“Are we not looking for a house?”
She shook her head. “Jaquana, your New Jersey real estate agent, is looking for houses. She sent over another six this morning. The real estate agent we let go in Texas was looking. Hell, even I look from time to time and you shoot down each suggestion. You’re the only person not looking, sir.”
“Forward those six from Jaquana and I’ll look into them as soon as I figure out how to be less shallow in my questions to McNabb.” Smiling, I pushed away from the wall of the pool and commenced to backstroking to the other side.
“Hey!” I answered the scheduled video call.
“Hello, champ,” Elle replied, her professional hat evident at the very start. She reached for something on her desk that appeared to be behind the device she used to call me. “You look good; nice and bronzed, and your face is amazingly clear.”
My free hand went to my face, unaware of having blemished skin in the first place. But I had to remember who the compliment came from. Elle was an observant diva: beauty could be found in a multitude of places by her eye.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, reclined in a chair, having my feet massaged.
I ran four miles on a beach floor in hot conditions a couple of hours ago. My feet had swelled and I needed to redistribute the water in my body after a hot bath earlier.
“Ed had Sam send over footage. Your new shoulder roll technique, deflecting right hand jabs, left hooks, and body-shots is smooth. The Banger may have another signature move!” she expressed with more excitement. Her smile then faded. “Your speed has improved in just days, from what I hear. And endurance is being added to your regimen beginning today.”
“Swelled my feet like a mutha,” I replied, exhausted by today’s run.
“How’s the meal plan going?”
I shrugged. “It’s going…or coming. However you want to say it.”
“Another shipment of your supplements arrived there yesterday. The chef confirmed he received it. Do you like them?”
“Everything healthy is bland to me, but I endure for the end goal.”
“And how’re the S.I. talks coming along—or going?” she dropped an octave.
Sports Illustrated…
I couldn’t help my eye-roll. “Just as pleasant as a thorn in my side. I don’t know why I agreed to it while training.”
“But you did.” That remark was a snippy one, causing me to snap into a more mentally acute headspace rather than the drained one my workout put me into.
“And I’m here, taking his stupid questions.”
“Questions about your artform aren’t stupid. They’re golden. This isn’t a back alley publication. It’s Sport Illustrated. They’re taking seriously a Black woman who has broken more records than any in the history of boxing. I think you should take them as seriously as they’re taking you.”
Bingo!
I knew she was on her bullshit with this call. This was Elle, my regulator here. Niceties and casual chatting were out the window when this part of her persona exuded.
“I’m paying for his trip to friggin’ Kamigu instead of charging the magazine. I think that counts as taking this seriously.”
“Getting the job done defines it. Let him do his job. It’s why he’s there. Put aside whatever history you have with him and show this guy why his publication believes your talent possesses the validity to engage with you.”
My eyes rolled again. “I’ve talked to him already. It’s not like I’m ignoring him, Elle.”
“All I’m requesting is your professionalism here. Please consider the strenuous efforts on behalf of the L.I.A. family to make this feature happen. You’re not just representing you, Tori. We’re all in this together.” She lifted a perfect brow.
I felt the bite in that scolding. It would have been easy for me to make clear she worked for me, and if I didn’t have my mind cleared to train out here, there would be no champ to be covered by any publication. I could have reminded her how getting these opportunities was her job and what I’d been doing out here was mine. But I didn’t. The worst part about being yelled at, at this point in my career, was Elle was right. I needed to remain professional.
“You’re right.”
“I know I am,” she shot right back at me. “And keep this in mind: No matter what the details are of your history with Mr. Spencer, if he shitted on you, making the relationship go south, here’s where he eats the consequences of his actions. The best form of revenge in any relationship is the ability to move on. You avoiding the inevitable time needed to get this done can be demonstrating a lack of maturity, not the tough exterior you’re trying to project.”
“Elle.”
Her head fell to the side. “What?”
“Point proven. I gotta go.”
“Go with grace, dear.” Her sarcastic wit twisted the knife of her chiding.
Elle disconnected before I did.
And that pissed me off, too.
After the fourth ring, the call, once again, went to voicemail. Again.
I exhaled and tried to set my focus on the sparkling pool two feet ahead. I knew we were twelve hours ahead back at home, so where could he be at close to noon that he couldn’t simply answer his phone? I shook my head, reminding myself I would never be one of those women insecure in their relationship.
“I know you’re a Sag, but what’s Deon, T?” Treesha asked from behind me.
She sat at the patio table with a laptop, burning cigarette, and a bottle of beer—her fourth in the hour, I noted.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Why?”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” Pointing toward the sky, she advised, “That’s a full moon. And this full moon ain’t a new one: it’s active.” I rolled my eyes. The second rehab program I put Treesha in had her come out deep in astrology. Oddly enough, one of the patients in there was into it heavily and had put Treesha on. I didn’t mind her head being on something other than getting high. But it got annoying at times. Tonight, it was more of an inconvenience. I needed alone time. Traveling with my team could be draining at times. They were overwhelming humans, choking me with questions and/or orders. “That means there’s a lot of shit shifting for you right now. The shifting could happen real fast, putting your ass on a journey you ain’t got no idea of.”
With my back to her, I rolled my eyes and sighed, “Oh, really?”
“Yup!” I could hear her clicking away on her laptop; the second one I’d bought her because she’d sold the first a couple of years ago. “Peep this bomb ass craziness. Mercury makes this sparking connection with Saturn-Neptune,” she mumbled. Then her head whipped to face me. “You feeling triggered by life, Tori? Overwhelmed? ‘Cause it could be one of those breakthrough moments.” I gave her a blank look for an answer.
She rolled her eyes and continued, “Anyways! You need to depend on your Higher Power and what your heart feels is real and right for you. If you’re feeling like you’re getting beat up by confusion, it could mean I’m right, and you’ll soon be on the right path of your truth.”
“Well, right about now, what I’m feeling is the restless need to be alone.” I stood from my crossed-legged position at the pool. “I’m going for a walk.”