Someone To Love

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.”

Chapter 7

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.”

“Good night.”

There was an extra spring in her step as she hurried down the hall and out the front door. She halted outside the building. Instead of J.D.’s car idling at the curb, she found an empty space.

For a moment, Shae’s confusion and disappointment overwhelmed her. Those feelings transported her back to her childhood and the times when her father promised to pick her up from school and then got so wrapped up in his work the he forgot all about her.

Shae shook her head, beating down the anxieties surging through her. Her feelings spiked before dropping back to a manageable level. J.D. should be here, she thought, glancing at the LCD screen on the cell phone. A small groan escaped from her lips. No messages. He was running a little late or traffic problems caused his delay. If he didn’t show up in fifteen minutes, she’d go back into the building and order a taxi.

It’s rush hour and he probably got caught in traffic, she thought nervously. No point in returning to the building. I’ll wait here for him.

Deciding on a plan eased her anxiety and she felt more confident about waiting for J.D. Shae intended to embrace this opportunity and observe the community near the clinic. She shrugged and strolled to a wooden bench near a bus stop.

It was a typical inner-city neighborhood with lots of kids and music, and teenagers strolling up and down the streets. A variety of homes graced the area. Colonial, bungalows and two-family flats all shared space on the same block. Many of the structures were in need of repair, some major and some minor.

Placing her briefcase on the bench beside her, Shae decided to use her time wisely and tackle some of the work that needed her attention. If she must wait, she might as well make the best use of her time. Engrossed in resumes, she glanced up from her reading to find two children watching her. Dressed in a gray, red and black–striped long-sleeve T-shirt, denims and high-top sneakers, a small boy no older than five sat on the U-shaped handlebar of a bike. The older of the two children balanced the bike between his denim-clad legs. Their small round faces revealed the same facial structure and brown eyes. They had to be related.

“What you doin’?” the little one asked from his perch on the handlebars.

Smiling, she answered, “Reading. What are you doing?”

“Watchin’ you,” the older boy responded.

Giggling, Shae tossed the papers back into her briefcase and gave the boys her full attention. “Fair enough. Do you live around here?”

Twin heads bobbed up and down. The older boy pointed at a house down the block. “Yeah. We live down there. Near the corner.”

“Where do you live?” the little one asked.

“Downtown, for now,” Shae answered.

The younger boy slipped from the handlebars and moved closer. “What’s your name?”

“Shae.”

Pointing a finger at his chest, he volunteered, “I’m Desmond.”

“Well, hello, Desmond.” Shae dipped her head in silent acknowledgement, directing her attention to the other child. “And you are?”

“Sterling. Sterling Walls.”

Shae rose from the bench and extended her hand. The young man hesitated for a moment, blushing profusely before slipping his small hand in hers.

Desmond walked over to her and touched her briefcase. “What are you readin’?”

“Work stuff. Do you like to read?”

“I’m too young to read,” Desmond answered.

Turning to the older boy, Shae asked, “How about you, Sterling? Do you like to read?”

“Little bit. But I like video games and TV better.”

Shae noticed Desmond kept wiping his runny nose with the sleeve of his striped T-shirt. The poor little thing looked miserable. Germs, Shae thought. Maybe she could help, mentally shifting through the items in her briefcase. She reached inside her briefcase, pulled out a personal size packet of tissue and crooked a finger, beckoning him closer. The younger kid cautiously moved to the bench and she took his small chocolate round face gently between her fingers and wiped his nose with a tissue. “There. Much better. Do you have a cold?” Shae tossed the used tissue in the wired trash basket near the bench.

He nodded.

“Keep these.” She offered the tissues.

Cautiously, Desmond reached out his hand and took the white packet. His little forehead crinkled into a frown as he took her gift. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Let me give you something to help.” She rummaged through her briefcase and gave the boy a yellow vitamin C drop. Most children thought they were eating candy when in fact they were getting the daily requirement of vitamin C. “This will help you get rid of your cold quicker.”

The older boy grabbed Desmond’s shoulder and jerked him away. “Don’t,” he hissed softly. “What did Momma tell us? Don’t take candy from strangers.”

“She’s nice. I like her. And I want it,” Desmond whined.

“Momma will get us,” the older kid cautioned.

Their mother had given them sound advice and Shae didn’t want to contradict a parent’s training and wishes. She cleared her throat and pointed at the building behind them. Both boys turned toward the clinic. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I work right here.”

“Are you a doctor?” Sterling asked.

“No. I’m a nurse. If you get sick I can help you.”

From the distance she heard their names being called. “It sounds like somebody is looking for you guys. You better get on home and see what it’s about.” Shae put the vitamin C drops in Sterling’s hand. “Before you go, take these with you. Let your mother decide if you can have them.”

“Come on, Desmond.” Sterling shoved the drops in his pocket, then lifted the bike from the ground.

The little one hurried to the front of the bike and Sterling lifted him onto the handlebars. They sped down the street as J.D.’s black Crossfire zipped into the empty parking space in front of the clinic.

He climbed out of the car and hurried to the wood bench, watching the kids make their way down the street. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She glanced at the pair as they crossed the street. “I made a couple of new friends.”

“Shae, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Is everything okay?” she asked, focusing on him. He looked as attractive as ever and she felt really happy to see him.

“The client I was expecting at three showed up at four-thirty with a lame excuse. Forgive me, please?”

“Sure. Things happen. I understand that.” She smiled at J.D., patting his arm. “Don’t worry about it. It gave me an opportunity to meet a couple of the kids from the neighborhood.”

“I’m glad. Although I feel really bad about being late.” The phone hooked to his belt began to vibrate. J.D. grimaced, glancing at the screen. “I’ve got to take this. Give me a minute.” He unhooked the phone and answered the call. Seconds later he ended the call and returned the phone to his belt. “Sorry.”

“No problem. Don’t stress over it.” Shae shut her briefcase and rose from the bench.

“Ready?” he asked, removing her leather briefcase from her hand.

“Yes.”

“How about dinner?” J.D. asked, cupping her elbow as he guided her to the car and opened the passenger door.

“Dinner?” Shae didn’t expect him to feed her every day, although she loved spending as much time with him as possible. “I don’t expect you to entertain me.”

“I know. But, I feel bad about being late. Plus, it’s your first day on the job. I want to hear all about it.”

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