During the summer of 2009, I basked in the glow of the Lakers’ championship win, and newly unattached, I was highly motivated to meet women. In late August my new Lakers teammate and old friend from New York, Ron Artest, threw a welcome to Los Angeles party for himself at Halo in Hollywood. As I walked the red carpet rocking a purple shirt, with my sleeves rolled up to my elbows just how I like them, I could feel the excitement in the air.
On my arm was a beautiful young woman whom I’d known for several years. We had the kind of relationship where if either one of us needed some company or a date for an event, we were never more than a phone call away. I ran into Ron, who was looking fly in a maroon crushed-velvet blazer and sunglasses. Queens was in the building.
About an hour into the night I noticed this guy looking at me. He ventured over, probably to talk basketball or get a picture. As he got closer I realized that it was Rob Kardashian. I wasn’t a big TV fan, but I knew enough to recognize him. I still remember his blue Dodgers hat, which he wore backward.
We ended up in his booth, and about an arm’s length away was this woman with huge eyes. I was immediately attracted to her. We started talking and hit it off. She told me her name was
Khloé. I just kept staring at her eyes and thinking how much they reminded me of my mother’s. But really, I was just telling her things she’d probably heard a thousand times. And I’m just thinking: How can I get her back to my hotel to smash?
Hey, look, I didn’t know this was going to be my wife. I didn’t know I was about to fall head over heels in love. I was just doing what had always come naturally to me. She was a conquest. Apparently, she was digging me as much as I was her, and she agreed to come back to my hotel room. It took fifteen minutes to get to my room, and the whole time I was thinking that this was way too easy.
Once inside, I hopped on the bed and beckoned her to follow. She slipped off her Louboutin shoes and crawled up next to me, and we started spooning. As soon as my hands got active though, she quickly pulled away.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “I just met you.”
Right away it became clear that nothing was going to happen, and I was cool with that. We talked for hours. About four in the morning, she gave me her number, called a car service, kissed me on the cheek, and left.
The next day, we made plans to meet up for dinner at Bottega Louie, an Italian restaurant in downtown LA near an apartment I kept so that I could walk to Staples Center on game days. The conversation was just as good as the night before. I quickly learned how intelligent and thoughtful she was. Unlike me, she was always on time and never missed appointments. I loved her for that and wanted those things to rub off on me. She had this endearing kind of OCD where she couldn’t stand having a mess in her house and would constantly rearrange things after I unsettled them. I’m not the tidiest person in the world. It only takes about a day for my hotel room to look like a disaster area. She would put her foot down on stuff like that all the time. No other girl had ever done that with me. I thought it was sexy.
Things picked up steam in an unexpected hurry. The way our emotions, lust, spirit, and love intertwined and connected us is something I just couldn’t have predicted. For the next thirty days, we scarcely left one another’s side. If we did, we were texting or calling and making plans for the next time we would meet.
She introduced me to her family, and even though I had seen Keeping Up with the Kardashians a few times, I was taken aback at how close-knit they were. They would squabble and argue, but love always prevailed. I never had a strong family unit, and as a thirty-year-old man, it was something I still craved deeply. I’d always wanted brothers and sisters, and all of a sudden, I had five. So many holes in my life were filled instantly.
Being with Khloé made me feel like a part of the family. That was valuable to me beyond words. Being a part of Khloé’s life and getting to know each member of the Kardashian family is one of the things I’m proudest of in my life. It’s right up there with winning a championship and having kids.
In September 2009, Khloé and I got married. We had only been dating a month, but we both knew it was right. This was also around the time I dived even deeper into hard drugs, and my immediate group of friends had begun to go off in their own directions.
I began to see less of Greg, too. When I moved in with Khloé, it was the first time I hadn’t lived with Greg since my third season with the Clippers. We continued our business relationship, but he was weary of both my drug use and the people I’d let waltz in and out of my life. We drifted apart, and even though our lives would always be connected one way or another, I rarely saw him anymore. The fact that Greg and Khloé never really warmed to each other didn’t help. This was something I was blind to, and neither made an issue of it, but a rift between my friends was something that was bubbling just underneath the surface.
I overlooked and disregarded a lot of friendships when I fell in love with Khloé. My head was spinning, but that wasn’t an excuse to separate myself from my friends. A lot of times this is what happens when you get married. Your world becomes smaller. There’s someone new in your life who monopolizes almost all of your attention, and some people will come away with hurt feelings. I was either high or with Khloé. The cameras in my face blurred my reality.
I spent almost all of my time at our Tarzana mansion, making regular appearances on Keeping Up with the Kardashians and getting to know my wife. Ours was a whirlwind romance, and we were given the red-carpet treatment all over the world.
In February 2010, the New Orleans Saints were playing the Indianapolis Colts in Super Bowl XLIV. We invited a lot of our friends over to watch the game and to allow those who didn’t really know each other in the first months of our marriage to hang out with one another.
Right about halftime, Greg went to the kitchen to fix a drink while Khloé was preparing a vegetable platter to take out to the main room before the halftime performance ended. Greg didn’t always see eye to eye with Khloé. In hindsight, very few of my friends did. He had been with me since the beginning, while Khloé had only been around for six months, so a little power struggle was understandable.
“Hey, Greg,” said Khloé, “I know you think that I’m keeping Lamar away from you guys.”
“I don’t think that,” Greg replied.
“Just hear me out. Really. I want to tell you guys this,” Khloé exclaimed. “If you think for one second that I can tell Lamar what to do, you are sadly mistaken.”
Greg knew there was truth to what Khloé was saying and had no problem leaving well enough alone. But this became a recurring theme between Khloé and members of my family and close friends. I didn’t really see any reason for anyone to be at odds, but our lives were changing so rapidly. I think in many ways we were still figuring out who we were becoming as people.
I knew that Khloé was my wife, and that was something that had me in a really good place. For a while, it was bliss and I was literally the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. We were one of the most famous couples in Hollywood, and we made more money together than we had individually at any other point in our lives. At the start of our marriage I was faithful to her. The Kardashians had the number-one-rated show on TV. I was an NBA champion, and the Lakers were barreling toward a second NBA title and third Finals appearance in a row. I felt fresh and was keeping an open mind.
The Lakers captured their sixteenth NBA title by beating the Celtics 4–3 in the 2010 NBA Finals, and although I didn’t play particularly well (7.6 points and 6.6 rebounds in 7 games off the bench), I was elated to be a champion for the second time. Kobe was Finals MVP . . . again. This time I didn’t do drugs the night before the parade, and I felt like my kids were proud to be by my side.
I felt inspired by Khloé to ease up on my drug use while at the same time still trying to hide it from her. When she suspected something and asked me about it, I would just shut down and go into my man cave in the basement.
But overall, I was rolling right along with a pretty positive outlook when things once again got turned upside down.
In July 2010, my cousin Curtis Smith was murdered in New York City. He was twenty-four years old. Damn, it hit me hard. Just when I thought I had escaped the dark grasp of death and finally started enjoying some sunny days, this happened. All the pain from my son’s death washed up on the shore of my soul. I could barely speak at Curtis’s funeral. It made me realize that because my son’s death was so traumatic, so paralyzing, I never even cried. I was numb, a zombie. Curtis’s death was a release. Even though they happened nearly four years apart, it was as if I was mourning two deaths at once.
When I’d come home after the season, I would drive by Curtis’s projects right off FDR Drive to check on him. We’d sit on the couch and smoke and swap stories about women and life in the NBA. I’d give him whatever money I had in my pocket. He always looked on the bright side of life and had this crazy laugh. We used to call him The Star. We were incredibly close, and I felt like I lost a part of me.
While I was in New York for the funeral, I hired a car to get around the city. On a trip home from the barbershop, the car collided with a motorcycle, which then hit a fifteen-year-old boy who was walking down the street. This all happened mere blocks from where I grew up. The young boy suffered severe injuries and died the next day. At the scene of the accident I got out of the car and saw him lying on the ground. The sight of his near-lifeless body was too much to take, and I broke down crying.
I kept asking myself why this happened. Why did God take his life? What put this series of events into motion? I felt helpless—like I couldn’t control the life that was happening around me. And I still had yet to say goodbye to my cousin. I prayed for that young boy for hours that night. I think about him always.
I tried my best not to backslide into drugs and fall down a familiar self-destructive spiral. Khloé was incredibly supportive and was with me nearly every moment. I just needed time to heal. I made a decision: I would get stronger both physically and mentally. I did what I always did and buried myself in basketball. Late that summer I trained in ways I never had before. I took up boxing to improve my coordination, reflexes, core, and overall endurance. I felt strong and fast. My head was clear. I was determined to have a big year on the basketball court . . . and I did. With Andrew Bynum injured to start the 2010–2011 season, I came out like a house on fire to lead the Lakers to a 13–2 record. But the season ended in a disappointing fashion as the Lakers were swept 4–0 by the Mavericks in the second round, marking the first time the Purple and Gold were swept in a playoff series in twelve years.
I set season highs of 29 points, 20 rebounds, 6 assists, and 4 blocks. After averaging 14 points, 8.7 rebounds, and 3 assists for the year, I was named the NBA’s Sixth Man of the Year, which was awarded to the top reserve off the bench. It was the highest individual award I would win in my career and was incredibly cathartic. It was my All-Star Game. It was my MVP. It was me bouncing back from tragedy. I felt proud. At the press conference to receive the award I thought I could keep it together, but no, I cried.
“A lot of people don’t know that Lamar Odom is the most popular player in our locker room,” said Lakers general manager Mitch Kupchak to open the press conference at the Sheraton Gateway Los Angeles Hotel. “And that’s not for the way he plays basketball; that’s for who he is.”
Khloé was in the front row taking pictures with a telephoto lens. Her mother, Kris Jenner, sat to her right and her brother, Rob, to her left. Behind her were nine of my Lakers teammates, who were happy to see me get some recognition.
“It’s been a long time coming, and I’ve just learned so much from the dudes in my locker room,” I said when I stepped to the podium. That’s when I started to lose it. “I’ve just been blessed, but there’s a couple people I just wish could be here to see [this].”
Afterward, I hugged Khloé and Kris and Pau Gasol and Luke Walton and felt loved.
Earlier that season, in January, Khloé and I started shooting our spin-off to Keeping Up with the Kardashians called Khloé & Lamar, so all of a sudden, I had two jobs. This meant we were around each other all the time, which I loved, even though it took some time getting used to the constant presence of the cameras. Whether it was with the Lakers or with Khloé, I was always at work. I had been in the spotlight for more than half of my life. Not just the spotlight, but New York and Los Angeles, the two biggest media markets in the country. But nothing could prepare me for the spotlight that came with being a member of the Kardashian family.
Even as a Laker I could move freely around town, but now that was out of the question. Paparazzi followed me to every practice, to dinners, to events. They were outside our home, in our driveway, and hiding in the bushes. I started to feel trapped and worried I wouldn’t be able to handle it. That I was going to crack. I always marveled at how easily Khloé handled it all. I guess she was used to it. She gave me pep talks and told me to block out what I could. But my mind just didn’t function like that.
I couldn’t move in secret anymore. My drug use and infidelity were starting to pick up again, and now I had the added pressure of television cameras, telephoto lenses, and video cameras wielded by the paparazzi. I felt a measure of safety and comfort when the NBA was in season because there were a lot of places the paparazzi couldn’t go, so I eagerly looked forward to getting back on the court. I was thirty-one and still had a strong ambition to make the All-Star Game. It was a lifelong dream, and if it was going to happen, it needed to be the 2011–2012 season, my thirteenth.
But something unexpected and altogether different would take place.