“They had a limo meet you at the airport?” Myron continued.
Another nod.
“Your jacket, ma’am. It’s new?”
“Yes.” First time Mrs. Crane had spoken.
“Did one of the big agencies buy it for you?”
“Yes.”
“The big agencies, they have wives or female associates who take you around town, show you the sights, do a little shopping, that sort of thing?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your point?” Crane interrupted.
“That kind of thing is not my bag,” Myron said.
“What kind of thing?”
“Ass-kissing. I’m not very good at ass-kissing a client. And I’m terrible at ass-kissing the parents. Eddie?”
“Yes?”
“Did the big agencies promise to have someone at every match?”
He nodded.
“I won’t do that,” Myron said. “If you need me I’m available twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. But I’m not physically there twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. If you want your hand held at every match because Agassi’s or Chang’s is, go with one of the big agencies. They’re better at it than I am. If you need someone to run errands or do your laundry, I’m not the guy either.”
The Cranes shared another family glance. “Well,” Mr. Crane said. “I heard you speak your mind, Mr. Bolitar. It appears you are living up to your reputation.”
“You asked for a contrast between me and the others.”
“So I did.”
Myron focused his attention on Eddie. “My agency is small and simple. I will do all your negotiations—tournament guarantees, appearances, exhibitions, endorsements, whatever. But I won’t sign anything you don’t want to. Nothing is final until you look it over, understand it, and approve it yourself. Okay so far?”
Eddie nodded.
“As your father pointed out I am not an MBA. But I work with one. His name is Win Lockwood. He’s considered one of the best financial consultants in the country. Win’s theory is similar to mine: he wants you to understand and approve every investment he makes. I will insist that you meet with him at least five times a year, preferably more, so that you can set up solid, long-term financial and tax plans. I want you to know what your money is doing at all times. Too many athletes get taken advantage of—bad investments, trusting the wrong people, that sort of thing. That won’t happen here because you—not just me, not just Win, not just your parents, but you—won’t let it.”
François came by with the appetizers. He smiled brightly while the underlings served. Then he pointed and ordered them about in impatient French, like they couldn’t possibly know how to put a plate down in front of a human being without his fretting.
“Is that everything?” François asked.
“I think so.”
François sort of lowered his head. “If there is any way I can make your dining experience more pleasurable, Mr. Bolitar, please do not hesitate to ask.”
Myron looked down at his salmon. “How about some ketchup?”
François’s face lost color. “Pardon?”
“It’s a joke, François.”
“And a funny one at that, Mr. Bolitar.”
François slithered away. Myron the Card strikes again.
“How about the young lady who set up this dinner?” Mr. Crane asked. “Miss Diaz. What’s her function at your agency?”
“Esperanza is my associate. My right hand.”
“What’s her work background?”
“She currently goes to law school nights. That’s why she couldn’t join us tonight. She was also a professional wrestler.”
That piqued Eddie’s interest. “Really? Which one?”
“Little Pocahontas.”
“The Indian Princess? She and Big Chief Mama used to be the tag team champs.”
“Right.”
“Man, she is hot!”
“Yup.”
Mrs. Crane nibbled at her salmon. Mr. Crane ignored his onion soup for the moment. “So tell me,” Mr. Crane said, “what strategy would you employ for Eddie’s career?”
“Depends,” Myron said. “There’s no set formula. You have two conflicting factors pulling at your son. On the one hand Eddie is only seventeen. He’s a kid. Tennis shouldn’t consume him to the point where he hates it. He should still have fun, try to do the things seventeen-year-olds do. On the other hand it’s naive to think that tennis will still be just a game to him. Or that he’ll be a ‘normal’ kid. This is about money. Big money. If Eddie does it right, if he makes some sacrifices now and works with Win, he can be financially set for life. It’s a delicate balance—how many tournaments and exhibitions to play in, how many appearances, how many endorsements.”
Crane’s eyebrows nodded. They seemed to agree.
Myron turned his attention to Eddie. “You want to score a lot of money early, because you never know what can happen. I’m proof of that. But I don’t want you sucked dry. Sometimes the hardest thing in the world is to say no to staggering amounts of money. But in the end it’s your decision, not mine. It’s your money. If you want to play in every tournament and every exhibition match, it’s not my place to stop you. But you can’t do it, Eddie. No one can. You’re a good kid. You have your head on straight. You were raised right. But if you try to bend too far, you’ll break. I’ve seen it happen too often.
“I want you to make a lot of money. But not every cent out there. I don’t want to turn you into a money machine. I want you to have some fun. I want you to enjoy all of this. I want you to realize how lucky you are.”
The Cranes listened in rapt silence.
“That’s my theory, Eddie, for what it’s worth. You may make more money with the big agencies. I can’t deny that. But in the long run, with a long and healthy career, with careful planning, I think you’ll be wealthier and better off with MB SportsReps.”
Myron looked at Mr. Crane. “Anything else you care to know?”
Crane sipped his wine, studied its color, put the glass down. He did the eyebrow mambo again. “You came highly recommended to us, Mr. Bolitar. Or should I say to Eddie.”
“Oh?” Myron said. “By whom?”
Eddie looked away. Mrs. Crane put her hand on his arm. Mr. Crane provided the answer. “Valerie Simpson.”
Another nod.
“Your jacket, ma’am. It’s new?”
“Yes.” First time Mrs. Crane had spoken.
“Did one of the big agencies buy it for you?”
“Yes.”
“The big agencies, they have wives or female associates who take you around town, show you the sights, do a little shopping, that sort of thing?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your point?” Crane interrupted.
“That kind of thing is not my bag,” Myron said.
“What kind of thing?”
“Ass-kissing. I’m not very good at ass-kissing a client. And I’m terrible at ass-kissing the parents. Eddie?”
“Yes?”
“Did the big agencies promise to have someone at every match?”
He nodded.
“I won’t do that,” Myron said. “If you need me I’m available twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. But I’m not physically there twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. If you want your hand held at every match because Agassi’s or Chang’s is, go with one of the big agencies. They’re better at it than I am. If you need someone to run errands or do your laundry, I’m not the guy either.”
The Cranes shared another family glance. “Well,” Mr. Crane said. “I heard you speak your mind, Mr. Bolitar. It appears you are living up to your reputation.”
“You asked for a contrast between me and the others.”
“So I did.”
Myron focused his attention on Eddie. “My agency is small and simple. I will do all your negotiations—tournament guarantees, appearances, exhibitions, endorsements, whatever. But I won’t sign anything you don’t want to. Nothing is final until you look it over, understand it, and approve it yourself. Okay so far?”
Eddie nodded.
“As your father pointed out I am not an MBA. But I work with one. His name is Win Lockwood. He’s considered one of the best financial consultants in the country. Win’s theory is similar to mine: he wants you to understand and approve every investment he makes. I will insist that you meet with him at least five times a year, preferably more, so that you can set up solid, long-term financial and tax plans. I want you to know what your money is doing at all times. Too many athletes get taken advantage of—bad investments, trusting the wrong people, that sort of thing. That won’t happen here because you—not just me, not just Win, not just your parents, but you—won’t let it.”
François came by with the appetizers. He smiled brightly while the underlings served. Then he pointed and ordered them about in impatient French, like they couldn’t possibly know how to put a plate down in front of a human being without his fretting.
“Is that everything?” François asked.
“I think so.”
François sort of lowered his head. “If there is any way I can make your dining experience more pleasurable, Mr. Bolitar, please do not hesitate to ask.”
Myron looked down at his salmon. “How about some ketchup?”
François’s face lost color. “Pardon?”
“It’s a joke, François.”
“And a funny one at that, Mr. Bolitar.”
François slithered away. Myron the Card strikes again.
“How about the young lady who set up this dinner?” Mr. Crane asked. “Miss Diaz. What’s her function at your agency?”
“Esperanza is my associate. My right hand.”
“What’s her work background?”
“She currently goes to law school nights. That’s why she couldn’t join us tonight. She was also a professional wrestler.”
That piqued Eddie’s interest. “Really? Which one?”
“Little Pocahontas.”
“The Indian Princess? She and Big Chief Mama used to be the tag team champs.”
“Right.”
“Man, she is hot!”
“Yup.”
Mrs. Crane nibbled at her salmon. Mr. Crane ignored his onion soup for the moment. “So tell me,” Mr. Crane said, “what strategy would you employ for Eddie’s career?”
“Depends,” Myron said. “There’s no set formula. You have two conflicting factors pulling at your son. On the one hand Eddie is only seventeen. He’s a kid. Tennis shouldn’t consume him to the point where he hates it. He should still have fun, try to do the things seventeen-year-olds do. On the other hand it’s naive to think that tennis will still be just a game to him. Or that he’ll be a ‘normal’ kid. This is about money. Big money. If Eddie does it right, if he makes some sacrifices now and works with Win, he can be financially set for life. It’s a delicate balance—how many tournaments and exhibitions to play in, how many appearances, how many endorsements.”
Crane’s eyebrows nodded. They seemed to agree.
Myron turned his attention to Eddie. “You want to score a lot of money early, because you never know what can happen. I’m proof of that. But I don’t want you sucked dry. Sometimes the hardest thing in the world is to say no to staggering amounts of money. But in the end it’s your decision, not mine. It’s your money. If you want to play in every tournament and every exhibition match, it’s not my place to stop you. But you can’t do it, Eddie. No one can. You’re a good kid. You have your head on straight. You were raised right. But if you try to bend too far, you’ll break. I’ve seen it happen too often.
“I want you to make a lot of money. But not every cent out there. I don’t want to turn you into a money machine. I want you to have some fun. I want you to enjoy all of this. I want you to realize how lucky you are.”
The Cranes listened in rapt silence.
“That’s my theory, Eddie, for what it’s worth. You may make more money with the big agencies. I can’t deny that. But in the long run, with a long and healthy career, with careful planning, I think you’ll be wealthier and better off with MB SportsReps.”
Myron looked at Mr. Crane. “Anything else you care to know?”
Crane sipped his wine, studied its color, put the glass down. He did the eyebrow mambo again. “You came highly recommended to us, Mr. Bolitar. Or should I say to Eddie.”
“Oh?” Myron said. “By whom?”
Eddie looked away. Mrs. Crane put her hand on his arm. Mr. Crane provided the answer. “Valerie Simpson.”
