The Sneaker Kings

by Eric McLauren

  “We also have a trademark with our Beast Team brand, and we’re looking to land a T-shirt licensing deal with one of the big four,” Brandon added.

  “The big four?”

  “Adidas, Reebok, Nike and Under Armour,” Simba spoke up.

  Amar’e began to look at Brandon and his friends seriously. The kid was all grown up and making his own moves.

  “So, tell me about this sneaker show in New York.”

  “It’s twenty dollars to get in. You can bring three pairs of shoes to trade or sell on the open floor,” Brandon said. “It’s a hundred dollars for a vendor table and a thousand dollars for a sponsor corner with a banner. And we’re inviting all three of our talents for young soccer, skateboard and basketball fans. Then we want to invite you, Carmelo Anthony, J.R. Smith, Kemba Walker and whoever else wants to introduce their new shoes in New York.”

  “And we want to invite ASAP Rocky and French Montana to stop by for a pair of free shoes,” Leon butted in.

  Amar’e nodded, listening. “And how big of a place do you need to do all this?”

  “Somewhere that holds at least two thousand people,” Simba answered.

  Amar’e shook his head. “This is New York. If you’re planning to do all that, you’re gonna need space for about three thousand to be safe. They got strict fire codes here, so you don’t want to push it to capacity. Now I’m not saying that you can get all the people you’re going after, but I can see where you’re going with it. And if you start marketing to skateboarders and soccer fans, you might get people coming out from Long Island and Connecticut. And you always get Jersey. So, expecting only a couple thousand people ain’t safe.”

  Brandon and his guys listened in silence. Amar’e continued, “I’ll tell you what. You guys can take a tour around the house on your own, ’cause I’m too tired to walk around with you. And I only got two rules: Don’t steal shit and don’t break shit, and we’ll be all right.”

  The guys laughed and started walking around nervously.

  Amar’e grinned at Paul. He was ready for a private conversation with him.

  “So, is Brandon for real?” he asked.

  “Dude, that kid is better with money than I’ve ever been. He knows how to get it, and more importantly how to keep it.”

  “So, what kind of budget do you have for this event?”

  Paul shook his head. “There is no budget. They have about two to three thousand dollars to rent out a place and a thousand dollars for fliers and a street team. Then they’ll need to pay for security, T-shirts, hats, posters and everything else they plan to sell. They’re also collecting any unsold shoes for charity.”

  “Well, with no budget, how are they planning to get all these big names?”

  Paul told him the truth. “They’ll ask, Amar’e … starting with you. That’s what they’ve been doing. Sometimes innocence takes you farther than money. But I believe in these guys, and not just because it’s my nephew, but because I’ve seen it.”

  “Well, why don’t you put some real money behind him then?”

  “What do you think I’m going overseas for?” Paul answered frankly. “I haven’t played a full season of professional ball for five years now. So my first priority has been to keep a roof over his head and send him off to school. I also have two daughters to provide for, and I wasn’t fortunate enough to find a great woman like you have. I’m not complaining about it, I’m just stating the reality.”

  Amar’e continued to nod and listen. “Brandon is really doing it big like that?”

  Paul looked back before he spoke. “I didn’t tell you this, but they just got a fifteen-year-old skateboarder signed to a three million dollar five-year deal with Adidas. The soccer girl is ranked number three in the nation and a double threat with modeling. I met her family this week in New York, and they are two hundred percent behind her. And the basketball phenom, David Terry, told Brandon to keep promoting him with their posters and social media marketing even though he can’t make any money off of it. And now Brandon has both of his main guys going to NYU with him.

  “Now you tell me if this kid is doing it big or not?” Paul continued. “Brandon’s eighteen, Amar’e, and he has Adidas watching his every move now. And Raymond will make sure that Nike, Reebok and Under Armour are watching too.”

  Paul let the information sink in. “Brandon and his guys are ready to make this event happen whether anyone else gets involved or not. And Leon bought a pair of your shoes that he would love for you to sign.”

  Amar’e grinned and eyed Paul’s pair of Skechers without commenting on them. “I got a guy who owns a nightclub right near NYU’s campus in the West Village that’s the perfect size for you. He also does his own promotions. So, I’ll call him up and see what I can do. But it’ll cost about ten Gs to do it. So, what I’ll do is handle all of that for you, take fifteen off the top and your guys get the rest to do what they need to do with it. But I can’t promise you Melo and J.R. All I can do is ask.”

  Paul smiled and held up his fist for a pound. “I’ll take it. But what about the hip-hop guys?”

  Amar’e shook his head again. “ASAP Rocky is from Harlem. They’re not moving without money. So let me see if Brandon’s innocence can move them.”

  Paul grinned. “That’s fair enough. Let them land their own deals.”

  “So, what are they gonna call this thing?” Amar’e asked.

  “The Sneaker Kings of New York: Chapter One, from The Beast Team Promotions. Then they’ll list the special guests and all of the sneakers.”

  Amar’e roared. “The Sneaker Kings of New York, huh? I like that. That’s pretty slick. And Chapter One sounds like a book. So, they plan on doing more of these.”

  “Definitely. They’re mad focused, man, I’m telling you.”

  Amar’e began to wonder how it would all turn out. “All right. You got me in on it. Let’s make it do what it do.”

  GETTING SETTLED

  BRANDON LEANED BACK in the desk chair of his NYU dorm room that boasted a window view of Washington Square Park. It was a bright and sunny afternoon in late August.

  “We’re up in New York for good. And it feels good,” he told Natasha on his phone. “I just finished moving all of my stuff into my room.”

  “Awww. And I won’t be back at Seton Hall until next week. You know, you freshmen have to check in early for orientation and all of that,” she teased him from home in Virginia.

  Brandon didn’t care though. He was too excited. He picked up a stack of laminated fliers from his desk that read, The Sneaker Kings of New York: Chapter One and felt proud of their accomplishments. He was starting off his freshman year of college with a bang.

  “We’ll have a stack of fliers for you and Adrienne to pass out when you get back,” he told Natasha. “We might even have some new fliers by then. We’re gonna change the colors a couple of times.”

  “Isn’t it a little early to be passing out fliers for late September? Do you realize how many different events there are in college? Basically, every weekend there’s something going on. This is not high school.”

  Brandon grinned. “I know that. But we need to introduce ourselves on campus too. So the people we pass fliers to now, we’ll just follow up with them later.”

  “Well, we already know everybody at Seton Hall, so they would look at us like we’re crazy if we passed out fliers a month in advance.”

  Brandon thought about her old boyfriend on the Seton Hall track team. Natasha read his silence. “No, Brandon. You don’t have to worry about me getting back with anyone. Okay? I’ve moved on.”

  Brandon chuckled. “What makes you think I was worried about that?”

  “Because I know you. You’re gonna tell me you’re not thinking it?”

  Brandon didn’t want to answer her. Before he could comment further, his roommate walked in—a tall, lanky East Indian student. He was dressed in an ordinary T-shirt, blue jeans and white on black Air Jordans.

  “Hi,” he greet
ed Brandon.

  Brandon nodded. “Hey”

  Seeing that he was on a phone call, Brandon’s new roommate left their introduction at that.

  “Hey, Natasha, let me call you back. My roommate just walked in.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, is he cool or not?” she asked him slyly.

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  Once he hung up, Brandon stood and formally introduced himself. “I’m Brandon Jenkins from Arizona.”

  His roommate smiled and shook his hand. He was at least three inches taller than Brandon. “I’m Tarun Amrah from Long Island.”

  “Oh, so you’re close to home then.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not. Arizona? What made you come all the way out here?”

  “It’s New York,” Brandon answered. “Are you into shoes?”

  Tarun frowned in confusion. “Shoes, like, black and brown shoes?”

  Brandon laughed. “No, I meant sneakers. You got Air Jordan Taxi 12s on.”

  Tarun looked down at his feet. “Oh … You know what they are?”

  “Yeah, I sold a pair of those years ago. They were pretty dope. These are the new LeBron James 11s.”

  Tarun looked down at the black, white and red pair of LeBrons that Brandon wore.

  “Cool. So, you sell sneakers?”

  “I sell them, promote them, trade them, design them—everything. Here, check this out.” Brandon reached back to his desk and handed his roommate a few copies of his flier.

  Tarun read it, flipping it over to the back. “That’s awesome. Who’s The Beast Team?”

  Brandon grinned from ear to ear. “That’s me and two of my guys from Arizona.”

  “Oh, yeah? That’s cool. You guys need like, a logo for that? I can draw really good.”

  Brandon paused. They already had their Beast Team images, but he was curious.

  “Let me show you something.” Brandon dug into his dresser drawer and pulled out a white on black Beast Team T-shirt so his roommate could see their beast claws logo.

  Tarun nodded and grinned with confidence. “I can see what you’re trying to do, but I can make those claws and letters a lot better than that.”

  Brandon smiled back and challenged him. “You’re talking to the wrong guy, Tarun. If you say that, you’re gonna have to prove it.”

  Tarun accepted the challenge. “All right. I’ll draw something up for you tonight.”

  >>>

  In Washington Square Park, across the street from the dorms, Leon and Simba enjoyed their arrival in New York as well, and they were ready to dive right in with their classmates.

  Leon shook his head, marveling at a group of young, attractive undergrads who had gathered around a park bench in the bright sunshine.

  “Man, you should be in heaven out here, Simba. Look at all these Asian girls,” Leon said, referring to the six students in front of them.

  “Yeah, they have a huge Chinatown area about ten blocks away. What did you expect?” Simba retorted. “But stop talking about that, man. I really haven’t even talked to that many Asian girls before.”

  “Well, you need to now. And if you won’t, I will,” Leon promised him.

  Simba shook it off. “You can’t just walk up and talk to a whole group of girls like that.”

  “Why not?” Leon questioned. He was already headed in their direction.

  Simba got nervous and stopped walking. “You’re crazy, man.” He was tempted to turn around and head the opposite way.

  That didn’t stop Leon though. He walked right up to the group of girls and asked, “Which one of you guys would talk to my friend?”

  Oh, my God! Simba panicked. He couldn’t believe Leon had said that. Then again, he could. Leon was that audacious!

  Suddenly, all eyes were on Simba. He felt hot under the collar, like a new student about to be bullied by a crew of mean girls inside of a hundred-and-ten-degree lunchroom.

  “Your friend can’t speak for himself?” one of the girls goaded.

  “Yeah, he’s about to now,” Leon told her. “Come on, Simba, introduce yourself.”

  “Simba? His name is Simba?” another girl asked.

  “Yeah, like The Lion King,” Leon told her. “You guys seen that movie, right?”

  “Of course,” the tallest girl piped up. She stood to Leon’s left.

  “What’s your last name?” another one asked Simba.

  He felt as small as an ant, but there was nothing he could do about it but speak up.

  “Kim,” he answered. “Simba Kim. And my friend’s name is Leonardis Carter.”

  Leon protested. “Man, why you tell them—? Look, my name is just Leon.”

  “What, you don’t like Leonardis?” the tall girl teased. She didn’t stand eye-to-eye with Leon, but she was clearly taller than her friends and as tall as Simba.

  “That’s not my name,” Leon told her.

  “Oh, yeah? Let me see your school ID.”

  “I don’t have my ID yet.”

  “Well, let me see your driver’s license.”

  Leon was on the spot. “Look, we’re not talking about me; we’re talking about my friend.”

  Simba chuckled. “Now you see how I feel when you put me on blast.”

  “Where are you guys from?” another girl asked. She could tell they were not New Yorkers or Jersey boys. She stood to the right of Simba with streaks of dyed gold hair running through her natural dark brown.

  Simba took notice of her. Wow! “Glendale, Arizona,” he answered.

  “Arizona?” the girls responded, surprised.

  “Why you guys come all the way out here?” the tall one asked.

  “Because it’s a free country,” Leon retorted. “Nah, I’m just joking. We love New York. Look.” He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a stack of fliers. “Y’all might want to save those. That’s our first big event of many.”

  The girls eyed the colorful information-filled fliers.

  “So, you guys are into sneakers?” the gold-streaked-haired girl asked.

  She and the others instinctively looked down at the guys’ feet. Leon rocked a new pair of LeBron Championship 10s in red, and Simba wore the Carmelo Anthony 12s that he had bought in New York.

  The tall girl smirked. “That’s so high school. We’re in college now. Nobody cares about your sneakers,” she teased. Two of the girls wore bright, inexpensive L.A. Gear kicks in pink and yellow; the others wore sandals.

  “Okay, so you’re the smartmouth one,” Leon quipped. “Well, we make money off our sneakers. What do you make money from?”

  Simba nodded with poise. “Yeah, sneakers are a billion-dollar industry. You guys should come out and see what we do.”

  “You’re really gonna have Amar’e Stoudemire and J.R. Smith there?” the beauty standing next to Simba asked.

  “Yeah, we had a meeting at his house a few weeks ago,” Simba told her. “The other special guests we’re still trying to confirm.”

  “Get out of here,” said the tall girl. “You’re just passing out fliers for someone else and trying to pull a fast one on us.”

  Simba kept his cool and grinned. “If you guys come out, you’ll see.”

  “Better yet, check out our Twitter, Instagram and Facebook pages. You’ll see us there too, Ms. Know-It-All,” Leon quipped.

  The girls chuckled, warming up to the conversation.

  “So, where are your parents from?” the beauty next to Simba asked him.

  “San Diego,” Simba said.

  Leon took note of her interest. “No, man, she means what country,” he snapped.

  “Ooohhh,” Simba responded absentmindedly. “My father is Filipino and my mom is Thai.”

  “Your father is Filipino and his last name is Kim? Kim is a Korean name. I’m Korean and Chinese,” one of the girls said from the bench.

  Simba shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe my dad’s family in the Philippines was part Korean or something.”

  “Yeah, Koreans do travel, right,” Leon me
ntioned.

  The beauty next to Simba said, “I’m Thai and Vietnamese.”

  That was all Leon needed to hear. “All right, both of you are part Thai, so you need to trade phone numbers so you can get together and cook for him. His mom would like that.”

  The pretty girl laughed and cracked an infectious smile.

  “What’s your name?” Leon asked her.

  “Jinni.”

  “Is that short for something?”

  She nodded. “Jintana.”

  “I’m not even gonna ask your last name unless it’s something easy like Kim.”

  “It’s close. It’s Chiem,” she answered.

  “Oh, man, that is close. And easy,” Leon responded with a laugh.

  The tall girl asked him, “So, what are you?”

  “I’m black, Italian, Polish, Native American and whatever else is in my family.”

  “I thought you were Puerto Rican,” Jinni commented.

  “And I thought you were gonna give Simba your number,” Leon quipped.

  Jinni looked at Simba and grinned. “He didn’t even ask for it.”

  “Well, you better ask her for it, Simba. Get her number, man, especially if she can cook Thai food. Your mom would love her.”

  Simba nervously pulled out his phone. “All right, I’ll take your number.”

  Leon beamed at him. Man, I can’t wait to tell Brandon. This girl is bad! he thought. “And what’s your name, smart-alec?” he asked the tall girl.

  “Fei Yen. And I’m all Chinese. But most people here are mixed with a lot of different nationalities in New York.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it. I’ll have to work on my Spanish now if people keep thinking I’m Puerto Rican,” Leon joked.

  >>>

  The guys got back together that evening with social events all over campus for the incoming freshmen, which was a perfect opportunity for them to pass out their fliers.

  Brandon smiled. “I might have something to show you guys later on this week. How are your roommates?”

  “I have a roommate from Boston,” Simba answered first.

  “I got a guy from Philadelphia,” Leon followed.

  “My roommate’s from Long Island,” Brandon told them.

  “I guess NYU really is the melting pot,” Leon joked.