O.J. Simpson has a new life in Miami, new friends, and a whole new set of problems. Shortly before his conviction, O.J. Simpson made his case to Radar

This article is from the September issue of Radar Magazine. For a risk-free issue, click here.

On a muggy night in early May, O.J. Simpson is holding court at Miami's Capital Grille. Clad in a white sport coat, white button-down shirt, and dark jeans, the champion NFL running back—
acquitted of murder charges in 1995 and now awaiting trial for armed robbery and kidnapping—is leaning back in his armchair to survey the dining room when out of nowhere some asshole makes his move.

Sauntering past our table, the guy suddenly stops, wheels around, snaps a photo, and bolts. It happens so quickly Simpson seems at first not to realize that he's been photographed. Then his demeanor shifts. His face hardens and he begins fidgeting in his seat. Though he seems to enjoy being the center of attention—even now, after everything—
he prefers not to have his picture taken without permission. Simpson looks over at his best friend, Tom Scotto, the owner of an auto repair shop and a towing company in North Miami Beach. "I'm going to find him," he declares in a fierce whisper. Nobody says a word. A few seconds later he settles back into his seat and drains his Grey Goose martini. It's not worth it.

Losing your temper in public is awkward for anyone, but it's worse for O.J. Simpson, a side effect of the still widespread belief that he got away with murder. Although he was found not guilty in the grisly 1994 double slaying of his ex-wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her friend Ron Goldman, the stigma of having been the defendant in the most spectacular trial of the late 20th century is hard to shake. Paparazzi and tabloid TV crews are always lurking, he says, trolling for footage of him losing his cool. Before Simpson sat down for this interview, Scotto's burly security man, Donny, ordered me to the bathroom where he patted me down for a wire. Coming up empty, Donny noted that it was "nothing personal." But when you're O.J., you can never be too careful. "That's my life," Simpson says. "I am aware of it. I understand."

He's less forgiving, however, of the mother of his longtime girlfriend, former aesthetician Christie Prody, 33. Prody's mother has allegedly sold negative stories about him to the tabloids. "She's evil personified," he growls.

And then there are the random detractors he frequently runs into on the street. Simpson recalls one incident when a man in a wheelchair approached him in a parking lot and proceeded to curse him out. "I said, 'Hey buddy, God bless you. Sorry you feel that way.' That's my standard reply to people who are negative," Simpson explains. "That stuff seems to upset my friends more than me. Nasty, negative, evil shit."

Then again, Simpson still has plenty of fans. The waiter at the Capital Grille fawns over him. Starstruck diners stop by the table to shake his hand and exchange pleasantries. A pair of busty blondes smile as they pass the table; one flirtatiously waves at Simpson, who responds with a giant grin.