When It Hurts So Bad

By Thomas Green

"Thomas is a writer with a bright future...His use of dialogue and plot development is superb."

‑ Timothy Smith, Sports Columnist, New York Daily News

 

With all the drama and passion that have made Thomas Green's stories lovable reads, comes a captivating tale about a heavyweight champ who loved his wife and job more than anything else in the world.

Then he lost both.

The end of all the things RICHARD PRICE loved came about so swiftly and violently that to this day, he can't believe the chain of events that ended his marriage and reign as Boxing's heavyweight champion.

Richard thought he had a cool marriage. Sure they fought/argued, but his wife had just told him she was pregnant and he could actually see a bright future with a child bringing them closer. But the final strain to the paper-thin strings holding their relationship together were severed when a gossip reporter told Shilla that Rich had been seen taking a young woman into an abortion clinic. This was her out, her chance to leave with no guilt.

Rich stepped into the ring the next night and was beaten blind by a bigger and stronger opponent. He left Las Vegas mentally and physically defeated.

Rich understood how difficult and cold the comeback road to getting his wife and belts back was going to be, yet he was determined to be a husband and the heavyweight champion again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Green
• Release date: Aug 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201935252

Book preview

By Thomas Green, Jr.

South Of Harlem Press

Atlanta, Ga.

Copyright © 2003 by Thomas Green, Jr.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any references to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Other names, characters and incidents are product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN: 978-0-9791404-3-3

Cover by: Marion Designs

First Printing November 2003

Second Printing January 2004

Third Printing January 2008

Fourth Printing August 2008

Fifth Printing November 2009

10 9 8 7 6

Printed & published in the United States of America

By

South Of Harlem Press

www.sohabooks.com

For Mr. Hamm...

...My high school journalism teacher

He said I wasn’t dedicated enough to become a good writer. He was right. Chicks and playing sports was all I was about back then. Some years later, on his deathbed he wanted me to visit so he could tell me he was proud of me. I had become a reporter at the New York Post. I am sorry I didn’t go see him before he succumbed to AIDS but I am forever grateful for the kick in the ass.

I am the writer I am because he wasn’t nice to me.

Also by Thomas Green, Jr.

Change For A Dyme

Larry’s Girls

Purple Lipstick

The Christmas Party

Tabu (with Thomas Green, Sr.)

Player No More

Courting Miss Thang

Love’s Home Run

CHAPTER 1

––––––––

Shilla Omphroy-Price hated her husband’s job.

In her eyes, Richard hit people for a living, and most times he got hit back. Rich, and most of the world, called what he did a fine art. Shilla called it savage. Nevertheless, her husband was a beloved boxing champion, and he owned two of the three sanctioned titles in the heavyweight division-the third belt was the property of his childhood friend Phillip Adams.

Shilla’s distaste for her hubby’s gig was at its peak the week before he was to defend his belts against a fighter who Shilla considered to be the scariest challenger to them. Raul Lopez was huge, bigger than her husband, younger and from the cut and size of his upper-body muscles, he was stronger than Rich. By the way Lopez relentlessly brutalized his opponents, Shilla knew he was meaner than her husband. In Raul’s bout that qualified him for a shot at Rich’s belts, Shilla watched as Raul beat a decent fighter into submission. The guy was later hospitalized and fell into a coma. Shilla paid close attention to the boxer’s recovery. After a few days, she saw that he was up and about but noticed he was not the same man who entered the ring.

Pound for pound the best fighter in the world, she had heard her husband declared so many times. Shilla didn’t appreciate the meticulous science behind the various moves her husband made in the ring:, the footwork, the balance, the coordination, the stepping in and out to set up an opponent for a stiff shot. Rich was taught well. Despite being six foot three and 230 pounds, he could be untouchable when he wanted to be, and he was extremely strong and quick. Her husband’s record in the squared circle was 31-1. The only loss was to a bigger opponent early in his career.

Like so many of the casual boxing fans, Shilla never noticed that Rich frequently lands his most devastating blows after slipping an opponent’s power shot. Old-timers loved Richard Price. His skills and dedication made boxing a science again. Rich could box your ears off or KO you with one shot. For his size, he was a dance master capable of raining a storm of pinpoint punches from a bewildering array of angles.

This was the best time for Rich to give fighting up, Shilla believed. She wanted him to retire before the fight, but that wasn’t going to happen. Her husband had heart and courage, and had been seeking a challenge of this magnitude since all the big names in the sport retired. Now her mission was to get him to stop boxing as soon as possible. Maybe he’d win; then there would be no more mountains for him to climb as a fighter. If he lost, maybe he’d be devastated-hopefully not killed-and want to give it up.

They had been having this argument for the longest. It’s funny that they are even together. When they first met, they quarreled like Yankees and Red Sox fans.

People who know Rich dislike Shilla. Everyone had called her a bitch at least once-albeit not in her earshot. The only person’s opinion that mattered to Rich was his dad’s, and his dad was like, if you like her, that’s all that matters. As Rich fell for her, he saw she was a woman of great vulnerability, always trying to find pleasure and acceptance and he found fun in satisfying her. Rich was deeply in love with his wife. He admired and respected her intelligence.

For Shilla, this was the most difficult relationship in her life. In the beginning, everything was a struggle, every discussion a disagreement. Many dates ended in arguments, but she had to respect the fact that no matter how bitter the quarrel or how late it was, Rich would take her home by train or cab, walk her to her front door and then ride back home. Very often he rode that 4 train local from Union Avenue to 125th Street in the wee hours of the morning. She’d be upset but still worry and call to see if he got home alright. Then the argument would continue.

The rewards for sticking with Richard were abundant and heartwarming. Rich was more giving and understanding than any person Shilla had met in her life. It was hard not to love him. But he was so ignorant of the high-class lifestyle she craved. It was incredible to her. The man was world famous and didn’t want to enjoy the fruits of being loved by the world. She thought he should have used his fame to do television (she wanted a reality show). He’d rather she cook him a meal than go out to the swank restaurants that had actually sent him invites. Rich was unlearned, having barely graduated from high school, whereas Shilla had breezed through two different Ivy League schools with two bachelor’s degrees and a master‘s.

Her family, to her surprise, learned to love the big lug. Shilla, the second youngest of four, was Jamaican and grew up in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. Her dad was the first to think Rich was slow, but that was because there would be a delay when Rich responded to him. Rich couldn’t understand him. Shilla’s mom was afraid of the rage Rich displayed in the ring, worried that it might come out in an argument with her baby. So her parents were not enthralled by the engagement but with time, they came to see he was cool. Shilla was jealous of the way her eldest sister liked Rich; she wanted him, Shilla would always think. Her brother liked Rich as a fighter before meeting him, so he thought Rich walked on air. The youngest sister thought he was cool, but she was in her own world and didn’t care to take sides.

For Rich, Shilla was the opposite of the type of person his lifelong friends had envisioned he would marry. The Price family thought she was snotty and his friends thought she was selfish and spoiled. Alone they seemed fine. She’d say she loved him but rarely smiled without serious effort. He was the one that who suggested she do her own thing. He meant start her own business and go out with her friends more. She took him up on it and opened an interior design firm and got back in with her college buddies living in New York.

She did become more pleasant to be around, especially during the affair.

It was the lack of sex that drove Shilla to cheat, was her opinion. It was all that damn training and no sex; that shit was for the birds, she thought, and like a bird, she flew to warmer climates-into the bed of a hot-blooded man of high-substance.

Shilla was thinking and rethinking all this about her husband, his career and their marriage the evening before he would leave for Vegas to prepare for Lopez. It was an agonizingly long night because while she was plotting her attack on her husband’s career, she was masking the guilt of the affair. She had to keep her cell phone off because the guy was blowing it up.

This was it though, she thought, her best chance to even get him to discuss retirement. Shilla was pregnant, three months now, and felt dedicated to their marriage after ending her ten-month affair just the day before. She finally wanted to feel like their family was the most important thing in Rich’s life as well. When she discovered she was pregnant, domestic sentiments seeped in. She wanted all she dreamed her marriage was going to be now that they were going to be a family.

When Rich came home from one of his press conferences she walked right to him, causing his entourage to bristle.

I need to talk to my husband alone. Her voice had its usual bite.

Rich’s workers disappeared.

She took her man’s hand and led him to their entertainment room, where she had been mulling. She moved her comforter off the big leather couch and patted a cushion with her hand. Rich sat. He caught the voice singing from the stereo system.

Uh-oh. You listening to Chante Moore? What did I do now?

It’s time to retire,’’ Shilla started right in. The baby is coming, and you need to retire."

"This is not the time to discuss it. After the fight, we’ll sit down and air it out and see from there.’’

"You said that before, last time.’’

"And we discussed it.’’

"No we didn’t! You told me what you were going to do. Boxing is your life, your real marriage. Your real love.’’

Rich sighed. "You know what, fuck this. This is really fucked up to do me like this.  I need my head right.’’

Shilla teared, "Oh, Jesus. I am always the villain.’’

Rich shook his head and sighed. Look, ain’t no damn villains. I can’t discuss this now.

She calmed, her voice lowered. Throwing you off your game is not my intention, baby. I need you to always have your head right, she rubbed her belly. "The baby and I need you coherent, not sharing the baby’s food.’’

"You don’t have any confidence in my skills to defend myself. You don’t hear me saying negative shit like that to you before you do a job, now do you?’’

What? Shilla laughed at the absurdity of his comeback, Well, that’s because nobody could kill me while I show a person designs or patterns.

"Don’t you think I know what I am doing? That I am prepared?’’

Richard, you are always prepared. You have been an excellent champion. But you are 34 years old. And you know as well as I do that most veteran boxers continue to fight on well past their prime. In the end, they’re reduced to losing to nonentities while jeopardizing their health.

I am not old. I am not past my prime.

"Richard, that man Lopez is an animal. He doesn’t care you have a family. He is not trying to beat you on points. You are the champion; he is going to try and kill you. You are a great fighter, you can defend yourself, but it only takes one blow from this, this animal and you’ll be babbling like Ali.’’

Now Rich was angry. "Ali is fine. Don’t diss Ali like that. Now that’s fucked up, one fight ain’t going to have me like that.’’

"He is not fine! He damn near burnt down Atlanta in ’96 shaking with that torch.’’

Rich stood. "Goodbye, Shilla.’’

"Don’t walk out; we are discussing it.’’

"Not anymore.’’

You are so selfish! Fuck you then, fight for the rest of your life. Be like Holyfield, your idol, a dumb fuck all punch drunk with the whole, entire world’s respect.

Rich didn’t slow moving for the door.

"You know what? I hope that Puerto Rican monster beats the living shit out of you so you and Ali can mumble and shake heads together!’’

Everyone in the mansion heard her. Then they heard Rich slamming shit around.

Shilla regretted the words moments after they traveled out of her mouth. She also was not happy about her timing of the discussion, but she was too proud to apologize. She was content to sleep on that same sofa and let him leave without a word. She foresaw that he would just leave angrily and not call her until after the fight.

She fell off to sleep angry with him. She thought she was dreaming when she felt a kiss and awoke to him standing above her.

Come sleep in the bed, was all he said.

She got up and followed him. Once in the bed, he began raining kisses upon her.

I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean to say that.

We going to make love or what?

Shilla closed her eyes and was soon too busy coming to having any thoughts. Her husband grounded her sleek body into the firm mattress, whispering how he loved her more than anything in the world.

She couldn’t respond verbally, but she licked and kissed his shoulder between pants.

This was why she would have a bad case of withdrawal if she ever left the man. She loved his strength. His strong hands would hold her in place through waves of orgasms. Couldn’t run from him-that only turned him on more, and he’d force more pleasure on her.

The guy she cheated with called their sex worship of his favorite body. He’d make slow, passionate love to her. Shilla liked it fast and furious. She liked to be overwhelmed; ravished, she’d call it. That was why those prolonged periods without Rich hitting it would make Shilla unbalanced.

CHAPTER 2

In the morning, she lay in bed watching her husband dress.

I’m coming to Vegas, she announced.

Groovy. That’s what I’m saying. Support your husband doing his thang.

Yeah, whatever. You better not let that man hurt you.

That motherfucker ain’t gonna touch me. Picture that, a fucking Puerto Rican knocking me down. That shit ain’t never gonna happen.

Shilla smiled. Okay Archie Bunker.

You right, Edith. So what, you coming with us now?

No, I actually have a client today. Can you fly me out tomorrow?

No doubt. I’ll get them to hook you up.

Richard, does Nowel have to pick me up?

That’s his gig, that’s what he does.

Shilla shook her head.

As soon as she was sure her husband’s procession of three cars was long gone she made that call. Shilla had tried to passively sever the ties with her lover, and that didn’t work.

Alvin Moss was not the giving up type. He was a client who became a lover. He was all she had wished Richard Price could be. He was well-groomed, well- educated and a great dresser. He had bright, clear skin and manicured fingers, pampered hands and feet. Whereas Rich would throw on a pair of New York Knicks shorts to hang out, Alvin Moss would put on a pair of silk slacks. Al had moved from Los Angeles to an East Side apartment and hired Shilla to furnish it as well as his downtown office.

It took only a few months after the wedding for Shilla to realize that she and Rich were living opposite lifestyles. His was a small world of familiar faces, places and rituals. If it wasn’t available in Harlem, he didn’t need it. He was all about the street, and he was gritty. She was about Broadway shows, high-class restaurants, nightly being downtown, hanging in the village or on the East Side. She was all about being seen by the right folks, and she was refined.

Alvin Moss was the peg that fit Shilla the best. She delighted in being seen with the stately, handsome and pampered mustard-colored brother from Los Angeles. His features had irregularities, which accented the near perfection in his six-foot model of lean masculinity.

The couple reveled in the company and conversation that whirled about them as they took in the New York social scene-Shilla’s sweet curves in one of her strapless, dazzling numbers and Al in a sharp suit with a tie the color to match Shilla’s dress. That people fell in love with seeing them together made them feel that they had fallen in love with each other.

Some folks approached Rich about that scene, but he wasn’t worried. His wife liked those circles, and her clients liked having her around. He wanted his wife happy, and he damn sure wasn’t about to deal with the highbrow types if he didn’t have to.

Al’s seduction of Shilla was easy. It was all about sex for him, and(,) because she felt like it was the one thing missing in her life, it was excellent. She did anything and everything he asked, and he didn’t have to do much to please her.

Soon Shilla realized Al was not the man to take her away from Rich. Al refused to talk about a future together. She could see that he enjoyed the intrigue of fucking a rich and famous man’s wife, but getting married was not in his protocol.

His attitude caused Shilla to take another look at what she had in Rich. She began rationing the pussy to Al and force-fed it to Rich; he would attack it sometimes and play with it a little other times. When she found out she was pregnant, she ordered her secretary to screen out Al’s calls.

Telling him their sexual relationship was over on the phone and then ignoring him did not work. He had been calling her cell so often that his number had filled her missed-call box. He was blowing up her office phone, pissing off Shilla’s assistant and only employee to the point where quiet Marcy had to go there and say, Listen, if she was trying to talk to you, you’d have heard from her by now.

She had to see him face-to-face and end it.

Shilla called him at work. Al was sitting in his office that she designed. Al sounded happy to hear her voice despite her solemn, serious tone.

Where are you? Are you in the city?

No. I’m home.

Come have lunch with me. I want to see you.

Yes, Alvin. We need to talk.

He leaned into his desk, and his voice sang, You’re crazy if you want to talk about leaving me.

Shilla held tight. I’ll meet you in about an hour.

I can’t wait. Should I call for our room?

No. Just lunch.

See you, love.

Their favorite spot for lunch was Ottomanelli’s when in New York. It was a tiny, quiet Italian eatery noted for its secluded feel and green and white tablecloths.

She intentionally dressed down in faded jeans, sneakers and a sweater set with a high neckline. Still, when she arrived at their table, he said she looked good.

Thanks.

I’ve missed you so much.

Anne, their waitress, approached and greeted them with a smile and a bottle of their usual wine.

No, Shilla shook her head, None for me.

Just leave the bottle. Al’s eyes seared Shilla’s colorless lips. You afraid you won’t be able to keep cool?

I’m not cool.

Anne returned with the bread. Ready to order?

Shilla shook