Any Way the Wind Blows - E. Lynn Harris [20]
I walked off the elevator toward the double maple doors that announced XJI Sports Management in bold brass letters and rang the bell. A few minutes passed, and I began to knock on the door with balled fists. The day’s frustrations had finally taken over, and my body began to slump toward the floor. This shit was tough. I was sitting with my back pressed against the door, when I felt a force pushing toward me. I quickly jumped up, and a few seconds later, I was standing eyeball to eyeball with a very handsome man. For a few seconds I couldn’t stop looking into his mesmerizing gray eyes.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I came for the modeling call. I think I’m a little late,” I said.
“The modeling call?” he said with a quizzical look on his face.
“Yes, sir,” I said politely.
“Oh, that was over around four,” he said.
“Did you hire someone?” I asked.
“I don’t know. The ladies in the office were in charge.”
“Can I leave my book or maybe one of my comp cards, just in case there’s still a chance?”
“Sure, come into my office, and I’ll give you the name of the person to contact.”
I walked into a set of well-decorated offices. The wood paneling and leather furniture made the space feel masculine. Gold trophies and sports photos lined the walls. When the phone rang, the man said, “I need to get that,” as he dashed into an open office. A few minutes passed and I took a seat in an armless black leather chair, picked up a copy of Sports Illustrated and mechanically thumbed through the pages. I had closed the magazine and put it back on the rack when His Flawlessness walked back out of his office.
“I’m sorry. That took a little longer than I expected. Here’s our marketing director’s card. Give her a call and see what she can work out,” he said.
“Who shall I say gave me her number?” I asked.
“Tell her Mr. Henderson, Basil Henderson. I’m one of the partners.”
“Thank you, Mr. Henderson.”
“No problem. Sorry about the mix-up,” he said.
I was heading for the door when I turned to get one last look at Basil Henderson. I wanted to see if I could memorize his handsome face so I could remember it on one of my lonely winter nights. When I turned, he was standing so close to me I could feel his warm breath caress my face.
“Would you mind looking at my book to see if I even have a chance at this job? I understand you’re looking for someone with an athletic body,” I said.
“Yeah, we’re looking for an ex-football player,” he said.
“Then I’m your man. Why not take a look?” I asked as I passed him my book.
“You played ball?” He looked skeptical, but I figured I had nothing to lose.
“Yes,” I lied.
“Where?”
“Morris Brown.”
“What position?”
I knew only two football positions, so I quickly said, “Tight end.”
“That’s the position I played. Come on into my office, and I’ll take a look,” he said.
I followed Basil into a large room with an oval-shaped glass table, a softly glowing computer screen and a breathtaking view of a snow-covered Central Park. He sat in a black leather chair and began looking through my book. He began nodding to himself and then he said, never raising his eyes, “Nice abs.”
“Thank you,” I said. I wanted to tell him he could drop a quarter on my stomach and it would bounce twice before it found a home.
“Yeah, you got some nice shots here,” he said. If I wasn’t mistaken, he had looked through my entire book and then started again. I didn’t know many straight men who enjoyed my photos, especially the nude ones, as much as Mr. Henderson appeared to. As he pored over my book, I had a chance to study him. His skin was so golden brown, he looked like he had been scrubbed in sunshine. He was wearing a cobalt-blue business