by Kennedy Ryan
“I have no idea how much he understands,” he finishes with a shrug.
“I’m guessing enough to realize we’re discussing him while he’s in the room,” I say, offering an apologetic smile to Alonzo. “Hola. Buenos días. ¿Cómo estás?”
His eyes crinkle slightly at the corners when I offer the greeting.
“Hola, Señorita Morales,” he replies, dipping his head in my direction.
I look to Cal for cues of what he wants me to say.
“Um, tell him that we first want to say we’ve been impressed by the footage we’ve seen of him,” Cal says. “Including his performance in the Olympics and his workouts.”
I hesitate, torn between translating to the letter and at least priming the pump a little.
“We first want to say,” I start in Spanish, but falter when I meet the shadows in those dark eyes.
His brows lift, inquiring, waiting.
“We first want to say,” I begin again, “that we are so very sorry for your recent loss.”
He flicks a speculative glance from me to Cal and back to me.
“I cannot imagine what you’ve experienced over the last month,” I press forward in a rush. “And you have our deepest sympathy.”
A breath of silence follows my statement before he responds.
“Gracias.”
I dive in before Cal questions why I’m still going and convey the initial words he asked me to say.
It’s not perfect, and a word or two may have been lost here and there, but Cal trots out all the reasons Bagley is the firm to represent him, and I translate. Alonzo asks pointed, intelligent questions. He may be alone, but he’s not naïve. After half an hour of the back and forth, with Alonzo asking questions through me and Cal offering the right answers through me, I’m not sure if we’re any closer to signing.
“I need to ask you a question,” Alonzo says, still in Spanish, leveling his probing dark stare on me.
I turn to Cal to interpret.
“He wants to ask—”
“No, Banner,” Alonzo interrupts. “You. I want to ask you a question.”
I slide a careful glance to Cal, whose eyes are fixed on my lips, waiting for the English equivalent of whatever Alonzo is saying.
“Okay,” I answer still in Spanish. “Of course. What is your question?”
“What’s he saying?” Cal demands.
“This man, he talks the good talk,” Alonzo says. “But is he a good man? You tell me the truth.”
I have no idea what makes him think I would give anything other than an answer that paints Cal in a great light. I prepare my response, but it dissolves on the tip of my tongue when I meet Alonzo’s solemn stare. This man has been through so much already. I read that he never left the hospital but stayed there hoping for even one surviving family member. And one by one, they all died. I can’t imagine the transition into America, into a complex ecosystem like the NBA, will be easy.
Survival of the fittest.
Do what you have to do to be the last one standing.
If Mitch were sitting in this seat, he’d already have answered. He’d have already told Alonzo unequivocally that Cal is a good man. I barely know Cal, but I’m pretty sure he’s a member of The Pride, and from my experience, I wouldn’t trust anyone in that secret society. Maybe my advisor is right. Maybe I don’t have the ruthless streak to survive this game because when faced with the moment of truth, I cannot tell a lie.
“I honestly don’t know, Alonzo,” I say. “There are few men I trust with my life and money, which is what you are doing. So is he a good man? I’m not sure, but will he make good deals? Absolutely.”
The quiet builds in the room while Cal and I wait for Alonzo’s response.
“That was an awful lot,” Cal says suspiciously. “What did you say to him?”
Before I can answer, Alonzo responds.
“I will sign with Bagley,” he says in Spanish.
“Oh my God!” I turn a wide smile to Cal. “He says he will sign with Bagley.”
“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.”
“You said two reasons,” August reminds me. “What’s the other one?”
“Oh, simple.” I waggle my brows suggestively. “I like pussy in assorted flavors.”
August’s laugh booms across the placid backyard. I’ve loved making him laugh since we were kids, stepbrothers who had no clue about the other but pretty sure almost from day one that we could be best friends.
And even though I’m a few years older, we always have been.
“So is Iris okay with the new set up?” I ask, directing us back to the previous topic of discussion.
“She’s fine.” August shrugs broad bare shoulders. “Probably wondering if all the best action is happening there in LA while she’s in the San Diego office.”
August pauses, shooting me a searching glance before going on.
“Once the season is over, I might lease something in LA so she could work out of that office this summer. I’m sure we can find a good preschool for Sarai. I want Iris to have that experience. That okay with you?”
“Sure. You are a partner, albeit silent. Elevation is just as much yours as it is mine, Gus.”
“Just making sure.” August stands, hauling Sarai out of the water. “Come on, princess.”
She giggles when he tickles her while toweling her off. She is precious. I wouldn’t mind having a beautiful little girl, if she didn’t come permanently attached to a woman.
“One day I’ll get to focus more on it,” August says, bundling Sarai against his chest. “For now, ball is life.”
“Which is exactly what it needs to be,” I remind him. “Our strategy is working. Athletes see one of the NBA’s brightest rising stars signed with Elevation, they feel confident we’ll take care of them, too.”
“You were right to relocate headquarters to LA.”
“It’s the smart move considering how many of our clients want to transition into acting, producing, entertainment in general. Getting to know the wizards behind the curtain can only help.”
“Yeah, especially with Cal Bagley setting up shop in LA,” August says, kissing Sarai’s hair. “And he sent his big guns out to run the office, right? Didn’t Banner Morales leave New York to come out here?”
“Yeah.” I lock my teeth around the reply. “Banner’s running their LA office.”
I’ve never talked to August about Banner and what happened senior year. Even after ten years, something still pinches in my chest when I hear her name. Not my heart. I traded that useless organ in long ago to get where I am now. It’s in the vicinity, though, of where my heart used to be. And that pisses me off.
She pisses me off.
At least it’s mutual. It’s a small industry, sports management, when you get down to it. Sure there’s lots of professional athletes, but they comprise such a small percentage of the general population. The number of agents who make it to the level I have, owning an agency and representing the caliber of talent we do, is fractional. Even with sports management, specifically the NBA, being such a small world, I don’t see Banner often.
Early on, our paths crossed infrequently. She was at Bagley & Associates in New York and I was at Richter Sports in Chicago. I saw her for the first time at a convention in Philly. When we spotted each other, she turned and walked the other way. I followed. I may have cornered her and tried to talk about that night again.
Okay. I did corner her and try to talk about that night again.
She threatened to blow her rape whistle if I didn’t leave her alone. Seeing how she called the cops on me before, I didn’t want to chance it. After a few more thwarted attempts, I gave up. She made it abundantly clear she wanted to put that night and me behind her. As badly as I wanted another night, and another one and another one, that wasn’t meant to be.
What did it matter anyway? Banner was a soft spot, and the further up the ladder I climbed, the less I could afford those. Especially when we were pursuing the same clients. It’s a dog-eat-dog and spit him—or her—out game.
Survival of the fittest.
Banner can be the killer with the heart.
I’m just the killer. It has served me well.
“You think we could ever tempt her to work for Elevation?” August asks as we walk back into the house.
“Who?” I snap my head around to look at him.
“Banner.” He walks up the stairs with Sarai in his arms, her head on his shoulder.
“Banner Morales?” Iris asks from the top of the stairs and reaches to take Sarai from August. “I love her.”
Of course she does.
“Is she gonna come work for us?” Iris’ eyes light up like a Christmas tree.
“No,” I say decisively.
“Maybe,” August replies at the same time. “You don’t think she would even be interested? Cal Bagley’s a jerk.”
“So’s Jared,” Iris says with a straight face because it’s true. “I want to go on record that I approve of recruiting Banner to come work at Elevation.”
“And I want to go on record that your opinion is completely irrelevant,” I say, only half-jokingly. Iris is still young to the game and is working her way up from the bottom. I don’t afford her preferential treatment just because she’s married to my brother. She doesn’t expect it.
“You don’t like her?” Iris rolls her eyes. “Men are always intimidated by her.”
“Hell, if I am.” I huff a disparaging breath. “I could negotiate Banner Morales under the table. Gimme a fucking break.”
“Her clients love her,” August says, a sly look in his eye that tells me he’s trying to get under my skin. He should know by now I don’t have skin to get under anymore. Just an exoskeleton to ward off pr
ovocation and bullshit.
“I guess so,” I say with a shrug. “She matronizes them enough.”
“She does not matronize them,” Iris shoots back. “She takes care of them.”
“My clients know representation doesn’t come with ass-wiping, hand-holding, and cuddles, not that my guys need it,” I reply. “If Banner wants children, she should give birth.”
“Whoa.” Iris shifts Sarai to her other hip, brows sky-high. “I know Bagley’s a rival firm, but wow, Jared. Harsh much.”
“Yeah, she represents Kenan,” August offers. “And you know Glad doesn’t cuddle with anyone but his kid.”
Kenan “Gladiator” Ross, August’s teammate on the San Diego Waves, is about as un-cuddly as a man could be. I wanted to sign him, but Banner beat me to it. That loss hurt and actually came up in one of my last performance reviews at Richter before I struck out on my own to start Elevation. By then, Banner and I had bumped heads enough professionally and avoided each other enough personally to extinguish any “tender feelings.”
Still.
There is that occasional inexplicable pinch when I hear her name.
“We may see her at tonight’s game,” Iris says. “Since both her clients are playing.”
“Yeah, I’m on Vidale tonight.” August shakes his head. “One of the toughest guys in the league to guard.”
“Are Sarai and I still riding with you, Jared?” Iris asks, walking backward slowly toward Sarai’s room.
“Yeah. I’ll work outside by the pool ’til it’s time to go.”
She closes the door to Sarai’s room, leaving August and me on the landing alone.
“Dude, everybody in the locker room was talking about this thing with Banner and her favorite client,” August says, giving me a pointed look. “If you know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Apparently, it’s been going on for a while,” he says as we head back down the stairs and out to the pool. “But it’s just now getting out. Or maybe they’re letting it out now.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I gather my boots and socks and head over to the umbrella-covered table where I left my laptop.