Throughout lunch of hamburgers fit for a carnivorous elephant, I wondered what Floyd Mayweather had in mind?
?Hi, this is Merle Edwards, here in Vegas for my interview with Floyd. What time should I come out to the house??
?Mr. Mayweather does not permit strange writers into any of his castles,? said a baritone-blessed woman.
?He invited Robin Leach.?
?Mr. Leach is synonymous with ?champagne wishes and caviar dreams.? You, sir, are not.?
?Fine, but one of Floyd?s executives said he?d talk to me.?
?Not at home.?
?Okay. Where??
?The Fat Burger Bar at noon. Don?t be late. Mr. Mayweather is disciplined in all aspects of his life.?
I arrived fifteen minutes early at the McDonald?s-Far-East structure and sat at the bar, sipping a milk shake, until Floyd walked in straddled by two men each a foot taller and twice as heavy. I stood and waved and he smiled, recognizing me from the webpage link I?d emailed.
?Raise your hands,? said one of the bodyguards.
?You?re kidding.?
?Raise ?em.?
I complied and was given a professional pat down from neck to toes.
?We?re on alert 24/7,? said Floyd. ?You probably saw what happened here not long ago.?
?Yeah, can?t believe some rapper would swing at a guy like you.?
?He missed, like all my opponents. He?s lucky my guys kept me away. Hear what I told him: ?Control your bitch.? Any man who can?t do that?s in trouble.?
Like a great champion, he sensed uncertainty and moved in. ?You don?t let bitches control you, I hope.?
I?d just been evicted from my house, lost custody of the three kids, and ordered to pay exorbitant child support and alimony.
?They don?t really control me. The judge does that.?
?Still, I don?t think that would happen if you weren?t such a square.?
?Probably not much I can do about that.?
?Maybe there is. First, let?s eat.?
Throughout lunch of hamburgers fit for a carnivorous elephant, I wondered what Floyd had in mind but, between bites, he instead commented that he?d knock out Manny Pacquiao if they ever fought, he?d stop Marcos Maidana in the rematch, he didn?t see anyone out there who could hit him much less beat him. Then, after the final swallow, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and said, ?Let?s go. Time for your makeover.?
The four of us walked out and into the rear of a stretch limousine driven by a young lady wearing a chauffeur?s cap and pink bikini.
?Got to do something about that hair,? said Floyd.
?What?s wrong with my hair? You don?t have any.?
?Don?t need it. I?ve got black skin and a well-shaped dome.?
The driver, who never spoke but didn?t need to, pulled into Elegant Locks just off the Strip. Floyd bounced out ready to run, box, or dance, even in a Vegas summer scorcher.
Inside, the stylist was bald as Floyd and almost as big as the bodyguards.
?Do something for this guy, will ya??
?Don?t take off too much,? I said.
?Relax,? he said, inviting me into a special room with no mirror.
I don?t know why I didn?t run. He didn?t strap me into the chair. I must?ve thought Floyd and his guys would get me. At least I said, ?Hold it,? when I felt his electric razor shaving one side of my head. With one strong hand he pushed me back into the chair, said, ?Relax,? and circumnavigated my head as I watched brown hair hit the floor.
?Let?s go into a room with a mirror.?
?That?ll come, and then you?ll fall in love.?
?What?s that?? I asked about the liquid he rubbed into my head.
?The pi?ce de r?sistance.? He pulled the chair back, leaving me horizontal for a half-hour of torment. When he returned he pulled me upright, rinsed and blow-dried my hair and cut some off the top and put something greasy in there and teased it with a brush before pushing a button that moved a panel revealing a mirror bordered by lights, and said, ?There you are, my man.?
I screamed. Not merely was my head shaved around my temples, ears, and the back, my hair on top was spiked and green. I jumped out of the chair and ran to Floyd. ?What the hell have you done to me, and why??
?Relax, you?re an uptight dude. Or you were. Now you look cool. Come on.?
Next our reticent but hard-bodied driver took us to Savage Tattoos. ?No way,? I shouted.
?Trust me,? said Floyd.
I think the heat on my new head made me compliant.
?Andre, this is Merle. You and your team fix him up, okay??
?Take off your shirt, please,? Andre said. ?Would you like a drink??
?Got any white wine??
?I?ll bring you a glass.?
?Make it a bottle.? He did, and I chugged about half. ?You three do whatever you want, but make it artistic.?
?We?ll be back in a few,? said Floyd.
Several hours and two bottles later he reappeared to see my chest adorned with an all-female orgy and my back brandishing two serpents emerging from either end of a battleship.
?All right, Merle, time for some jewelry.?
I was sore and groggy and had to be held up by a bodyguard on each arm. We went into one of those huge casinos, I can?t remember whether it was Paris, Venice, or New York. There were happy and normal people everywhere, and they were looking at the four of us, especially at me.
?My treat,? said Floyd. ?What?s your pleasure??
I don?t think Floyd wanted to know. He made the choices. A big sparking gem for a just-pierced ear. Maybe it?s a diamond. Maybe that?s really gold, the necklace Floyd?s putting around my neck. Is that a Rolex the jeweler?s wrapping around my wrist? Must be a golden bracelet for the other wrist.
?Okay, time for some threads,? Floyd announced. ?I?m tired of those Dockers and that suburban sports shirt. Besides, I?m not covering up all my money. We?ll get you some red boxing shorts and silver slippers. That?s all you need.?
