Drama 99 FM

by Janine A. Morris

  The air was crisp, and crowds of people covered the city street in front of her. She wanted to mix right in with the crowds and walk among them with some sense of purpose as well. She was surrounded by some of the city’s greatest fashion stores, but she had no desire to peruse the racks as she often did. She stood there for a while, just people watching and thinking about what options she had. She already had plans with Mark for the next night and didn’t want to call him and try to hang out because she didn’t want to come off as too eager. Reyna didn’t get off any time soon.

  Then she remembered that she had met a few of the other players’ assistants and they claimed to hang out sometimes. Sereeta hadn’t been interested in joining the NBA Assistants’ Associations, but she figured most people hung with colleagues—why couldn’t she?

  She picked up her phone and dialed Debbie, who was Matt Camby’s assistant and had been working with him for over three years already. Sereeta held the phone to her ear and waited for her answer. Sereeta had never used the number before, so she felt a bit awkward, but she knew it was silly to make a big deal out of it.

  “Hello?” Debbie answered.

  “Hi, Debbie, this is Sereeta, Corey’s assistant.”

  “I know who this is—how are you, missy?” she said in a chipper tone.

  “I’m good. I was just leaving the stadium, and I was wondering what you were up to. I was going to see if you wanted to go for some drinks.”

  “Isn’t that funny—I’m here at Wish 26 bar with Tamara now. Why don’t you come down and meet us?”

  “Cool, where is that exactly?” Sereeta asked.

  “On Twenty-sixth and Eighth avenues.”

  “OK, I’ll be there shortly.”

  “See you then,” Debbie said.

  Sereeta hung up the phone and was happy that she had somewhere to go. Debbie was a cool girl, and she was so thankful she was receptive to Sereeta’s call. She had met plenty of stuck-up people to know that the conversation could have gone sour. Tamara was Nate’s assistant, and Sereeta figured there was a good chance she knew Rashard from the skybox, so Sereeta told herself to be sure not to mention anything. She just wanted to hang out and have a good time, not gossip or piss anyone off.

  The cab she jumped in smelled like must and funk. Sereeta scooted over to the corner and cracked the window for some fresh air. She began to reapply her lip gloss and brush her hair back into the right form to fix the damage the city wind had done. When she finished and went to put her brush back in her purse, she noticed the red light blinking on her BlackBerry. She removed the phone from her purse to see an incoming text from Mark. Her lips formed a slight smile as she read his words.

  I look forward to tomorrow night. Call me later. If you are free, let’s hang out tonight, too.

  Sereeta grinned and put the phone in her lap while she thought out her response. Why, less than fifteen minutes ago when she had been contemplating contacting him, had she convinced herself that she would look eager? He, on the other hand, had reached out, and it was sweet and charming. Sereeta had to admit she liked the idea of hanging out with Mark. She was feeling her outfit and felt like the city was hers for some reason, like she just owned the night and could do whatever and go wherever she liked.

  I will be free in a couple hours if you want to meet up. I will hit you up then.

  A few moments later, Sereeta was pulling up in front of Wish 26 and paying the cab driver. She stepped out and walked toward the main entrance. There were a few people smoking cigarettes and conversing outside in the front of the bar and a security guard standing by the doorway. She walked up to him, showed her ID, and continued inside the club. She skimmed the bar for Debbie and Tamara but didn’t see any familiar faces. She made her way toward the back of the lounge but didn’t see anyone still. She stood by one of the tables and took a few seconds to thoroughly scan the location. After looking in every possible area of the club, she looked down at her phone to see if they had contacted her. There was nothing from Debbie or Tamara.

  She was pissed off. Was this some kind of prank or mean girl’s skit? She began to walk toward the front of the bar to leave, while typing a text to the girls to tell them she was there and how uncool it was that they were not. She was too pissed to call them—she didn’t want to argue. Even if they had left, they could have called her to let her know. She excused herself past the crowd by the bar, trying to make her way through. Just as she emerged at the other end of the bar, she heard someone call her name. She turned around and saw Debbie waving her hand in the air over the crowd. Sereeta made her way back through the same crowd.

  “Hey, I was just about to text you and ask you where you were.”

  “We were in the bathroom, sorry,” Debbie replied.

  “Oh…duh! That’s somewhere I didn’t look,” Sereeta said, hitting herself on the side of the head.

  “Hi, Sereeta,” Tamara said from the bar stool beside Debbie.

  “Hey, Tamara,” Sereeta replied.

  “Take a seat,” Debbie said as she lifted herself onto her bar stool and patted the one next to her.

  Sereeta hung her purse on the side of the stool and sat beside them.

  “What are you drinking?” Sereeta asked.

  “Vodka and cranberry,” Debbie said.

  “The same,” Tamara answered.

  “I guess I will go with the trend here,” Sereeta said as she flagged down the bartender.

  After a second or so, the bartender made her way to their area.

  “May I order a vodka and cranberry?” Sereeta asked.

  “Sure,” the waiter said as she walked her petite frame back down to the other end of the bar. Sereeta watched her make her drink; it was just a habit of hers because she learned early in her “clubbing days” to keep your eye on your drink at all times.

  Sereeta found it so odd that all bartenders had such similar characteristics. For the most part, they were petite, bubbly, and attractive. She had always heard that the New York bars preferred attractive bartenders so they would be successful at flirting and selling drinks. Still, with all the bars in this city, she didn’t see how the bartenders all fit such a similar mold, as if they were robots trained at some school or off-site location.

  Once she received her drink, she turned to the ladies as she took her first sip.

  “So, how long have you ladies been here?”

  “About an hour before you called,” Debbie replied.

  “Oh, OK. Do you guys come here often?”

  “Not often. We’ve been here a few times. Usually we try to switch it up, but Debbie and I usually hang out at least once a week,” Tamara said.

  “That’s really cool,” Sereeta replied, beginning to feel like a third wheel.

  “You are more than welcome to come along. We just go have a few drinks, relieve some stress, recap our weeks, and stuff. This job can be pretty isolating,” Debbie said.

  “Wow, that is just how I’ve been feeling lately. I feel like Corey is my husband, and I have, like, one friend left in the world.”

  “Yeah, we know what you mean. Except it’s the husband with none of the benefits to go along with it,” Debbie said.

  Tamara nodded her head in agreement.

  “Matt is married, though, right?” Sereeta asked Debbie.

  “Yes, he is, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing,” Debbie said.

  From the looks of Tamara’s snicker and pursed lips, it looked as if there was a lot more to the story—a story Sereeta was tempted to hear, but she wasn’t about to ask any questions. Instead of probing, she simply responded, “I hear ya.”

  “Nate isn’t married, and he’s like a spoiled brat sometimes,” Tamara chimed in.

  “Corey is pretty laid-back, but he has me do pretty much everything for him.”

  “Well, they all want different things based on things they are particular about,” Debbie said. “Like, because Matt is married, I don’t do too many things at his home. He has a lot of deals and stuff he wor
ks with, and he has me handle a lot of business and marketing for him.”

  “Oh, that’s cool. You attend meetings for him and stuff?” Sereeta asked.

  “Pretty much—meetings, liaisons between his sponsorship clients, and stuff like that. It’s pretty cool.”

  “I’ve been to a couple meetings with or for Corey, but usually he has me doing things at the stadium or his house.”

  “That’s the thing—when you’re an athlete’s personal assistant, there are no set job duties. It’s whatever they need personal assistance with,” Debbie said.

  Sereeta had told herself she didn’t want to meet with the girls to exchange gossip, and she could see the three of them sharing already. She figured sharing job duties was harmless information.

  “The hard part is just mastering your own limits because after a while you feel owned by them and you must begin to say no, otherwise they will take advantage,” Tamara said.

  “You have to remember they are young and rich—they become spoiled easily. They are not used to being told no. They have enough money to buy anything, including people,” Debbie said.

  Sereeta was just soaking it all up like a sponge. She felt like she was in church receiving a message. She had felt very similar at times but never looked that deeply into it.

  “If I knew then what I know now, I may not ever have started fucking Matt,” Debbie blurted out.

  Sereeta damn near spit out her sip of vodka and cranberry. She turned and looked at Debbie, who just looked back at her like “Yes, you heard right.”

  Tamara began to laugh. “I second that,” Tamara added.

  Sereeta placed her glass down and shifted her body more in their direction.

  “Does someone want to tell me something?” she asked.

  “Nothing to tell. Like I said, it’s whatever they need assistance with,” Debbie said.

  Were they, like, prostitutes? How could they not hear how they sounded, saying this as if it were just normal procedure? Sereeta had been working with Corey for quite some time, and he had never even implied he wanted those services.

  “How long have you guys been ‘assisting’ them in that way?”

  “Matt told me pretty much up front. He said he was married, and from time to time when he was on the road he might need help relaxing and asked me if I was comfortable with that,” Debbie said.

  “With Nate, after a few weeks he asked me one day to come by his condo really late to work on some forms he had to fill out for the association. When I got there he had some friends over, we were drinking, and things led to his kitchen, where it got extra hot in there.”

  “Wow,” Sereeta said.

  “What? You haven’t done anything with Corey?” Debbie asked.

  “No, not at all. He is so respectable and quiet, we barely talk,” Sereeta replied.

  “That is surprising. It’s been a while, too.”

  “Yeah, I never would’ve guessed that the players mix their business with personal pleasure that way.”

  “Well, you have to remember we are expendable. We come a dime a dozen. Women would love to have our job—we get paid good money to just help out a millionaire with simple stuff. They know that if we don’t play along, they will find someone else who will,” Debbie said.

  “Well, with Nate, he’s cool. I’m kind of like his tier-B girlfriend. He definitely takes care of me, so I’m not as bitter as Debbie here.”

  “Why are you bitter?” Sereeta asked.

  Debbie just shot Tamara a look; she didn’t look angry, but just as though she didn’t agree with the term bitter. “I’m not bitter,” Debbie said.

  “She’s with married Matt, so she’s more like a secret mistress than a girlfriend. For me, it’s nice. I’m single, I have nothing to lose. If I ask him to do something for me, he usually does. I sleep at his condo some nights and everything. For Debbie, it’s always on the road at hotels—like there’s no real bond between them,” Tamara explained.

  “Damn, Tamara. You don’t have to make me sound like a prostitute,” Debbie said.

  “Well, at least Corey seems like he just expects you to be an assistant. You may miss out on the other perks from sleeping with him, but at least you won’t get emotionally attached,” Tamara said to Sereeta, ignoring Debbie.

  “What perks?” Sereeta asked.

  “They’re just more willing to lavish you with gifts and the perks of being an NBA wifey. They don’t want you running to the newspapers or writing a tell-all book either, so they’re going to do their best to keep things flowing between you once you enter that domain.”

  “Interesting,” Sereeta said as she took a sip.

  “I’m sure you will be fine—don’t let us scare you,” Debbie said.

  Sereeta just laughed a bit. Scared wasn’t the word—she was actually a bit insulted that Corey hadn’t tried anything with her. She wondered if he wasn’t attracted to her or if he was just that disciplined of a guy not to mix the two. She was finding it hard to believe that he was that disciplined. She wondered if the girls thought that maybe she wasn’t good enough for Corey. She felt insecure for a moment and wanted them to know he wasn’t strictly business with her.

  “He brought me up to the skybox the other night to watch the game,” she said.

  “Oh, that’s nice. Which one, number twelve or eighteen?” Tamara asked.

  “Twelve,” Sereeta said, feeling in-the-know.

  “That’s cool. Wait until he gives you a pass for number eighteen—then you will really feel like you’ve arrived,” Debbie said.

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s where the NBA wives and girlfriends watch the game when they aren’t sitting on the floor or something. Number twelve is typically for colleagues, family members, and friends they don’t really rock with like that,” she answered.

  Sereeta instantly felt stupid. Here she was trying to brag and still had to be put down.

  “The players usually come up there afterward to get them or to hang out for a bit before going home with them.”

  Sereeta quickly remembered how she’d felt the other night when she was hoping to see Corey after the game. She wondered if he’d gone to box #18 after the game, and she began to feel bad.

  “It doesn’t look strange for the assistants to be among the wives and girlfriends?” Sereeta asked.

  “No, it’s not just the wives and girlfriends. It’s just like the VIP to the VIP, and most players have their significant others in there. So it doesn’t look strange—they all know we work very closely with the players, so it makes sense. It’s like when you’re at a club and you’re in VIP—and there is another VIP section where the actual celebrities sit. That’s all,” Tamara said.

  That’s all? Sereeta thought. Clearly it wasn’t just “that’s all,” or they wouldn’t be praising it. Whatever. I am Corey’s assistant, not his concubine. I don’t need to be in box #18, she told herself.

  It was at that moment that Sereeta decided she was definitely hanging out with Mark. She figured she would rather have her own man than be a mistress or a tier-B girlfriend anyway. She picked up her phone, texted Mark, and told him to meet her at her place.

  Chapter 23

  Mark entered as if he owned the place. He was usually so humble and polite, but he seemed a bit more abrasive when he walked through the door and headed straight toward the couch without waiting for direction. Sereeta loved a man who took charge, but with Mark she was still trying to feel him out. The times they had spoken he was funny and charismatic but didn’t like to talk much about himself. She was trying not to ask too many questions or seem too eager, because he gave off a vibe that he was the private type. She didn’t mind that so much, but she was hoping he would eventually open up. She still didn’t know his permanent place of residence—he referred to at least two places as home. She also didn’t know much about his career or what he did in his free time. She still hadn’t figured out which player in the NBA was his brother. Most people would brag and name-dr
op, but he hadn’t brought it up since the first time he told her his brother played in the league. She was beginning to wonder if he had just lied about that to get some play.

  “Hey, what’s up, little lady?” he said on his way to the couch.

  “Hey, Mister,” she said back.

  “We watching a movie? You cooking for me? What we doing?”

  She loved his cute but cocky sense of humor. “We chilling,” she replied.

  He sat in the middle of the couch, so unless Sereeta was going to sit on another couch, she was going to have to sit fairly close to him. She was dressed in a pair of black fitted Victoria’s Secret Pink sweat pants, a cut-off white T-shirt, and some fuzzy socks. She didn’t want to be too dressed down in front of him because it was his first time coming over to her place, but she had been home for a couple hours and wanted to get comfortable. He was wearing a white T-shirt, jeans, a pair of Air Force Ones, and a Yankee fitted cap: the hip male’s safe but cute outfit.

  Sereeta chose to sit beside him on the couch—no need sitting a few feet away on another couch, as if they were in high school.

  “A’ight, chilling works,” he said.

  “What, are you in a rush or something?”

  “Not at all. I’m yours all night,” he said. “Unless one of my other honeys calls me up. Then I’m going to have to bounce,” he said with a big grin.

  She reached over, grabbed a pillow, and swung at his chest.

  “Shut up,” she said.

  “I’m kidding with you. I’m here for as long as you will have me,” he said.

  She had to admit she liked the sound of that, but she wished he meant it with regards to life and not just for this one night.

  She jumped off the couch with a quick motion, like she had just got real excited about something.

  “OK, great. Well, let me pick a board game we can play,” she said.