For anyone who ever wondered “what if?” And still believes that sometimes happily ever afters require a do-over.
I’d just toucheddown in Las Vegas the night before, and the last thing I wanted to do on a random Wednesday was view houses. But I was officially a Vegas resident after accepting a trade to the Las Vegas Ramblers. The season would begin in a couple of weeks, and I had no place to live. My furniture, which was being driven here by Rover’s Rover from Kansas City, was lost in transit. How exactly does one lose a semi-truck loaded with furniture and personal belongings?
My personal assistant, Nori Booker, worked for weeks to make the transition as easy as possible for me. I was posted up in a cushy hotel on the Strip. When I walked out of the airport, an SUV was waiting for me, courtesy of Nike. And my hotel suite was stocked with my favorite everything right down to the toiletries.
Growing up I wasn’t catered to. I was making my own dinners, mostly franks and beans, by the age of seven because my mom worked and my dad was either drunk or MIA. Entering the NBA as the top draft pick changed everything. If I’m being honest, it all started at Grand Summit University. The solo dorm room, the gift cards to restaurants, and shopping trips to luxurystores my mother would walk past when we were younger and wistfully sigh, “One day.”
The only thing that wasn’t secured was a place to live and that was mostly because I didn’t know what the hell Vegas had to offer. “How many places are we checking out today?” I turned to Nori who was driving us to a private gated community called Canyon Gate.
“We just have one lined up today. The real estate company wanted you to meet your realtor. You’ll tour the property and then the realtor will pick your brain as to what you’re looking for. When they asked me all I could say was your ass was very particular.”
“I just like what I like. Does this realtor know what they’re getting themselves into?”
“Luxe Desert Dwellings comes highly recommended; they are the premier real estate agency in Vegas. They only serve the elite in Nevada. I’m talking about politicians, insta-millionaire entrepreneurs, celebrities, and of course athletes. Trust me you’re in good hands.”
It was a silly question. Nori didn’t leave much to chance. She was efficient and discreet. At thirty-five she was the oldest assistant I’d interviewed but her résumé was stacked. She’d been a personal assistant to musicians, actors, and sports figures. If she could handle the crazy lifestyle of rapper XYZ Baby than my requests were no doubt mild in comparison.
She stopped at the security gate exchanging pleasantries with the guard on duty. “Hello my name is Nori Booker and I’m meeting a realtor from Luxe Dwellings to view one of the homes.” She handed over her driver’s license.
The guard walked back to his air-conditioned booth and did God knows what before returning to our SUV. “Go straight ahead for a mile and then turn left. Your realtor is already there.” He shifted his head to inspect the inside of our vehicle, morespecifically me, before tapping the side of the car and moving back.
“Look at that, twenty-four-hour security so you won’t have to worry about undesirables.” I nodded unimpressed. As we made our way through the grounds, the streets were lined with mature palm trees solidifying the fact we were no longer in Kansas City. For some reason palm trees signified wealth to me. Maybe because they were so foreign from where I grew up in Philly. Shit like palm trees and police protected communities tucked behind gates was unthinkable when I was a kid. At twenty-six it was still hard to believe this was my life.
“This is the type of neighborhood a brother would get pulled over in, for just existing.”
“A six-foot five brother like yourself is kind of hard to miss,” Nori teased. “Listen, I know you hate change, but this is a good thing. Vegas is going to take you to the next level.”
“You sound like Art.” Art Fischer was my manager, and he’d negotiated one hell of a deal to get me traded to the Ramblers.
“Promise me you’ll be nice.”
“I’m always nice.”
“No, you’re not. The minute you ain’t feeling something or someone you shut down.”
“I can’t help it if my attention span is compromised. I blame social media.”
Nori pointed to a home that was way too much house for one man. “I think that’s the place.”
“I hate it.”
“You haven’t even seen it.”
“The neighbors are too close. And I bet you they’d call the police at the first sound of loud music.”
“This home is over ten thousand square feet no one is going to hear you bumping Elton John at two in the morning.”
“Don’t disrespect the Rocketman.”
Nori pulled into the curved driveway behind a BMW.
Exiting the vehicle, I examined the facade. I was too focused on this trade and my new team to give much thought to where I wanted to live. But like a knockoff Gucci belt, you just knew it when you saw it. And this home while massive, was giving cookie-cutter. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
At the front door, Nori rang the bell. It took several minutes for a response. Probably because the floor plan was so huge you had to hoof it so as not to miss visitors who, after waiting for five fucking minutes, would no doubt assume you weren’t home. When the front door opened, my jaw practically unhinged. “Danessa?”
Her eyes moved past Nori and up toward me, the smile on her face faltering. “Aldridge, what are you doing here?”
Nori’s head was on a swivel. “You two know each other?”
