Читать книгу Someone To Love - Karen White-Owens - Страница 14

Destiny’s Child blasted through the Bose sound system. J.D. bopped to the lyrics while he poured orange juice into his black coffee mug emblazoned with “Number One Agent” in gold. Barefooted, he made his way through his loft to the living area and sank onto the steel-gray leather sofa. Sighing heavily, J.D. propped his feet on the edge of the rosewood coffee table and sipped his o.j.

Anger rose in J.D. as he twisted the face of his wristwatch to check the time. His appointment with Amir had been scheduled for three p.m. It was half-past four, and the kid still hadn’t put in an appearance, nor had he taken the time to call. J.D. had more important things to do besides wait for Amir Jonson to show up. Man, I’m tired of this kid, J.D. thought wearily. Why did he continue to take Amir’s crap? J.D. wished fervently that Amir acted like a different kid with a better attitude.

J.D. knew the answer to his question: the plain and simple truth was Amir had talent and he had a good shot at transitioning to the NBA, if—and it was a big if—Amir got his act together and started taking his career more seriously, and if J.D. could steer the right people Amir’s way. Talent represented only a part of the package. Nowadays, recruits needed to be team players. Plus, the NBA wanted mature and responsible players that didn’t cause a lot of problems or require much maintenance.

Swallowing the last drops of liquid, the agent slowly returned to the kitchen. At the sink, J.D. rinsed the mug, placed it in the black dishwasher, and glanced out the window, watching the light downtown traffic.

While still a senior in high school, Amir Jonson had come to the sports agent’s attention. Phil, J.D’s buddy, had suggested they check out the team that his nephew played with. J.D. had agreed for two reasons: first—he never found time to hang out with his buddies the way he used to, and second—the opportunity to check out high school players intrigued him. Most of his clients were in college and transitioning to pro ball.

Loud, rowdy and fun described the game. One high school senior had dominated the court. With the skill of a seasoned pro, Amir had seemed to float across the court, scoring one basket after another. Once the game ended, J.D. had sought out the young man to talk to and to listen to his aspirations. Days later, J.D. met Amir’s mother and had pitched a plan for Amir’s future. Mother and son grinned happily, showing every tooth in their heads, pleased to receive J.D.’s support and help.

Although J.D. liked the kid, Amir was a royal pain in the ass. Before allowing him to sign the contract, J.D. had sat Amir and his mother down and explained the important aspects of the plan he intended to set in motion. Ms. Jonson had agreed. Amir had not. His mother had won. Amir had reluctantly agreed to the plan.

Problems started with Amir when he began to take the advice of his high school buddies over J.D.’s. His friends kept telling Amir that he should be able to step straight from the high school basketball court to the pros. Like most children, Amir refused to acknowledge how the system worked. Instead he wanted everything now and believed he could skip the hard work that led to a successful career.

As they began to work together, J.D. realized that although Amir possessed an abundance of talent, he lacked discipline. Most kids played college ball after graduation. They accepted college scholarships while waiting for the call of the NBA draft. Amir had balked at the idea of college. The young man fought J.D. on every issue. Amir believed that he didn’t need to do the college thing because his future rested with the pros.

J.D. leaned into the soft leather as he rubbed his fingers across his forehead, trying to erase a headache. The kid hadn’t showed his face and it was getting close to the time for J.D. to pick up Shae. Heading for his bedroom, he grabbed a pair of sneakers and white tube socks. Moving purposefully through the condominium, J.D. returned to the sofa, shoved his feet inside the socks and reached for a shoe.

Shae. He halted with a shoe in his hand, seeing her smiling face in his mind. She was a wonderful, exciting addition to his life.

J.D.’s pleasant reverie was rudely interrupted by the doorbell chimes. He dropped the shoe and padded across the wood floor to the intercom and video monitor located near the front door. Amir stood on his doorstep. “Damn!” J.D. shook his head, instantly deciding to make this the quickest meeting on record. He buzzed the young man into the building, opened the door and waited in the entrance for his guest to climb the two flights of stairs.

“Hey,” Amir grunted. The lanky 6’5” basketball player’s ebony face wore a permanent snarl. A red dorag controlled his thick, shoulder-length braids. Baggy, wide-leg denims covered a pair of red silk drawers that hung outside his denims. His long, skinny legs poked out from white ankle socks trimmed in blue. His size fifteen feet looked like boats in his Michael Jordan sneakers.

Arms folded, J.D. demanded, “Where have you been?”

Amir strolled into the tiny hallway, a cell phone glued to his ear in one hand, while using the other hand to hold up his pants. “Got held up with some stuff.”

“We had a three o’clock appointment.”

The young man shrugged, then added belligently, “Yeah and? I got held up. I’m here now, so let’s get to it.”

J.D.’s hands clinched into fists at his side. “Look. You have got to do better. How can I pitch you to anyone when I can’t depend on you to be on time and make the best impression?”

“If it’s important, I’ll be there. You never have anything good to tell me, so why should I rush? All we’re going to do is talk about what you plan to do. You still haven’t done what I want you to do.”

J.D. shut the door and started down the narrow passageway. “Let’s go into the living room.”

Amir followed without comment. When they entered the living area, the young man flopped down on the sofa and glared spitefully at J.D.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Beer.”

“Nope.” J.D. answered, snagging the chair near the sofa. He removed a sheet of paper from the file sitting on the coffee table. “I told you that you can’t go pro yet. We have a lot of work to do before that happens.”

“Talk. Talk. Talk.” Amir flipped J.D. off with a wave of his hand. “That’s all you give me. My boys think you’re just trying to hold me back. You don’t want me to go pro.”

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.”