Джон Гришэм - Sooley

“The party’s back there,” the butler said, pointing to the rear lawn where a large well-lit pool welcomed the guests.

“We’re gonna change,” Reynard said, and he and Meg disappeared. In well-worn jeans, sneakers, and tee shirts, Sooley and Murray almost felt overdressed. Everyone wore shorts. Some had shoes. They eased to a corner, found the bar, got another beer, and watched as two girls jumped in the pool. Soft rap barked from hidden speakers. Guests came and went into the house and back.

Someone said loudly, “Hey, it’s Sooley!” The stranger walked over with a big smile and even bigger handshake. He introduced himself as Julian somebody and said he and Reynard worked together. Every guest had some connection to the game, and at that moment Samuel Sooleymon was the most famous college player in the country. A crowd soon gathered around him and he chattered away. Someone brought him a fresh beer. Some girls drifted over.

They were attractive and of all shades — black, white, and brown — and all appeared to be no older than twenty. Several strutted around in skimpy swimwear, others in tight shorts with revealing blouses. Murray, as always, began flirting.

A long table was set up in the main room and dinner was served. The guests were other agents who worked with Arnie, a couple of executives with the Heat, some coaches in the area, some friends from the neighborhood. The casual gathering gave the impression that in Arnie’s world a party such as this could materialize at a moment’s notice.

Where was Arnie? Murray asked Reynard, who said the boss was flying in and should arrive anytime now.

Other guests were arriving. Murray recognized Lynn Korby, a guard for the Heat, who had been injured for the past month. The team was on the road finishing up the season. The playoffs would begin in a week. The sighting of Korby made Sooley wonder if Niollo might show up, but Murray didn’t think so.

After dinner, a DJ appeared and cranked up the music. A dance floor emerged from the landscaping beside the pool and was soon crowded with gyrating couples. Behind a row of hedges a smaller party was under way in a large hot tub where half a dozen young ladies skinny-dipped and splashed around while balancing flutes of champagne. Sooley and Murray fell into lawn chairs and watched the show. Murray said, “Sooley, old boy, we’re a long way from Durham.”

They hung out, danced, drank beers, and otherwise partied until after midnight. With no end in sight, Sooley said he’d had enough. A porter showed them to their bedroom on the second floor, on a wing that resembled a designer dormitory. They retired to matching single beds and fell asleep with the sounds of the party still rocking below.

Reynard fetched them late the following morning and led them to a deck near the pool. A large canopy shielded the sun and a fan cooled the pleasant air. Arnie Savage was on the phone and jumped to his feet when he saw them. The phone disappeared. He introduced himself, shook hands warmly, and apologized for missing his party the night before. He offered them seats and within seconds a young lady was waiting to take their orders. Omelets, pancakes, ham and eggs, avocado toast, you name it.

Murray looked at Reynard and asked, “What are you having?”

“Poached eggs on avocado toast is always good.”

“The best,” Arnie said. “I’ll take that too.”

Murray said, “I like waffles and bacon.”

“Me too,” Sooley said quickly.

Coffee and juice all around.

Sooley had read so much about Arnie that he felt like he’d known him for years. He was usually rated in the top ten NBA agents, and with his impressive list of clients he was considered one of the most powerful. They were expecting a high-octane salesman, one ready to promise everything. Instead, they were immediately disarmed by Arnie’s deliberate cadence and soft voice. He spoke at three-quarter speed and seemed to dwell on each word. He wanted them to talk, and he hung on every word and never blinked.

They talked about their miracle season, the adventures at the Final Four. Of course he had been there. He hadn’t missed one in years.

The food arrived and they dug in. Arnie had played in college and still looked game-ready; said he ran ten miles a day and played a lot of tennis. Between bites, he said, “So, Sooley, I guess it’s okay to call you that, right? I mean, half the world knows you as ‘Sooley’ but do you prefer Samuel?”

Murray blurted, “Sooley’s fine.” Samuel nodded.

“Then Sooley it is. Mind if I ask about the process in selecting an agent? How far along are you?”

“Just getting started,” Sooley said. “You’re the first. Me and my consultant here thought we would pick out two or three and say hello. Is that the way it’s normally done?”

“There’s no set way to do things. That’ll work just fine.”

Murray, now the consultant, said, “So tell us where you see him in the draft?”

“Sure. My team and I have watched you play, live and on a lot of film, and we’ve talked to scouts at every level. On the plus side, and there are far more positives than negatives, there is the obvious size, speed, quickness, leaping, shooting, everything really. In my opinion you’re the perfect age. You’re a team player, you smile a lot, and as we all watched, the entire world caught a good case of Sooleymania. You handled it beautifully and every pro team would love to draft you.”

“And the downside?” Murray asked, attacking another waffle.

Arnie smiled and sipped his coffee. “Lack of experience. No high school ball. Only one year of college, or half a year really. Virtually every other player that will go in the first two rounds has been well known for years. Those four at Duke played on a national team when they were fifteen and everybody saw them. I don’t have to remind you that in the world of sports there are many stories of athletes who came out of nowhere, lit it up for a short time, then faded, never to be seen again. Are you a bolt of lightning, Sooley? Some worry about that. I don’t. There is also concern about your last game. You didn’t play well against Villanova and some critics couldn’t wait to pounce and say you choked under pressure.”

Murray said, “He scored fifty-eight against Duke.”

“I know. You asked about the downside. There it is. None of it bothers me, Sooley. I’m convinced you have the body, talent, and brains for a long NBA career.”

“So where do I fit?”

Without hesitation, Arnie said, “You’ve seen the projections. Lots of experts out there. We do a mock draft every day in my office and spend hours moving names up and down. There are the four at Duke, two at Kentucky, Nkeke at Oregon, Dokafur at Minnesota, all first years. Then Darrell Whitley at Villanova, Long at San Diego, the big Russian at Gonzaga, and Barber at Kansas. That’s twelve, and somewhere around there is when your name gets called.”

Arnie rattled these off as if he had every stat memorized and knew what every GM was thinking.

Murray said, “So, twelve at the highest.”

“Nine, maybe ten at the highest, fifteen at the lowest. Definitely first round, Sooley. I’ll negotiate a four-year contract with two years guaranteed.”

“How much?” Sooley asked.

“You know the Rookie Scale, and you know it depends on where you land. But something like ten to fifteen million is realistic.”

Sooley couldn’t suppress a smile, nor could his consultant. Reynard watched him closely and saw the usual signs of disbelief. Dreaming was unavoidable, but hearing the numbers from a veteran like Arnie was always a shock.

Sooley put down his fork and took a sip of orange juice. His mouth was suddenly dry. His late father had earned about $200 a month as a schoolteacher, and for only eight months out of the year.