After she revealed to me the new situation at hand, I responded, "Omg. We are going. This is out of control." You see, Manny Ramirez who, at the time, was still one of the most noted, notable, and noticed players on the Boston Red Sox had just invited Noreen and her girlfriends over to his apartment at the Optima in Scottsdale. The purpose? His uncle's birthday party. The time and date? Today at 1 pm.
We acted quickly: I called Kate who was ecstatic and bopped right over. Noreen dug our roommate Stephany out of her room (as this was early in the period of our friendship, I really do feel that this brush with fame brought us all a lot closer). After rounding up our little girl band, it occurred to me that I was missing a piece of the puzzle:
"Um, Noreen? Why and how does Manny have your number?"
Noreen was lounging on the floor playing with a digital camera in her pajamas.
" Dirty Pretty," she shrugged. The name Dirty Pretty was explanation enough for acquiring a professional ball player's number. Apparently, she had met him a few weeks ago and had chatted him up while we were out clubbing. Last night, she had run into him again and had gone to his VIP table for probably no more than ten minutes- little girl who leaves a big impression, apparently. Anyway, Noreen's charms over Manny were about to give us a great adventure.
En route to ManRam's casa, Kate called her mom to tell her about her pending adventures. Of course, though Mary Ann was probably equally as intrigued as we were, she pulled the concerned mom card. Kate promised not to accept refreshments.
Once we rolled up to the Optima, arguable the most expensive apartment property in the metro Phoenix area apart from a few high rises in the Biltmore, Noreen called him up to figure out how we would get to his humble abode.
"oh hey" she said casually, "where do we park and how do we get in?"
ManRam directed her to park anywhere and said he'd be right down. Moments later, a pearly Escalade truck (I am fairly certain it was pearl, but perhaps silver) rolled by slowly in drive-by fashion. The tinted drivers window rolled down slowly; meanwhile, I was blinded by the ultra rims. Custom rims, I can assure you.
Manny poked his head out the window, "Hi girls," he called in his still thick Dominican accent, "get in, I take you my apartment." Now, I am a tall woman but I virtually had to jump into ManRam's hoss. In the backseat, of course, there were the stereotypical practice balls rolling around the floor. I thought about the prospect of how Manny might have thrown them in there just to tempt me to steal them. Well it was working. Luckily, I had a small purse which enabled self control.
Sitting right behind Manny, I was just inches from his magnificent dreads. I wanted to pull one. Weird, but it would be a good story had it happened.
"So Manny," Noreen asked, "how old his your Uncle turning?" Manny looked at her really long and hard for a minute as if he had no idea what she had said. He either needed me to translate or had totally fucked up his own fascade for inviting us over.
"Oh, you have to ask him." Using context clues, maybe one of the only skills I gained from majoring in English Lit, I knew I was not going to be gorging myself with really expensive birthday cake that pro ball players must get for family and friends on their birthdays.
After a slightly awkward elevator ride, we were at the door of Manny's apartment. I have to say, the apartment was not the Moorish palace I was expecting. Decor was simple. And there were no streamers. I still decided to play up the birthday party.
As we entered the kitchen area, a fifty something man entered the room wearing an all black track suit. It was the uncle.
"Happy Birthday,' I said to him, " where are all your other friends hiding out?"
Manny looked a little guilty, "Oh, it's just you guys," and began pouring drinks with copious amounts of vodka. Noreen helped him serve; I was convinced they were roofie coladas so i put mine down and flipped on the plasma. The uncle sat next to me and I learned that he was also Manny's trainer and did not, in fact, speak very much english. Lucky for him, I shared an interest in Rock of Love and am fluent in Spanish, the only other useful skill I accrued in college.
As the aging uncle and I engaged in small talk, Kate and Steph hung out in the living room wiht us. Meanwhile, ManRam cranked on the salsa music and within moments was spinning little Noreen around the kitchen. After a few minutes, he excused himself for a moment to take a call.
Noreen gave us a look, it was probably time to go. Things were just going to get weird. Not that they were not already. We all stood up and conjured up that leaving look in our eyes. We told ManRam we had to get back to prepare for work tomorrow. ManRam looked a little sad and a little in the mood for more salsa. Unfortunately, a few twirls around the kitchen were all he would get from Noreen. And as for his uncle, he would never fully understand Rock of Love without my translations as we could not figure out how to get the subtitles going.
As we drove home, I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed in Manny. For a celebrity, he was actually pretty boring. Not much of a conversationalist and with a pretty simple apartment. And didn't even use good mixers in his drinks (ok so i had to try it).
However, Manny was still a celebrity so we continued to pursue contact in a friendly way. As luck would have it, Manny began blowing us off and his wife came into town. Several weeks after that, he bailed on Phoenix for Ft. Lauderdale and changed his number. To think I had been just inches from his dreadlocks and now could not ever contact him again (of course, this was not a huge loss because Manny is not really that entertaining).
If I learned anything from ManRam though, it is that certain adventures and opportunities only come around every so often. If you don't take them and run with them, you will be one dreadlock short of a really, really good story.
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