Just Too Good to Be True (27 page)

CHAPTER
43

Brady Prepares a New Defense

I
walked to my truck after practice and there was a man standing nearby. He walked up to me and extended his hand and said, “I’m Nico Benson and I’m looking forward to making a lot of money for the both of us, Brady Bledsoe.”

What was this fool man talking about? My mother had told him over a year ago I wasn’t signing with him. I ignored his hand and prepared to unlock my truck.

“Did you hear me, Brady?”

I didn’t respond. I needed to get in my truck and out of the steady drizzle that was coming down.

“You can ignore me now, but you’re still going to be one of my top clients.”

“That ain’t never gonna happen,” I said.

“Well, this says quite the opposite.”

He handed me what looked like a signed contract. I looked at the heading with “The Great Ones,” Nico’s agency, and then, at the bottom, I saw my signature. I stared at him in disbelief, then Barrett’s face popped into my head—the day we were in the restaurant when I thought I was signing a contract for training with The Thoroughbreds, not representation by Nico.

“I didn’t sign that,” I said.

“But that’s your signature, isn’t it?” Nico said. “Take a look at the date you signed it. And if you don’t intend to honor it, I need to call the NCAA and your compliance director about your breaking the rules, or better yet, talk with your coach. Your team will have to forfeit all the games you played and they’ll be fined heavily. That would be so sad after the season the Jags have enjoyed this year.”

“I haven’t broken any rules,” I said.

“You don’t consider accepting gifts and money against the rules? You don’t think
signing
with an agent before the season is over is against the rules?”

“I haven’t signed any kind of contract with you.”

“So why don’t you call your mother and tell her you’ve found your agent.”

“I’m not doing that,” I said, looking at him with a brooding gaze.

“I know your mother is doing well, but I don’t think even she can afford that ten-thousand-dollar Rolex watch you’re wearing,” Nico said as he looked at my wrist.

“This isn’t a violation. I checked. It was a gift, and at the time I was under the impression that Barrett was my girl,” I said.

“How could she be your girl when she’s been fucking me since she was eighteen? I’m sure when they audit your checking account and see all the unexplained money, that will at least get you suspended. The hair business is good, but not twenty-five thousand in your son’s bank account good. Like I said before, your team will have to forfeit all the games you’ve played in. No Senior Day, no bowl game, and you end your career tarnished. Nobody likes a cheater, Brady. Didn’t your mother teach you that?”

“You do what you want. But you and your company won’t ever see a dime of my money,” I said. The fine drizzle had turned to rain, and my face was now covered with raindrops.

“Be smart, Brady. Even if you can prove that I did a few unsavory things, you’ll still be suspended while they investigate. All I have to do is make one phone call. You’ll miss the bowl game and that invitation to New York for the Heisman Awards will never arrive. Besides, I’m going to take good care of you.”

“In case I haven’t made myself clear, you can do whatever. My coach and teammates know me. I have my good name to stand on. What do you have, Mr. Benson? Some girl that’s good in bed with anybody you tell her to lie with. I wouldn’t brag about that.”

“I have a whole lot of money to look forward to thanks to you, Brady,” Nico said. “Despite the few bad games you’ve had lately, you’ll still be a first-round NFL draft pick.”

I pressed the button on my key to open my truck door, pushed Nico out of the way, and said, “We will see about that.”

When I got home,
Delmar was walking out of his room with a black leather duffel on his shoulders. I figured he was going to do another one of his strip shows, but first I had to tell him about my visit with Nico.

“Man, you want me to bust that nigga up?”

“Nah, I’m not worried about Nico. Don’t need to have your butt in jail. We need you for the last two games if we’re going to make it to a bowl game,” I said.

“I heard some of the coaches talking that we might be going to the Cotton Bowl to play Nebraska if we win the last two,” Delmar said.

“That would be nice. A New Year’s Day bowl, and in Dallas, a place where I never been,” I said.

“Son, I can’t believe all the shit that bitch Barrett has caused. You think she’s done this before?”

“I’m pretty sure she has,” I said, recalling the guy in the restaurant talking about Chris Johns.

“What are you going to do if you run into her or hear from her?”

“I don’t know. I doubt if that happens,” I said.

“You gotta admit, she did do a few things that were good,” Delmar said.

“Like what?”

“Now you know how good pussy is, and she got you to loosen up,” Delmar said. “So are you going to tell Coach?”

“What do you think?”

“If he doesn’t know, then shit won’t happen. People do stuff on the team all the time and Coach don’t find out. I hope you’re gonna keep the watch and money,” Delmar said.

“If Nico does go to the coach, I’ll just tell Coach what happened and return the stuff.”

“I think old dude is bluffing. Word will get out on an agent doing stuff like that. We both know schools do that stuff when they recruiting players, but I ain’t never heard of this type of shit.”

“You really think I shouldn’t say anything to Coach? I mean, he might suspend me, but I could get reinstated before the game when I prove I didn’t know what was going on.”

“Don’t be a Boy Scout. Just let things flow. This might hurt your draft position and getting invited to New York for the Heisman finals.”

“You think so?”

“I don’t know for sho, but I think you should chance it. What time you got?”

I looked at my watch and said, “Nine-thirty.”

“I got to bounce. Hey, why don’t you let me wear that watch? I mean, unless you’re sentimental about it.”

I took the watch, gave it to Delmar, and said, “This don’t mean nuthin’ to me.”

If only that were true,
I thought as Delmar headed out the door, admiring the expensive gift.

CHAPTER
44

Barrett Leaves the Building . . . Raquel Returns

Dear Diary,

It finally occurred to me that I don’t need to use brute force with Nico. Despite what’s happened, I’m a survivor, and I still have my brains, as well as all the secrets about the wrong he’s done to so many college athletes.

I have receipts. And more important, I have you, my faithful diary.

That night at Nico’s home, all of my dreams disappeared like melting ice. There won’t be any Buckhead mansion, fancy cars, unlimited charge accounts, and private planes. No more kisses filled with tenderness and desire. Nico isn’t coming back. He isn’t going to call and beg my forgiveness. Like all the people in my life, Nico used me, and I still feel chills at the nape of my neck when I remember the look of disgust in his eyes.

I had stashed away a little money, but I knew it wasn’t going to last long. I had to come up with a plan for my future so I could continue to provide for Wade and then also maintain my lifestyle. I have to confess I also had a strong desire for revenge, so I picked up the hotel phone and got the number for the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

I got the number and called and asked to speak to the sports editor. Instead of a real person, I got voice mail. At first I started to hang up, but then I decided to talk to the machine.

“I’m Raquel Murphy and I have a story I
know
you’ll be interested in…”

CHAPTER
45

Carmyn’s Final Tickets

J
aguar Senior Day was a beautiful, sun-dappled autumn day. Driven by his driver Cecil, Sylvester and I arrived in a Silver Shadow Rolls from his fleet of cars.

I was still getting used to Sylvester the businessman as he made phone calls and barked out instructions on the drive up. I nibbled on fruit and cheese and drank cranberry juice as we shared teasing glances, and I enjoyed the cool touch of his hand as he assured me that he was almost finished making calls.

After we arrived at the stadium, I showed Sylvester around the campus. We walked hand in hand like college students as I pointed out Brady’s first dorm and where he took most of his classes. We were having such a good time that we almost missed the players’ Jaguar Walk. The crowd for Brady’s last game was larger than any I had ever seen.

I couldn’t wait until the game was over and hoped I could hug my baby again and introduce him to Sylvester.

As we walked to the ticket window, my cell phone rang. I looked at the number and saw that it was Shelby.

“Hello, Shelby,” I said.

“Ms. Carmyn, I’m going to need to take you up on your offer. My mother said I can’t stay here if I don’t go to Chicago,” she said. It sounded like she was crying.

“Are you all right?”

“I will be fine once I get out of this house.”

“Okay, but I’m not in Atlanta right now. I’ll be there later tonight. If you need to leave now, just go to the shop and tell Zander to let you stay there until I get back,” I told her.

“I will. You sure this is going to be okay?”

“It will be fine. Everything will be just fine,” I said.

“Thank you, Ms. Carmyn.”

“No need to thank me, baby. Just take care of yourself and I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Okay.”

I was a little
nervous when I approached the will call window to ask for my tickets. What if Brady was still mad at me and had changed our permanent arrangement? Just in case, I’d spoken to Lowell and he’d offered seats in the dean’s box.

“I’m here to pick up two tickets for Bledsoe,” I said nervously.

A middle-aged white lady looked at me and smiled and said, “Oh, you’re Brady’s mom. We sure are going to miss him next year. What a fine young man you’ve raised.”

“Thank you,” I said as I offered her a weak smile.

“I can’t find your tickets. Let me check with the manager.”

“Okay, but please hurry—I don’t want to miss anything.” Maybe Brady had given my tickets to someone else. This was going to be so embarrassing. Still, nothing and nobody was going to keep me out.

A few minutes later, she returned and said, “I’m sorry, Ms. Bledsoe.”

I didn’t let her finish. “What do you mean you’re sorry? Where are my tickets?”

“Here they are. I was going to tell you someone put them in the wrong place.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m just nervous about the game. You know, if we win we go to our first bowl game.”

“If Brady plays the way he usually does, then I’m not worried. Enjoy the game. We’ll miss you next year.”

“Don’t worry, I will be back. Once a Jaguar, always a Jaguar,” I said.

I left the ticket window and spotted Sylvester with his cell phone pressed to his ear. I walked over and stood directly in front of him and folded my arms across my chest. He got the message and said, “Got to run.”

“Promise me you’ll turn that thing off,” I said.

“I will. Are we all set?”

“Ready to go,” I said as I held up the two tickets.

We turned around and started walking toward Gate 5, when I heard a familiar voice call my name. When I turned around, there was Woodson about five feet from me.

CHAPTER
46

Run, Brady . . . Walk, Son

I
slammed my locker door shut and then it just hit me. This was close to the end of college for me.

Last night, me and the team did our usual thing before a game. We all went to a movie, went to dinner afterward, ate like pigs, and then made it back to the hotel just before curfew.

Me and Delmar shared a room, and after he turned out the lights, he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling before he said, “After Senior Day tomorrow, that’s it. No more CGU, no more hangin’ out with our boys, no more college. It’s gonna all be over.”

“Look at you, getting all nostalgic. I’m not thinking about any of that. I’m only thinking about winning this game tomorrow so we can go to the Cotton Bowl.”

“You ain’t gonna miss all of this?” Delmar said as he continued to gaze at the ceiling through the dark room.

“Not really.”

“Nigga…quit playin’,” Delmar said, then rolled over and went to sleep.

I sounded crazy, but lying there at that moment, I truly thought I wouldn’t miss college football because of all that was happening. This was supposed to be about having fun and not business like the NFL. There would be plenty of time when playing football would be a job.

After everybody woke up this morning, the day moved like a dizzying blur. We were all in our warm-ups, out of the hotel, and on the bus, driving toward campus, before it seemed we had fully awakened.

Some of the guys on the bus were joking, laughing, and roughhousing with one another. Others were off in their own little worlds, their skullcaps pulled low over their eyes, foreheads pressed against the windows, staring at all that passed us by for the last time.

I was somewhere in between.

Delmar was up out of the seat he shared with me, traipsing up and down the isle, talking to everybody like he was hosting a party. I had my iPod on, my hood over my head, staring out the window. I was listening to the new Lyfe Jennings joint, trying to hold at bay the thoughts I feared would surface sooner or later. It would be a hard day, but I kept telling myself to just stay focused.

We could see the hordes of people tailgating in the parking lot, wearing school colors, barbecuing, drinking, and dancing around the cars and trucks that crowded into every space. Some people even danced on the roofs of their cars and trucks.

“Look at all those fools out there, getting crunk for us,” Delmar said.

“It’s like they’re having a party!” Rojo, the skinny redheaded punter, said.

When the bus pulled to a stop in front of the stadium, so many fans crowded the bus that security had to push through and make a path so the team could get off and head to the locker room.

As we made our way through the people, they grabbed us, held signs, and yelled our names. I saw signs that people had made for me that read, “We LUV YOU B.B.!!!” and “BLEDSOE, DON’T GO.” I smiled and shook the hands of some of the fans.

Once we were inside, Delmar said, “Man, you hear all those women out there yellin’ my name? Usher ain’t got shit on me! I thought they was about to start tossin’ panties, fool!”

All of the team members were feeling themselves, thinking that the insane crowd out there was just for them, until Coach walked in and said, “All right, everybody settle down. You got a taste of the pandemonium going on out there and now you all think you’re Elvis. But have you all forgotten that there’s a hell of a team out there in Georgia Tech, waiting to whoop knots on your heads? Suit up, get out there, focus on the game, and then we can talk about making school history and reservations in Dallas. You hear me?”

“Yeah, Coach,” the entire team answered.

“I said, did you men hear me!” he yelled.

“Yes, Coach!” the entire team roared back.

“Good,” Coach said. He stood around for a moment longer, looking at some of us dead in our eyes, then he said, “And congratulations to you seniors. We’re all going to miss you around here.”

After Coach left, there was no more laughing and joking. Everyone dressed quietly, caught in their own thoughts. Everyone except me. I thought about my running plays, I visualized carrying the ball for three hundred yards, anything to keep those thoughts of Barrett and my fighting with my mother from getting into my head.

When I looked up again, everyone was dressed and leaving the locker room, and Delmar was pulling me by the jersey.

“Yo, you ready?”

I looked up at him, about to pull my helmet off the top of my locker, and said, “Yeah, I’m cool. I’ll be out in a second. Just let me lock up.”

“Don’t take all day. You know we can’t start this party without you.”

I grabbed my helmet, slammed my locker door, and then it all just hit me like a kick in the stomach. I had no choice but to lower myself onto the bench in front of my locker. The entire locker room was empty, and quiet except for the echo of shower drops hitting the cement floor.

I looked at my locker, saw the piece of tape that Coach had put there four years earlier and on which he had written my name. I thought about all the times I’d spent in this room, in this very spot, both good and bad. I saw the smiling faces of my teammates, heard their laughter, the jokes we all told, and realized only now that those things would never happen again. At least not here, because it was Senior Day—the end of it all.

I grabbed my helmet and stood. My knees felt wobbly as I walked out of the locker room, because I had thought of this day so many times in the past and it was turning out nothing like I had hoped.

My mother was supposed to be here. But she wasn’t.

I hoped I was doing the right thing by not talking to her, by avoiding her calls.
I told myself I was teaching her a lesson,
I thought as I stepped out of the tunnel and onto the field,
but the only person that was being punished was me.

The stands were as full as I’ve ever seen them. The fans were all screaming at the top of their lungs, waving signs, dancing to “Money Maker” by Ludacris, which was banging out of the loudspeakers.

I tried to stop myself from looking up at my mother’s seat, but I couldn’t. She wasn’t there, and that made me feel worse.

Coach gathered us all for pregame drills. We warmed up by doing jumping jacks, some stretches, some screen passes, and then it was time for the parents and seniors to meet in the middle of the field.

A line of senior players formed, waiting to greet our parents, receive a commemorative ball from Coach, and then have a picture taken.

I leaned a little out of line, like the rest of the players, to see Reggie, the linebacker, hugging his mother and taking a picture with Coach.

That wouldn’t happen with me. My mother wouldn’t be here, and only now could I admit to myself why. She had told me to stay away from Barrett, but I didn’t listen. I got caught up in the love I thought I had for her, got turned out because she opened her legs for me and I couldn’t handle it. Now my mother was missing one of the most important days of my life.

“I’m up next,” Delmar said, nudging me with his elbow. “You know my pops will greet you when it’s your turn.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m cool,” I said.

“You know we family anyway. You’re my brother.”

“It’s cool, Delmar, and that means the world to me,” I said as I placed a hand on his shoulder pad. “Do your thang, fam.”

He stepped onto the field, hugged his father, received the ball from Coach, and then I saw a tear come to his eyes. He was so happy, and his father looked so proud of him. They had talked about this day for a long time, just like me and my mother had.

I continued to watch, knowing I would soon be heading to the field, alone. I couldn’t do it. My mother was supposed to be here with me. If it weren’t for her, none of this would be happening.

As I walk from the sideline to the middle of the field to meet Coach Hale, my mind starts to torment me over the mess I’ve made of my life. I looked up at the motionless clouds that dotted a steady blue sky and it was so beautiful.

When I reached Coach Hale he was holding the football. He looked at me and asked, “Brady, where is your mother?”

“It’s a long story, Coach,” I said sadly.

“Okay,” Coach Hale said quietly. “Thanks for four great years, son,” he added as he rubbed my shoulders gently and handed me the commemorative football.

“No, thank
you,
Coach,” I said, fighting back tears.

When I left the field I found myself turning, and running as fast as I could back into the locker room.

When I got there, I threw open my locker, dug out my cell phone, and dialed my mother’s number. I got her voice mail on every one of her numbers, but I left her a message saying, “Ma, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I treated you. If it’s not too late, can you come today?” Tears started down my face. “It doesn’t matter if you miss the game. We can go to dinner after, have fun, do how we always dreamed we were going to do on this day. Please, Ma. Okay.”

I hung up, knowing she wouldn’t get the message until it was too late, and that even if she did, she wouldn’t come because she was disappointed with me. I felt like I didn’t even want to play anymore.

I walked out onto the field with my head held low, toward the sidelines to get ready to meet Coach Hale.

I walked past people, not looking them in their faces, wondering what I would do after the game without my mother, when I heard someone say, “Brady.”

When I spun around, I was shocked to see my mother, standing there, holding her arms out to me, tears in her eyes. I ran so fast to grab her that I almost knocked her down.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” I said, crying. “For everything.”

“Me, too, baby,” she said as she tried to wipe the tears from my cheeks.

When we separated, I noticed a man standing beside her, smiling, staring at me.

I looked back at him and there was a familiarity about his face.

“Brady,” my mother said. “This is someone I think you should know.”

Then my mother started crying uncontrollably and I tried to console her.

The man came closer, extended his hand, and said, “Brady. My name is Woodson. I’m your father.”

I felt my knees buckle, and it took all of my power to remain standing.

“What?” I asked as I looked at him and then back at my mother. She wiped her tearstained face and shook her head in affirmation.

Just as I was going to ask them both if this was true, Coach Hale barked out my name, “Bledsoe, git your ass in my office now.”

I looked at my mother, shook my head, and darted toward the athletic complex.

I walked toward the
coaches’ office carrying my helmet, wondering what could be so important that Coach needed to speak to me now. Kickoff was less than fifteen minutes away. I knocked on his door and heard him tell me to come in. When I walked in, I discovered why he couldn’t wait. Sitting in a chair across from Coach was Nico, grinning arrogantly.

“Brady, have a seat. This man tells me he has some information about you that would make me keep you out of the final games. Is that true?”

“Yeah, Brady, tell him what we’ve been up to,” Nico said. He opened up a leather binder, pulled out some papers, and put them on Coach’s desk. Suddenly, his phone rang. Nico looked down at his cell and said, “I need to take this.”

“We don’t have much time, Mr. Benson. If you’ve got something I need to know, then put up or shut up,” Coach said.

“What do you want, bitch?” Nico shouted into his phone. “I’m conducting business.” Nico’s eyes suddenly grew larger and he continued his shouting. “What kind of book? Don’t threaten me, Raquel. You know I can have you silenced forever. And what do you know about Basil Henderson, and what does he have to do with me? Hey, let’s deal with this now. Where are you? Raquel!”

Coach and I exchanged glances like we were dealing with a man straight wildin’. Nico slammed his phone shut, grabbed his papers and binders, and just as he bolted from his chair another man, dressed in a nice suit, walked into the office.

“Sorry to bother you, Coach Hale, but I heard there might be a little trouble here.”

Coach Hale got up and extended his hands. “Basil, good to see you. Where did you hear that from?”

“Motherfucker, what are you doing here?” Nico asked.

“Looking out for a young man who you’re trying to screw over,” Basil said.

“You got me confused with yourself. You’re the one who likes to screw over, or shall I say
screw,
young dudes. Does the good coach know that?”

“Dude, move on and get out of my face. I think you need to be getting ready for your meeting with the Securities Exchange Commission to explain all the fake stocks you sold your clients,” Basil Henderson said.

Then he walked over to me and said, “Brady Bledsoe, it’s so nice to meet you. I wish it would have been under better circumstances. Your mother is a lovely woman who loves you a lot.”

“Yes, sir, I know that. Thank you,” I said.

“Coach, I just want you to know that your top player here has become the victim of this slime who passes himself off as an agent. But he’s just a crook, and in a few days the entire sports world will know,” Basil said.

“So it’s safe for me to play Brady today?” Coach Hale said.

“Without a doubt,” Basil said.

Coach looked at me, smiled, and said, “You hear that, Bledsoe? All we have to do now is kick some Yellowjacket ass!”

“Then let’s do it,” I said as my coach and I trotted out of the office and down to the field.