Chapter Thirteen

Shady business as usual when we checked into the hotel in Stillwater. LeVonn and I had single rooms while the other twelve guys were jammed into four rooms. Just part of the job perks for Coach Lee.

At nine sharp there was a knock on the other side of what I thought was a closet. But, no, it was one of two doors that connected my room to an adjoining one.

It was Gordon Collison, looking sharp in a snazzy suit made out of some almost shiny material. Blue it was, with a darker blue shirt, white tie with baby blue stripes, blue alligator-skin shoes, and no shades. His eyes were traced with red highway lines, and bulging like they were on the verge of exploding.

We sat on the couch and he handed me an envelope.

“It’s the contract,” he said. “Take your time reading it, but here’s what it proposes. . . . I’ll be representing you for the next three years, which should also cover the negotiations for your second NBA contract. As I said before, I’ll get fifteen percent of your contract payments, plus a like percentage of any sneaker deals or other endorsements that I can arrange. And, of course, you have veto power on any financial dealings.”

“Got it.”

“Also, you can fire me at any time. However, even if you do, I’ll still get my percentage of any deal I’ve arranged.”

“That’s fair.”

“Again, I’ll be responsible for doing your taxes. These are extremely complicated because you have to pay state and sometimes city taxes on the per diem breakdown of the money you proportionally earn on road games.”

“Wow. That’s crazy.”

“Uncle Sam loves the NBA.”

I casually opened the envelope and extracted the contract. When I did, a thousand-dollar bill fluttered to the floor.

“That’s just to show my appreciation for your interest and your time. And it doesn’t count toward the fifteen thousand that you’ll get once you sign the contract.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

The envelope also contained another official-looking form. “It’s what the NBA requires when you declare draft eligibility.”

“Okay.”

“When the time comes, Elliot, we’ll discuss whether or not you should attend the predraft camp in Chicago, and also the advisability of you working out for any team that wants you to. But that’ll be later, after the season is over.” Then he stood up, saying, “Speaking of which, the better you play the more money you’ll get. So . . . read the contract. No, study the contract. Both documents are dated May twentieth. Your final exams should be over by then.”

“That’s right.”

“If you have any questions, I’ll be in my room next door for another hour or so. Big-time party tonight. And you can call me whenever. . . . So, any questions?”

“Yeah. Do you have any idea when LeVonn Mitchell might be drafted?”

“Probably sixth, seventh, around there. I mean, he’s talented, but very raw. He’s definitely a project.”

“How about Marwane Wright?”

“With that pin in his ankle? Maybe somebody will take a flier on him in the middle of the second round.”

“One more . . . Paul Granderson, our point guard.”

“Very low in the second round, if at all. I’d say the best he can do is get maybe fifty thousand playing in Germany or Belgium. Someplace like that.”

We shook hands.

“Okay, E. Take your time with the contract. There’s no rush.”

Of course, the minute he left, I scoured the thing and it all looked consistent with what he had said. So I signed it.

FUCK ME! Now there was no way I could continue to fool myself. Or blame somebody else. . . . I was not a virgin anymore.

Then I opened my connecting door, and knocked on his.

He had a big squinting grin that nearly hid his eyes.

“I’ve signed them both,” I said as I handed him the envelope.

“Somehow I knew you would,” he said. Then he handed me a bulging manila envelope.

“Got to hurry,” he said. “Looking forward to us having a mutually beneficial relationship.”

The envelope contained one hundred and fifty $100 bills.