Oakland is no place for Baron Davis

"Can I help you?" he asks.

For 10 minutes, a star NBA point guard becomes her personal trainer.

Back in his SUV, he mentions his Aston Martin DB9, a two-seat rocket that lists for about $200,000, the kind of car most of us see only in James Bond movies.

"Draws too much attention," he says. "I think it's time for a Prius."

He might be from South Central and help middle-aged ladies in the gym and have misgivings about his Aston Martin, but Baron Davis can't entirely escape the other part of his heritage: Crossroads High in Santa Monica.

It's a tony, Westside school, where athletic talent helped him win a scholarship, and where he met Hudson and Dustin Hoffman's kids and Denzel Washington's too.

It was where, for better or worse, he became more than just a regular guy.

He carries two cellphones. They ring about once a minute. This time it's a live interview with a Los Angeles sports show, and the host starts pressing for juicy details about some of his friends.

Especially Alba, the starlet who was, until recently, the girlfriend of Davis' manager and best friend.

Davis yanks the cellphone from his ear. He presses a button to hang up, and he tosses the phone down onto the seat of the SUV.

"I'm not," he says, "going to talk about my friends." He grows angrier. "Those questions aren't about basketball."

He composes himself. He's still angry, but he calls back. It's about helping poor kids. With skillful articulation, he confines the interview to sports.

Maybe it will help the gate grow at the charity game.

During a stopover at the Beverly Wilshire hotel, where he irons a white T-shirt in his room, he's on a cellphone again. This time it's the man he considers his mentor, Magic himself.

The two have been close since Davis was 15 and they met at Pauley Pavilion. On the phone with Magic Johnson, this 28-year-old star with an $85-million contract becomes a kid again.

"Hey, big bro, I miss you, big bro," he says. "I need to see you. We need to talk, because I have to pick your brain about something. . . . I can't wait to see you, man."

Next stop: a street corner on Pico Boulevard. I know this place. The last time I was here, I wasn't covering sports. I was covering a drive-by shooting.

Baron Davis is comfortable here. He climbs out of the Yukon at a corner with a hot dog stand. Around him gather men with oak-tree-sized arms and large tattoos. They watch the streets with seasoned eyes.