“Crystal.” I cross my heart and hold my hand up as if I’m swearing fealty, which, of course, I am. Jazmine has given me this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I am going to prove her confidence in me.
“A few statistics to bear in mind: Only five percent of certified NFL agents are female. The forty-one women with active certification represent a fifty percent increase since 2010. Only twenty-one had a client signed to an NFL contract in 2017. Jazmine has two and has just signed what she’s convinced will be a future high-round draft pick. A lot of women took a lot of shit so that you could have this opportunity. You need to prove your worth and pay it forward as you rise.”
I nod because I know that women have been knocking on these doors for a long time even though they rarely opened.
“‘No’ is a word you’re going to hear a lot,” Louise continues. “You will have to get used to it or find another line of work. You can’t turn that ‘no’ into a ‘yes’ if you fold up your tent every time someone puts an obstacle in front of you.
“Jazmine is all about outworking the competition. She does not offer lip service or make false claims, and neither can you. If she makes a promise to a client, she finds a way to keep it. She is not about setting unrealistic expectations.” Louise raises an eyebrow.
“Got it.”
“Client prospecting is crucial, and this requires gathering player intel. Part of that is assessing a player’s online presence. What is and is not on social media can provide important clues.”
She hands me a stack of printouts. “Here’s the list of athletes Jazmine wants you to look at this morning. Please prepare a report on each of them. I’d like those reports on my desk by noon. We’ve got a hell of a lot of ground to cover.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I manage not to salute. But I am ready to absorb every last bit of knowledge she’s willing to share. I’m going to impress the hell out of Louise and Jazmine or die in the attempt.
Jazmine
You’re not really holding me to this double date thing r you? I text my sister from the Dallas airport just before I board the plane back to Atlanta on Thursday afternoon more to yank her chain than to try to get out of the blind date with Derrick Warren. I’m going to get this out of the way so that Thea will stop bugging me about it once and for all.
I am. Yes is yes. 8PM. Mission + Market.
Yep. Got all 6 confirms.
Ur in town right?
I will be.
Good. No emergencies, contingencies, excuses. Zero wiggle room. Pick u up or meet there?
I’m almost shocked to be given this choice, and know I have Jamal to thank. C u there.
There’s a hesitation, and I know she’s debating whether to remind me one more time that if I don’t show she will come hunt me down. Wanna pick out my outfit, too?
Just make sure u wear ur smile!
Erin
I have just completed nine long, some might say brutal, days attempting to become Louise Lloyd’s clone. Or at least as close as a heartbroken twenty-three-year-old white girl can get.
Louise is a miracle of thought and efficiency who can get more done in thirty minutes than most of us can do in a day. If you look up “impressive” in the dictionary, I’m pretty sure her picture will be there.
We have been the first ones in and the last to leave each day. As far as I can see, she has two basic settings—motherly but professional and bulldozer—and she can switch between them faster than most people can breathe. Most impressively, she does not take one single ounce of shit from anyone, including the CEO, catered-to clients, and Rich Hanson. Who has a tendency to loiter around Jazmine’s office an awful lot for someone whom Jazmine can’t stand the sight of.
Today is Louise’s last day. Jazmine is back in town and acting for all she’s worth as if it’s just another workday, but underneath her game face she looks kind of shaky.
At noon, the two of them leave for a two-and-a-half-hour lunch that Jazmine doesn’t return from. Louise says something “came up,” but I’m guessing Jazmine just couldn’t bear to watch Louise leave for the last time. For the record, despite how glad I am to have Louise’s job, I’m not looking forward to watching her leave, either.
For the rest of the afternoon, I answer the phone and handle what has to be done while StarSports employees from Larry Carpenter down to the lowliest interns stop by to say goodbye. A lot of them bring small gifts, which I wish I had thought of. The ones who know her best bring chocolate. For such a no-nonsense person, she is surprisingly beloved.
I bite back a whimper at exactly five p.m. when she shrugs into her coat, hefts her bag of gifts, and smiles a final mother lioness smile—one that both threatens and protects. And though her voice is not quite as deep as Mufasa’s, her last words of advice are worthy of the Lion King himself. “Remember,” she says with quiet certainty, “inner strength has nothing to do with size or age or color. It comes from meeting things head-on. You are smart and quick and resilient. Own up to your mistakes and learn from them. And never, ever let them see you cry.”
Jazmine
I totally respect Louise for wanting to be there for her mother, but after our goodbye lunch, I spent most of the afternoon trying not to think about how much I’m going to miss her. I distracted myself by contemplating the clothes in my closet. I briefly considered taking my sister at her word and doing a Lady Godiva and wearing only a smile. Then I considered dressing down in some kind of mousy brown wren thing that would render me uninteresting, but it turned out my ego wouldn’t allow it. Plus, my sister would probably kill me.
Ultimately, I arrive at the restaurant in my leopard print Louboutin booties with the black leather trim and a black wool Alexander McQueen minidress that hugs my curves and that I plan to wear until it falls apart.
Heads turn as I’m shown to the table. It’s impossible to go unnoticed if you’re a female over six feet. I learned early not to slump or try to shave off even an inch. My height and muscle mass were huge assets to my tennis game. They’ve served me equally well in my current profession, where the worst thing that can happen to you is to go unnoticed.
Jamal and Derrick stand when I arrive, and I’m surprised to discover that I have to look up to meet Derrick’s eyes and his smile, both of which are friendly and easygoing.
My sister’s smile carries a whole lot of “I told you so.”
When Derrick shakes my hand, then pulls out the empty chair beside him, she adds an approving nod.
Under cover of drink ordering and opening conversation, I check the man out. His hair is closely cropped, and his face sports that five-o’clock shadow that says he cares about his appearance but doesn’t try too hard. His features carry a hint of something exotic, and his voice holds the faintest trace of the islands. There’s a bit of twinkle to his dark eyes.