Chapter 44: Dinner on Shaq

The restaurant was busier around the bar than the dining room.

Two valets in matching jackets worked the curb outside, and just beyond the heavy glass doors, a host stood behind a polished wooden stand.

Inside, the air smelled of garlic, char, and espresso, with conversation humming beneath the clink of glasses and silverware.

Ben and Fisher arrived first.

Kobe came in a few minutes behind them and found Eddie already there, shoes polished, leaning against the bar with a mineral water and his bag set neatly at his feet.

The host glanced past them toward the street as the group assembled.

A minute later, Shaq came through the doors in a blue double-breasted jacket, with Nick and Bruce not far behind him.

Heads turned almost immediately.

A couple near the entrance stopped talking long enough to watch Shaq cross the room.

Someone at the bar leaned back for a better look.

Shaq seemed either not to notice or too accustomed to it to care.

The host guided them toward the back, where a large round table waited in a corner just shy of private.

The group filled the seats at random, wherever each man happened to land.

Kobe found himself between Fisher and Ben, with Eddie nearby.

Shaq took the spot nearest the window, knees nowhere near fitting beneath the table, so he angled himself sideways and stretched his legs into the open.

Nick claimed the seat across from Kobe.

Bruce settled near the end and opened his menu.

They hadn’t even settled before a waiter in a crisp shirt swept over, dropped two bread baskets, and began reciting the daily specials like it was theater.

Shaq interrupted him.

“Appetizers for the table.

Double it up.” The waiter didn’t even pause.

He wrote it down, nodded, and asked if they wanted to start with drinks.

Fisher spent more time looking at the menu than anyone else, eyes moving left to right, then back, then down toward the prices.

He folded the menu shut, opened it again, then caught Shaq watching him.

Shaq leaned in, quiet enough that it didn’t carry.

“Fish, order what you want.

I invited you.” Fisher said, “I’m good.” “I know.

I’m telling you so you stop reading the damn prices.” Fisher smiled and closed the menu.

Nick, hearing just enough to piece it together, looked toward the waiter.

“Hey, what’s the most expensive steak you got?” Shaq turned toward him.

“You’re exactly why I didn’t say that loud.” The waiter named a cut nearly twice as expensive as anything else on the menu.

Nick considered it.

“Yeah, give me the ribeye.” Shaq stared at him.

Nick shrugged.

“I just wanted to know.” Ben ordered two entrées and a side.

Eddie went with pasta, Bruce ordered chicken and a salad, and Kobe chose the grilled fish.

Once the first basket of bread disappeared, conversation broke apart almost immediately.

Nick complained that the valet had moved his seat so far back he’d had to readjust everything before leaving the car.

Eddie told him maybe the valet was trying to help his driving.

“Nothing wrong with my driving.” “You’re the one complaining about the seat.” “What does that have to do with how I drive?” Eddie reached for his water.

“Probably more than you think.” Nick looked across the table at Kobe.

“You hear this shit?” Kobe picked up his glass.

“I just got here.” At Kobe’s end of the table, Fisher had started telling Ben about an AAU tournament back in Arkansas when Shaq leaned halfway across the table to ask Eddie something completely unrelated.

Eddie answered him.

Nick interrupted that.

Fisher tried to finish his story anyway.

Within a few minutes, there were three conversations happening at once.

Then Kobe noticed the boy.

He stood near the edge of the dining room beside his father, wearing an Orlando jersey that looked like it had been washed two hundred times and still hadn’t shrunk enough to fit him.

His father said something Kobe couldn’t hear.

The boy didn’t move.

He was staring at Shaq.

A waiter arrived with the first round of appetizers, forcing everyone to shift glasses and plates around to make room.

Once he’d stepped away, the father approached.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said.

“My son is a big fan.

Would it be okay—” Shaq smiled immediately.

“Come on over, little man.” The boy approached slowly.

Shaq pointed toward the jersey.

“You want me to sign that?” The boy nodded.

The host found them a marker, and Shaq signed across the back of the jersey.

The boy stared down at it for a moment before looking around the table.

His eyes stopped on Kobe.

“Do you play too?” Kobe smiled.

“Sometimes.” Shaq looked between them.

“Get his autograph too.” The boy glanced at his father, then back at Shaq.

“Why?” Shaq looked at Kobe for a second.

“Trust me.” Kobe took the marker.

The boy turned around, and Kobe signed beneath Shaq’s name, smaller, leaving plenty of room around it.

When he handed the marker back, the boy looked down over his shoulder, trying to see both signatures at once.

“Thank you.” “You got it,” Kobe said.

His father thanked them as well and led him back through the dining room.

Another plate landed in front of Shaq before the boy had even reached his table.

Shaq looked down at it.

“Whose is this?” “You ordered it,” Eddie said.

Dinner rolled on.

By the time the entrées arrived, whatever order the table had started with was gone.

Plates moved in both directions.

Someone asked for the pepper and got the salt.

Fisher was halfway through something about Arkansas while Ben ate and listened.

Nick kept reaching across Eddie for bread until Eddie finally moved the basket directly in front of him.

A little later, Fisher looked toward Kobe.

“What do you miss most about Italy?” Kobe thought about it.

“The food.” Nick looked up from his plate.

“Man, you’re sitting in an Italian restaurant.” “This ain’t the same.” Eddie glanced at Kobe’s plate.

“You ordered fish at an Italian restaurant?” Nick pointed his fork at him.

“You can’t blame the restaurant for what you order.” Kobe smiled.

“You ever had my mom’s cooking?” Nick shook his head.

“No.” “Then you don’t know what you’re talking about.” That caught Shaq’s attention from the other side of the table.

“Your moms can cook?” “Yeah.” “What she make?” Kobe opened his mouth, thought about it, then shrugged.

“Everything.” Shaq nodded slowly.

Ben looked over.

“My mom’s the same way.” Shaq turned toward him.

“What’s her best?” Ben thought about it while he chewed.

“Depends.” “Depends on what?” “What she feels like making.” Shaq pointed across the table.

“See, that’s dangerous.” Ben laughed.

“Why?” “‘Cause now you can’t even request nothing.

You just gotta show up and hope.” “Nah.

She’ll ask.” Kobe took another bite while the conversation wandered from one end of the table to the other.

Food became family, family became where everyone had grown up, and somewhere along the way Fisher finally finished the AAU story he’d started twenty minutes earlier.

Nick had apparently missed half of it.

“Wait.

You won?” Fisher stared at him.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.” “I wasn’t listening at the beginning.” “I know.” “So tell it again.” Fisher shook his head.

“Hell no.” Eddie laughed into his glass.

Another basket of bread arrived.

Ben reached for it first.

Shaq caught the other side at almost the same time.

They both stopped.

Ben looked at him.

Shaq looked back.

Then Shaq tore off a piece and pushed the basket toward him.

“There.” Ben looked down at the remaining bread.

“Thank you.” Shaq was already talking to Eddie again.

Kobe smiled and went back to his plate.

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It took only one round of dessert menus for the conversation to turn, not deep, but sideways.

Nick started it, gesturing at the empty plates like he was laying out evidence.

“You know what I’d buy if I had Shaq money?” He didn’t wait for an answer.

“The best damn car on the street.

Lambo, black, not red.

Red’s for people who want to get pulled over.” Fisher laughed.

“You can’t even fit in a Lambo.” Nick shrugged.

“They make them for basketball players now.

Special order.” Ben, mouth full of tiramisu, shook his head.

“That’s not real.” Nick turned toward him.

“You ever see one up close?” Ben finished his bite, considered it, then said, “No.” Eddie laughed.

“Man, forget a car.

First thing I’d buy is a house for my mom.

Then maybe another for me, once she gets tired of having me around.” Bruce looked over.

“You’re not gonna buy her a car, too?” “She don’t drive.” “You could get her lessons.” Eddie grinned.

“She’d probably just use it to drive to my place anyway.” That got a laugh around the table.

Ben set down his fork.

“House makes sense.” Nick looked over.

“For you?” “For my mom.” “Then what?” Ben shrugged.

“I gotta get the big contract first.” Shaq nodded from across the table.

“There you go.” Fisher leaned back in his chair.

“I’d pay off my grandma’s place.” Nick pointed at him.

“See, everybody buying houses now.

I’m the only one having fun.” “You’re buying a car you can’t fit in,” Fisher said.

“I’ll fit.” “You won’t.” “I’ll make it fit.” Bruce looked up from his dessert.

“Cut the roof off.” Nick pointed across the table.

“See?

Problem solved.” Fisher shook his head, smiling.

“After my grandma’s place, I’d travel.” “Where?” “Everywhere.” Bruce glanced at him.

“You taking her with you?” “If she wants.” The conversation moved around the table from there—cars, houses, places they wanted to see, things they wanted to do if basketball ever gave them enough money to stop worrying about the money itself.

Nick eventually looked across the table.

“What about you, Kobe?” Kobe turned his glass slowly between his fingers.

“I’d own something.” Shaq looked over.

“Like what?” “Don’t know yet.” “A house?” Kobe shook his head.

“Nah.

Something that makes money when I’m not playing.” That got Shaq’s attention.

He leaned back slightly.

“We got a businessman over here.” Kobe looked at him.

Shaq tapped one finger against the table.

“Everybody thinks getting the check is the whole thing.

It ain’t.” Nick glanced over.

“Easy for you to say.” Shaq ignored him.

“You get paid playing,” he continued.

“Then you figure out what else your name can do.” “Like what?” Fisher asked.

Shaq shrugged.

“Whatever.

Movies.

Music.

Business.

Shoes.

You get opportunities, you use ’em.” Nick looked at him.

“You gonna make a movie?” “Hell yeah.” “What kind?” Shaq grinned.

“Some kind of basketball-themed one or something else, this is Hollywood after all.” Nick leaned back.

“Well, that narrows it down.” A few guys laughed.

Kobe didn’t.

He was still looking at Shaq.

He remembered the endorsements.

The music.

The movies.

The businesses.

Some worked.

Some didn’t.

Shaq had never seemed particularly bothered by either outcome.

He’d forgotten how early the thinking had started.

“You already got all this planned?” Kobe asked.

“Some of it.” “How much?” Shaq smiled.

“Enough.” Kobe nodded.

“Might have to pick your brain sometime.” “Anytime.” Nick looked between them.

“Look at this shit.

We came for dinner, now y’all starting business deals.” Shaq reached across for what was left of the bread.

“You ain’t invited either way so butt outta of it.” “Good.

Your company probably got that ugly blue jacket as the uniform.” Shaq looked down at himself.

“This jacket is clean.” Eddie covered his mouth with his napkin.

Shaq caught him.

“What?

Is it not?” “Nothing.” The waiter returned before Shaq could continue and placed the leather folder near the edge of the table.

Shaq reached for it.

Nick leaned forward.

“Moment of truth.” “What truth?” “See if you still got Shaq money after feeding Ben.” Ben looked up from the last of his tiramisu.

“I ain’t even order that much.” Everybody looked at him.

Ben glanced around the table.

“What?” Shaq opened the folder, looked at the total, then at Ben.

“You ordered two dinners.” “I was hungry.” Shaq laughed, pulled out his pen, and signed the receipt.

“It ain’t too bad, a couple hundred.” He closed the folder and pushed it toward the edge of the table.

The waiter took it and disappeared.

A few chairs scraped back.

Eddie reached for his bag, Fisher pushed away from the table, and Bruce was already pulling on his jacket.

Across from Kobe, Nick was still trying to convince Shaq that the blue jacket needed to disappear before the season started.

“I’m serious, man.

Do it for the team.” Shaq stood and straightened the front of it.

“Team needs style.” “Team needs sunglasses.” Eddie laughed as he headed for the door.

Kobe grabbed his jacket and followed.

They didn’t seem in much of a hurry to get home.

The conversation simply left the table with them, spilling through the restaurant and out toward the parking lot.

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We officially finished this week at #82 with 263 Power Stones!

And somehow, we’re already in a new ranking category: 31–90 days.

😂 Seriously, where did that first month go?

It feels like I just started posting this story.

The competition definitely got tougher with the move into the new category.

We dropped from Top 50 last week to #82, and finished with 263 Power Stones, a little below last week’s 294—but considering we’re now competing against more established stories, I’m excited to see how high we can climb.

So I’m raising the bar this week.

400 POWER STONES.

That’s the challenge.

The bonus system is staying the same:

You guys made that first month fly by.

We conquered the first ranking category.

Now let’s see what we can do in this one.

Let’s go get it.