War of the Roses: Redux Edition
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 2181
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
I wonder what you're planning on doing with this Caesar-Devin dynamic now that they are so forced to interact with one another. Solid update.
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Money Moves
Devin stepped into a popular po-boy shop in New Orleans, greeted with the smell of fried food, spices and old wood. Out on the patio behind the building, he spotted his grandfather leaning much too close to a laptop to try to see the screen. Shaking his head, Devin made his way through the crowd of people waiting to order.
“You tell me to meet you at a restaurant and don’t have a po-boy waiting for me when I get here,” Devin said, sitting down across from the old man.
His grandfather exhaled roughly and shoved the laptop away. “I’m not the one that’s just getting to a college in this city. If anyone should be getting anyone a meal, it’s you getting me a po-boy. Not the other way around.”
“I guess we’re both out of luck then because I’m broke.”
Devin, Jr. grumbled under his breath as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Good thing you recognize that you broke because money is the reason, I dragged my ass all the way to New Orleans in the middle of the week. You know these old bones don’t handle them long drives like they used to.”
“You could’ve just sent me the money if you wanted to give me some cash. It’s 2052, not 2012.”
“When did you start talking so much? I liked you better when you did three times as much shutting up as you did talking.”
“Age.” Devin shrugged.
“Anyway, I was trying to get that thing to work but I couldn’t,” the older man said, gesturing to the laptop. “I don’t know how all those damn fingerprint scans work. I got a couple things that I want you to look at.”
Devin grabbed the laptop and slid it over to his side of the table. He pressed his finger against the scanner, but nothing happened. He did it a couple more times, expecting to get a denied response but instead got nothing. “This thing is busted. That’s why it doesn’t work. You should probably think about upgrading this to something made this century.”
Leaning forward, his grandfather reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He unlocked it, swiped across the screen a few times and then set the phone down on the table, turning it toward Devin so that he could read what was on the screen.
Devin picked up the phone, raising an eyebrow as he swiped through the haphazardly saved screenshots. “Why do you want me to look at anything that the Louisiana Family Forum and Bethany Church are putting out? I know you’re well aware that I haven’t stepped foot in a church since I started picking out my own clothes.”
“Could you let me get there before you start bumping your gums? Gimme my damn phone,” Devin, Jr. reached over and jerked his phone from his grandson’s hand. “The reason I’m showing you this is because I made some phone calls and got you a couple image deals lined up. They’re looking for athletes in New Orleans because of what they think about it and--”
“I’m going to pass on that,” Devin said, laughing.
“You’re going to pass on a few thousand dollars every few months for just posting some stuff on social media?”
“For them? Yes. Without hesitation. I don’t believe in anything they stand for and I’m not going to be promoting shit I don’t agree with.”
“Who cares if you don’t agree with it? You agree with everything Tulane does? Let me answer that for you. No, you don’t. But you’re still letting them put you on whatever it is they want to put you on. This is no different.”
“It’s plenty different. There is a huge difference between what Tulane University attaches their name to and what I, Devin King, attach my name to. I don’t know what you told these people, but you can tell them to find someone else because it’s not going to be me pushing their junk.”
The old man shook his head. “I told them that you were going to do this because the family needs the money. So, just go ahead on and make whatever peace you need to make with it so we can get this money.”
“Needs the money for what?”
“Don’t worry about that. That’s grown folk business.”
“Sounds like grown folk need to find a way to get that money for this grown folk business then because it isn’t going to be coming out of my not-grown folk pocket. Like I said, they’re just going to have to find someone else because it ain’t gonna be me.”
“You really not going to do this? For your family? I just told you that we need the money.”
Devin shrugged. “No one told you to make a deal with these types of people to make your scheme work. You should’ve found some other brands to work with. You can’t blame me for who you’re deciding to hop into bed with.”
Devin, Jr. cursed under his breath as he struggled to stand up, slamming the laptop shut and tucking it under his arm. His attempt at a hasty exist hampered by the lack of mobility in those old bones weathered by playing football and poor habits.
“So because I said no to promoting some whack jobs, you’re just going to up and leave?” Devin asked. “You really could’ve picked somewhere else for this if the plan was just to show up, talk for a few minutes then leave.”
His grandfather didn’t answer as he shuffled away.
Devin sighed to himself. “Well, I’m gonna get a damn po-boy if I’m already here.”
Caesar stared out of a window where a plane was making its final approach to the airport in Kenner off in the distance. It was likely rude to stare out of the window when he should’ve been paying attention to what was being said around him, but that was harder than it sounded when in an office in the middle of New Orleans’ CBD on the 40-something-th floor with floor to ceiling windows.
Brushing a bit of lint off the sleeve of his blazer, he leaned back in his chair and turned his attention back to the others in the room – his father and a pair of thirty-something year old tech moguls that Caesar didn’t know existed before showing up in the office space they’d rented at the request, or demand, of Deion.
“Well, you know when we were first discussing this, we were talking about a completely different scenario as far as where we would be right now,” one of the men, Gareth, said in a thick Cockney accent.
“I think it goes without saying that we’re a bit disappointed that USC didn’t win Caesar’s signature over Tulane. It would go a long way with our investors if we could get some concessions on the deal since we’re talking about putting money in the wrong L.A.,” the other, Sebastian, said. His accent was French of the Quebec variety.
Deion looked at his watch for a moment then folded his hands on the table. “If it mattered where Caesar was playing college football to get this over the line, we wouldn’t be sitting in this room right now talking about it. This would’ve been true decades ago, but as far as college football goes, you can reach just as many eyes in New Orleans, Louisiana playing for an SEC school as you can playing for USC in Los Angeles. That’s the reason that everyone was trying to get on the train in the 30s.”
Gareth turned to Caesar. “What do you think of our company, Caesar?”
“Honestly, I have no idea what y’all do. I don’t think it matters as long as it isn’t some human rights violating stuff, right?” he said as much as he asked. “I just play football. I let my dad handle all the other stuff.”
The elder Jenkins man stood up and walked to the glass door, knocking on it to get his assistant’s attention. The young man jumped up and brought Deion a pair of tablets, pointing to something on the screens.
He waved his hand, and his assistant brought the tablets to Gareth and Sebastian as Deion sat back down.
“This isn’t what we discussed,” Sebastian said, looking up at Gareth.
“It is what we discussed and what we’ve been discussing this entire time,” Deion said. “The issue is that you kept spreading it over four years and Caesar isn’t going to be in college for four years, so it’s spread over three now.”
“No, this number is higher.”
Caesar raised his eyebrow as he listened to the conversation. He, of course, was not involved in any of these negotiations so every bit of it was new information to him. He had to admit that it didn’t seem out of character for his father to change something at the last minute.
Deion leaned back and steepled his hands. “It’s one-point-five higher. I think it more accurately reflects the market. Fifteen years ago, we might have been talking about eight or nine but today, that’s what we should be looking at.”
“We’ve been at this for months and you never said that until now. You don’t think that’s negotiating in bad faith?” Gareth asked.
“You could always say no over a small market adjustment, and we can just go find someone else who will say yes this afternoon. We’re a few weeks from the season. If we have to get up and go look elsewhere, we will.”
Sebastian and Gareth exchanged a look before Sebastian nodded. The two of them went to signing their names on spaces highlighted on a document on the screens.
After a few minutes, the assistant took the tablets back before walking around the table and handing one of them to Caesar.
Caesar looked at the screen, confused for a moment before realizing he was supposed to sign, too.
“I have a question, though,” Sebastian said. “What’s the $51 for?”
“Brand integrity,” Deion said plainly.
Scanning what he was signing, Caesar’s eyes almost bulged out of his head when he saw the figure they were discussing. He knew there had been some big NIL deals over the years, but the number he was looking at seemed high – even for someone who had grown up in luxury.
With a few more signatures, $10,500,051 split into three yearly installments with half of it coming in crypto would be his. Ten and a half million dollars. There would be professional football players picked in next April’s draft who would have smaller contracts.
Caesar signed his name one more time then handed the tablet back to his father’s assistant.
Deion held his arms out to his sides and grinned. “Well, gentlemen, congratulations on the free press you’ll get when this gets to the media in an hour. I’m sure it will be money well worth spending for what you’ll get back in earned media alone. And you’re welcome.”
“I’d say you’re one cocky son of a bitch, but I think I would have the same reaction if I’d just made my son a multi-millionaire at 18,” Gareth said, laughing. “Aside from the family riches, of course.”
Caesar ran his hands over his face. Over the course of a couple hours, he’d gone from rich because his grandfather and father were former pros to rich of his own accord. And this was just the first image rights deal he was signing.
Devin stepped into a popular po-boy shop in New Orleans, greeted with the smell of fried food, spices and old wood. Out on the patio behind the building, he spotted his grandfather leaning much too close to a laptop to try to see the screen. Shaking his head, Devin made his way through the crowd of people waiting to order.
“You tell me to meet you at a restaurant and don’t have a po-boy waiting for me when I get here,” Devin said, sitting down across from the old man.
His grandfather exhaled roughly and shoved the laptop away. “I’m not the one that’s just getting to a college in this city. If anyone should be getting anyone a meal, it’s you getting me a po-boy. Not the other way around.”
“I guess we’re both out of luck then because I’m broke.”
Devin, Jr. grumbled under his breath as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Good thing you recognize that you broke because money is the reason, I dragged my ass all the way to New Orleans in the middle of the week. You know these old bones don’t handle them long drives like they used to.”
“You could’ve just sent me the money if you wanted to give me some cash. It’s 2052, not 2012.”
“When did you start talking so much? I liked you better when you did three times as much shutting up as you did talking.”
“Age.” Devin shrugged.
“Anyway, I was trying to get that thing to work but I couldn’t,” the older man said, gesturing to the laptop. “I don’t know how all those damn fingerprint scans work. I got a couple things that I want you to look at.”
Devin grabbed the laptop and slid it over to his side of the table. He pressed his finger against the scanner, but nothing happened. He did it a couple more times, expecting to get a denied response but instead got nothing. “This thing is busted. That’s why it doesn’t work. You should probably think about upgrading this to something made this century.”
Leaning forward, his grandfather reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He unlocked it, swiped across the screen a few times and then set the phone down on the table, turning it toward Devin so that he could read what was on the screen.
Devin picked up the phone, raising an eyebrow as he swiped through the haphazardly saved screenshots. “Why do you want me to look at anything that the Louisiana Family Forum and Bethany Church are putting out? I know you’re well aware that I haven’t stepped foot in a church since I started picking out my own clothes.”
“Could you let me get there before you start bumping your gums? Gimme my damn phone,” Devin, Jr. reached over and jerked his phone from his grandson’s hand. “The reason I’m showing you this is because I made some phone calls and got you a couple image deals lined up. They’re looking for athletes in New Orleans because of what they think about it and--”
“I’m going to pass on that,” Devin said, laughing.
“You’re going to pass on a few thousand dollars every few months for just posting some stuff on social media?”
“For them? Yes. Without hesitation. I don’t believe in anything they stand for and I’m not going to be promoting shit I don’t agree with.”
“Who cares if you don’t agree with it? You agree with everything Tulane does? Let me answer that for you. No, you don’t. But you’re still letting them put you on whatever it is they want to put you on. This is no different.”
“It’s plenty different. There is a huge difference between what Tulane University attaches their name to and what I, Devin King, attach my name to. I don’t know what you told these people, but you can tell them to find someone else because it’s not going to be me pushing their junk.”
The old man shook his head. “I told them that you were going to do this because the family needs the money. So, just go ahead on and make whatever peace you need to make with it so we can get this money.”
“Needs the money for what?”
“Don’t worry about that. That’s grown folk business.”
“Sounds like grown folk need to find a way to get that money for this grown folk business then because it isn’t going to be coming out of my not-grown folk pocket. Like I said, they’re just going to have to find someone else because it ain’t gonna be me.”
“You really not going to do this? For your family? I just told you that we need the money.”
Devin shrugged. “No one told you to make a deal with these types of people to make your scheme work. You should’ve found some other brands to work with. You can’t blame me for who you’re deciding to hop into bed with.”
Devin, Jr. cursed under his breath as he struggled to stand up, slamming the laptop shut and tucking it under his arm. His attempt at a hasty exist hampered by the lack of mobility in those old bones weathered by playing football and poor habits.
“So because I said no to promoting some whack jobs, you’re just going to up and leave?” Devin asked. “You really could’ve picked somewhere else for this if the plan was just to show up, talk for a few minutes then leave.”
His grandfather didn’t answer as he shuffled away.
Devin sighed to himself. “Well, I’m gonna get a damn po-boy if I’m already here.”
-*****-
Caesar stared out of a window where a plane was making its final approach to the airport in Kenner off in the distance. It was likely rude to stare out of the window when he should’ve been paying attention to what was being said around him, but that was harder than it sounded when in an office in the middle of New Orleans’ CBD on the 40-something-th floor with floor to ceiling windows.
Brushing a bit of lint off the sleeve of his blazer, he leaned back in his chair and turned his attention back to the others in the room – his father and a pair of thirty-something year old tech moguls that Caesar didn’t know existed before showing up in the office space they’d rented at the request, or demand, of Deion.
“Well, you know when we were first discussing this, we were talking about a completely different scenario as far as where we would be right now,” one of the men, Gareth, said in a thick Cockney accent.
“I think it goes without saying that we’re a bit disappointed that USC didn’t win Caesar’s signature over Tulane. It would go a long way with our investors if we could get some concessions on the deal since we’re talking about putting money in the wrong L.A.,” the other, Sebastian, said. His accent was French of the Quebec variety.
Deion looked at his watch for a moment then folded his hands on the table. “If it mattered where Caesar was playing college football to get this over the line, we wouldn’t be sitting in this room right now talking about it. This would’ve been true decades ago, but as far as college football goes, you can reach just as many eyes in New Orleans, Louisiana playing for an SEC school as you can playing for USC in Los Angeles. That’s the reason that everyone was trying to get on the train in the 30s.”
Gareth turned to Caesar. “What do you think of our company, Caesar?”
“Honestly, I have no idea what y’all do. I don’t think it matters as long as it isn’t some human rights violating stuff, right?” he said as much as he asked. “I just play football. I let my dad handle all the other stuff.”
The elder Jenkins man stood up and walked to the glass door, knocking on it to get his assistant’s attention. The young man jumped up and brought Deion a pair of tablets, pointing to something on the screens.
He waved his hand, and his assistant brought the tablets to Gareth and Sebastian as Deion sat back down.
“This isn’t what we discussed,” Sebastian said, looking up at Gareth.
“It is what we discussed and what we’ve been discussing this entire time,” Deion said. “The issue is that you kept spreading it over four years and Caesar isn’t going to be in college for four years, so it’s spread over three now.”
“No, this number is higher.”
Caesar raised his eyebrow as he listened to the conversation. He, of course, was not involved in any of these negotiations so every bit of it was new information to him. He had to admit that it didn’t seem out of character for his father to change something at the last minute.
Deion leaned back and steepled his hands. “It’s one-point-five higher. I think it more accurately reflects the market. Fifteen years ago, we might have been talking about eight or nine but today, that’s what we should be looking at.”
“We’ve been at this for months and you never said that until now. You don’t think that’s negotiating in bad faith?” Gareth asked.
“You could always say no over a small market adjustment, and we can just go find someone else who will say yes this afternoon. We’re a few weeks from the season. If we have to get up and go look elsewhere, we will.”
Sebastian and Gareth exchanged a look before Sebastian nodded. The two of them went to signing their names on spaces highlighted on a document on the screens.
After a few minutes, the assistant took the tablets back before walking around the table and handing one of them to Caesar.
Caesar looked at the screen, confused for a moment before realizing he was supposed to sign, too.
“I have a question, though,” Sebastian said. “What’s the $51 for?”
“Brand integrity,” Deion said plainly.
Scanning what he was signing, Caesar’s eyes almost bulged out of his head when he saw the figure they were discussing. He knew there had been some big NIL deals over the years, but the number he was looking at seemed high – even for someone who had grown up in luxury.
With a few more signatures, $10,500,051 split into three yearly installments with half of it coming in crypto would be his. Ten and a half million dollars. There would be professional football players picked in next April’s draft who would have smaller contracts.
Caesar signed his name one more time then handed the tablet back to his father’s assistant.
Deion held his arms out to his sides and grinned. “Well, gentlemen, congratulations on the free press you’ll get when this gets to the media in an hour. I’m sure it will be money well worth spending for what you’ll get back in earned media alone. And you’re welcome.”
“I’d say you’re one cocky son of a bitch, but I think I would have the same reaction if I’d just made my son a multi-millionaire at 18,” Gareth said, laughing. “Aside from the family riches, of course.”
Caesar ran his hands over his face. Over the course of a couple hours, he’d gone from rich because his grandfather and father were former pros to rich of his own accord. And this was just the first image rights deal he was signing.
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Grandpa gotta cut him off. Go be great in football, but you can forget about all this grandparent spoiling.
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 2181
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Getting paid paid before even running a route. What a guy.
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
La Familia
Leaning back in a weathered, leather chair, Caesar watched the woman move on the stage in front of him over the brim of a glass of whiskey. To say that he was largely unimpressed would be an understatement. A huge understatement.
But that was all that could be expected when you’re dragged to a strip club on a Thursday evening after spending the last couple hours working out.
That didn’t stop Tyrone from having a good time as he peeled a couple twenties out of a stack he’d retrieved from the ATM and threw them at the woman – who was likely old enough to be his mother. As she twirled around the pool, Caesar re-evaluated that thought to old enough to be his grandmother.
Darren elbowed Caesar and laughed. “What’s wrong, bro? You don’t like them experienced?”
“I don’t have anything against age,” Caesar said. He then pointed to the two women that were entertaining Junie and his younger brother, Kerby, who was also a part of Tulane’s squad albeit on the defensive side of the ball. “These women are just unattractive. Like even taking into account that it’s not even dark outside yet.”
“I think that’s part of the allure. You could chase the baddest ones on campus, and don’t get me wrong, we do, but that right there.” Darren pointed to the opposite side of the club where Tucker Beal, a tight end on the team, and Mike Hammond, Darren’s backup, were walking out of back room with a stripper. “That’s a different kind of team bonding that you ain’t going to get anywhere else.”
“Fucking 40-year-old strippers together?”
“These women are at most 35, bro.”
Caesar held his hand up as he took another sip of whiskey. “My bad. Let me not add on years to their ages. Fucking 40-year-old strippers together? And I’m going to repeat, unattractive strippers.”
“Hey, man. This just the introduction for you. Plus, you know they say that you never get your college years back and you know we gotta live it up if they giving up all of this money to throw our face on a social post or some shit.”
“Again. Ugly. Strippers. We could’ve come in here at 10 at night. You come here at fucking 5 in the afternoon! Grandpa over there in the corner gumming some titties on the early bird special!” Caesar shouted, waving his hand in the direction of the one of the corners of the club.
Darren glanced over and, indeed, saw an old man in the corner getting a lap dance. He threw his head back with laughter.
“Give it a month or two. You’ll get used to it,” he said.
“Says the man who hasn’t given any of these grandmothers attention since we stepped foot in here.”
Darren shrugged. “I’m a committed man. I browse but I don’t partake. You know, on some grown folks shit. No one secure in themselves gonna call coming to a strip club with your boys cheating and vice versa. It’s just looking at some pussy, ass and titties and that shit been all over the internet since time.”
“Let’s see if you keep that same energy come August and September when the average age of the pussy, ass and titties on serve to you comes down from 57 to 19, 20.”
“I’m just going to point them in your direction, superstar. Fresh meat and all that. Pun intended.”
“I don’t need help in that department, my guy,” Caesar said, shaking his head.
Darren laughed before pointing at Tyrone who’d gotten up from the table they were sitting at. A woman who looked like she would’ve given Kerby trouble in the trenches walked over to Tyrone. Caesar raised an eyebrow at the dental floss width thong she wore and the nipple tassels that looked as if they had to be attached with super glue.
Tyrone shoved his face into her breasts and motorboated her to the cheers of the rest of the guys.
“Is that… Butterscotch?” Caesar asked Darren. “I hope it isn’t because her name should be Tubo’Lard not fucking Butterscotch.”
Caught mid-drink, Darren began coughing as he nodded. Once the coughing fit resided, the quarterback began laughing. “What can I say? Tyrone is the dude Victoria Secret’s was trying to target back in the ‘20s when they got rid of the angels.”
“There’s a difference between chubby,” Caesar said, holding his left hand out to one side and his right to the other. “And morbidly obese. That woman looks like she would’ve been on one of those TV shows from way back in the day.”
“Hey, man. This is New Orleans. You from here. You know it’s all kinds of people in the city. That’s why folk like coming here. They can be whatever they really are.”
Caesar looked back over his shoulder. Tyrone was being led by Butterscotch to one of the private rooms in the club, his eyes fixated on Butterscotch’s ass.
“I don’t care what you say. Tyrone didn’t just start fucking fat women when he got to New Orleans, bro,” Caesar said.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet, youngster. Wait until the semester start and you’ll see how wild shit can really get. You said you can hang, but I ain’t sure that you ready for it just yet. Especially if we start wrecking niggas on the field? Sheesh.”
“If what I’m supposed to be ready for is fucking every chick who thought ‘Freshman 15’ meant fifteen stone and fifteen pounds.”
“What the fuck is a stone?”
“A fucking whole lot of fat. I already told you that you don’t have to worry about me when shit gets a little hectic. Been there, done that.”
“We’ll see. You part of the family now and this how the family move.”
Caesar shrugged and let the conversation end there. He sat back in his chair, going back to watching the women dancing on stage. He knew that beer googles was a thing, but there was absolutely no amount of alcohol that one could safely consume to see any of these women as remotely attractive.
To each their own, he thought to himself.
Devin grimaced as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His body still hadn’t gotten used to working out again after a five-month spell of not touching anything in a gym and his extent of lifting being tossing boxes at his job. He just hoped that his body would catch back up to things before August and the start of fall camp or he’d be in trouble.
In front of him, he watched as someone put together the wrap he’d ordered. The smell of the food didn’t quite sit right with him, but it was the best he was going to do on campus considering the skeleton crews they had working.
“Yo, Devin!”
He turned his head to find Christian jogging toward him.
“I’ve been looking all over the damn campus for you, man. You don’t have your phone with you or some shit?” Christian asked.
Devin reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He clicked the unlock button only to find that nothing happened. He clicked it a few more times and shrugged. “Looks like it’s dead. Why, what’s up?”
“You’re an 18-year-old college student and you let your phone die? You do know that we have a charging station near the weight room, right?”
“I’m sure the only person that’s going to be mad that I let my phone die and haven’t answered anything is going to be my girlfriend.”
Christian laughed. “I know the saying is ‘happy spouse, happy house’ but I’m going to tell you that you should probably apply that to your girlfriend, too, if you want to keep her around when it gets impossible to find free time come October during the conference schedule.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The employee slapped Devin’s wrap onto a tray before jabbing his finger at the buttons on the tablet being used as a register. “That’s going to be $9.47. You want a drink with this?”
“Don’t eat that, man. That’s why I’ve been looking for you. It’s Thursday. We’re going eat.” Christian said, shaking his head when Devin started looking through his pockets for his debit card with his phone being dead.
“We?” Devin asked, still looking for his card.
“Yes, we. All the DBs. We grab a meal together as a group every week. We let you slide for a few now, but you have to come. I don’t make the rules. If you don’t want to, I guess you can go play receiver or something,” Christian said, laughing. “I’m just messing, but really. Don’t eat that. Let’s go. Most of them are already there.”
“Sooooo, you’re not paying for this?” the employee asked, holding up the wrap.
Christian pulled out his phone and held it over the reader until it informed him that the payment was successful. He took the wrap from the guy behind the counter and handed it to Devin.
“Now, you got some grub for later, too. But I don’t know if I’d be eating that in a few hours so you’re probably better off throwing that away,” he said before turning to the employee. “No offense, bro.”
He waved off the comment and went into the back of the store without another word.
“Mind if we swing by my room to see if I left my card in there?” Devin asked.
Christian shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about that. Someone will cover for you, and you can just cover for them for another one. C’mon. I’m driving. I’m parked right out front.”
…
Fifteen minutes later, the two of them walked into a local seafood restaurant that looked like it had been shut down by the couple dozen or so Tulane football players that occupied a row of tables that had to be pushed together to accommodate all of them. However, judging by the joking with the wait staff that was going on, it didn’t seem that anyone minded the huge party.
“We tip well,” Christian said to Devin as they approached the tables. “And we come here because the owner pays his staff above minimum wage.”
Devin nodded as he grabbed an empty spot and sat down. He supposed that you couldn’t argue with choosing a place to eat based on the owner’s good ethics.
Rahim Jett, another freshman corner, grabbed one of the pitchers of sweet tea from the middle of the table and set it down in front of Devin. Quenshan Rodgers, a senior safety who’d earned his scholarship through being a high effort guy in practice after being a walk-on, slid him one of menus that had been left on the table.
“Get the shrimp and catfish platter,” Quenshan said to Devin. “You’re going to have to eat salads for the next week to balance out all the damn calories with how much they put on the plate but that shit is fucking good.”
“The Delacroix is the way to go,” Omari Alavarez said from the other side of the table.
“Motherfucker you don’t even have Delacroix money,” K.J. Talon shot back drawing a few laughs from the guys who could hear the exchange.
“Fuck you, bruh. I’ve been eating chicken breast and pasta for three weeks with this very day in mind to get the Delacroix. That shit is better than sex.” Omari turned to Devin. “Better than sex, bruh. If you asked me to choose between nutting in one of them sexy ass actresses or music stars and eating this fucking shrimp goodness that’s coming, I’m picking the Delacroix. Every. Single. Time.”
“That’s bullshit. It ain’t that fucking good,” Quenshan said. “Just say you’re afraid that you’d nut quick and go, bruh.”
Devin laughed with the others as he started to scan the menu. While he was close with the guys on the team in high school, even after only being around them in the weight room and the few seconds since he’d sat down, it wasn’t hard to see that this was a very tight-knit group from the stars like Christian and Marcus Freebird, one of the two starting safeties, right on down to the walk-ons.
For Devin, it made his decision to drop TCU for Tulane feel more like the right choice.
Leaning back in a weathered, leather chair, Caesar watched the woman move on the stage in front of him over the brim of a glass of whiskey. To say that he was largely unimpressed would be an understatement. A huge understatement.
But that was all that could be expected when you’re dragged to a strip club on a Thursday evening after spending the last couple hours working out.
That didn’t stop Tyrone from having a good time as he peeled a couple twenties out of a stack he’d retrieved from the ATM and threw them at the woman – who was likely old enough to be his mother. As she twirled around the pool, Caesar re-evaluated that thought to old enough to be his grandmother.
Darren elbowed Caesar and laughed. “What’s wrong, bro? You don’t like them experienced?”
“I don’t have anything against age,” Caesar said. He then pointed to the two women that were entertaining Junie and his younger brother, Kerby, who was also a part of Tulane’s squad albeit on the defensive side of the ball. “These women are just unattractive. Like even taking into account that it’s not even dark outside yet.”
“I think that’s part of the allure. You could chase the baddest ones on campus, and don’t get me wrong, we do, but that right there.” Darren pointed to the opposite side of the club where Tucker Beal, a tight end on the team, and Mike Hammond, Darren’s backup, were walking out of back room with a stripper. “That’s a different kind of team bonding that you ain’t going to get anywhere else.”
“Fucking 40-year-old strippers together?”
“These women are at most 35, bro.”
Caesar held his hand up as he took another sip of whiskey. “My bad. Let me not add on years to their ages. Fucking 40-year-old strippers together? And I’m going to repeat, unattractive strippers.”
“Hey, man. This just the introduction for you. Plus, you know they say that you never get your college years back and you know we gotta live it up if they giving up all of this money to throw our face on a social post or some shit.”
“Again. Ugly. Strippers. We could’ve come in here at 10 at night. You come here at fucking 5 in the afternoon! Grandpa over there in the corner gumming some titties on the early bird special!” Caesar shouted, waving his hand in the direction of the one of the corners of the club.
Darren glanced over and, indeed, saw an old man in the corner getting a lap dance. He threw his head back with laughter.
“Give it a month or two. You’ll get used to it,” he said.
“Says the man who hasn’t given any of these grandmothers attention since we stepped foot in here.”
Darren shrugged. “I’m a committed man. I browse but I don’t partake. You know, on some grown folks shit. No one secure in themselves gonna call coming to a strip club with your boys cheating and vice versa. It’s just looking at some pussy, ass and titties and that shit been all over the internet since time.”
“Let’s see if you keep that same energy come August and September when the average age of the pussy, ass and titties on serve to you comes down from 57 to 19, 20.”
“I’m just going to point them in your direction, superstar. Fresh meat and all that. Pun intended.”
“I don’t need help in that department, my guy,” Caesar said, shaking his head.
Darren laughed before pointing at Tyrone who’d gotten up from the table they were sitting at. A woman who looked like she would’ve given Kerby trouble in the trenches walked over to Tyrone. Caesar raised an eyebrow at the dental floss width thong she wore and the nipple tassels that looked as if they had to be attached with super glue.
Tyrone shoved his face into her breasts and motorboated her to the cheers of the rest of the guys.
“Is that… Butterscotch?” Caesar asked Darren. “I hope it isn’t because her name should be Tubo’Lard not fucking Butterscotch.”
Caught mid-drink, Darren began coughing as he nodded. Once the coughing fit resided, the quarterback began laughing. “What can I say? Tyrone is the dude Victoria Secret’s was trying to target back in the ‘20s when they got rid of the angels.”
“There’s a difference between chubby,” Caesar said, holding his left hand out to one side and his right to the other. “And morbidly obese. That woman looks like she would’ve been on one of those TV shows from way back in the day.”
“Hey, man. This is New Orleans. You from here. You know it’s all kinds of people in the city. That’s why folk like coming here. They can be whatever they really are.”
Caesar looked back over his shoulder. Tyrone was being led by Butterscotch to one of the private rooms in the club, his eyes fixated on Butterscotch’s ass.
“I don’t care what you say. Tyrone didn’t just start fucking fat women when he got to New Orleans, bro,” Caesar said.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet, youngster. Wait until the semester start and you’ll see how wild shit can really get. You said you can hang, but I ain’t sure that you ready for it just yet. Especially if we start wrecking niggas on the field? Sheesh.”
“If what I’m supposed to be ready for is fucking every chick who thought ‘Freshman 15’ meant fifteen stone and fifteen pounds.”
“What the fuck is a stone?”
“A fucking whole lot of fat. I already told you that you don’t have to worry about me when shit gets a little hectic. Been there, done that.”
“We’ll see. You part of the family now and this how the family move.”
Caesar shrugged and let the conversation end there. He sat back in his chair, going back to watching the women dancing on stage. He knew that beer googles was a thing, but there was absolutely no amount of alcohol that one could safely consume to see any of these women as remotely attractive.
To each their own, he thought to himself.
-*****-
Devin grimaced as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His body still hadn’t gotten used to working out again after a five-month spell of not touching anything in a gym and his extent of lifting being tossing boxes at his job. He just hoped that his body would catch back up to things before August and the start of fall camp or he’d be in trouble.
In front of him, he watched as someone put together the wrap he’d ordered. The smell of the food didn’t quite sit right with him, but it was the best he was going to do on campus considering the skeleton crews they had working.
“Yo, Devin!”
He turned his head to find Christian jogging toward him.
“I’ve been looking all over the damn campus for you, man. You don’t have your phone with you or some shit?” Christian asked.
Devin reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He clicked the unlock button only to find that nothing happened. He clicked it a few more times and shrugged. “Looks like it’s dead. Why, what’s up?”
“You’re an 18-year-old college student and you let your phone die? You do know that we have a charging station near the weight room, right?”
“I’m sure the only person that’s going to be mad that I let my phone die and haven’t answered anything is going to be my girlfriend.”
Christian laughed. “I know the saying is ‘happy spouse, happy house’ but I’m going to tell you that you should probably apply that to your girlfriend, too, if you want to keep her around when it gets impossible to find free time come October during the conference schedule.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The employee slapped Devin’s wrap onto a tray before jabbing his finger at the buttons on the tablet being used as a register. “That’s going to be $9.47. You want a drink with this?”
“Don’t eat that, man. That’s why I’ve been looking for you. It’s Thursday. We’re going eat.” Christian said, shaking his head when Devin started looking through his pockets for his debit card with his phone being dead.
“We?” Devin asked, still looking for his card.
“Yes, we. All the DBs. We grab a meal together as a group every week. We let you slide for a few now, but you have to come. I don’t make the rules. If you don’t want to, I guess you can go play receiver or something,” Christian said, laughing. “I’m just messing, but really. Don’t eat that. Let’s go. Most of them are already there.”
“Sooooo, you’re not paying for this?” the employee asked, holding up the wrap.
Christian pulled out his phone and held it over the reader until it informed him that the payment was successful. He took the wrap from the guy behind the counter and handed it to Devin.
“Now, you got some grub for later, too. But I don’t know if I’d be eating that in a few hours so you’re probably better off throwing that away,” he said before turning to the employee. “No offense, bro.”
He waved off the comment and went into the back of the store without another word.
“Mind if we swing by my room to see if I left my card in there?” Devin asked.
Christian shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about that. Someone will cover for you, and you can just cover for them for another one. C’mon. I’m driving. I’m parked right out front.”
…
Fifteen minutes later, the two of them walked into a local seafood restaurant that looked like it had been shut down by the couple dozen or so Tulane football players that occupied a row of tables that had to be pushed together to accommodate all of them. However, judging by the joking with the wait staff that was going on, it didn’t seem that anyone minded the huge party.
“We tip well,” Christian said to Devin as they approached the tables. “And we come here because the owner pays his staff above minimum wage.”
Devin nodded as he grabbed an empty spot and sat down. He supposed that you couldn’t argue with choosing a place to eat based on the owner’s good ethics.
Rahim Jett, another freshman corner, grabbed one of the pitchers of sweet tea from the middle of the table and set it down in front of Devin. Quenshan Rodgers, a senior safety who’d earned his scholarship through being a high effort guy in practice after being a walk-on, slid him one of menus that had been left on the table.
“Get the shrimp and catfish platter,” Quenshan said to Devin. “You’re going to have to eat salads for the next week to balance out all the damn calories with how much they put on the plate but that shit is fucking good.”
“The Delacroix is the way to go,” Omari Alavarez said from the other side of the table.
“Motherfucker you don’t even have Delacroix money,” K.J. Talon shot back drawing a few laughs from the guys who could hear the exchange.
“Fuck you, bruh. I’ve been eating chicken breast and pasta for three weeks with this very day in mind to get the Delacroix. That shit is better than sex.” Omari turned to Devin. “Better than sex, bruh. If you asked me to choose between nutting in one of them sexy ass actresses or music stars and eating this fucking shrimp goodness that’s coming, I’m picking the Delacroix. Every. Single. Time.”
“That’s bullshit. It ain’t that fucking good,” Quenshan said. “Just say you’re afraid that you’d nut quick and go, bruh.”
Devin laughed with the others as he started to scan the menu. While he was close with the guys on the team in high school, even after only being around them in the weight room and the few seconds since he’d sat down, it wasn’t hard to see that this was a very tight-knit group from the stars like Christian and Marcus Freebird, one of the two starting safeties, right on down to the walk-ons.
For Devin, it made his decision to drop TCU for Tulane feel more like the right choice.
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Sugar
“What’s up, man?” Hasan asked, dapping up Devin as he stepped out of the doorway so Devin could walk into the apartment.
“Just fucking tired, but I’m sure you know all about that,” Devin said. He looked around the apartment that Hasan and Erik inhabited, comparing it to the less lived in look that it had when he’d come there back at the beginning of the year. Devin pointed to a shrub that was on the windowsill. “Didn’t expect either of you to be plant guys.”
Hasan laughed as he walked over to plop down on the sofa. “Some chick that Erik brings around sometimes brought that shit here. I think she did that so she got a reason to come back. Talkin’ ‘bout some ‘you haven’t watered the plant! I’ll come do it!’.”
“Sounds plausible,” Devin said as he sat down in a recliner.
“You regettin’ not enrollin’ early yet, nigga? I know them workouts killin’ ya ass. Don’t get me wrong. Tulane ain’t LSU but I know they workin’ y’all niggas into the ground to get ready for fall.”
“I thought half this shit was against some kind of NCAA rule. I knew we’d get in the gym and shit but Jesus fucking Christ, man. Nothing in high school could’ve prepared me for this and it’s supposed to get more intense?”
“SEC, motherfucka. Besides, these programs been doin’ this since time. They know how and do get around any rules limiting how much contact the coaches can have with the players in the offseason. But you know that by now.”
Devin nodded and simply said, “Yep.”
Hasan kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and lounged back into the sofa cushions. “How’s shit lookin’ down there in NOLA? Y’all gonna compete for a bowl or somethin’ this year? Maybe go .500?”
“You know good and well that Tulane has been in a bowl game every year that Shuman’s been there. Don’t try to play us like that.”
“Hey, man,” Hasan said, laughing. “Y’all suppose to be the opps so I had to throw one at you when I had the chance. You know you niggas ain’t won the Rag since like 1980.”
Devin waved off that insult. “Tulane and LSU didn’t even play regularly for like thirty years. That shit doesn’t count. If it’s before 2040. Hell, I’ll give you 2035, that isn’t relevant.”
“We’ll see what ain’t relevant in November when we bust that ass again,” Hasan laughed again. “On some real shit though. I ain’t tryin’ to spook you before the season but the motherfuckas up here? We might win the whole fuckin’ thing. The two-deep, fuck three-deep? Stacked like a bitch. Shit like a minor league NFL team.”
“Isn’t that true for all SEC schools, though?”
“Yeah, what we not gonna do is act like schools like Vanderbilt and Mississippi State are NFL factories. That’s what we not gonna do.” Hasan checked his phone when a text came through before tossing the phone onto the coffee table. “I really think I might be at this bitch for three years and not lose a single game. Like them Alabama niggas back in the day.”
Devin shrugged. “You don’t have to go undefeated every season to win the championship. You just have to do enough to get into the playoffs and win the championship game. I think we’ll be around the conversation. Not that I’ve seen most of these guys on the field personally outside of like Caesar.”
“I completely forgot about that clown. I bet that nigga mad weird about his side of the room. Probably got fuckin’ maids and shit comin’ in y’all shit and cleanin’ and stuff,” Hasan said, laughing.
“Not that I know,” Devin said, shaking his head. “I don’t know how he keeps his shit clean, but I don’t think it’s maids because they’d clean my side of the room, too, right?”
“You think he’d pay them to clean your shit, bruh?”
“Nah. I just think they’d do it anyway. I doubt anyone who cleans for a living is going to think leaving half of a space dirty is acceptable.”
“Money talks. You know that motherfucka up around five mill in NIL deals. He got the money to get a maid to clean or not clean whatever.”
“Five million? Five million what? Pesos?” Devin asked, eyebrow raised.
“Dollars, nigga. How you go to the same school as him and don’t know he been all in the news for signing these huge NIL deals? I think it’s like one huge one and a bunch of others. You should take his ass hostage and tell him to come up out the loot.”
Devin shook his head, thinking about the excess of a kid who was already rich being given more money when most people were living paycheck to paycheck. “I try to avoid him as much as possible. That reminds me I have to get Carla to send Kaley some flowers or some shit for keeping him out of the room.”
“See? If you would’ve brought yo ass here, you would’ve been roomin’ with a chill nigga named Jenkins instead of that crazy motherfucka. Erik like you. All quiet and shit. Until he get on the field. Then he be tryin’ to murder people. Practice, spring game, and you remember when we played Euless. It don’t matter. That nigga don’t care. At all. You lucky you play D,” Hasan said, laughing. “The coaches love that shit though.”
“So basically, you’re saying they’re both fucked up in the head? You sure they aren’t twins separated at birth or something? Because it sounds to me that they are.”
“Nah. I met his mom and his dad is in the pen for life. But if they were related, I’d say that I got the better one for a roommate because I would’ve smothered that nigga Caesar in his sleep by now.”
“Gina offered to do that.”
Hasan laughed. “She always was a real one. I wonder if she’d let me fuck now. She lowkey wife material.”
Devin palmed his face and shook his head.
“Yes, I got the pho. Yes, I got that, too.” Caesar turned off his car and put in a pair of earbuds as he tried to grab all of the food that was in the passenger seat while getting out of the car. He sighed when it didn’t seem possible. “Kaley. I got everything you asked for. Are you sure that you’re not pregnant? Because we could get that taken care of, if you are. It’s basically right down the street. No, that’s not what I meant. You know what I meant. Yes— Nope, I—Kal—Look, I’m going to be up there in a second.”
He hung up the call while she was mid-sentence. If he wasn’t aware of her near-religious birth control regimen, he likely would’ve been scheduling her an appointment. Just in case it was necessary.
Stacking a few of the bags on the car that he’d parked next to, he walked around to the passenger side of his car to grab the rest of the bag. He cursed under his breath when he noticed that some of the juices from the containers had seeped through the bag and gotten onto the seat.
Reaching into the backseat, he used a shirt to scrub at the seat before it started to stain and ruin the fabric. Despite not hurting for money, he wasn’t exactly interested in paying to get his car detailed knowing how much it would cost.
“Hey, man,” a voice said from the opposite side of the car.
Caesar stood up to find a guy standing on the driver’s side, pointing to the food that Caesar had left on the roof of the car next to his.
“Is this yours?”
“Yeah. Is that car yours?” Caesar asked.
“Yeah. Can you, like, get this shit off my car? It’s going to mess up the paint. You could’ve put it on your own car, you know?”
Caesar sighed, walking around and grabbed the bags off the guy’s car’s roof before opening the door and setting the bags on the floor.
“There you go. Sorry I almost messed up the paint on your...” Caesar trailed off as he inspected the car. “On your ‘39 Tesla. I know it’s a collector’s item or something.”
The guy walked around to the driver’s side of his car, shaking his head as he got in. “Fuck you, man. You’re the asshole in this situation, not me.”
Caesar flipped him off as he backed out of the spot and sped off out of the parking lot. He went back to the passenger side of the car to get back to work on the stain that was already beginning to form on the seat.
After a few last swipes in vain, he gave up and made a note in his phone to bring his car to get detailed.
Before he could walk back to the opposite side of his car, a newer model luxury car swung into the spot that the old Tesla guy had been parked in.
An older man jumped out of the driver’s side and all but jogged around the car to open the passenger door, a feat that was somewhat impressive in an ill-fitted suit that was probably off the rack despite being on the pricier side.
It was a curious sight at first, but the person that got out of the car grabbed Caesar’s interest.
The man stepped back and helped Gia out of the car. He opened the back door to pull out a few shopping bags and handed those to her. He went to give her a kiss, but she turned her head to offer her cheek.
Taking his phone out of his jacket pocket, the man quickly swiped through a couple screens. Gia’s phone chimed from inside her handbag. Then, she let him kiss her.
He jogged back around the car as Gia stepped onto the sidewalk before backing out and leaving.
Gia looked over at Caesar and smiled. “What’s up, Caesar? Fancy seeing you out here.”
“I could say the same thing about you,” he said, before grabbing the bags out of his car and pushing the door closed with his foot. He nodded to the bags that she was holding. “You go shopping pretty often, huh?”
“I wouldn’t call it often,” she said, shrugging. She nodded to the bags that he was holding. “You got a lot of food there. I know you and Kaley aren’t going to eat all of that by yourselves so you should share it with the best roommate your girlfriend could have.”
Caesar scoffed as he started toward the building. Gia fell into step next to him. “Your sugar daddy doesn’t feed you when he takes you out?”
“What makes you think that he’s my sugar daddy? We could be in a very committed, normal relationship just like anyone else.” There was a bit of humor in her voice as she said that.
“I’m a rich kid, Gia. I’ve operated in those circles my whole life. I can spot a man that’s paying for companionship better than most people you know. They all have that same look about them. Carry themselves a certain way. And I don’t mean that as a positive. That man is your sugar daddy and you have the game messed up if you aren’t getting free meals out of it, too.”
Gia laughed and tapped Caesar’s hand that was holding the bags of food. “He’s no more my sugar daddy than you are Kaley’s then.”
“That doesn’t even make sense to say. Kaley and I are the same age. And we’re not together because of me having money to blow.”
“Semantics,” she said, winking at him. “But really, what’s in the bags? I’m starving and it would be really rude if y’all sat in the room eating while I had to think about a wish sandwich all by my lonesome so you should really help a girl out.”
Caesar only shook his head as the two of them walked into the building.
“What’s up, man?” Hasan asked, dapping up Devin as he stepped out of the doorway so Devin could walk into the apartment.
“Just fucking tired, but I’m sure you know all about that,” Devin said. He looked around the apartment that Hasan and Erik inhabited, comparing it to the less lived in look that it had when he’d come there back at the beginning of the year. Devin pointed to a shrub that was on the windowsill. “Didn’t expect either of you to be plant guys.”
Hasan laughed as he walked over to plop down on the sofa. “Some chick that Erik brings around sometimes brought that shit here. I think she did that so she got a reason to come back. Talkin’ ‘bout some ‘you haven’t watered the plant! I’ll come do it!’.”
“Sounds plausible,” Devin said as he sat down in a recliner.
“You regettin’ not enrollin’ early yet, nigga? I know them workouts killin’ ya ass. Don’t get me wrong. Tulane ain’t LSU but I know they workin’ y’all niggas into the ground to get ready for fall.”
“I thought half this shit was against some kind of NCAA rule. I knew we’d get in the gym and shit but Jesus fucking Christ, man. Nothing in high school could’ve prepared me for this and it’s supposed to get more intense?”
“SEC, motherfucka. Besides, these programs been doin’ this since time. They know how and do get around any rules limiting how much contact the coaches can have with the players in the offseason. But you know that by now.”
Devin nodded and simply said, “Yep.”
Hasan kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and lounged back into the sofa cushions. “How’s shit lookin’ down there in NOLA? Y’all gonna compete for a bowl or somethin’ this year? Maybe go .500?”
“You know good and well that Tulane has been in a bowl game every year that Shuman’s been there. Don’t try to play us like that.”
“Hey, man,” Hasan said, laughing. “Y’all suppose to be the opps so I had to throw one at you when I had the chance. You know you niggas ain’t won the Rag since like 1980.”
Devin waved off that insult. “Tulane and LSU didn’t even play regularly for like thirty years. That shit doesn’t count. If it’s before 2040. Hell, I’ll give you 2035, that isn’t relevant.”
“We’ll see what ain’t relevant in November when we bust that ass again,” Hasan laughed again. “On some real shit though. I ain’t tryin’ to spook you before the season but the motherfuckas up here? We might win the whole fuckin’ thing. The two-deep, fuck three-deep? Stacked like a bitch. Shit like a minor league NFL team.”
“Isn’t that true for all SEC schools, though?”
“Yeah, what we not gonna do is act like schools like Vanderbilt and Mississippi State are NFL factories. That’s what we not gonna do.” Hasan checked his phone when a text came through before tossing the phone onto the coffee table. “I really think I might be at this bitch for three years and not lose a single game. Like them Alabama niggas back in the day.”
Devin shrugged. “You don’t have to go undefeated every season to win the championship. You just have to do enough to get into the playoffs and win the championship game. I think we’ll be around the conversation. Not that I’ve seen most of these guys on the field personally outside of like Caesar.”
“I completely forgot about that clown. I bet that nigga mad weird about his side of the room. Probably got fuckin’ maids and shit comin’ in y’all shit and cleanin’ and stuff,” Hasan said, laughing.
“Not that I know,” Devin said, shaking his head. “I don’t know how he keeps his shit clean, but I don’t think it’s maids because they’d clean my side of the room, too, right?”
“You think he’d pay them to clean your shit, bruh?”
“Nah. I just think they’d do it anyway. I doubt anyone who cleans for a living is going to think leaving half of a space dirty is acceptable.”
“Money talks. You know that motherfucka up around five mill in NIL deals. He got the money to get a maid to clean or not clean whatever.”
“Five million? Five million what? Pesos?” Devin asked, eyebrow raised.
“Dollars, nigga. How you go to the same school as him and don’t know he been all in the news for signing these huge NIL deals? I think it’s like one huge one and a bunch of others. You should take his ass hostage and tell him to come up out the loot.”
Devin shook his head, thinking about the excess of a kid who was already rich being given more money when most people were living paycheck to paycheck. “I try to avoid him as much as possible. That reminds me I have to get Carla to send Kaley some flowers or some shit for keeping him out of the room.”
“See? If you would’ve brought yo ass here, you would’ve been roomin’ with a chill nigga named Jenkins instead of that crazy motherfucka. Erik like you. All quiet and shit. Until he get on the field. Then he be tryin’ to murder people. Practice, spring game, and you remember when we played Euless. It don’t matter. That nigga don’t care. At all. You lucky you play D,” Hasan said, laughing. “The coaches love that shit though.”
“So basically, you’re saying they’re both fucked up in the head? You sure they aren’t twins separated at birth or something? Because it sounds to me that they are.”
“Nah. I met his mom and his dad is in the pen for life. But if they were related, I’d say that I got the better one for a roommate because I would’ve smothered that nigga Caesar in his sleep by now.”
“Gina offered to do that.”
Hasan laughed. “She always was a real one. I wonder if she’d let me fuck now. She lowkey wife material.”
Devin palmed his face and shook his head.
-*****-
“Yes, I got the pho. Yes, I got that, too.” Caesar turned off his car and put in a pair of earbuds as he tried to grab all of the food that was in the passenger seat while getting out of the car. He sighed when it didn’t seem possible. “Kaley. I got everything you asked for. Are you sure that you’re not pregnant? Because we could get that taken care of, if you are. It’s basically right down the street. No, that’s not what I meant. You know what I meant. Yes— Nope, I—Kal—Look, I’m going to be up there in a second.”
He hung up the call while she was mid-sentence. If he wasn’t aware of her near-religious birth control regimen, he likely would’ve been scheduling her an appointment. Just in case it was necessary.
Stacking a few of the bags on the car that he’d parked next to, he walked around to the passenger side of his car to grab the rest of the bag. He cursed under his breath when he noticed that some of the juices from the containers had seeped through the bag and gotten onto the seat.
Reaching into the backseat, he used a shirt to scrub at the seat before it started to stain and ruin the fabric. Despite not hurting for money, he wasn’t exactly interested in paying to get his car detailed knowing how much it would cost.
“Hey, man,” a voice said from the opposite side of the car.
Caesar stood up to find a guy standing on the driver’s side, pointing to the food that Caesar had left on the roof of the car next to his.
“Is this yours?”
“Yeah. Is that car yours?” Caesar asked.
“Yeah. Can you, like, get this shit off my car? It’s going to mess up the paint. You could’ve put it on your own car, you know?”
Caesar sighed, walking around and grabbed the bags off the guy’s car’s roof before opening the door and setting the bags on the floor.
“There you go. Sorry I almost messed up the paint on your...” Caesar trailed off as he inspected the car. “On your ‘39 Tesla. I know it’s a collector’s item or something.”
The guy walked around to the driver’s side of his car, shaking his head as he got in. “Fuck you, man. You’re the asshole in this situation, not me.”
Caesar flipped him off as he backed out of the spot and sped off out of the parking lot. He went back to the passenger side of the car to get back to work on the stain that was already beginning to form on the seat.
After a few last swipes in vain, he gave up and made a note in his phone to bring his car to get detailed.
Before he could walk back to the opposite side of his car, a newer model luxury car swung into the spot that the old Tesla guy had been parked in.
An older man jumped out of the driver’s side and all but jogged around the car to open the passenger door, a feat that was somewhat impressive in an ill-fitted suit that was probably off the rack despite being on the pricier side.
It was a curious sight at first, but the person that got out of the car grabbed Caesar’s interest.
The man stepped back and helped Gia out of the car. He opened the back door to pull out a few shopping bags and handed those to her. He went to give her a kiss, but she turned her head to offer her cheek.
Taking his phone out of his jacket pocket, the man quickly swiped through a couple screens. Gia’s phone chimed from inside her handbag. Then, she let him kiss her.
He jogged back around the car as Gia stepped onto the sidewalk before backing out and leaving.
Gia looked over at Caesar and smiled. “What’s up, Caesar? Fancy seeing you out here.”
“I could say the same thing about you,” he said, before grabbing the bags out of his car and pushing the door closed with his foot. He nodded to the bags that she was holding. “You go shopping pretty often, huh?”
“I wouldn’t call it often,” she said, shrugging. She nodded to the bags that he was holding. “You got a lot of food there. I know you and Kaley aren’t going to eat all of that by yourselves so you should share it with the best roommate your girlfriend could have.”
Caesar scoffed as he started toward the building. Gia fell into step next to him. “Your sugar daddy doesn’t feed you when he takes you out?”
“What makes you think that he’s my sugar daddy? We could be in a very committed, normal relationship just like anyone else.” There was a bit of humor in her voice as she said that.
“I’m a rich kid, Gia. I’ve operated in those circles my whole life. I can spot a man that’s paying for companionship better than most people you know. They all have that same look about them. Carry themselves a certain way. And I don’t mean that as a positive. That man is your sugar daddy and you have the game messed up if you aren’t getting free meals out of it, too.”
Gia laughed and tapped Caesar’s hand that was holding the bags of food. “He’s no more my sugar daddy than you are Kaley’s then.”
“That doesn’t even make sense to say. Kaley and I are the same age. And we’re not together because of me having money to blow.”
“Semantics,” she said, winking at him. “But really, what’s in the bags? I’m starving and it would be really rude if y’all sat in the room eating while I had to think about a wish sandwich all by my lonesome so you should really help a girl out.”
Caesar only shook his head as the two of them walked into the building.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 2181
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
He's going to fuck her all the way up, huh. You ain't slick, Caesar.
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Time to Work
Tulane's head coach Denver Shuman stood behind his quarterbacks with his arms crossed over his chest as the four of them were run through their paces by the offensive coordinator and quarterbacks coach, James Harley.
Coach Shuman gave a sharp nod of approval when they all dropped back three steps and hit their targets down field, almost in identical lock step with one another.
A few weeks beyond his 62nd birthday, Denver Shuman still cut the same imposing figure that had gotten him recruited as a linebacker for Missouri Southern over forty years ago. A litany of knee injuries effectively ended his playing career only a year into his collegiate days and he was soon beginning his career on the sidelines.
In his 27th year as a head coach, his eighth at Tulane, he felt he’d seen it all as far as changes and innovations went both on and off the football field. But it had been a while since he’d added anything to his trophy case.
And that was making some wonder if the game had passed him by.
That’s why he was heading into fall camp with a renewed intensity for his team. After seven years of building the program, it was time for it to show that it was ready to compete with the big boys and start winning championships – whether that be in the national championship playoffs or the SEC Championship game.
They had to win something.
Receivers coach Travis Simmons waved for Caesar and Arion to step up to the front of the line for the next rep of the drill he had his group running through.
Simmons was unique on Denver Shuman’s coaching staff as he had no experience at the pro level, but that hadn’t held him back from developing into one of the SEC’s better position coaches. He owed a lot of his knowledge to being a scout team guy at UCLA for five years before jumping into the coaching game. And he hadn’t looked back since.
His age matched his resume. Still in his early 30s, it wasn’t uncommon for him to be mistaken for a player or intern when the team traveled despite five years in New Orleans alone.
Coach Simmons whistled and Arion grabbed hold of Caesar’s jersey. Then he whistled twice and the two of them ran forward before the coach threw a ball to Caesar’s back shoulder.
Despite Arion literally hanging on his back, Caesar elevated and turned in the air to catch the pass with relative ease.
“You gotta at least try to keep him on the ground, Arion,” Coach Simmons said as he caught the ball that Caesar had thrown back to him.
“That’s a big motherfucker, coach,” Arion said, jogging back to the line. “I’m not trying to get hurt on the first day. Give me a few more days and I’ll just tackle his ass.”
Caesar smacked the back of Arion’s helmet and laughed. “C’mon! I’m taking it easy, man!”
…
Caesar burst off the line, clubbed the blue tackling dummy to his left then released to the “outside” of the defender. He got back on his line and looked over his shoulder, watching the ball sail toward his hands.
For an extra bit of panache and suffering from a bit of boredom, he kept his left hand at his side and made a one-handed catch with his right.
Coach Simmons clapped sarcastically. “Are you going to be doing that when we’ve got DBs lined up on the other side of you, Jenkins?”
Caesar flipped the ball back to the coach and nodded. “We’re all day, coach. With or without someone covering me.”
Devin took the water bottle from one of the team managers and squirted a bit of the cold, liquid gold into his mouth and onto his face before handing it back. Despite the time of year and climate change, it was an exceptionally hot day in New Orleans with the humidity hovering around 100 percent. And given that it was the first day of Tulane’s fall camp, there would be no time for acclimatizing to the Crescent City’s sometimes brutal heat.
He took a second swig of water before tossing the bottle back to the manager. Rubbing sweat from his neck, he stepped to the front of the group as they listened to their position coach remind them of what he wanted from them.
Coach LaMichael Major was entering his fifth year as Tulane’s defensive backs coach after a career in Canada, Germany and Austria. While his playing career needed a world tour to make happen, mid-major schools were starting to sniff around to see if he wanted to take the next step in his coaching career.
A man who still maintained the physique of a professional athlete despite retiring some nine years ago, Coach Major had a bond with his guys that likely contributed to Tulane’s rise over the last few years. There was loyalty in the defensive back room and it didn’t take an in-depth analysis to figure out where that stemmed from.
“If I weave you this way,” Coach Major said, while gesturing with his hands. “Then you’ll zone turn in and break opposite forty-five. If I weave you that way, then you’ll zone turn in and break opposite forty-five. Y’all got me?”
“Yes, sir,” the group said in unison.
Devin was one of the first ones up, lining up between Rahim and K.J.
“Alright, let’s go. Set, hut!”
Coach Major pointed to his right. Devin, Rahim and K.J. backpedaled in the appropriate direction for a handful of yards before turning their backs to the “sideline,” breaking in the opposite direction to run back to where they’d started from.
…
Quenshan stood opposite of Devin in a receiver’s stance, one of a handful of pairs lined up along the boundary.
“Hut!” Coach Major shouted.
Devin’s hands shot out and “punched” Quenshan’s chest, causing the veteran to stumble under his own momentum. Quenshan tried to swipe down Devin’s arms to break free but Devin drove him back and eventually to the ground.
A chorus of “oohs” sounded from the DBs waiting their turn as Coach Major ended the rep. Devin helped Quenshan back to his feet.
The senior smacked Devin on the top of his helmet. “Good shit, lil’ brother. Keep that up when they start letting us put them paws on the receivers instead of each other.”
“This been a good first day, fellas. But let’s do this every day. Same shit, same effort, every day,” Coach Major said.
Coach Shuman sat down in a plastic chair that had been set in a shaded area near the practice fields. He’d swapped out his toothpick for a new one and was rolling it between his teeth as reporters gathered around him to get soundbites for their afternoon shows.
“We have time for a few,” an SID said as he held up a piece of paper in front of the coach’s face so the cameras would white balance.
Shuman resisted the urge to swat at the piece of paper despite having done hundreds of media scrums over the years and going through the same process.
The SID pointed at a reporter for them to ask their question.
“Coach, day one is in the books. What do you think of the team so far?”
The coach crossed his arms over his chest. “We got a lot of work to do to get ready for the season. I’m not going to start making bold statements about this or that a couple hours into fall camp. That’s just a waste of time.”
Another reporter was called on. “There’s a lot of attention on your offense, specifically Caesar Jenkins. I know you said it’s too early, but will he be getting reps with the first team later in camp or will you need to see something specific from him first?”
“We have two seniors, a junior and a third-year sophomore in that wide receiver room. They all know that every summer, everyone starts at zero. If anyone separates themselves from the pack then they’ll get a few more reps. If not, we’ll see what we have when the seasons starts and go with the best eleven guys out on the field as the ‘first team.’ Ask me again a week or two before Monroe and I’ll let you know who is getting what reps.”
“One more,” the SID said, holding up a finger and used it to point to a third reporter.
“The SEC West has only gotten better over the last few years and some people believe that this could be the deepest version of it yet with LSU, Alabama and Auburn all looking like national championship contenders. How do you think Tulane will fit into that this season?”
“Well, right now?” Coach Shuman paused for a moment, scratching his chin. “Right now, I think we’d fit in at the bottom.”
“At the bottom?”
“Yes, that’s the final tiebreaker isn’t it? We’re all zero and zero. Alabama, Auburn, LSU, Mississippi State, Ole Miss, Texas A&M and Tulane.”
The SID noticed the confused looks on the reporters’ faces and said “Alphabetical order.”
The reporters all laughed but it was clear they didn’t find the joke all that funny.
Nor was it true that the final tiebreaker in the SEC was alphabetical order.
Tulane's head coach Denver Shuman stood behind his quarterbacks with his arms crossed over his chest as the four of them were run through their paces by the offensive coordinator and quarterbacks coach, James Harley.
Coach Shuman gave a sharp nod of approval when they all dropped back three steps and hit their targets down field, almost in identical lock step with one another.
A few weeks beyond his 62nd birthday, Denver Shuman still cut the same imposing figure that had gotten him recruited as a linebacker for Missouri Southern over forty years ago. A litany of knee injuries effectively ended his playing career only a year into his collegiate days and he was soon beginning his career on the sidelines.
In his 27th year as a head coach, his eighth at Tulane, he felt he’d seen it all as far as changes and innovations went both on and off the football field. But it had been a while since he’d added anything to his trophy case.
And that was making some wonder if the game had passed him by.
That’s why he was heading into fall camp with a renewed intensity for his team. After seven years of building the program, it was time for it to show that it was ready to compete with the big boys and start winning championships – whether that be in the national championship playoffs or the SEC Championship game.
They had to win something.
-*****-
Receivers coach Travis Simmons waved for Caesar and Arion to step up to the front of the line for the next rep of the drill he had his group running through.
Simmons was unique on Denver Shuman’s coaching staff as he had no experience at the pro level, but that hadn’t held him back from developing into one of the SEC’s better position coaches. He owed a lot of his knowledge to being a scout team guy at UCLA for five years before jumping into the coaching game. And he hadn’t looked back since.
His age matched his resume. Still in his early 30s, it wasn’t uncommon for him to be mistaken for a player or intern when the team traveled despite five years in New Orleans alone.
Coach Simmons whistled and Arion grabbed hold of Caesar’s jersey. Then he whistled twice and the two of them ran forward before the coach threw a ball to Caesar’s back shoulder.
Despite Arion literally hanging on his back, Caesar elevated and turned in the air to catch the pass with relative ease.
“You gotta at least try to keep him on the ground, Arion,” Coach Simmons said as he caught the ball that Caesar had thrown back to him.
“That’s a big motherfucker, coach,” Arion said, jogging back to the line. “I’m not trying to get hurt on the first day. Give me a few more days and I’ll just tackle his ass.”
Caesar smacked the back of Arion’s helmet and laughed. “C’mon! I’m taking it easy, man!”
…
Caesar burst off the line, clubbed the blue tackling dummy to his left then released to the “outside” of the defender. He got back on his line and looked over his shoulder, watching the ball sail toward his hands.
For an extra bit of panache and suffering from a bit of boredom, he kept his left hand at his side and made a one-handed catch with his right.
Coach Simmons clapped sarcastically. “Are you going to be doing that when we’ve got DBs lined up on the other side of you, Jenkins?”
Caesar flipped the ball back to the coach and nodded. “We’re all day, coach. With or without someone covering me.”
-*****-
Devin took the water bottle from one of the team managers and squirted a bit of the cold, liquid gold into his mouth and onto his face before handing it back. Despite the time of year and climate change, it was an exceptionally hot day in New Orleans with the humidity hovering around 100 percent. And given that it was the first day of Tulane’s fall camp, there would be no time for acclimatizing to the Crescent City’s sometimes brutal heat.
He took a second swig of water before tossing the bottle back to the manager. Rubbing sweat from his neck, he stepped to the front of the group as they listened to their position coach remind them of what he wanted from them.
Coach LaMichael Major was entering his fifth year as Tulane’s defensive backs coach after a career in Canada, Germany and Austria. While his playing career needed a world tour to make happen, mid-major schools were starting to sniff around to see if he wanted to take the next step in his coaching career.
A man who still maintained the physique of a professional athlete despite retiring some nine years ago, Coach Major had a bond with his guys that likely contributed to Tulane’s rise over the last few years. There was loyalty in the defensive back room and it didn’t take an in-depth analysis to figure out where that stemmed from.
“If I weave you this way,” Coach Major said, while gesturing with his hands. “Then you’ll zone turn in and break opposite forty-five. If I weave you that way, then you’ll zone turn in and break opposite forty-five. Y’all got me?”
“Yes, sir,” the group said in unison.
Devin was one of the first ones up, lining up between Rahim and K.J.
“Alright, let’s go. Set, hut!”
Coach Major pointed to his right. Devin, Rahim and K.J. backpedaled in the appropriate direction for a handful of yards before turning their backs to the “sideline,” breaking in the opposite direction to run back to where they’d started from.
…
Quenshan stood opposite of Devin in a receiver’s stance, one of a handful of pairs lined up along the boundary.
“Hut!” Coach Major shouted.
Devin’s hands shot out and “punched” Quenshan’s chest, causing the veteran to stumble under his own momentum. Quenshan tried to swipe down Devin’s arms to break free but Devin drove him back and eventually to the ground.
A chorus of “oohs” sounded from the DBs waiting their turn as Coach Major ended the rep. Devin helped Quenshan back to his feet.
The senior smacked Devin on the top of his helmet. “Good shit, lil’ brother. Keep that up when they start letting us put them paws on the receivers instead of each other.”
“This been a good first day, fellas. But let’s do this every day. Same shit, same effort, every day,” Coach Major said.
-*****-
Coach Shuman sat down in a plastic chair that had been set in a shaded area near the practice fields. He’d swapped out his toothpick for a new one and was rolling it between his teeth as reporters gathered around him to get soundbites for their afternoon shows.
“We have time for a few,” an SID said as he held up a piece of paper in front of the coach’s face so the cameras would white balance.
Shuman resisted the urge to swat at the piece of paper despite having done hundreds of media scrums over the years and going through the same process.
The SID pointed at a reporter for them to ask their question.
“Coach, day one is in the books. What do you think of the team so far?”
The coach crossed his arms over his chest. “We got a lot of work to do to get ready for the season. I’m not going to start making bold statements about this or that a couple hours into fall camp. That’s just a waste of time.”
Another reporter was called on. “There’s a lot of attention on your offense, specifically Caesar Jenkins. I know you said it’s too early, but will he be getting reps with the first team later in camp or will you need to see something specific from him first?”
“We have two seniors, a junior and a third-year sophomore in that wide receiver room. They all know that every summer, everyone starts at zero. If anyone separates themselves from the pack then they’ll get a few more reps. If not, we’ll see what we have when the seasons starts and go with the best eleven guys out on the field as the ‘first team.’ Ask me again a week or two before Monroe and I’ll let you know who is getting what reps.”
“One more,” the SID said, holding up a finger and used it to point to a third reporter.
“The SEC West has only gotten better over the last few years and some people believe that this could be the deepest version of it yet with LSU, Alabama and Auburn all looking like national championship contenders. How do you think Tulane will fit into that this season?”
“Well, right now?” Coach Shuman paused for a moment, scratching his chin. “Right now, I think we’d fit in at the bottom.”
“At the bottom?”
“Yes, that’s the final tiebreaker isn’t it? We’re all zero and zero. Alabama, Auburn, LSU, Mississippi State, Ole Miss, Texas A&M and Tulane.”
The SID noticed the confused looks on the reporters’ faces and said “Alphabetical order.”
The reporters all laughed but it was clear they didn’t find the joke all that funny.
Nor was it true that the final tiebreaker in the SEC was alphabetical order.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 2181
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Nice lil update, glad to have you back to writing king.