Late in 2008, I met the actress Taraji P. Henson at an HBO party in Hollywood. There was your typical glitz and glamour with scores of beautiful people dressed like they walked right out of the pages of a fashion magazine.
Halfway through the night, Kevin Hart came over to my table. “What’s up, Lamar?” said Kevin. “I want you to meet someone.”
“Who is it?” I inquired.
“Man, just trust me. It will be worth it.”
I got up and walked back over to Kevin’s table, where he introduced me to Taraji. We quickly struck up a conversation. Like just about every woman I met, she was more than a foot shorter than me so I had to bend way down to whisper in her ear.
She was down to earth and told me about herself—her youth in Washington, DC, her years at Howard University, what she was working on—you know, nervous small talk where both people are smiling wide, trying to feel each other out. There was just something about her. I could feel her heart was pure. She put me at ease and we hit it off immediately. To be honest, I couldn’t remember where I had seen her before because I don’t watch many movies, but I was too embarrassed to tell her. Then it hit me: John Singleton’s 2001 movie Baby Boy, which was her breakout role.
We ended up exchanging numbers. Taraji was nine years older than me and had heard every line in the book. She was just such a wise woman that she could see right through whatever smooth act I was trying to put on. She refused to be just another conquest, and truthfully, I didn’t want her to be. We started secretly dating and fell quickly in love. We got hot and heavy fast. It ended up being one of the happiest times of my life. Liza and I hadn’t been a couple for over a year at that point. In fact, Liza respected Taraji, and we had her blessing.
Taraji got along with all my friends and could easily roll as if one of the guys. She introduced me to her fourteen-year-old son, Marcel, and was at my house nearly every day. Sometimes she’d bring some of her Hollywood friends like the actress Sanaa Lathan, who starred in Love & Basketball.
It was such an exciting time for both of us. The 2008–2009 Lakers stormed out of the gate and were atop the Pacific Division with a league-best 31–6 record. We were hitting our stride in what would be a season that brought the NBA title back to the city of Los Angeles after seven long years. Meanwhile Taraji was riding especially high because she had been nominated for an Academy Award for her performance in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, in which she played Queenie, the adoptive mother of Brad Pitt’s character.
On the night of the Golden Globes, Taraji and I went to a restaurant and had dinner with her Benjamin Button costar Brad Pitt and his wife, Angelina Jolie.
“How long have you guys been together?” asked Angelina with genuine sincerity. “It seems like you’ve been together forever.”
I never had him pegged as a sports fan, but Brad impressed me with his knowledge of the game.
“I have a surprise for you,” Taraji said to me afterward.
I had no idea what was in store as we left the restaurant and drove up into the Hollywood Hills. Destination: Prince’s house.
We got there about two in the morning. When the gates opened, women set off in pairs were there to wait on the guests hand and foot. They were some of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen in LA, dressed in tight skirts and sheer black tops with their hair and makeup done perfectly. They had the kind of beauty that would intimidate even the most confident man. Everything was so tasteful and elegant. Prince was so detail oriented and spared no expense. They took our coats, brought us drinks, and directed us to a parlor in the back of the house. We passed through corridors with twenty-foot-high ceilings and white marble floors lined with massive columns like something out of Greek mythology.
When we entered the parlor there wasn’t a single face I didn’t recognize. We sat down and to my immediate left was Whitney Houston. Comedian Chris Tucker to the right. I tried to be cool, but I couldn’t believe how close I was to Prince. The other thing that struck me was how deep his speaking voice was. It seemed strange coming from someone of such small stature.
He stood in the center of the room clutching an electric guitar. It looked so easy to him as he went through his hits and even a few songs I’d never heard before. As the night wore on, people began to shout out requests. Unable to summon the courage, I asked Taraji to request “Somewhere Here on Earth.” She did so gleefully, but he didn’t play it.
That night I learned how real this Hollywood stuff was, and I simply couldn’t believe I was right in the middle of it.
Things were coming together, and I felt unstoppable. I was playing the best basketball of my career, the Lakers were title contenders, and I was spending every free moment with Taraji. When I find someone to love, I want to keep her by my side. But as the schedule would have it, the Lakers set out on our annual six-game Grammy road trip since the awards were being held at the Staples Center. The trip culminated with a nationally televised clash in Cleveland where I played my best game of the season, leading everyone with twenty-eight points and seventeen rebounds while my defense frustrated LeBron James into a sloppy sixteen-point performance on five for twenty shooting from the field.
But mostly, I couldn’t wait to get back to Taraji. Back in LA, we hit the town as couples in Hollywood do. She introduced me to her famous friends, and I made a suitable red-carpet date. January through March is award season in Hollywood, and there was no shortage of soirees and bashes to attend.
Back out on the road a couple weeks later, the Lakers were in Minnesota on a Sunday, the night of the Oscars. It was the biggest night of Taraji’s life because of her nomination for her role in Benjamin Button. Since I wasn’t there, she brought her grandmother as her date.
We won, and I delivered twenty-five points and fourteen rebounds. After the game, there was a text message waiting for me from Taraji. It read “I didn’t win.”
Things were amazing, but of course I found a way to mess it up. God gave me a layup and I blew it.
About a week after dropping sixteen points and ten rebounds in a home win against the Golden State Warriors, I headed to STK, a steakhouse on La Cienega Boulevard, for teammate Luke Walton’s twenty-ninth birthday. His actual birthday was about ten days away, but we were leaving for our longest road trip of the season the next morning. After setting myself up in the VIP area for a bit and watching Luke dance as goofily as humanly possible while Jordan Farmar made time with a set of dark-haired twins, I decided to set out for the SLS Hotel down the street, where I planned to meet a young woman I had made a connection with earlier in the evening.
I was back to my old ways. I felt guilty, but I was craving immediate sex. I needed to be satisfied, so I made love to a stranger for four hours. By six the next morning, I was on fumes as I called a car to take me to LAX for our 8 AM departure. I made it with minutes to spare, and to be honest, I didn’t feel great about myself. I knew I was sabotaging my love life even though things were going so well.
I knew I wasn’t ready to change my ways. I was twenty-nine and still hitting my prime.