Page 10 of Sure Shot
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Avoiding Tank, I eat some excellent barbecue with my brother. When we’re finished, I carry our plates into the house. The enormous kitchen is buzzing with caterers, one of whom takes the plates from me. I’m walking toward the door when I spot my new business partner in the dining room, chatting with Rebecca Rowley-Kattenberger.
I duck in to say hello. “Hey guys! What are you plotting?”
“Bessie!” Eric says, waving me over. Rosie is strapped to his chest in a carrier, and when she spots me, she lets out a little squawk of greeting.
“Ooh! How’s my girl?” I croon.
“I’m just dandy, thanks for asking,” Rebecca jokes. Then she grabs me into a hug. “How are you? Are you settling into your new apartment? Is it great?”
“It’s getting there. I barely have any furniture, but I hate shopping.” Without asking for an invitation, I unclip the front of Eric’s baby carrier so I can hold Rosie.
“Well,Idon’t hate shopping,” Becca says, clapping her hands. “Just say the word if you need a little company.”
“You don’t have time to help me pick out a coffee table.” I hug Rosie as she tries to grab fistfuls of my hair.
“Hey, I can make time,” Becca says. “Especially if there are rugs involved. And throw pillows. By the way—I love your dress. You must not hate shoppingthatmuch.”
“No, she really does,” Eric says. “And I’ve never seen her in a dress before. I didn’t even know she had knees.”
“Eric,” Becca squawks. “That’s no way to treat your boss.”
“Are you kidding? She teases me all day long,” he says. “This is just self-defense.”
I give him a poke in the elbow, and he snickers. Eric and I have known each other a long time. I was his agent for eight years, since Clove—Eric’s first agent—died in a car crash.
Clove had been a senior agent at Henry Kassman and Associates, and he’d had a lot of clients—both hockey and baseball, which was unusual. Some of Clove’s athletes left our firm after he died, and some of them got picked up by more senior agents. But Eric and a handful of others picked me.
“They know they’ll get a lot of your attention,” Henry Kassman had explained to me. “And they know I’ve got your back. So put on your game face and fight for your new clients, Bess. You’re going to do a great job.”
At the time, I’d been both gratified and terrified by the number of clients I’d picked up when Clove passed away. Within the space of a couple weeks, I’d gone from a third-stringer who’d mostly answered phones, to a busy agent in her own right.
I’d never looked back. Two years later I’d left Kassman to start my own business. There weren’t many agents in Detroit, and I knew I could pick up a bunch of athletes who wanted local representation.
That feels like a hundred years ago, though. And here I am starting over on the East Coast, because my priorities have shifted once again.
“Hey girls!” We’re joined by Georgia, Becca’s best friend and the team publicist. “Nice dress, Bess! You look amazing. Wow.”
Eric snickers, and I have to give him another poke in the elbow. But the surprise in Georgia’s voice is a wakeup call. “I guess I have a reputation for avoiding girly clothes.”
“I’m a proud tomboy myself,” Georgia insists. “Although Rebecca tries. Did you hear she just bought a Brooklyn nail salon?”
“Oh, neat,” I say, feigning enthusiasm.
At that, everyone laughs. Even the baby.
“When I reopen the place, will you let me treat you to a mani pedi?” Becca asks with a smile. “It’s fun. I promise.”
“It really is,” Georgia insists. “I don’t care much about nail polish, but I love a nice pedicure. It’s all about the foot rub and the gossip.”
“Okay, why not?” I say. “I’ll try anything once.”
“Excellent!” Georgia says, holding out her arms. “Now let me hold the baby. It’s my turn.”
“I suppose.” My reluctance to pass her over is genuine. I love babies in general and Rosie specifically.
“Could I leave her with you two for a minute?” Eric asks. “Gotta hit the little boys’ room, and then find her bottle.”
