sense about him and protected those he cared for. Because of that, I appreciated his compassion. More than once, when I was drowning silently in a river of grief about Cece’s absence, he reined me in with his humor or witty insights. I sucked in my breath as I thought about the version of myself I wanted to share in a place that didn’t match the raw emotions slowly overtaking me. Even in his slightly inebriated state, Dorrian cast a look of remorse at me, reminding me that his actions weren’t malicious.

“Sorry, man. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful. You’re my guy.” He extended his giant fist to me.

I dapped him back and gave a weak smile.

“I’m good, man.”

I still didn’t want to go into details about what I was going through, so I remained silent, observing those around me. By the time a waitress came to the table, I was in my head so much that I needed something to numb the feelings suddenly overtaking me like a tsunami. Although I hadn’t planned to indulge in anything harder than sparkling water, I needed to make it through the rest of the night without breaking down. It wouldn’t hurt to have a drink or two.

---