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*****
Immediately after the final buzzer sounded, Kobe Bryant asked the referee for the official game ball. The shooting guard took a black marker and signed his name boldly across the leather. He jogged over to personally present it to Marvin sitting in the front row.
It provided a rare, public gesture of genuine respect from a player known for his icy demeanor.
However, Frank was visibly far more excited about the interaction than Marvin.
Reverting to an overeager superfan, Frank practically dragged his nephew onto the court to take a commemorative photo with Kobe.
Then, completely abandoning any remaining shred of dignity, Frank shamelessly asked Kobe for his game-worn shoes. He requested the athlete to sign the number "380" on the toes—referencing the exact point total Kobe scored in his career up to that night.
On the drive back to the ranch, the pungent smell of professional athletic exertion filled the enclosed cabin of Frank's luxury SUV.
Sitting in the passenger seat, Marvin felt a wave of aristocratic disgust. He kicked the signed sneakers completely under his uncle's seat to escape the odor.
"No, Uncle Frank, are you actually serious with this?" Marvin complained, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do you really intend to keep these stinky shoes in your house?"
"Don't be stupid, Marvin," Frank scoffed. He grinned broadly as he navigated the dark highway. "Do you have any idea how much a pair of authentic, signed, game-worn sneakers from Kobe Bryant can sell for at auction?"
Frank reached down and patted the dashboard triumphantly. "I will not sell them. I will keep them safe. When Kobe becomes a global superstar and wins a few rings, these exact shoes will have massive collection value. Especially considering they were singed today."
"Don't you mind the smell?" Marvin asked. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Why don't you at least go back home and wash them off with bleach?"
Frank looked horrified. He swerved slightly in his lane. "Don't you dare! Are you crazy? It won't be worth a dime to collectors after washing them. The authentic game sweat gives it value! After I get back to the house, I will have a custom, airtight glass display cabinet built. I'll put them securely in the cabinet so I won't have to be afraid of the smell ruining the living room."
Frank paused, glancing at Marvin in the glow of the dashboard lights. A calculating thought crossed his mind.
"Actually, you know what?" Frank chuckled, shaking his head. "I honestly think someday, your own worn-out, smelly gym shoes will probably have vastly more auction value than Kobe's. I guarantee you there are thousands upon thousands of crazy, rich women out there right now who would gladly pay any obscene amount of money just to sniff the insoles of your shoes. Given the speed your fame grows, that day isn't far off!"
Marvin rolled his eyes. He ignored the crude joke as Frank laughed loudly at his own wit.
Then, Frank's eyes fell on the pristine, signed game ball resting in Marvin's lap. He cleared his throat. He adopted a sheepish, innocent expression.
"Say, Marvin," Frank began casually. "Why don't you let your uncle hold onto this historic basketball for you? Put it with me for safe collection? You live in hotels and airplanes; you don't know how to keep memorabilia safe. You might accidentally bounce it outside and ruin the signature."
Frank originally threw the suggestion out there tentatively. He fully expected his nephew to protect his prize. He didn't expect the immediate response.
"OK. Here you go," Marvin said easily. He casually tossed the valuable basketball into the back seat and wiped his hands together. He remained unattached to the object entirely.
Frank felt genuinely surprised. He gripped the steering wheel. He wondered if this kid actually liked Kobe Bryant, or if he just said those nice things on the court strictly for the television cameras and the PR face.
After a brief moment of stunned silence, Frank laughed loudly. It didn't matter what the kid's true motives were. Frank had just taken advantage of the situation. This entire basketball expedition had not been in vain.
At this time, Marvin spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence.
"Uncle Frank," Marvin began. His tone dropped the playful nephew act. He adopted a sharper, more analytical edge. "Just tell me exactly what you want me to do."
Frank blinked. "What do you mean?"
"There is an old saying," Marvin stated. He looked out the passenger window into the dark. "Offering unprompted courtesy and expensive gifts is usually the prelude to either cheating someone or stealing from them. You have gone out of your way to be accommodating and enthusiastic over the past few days. The foal. The dirt bike. The courtside tickets. The fawning. So, let's skip the dance. What do you need from me?"
Frank flushed a deep red in the darkness of the cabin. He gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands. He remained silent for a long moment, visibly struggling to organize his words.
After a sigh, he finally spoke. "Marvin... I want to ask you to be the best man at my wedding next week. Will you do it?"
"Me?" Marvin asked, turning his head. He felt genuinely surprised by the request. "Frank, I am technically still a child. Is that appropriate for a formal ceremony?"
In this culture, the selection of the best man and the maid of honor at a wedding serves as a significant deeply personal decision. The role belongs traditionally to a brother or a lifelong close friend. Moreover, the best man legally and socially must give a public speech during the reception. If the speech proves genuine, funny, and touching, it adds immense emotional color and joy to the wedding celebration.
Therefore, couples do not choose candidates for the role casually.
"Frank, you are a wealthy man in your thirties. Don't you have dozens of friends? Why do you specifically need a thirteen-year-old boy to stand beside you?" Marvin asked directly, seeking the logical angle.
Frank swallowed hard. He spoke hurriedly to defend his choice. "Why aren't you suitable? You are suitable!"
"You know exactly who my closest friends are, Marvin," Frank confessed. Regret tinged his voice. "They are all rotten, overgrown frat boys and shallow playboys. They act exactly like I did before I met Kris."
Frank shook his head. "Those guys wouldn't offer a genuine blessing for my marriage. I feel terrified that if I gave one of them a microphone and an open bar, they would ruin the entire reception with crude jokes and embarrassing stories. Besides... Kris doesn't like any of them. I want her to be happy."
He glanced over at his nephew, his eyes pleading. "So, my dear nephew, please be my best man. I know you're busy running the world. If you feel too lazy or tired to write your own speech, I can draft it for you and you can just read it."
Frank added a sweetener to the deal. "By the way, Kris's chosen bridesmaid is her younger sister, Miranda. You two already know each other well. How about this arrangement?"
Marvin glanced at Frank lazily. He observed the man's nervous posture, and then felt startled.
Frank had taken his eyes entirely off the dark highway. He stared at Marvin with a pitiful, desperate look, like a golden retriever begging for a treat.
"No, Uncle, look at the road!" Marvin commanded, his voice sharp. "Look at the damn road, don't look at me!"
Frank quickly jerked his eyes back to the asphalt. He adjusted the steering wheel.
"Okay, okay, I agree to do it," Marvin sighed, massaging his temples. "The gifts weren't enough, but I'll do it to save your dignity. Just drive well and don't kill us before the ceremony!"
"Hehe! I knew my favorite nephew Marvin would eventually feel sorry for his poor uncle!" Frank cheered. A smile of complete success appeared on his face. "By the way, I actually wrote the speech out a long time ago. I will give you the pages tomorrow morning to practice."
Marvin rolled his eyes speechlessly in the dark. "Keep your pages, Frank. No need. I am completely used to free play when I have a microphone in my hand."
Frank's triumphant smile instantly vanished. A spike of real anxiety replaced it. "Well, Marvin... please, whatever you do, don't mess around at the wedding. It's Kris's special day."
"Haha," Marvin chuckled darkly. "Are you having second thoughts? How about you go back to your rotten friends and change the best man right now?"
"No, no! Uncle believes in you completely," Frank immediately backpedaled, desperate not to lose his star attraction. Then, he nervously reminded the boy, "But you really, really can't mess around with the speech. No dark jokes about my past."
"I know, I know," Marvin waved him off dismissively. "Haven't you seen my acceptance speeches at the Golden Globes, the Grammys, and especially at the Academy Awards? I am a consummate professional, Frank."
---
November 16th arrived crisp and clear.
Frank's wedding took place outdoors on the sprawling, manicured lawns of his family's equestrian farm. Frank wore a sharply tailored, dark charcoal suit. He looked particularly energetic and handsome today. He stood at the altar, gazing with piercing, adoring eyes at his beautiful bride, Kris, who stood opposite him radiant in a flowing, white designer wedding gown.
The ordained pastor stood beneath a floral archway. He turned solemnly to Frank.
"Frank Heath, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you solemnly promise to love her, honor her, and remain faithfully devoted to her in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, for as long as you both shall live?"
Frank met Kris's tear-filled eyes. His expression remained steady, profound, and sincere. "I do."
The pastor then turned gracefully to Kris.
"Kris Kerr, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you solemnly promise to love him, honor him, and remain faithfully devoted to him in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, for as long as you both shall live?"
Kris smiled brilliantly through her happy tears and replied, "I do!"
"Will both parties now exchange the rings as a symbol of this vow."
Marvin stood tall and still just to the side of his uncle. He wore a perfectly fitted tuxedo mirroring Frank's just in pure white. He quickly reached into his inner pocket. He smoothly handed the flawless diamond ring—a stone with a retail value of roughly four hundred thousand dollars—to Frank.
Miranda stood opposite Marvin on the bride's side. She wore a dress similar to her sister's. She performed her duties as bridesmaid, handing a sleek platinum band to her sister.
Marvin and Miranda briefly caught each other's eyes across the altar and shared a warm, secret smile.
The traditional ceremony of the bride and groom completed beautifully, and the vows sealed with a kiss. The pastor offered a final blessing and departed. Joyful, live acoustic music immediately began playing over the speakers. The guests transitioned to the open-air reception tents where the catering staff eagerly brought out sumptuous food and vintage wine.
But it was not quite time to relax and enjoy the feast. It was the traditional turn of the best man and the bridesmaid to deliver their public toasts.
Miranda nervously took her handwritten manuscript from her clutch and walked gracefully onto the wooden stage first. She adjusted the microphone and began reading affectionately. The young girl's prepared manuscript proved sweet and touching, recounting childhood memories with her older sister. By the time she finished, Kris's eyes were red from crying, and the crowd offered warm, appreciative applause.
Miranda stepped down, offering Marvin an encouraging nod. It was his turn to command the room.
This boy walked confidently onto the stage in a leisurely, unhurried manner. His hands remained completely empty, lacking any prepared manuscripts or cue cards. He adjusted the microphone stand downward with one hand, and offered a devastating, dimpled smile to the hundred gathered guests in the audience.
Linda sat at the primary family table near the front. She clasped her hands over her chest, overwhelmed by maternal pride.
"Oh, my God, our little Marvin is just so handsome!" Linda whispered excitedly, leaning toward her husband. "Look at him. Standing up there on the stage under the lights, he honestly looks more handsome and put together than the actual groom does."
Grant coughed politely into his fist. He reminded her with distinct embarrassment, "Dear, your whispering voice is too loud. The microphone might pick it up."
Linda looked surprised, covering her mouth. "Oh! Was it?"
Frank sat proudly at the sweetheart table in the first row with his new wife. He nodded silently. He grumbled bitterly in his own mind, 'Yes, I heard it perfectly clearly, Sister. You go way too far! It's my wedding day, let me be the handsome one for five minutes!'
*****
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