Any Way the Wind Blows - E. Lynn Harris [51]
“What’s that smile about?” I asked as I looked over the neatly printed credit application. I knew from Daschle’s limited correspondence that this wasn’t his handwriting.
“Does Daschle have a girlfriend?” Kendra asked. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but Rosa called.”
“Why do you ask, and who filled out this application? This looks like your handwriting,” I said, ignoring her mention of Rosa.
“It is.” Kendra smiled. “He asked me to fill it out for him, and I had a little extra time, so I didn’t mind.”
“You need to let that clown fill out his own applications. And be careful with him. He’s a baller in training,” I said.
“I’m not up on the latest jock lingo. What’s a baller?” Kendra asked.
“You know, a good-looking dude with a woman in every city. Two or three in the big cities. Got money to spend and don’t mind letting everybody know it,” I said.
“You think that’s how Daschle is going to end up?”
“I know a baller when I see one. I used to be one,” I said, laughing, as Kendra walked out of my office looking slightly disappointed.
I was looking over Daschle’s application and getting ready to have Kendra fax it to my banker, when she walked back into my office and said, “There’s a LaVonya Johnson on line two. She’s with the Daily Press and said she has a few questions about the Pro Football Hall of Fame.”
“The Hall of Fame … huh. Didn’t we just go through this? Maybe they’ve recounted the votes and I’m in.” I laughed. “Put her through.”
“You got it,” Kendra said.
“Wait, Kendra. Here, send this over to Keith at my bank. And let this be the last time you fill out a credit application for a client,” I teased. Over the two years Kendra had worked for me we’d developed a big brother/little sister relationship, which I found myself needing more and more since my own sister, Campbell, had moved to Pittsburgh.
“I hear ya talking,” Kendra said as she closed the door to my office. I picked up the phone and pressed the button next to the flashing red light.
“This is Basil Henderson,” I said.
“Mr. Henderson, thanks for taking my call. This is LaVonya Young from the Daily Press. I had a few questions about the Pro Football Hall of Fame induction,” she said.
“Sure, but you know I didn’t get in this year. Next year will be my year,” I said confidently.
“No, I didn’t know that,” she said.
“Are you a sportswriter? I thought I knew most of the female sportswriters in the country.”
“No. Let’s just say I am interested in the entertainment aspect of sports,” LaVonya said.
“Okay. What do you want to know?”
“What do you think your chances are for getting inducted next year?”
“I’m real hopeful. I got the stats. A lot of guys don’t get in the first year they’re on the ballot. It’s just an honor to be nominated my first year out. I was personally pulling for Lynn Swann. He was long overdue, and I was really psyched that he got in,” I said.
“Lynn Swann? Who’s he?”
“You haven’t heard of Lynn Swann? He’s just one of the greatest receivers, present company included, to ever play the game. Lynn played college ball at USC and pro ball with the Pittsburgh Steelers. He had been nominated for the Pro Football Hall of Fame a number of years in a row, but he never made the cut. This had to be his year,” I said, wondering why I was spending my time talking to a reporter who obviously hadn’t done her homework. Maybe I should keep this call short. She was probably a homely-looking female trying to use her position in the media to sneak up on a little sexing.
“I see. So how well do you know this Lynn Swann? Are you two close?”
“How well do I know him? To be truthful, I really don’t know him, so you can’t call us close. I’ve been introduced and we’ve chatted at a few Super Bowls, but I don’t really know him,” I said. I was trying to figure out how to get out of this conversation without cussing this woman out for wasting my time.
“Have you decided once you’re inducted into the Hall of Fame who would introduce you?” LaVonya asked. Now she was asking some questions that meant something.
“My Pops