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“What major stuff?”
“You, Warden.”
“Me?”
He nods. “Like I said, you can have anything in the store… you and your son. All you have to do is wear the Deck and Check gear at skate comps. You promote me and my brand and I promote you.”
Amusement sets in. And then confusion. “Who says I’m doing more comps?”
“Who says you aren’t?” Dad chimes in.
Chris and I face him. “What?” I ask.
“So?” Chris says, raising his hand between us. “Deal?”
“What? No.”
“You’ll also be my client.”
“What client?”
“I’ll be your agent, your PR rep, your assistant. Your everything, basically. And you know I’ll be good at it because I know the skate scene better than anyone. Not just the amateur or the underground, but the pro circuit too. And that’s where I plan on taking you.”
Dad speaks again. “Josh, is he the kid from the skate comp you told me about?”
I nod, my gaze switching between them.
“Sounds like a good deal,” Dad says. “Your mother should be your manager.”
“Okay,” Chris agrees.
“What?” I ask everyone.
Dad says, “Who else would look after your best interest better than your mother? Plus, she needs something to do when I kick the bucket.”
“Dad!”
He just shrugs.
“Mom doesn’t know anything about skating,” I tell him.
“I’ll teach her about the skate side. That’s not a problem,” Dad says.
“So?” Chris asks.
And I don’t really know what happens next or what the hell makes me say: “I’ll pay you.”
Chris smiles. “I take a cut of anything you earn from the competitions and any sponsorship deals I might make from it. So will your momager.”
“Momager?”
“Mom/Manager…”
Tommy laughs from the corner of the store—a dozen hats on his head. “I’m a fat-hat-man!”
I turn back to Chris. “I don’t think any sponsors would be interested—”
“They already are, Warden.”
My mouth opens but nothing came out. Maybe it’s the shock… or maybe it was something else completely. “I don’t want anything that’s going to take me away from my son.”
Chris shrugs and looks at Dad. “That’s cool. We can put it in the clause, right? You’ll speak to your wife about it? Actually, I’ll get her number and we can set up a meeting.”
“What clause? What meeting?”
“We’ll work on it. I’ll have my lawyer draft up the contract.” He jerks his head to his hand still raised between us. “Deal?”
I swallow loudly. “I um…”
“Just shake his hand, Son,” Dad says.
So I do, because he’s my dad and I always do what he says.
“Good.” Chris grins from ear to ear and pats my arm twice. “This is going to be good, Warden. I can feel it.”
“Me too,” Dad says, shaking Chris’s hand.
“Me poop!” Tommy yells.
Chris makes his way behind the counter again. “And I wasn’t kidding when I said you could take whatever you wanted. Just tell me what it is so I can remove it from inventory.” He busies himself with paperwork behind the computer. “I’ll get some shirts printed for you and your son.” He points to my dad. “And you and your wife too?”
He nods.
“Just give me a list of sizes for whoever else will be in your camp at the comp next weekend.”
“Next weekend?” I shout.
“Yep. We got a lot of work to do,” he mumbles, still not looking up.
“I work full time, man. I can’t just drop it to train.”
“Did you train for SK8F8?”
“Well, no, but… I mean, I should train and I can’t get enough time in at the skate park while I’m watching Tommy and working and—”
“Robby?” Dad interrupts, his phone to his ear. “Can Josh take the next week off?”
38
-Joshua-
Chris takes care of everything; from my clothes, to my decks, registrations, schedules, etc. Luckily, this comp’s local—only an hour away. He says my mom and he will look at the full tour schedule and go through “logistics” later.
Whatever that means.
Chris’s good at what he sets out to achieve. I don’t have to worry about anything but skating and that’s pretty damn perfect for me.
Of course everyone shows up to the event, even my dad, forced—again into a wheelchair by my mom. They wear their matching Deck and Check shirts and hats, the same ones I wear.
They sit and watch me skate and move on to the next round, round after round, and each round they sit together and show their support.
My mom claps.
Robby whistles.
Tommy squeals.
But my dad—he just smiles the same proud smile I’ve seen at every comp he’s ever taken me to.
And when it’s over, I drive us back to my parent’s house; set the first place trophy right next to the other trophy on dad’s nightstand and I face him. “I skated my heart out today.”
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After that comp things get a little more major. Chris starts getting calls and turning down sponsorships and interviews, etc. He tells me not to worry too much about all of it and that if anything worthy comes up he’ll definitely tell me.
