The puppy didn't particularly care for Reggie on the Down Low
Marcus “Bear” Coleman was not about to wait around and see who else in the league had a grudge
against his buddy. The next night, he invited Reggie Snowman over and asked the all-pro safety point blank: “So Snow,
who else in the league has it out for my husband, just because he chooses to love another man?”
“What?” both Walter and Reggie said together. They were seated on the
couch across from Bear. The puppy was under Bear’s chair, having decided he didn’t particularly care for Reggie
on the Down Low.
“Reggie, I had no idea he was going to do this,” said Walter.
“Husband?” Reggie stood up, suddenly quite uncomfortable.
“Didn’t seem like a problem at our party in Malibu,” said Bear.
“You didn’t say shit to my wife, did you?” asked Reggie.
“She doesn’t know about yo’ boy?” asked Bear.
“I ain’t got
no boy, man,” said Reggie. “I ain’t down with all that husband shit."
“Wait a minute, guys,”
said Walter, immobile on the couch due to his injury. “Bros, bruthas, Bear, Reggie, bruthamen. Can’t we
all just get along?”
“So you cats are all out in the open and shit?” asked Reggie.
“I don’t broadcast my business.”
“Neither do we,” said Bear, “but my buddy’s life is at stake, which
makes me the one they’d better watch out for, because when I get a bunch of his
piss ‘n’ vinegar all up inside me—”
“Beaaaaaar!” droned Walter. “Better dreeeeeeam! He’s
just upset, Snow.”
“Man, we cool,” said Reggie. “Same team. I gotta get the freak outta here.”
“Show
him out and try not to bite his head off,” said Walter to Bear, who complied with a surly face.
“Sorry for the blitz,” said Bear, pushing the elevator button once the bruthas
were in the hallway. “Surely, you’d be just as upset if you heard the Pistons or Knicks might have it in for yo’
boy Carter Jones.”
“Yo, man,” said Reggie, “I can hook you up with some fine, down low
bruthas in basketball, football and baseball. Dirty on and on!”
“I’m already hooked up pretty
good.” Bear eyed the condo door. “Most of the time.”
“You ever date bruthas?” asked Reggie.
“Reggie, I don’t date,” said Bear. “QB and I been together going on
12 years. We’re good as gold. True dat.”
“So you like his house nigga,” said Reggie.
“How you figure?” asked Bear.
“I saw him ordering yo’ ass around, talking about cooking and cleaning for him,”
said Reggie.
“If I cooked for my man, he’d be as malnourished as your brain. And neither
one of us gives a fuck about a sparkling clean pad. I’m nobody’s house nigga,” said Bear. “Except
maybe the puppy’s.”
“Sounds like you Yeager’s house nigga to me,” said Reggie.
“I suppose it has its certain advantages over being his field nigga,” said
Bear. “Especially from where I’m standing. Feel me?”
“Man, you whack,” said Reggie.
“Snowman,” said Bear. “The World Champs are 5-6 so far, 2-6 without Walter.
You sure you wanna concentrate on his abilities at home, or focus on what we can all do to make him get well soon, so the
team has some sort of chance to defend that Super ring you love flashing all over MTV, even though you’re no longer
the so-called Showman.”
The elevator opened. Reggie looked like he was trying to say, you’re right,
but vanished instead.
“It’s about the end zones on the field,” said Bear to the closed elevator door.
