Carl Weber's Kingpins

by Marcus Weber

  “You want to dance?”

  * * *

  Without realizing it, Antonio said the words from his memory out loud, and Paige blinked a few times, remembering where she was. The wedding ceremony was a blur. It was not until cheers erupted from the small crowd of sixty guests that Paige realized it was done. She’d married Antonio for the second time. To hell with the reasons they had divorced in the first place. The reasons . . . Thinking about the reasons made Paige think of Michaela, whose absence at the wedding was as noticeable as a huge sinkhole in the middle of the widely traveled road.

  Paige felt sick, but still, she flashed a smile.

  “And now I can kiss my bride,” Antonio beamed, playing his role. Paige welcomed his tongue into her mouth for a long, passionate seal of their vows. It didn’t matter what she felt. She knew it would make for better headlines in the media. Better ratings, too. It would also set her in-laws at ease. Remarrying Antonio needed to solve their problems. It needed to save their lives. It needed to right all of the wrongs. It needed to keep her from having to testify against him . . . them.

  Antonio and Paige pulled apart and turned toward their spectators. Cheers arose. Paige’s cheeks flushed, and the bones in her face ached from grinning. She deserved an Academy Award.

  Antonio wore a cool grin as they slowly made their way down the aisle. He squeezed Paige’s hand as if to say, “at least this part is over.”

  “Wait right there . . . hold that pose!” the photographer called out. “Kiss her,” he instructed, hoisting his camera to eye level to ensure he captured the exact moment their lips met. The flash exploded around them. Cameras rolled. Money shot after money shot was captured. This was great.

  Paige and Antonio turned to each other on cue, their tongues engaged in another scandalously intimate dance. The photographer’s flash lit up in front of them like heavenly beams of light, and the crowd erupted in another round of cheers. Perfection.

  The sun basked the couple in abundant light and warmth. It was truly the perfect May afternoon for an outdoor wedding. If only everything else in their lives were this perfect.

  “Walk slowly forward now,” the photographer instructed, the camera crew backing up for the wide angled shots.

  When Paige and Antonio finally made it to the end of the aisle, they were bombarded by guests eager to snap photos with cell phones and personal cameras. Noticing the paparazzi disguised as regular guests, Antonio waved like a politician and Paige flashed her debutante smile. Everyone wanted to get the story first.

  “Antonio.” Jackson Cartwright stepped into their path, clapping his hand on Antonio’s shoulder.

  Paige’s smile faded, and she bit down into her jaw.

  “I didn’t think you’d go through with it. I’m proud of you. Maybe you’re braver than I thought,” Jackson said, smiling. He turned his attention to Paige. “Congratulations.”

  Paige shivered.

  “One more!” the photographer shouted, jutting his camera forward for a close-up.

  Paige twisted away, happy for the distraction. Antonio and Paige faced each other, their fake happiness hanging over them like a freshly blown bubble. He kissed her chastely on the nose. She giggled at his playfulness. What a performance! Paige pictured them standing hand-in-hand on a stage, accepting a Tony Award for best actor and actress.

  “Antonio!” a voice boomed.

  Paige’s head whipped left, then right. It was hard to determine what direction the voice had come from until it sounded again. This time, louder. More sinister.

  Antonio’s head jerked to the left. Paige craned her neck, but there were so many people in front of them.

  “Antonio!” the voice boomed again. “You should’ve played by the rules!” Screams erupted as the wedding goers saw the source of the voice first.

  “Oh my God! Gun! He’s got a gun!” a guest screamed.

  Antonio’s eyes widened. Frantically, he unhooked his arm from Paige’s and stepped in front of her. Before he could make another move, the sound of rapid-fire explosions cut through the air.

  Chapter 1

  Fool’s Gold

  One year earlier

  Paige nodded at the hostess and attempted a smile. “Broadwell party,” she huffed. She exhaled and tucked her hair behind her left ear. She could feel the perspiration tickling her top lip, but wiping it would smear her freshly beat face. There was no meeting the ladies without a flawless face of makeup.

  Paige shifted her weight on her heels as the hostess scanned her list.

  “It should be under Michaela Broadwell. I’m kind of late.” Paige craned her neck to see if she spotted Michaela in the restaurant, so she could save the hostess some time and point Michaela out.

  “Ah, yes. Broadwell. Party of four,” the hostess sang like she’d just discovered something great. “Right this way.”

  Paige followed, rehearsing believable excuses in her head.

  Sorry girl, but just as I was walking out, Christian got sick.

  Girl, blame my mother. She called with her usual melodrama, and I lost track of time listening to her complain.

  Sorry to have you waiting. The nanny called out, and I had to get a sitting service last minute.

  Paige could live with picking one of those excuses—anything other than the real reason she was late. She could imagine the slight hint of satisfaction masked as concern that would crop up on Michaela’s face if she knew what really happened. Paige envisioned Michaela sucking in her breath and her cat-green eyes going round. “Oh, Paige. I’m so sorry this is happening to you,” Michaela would say sympathetically, as if Paige had just told her she had cancer. Paige swallowed hard. That would make her sick. She hated people to pity her.

  Paige loved Michaela, but they’d always had a mildly competitive relationship. As kids, if Paige got a new bike, Michaela would beg her parents for a bigger, prettier, fancier bike. As teens, if Paige got a new piece of jewelry from her father, like the diamond tennis bracelet she got at her sweet sixteen, Michaela would be sure to get the bracelet, earrings, and necklace. Even as adults, when Paige’s relationship with Antonio got serious, Michaela killed herself to find an athlete who could measure up, though Michaela’s mother had wanted her to marry Barry Richardson, a future lawyer whose parents were wealthy.

  All of that aside, Paige loved Michaela. Paige couldn’t imagine her life without Michaela. Without her, who would she tell her deepest secrets? Who would give her advice? Who would be her voice when she lost hers, which was often? Michaela always had Paige’s back, and even when social anxiety kept Paige from speaking up for herself in certain situations, Michaela would step in and be her mouthpiece.

  “Here we are,” the hostess said, extending her hand toward the seat like a church usher. “I’ll leave the menu here for you. Enjoy ladies.”

  “Thank you,” Paige huffed, plunking her bag down in the empty chair next to hers.

  Before she could sit down, Michaela was on her. “Thank you for gracing me with your presence, Mrs. Roberts,” Michaela sniped, tapping the top of her sparkly, diamond-encrusted Rolex, another “out-do Paige” item.

  “I know. I know.”

  “You know, alright. You know I do not like looking like a chick on a blind date that got stood up,” Michaela complained with the strained chuckle that meant she was annoyed but trying. She stood up, and they exchanged a perfunctory hug and cheek-to-cheek air kiss.

  Michaela looked beautiful as usual. Paige admired how Michaela kept her skin glowing all year around like she was fresh off of a Caribbean beach vacation every day.

  “Just been a crazy day,” Paige said, her voice clipped. She didn’t bother to offer one of her practiced excuses. Michaela knew her too well.

  “You know I wanted to have some time alone with you before the other girls got here.” Michaela looked at her watch again. “Shit, now we only have about twenty minutes to chat before the gossip hound and the preacher’s wife arrive.”

  “I’m sorry,” Paige said
, leaving it at that. She picked up a glass of water with already melted ice and sipped, hoping it would settle her stomach.

  “So, what’s up, girl?” Paige let Michaela start talking about what was going on with her. That always did the trick when Paige wanted to forget her own problems. Michaela loved to have the spotlight, and Paige loved to give it to her.

  “There’s so much happening,” Michaela lowered her voice and leaned in closer to the table, her green eyes wide like what she had to say was top secret.

  Paige uncurled her toes and let her shoulders drop. For the first time in hours, she relaxed. There was always so much happening with Michaela. She would forever be one of those spoiled rich girls who believed every small thing was a huge deal. Michaela could make a garden snake into a boa constrictor, or a campfire into a raging inferno. But, the one thing Paige had always admired about her best friend was her fearlessness. Michaela was fearless in a way that would make her jump in the face of a six-foot-tall hulk of a man in a road rage incident and punch him in the face without blinking an eye.

  “So, hurry up and fill me in,” Paige urged. Anything to keep Michaela from asking her about what was going on in her life.

  “Well, Rod is retiring. But, you already know that. So, I’m in the process of planning the party. I think it’ll be good for him. A change. A break from his . . . you know . . . grief.”

  Paige nodded. She wanted to ask so badly if Michaela really thought right now was a good time in Rod’s life for a party. His brother had just been murdered and dragged through the mud as a drug-dealing gangbanger in the media. But the excitement in Michaela’s voice made Paige stay silent.

  “Oh my God, that party planner—Minted Events—has the best ideas. Shayna, the owner, flew in all the way from Houston just to show me samples of what she has. Now, that’s customer service. And, I’m scouring all of the top designers for my dress. It has to be two seasons ahead, or else it simply won’t work,” Michaela prattled.

  Paige nodded and sipped her water. Just envisioning any over-the-top event Michaela would throw made Paige feel like sinking into the floor. She thought she could put her worries aside for this lunch with the ladies, but she hadn’t considered that their usual pretentious banter would send her mind racing, worrying. Would she even be able to afford a designer dress for Michaela’s husband’s retirement party? Who would be there? Would there be a red carpet? Paparazzi? Would everyone know what happened by then?

  “I have to find him a suit, because you know Rod. He’ll show up in a hoodie and sweats if I don’t reel him in. After all these years with this beauty as a wife, he is still like the beast—”

  “Antonio got let go from another team.” Paige didn’t know why, but the words just bubbled out of her. Her stomach contracted. Saying the words gave Paige the kind of relief you felt after vomiting. She gulped her water this time, wishing it were a stiff drink. And she didn’t even drink.

  Michaela’s eyebrows shot up into arches, and she flattened her right hand over her heart. “Oh, Paige. I’m so sorry.”

  Paige had almost had her words down perfectly.

  “He says we’ll be okay. They bought out the contract, and he’s going to invest the money,” Paige said, trying to convince herself, more than Michaela, that her lifestyle would stay the same and that she wouldn’t be explaining things to her parents . . . again.

  “You don’t have to give up your house, do you?” Michaela gasped like she was asking if Paige had to have both of her lungs removed. “And what about Christian . . . will he have to change schools? What about your parents? What will they say? Will you ask them for help? Will you get a job?” Michaela shot questions at her, rapid fire.

  Paige blanched. She had already asked herself all of those questions when Antonio came home, half drunk, and woke her with the news. Paige had sat up in the bed, her black velvet sleep mask pulled up on her forehead, and sleep clouding her brain. She listened to Antonio rant about how it had happened this time.

  “They were all standing around in Dan’s office, all smug and shit,” Antonio had griped, sitting at her side, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his fists clenched.

  “Of course Dan hid behind his fancy, big-dog desk like a coward. Couldn’t even hold eye contact with me. They acted like I needed a handout or some shit. I played my ass off for that team. Everybody knows I got at least three more good years on the court.”

  Paige swung her legs over the side of the bed and got closer to him. She’d contemplated hugging him, but didn’t.

  “Can you believe Dan spoke to me like I was one of those kids who’d tried out for the team but didn’t make it? ‘Tony, you’ve been a pleasure to work with. All of us . . . the entire organization has nothing but respect and admiration for you. We think you’re a great guy and personally, I think you’re one of the best guards I know. But we have to move in a different direction. These young players are a new breed, stronger, faster, and we have to be able to compete,’” Antonio repeated general manager Dan Sidelman’s words almost verbatim. When he was done, Antonio moved his tongue over his bottom lip, like uttering the words had left behind a painful, oozing blister.

  Paige lowered her eyes to her trembling hands. She wanted to be supportive. For goodness sake, she could see the disappointment hiding behind Antonio’s anger. She had also sensed that it was different from the look she had seen Antonio wear every time he’d been traded or let go before. Paige knew it was the end of Antonio’s basketball career. She had felt a prickling sense of horror like some dreadful poverty monster would jump out of her closet and snatch her up.

  “What will we do?” she’d asked, her fear making her unable to bring herself to hug him or offer any comfort.

  Antonio had blown out a windstorm of breath, braced himself, and stood up from the bed. “I’ll work it out,” he said, rubbing his chin like he always did when he was thinking. “Things aren’t going to just fall apart overnight. I’ll invest everything I have left and make it grow. I know plenty of people that can help me make money.”

  Paige had taken in a deep, shaky breath. She hadn’t wanted to press. She wasn’t the nagging type, but she shuddered at the thought of going through another tough financial time waiting for a team to pick Antonio up. Just thinking about going through that again made the hairs on her neck stand up. Thinking of all of the pretending she would have to do in front of her friends and family was what twisted her insides into knots the most. And her son—he deserved to live like she had as a child.

  Paige had looked around her expansive bedroom and wondered how they were going to maintain their lifestyle this time. Would it be an unauthorized loan from her brother’s trust fund, again? Would she go behind Antonio’s back and ask her mother again? Would she pawn off a few handbags, jewelry? Or would she leave this time?

  “That’s what you said before, and we almost lost everything,” Paige blurted out. She’d wanted to be supportive. She really did. She felt a pang of guilt for saying it, but she didn’t take it back. This time, she couldn’t back her words.

  Antonio tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling with a clenched jaw. “Don’t worry, Paige. I won’t let you be embarrassed because you can’t spend ten thousand dollars on a bag or take a European vacation for two-fucking weeks. God forbid. I’d rather kill myself first,” he shot back.

  “Don’t take your frustrations out on me, Antonio. This impacts me too. We have a child in private school. Music lessons. Tennis lessons. Rowing. We have this house. And, what about all of the cars? What will people think if we have to downgrade our lifestyle?”

  Antonio chortled a deep, guttural sound full of contradiction to the scowl on his face. “Wow. Really, Paige? That’s what you’re going with?” Antonio said and shook his head in disgust. “Everything you just mentioned was material shit. Every. Single. Thing.” He slapped the balled fingers on his right hand into the palm of his left as he said the last three words. “Do you even realize the shit that runs your life? Y
ou have no other purpose, do you? Impressing the world—that’s it, huh? Like mother, like daughter? Living for what others think of you? No real identity?”

  Paige had sprung to her feet, his words a gut-punch. She’d folded her arms across her chest to stave off the ache she felt in her belly.

  “What else is there to think about in a time like this? Obviously, all of these years, my purpose has been to make sure you don’t fuck up our lives, Antonio. I’ve stuck by you through things that most women would’ve bailed out on a long time ago. Remember that. That’s love. You never wanted me to work. You never want me to go to my parents for anything. You always want to pretend you’ve got it. I’m not going to pretend with you this time,” Paige had said in her chilliest voice. The gloves had certainly come off. She regretted the words as soon as she’d said them, but it had been too late. She hated being like that with him. And, she knew how sensitive Antonio was about living up to her parent’s standards.

  “Right, I know. I pretend.” Antonio threw his hands up. “Yes, that’s it. I pretend that you spend thousands of dollars a month with no regard for where it came from or is coming from. I pretend that your parents are always secretly judging me because no matter how good you live, no matter how much I give you, I will always be that poor kid from the projects that just happened to make it out of the hood . . . never good enough for the senator’s daughter, no matter what. I also pretend I don’t know you regret losing your trust fund because you fell in love with me. And, most-of-fucking-all, Paige, I pretend that you would’ve married me even if I wasn’t on my way to the League!” Antonio had exploded.

  “Stop it! I didn’t mean it like that,” Paige yelled as tears danced down her flushed cheeks. How had she meant it?

  “Look,” Antonio had exhaled, softening.

  She knew that he hated to see her cry. He hated to disappoint her. He’d said that probably one thousand times during their marriage.

  “I said I would work it out, and I will.”