Excerpt from Chapter 25
I put the car in park and waited. Both my hands were wrapped around the steering wheel, and I didn’t know what to think about first.
What am I doing? This could get really dangerous; he was a judge for crying out loud! But we’re only going to Harold’s Chicken Shack. It’s not like anything could happen there; just going for some friendly fried chicken. I gripped the steering wheel and watched him pull his silver Mercedes SL500 convertible out of the underground garage.
Throwing caution to the wind, I shrugged and took off for a 4 piece mild chicken dinner with salt, pepper and extra barbeque sauce.
When we pulled up in front of the chicken joint, Maximillien stepped out of his car and was immediately mobbed by two men who’d been stalking him park. “Hey Max, what’s up, man? Can we get an autograph from you? Man, my son would love that.”
After signing various scraps of paper, Max jogged across the street to meet me. “I’ve gotta go, guys. My friend will kill me if I don’t feed her soon,” he yelled, over his shoulder.
“Thanks, man. Kick ass this season. You’re the best,” they buzzed, still staring at him in complete reverence as he led me down the street.
“Sorry about that. They get mad if you blow them off. They feel like they know me. You know, they read about us all the time and watch us in their living rooms. It can’t really get any more intimate than that when you think about it, you know?”
“Makes sense. So are you really that good?” I asked, as we walked the few steps to the take out joint.
“Well, I like to think I’m that good, and I’ve been playing for the team long enough for everyone here to know me - well, almost everyone.” He looked down at me and laughed.
“Look, let’s get this straight right now,” I posed, grabbing his arm and turning him toward me. “I’ve heard your name before, who hasn’t? But I wouldn’t have been able to put a face with it; I haven’t seen a basketball game since college. And I don’t know about you, but since I got my first job out of college, I’ve religiously put in twelve hour work days. Then when I moved to New York to work at Tru Records I slept on the floor in my cubicle slash closet on more than one occasion to get the job done. And for the year and a half I squeezed in night school full time, I didn’t even know where my remote control was. So if your picture wasn’t in The Fundamental Elements of Marketing or Introduction to Microeconomics, please forgive me for not recognizing your infamous face.” I shoved my hands into my hoodie.
Max took a step back. “I didn’t mean-”
“Now, because not all tall Black men are ball players, I’d never assume. So, if I would’ve known who you were - you know, introducing yourself on the elevator or maybe telling me that you were going to the Stadium too - it’s quite possible that I wouldn’t have made a complete ass of myself out there today. I mean, they were one heave away from calling the paramedics. Did you see Coach’s face?”
“Again, Hannah, I’m really sorry about that. But just for one minute, try and put yourself in my shoes. What was I supposed to do? I mean really? I didn’t know you either and, well, what if you would’ve sucked?”
I thought carefully about that scenario. “Ok, I’ll give you that, but it was still shady,” I argued, as he put his arm on my shoulder and directed me to the door that he was holding open.
“You actually slept on the floor?”
“What? You didn’t?”
After standing in line for what seemed like forever, I got to the counter and could feel my stomach coiling. I was unsure if it was from the hunger pains or this 6-foot-5 phenom pleading with me for forgiveness. I gave the woman in the black hairnet my order before realizing that she hadn’t heard a word I’d said. She was mesmerized by Maximillien; along with everyone else in the restaurant who’d crowded around him, vying for autographs. This really wasn’t the best plan after all.
After he’d Hancocked several pieces of paper torn from the chicken menus and made small talk with them all, our food was finally ready. He paid for it and grabbed my hand, leading me out the front door.
“Truce?” he offered, looking down at my hand in his.
“Why fight it? I’m sure you get whatever you want anyway.”
I struggled to ignore the fact that my hand had settled into his and my goddamn fingers had gone numb – again!
“Sorry about that in there. I thought it’d be better if we got this to go.”
“And go where, exactly?”
“It’s such a beautiful night. Get in, I know the perfect spot.”
I stood in the middle of the street next to his car and eyed him suspiciously with one hand on my hip and the other on my chin.
“I promise, I’ll bring you back to your car as soon as we’re done eating. Trust me; I don’t wanna get in any more trouble with you - not tonight, or any other night for that matter. Get in. Take a chance on me,” he said smoothly.