Instead of reading the front pages of the Tribune, Sun-Times, Defender, and USA Today, Mia would find the sports section and read it from front to back in the morning and again at night before bed. She replaced her nightstand copies of Essence and Cosmopolitan with Sports Today and Sports Illustrated, moving the first two magazines to her bathroom for skimming. Mia had always read the sports magazines, for her job and because of her love of sports, but now she studied them as if they were textbooks or notes for an important final exam. She knew who was making news in the world of sports as well as what was hot and trendy in the fashion world and how to find a suitable mate.
At night she no longer turned on her CD player to let Janet Jackson, Vanessa Williams, and Boyz II Men serenade her to sleep. Instead she kept her tiny clock radio tuned to SPW, the twenty-four-hour sports call-in show, and made notes of the comments from callers to use for future interview suggestions to her producer. Television was out of the question unless it was ESPN.
One evening while she was studying her notes for the interviews with the Cougars and Bears, Mia decided to call her voice mail at the station to see if the two quarterbacks had called her back to set up interview times.
Only one had. When Mia heard Zurich Robinson’s voice, the tiny hairs on her arms felt as though they were standing at attention. What a deep, sexy voice, Mia thought. She wondered what he looked like, if the voice matched the face. She was trying to recall if she had seen pictures of him at the station or in press info, when she suddenly heard Derrick’s voice. “Mia. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you, girl. You’re a hard woman to reach. But I guess that’s what happens when you become a big star. Anyway, your mother and LaDonna wouldn’t give me your home number, so I figured I could reach you at the station. I’m going to be in Chicago for most of September and October and I want to take you to dinner. I don’t know where I’m going to be staying. You got any suggestions? I promise I won’t snore. Pretty please. Give me a call when you get this message. My number is 309-555-3495 and my cellular is same area code 555-2349. Be sweet,” Derrick’s voice said.
Mia immediately followed the instructions of the automated voice: “Press K, the 5 key, to keep this message or D, the 3 key, to discard this message.” Mia couldn’t hit 3 quick enough.
Mia went to her kitchen, pulled a wine goblet off the overhead rack, and poured herself a hearty glass of red wine. She took three long swallows, refilled the glass, and went to her living room, trying to get her mind off Derrick’s call and back to her work. She sat down on the sofa, took another swallow of wine, and pulled out the photo of the Cougars’ new quarterback. When she saw the head and action shots of the man with the sexy voice, Mia almost choked on her mouthful of wine. She was startled by the handsomeness of this truly over black man. He was Phine, not the regular f-i-n-e. She laid the pictures next to each other on her salmon-colored sofa and clapped her hands and smiled. In her life, Mia had seen fine men of all races, at school and work, but Zurich Robinson made Mia appreciate something LaDonna said all the time. “Mia,” her girlfriend would say, “the boy was so fine that I wanted to go over to his house and slap his mama.” As Mia gazed at the pictures she figured Zurich Robinson’s mother had been slapped many a day.
“Take my card, just in case you change your mind,” the bespectacled photographer said to Zurich.
“Sure, I’ll do that. I’ll give it to my publicist, Gina DeMarco,” Zurich said.
“Oh, Gina DeMarco is your publicist?”
“Well, we’re trying each other out on a trial basis,” Zurich said. “Do you know her?”
“I don’t know her, but I’ve heard great things about her. By all means give her my card. Here, let me give you two so that you’ll have one also.” He smiled as he pulled two slightly dirty cards from his camera bag.
As the photographer walked off, Zurich smiled at the all-too familiar encounter. He had been walking down Michigan Avenue toward his new publicist/manager’s office when the man had approached and asked him if he was a model and if he was interested in doing some “art type nude shots.” He could not keep track of the number of times photographers had approached him in recent years. Today, as he always did, Zurich politely declined the photo sessions, especially when the words “nude” and “art type” were included in the proposals.
He was still not used to people commenting on how he looked, and although he did not understand the hoopla about something he had no control over, he had resigned himself to the unwanted attention his features attracted. At times, Zurich thought it was funny. No one had ever mentioned his looks from the time he was a young boy through his freshman year in high school. Girls where he grew up and where he spent his summers only seemed interested in fair-skinned boys with light eyes and curly hair. Now all of a sudden his dark skin color and shaved head seemed to attract attention wherever he went. In Canada, a sportswriter had written that, “Zurich Robinson, the roughly handsome Montreal quarterback, appears to have a body so solid you could strike a match off it.” Zurich had been taught by MamaCee and his father to always treat people the way he wanted to be treated, so mutual respect was more important to him than how a person looked.
Still it was hard to ignore his straight, paper-white teeth when they revealed a smile that was pure innocence and yet promised something entirely different, something sensual. Throw in his desert-brown eyes and smooth head, and, well, it caused quite a stir when his picture was on the front page of the Tribune’s sports page during his first week of practice.
After the picture appeared, Zurich started getting about ten to fifteen letters a day from all types of women, and a few men, with pictures and suggestions on how they would like to personally welcome him to Chicago. He was constantly getting phone messages from cousins and long-lost girlfriends whom he knew nothing about. It was during times such as this that Zurich was happy Gina DeMarco had entered his life.
Although he didn’t understand why he needed a publicist/manager, Gina DeMarco made him an offer he couldn’t refuse: her services free of charge until she brought in endorsements and other opportunities for Zurich to make money outside of football. He was impressed with her go-get-it attitude and everyone he talked to, like Mario and one of his coaches, had nothing but praise for Gina.
One of the first things she did was to get her secretary to answer his mail, with thank-you notes and autographed pictures. This allowed Zurich the chance to concentrate on more important things; like getting ready for the Bears and making sure he had all the plays of the complicated Cougar offense down. He was stopping by Gina’s office to drop off the twenty-plus letters he’d received in two days when he met the photographer. He walked into Gina’s pink-and-green-decorated office; her face was covered with a huge smile. Gina DeMarco had a striking presence, skin the color of the sweetest maple syrup, round hips, a small waist, breasts and legs she was apparently proud of, judging by the tailored suits and short skirts she wore. When she walked into a room, people noticed. Gina enjoyed laughing and would end almost every sentence with “Am I right or am I wrong?” Then she would just go on with her next thought without waiting for anyone to respond.
“We got our first offer for an endorsement,” Gina said.
“Already? That was quick. Who with … Nike? Puma? How much are they offering?” Zurich asked.
“None of the above. And you’ll get a big kick out of this,” Gina said.
“Who is it and what’s the product?”
“Well, like I said, this is funny. Some guy who saw your picture in the paper thinks you would be the perfect model and spokesman for a line of underwear he has developed. They are supposed to be on the market just in time for Christmas. We should at least look at it. Am I right or am I wrong?” Gina said.
“Underwear. Somebody wants me to model underwear?” Zurich thought about the many times MamaCee had told him and his brothers, “Don’t be walking around this house with your ass out,” when they would parade in their Fruit of the Loom’s as teenagers
.
“Yes, and get this,” Gina laughed. “You will never guess the name of these specially designed drawers for black men,” she said as she grabbed her side from laughing so hard.
“What are they called, Gina?”
“VBD’s,” Gina said.
“VBD’s?”
“Yes, VBD’s,” Gina smiled slyly. “Is that the designer’s initials?”
“I don’t think so because his first name is Justin. You really don’t know what it stands for?”
“No,” Zurich said seriously.
“The first two letters stands for very big.” Gina paused and then said, “The last part begins with a D and ends with a K.” She laughed. “Can you hang my brother?”
“Oh … shit. I mean … oh, man. You’re kidding, right? You’re just messing with me,” Zurich said as he burst out smiling.
“See for yourself,” Gina said as she gave Zurich the letter and a diagram of the proposed underwear.
“I don’t believe this. I know a whole bunch of my teammates who would buy them, whether they needed them or not,” Zurich laughed.
“I know that’s right. I might even have to get a pair for my husband. Now that’s a man who needs them,” Gina boasted.
“I think we should pass on this,” Zurich said. “And it’s not because I’m not up to the task,” he said sexily.
“I ain’t mad at’cha, Mr. Robinson. And I thought you were some kinda square. You and I are going to be cool. We can hang. Am I right or am I wrong?” Gina quizzed.
“You know you’re right, Gina. What have you come up with in regards to charities?” Zurich asked. He had asked Gina to scout out charities that he could volunteer for without fanfare.
“Well, I know Big Brothers would love to have you. I’m also talking to some people with an organization of black men called BMU, who have an excellent mentoring program that I think you would be great for,” Gina said.
“Did you check into the local AIDS group?”
“No, I’m still looking into that. I have heard of one that provides food services for patients. I could find out about it and maybe you could send them a check,” Gina said.
“Yeah, I’d like to do that and whatever else I can do. I mean I just don’t want to send a check,” Zurich said.
“Fine. You know that’s very admirable of you. I don’t know if I’ve heard of any athletes, with the exception of Magic Johnson and a few tennis players, who wanted to be associated with AIDS charities. More of them need to, though. Am I right or am I wrong?”
“Right again. It’s a terrible disease,” he said mournfully.
“What’s that you got?” Gina asked, noticing the notebook Zurich was protecting with his life.
“Oh, just some more letters and my playbook,” Zurich said. Everywhere he went, he carried the black Chicago Cougars’ playbook, which weighed ten pounds and held more plays than there were names in the Chicago phone book. At least it seemed that way. When he was not busy with two-a-day practices, Zurich would spend time studying his playbook or weight lifting, though it was apparent his body did not need any new muscles.
When he’d arrived in town, Gina had also helped Zurich find an apartment on Michigan Avenue near her office, convenient to Grant Park, Soldier Field, and several restaurants. The apartment building was a modern structure, with a crystal chandelier dominating the lobby, which was adorned with smoked-glass mirrors, a concierge desk, and a doorman station. The apartments themselves were comfortably large with marble foyers, fireplaces in the bedrooms, and spacious kitchens. Gina seemed to take care of everything for Zurich, including getting the apartment furnished. He was happy to move from the crowded dorm the Cougars had provided during training camp. As much as he enjoyed being with his new teammates, Zurich appreciated the silence a new apartment without roommates would provide.
The only activity he had managed that was not related to football and not under the direction of Gina was finding a church. Mario and a couple of his teammates were always teasing him when he showed more interest in finding a church than finding the hottest night spots. All his teammates seemed to talk about were their business deals and going, as Mario called it, “Looking for new pussy.”
Zurich’s Southern Baptist roots were an important part of his life. The most important part, he told himself, even though in sports it was hard to talk about your faith without making God sound like a celebrity best friend. Zurich had seen many a player talking about what the Lord meant to him when the cameras were rolling and then acting like Satan’s only child after a few drinks.
Sweet Harmony Baptist Church was located at the end of Hyde Park. A small church by Chicago standards, with only two hundred and fifty members, it reminded Zurich of the church MamaCee attended in Mississippi. A church, like most Southern Baptist ones, where the deacons, all singing off-key, would gather around the offering table on their knees, singing “I Love the Lord He Heard My Cry.” Zurich had often heard MamaCee singing this song as she inspected Zurich and his brothers before they went to church. MamaCee would have the Robinson boys in attendance three times a week, for Sunday school, Wednesday prayer meeting, and regular Sunday service. If they did not want to go, well, that was fine with her. But she had one rule that could not be broken, don’t go to church and you couldn’t leave the front porch until you had been to church again. Zurich and his brothers agreed that two hours in MamaCee’s church was a fair trade for being able to roam outside and play football and basketball until their bodies gave out.
Zurich was so soothed and impressed by the church that he marched down the tiny aisle and joined the moment the Reverend Dr. Darwin Russell opened the doors of the church for new members. The burly minister with the high-pitched voice recognized Zurich from the Tribune picture and made a big deal out of him, leading the church in a special prayer for Zurich and his football career. In many ways, Zurich considered Gina DeMarco an answered prayer. He trusted her to guide him as he did few people. When Zurich left Gina’s office, he headed for his new apartment. He walked slowly down Michigan Avenue and enjoyed the long summer twilight, his eyes hidden by sunglasses, his hairless dome covered by a Florida Marlins baseball cap, and his ears adorned with tiny silver loops that he never wore at practice or while playing. When he walked into his lobby a half-hour later, the pale, redheaded concierge gave him his keys and a fax he had received from Gina.
Beneath a headline of Z-MAN STRIKES, the fax informed Zurich of an interview request she had approved for him after the Chicago Bears’ game with the sports anchor Mia Miller from Channel 3’s FiveAlive program, and her number for Zurich to call and confirm. She also mentioned a request for an in-depth interview with Sports Today, but she needed to get more information before deciding if it was something he should consider. He smiled to himself as he headed toward the elevator and thought about what MamaCee would say if he called her with all his good news. “Boy, you’ve got an abundance of blessings. The good Lord must have found out where you live,” she would say. Now if only his blessings would continue against the Chicago Bears.
CHAPTER 7
THE LADIES WHO LUNCH
Tamela and three other members of the SRB (Sisters Reading Books) Literary group exchanged mischievous glances as the two waiters placed plates of fruit-covered waffles, fluorescent-colored pasta, and chicken wings on the maple tabletop.
It was the first Saturday afternoon in September, and the summer wind had started to cool. Fall was closing in on Chicago, and Tamela’s curls were flawless!
Desiree, Karen Rice, and Stephanie Jackson were also all members of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority. They had agreed to meet Tamela at the Bennigan’s across the street from Grant Park and the Art Institute of Chicago. Officially, they were meeting to come up with recommendations of novels their group would read for the rest of the year. Unofficially, they wanted to catch up on what was going on in each other’s lives since there was never time for such talk when the full twenty-plus group met once a month. After they exchanged ti
ny samples of each other’s entrees, Desiree pulled the fork from her brick-red lips and said, “So, Tamela, tell the ladies your big news.”
“What? You met somebody?” Karen asked.
“No, it’s not news yet. Miss Big Mouth,” Tamela said as she looked at Desiree cross-eyed.
“It might be,” Desiree said. “Go on and tell them.”
“What Miss Big Mouth is talking about, well, I’m thinking about starting my own firm,” Tamela said and looked at her friends for a reaction. Karen and Stephanie broke out in huge smiles and said, “You go, girl.”
“Nothing is official yet. I’m just checking into it,” Tamela said.
“Sisters got to do it for themselves,” Stephanie said. “You got any good leads on office space and clients?”
“Like I said. I’m working on it. I met a lot of people last night at the BMU dinner-dance,” Tamela said.
“Yeah, T, how was that?” Desiree asked. She had decided not to go alone when Tim invited Tamela.
“It was okay, but you know how those things can be,” she said.
“How so?” Karen asked.
“You know, uppity wannabe Negroes putting on airs,” Tamela said.
“Oh, I know, don’t you just hate it?” Stephanie asked.
“Sho you right. By the time the night was over, I was so sick and tired of frontin’ Negroes coming up and asking me, ‘So what do you do? Where do you live? Did we meet at the Black Ski Summit or on the Vineyard?’ I started to say I ain’t never been skiing, but maybe we did meet in the backyard.” Everyone started laughing and exchanging dainty high fives with each other.
And This Too Shall Pass Page 7
