New Year's Day - 4. Roommates

“These are green plantains.” Phil pointed at the mound of tostones on one of the plates the server placed in the middle of the table. “You peel them, cut them into chunks, fry them until soft, smash them flat, and fry them again until crispy.”

Phil’s family had welcomed Riley as if he was an old friend. “And the other ones are the same vegetable?” The previous evening, after gorging on Thai food, the football players had bar hopped, gotten drunk, and taken an Uber to Riley’s motel. The two double beds were convenient, and the guys had slept late.

“Technically, plantains are a fruit. They’re related to bananas and look just like them but bigger. Maduros literally means ripe ones. You slice them diagonally and fry them until they’re soft and gooey.” Roberto, Phil’s Dad, had taken the younger men to lunch at Sergio’s, a Cuban food restaurant part of a local chain, after they made it down to Miami.

Riley shook his head and grinned. “How the heck are you guys in such good shape eating all this fried stuff? Cuban food looks as fattening as the southern stuff I grew up eating.”

“Phil’s been in North Carolina, so he doesn’t have this type of food easily available. Me? Moderation. We had to give you a taste of Miami food staples. As for me, I don’t eat like this often, and I spend way too much time in the gym. It’s harder for older guys like me to keep fit, so I go at least three times a week. Not easy having two jocks as sons and trying to keep up with them.”

“I hope I’m in as good condition as you are when I get to be your age.” Riley could see where Phil got his looks and body. Although the son was taller and bulkier, he shared the same dark brown hair and blue eyes with the father.

“We’ll be if we don’t stop working out. Dad looks damn good for being fifty.”

The slap to the back of the head was unexpected; Phil nearly jumped out of his seat when his father’s hand connected. “Forty-nine, asshole. I won’t be fifty until April.”

“Whatever, old man.”

“Enough bullshit. Riley, spoon some of the black beans over the rice and pour a little of the mojo over the pork chunks.” Roberto had ordered several dishes for them to share. “Think of the picadillo as Cuban chili. No beans and not hot.”

A comfortable silence enveloped them as food was transferred to plates. Once they had a taste, Roberto spoke again. “Okay, Riley, when Phil called last night he mentioned you’ll be drafted early in the first round, and you have no representation.”

Riley’s mouth was full, so he simply nodded.

“I have no experience representing professional athletes, okay?”

“Yeah, Phil told me.” Riley liked the food and as soon as he replied, he shoveled another forkful in his mouth.

“When Phil became a starter halfway through his junior year, we figured he could be drafted, and I started researching. I leaned on a friend of a friend frequently, and he’ll be working with me as part of the team. Garrett King’s a local agent with a few years of experience under his belt.”

“Dude, when he finds out he can get his hands on you he’s gonna cream his pants.” Phil’s comment surprised Riley and his face showed anxiety. “Not that way, dickhead. The man’s straight.”

“Let me give you the same advice I gave my son, Riley.” Phil leaned in and lowered his voice. “Don’t come out until after the draft. Remember what happened to Michael Sam.” Sam, a defensive player at the University of Missouri came out his senior year in college. He had a subpar performance at the NFL combine, and instead of being the high pick some predicted, the St Louis Rams did not draft him until the seventh round.

“Okay…” Riley’s fears assaulted him once again. He knew coming out was not easy for most people, but the potential for being in the public eye seemed to complicate matters even more.

“I’ll share what we have planned for Phil. If you’re interested, we can do the same for you.” Roberto spoke for almost an hour. Phil and Riley interrupted a few times. Phil to expand on things his father said; Riley to ask questions.

The men ordered Cuban coffee after all the food was consumed. “We better not eat like this all the time, Phil. Between dinner last night and lunch today, I’ve eaten enough for a week.” Riley felt stuffed, but more importantly, he felt comfortable. He had taken a shine to Phil the previous day; the man had been friendly and not tried to take advantage of Riley’s innocence. Roberto was simply an older, wiser version. “I’m ready to sign, Mr. Martinez.” The same decisiveness that made him a star on the field was on display.

“You don’t need to talk to your parents first?”

“I’m twenty-three, Mr. Martinez. I’m legal to make decisions. But thank you for thinking of my parents. I talked to them on the way down to Miami this morning and told them what I was doing. I’ll call them again later.”

“Okay, then. I guess I’m now representing two studs about to become NFL stars.” Roberto’s wide smile was a good indication he was pleased with the development.

“FUCKING A!”

“Can you not cuss in a restaurant at the top of your lungs?” Roberto’s reprimand made his son grin.

Friday morning, Garrett King met them at Roberto’s office and while an assistant prepared the contracts for signing, he expanded on what the attorney had outlined the previous day.

“Riley, do you have a checking account?” Garrett was younger that Roberto, bearded, and built like the former athlete he was. The man had told Riley he had played football at a Division III school.

“Of course.”

“What bank?”

“Ummm… Not a bank, a small credit union. My mom’s a teacher, so I get to use the one she and dad belong to.”

“Okay, you need a national bank. You’ll be living wherever the team that drafts you is and traveling all over the country. We need to set you up so you can get personal service no matter where you are.” Garrett turned his attention to the other young man at the conference table. “Phil, when we finish, can you take Riley to your bank? I’ll call ahead so the Private Banking rep’s waiting for you.”

“Mr. King, I don’t have my checkbook with me, so I can’t make a deposit. Can it wait until we get back to Miami?”

“Nope. You obviously weren’t paying attention to what you signed. One of the documents was a promissory note for the advance Roberto mentioned. I’ll write you a check for a hundred grand before we get done here.”

Both players flew out on Sunday as they had originally planned, Riley to Georgia and Phil to North Carolina. Garrett arranged for a limousine and driver to meet Riley at Atlanta’s airport and drive him to campus. He spent the remainder of the day packing. Monday, he made the rounds of the athletic department, informing teammates and coaches of his plans, and promising to keep in touch. That night, he drove his old, beat up truck home to Macon.

With more detail than he had shared over phone calls, he told his parents about meeting Phil, spending time with the Martinez family, and signing on as a client with Roberto and Garret. The following day, when Phil arrived from Durham, the young men promised to care for each other while training. Mr. and Mrs. Knight were flabbergasted about the amounts of money involved and the fact their son now had more in the bank than they ever did.

“Hurry up, you two. I don’t have all day.” Roberto poured himself another cup of coffee while berating the young men lazily eating breakfast.

“Shut up, Dad. Remember the amount of money you’re gonna make off the two of us. You’re our bitch now, bitch.”

Riley could not believe how father and son talked to each other. He could feel the love between them, but if Riley ever spoke to his father that way, he would not be able to sit comfortably for a while. Even if he was an adult and much larger than Peter Knight was.

Roberto and Garrett had rented a furnished apartment in an extended-stay complex catering to business travelers. The second bedroom, envisioned as a guest room, would now belong to Riley. The young men would be roommates for the foreseeable future. Moving in was on the schedule for the day.

“Dude! Nice crib. I know where I’ll be crashing when I come up to Lauderdale.” Matt dropped the box of books he carried on the coffee table and dove for the couch. He grinned at his brother. “We could throw some bitchin’ parties here.”

“Yeah. Like that’s gonna happen.” Roberto pushed his youngest son’s legs off the sofa and sat at the other end. “Your brother and Riley have a lot of work ahead of them.”

With a hand to the small of their backs, Garrett escorted Phil and Riley to the dining table. “Sit. Let’s go over the set up. You have the rest of the day to put whatever you brought with you away. Tomorrow you’ll meet the rest of the team.”

“How many people are we talking about, Mr. King?” Riley felt a bit overwhelmed by the printed lists and schedules laid out on the table.

“However many we need to ensure the two of you are ready for the combine.” The NFL Scouting Combine was a weeklong event in late February. College football players invited to participate did their best to impress team personnel in physical and mental challenges. Performance more often than not influenced draft position.

“We’ll start off with three. A nutritionist to teach you how to shop, cook, and eat. She’ll come daily this week and help you prepare food. Later, maybe once a week or so. A strength and conditioning trainer to guide your time at the gym, and a skills coach on the field.”

“And all that’s at the Dolphins facility?” The rental unit was near Nova Southeastern University where Miami’s NFL franchise practiced.

“Yeah, but you’ll have a membership at a 24-hour gym in case you want to work out at odd hours. Riley, since you left your old truck back in Georgia, do you want to get a new one now?”

Riley glanced at Phil who shrugged. “We can wait. If Phil and I are following the same schedule, we can make do with his. That okay, bud?”

“Hell yeah. Sounds like the two of us gonna be attached at the hip for the next few months anyway.”

Phil and Riley’s connection had quickly evolved into an easy friendship. The drive from Georgia to South Florida had afforded them plenty of time to get to know each other and solidified their nascent friendship.

Except for a couple of pizza and beer nights, the young men did not have much of a social life the subsequent six weeks. Days they spent on the field practicing skills or at the gym lifting weights. Evenings were occupied watching film and dissecting the performance of pro players.

“This week’s gonna test how well you can handle distractions, guys.” Garrett was on the plane with Phil and Riley on their way to Indiana. The combine was once again being held at Lucas Oil Stadium, home of the Indianapolis Colts.

“What type of distractions, Mr. King?” Riley had not yet entirely adapted to the changes. Flying first class was part of his new normal, and he marveled at the attention lavished on them.

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Riley, when are you gonna start calling me Garrett instead of Mr. King?”

“Sorry, I was raised to be respectful. I’m not used to how Phil talks to you or his dad.”

“Don’t worry, Garrett, I’ll finish corrupting him soon enough.” Phil wiggled his eyebrows at the agent.

“That’s okay, don’t bother. I kinda like representing someone who’s polite for a change. Distractions are gonna be varied, Riley. First one’s going to be all the other hopefuls around you. Some may try to intimidate you and make you doubt yourself. There’ll be plenty of trash talking. Remember the goal’s to impress the teams and improve your position in the draft. You don’t need to convince anyone else that you belong in the NFL. I’ve seen some guys go at the taunting a lot of different ways over the years. Just don’t be a recluse and try not to make enemies. You never know who you might end up playing for or with in the future.”

“Just let anyone try the intimidation shit with us. Right, bud?” Phil offered a fist to bump. “We’ve got each other’s backs.”

“Don’t do or say anything stupid, Phil. Particularly in front of the cameras. You have a tendency to speak before thinking. Local stations in Miami and Macon will want interviews and so will others. Stick to the basics when you talk to them.”

“You mean the bullshit about being grateful for the opportunity and looking forward to contributing to whatever team picks us? That there’s no I in team and we plan on working hard to belong?”

“It’s not bullshit, Phil. You have to make people believe it, and that’s a lot easier if you believe it yourself.”

“I’m cool, man. Except for the part about any team. You know what we both want.” Phil and Riley had made it clear they wanted to play on the East Coast.

“Roberto and I will work on that after the combine. You have to remember there may be little wiggle room so no promises.”

“I’m with Phil, Mr.—Garrett. We realize we’ll end up on different teams, but we want the cities to be close to each other.”