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“I like the sound of that word. Relationship.”
Relaxing, she grinned back at him and admitted softly, “Me, too.”
“Getting back to your question, Shae, my family is pretty laid back. It’s dinner. No strings attached. I’d like you to come.” His hand settled on top of hers and squeezed. “Please.”
Shae grinned, shaking her head at the look on J.D.’s face. How could she resist that puppy-dog expression and endearing words? She had misgivings about meeting his family at such an early stage in their relationship, but she refused to let her concerns weigh down the time she spent with J.D. “Okay. I’ll come.”
“Thank you. You will love them,” he declared. “Trust me.”
Trust him. Of course she did. J.D. didn’t know how much trust she’d placed in him. Worried for her safety and welfare of their only child, the Weitherspoons had cautioned Shae against letting people get to close to her. After years of watching every step, she had thrown caution to the wind and allowed J.D. into her life. It felt wonderful to enjoy this relationship and see it develop without her parents’ watchful eyes and possible interference.
He glanced at his watch. “Ready to go to work?”
“I think so.”
“Good luck,” he whispered, leaning across to softly kiss her lips. He pulled one of her curls and stretched the lock straight before letting go. It snapped back into its original spiral shape.
“Thank you.”
Caressing her cheek, J.D. added, “Go in there and save the world. I know you can do it.”
“Will do, sir.”
“You have my cell phone number, right?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s programmed into the memory,” Shae answered, touching the phone clipped to the waistband of her mauve skirt. “And you have mine.”
J.D. watched a young man with his head wrapped in a do-rag and baggy wide-legged denims hung across his butt saunter past the clinic. “Watch yourself. I’ll be here at five to pick you up.”
“Are you sure you can do this? You have your clients to consider, and I don’t want to interfere with your business. If you have things that you need to do, I can always get a cab home and rent a car tomorrow.”
“Yes, you can. But I don’t want you to. Don’t worry about me, Shae. I make my own hours and, to be perfectly honest, I love seeing so much of you.” He grinned. “Besides, we’ll go car shopping real soon. I’m sure you’ll have transportation in no time.”
“If anything changes, call me.”
“Will do.” He brought her hand to his lips before dropping it. “I have one meeting this afternoon around three. Look for me out here.”
“Okay. I’ll look for you at five.” Shae leaned closer and kissed him. “Bye.”
Shae got out of the car and closed the door, moving up the sidewalk to the building. Before entering the building, she turned and waved. J.D. mimicked the gesture. She rang the doorbell and seconds later the custodian ushered her inside.
Halting in the lobby, Shae noted the changes to the room. Much had been accomplished since her last visit. The clean scent of freshly painted walls greeted her.A welcoming shade of violet covered the previous pink coating; plum carpeting hid the scarred wood floors and a brand new nursing station waited for the staff to take charge.
She strolled down the main hallway to the medical director’s office. The door stood open and her boss sat at his desk with a headset pinned to his ears. The name plate on his desk read Kenyatta L. Reid, M.D.
“Good morning,” Shae said from the entrance.
Dr. Reid glanced her way. “Good morning to you.” He rose and made a quick move around his desk with an outstretched hand. As he drew closer, she was surprised by how quickly such a large man moved. Close to 6’4” and weighing in at nearly 280 pounds, Dr. Reid looked as if he should be on the football field instead of in an examining room. That impression wasn’t far off. During their interview, Dr. Reid had revealed that he’d completed his undergraduate degree on a football scholarship.
“Want some coffee?” he offered, as he continued to hold her hand.
“Sounds good.” She gave a sharp tug on her hand and he released her.
Dressed in a crisp white lab coat with K. Reid, M.D. in bold, black letters and blue-green scrubs, the medical director led her to his desk before grabbing a mug from a makeshift coffee station near the back of his office. “Black. One sugar, no cream. Correct?”
Surprised, she turned and watched him pour the rich brew into the mug. “Wow! That’s some memory you have.”
“It’s not hard when you’re the only staff I’ve hired.”
She chuckled. “I see your point.”
Dr. Reid returned to the desk and offered Shae the mug.
“Thanks.” She placed her mug on the edge of the desk, then opened her briefcase and removed her portfolio and pen.
He rubbed his earlobe as he spoke. A diamond stud adorned his right ear. “Since I brought up the topic of staffing, I need to tell you that that is our top priority.”
“Is everything else in place? The exam rooms, offices, nursing station? Have we ordered medications?”
“Most of them. It’s time to get our staff in place. Here are some of the things you’ll need to get started. This is your annual operating budget, keys for the building and your office.” He laid each item on the desk as he identified them. “The security code to the front and back doors and your gate card for the parking lot.”
“Thanks.” She slipped the keys inside her jacket pocket and placed the code and gate card in her briefcase.
“Where did you park?” He leaned back in his chair to glance out the window. “Do you want to move your car?”
She shrugged. “No. I got a ride.”
“Taxis can get pretty expensive.” He removed a pencil from behind his left ear. “I hope you can find less expensive transportation.”
“Not a taxi. A ride,” she corrected. “And I do plan to buy a car very soon. Probably tonight or tomorrow.”
“Are you going alone?”
“No. I have a friend.”
“Friend?” His eyebrows shot towards his hairline. “I thought you didn’t know anyone here.”
“I didn’t. But I do now.”
He muttered something too low for her to hear clearly.
“What was that?” she asked.
The medical director shook his head, answering, “Nothing.”
“Dr. Reid, how much time do we have before we open?”
“Grand opening will be the first of next month.” He turned the desk calendar in her direction and pointed at the first Monday in May. “That gives you exactly three and a half weeks to hire six nurses, two LPNs, two nursing assistants and the front office people, including billers.”
Surprised, her eyes widened. “Unless you’ve already placed ads in the newspapers, that’s going to be difficult to do.”
Dr. Reid pulled a white plastic mail bin from under his desk. “Done. You’ll have to go through them, but this is a start.”
“It looks like I have work to do.” Standing, Shae placed her pad and pen in her briefcase and shut it. “It’s time for me to get started. Where’s my office?”
Grinning at her, he lifted the case in one hand, tucked it under his arm like a football and waved her towards the door with the other. “Let me show you. You’re down the hall from me. If you need anything, holler.”
“Will do,” Shae responded, following him out the office.
Chapter 6
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.”
