Karen White-Owens - Someone To Love

J.D. seethed angrily underneath, but maintained an outwardly composed demeanor. “Why wouldn’t I? That puts more money in my pocket. Amir, you have talent and, if you can grow and learn, you’ll have a fabulous professional career and the life that you crave. But not yet. There’s still a lot of work ahead of you.”

Amir scoffed and turned his attention to his cell phone.

“What happened to your mother?”

The young man’s face scrunched into a snarling mask. “I don’t know. What happened to her?”

“Why isn’t she here with you?”

“I imagine she’s where she lives,” he quipped, crossing one bony leg over the opposite knee.

“I specifically asked to see both of you.”

The young man glowered at the older man. “I’m grown. I don’t need her up in my business.”

J.D. gritted his teeth to keep from saying something that would set them both off. Amir’s ’tude was getting old really fast. J.D. understood how important it was for Amir to handle himself like a tough guy in front of his friends, but his friends weren’t here.

“That’s not going to happen. You’re only nineteen and there are concerns about your grades.” He passed a copy of Amir’s fall report card to the young man. “As you can see, and probably already know, you’re on academic probation. Unless you bring up your grades and go to summer school to make up the classes you failed, you’ll lose your free ride. If that happens, your chances for the NBA fly away with it.”

Amir rolled his eyes and propped his feet on the edge of the coffee table. “Come on, man. This is all playtime. It don’t matter what grades I get as long as I keep playing ball.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. It all matters.” J.D. roughly shoved Amir’s feet off the table. “Young man,” he started. “This isn’t a game. If you want that career, get your crap together.”

Sulking, Amir crossed his arms and studied the hardwood floor.

“Young man, look at me,” J.D. voice rang out with authority.

Instantly, Amir focused on him. A flash of dislike flickered from his round owl’s eyes.

“I’m going to drop you as a client if you don’t get on track.” This wasn’t true. He’d understood that Amir was still in his teens and had come from a tough home life. His mother had worked hard to provide for him and to raise her son without a father’s influence.

J.D. made allowances for Amir because J.D. grew up with the benefits of strong, supportive parents and he understood how his upbringing shaped his life. But discipline remained a key factor to Amir’s path to becoming a pro.

J.D. laced his fingers together. He gave the younger man time to absorb what he’d said. The agent rose from his chair, moved around the coffee table, and sank onto the soft leather of the sofa next to Amir. “There’s still time to finish out this year in the positive column. Just don’t screw up. If you need help, I can get you a tutor or help you myself. But those grades must improve. Period. And as soon as possible. I suggest you go make appointments with your professors, talk with them about extra credit if you need to and find out if there’s anything you can do to improve your grades. Do what needs to be done.”

Rolling the edge of the jersey between his fingers, Amir thrust out his bottom lip and pouted. “College is supposed to be fun.”

J.D. tapped a finger against his lips. “Not really. College involves learning and getting an education. If you plan to make it in pro ball, you need to understand how things work.”

“What you’re saying is that I can’t have any fun.”

“Not at all. Get your school work done first, then hang out with your friends. Until you get your grades on track, stop the carousing with your buddies and leave the ladies alone. Give it a rest until your grades are in order.” J.D. waved a hand back and forth between them. “Have I made myself clear?”

Silence followed his question.

“Are we on the same page on this issue?” J.D. asked a second time.

Tension filtered into every corner of the room.

“I need an answer before you go.”

Amir’s lips pursed. “Yeah.”

J.D. slapped his hand against the table. It sounded like an exploding bomb in the quiet of the room. He reached under the table and slipped his feet into his Air Force One sneakers. “Good.” He rose and plucked his keys from the end table. “I’ve got to be going. Let me walk you out.”

The constant bouncing of a ball drew Shae’s attention from the stack of resumes to the basketball court next door. She stretched and glanced out the window, watching the rowdy bunch.

Her office had been painted in a soothing lilac and the floor covered with a rich lavender carpet. A used metal desk with a Formica surface sat in the center of the room. A gray cloth swivel chair and a black steel four-drawer file cabinet occupied much of the free space. The lack of space didn’t matter because Shae suspected that most of her time would be spent in the exam rooms rather than in her office.

Glancing at the white wall clock, she noted the time. It was almost five and J.D. would be pulling up to the building any minute. Shae dropped the pile of typed pages, her yearly budget information and supply order into her briefcase before snapping it closed. Looking forward to seeing J.D., her heart rate accelerated. She retrieved her suit jacket from the back of her chair, slipped her arms into the sleeves and prepared to leave the office for the day. She shut and locked her office door and headed for the front of the building. On her way out, Shae halted at the entrance to the medical director’s office. “Good night, Dr. Reid.”

With a pencil stuck behind his left ear, the doctor was deeply focused on the information on his computer screen. She cleared her throat. He glanced her way with a distracted expression on his face, blinking several times before focusing on her. “Good night. See you tomorrow.”

“Yes, you will.” She turned toward the lobby.

“By the way,” he said. “My name is Kenyatta. Please use it.”

“And my name is Shae.”

“Fair enough.” Smiling back at her, he nodded. “I meant to come down to your office and see how things were going. I got caught up in work and everything flew out of my head. How did today go for you? Did you find all the things that you needed?”

“I made a great start today. Set up interviews for tomorrow and Friday.” Shae placed her briefcase on the floor near her leg. “I’m going to decide on hiring over the weekend and then make offers Monday. That will give the applicants time to give their current employers two-week notices.”

“Sounds good. By the way, where are you staying?” He removed the pencil from behind his ear and reached for a sheet of scratch paper.

“Downtown Marriott.”

“Nice. You’re not planning to stay there indefinitely, are you?”

Leaning against the doorframe, she answered, “No. After we get the staffing issues resolved, I’m going to look for a permanent address. Why? Did you have any suggestions? Do you know of a place?”

“Sorry, no.” Kenyatta’s face lit up as an idea formulated in his mind. He lifted a finger. “But,” he paused for emphasis before continuing, “there are some great real estate agents in this area that will do the leg work for you. While you’re handling our business, they’ll be handling yours.”

“Sounds good. Do you have a name?” Shae asked.

“Not with me. My sister used one when she sold her house. I’ll talk to her this evening and get back to you tomorrow.”

“Fair enough.”

“How are you getting home?” Kenyatta asked.

“My friend is picking me up.” She glanced at her watch, then reached for her briefcase. “He’s probably waiting. I better get going. See you Thursday morning.”