“Yes.” Cal rubs his hands together. “We just need you to—”
“Con una condición,” Alonzo interrupts.
“Um, on one condition,” I say.
“I’ll sign with Bagley,” he repeats.
“He’ll sign with Bagley,” I translate.
“If Banner Morales is my agent.”
“If Banner Morales . . .” My eyes saucer and my mouth drops open. “Oh, shit.”
Alonzo grins, and for the first time, the clouds break in his somber eyes.
“Oh, shit,” he replies in heavily accented English, chuckling and sitting back in his chair. “That I understand.”
“What is it?” Cal asks sharply. “Did I hear your name?”
“Um, yeah.” I lick my lips nervously and force myself to face Cal’s curious demand head on. “He says he’ll sign with Bagley on the condition that I’m his agent.”
“What the hell?” Cal leans toward me, anger in the lines of his face and his taut body. “What did you say to him, Morales?”
“Just what you said,” I fib. I did take a few liberties in the beginning, and I was honest when all rights I should have lied, but that’s all.
“Tell him that you are a fucking intern.” Cal squashes the word like gum under his shoe. “Who has not taken the agent test and isn’t qualified to represent a professional athlete. Tell him that you know nothing about this business and he would deeply regret trusting a wet-behind-the-ears novice with a future as promising and complex as his.”
I bite my lip, preparing myself to tell Alonzo what Cal said verbatim, no matter how ridiculous it makes me look.
“That is my condition. No Banner, no deal.” Alonzo responds before I can . . . in English!
Cal and I gape at his perfect, if heavily accented, English words. When neither of us have managed a response, Alonzo stands and starts for the door.
“Okay, okay,” Cal says to Alonzo’s back. “She’ll be your agent.”
Alonzo slowly turns and leans against the door, his eyes fairly twinkling at me.
“But she won’t have her degree for a few months,” Cal offers, his voice grudging. “And she has to pass the agent test. You need to be with an agency soon to take advantage of this window before the draft in June. Nike, Reebok, Gatorade—all of them will be sniffing around before the draft, and you need some representation in the meantime.”
Out of habit, I begin translating.
“I understood him,” Alonzo interrupts softly. Of course he did since I guess he magically learned English in the last five minutes. “But surely I can sign a provisional contract ensuring that as soon as Banner is eligible and available, she will represent me. You will guide her, yes?”
Cal slants me a side-eye and blows out a weary breath.
“Yes.”
And just like that, I went from lowly intern to agent for one of the biggest fish who has walked through the doors of Bagley & Associates in years. And all, I guess, because I showed some basic human decency and told the truth.
Let them have their Pride of Lions and their alpha male cliques and the parties and connections they don’t want me privy to. I’ll do this my way. Represent clients my way. Lead my way. Fight my way. Survival of the fittest, my ass. Who needs The Pride?
Part II
“There will be men who fall in love with your skin
and others who drown themselves
in everything that lies beneath.”
-Cindy Cherie, Poetess
7
Jared
“Look at me, Uncle Jared!”
I squint through the glare of sunlight in the direction of the high-pitched voice. A splash follows the tiny projectile human into the pool.
“Great cannonball, Sarai!” I yell back to my niece. “Make sure to tuck your knees in.”
I slip off my short boots and socks, roll up the pants of my suit, and sit on the edge of the pool, lowering my legs into the cool water.
“Now this is the life.” I glance at my brother, August, seated beside me in his trunks. “I’d say this is an upgrade from your apartment.”
“Yeah, we needed the bigger place.” He looks past the pool in his backyard to the electric blue sprawl of the Pacific Ocean just beyond. “Much better view, and it’s close to Sarai’s school. Not too much of a commute for Iris to the Elevation office either.”
“How’s she adjusting to the new setup?” I scoop a handful of water and splash Sarai, who’s swimming toward us.
August’s initial reluctance to relocate our sports agency headquarters to LA from San Diego, where his team, the Waves, play, centered around his wife. Iris works in marketing with us, but wanted to stay with August in San Diego.
“You’re her boss,” August says. “Shouldn’t you know?”
“You’re her husband. Shouldn’t you?”
We share a grin because we both know Iris wouldn’t choose to be anywhere my brother wasn’t.
“Dude,” I say, loosening my tie and tossing it over my shoulder. “You are married with kids. What the hell?”
August’s smile is wide and satisfied.
“One kid for now,” he says. “But hopefully more soon. Isn’t life grand?”
“As much as I love Iris and Sarai, you can have that life.” I lean back, arms straight and palms pressed to the concrete. “I’m not ready to settle down with just one woman.”
“You’re in your thirties, bruh. You must at least think about it.”
“I do think about it,” I agree. “And break out in hives.”
We both laugh, but I’m serious.
“Two reasons marriage is not even on my radar,” I continue. “One, I have a low tolerance for people.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
August can’t relate to my view because he’s one of those “people people.” We couldn’t be more different. Not just that I’m blond and blue-eyed and that his darker skin and thick curls proclaim his biracial heritage, but we’re different inside.
“No, it’s true,” I say. “People have hidden agendas. They lie and they bore me.”
“All of them?”
“No, just most of them, but I don’t care enough to find the exceptions. I’m definitely not taking the time right now to find one I could tolerate forever.”