This is gay fiction. The characters are owned and created by me email@example.com. Please don't steal them and enjoy.
On His Own Terms
He walked into my office that morning in all his athletic glory, dark skinned and sturdy. He was looking for an agent. I guess I was the man for the job. Derek Bailey had been at the top of the basketball circuit for years. His agent Denny Gross was an unscrupulous man. Not that Bailey hadn't made it on his own merit and abilities, but his and Denny's fabulous lifestyles were due to Denny's ability to manipulate his way through any amount of red tape.
I didn't know if Derek Bailey expected the same from me. I didn't have a deceitful bone in my body, yet business still thrived. I had only just been made partner in this branch of the firm, the youngest at twenty six, so I must've been doing something right. I was surprised to say the least by Bailey's presence in my office. I had heard something of Denny's demise. I didn't know if that meant financially or literally. In this profession the two are not always mutually exclusive.
I had heard of the outrageous demands made upon the team on his behalf and figured I'd inform him right then that, his past standard of living would be pretty even keel. He didn't seem to have a big problem with that. Strange. I had heard that, on numerous occasions he had refused to accept positions on major teams when the position or the comfort level did not meet his standards. I recall one occasion where he had had a heated discussion over the break with Denny and refused to return to the court. He was know for his great ego as well.
The man in front of me, just seemed tired, and weary. His muscular frame sagged and he carried on the discussion with much effort. He ran an agitated hand over the lightening bolt design in his low cut hair. It was almost as if he wished me to come to the agreements myself. I had always catered to the clients request unless they were downright retarded. And here was the height of egotistical, prowess basically yesing every suggestion that I made. I was on the verge of annoyance and about to tell him so when his eyes shifted to mine while saying, whatever I thought was the best solution... I had caught a glimpse of what resembled pain in his eyes, but his eyes quickly returned to the glass surface of my desktop. I would never have pegged him for the shy or uncertain type. Guess you do have preconceptions shattered everyday.
By the end of two arduous hours we, or I had come to some basic terms of agreement. I figured if he did actually want to make his own decisions the contract should be a little flexible. I walked him to the office door, and almost missed the fleeting anxiety that crossed his dark features. I smiled and shook his hand ready to attend to something else. It may have been my imagination but he looked lost, confused even. He seemed to be waiting for something, that obviously never came.
I had spent the better part of an hour working over some statistics with my assistant Suzy when a call came through I asked her to handle it while I finished up the report, only to be interrupted shortly after by an irritated Suzy. I couldn't imagine what had her so flustered as her feathers were usually hard to ruffle. I prepared myself for an irate client or club manager, only to hear virtual silence on the phone. I hate those calls when the person isn't psycho but doesn't know at what point in a conversation they should come in especially when its blaringly obvious.
"If you don't have anything more to say..."
"No, um...hello, uh..."
I was in no mood for an hour long poorly structured conversation. They get on my nerves.
"When you have it all worked out son you can call back."
I made ready to put down the phone, when a desperate voice called out,
"Please no, I ah... this is Derek... um Bailey.. I uh..."
Reaaaally. Why was he having such a hard time making conversation. I mean for all the gerfunk this guy gave to reporters and in general I can say I was mildly disturbed.
"Is there a problem Mr. Bailey?"
I measured my words hoping to sound concerned and attuned. After a silence he rushed out in a gush of words, a whole heap of `I don't know what the fuck you just said, try that again.'
"I'm not sure I got any of that." I couldn't understand his incoherence. He was taking shallow breaths and I could hear what sounded like sobbing through the phone.
"Please..." the rest descended into a murmur. I tried again, and was stunned by the desperate plea.
"Please... help..." a sob, then silence.
Responses would be greatly appreciated.