the Big Time (2010) (4 page)

THE DOORS TO THE
dome had been opened, and fans had begun to trickle in, their excited talk washing over the hum of the lights. Troy knew that the entire city of Atlanta had been electrified by the Falcons late-season run at the playoffs, led by their favorite star, Seth Halloway.

Troy followed Seth over to the bench, where the star linebacker greeted Nathan and Tate.

“So,” Seth said, “I've got some good news for all three of you. It's something I wasn't even aware of, being a latecomer to this junior league coaching thing. The other night, one of the state league officials let me know about this thing they call the Border War.”

“Border War?” Troy said.

“Georgia versus Florida,” Seth said. “It's a tradition.
This Saturday, when the SEC has their championship game in the Georgia Dome, they host an all-star game between the best junior league players from Georgia and Florida. It's on the morning of the big game. The coaches from both colleges watch from the sidelines, too. Good way to get on their radar screen for early recruiting.”

“We play against kids from Florida?” Nathan asked. “The Duluth Tigers?”

“Not the Tigers,” Seth said. “It's an all-star team. All the best junior league players in Georgia get put on the same team to go against the best kids in Florida.”

“And we're on the team?” Tate asked.

“If you want to be,” Seth said. “I'm the coach, and since we won the championship, they told me I could bring my four best players. That's you three, plus Rusty Howell.”

Troy was the heart of the championship team and could throw as well as anyone his age. Nathan was one of the biggest twelve-year-olds on the planet and had anchored the Duluth Tigers' line. Tate had already won the regional punt, pass, and kick competition with her powerful leg. Rusty was Troy's top receiver and the fastest kid any of them knew.

“Of course we want to,” Troy said. “This is great!”

“Who else is on the team?” Nathan asked.

Seth said, “Valdosta got to name three players since they were second in the state. The other top ten each
got to name two players, and then there are about a dozen others from all over. And, get this, everyone who plays gets a scholarship.”

“Scholarship?” Tate asked.

“Five thousand dollars,” Seth said, nodding, “and ten thousand if we win it. It's good for any college you end up going to. We'll be having practices during your Thanksgiving vacation, though. So, you guys in?”

“Of course!”

“Yes!”

“For sure!”

“Okay,” Seth said, “I told you it was great news. Our first practice is Tuesday night. Now, I gotta get going here. I don't want you guys to be the only champs around town.”

They all wished him good luck, and Seth put his headphones back on before continuing his jog around the field. The three of them talked excitedly about the Border War and playing against Florida's all-stars right there in the Georgia Dome. When Tate and Nathan started to talk about the scholarship money, Troy kept quiet and could only think about the money he was already making as the Falcons football genius and how it sometimes didn't seem real.

As the dome began to fill up, people also filtered out onto the sidelines. A long bright yellow rope ran from one post to another, marking the area on the sideline where only the players, coaches, and team employees
were allowed to go. Outside, media and VIP guests of the team were allowed to watch the warm-ups and to speak to the players who wandered near.

When the three of them ambled up the sideline to watch the Falcons' receivers practice one-handed catches, Troy was surprised to hear his name being called from somewhere behind the yellow rope. He took a quick glance and recognized the face of a man with spiked blond hair who wore dark sunglasses with flashy rims and what looked like a bicycle chain made of gold with a platinum thousand-dollar bill dangling from it.

“That's G Money,” Troy said without thinking.

Nathan and Tate stopped and stared.

“Cool,” Nathan said. “Gangsta rap. I just got his new CD; it's, like, his fourth one to go platinum.”

“What's he doing here?” Tate asked.

“He's big-time,” Nathan said.

“What about all the rumors that he's still part of that gang from Chicago?” Tate asked. “Look at that other guy. Is that a jaguar tattooed on his neck?”

Troy saw the enormous man who stood just behind G Money. He was as big as the NFL linemen, with a bald pink head and rimless, rectangular eyeglass frames. His small right ear was a tattered mess, but Troy barely noticed it past the rolls of fat on his neck and the deadly stare of his cold blue eyes. On his face he wore a thick, furry beard, rounded like a cartoon character's and giving no sign of the mouth behind it.

“Aw,” Nathan said, swatting at the air, “you watch too much TV. That's all an act.”

“I don't know,” Tate said under her breath. “That guy's scary.”

“Seth took me by G Money's house in Cotton Wood once,” Troy said. “It's the biggest mansion in that place, a huge white thing with columns as tall as telephone poles.”

“Hey,” Tate said, pointing not toward G Money but to the man standing on the opposite side of him from the big guy.

“Troy!” the man called, waving his hand for Troy to come over.

“Oh my God,” Troy said, the blood rushing to his brain.

“That's my dad.”

TROY APPROACHED THE YELLOW
rope, his heart swelling with pride. Gramps and his mom said if his father truly wanted a relationship, he wouldn't give up; and showing up on the Falcons' sideline certainly wasn't giving up. It wasn't a lawsuit, but to Troy it looked good enough to count for that “first move” his mom had spoken about.

“Let me introduce you and your friends,” Troy's dad said, dipping under the rope and tugging G Money along with him, leaving the scary guy behind.

A security guard in a yellow Windbreaker hollered and headed their way. Troy's dad wore a trim double-breasted suit with a shiny blue tie. His hair had been styled with gel, and on one of his wrists he wore a slim gold watch that glittered with diamonds. He looked slick.

“Sir,” the security guard said, “I'm sorry but—”

“Relax,” Troy's dad said smoothly. “I'm with G Money. I'm his lawyer. This is my son, the football genius everyone's talking about. His mom's the PR director. We're good.”

The security guard looked at G Money's smile and blinked at the shiny gold grille on his teeth. He nodded his head and backed away.

“Dad, she's not the PR director,” Troy said under his breath.

His dad waved a hand as if he were shooing flies and said, “Your buddies from last night, right? Kids, this is G Money. I'm his personal lawyer. I do all his deals, right, G?”

“You're my homey, Drew,” G said, bumping fists. “And I heard about you, little man, helping my team. I grew up about three blocks from this stadium. Love the Falcons, so you rock.”

Troy bumped fists with the famous rapper, using his left hand because of his hurt finger. Jimmy Cribbs, the team photographer, appeared from nowhere and said, “Mr. Money, how about a picture with you and Troy? A music genius and a football genius, both huge Falcons fans.”

“You got it,” G said, slinging his arm around Troy.

Troy's dad got into the picture on the other side of G, winked at Troy, and gave him a thumbs-up. Troy beamed with pride as the camera flashed, and he asked
if his friends could get in a picture as well.

“For sure,” Troy's dad said. “G loves kids, don't you, G.”

“You the man, Drew,” G said.

Drew put his arm around Troy and steered him off to the side a bit so he could speak privately into Troy's ear. “You hear that? See, I do everything important for him—his contracts, his investments, all his deals. When you're big-time like G, there are about a billion people coming at you from about a million different directions. It's not easy, believe me.”

“So you're, like, his agent?” Troy asked.

“Agent?” Drew said, touching fingertips to his chest. “Don't insult me.”

“Sorry,” Troy said.

His dad laughed, mussed Troy's hair, and said, “Agents are cheese balls, salesmen. I told you, G's big-time. The big-time people all have
lawyers.
That's me.”

“Wow,” Troy said, feeling silly after the word got loose. “Last night, it sounded like you wanted to see me.”

“I do,” Drew said. “I'm your father.”

Troy's whole body tingled at the sound of the word.

“I probably shouldn't be telling you this,” Troy said, glancing around to make sure no one could hear. “You have to sue her.”

“What?” his father asked.

“Sue her,” Troy said in an urgent whisper. “A lawsuit.
If you do, she'll let me see you.”

“That's what she said?” his father asked with a look of disbelief.

“She wants you to prove you're serious,” Troy said, “but I know you are. I know because you're
here
. You came to see me, right?”

“Of course,” his dad said, showing Troy his empty palms. “G's got the keys to the city, but I was the one who pushed him to come here today because I knew he could get us passes. But tell me, why did you ask about agents? I'm curious.”

Pride bubbled up in Troy's chest. “I've got agents who want to represent
me
.”

“Agents?” his dad said. “For what?”

Troy's smile faltered. “Well—didn't you hear? This football genius thing. They say I could get—I don't know—millions for it.”

“Millions?” his father said, rubbing his chin. “I don't know about that.”

Troy glanced around, lowered his voice, and said, “The Falcons are paying me ten thousand a week right now.”

“That's great,” his father said, but with enthusiasm that was obviously forced. “Good for you, Troy. I bet you pay your share of the grocery bills with that.”

“I want to buy my mom a car,” Troy said, frustrated, “and one day a house in Cotton Wood.”

“Cotton Wood?” his dad said, chuckling. “In G's neighborhood?”

“Well,” Troy said, “one day. Yes.”

“Uh,” his dad said, looking past Troy and angling his head, “speaking of your mother? Here she comes.”

“
I TOLD YOU,” TROY'S
mom said to Drew, her face pinched with anger.

“Hey,” Drew said, raising his hands in mock surrender, “I'm just here with my client. Troy and his buddies wanted some pictures.”

“Your
client
?” Troy's mom said, looking around and seeing G Money signing the back of Nathan's hand with a permanent marker. “That guy?”

“That ‘guy' has four platinum records,” Drew said, “and he made about twenty million dollars last year.”

“That doesn't impress me,” Troy's mom said, her mouth a flat line. “You don't have a pass for this area. Either of you. You'll have to step back outside the yellow line. You and Jiminy, or whoever he is.”

“G Money,” Drew said with a smirk. “The kids know who he is.”

“The kids aren't in charge here,” Troy's mom said. “I am.”

“You want to put me in handcuffs?” his dad said with nasty sarcasm, holding out his wrists. “Even though G and I are guests of the mayor?”

Troy felt like a fly jiggling in a web built by two spiders as they traded angry words.

“Well, that's good news about the mayor,” Troy's mom said, signaling one of the security guards. “At least we know that the paper's charges of corruption probably aren't completely unfounded. But now it's time to do what you do best, Drew…leave.”

“You got it, Tessa,” his dad said. “You're right. You're in charge. For now.”

Troy's mom nodded and raised the rope. Drew and G Money ducked back outside it. The big man waited for them like a mountain, only his dark eyes following the action.

Once Troy's dad stood on the other side, he said, “I hate to do this, Tessa, but you're leaving me no choice.”

Troy's mom asked, “No choice for what?”

“
IF YOU DON'T WORK
with me here, I'm going to have to sue you,” Drew said. “For partial custody of Troy. I think a boy needs a dad. I don't know about the laws here in Georgia, but, believe me, I'm going to look into it, and you can expect to hear from my lawyer.”

“I thought you were a lawyer,” Troy's mom said with a smirk of her own.

“Any lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client,” Drew said. “Haven't you heard that saying, Tessa? Well, I'm no fool. Far from it.”

Troy's father gave him a secret wink, then took a business card from his wallet and clamped it between two fingers like a cigarette before extending it to Troy.

“In case he needs to get in touch with me,” Drew said, raising an eyebrow at Troy's mom, “and you decide
you'd like to settle this in a nice way. I'm in town until tomorrow night, and I'd like to take Troy out to lunch or Six Flags or something before I go. That okay with you, Tessa?”

Troy reached hesitantly for the card, looking at her. “Mom?”

His mom clenched her teeth, her eyes darting between them.

“You said,” Troy said to her in a low voice.

A thin stream of air escaped between her teeth before she said, “Not now, Troy. You've got school. I have to think.
I'll
take the card.”

Before Troy could protest, his mom snatched the card from Drew and said, “Okay, Troy. You've got things to do, right?”

Troy scowled at his mom as she steered him back toward the center of the bench area, where, in fact, Coach Mora was looking for him. As they went, Troy glanced over his shoulder. Nathan was still talking to G from inside the yellow rope, and Tate stood beside him. Troy's dad motioned to Troy, jacked up his eyebrows, and pointed with quick, stabbing motions at Tate. Before Tate could do anything about it, Drew reached over the rope, took her hand, and slapped another one of his business cards into it before closing her fingers around it and propelling her gently toward Troy.

“Troy, I'll leave you with Coach Mora. We'll talk
about that other thing later,” Troy's mom said before moving on to her PR duties.

Troy tried to pay attention to the questions Coach Mora asked him, but he could only give simple yes or no answers. With Tate now standing beside him, Troy's skin felt tight, and his fingers were itching to snatch his father's business card out of her pocket and make it his own.

“You okay?” Coach Mora asked.

“Fine,” Troy said.

“You coming into the locker room with us for the pre-game speech?” Coach Mora asked. The players behind him had begun to vacate the field, moving in a large bunch toward the locker room.

“I think I'll wait with these guys on the bench if it's okay,” Troy said.

“Sure,” Coach Mora said, turning to go. “See you for the national anthem.”

Troy looked back toward where his father had been, but both he and G—along with all the other guests—had been cleared off the sideline by a wave of security guards in yellow Windbreakers. The last of them were being funneled out the visiting team's tunnel entrance like used dishwater down a drain.

Troy held out his hand to Tate and said, “Let me have it.”

Tate seemed reluctant to give up the card. She said, “I feel like I'm in the middle of this. Your mom didn't
want you to have it.”

“Whose side are you on?” Troy asked, the words sounding nastier than he'd intended.

Tate's face turned red, and her fingers curled around the card so that it crumpled in her hand. “No side, that's my point. I don't think it's fair, making me the delivery girl when your mom doesn't want you to have this.”

“You act like it's stolen property or something, Tate,” Troy said. “Cut it out. He's my dad. Let go.”

Troy gripped her wrist with his hurt hand and pried the card loose with the other.

“What the heck?” he said, tearing it free, the struggle causing him pain.

“Good,” Tate said, relieved. “Now if it comes out, I didn't
give
it to you. You took it from me.”

“Whatever,” Troy said, studying the card, then looking up at the luxury boxes above them, wondering which one belonged to the mayor.

“Whatever?” Tate said. “Your mom is your mom, Troy.”

“And my dad is my dad.”

“Okay,” Tate said, still sour. “I get it.”

With his good hand, Troy stuffed the card into his pocket and said, “I don't know; this whole thing's got me crazy.”

“Well, it's all pretty unusual,” Tate said.

“But who cares?” Nathan said. “Hanging out with G Money? That's worth some ruffled feathers, I gotta tell
you. Look at that, right on my hand.”

Nathan beamed as he held forth the hand G had signed.

“Permanent, too,” Nathan said proudly. “It's
never
coming off.”

“Nathan, the only thing permanent is a tattoo,” Tate said.

“Wrong, Tate,” Nathan said, scowling. “My mom said those Sharpies never come off.”

“Maybe not off your dining-room table when you went outside the lines on that social studies poster we made,” Tate said, “but it's not permanent on your hand.”

“Dang!” Nathan said, then snapped his fingers and took out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Troy asked.

“A picture,” Nathan said, showing them. “A picture of my hand signed by G Money. Now, that's forever.”

“I don't care about G Money, or his autograph,” Troy said, leading them over to the bench and flopping down with his legs extended. He smoothed out his father's business card and examined it. “Seven hundred and fifty-three Michigan Avenue. That sounds like a pretty fancy address to me.”

“Michigan Avenue is where all the famous stores are in Chicago,” Tate said, “and the Water Tower. It looks like a castle.”

“Hey, if he's G Money's lawyer,” Nathan said, brandishing his hand, “then he's got to be huge. You can't
get more famous than G.”

“Troy'll be that famous soon,” Tate said. “We saw the TV camera on you and Seth, and I heard your mom saying something to another reporter about you maybe being at the team press conference after the game.”

“She did?” Troy asked, his cheeks feeling warm.

“Maybe she doesn't want you to think about it,” Tate said. “Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it.”

The three of them sat silently for a few minutes, the crowd in the dome continuing to grow, filling the seats and adding to the noise and the ocean of red and black.

Finally, Nathan said, “I know I'm not really the idea guy, but I can't stop thinking about this one.”

Nathan waited, and neither Tate nor Troy said anything.

“Aren't one of you guys going to ask?” Nathan said.

Troy sighed and said, “Okay, Nathan. What?”

“Well, your dad's this big-time lawyer doing deals for people like G Money, right?” Nathan said.

“Yeah,” Troy said.

“And you've got all these agents wanting to do your deal with the Falcons or even another NFL team after this season, right?”

“Yup.”

“So,” Nathan said, “why not forget the agents and—”

“I know what you're going to say,” Troy said, holding up a hand to cut him off.

“You do?”

“Yes,” Troy said, “because I'm sitting here thinking the exact same thing.”