The victory at Madison Square Garden had briefly shut down the outside critics, and every player on the Lakers was riding high.
In the locker room, everyone was hyped, buzzing about Link's jaw-dropping 16 points in that single quarter—everyone except for Parker, that is.
Just then, the team's PR Director walked in, beaming, and clapped his hands to get everyone's attention.
"Listen up, guys! Special announcement! Jay-Z and Beyoncé have personally invited us! They reserved a private section at 1 OAK! The bus is already waiting out back!"
"WOOOO!!!"
The locker room erupted, even louder than when they won the game!
Even the usually serious Coach Jackson, the "Zen Master," just raised an eyebrow and didn't object. After the pressure of constant travel and a losing streak, a night of complete blowout was probably exactly what the team needed.
The players quickly peeled off their jerseys, slipping into fresh designer clothes, expensive streetwear, and flashy accessories.
Link looked around at his teammates, who were absolutely ecstatic, and felt a little out of sync.
In his previous life as a low-level player, he had never gotten an invite to this kind of elite party. Even after his unexpected success, he'd been living the monastic life: apartment to practice facility and back again.
Now, he was heading to the swankiest club in New York City, hosted by a hip-hop mogul. It all felt completely unreal.
"What's with the dazed look, rook!" Odom laughed, slinging an arm over his shoulder. "Ready to see the real Big Apple?"
Instead of heading back to the hotel, the team bus drove straight toward Midtown Manhattan.
It finally pulled up to an incredibly lavish-looking club, the entrance already jammed with luxury cars and a massive crowd.
The "1 OAK" neon sign glowed, radiating a tempting energy in the night sky.
Using a special entrance, the Lakers avoided the throngs of people and the flashing cameras of the paparazzi outside.
The moment they stepped inside, the sound hit them like a physical force!
The deep, heavy bass drum slammed directly into your chest, and dazzling laser beams sliced through the hazy smoke filling the air.
The atmosphere reeked of expensive perfume, cigar smoke, and high-end liquor.
On the massive dance floor, stylish, sexy men and women were dancing wildly to the music.
Long tables were spread with all kinds of top-shelf champagne and whiskey. Servers in black vests constantly weaved through the crowd, ensuring glasses were never empty.
"Welcome to New York, Lakers!" an in-house DJ's voice boomed, stretching out the syllables over the club's enormous sound system, the sheer volume making heads spin.
Link felt a little stiff and settled down in a corner, taking in the surreal scene.
Stunning, beautiful women glided around like social butterflies, effortlessly mingling with the players.
Laughter, clinking glasses, and pulsating music merged into one loud symphony.
"Hey, lighten up, Link! You're one of the stars tonight!" Sasha Vujacic walked over with a champagne flute and handed it to Link. "To your three-point barrage!"
Link took a sip. The cold liquid, crisp with fine bubbles, slid down his throat, bringing a feeling of tipsy relaxation.
He leaned back on the soft sofa, feeling the music's vibration coming up through the floor. Watching his teammates completely indulge, the sense of unreality intensified.
Kobe was chilling in a private booth, chatting with Jay-Z and Beyoncé, who, having just gone public with their relationship, were clearly in the honeymoon phase.
Devin George was hitting it off with a tall model by the dance floor.
Odom was encircled by a group of girls, laughing and joking with ease.
Even Chris Mihm, who was usually pretty quiet, was swaying with a drink in his hand.
Link was reserved at first, but a couple of drinks later, and fueled by the electric atmosphere, he gradually started to unwind.
A sweet-smiling Latina woman with smooth, tanned skin slid onto the seat next to him and complimented his performance that night.
"Lin… k… your shooting… it was like magic," she said, batting her large eyes and leaning slightly into him.
The music was deafening, the lights were dreamy and blurred, and the intoxicating scent of her perfume, mixed with the alcohol, made Link feel a slight dizzy spell.
Since his crossover, this was the first time he truly felt the sheer, non-basketball related temptation that comes with being a part of this world-class league.
The Latina woman, who introduced herself as Isabella, pressed herself close to him. The warm, soft contact came through his thin shirt, mingling with her strong, inviting perfume, assaulting Link's alcohol-slowed senses.
"The way you shoot… it's captivating…"
Link's shyness seemed to only intrigue Isabella more. She acted like she'd found a prized catch, leaning in to whisper in his ear, her warm breath tickling his lobe.
Drink after drink went down, and Link's awareness became increasingly clouded. He instinctively wrapped his arm around Isabella's slender waist.
Under the booming music and the flashing, dazzling lights, Link felt his consciousness being slowly stripped away by the alcohol and the environment.
The Latina model was practically lying in his lap.
"Look over there," Isabella said, nodding toward the bar. "There's Paris Hilton, and she's got her little sidekick, that assistant named Kim."
Link squinted through the haze of alcohol and saw Paris Hilton indeed walking in, surrounded by an entourage. Following behind her was a plain, dark-haired girl in a simple black dress, looking a little green.
"Kim Kardashian…" Link mumbled, his voice thick with drunkenness and a hint of disbelief.
Isabella looked surprised and let out a light laugh. "You actually know Paris's assistant?"
Link swirled the whiskey in his glass, the ice clinking sharply. The alcohol made him want to blurt out the crazy truth.
"Stylist assistant?" he scoffed. "She and her sisters… they're going to be one hell of a mess later on…"
Isabella raised an eyebrow and leaned in, intrigued. "Mess? What do you mean? They look pretty ordinary."
Link took another hard swallow of whiskey, the spicy burn making him squint.
"Kardashian is going to be way more famous than Paris one day…"
The alcohol was numbing Link's nerves. The secrets of the future that should have stayed buried were now threatening to spill out, uncontrolled.
Seeing Isabella's puzzled expression, he mumbled.
"You don't get it…" Link shook his head drunkenly.
"She's going to teach the world's women… how to become billionaires by marketing their bodies…"
Just then, Kim Kardashian walked right past them on her way to grab a drink for Paris. She was wearing a simple black dress, clearly dressed down compared to the glamorous crowd around her.
Link looked at her already recognizable silhouette, marveling at it.
Isabella was amused by his state, leaning on him. "Oh, God… where do you come up with these ideas?"
Link looked at Isabella, who was laughing heartily, and felt a drunken, giddy sense of accomplishment, as if he had just shared a magnificent secret.
"I… I'm not drunk…" Link stammered, trying to be convincing.
"This is all… real… you'll all see eventually…"
Isabella stopped laughing, looking at him with sultry eyes, and brought her red lips close to his ear.
"Okay, my dear prophet. Whatever she becomes, at least tonight, she's not as real as me, right?"
She picked up the bottle and refilled both their glasses. She was practically sitting on Link, the surprising elasticity of her body making Link feel even more confused.
Link looked at the swirling liquid in his glass and the girl's beautiful, close-up face. His last vestiges of sanity were drowned out by the surging drunkenness and primal instinct.
Sexy… Drunken… Decadent… Lustful…
That was the eternal, unchanging theme of the Big Apple.