“CP3 you got it all wrong man,” LeBron James said as Chris Paul continued to help navigate LeBron through the foreign land that was the Twitter homepage. “Sign me up as King of Akron, leave that Cleveland shit out of there.”
“You act like Ms. Cleveland was never even apart of your life,” Chris Paul replied, sighing as he re-typed LeBron’s bio. Paul scanned over the screen once more than waited for LeBron’s nod of approval. After finishing his text message to Bosh, LeBron glanced up at the screen, nodded in approval, then began a new text to D-Wade.
“See the thing is,” LeBron said with his eyes still glued to the Blackberry’s screen, fingers rapidly pressing the keyboard as he completed the fourth ‘ha’ to his closing sentence ‘hahahaha.’ “The NBA’s a bizzness man, you can’t waste your prime years with a shitty team, then wake up at age 30 still lookin’ for the right girl.” LeBron looked over at Paul as if he were somewhat angered that his Olympian point guard had not been jotting down his pearls of wisdom. “Dude, that was good stuff I just gave you, why didn’t you tweet back to me yet?”
“You already tweeted?” Chris Paul said glancing down at his now vibrating phone.
“Puttin’ up my third one as we speak,” LeBron replied.
“Look LeBron,” Chris Paul replied, his voice agitated at first before returning to a more suitable tone for the presence of the King. “Ms. New Orleans has been through hell these last few years. I mean first that bitch Katrina tore through her house and then you got that British Prick dumping oil all over her outdoor swimming pool. No lie, oil, as if he were just fillin’ the damn thing up with water. She needs me right now man, I can’t just up and leave her.”
“She seems to be doing fine with Drew Brees,” LeBron said under his breath.
“What?” Paul replied scrunching his eyebrows together in confusion.
“She seemed to be happy the other night when I saw them bowling,” LeBron said beginning a new text message with Dr. Dre.
“Dude, Drew Brees is a Saint,” Chris Paul said shaking his head in denial. “Like legitimately, he’s the pastor at our church. He was filling in for me on couple’s night bowling.”
“That’s not all the filling in he’s been doing,” LeBron said putting his Blackberry temporarily away into his GQ endorsed dark black jeans pocket.
“Oh come on man!” Chris Paul said shaking his head like an Etch-A-Sketch trying to shake the crude image of Brees and his girlfriend together.
“All I’m sayin’ is there’s one more Amy sister,” LeBron said with a mischevious smile slinking onto his face. “Now Pat Riley really doesn’t take her out into public much and she’s not exactly what I’d call, um, how do I put this lightly, well ok, she’s not attractive at all and she doesn’t make much money, but she is kind of single and I really think that—“
“What do you even mean kind of single?” Chris Paul replied with 90% anger and a secret 10% curiosity, the same way a VH1 dirty sounds appealing to Tiger Woods even though he has one of the world’s hottest women waiting for him back at home.
“Well, she’s kind of seeing Eddie House right now, but we can work around that,” LeBron said.
“So what, you want me to just pack-up, leave Ms. New Orleans, move down to South Beach with you guys and date the ugly duckling just so we can have fun f:-0in’ family bar-b-q’s for the next five years? How can you even think about asking me to do something like that?”
“Hey man, you made me get a Twitter!” LeBron replied still texting madly away on his phone. “You think I wanted to do that?”
“Oh please, you’ve already posted 15 tweets in what, three minutes?”
“How do you know?” LeBron replied.
“My phone,” Chris Paul said pointing down to his athletic shorts pocket that was visibly shaking. “I feel like I have a vibrating hamster in my pants.”
“That’s what she said!” LeBron shouted then instantly began to retell the joke in his latest tweet to his over 100,000 new followers.
“Alright I’m just gonna go,” Chris Paul said grabbing his keys from the table.
When Paul arrived at Ms. New Orleans house, he could still see bits of oil floating around in the pool and even some on the front lawn. He guided his $200 dollar shoes around the occasional black spot as he made his way up to the porch. After three rings of the doorbell, Ms. New Orleans finally answered. Her eyes were sullen and read, her nose hidden like a dove behind a magician’s handkerchief. Between tears she motioned for Chris Paul to come inside.
“I’ve had such a bad day,” she cried, throwing her arms around Paul’s shoulders, her weight hitting his chest like a 225 pound bench press hitting an over confident JV tennis player. “The oil is still out there, Katrina has been threatening me that her friends are gonna come over this summer and really mess things up, and Saint Brees came by only to confess his love for me saying that he would break his vows to the church if I made a vow to be with him.”
“Oh God,” Chris Paul said running his hand over his freshly buzz cut head.
“No, no, don’t worry,” Ms. New Orleans said, a new look of hope rising from behind the streaking black mascara. “Because,” she began to become choked up once again. “Because, I have you and Chris no matter how bad things get, I know you’ll be there for me and show up at my doorstep just like you did today. Ah, I love you so much!”
As Ms. New Orleans began covering Paul’s face in slobbery, wet, tear enhanced kisses, Paul stared blankly into the distance at a picture of the two of them, together, from 2008 looking into each other’s eyes with all the optimism and anticipation of a bright future together that would become deeply bleak after only two years.
“And the thing is CP, I told Saint Brees that I would have gone off and been with him in a world that didn’t have you, but since in this world I have you, and you have me, and you mean the world to me, I simply don’t want to be with anyone else.”
“Oh absolutely,” Chris Paul said still staring blankly at the seemingly antique photo. “Took the words right out of my mouth,” he said beginning to methodically pat her on the back. “We’ll be just fine.” Pat. “Completely fine.” Pat. Pat. Firm pat.
That night Chris Paul received a phone call from Carmelo asking if he would meet up for dinner with him and Amar’e. When Paul arrived at the restaurant, he saw Amar’e cozily cuddling with his girlfriend, Maddy Square-Garden while Carmelo sat alone, looking (forgive the pun) mellow, across the table with three chairs to his right.
“Oh, wait was I supposed to have brought a date?” Chris Paul responded scanning the bathroom area expecting Ms. Denver to emerge.
“No, no, not at all,” Amar’e said motioning for Paul to sit down next to Carmelo. “But I swear she’s got your Nuggets in a jar man.”
Carmelo shook his head in reluctant laughter then patted Chris Paul on the back as Paul scooted his seat in closer to the table. Paul began to scan the menu before abruptly looking up as two beautiful women, one wearing a tight blue dress, the other wearing nearly the same exact dress but obnoxiously orange, approached the two seats in between Paul and Carmelo.
“Are these seats taken?” the ladies asked batting their eyelashes flirtaciously.
“Sort of,” Carmelo and Paul replied in unison.
Carmelo and Paul looked at each other then burst into laughter at their simultaneous answer. As their laughter began to die down, Paul jokingly raised his glass of champagne into the air.
“To the new big 3!”
The six of them raised their glasses into the air then each took a hearty sip together. The instant the champagne hit their tongues, each of the six were filled with an immediate sense of drunkenness and mysticism, an instant belief that all of their problems were only an All-Star break away from vanishing far from their lives.
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