The Sneaker Kings

by Eric McLauren

  When Brandon hung up, he found Michael Avery waiting there in the hallway to talk to him. “So, you got the news?” Michael asked, referring to the licensing deal.

  At first, Brandon was hesitant to respond. He planned to deny it. But then he decided to trust Michael. He knew that he had already helped them out a great deal.

  “Yeah, it looks like we still have a lot of work to do,” Brandon mumbled dejectedly.

  “Brandon, look at it this way—you guys are already part of the point-one percent of people in this world who even get considered for a licensing deal. Trust me, you guys are way out in front of the pack. All you need to do now is stay focused and keep pushing, and they’ll make you a better offer within a year if you don’t decide to go somewhere else first,” Michael hinted.

  He held out his hand and smiled. “I’m proud of you guys for taking this internship opportunity this summer.” Then he leaned in and whispered, “And you did make some money out of it.” He was alluding to the Jay Stewart deal. “Now you’re set up to make much more. So, you guys should definitely stay in touch. This is only the beginning of our relationship and not the ending.”

  Brandon smiled back and thought about his daughter. “Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed.

  BIG CITY OF DREAMS

  ON THEIR FLIGHT back to Arizona, Brandon and his guys put together a wish list of special New York guests to invite to their breakout sneaker convention in the Big Apple in September.

  “We need to add any ideas we can come up with to make this a once in a lifetime show,” Brandon told them.

  “All right, well, I’m inviting ASAP Rocky and Ferg, French Montana and Jay-Z, P. Diddy, and Geno Smith and Skylar Diggins,” Leon said as he wrote the names down on notebook paper.

  Simba stopped writing and frowned. “Come on, man. You’re not gonna get any of those people to come.”

  “He said to write a wish list, not a who’s-gonna-come list,” Leon barked.

  “Yeah, I like that,” Brandon admitted, grinning. “I got Amar’e Stoudemire, Carmelo Anthony, J.R. Smith, Chris Paul, Dwyane Wade and LeBron James.”

  “Add Kevin Durant. He likes to hang out in New York,” Leon suggested. “Metta World Peace is back in New York too now.”

  Simba shook his head, remaining doubtful. “So, you guys are really trying to make this thing that big?”

  Leon looked at Brandon before he answered. “Simba, that’s why I’m the promotions guy and you need to stay in school to become an attorney. Of course, we’re trying to make it that big. It’s New York! What part of that don’t you understand?”

  Brandon chuckled. “If we can get like five people from our list to put on a flier, that’s all we would really need,” he commented.

  The plans for their New York City sneaker convention included inviting their three Beast Team recruits, David Terry, Jay Stewart and Danielle Lyles, to sign T-shirts, hats, posters and sneakers, while taking pictures in a room full of fans and sneakerheads.

  Jay and Danielle were a given for a Saturday afternoon promotional event in New York, as long as the date didn’t conflict with a skateboard or soccer tournament. But David was more of an issue. Under NCAA rules—since the guys couldn’t pay him anything or cover his cost for travel—David’s parents would have to foot the bill. And the trip would likely include a one-night hotel stay.

  Brandon was prepared to ask the Terry family to drive him up from Rocky Mount, North Carolina, on a Friday evening, stay at a cheap hotel in New Jersey, and drive into New York that Saturday morning. Their sneaker convention would not kick off until noon.

  Their planning continued in the game room back home in Glendale.

  “So, if we rent out a place that holds a thousand people for two thousand dollars, and we charge twenty dollars a person, that’s twenty thousand dollars,” Brandon calculated. “Then we charge a hundred dollars per vendor for ten vendors.”

  “Then we sell our T-shirts, hats, posters and whatever else we come up with—socks, wristbands, headbands, water bottles or whatever for a few more thousand,” Leon added. He was including the marketing and sales ideas from their Adidas internship.

  “What if we got Adidas, Nike, Under Amour and Vans to sponsor a corner booth for a thousand dollars each with banner space?” he continued. “And we could give away shoes to like, Goodwill or something. They told us to always have a charitable tie-in for sponsorship considerations.”

  “Yeah, but they also said you have to start early for that with a business plan in place,” Simba reminded him.

  “Michael could get Adidas and Reebok to do it with Jay Stewart involved,” Brandon commented. “Then we have to get someone from Nike and Under Armour to sign on.”

  “Isn’t Kemba Walker from New York?” Leon asked. “He’s with Under Armour, right?”

  “Yeah,” said Brandon. “Carmelo Anthony is with Air Jordan and Amar’e Stoudemire is with Nike. So, if we could get each of them to push their new shoes and sign them, we could have something.”

  Leon and Simba smiled. The plans sounded good on paper.

  “That would all be awesome,” Simba agreed. “We’re adding company value to the deal.”

  “Okay, well, now we have to get them to say yes,” Leon concluded.

  The guys figured they could make more than twenty thousand dollars at the door by staggering the audiences. In theory, if they kicked off the event with Danielle Lyles from noon to one thirty for her soccer crowd, followed by Jay Stewart from two to three thirty for the skateboard crowd, David Terry could go on from four to five thirty for the high-schoolers and the professional ballers would close out the event from six to eight. Brandon calculated an extra ten thousand dollars, assuming the soccer and skateboarder fans would leave.

  “You really think they’re gonna pay twenty dollars just to see Danielle Lyles, Jay Stewart and David Terry? I mean, they’re all pretty new,” Simba said. He remained the thoughtful skeptic, but Brandon shook it off.

  “I mean, we’re still gonna be selling and trading shoes for the regular sneakerheads. I just see the soccer and skateboard fans as extra,” Brandon explained. “They’ll get a chance to see what we do. And they can bring their soccer cleats, skateboards, basketballs or whatever to get signed by our guys. But you know they’re not all gonna stay for six to eight hours. So we get them out of there early before the big business starts.”

  Brandon smiled. “You know how it is when it gets late. That’s when it gets crazy. Then we’ll bring our shoes out. That could be another five thousand for us. I could even sell my Yeezys there and get another pair later.”

  That got Leon thinking more about the New York crowd.

  “Now that you bring that up, we may have to rent out a place that holds two thousand people. Or more than that,” he suggested. “What if we end up with five thousand people wanting to get in after six? Then what?”

  “We’ll have the most talked about convention in New York,” Brandon answered. “That would be a hit.”

  “It also sounds like extra security. And we’ll have to pay for that too,” Simba warned.

  Brandon shrugged, undeterred by the complications. “We’ll just have to do what we need to do then.”

  >>>

  The guys flew up to New York City in early August, traveling with Paul, just like old times. They planned to take a tour of their NYU campus, scout venue locations for their sneaker convention, meet up with Danielle Lyles and her parents in Manhattan and then visit Amar’e Stoudemire at his house in New Jersey. Paul had gotten in touch with his old teammate just like he said he would.

  “We’re meeting up with the Lyles family tomorrow afternoon in Times Square, right?” Paul asked his nephew for clarity. They arrived at their downtown hotel on a Tuesday evening and were right in the middle of everything.

  “Yeah, I told them around five o’clock. That gives us plenty of time to visit NYU in the morning and look at a few locations to rent,” Brandon answered. They planned to remain in New York for
the rest of the week and fly back home that Sunday.

  On Wednesday, they caught the subway trains bright and early and headed to NYU’s campus in Lower Manhattan. They walked the sidewalks through the tightly packed community—one of the oldest in New York—and marveled at all of the shops, restaurants, apartment buildings and street traffic in close proximity.

  “So, our freshmen dorms are right next to Washington Square Park,” Simba noted. “That’s some cool scenery. You can just walk over and clear your mind for a few hours.”

  “Yeah, and the fashion industry is right up the street,” Brandon added.

  “Hola. ¿Cómo estás?” an older Latino man addressed Leon with a smile and a nod.

  “Bien. Gracias,” Leon responded. Once they had crossed the street, he said, “I hope they don’t think I’m Spanish in New York.”

  Paul chuckled. “You’re gonna get that a lot here, Leon. New York has a lot of Puerto Ricans and Dominicans, and you have that look.”

  “My mom’s Italian blood did it. So I got that Felipe look,” Leon joked.

  “Especially when your hair grows out,” Brandon added with a chuckle.

  “Yeah, I guess I can blend in and disappear with the Latinos out here or start hanging out with French Montana and them. He looks mixed too.”

  “You look like you could be related to him,” Simba teased.

  “Go ’head, Jeremy Lin,” Leon shot back. “I look way better than French Montana.”

  “All right, that’s enough,” Paul told them. “You guys are all gonna find everything here in New York.” But first they needed to find a place to host their sneaker convention. So they looked into shops with large open areas, while propositioning the property owners.

  “So, you want to rent out my space for a Saturday in September for two thousand dollars?” a salesman of Persian rugs asked them. He had a large open showroom with a high ceiling.

  “Yeah, just for one Saturday,” Paul confirmed.

  “To do what?”

  “I’m a former basketball player involved in the sneaker marketing world, and I want to put on a shoe convention here in New York with a few of my friends.”

  The shop owner shrugged. “So, why not rent out a ballroom at a hotel? It would be cheaper too. Because I make more than two thousand dollars on a Saturday, and I would have to charge you more than that.”

  Paul and the guys thanked the man and left.

  “He’s got a point,” Brandon said. “We’re not gonna get much for two grand.”

  “Well, we’re here for the rest of the week to ask around, so we’ll figure it out,” Paul said.

  By five o’clock they were ready to meet up with Danielle Lyles and her family at the Sbarro restaurant back in Times Square.

  “Gentlemen,” the retired Navy man addressed them with a strong stance and handshake. Mr. Lyles was taller than the guys, but not as tall as Paul. He was in his early fifties and graying around the edges of his close-cropped military-style haircut. And his blond-haired wife was more than a decade younger. Their two teenage daughters accompanied them.

  Mr. Lyles was as direct and hardened in person as he had been over the phone. In contrast, his wife and daughters were filled with sweetness.

  “Hi, Brandon, Leon and Simba,” Danielle said as they took their seats at two tables pushed together. Danielle looked totally different out of her soccer digs. In a colorful summer shirt, curve-hugging blue jeans, an enticing hairstyle and a touch of lipstick, she looked more like an aspiring model. And she wore a pair of multi-colored Air Jordan Super.Flys to top it off.

  Wow! That’s how you switch it up, Leon thought, casting Danielle’s look an admiring glance. But he and the other guys still weren’t sure how to respond to her with her father around.

  “So, what do you think of my daughter now?” Mr. Lyles asked. “I know you only saw her in her soccer clothes before, right?”

  The guys were all tongue-tied.

  “Yeah, she looks totally different,” Leon answered.

  “And older, right?” Danielle hinted.

  “Yeah, you were around a bunch of younger girls in Florida,” Brandon said.

  “Where do you find all of these weird sneaker colors?” Simba asked her.

  Danielle smiled. “The rules say that I can never tell, right?”

  “You can break the rules for us,” Leon joked.

  “Okay, so, with this sneaker convention you guys want to put on in New York, would you want Danielle to model for you?” her father interjected.

  “Danielle even came up with Beast Team baby Ts for girls,” her mother added. She pulled out a sketchbook and passed it over to Brandon.

  Brandon opened it up on the table where his guys could take a look at it. Danielle had drawn tight-cut, form-fitting T-shirts with The Beast Team lettering in different designs— vertically, horizontally and diagonally. But she left out the claws they liked to use.

  The guys nodded and showed it to Paul. “That’s pretty good. So, you’re a closet designer too, I see,” he gushed.

  Her father smiled. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them. My girl is much more than just a soccer player. She has real talent.”

  That gave Brandon more ideas. “She can model. First, we’ll open the event with her signing fan pictures at noon, then she can take a break if she wants before modeling for the real sneakerheads when they come out later on.”

  “Would you want to do that, honey?” her mother asked.

  “In New York? Yeah!” Danielle answered excitedly.

  >>>

  With so much to do and see in the city, the hours and days flew by as the guys looked at more locations to hold their big event. They also bought a few pairs of sneakers that they had never seen before while at the Finish Line on 34th Street.

  “I don’t know if we can sell these out here, but we definitely don’t have them in Arizona,” Simba said of his white, orange and blue Carmelo Anthony 12s. Brandon bought a pair of white and blue Melo 8 All Stars. And Leon bought a pair of orange and blue Amar’e Stoudemires, which proved to be a good move.

  “Leon, are you ready to get those signed by Amar’e?” Paul asked while holding his phone to his ear.

  “Yeah, definitely,” Leon said.

  Simba frowned. “Aw, man, I didn’t even think of that.”

  “I’ve had signed shoes by Amar’e before, so I’m good,” Brandon said.

  “Well, he’s picking us up from the New Jersey train station in forty minutes. So let’s move it,” Paul told them.

  >>>

  The guys arrived in Northern New Jersey, where NBA All-Star Amar’e Stoudemire waited in his black Range Rover to pick them up. The giant basketball player hopped out of the driver’s seat to meet up with his former teammate as soon as he saw him walk into the parking lot.

  “Three Peeee! What’s going on, man?”

  The two giants embraced with a handshake and an arm hug.

  “I’m just trying to get my nephew and his boys settled in New York,” Paul told him.

  Amar’e looked at Brandon and rubbed his head. “You getting big, Brandon.”

  “I’m not as big as you guys.”

  “You gotta drink your milk,” Amar’e teased.

  The guys shared a good laugh. “All right, who are your boys?” Amar’e asked.

  “This is Simba and Leon—my Beast Team.”

  Amar’e shook their hands. “Yeah, I heard about that. Sneakers are big money now. But let’s talk about it back at the house.”

  They climbed into the Range Rover and buckled up as Amar’e drove off. “So, how’s life been treatin’ you, P?” he asked from behind the wheel.

  Paul grinned. “Actually, with Brandon attending NYU this year, I’m finally gonna go ahead and play some ball overseas for a few months.”

  “Haven’t they started their season already?” Amar’e asked.

  “Yeah, but who wouldn’t sign a three-point specialist if they need one? Especially in international ball.�
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  “Yeah, you got a point. It’s three-ball city over there,” Amar’e said.

  “How are your knees holding up?” Paul asked him.

  Amar’e shook his head. “Man, don’t even ask me about it. It just makes me think more and more about life after basketball. And none of us really wanna think about that. But it’s a reality we all have to face.”

  “Amen to that,” Paul agreed.

  When they arrived at Amar’e’s mansion—standing behind tall trees and black iron gates—the guys grinned at each other.

  “My wife and kids just left for the in-laws this week, so we got the crib to ourselves. And she left me with a bunch of food too,” Amar’e said with a smile as they climbed out of his car.

  “That’s a good woman,” Paul quipped.

  “That’s why she’s still here,” Amar’e joked. “But anyway, tell me about this sneaker event you wanna do.”

  The guys walked into the luxurious house, featuring tall ceilings, lots of open space, paintings on the walls and an elaborate staircase. It also had a second-story catwalk from the master bedroom. The guys felt like they were in a blockbuster movie.

  “Actually, it was Brandon and his Beast Team’s idea. And you know Raymond House, right?” Paul said.

  Amar’e led them into a huge living room with a gigantic beige sofa that a family of ten could fit on. Amar’e took a seat, followed by Paul. But the guys remained standing and looking around in wonder.

  “Yeah, Raymond House is a good guy. He’s about to be one of the next super agents.”

  “Well, he’s representing Brandon and his guys now,” Paul said.

  Amar’e looked again at Brandon and his friends. “For real? What y’all got going on?”

  “The Beast Team is like a marketing and promotional company,” Brandon explained. “We have a skateboarder, Jay Stewart, who just got signed with Adidas. We have a nationally ranked soccer player who also models. And we’re helping to promote David Terry, a top-ranked shooting guard out of Rocky Mount, North Carolina.”

  Amar’e nodded. “Okay, that’s big.”