After a smile of pleasantry, we take to our seats again and Elle continues. “Tori, Michelle was contributory in closing on a new relationship with a graphic design company out of Washington for a new toy.” She waves to bring my attention toward the mounted screen. “That was part of the karaoke simulator they’re putting finishing touches on.”
“To do what?” I shake my head to express my confusion and being overwhelmed by meaningless information.
Elle leans into her desk with folded arms. “It’s a program that allows our athletes to rock out to their favorite songs and perform as though they’re singing in the mirror when…” She shrugs, looking as though searching for words. “getting dressed for the day while listening to the radio.”
My face balls up. “Why would we do that?”
“So glad you asked.” Elle sits back, sporting that million-dollar smile. “We here at Love Is Action want to give the fans of our clients’ insight on who they are when they’re not on the field, court, or in your case...” Her hand swings my way, showing off her almond-shaped manicured nails. “the ring. What better way to do that than to show off your comical, artsy side by way of music?”
“The plan is,” Michelle stands and walks closer to the desk. “for you to select two of your favorite songs—technically five so we can try for sample clearance—and by using this program, perform them to be recorded. Once recorded and edited, they’re available to download for free when someone purchases your merch.”
“That’s it?” I ask.
Michelle looks to Elle for help. Elle sits higher in her chair. “What do you mean?”
“We sing the song karaoke-style just for the people who purchase our merch on your site?”
“We’re actually cutting a deal with Nike and Ase Garb to have the downloads available on their sites, too, but that would only be for those of our clients who are endorsed by those companies. Think of it as a way to slide personalbility of the customer’s favorite athlete into their digital bag when they’re purchasing any product in support of said athlete.”
I squint my eyes suspiciously. “Is personlability even a word?”
Elle winked. “It is when you catch my drift.”
“But in this digital age, that shit won’t stay exclusive. It’ll be all over social media within hours of being released.”
“Illegally, but…” Elle nods. “yeah. And that will be okay, because of the added exposure. Who are your favorite artists? Let’s say R&B—female.”
I stretch my forehead, quickly thinking. “Female R&B? Faith Evans…” I shrug. “Shirley Murdock.”
“Really?” Her hazel eyes light up. “I love Shirley! She’s the vocal master. Okay. So say you jam out to ‘Go On Without You’—”
“Maybe ‘Found My Way’,” I interrupt her.
Her neck snaps back and chin dips. “Oh, you’re a for real, for real SM fan, huhn?”
“According to my therapist, it’s indicative of things I’m not so proud of.” I roll my eyes.
Elle howls in laughter in front of me and Michelle does the same across the room.
“Well, anyway…” Elle is still laughing. “Seeing you sing a song you’re passionate about makes you more personable and can possibly connect unknowing watchers to a common interest with you. That’s what we’re trying to do at LIA; broaden your visibility and secure every opportunity to fatten your portfolio.”
“And the Image Management department,” Michelle chimes in. “is committed to exposing your image as well and as positively as possible. I think this venture will benefit everyone at the table.”
I nod with my lips pushed back. “Send the paperwork over so I can take my time going over it.”
“Yesssss!” Michelle cheers quietly, pumping her fist. I laugh as she walks to the door to leave. “Two down, two more to go!”
Elle winks at her, sitting back into her chair and interlacing her fingers.
I shift to face her again. “Who else okayed it?”
“You know Trent doesn’t have a problem performing musically,” she answers, rolling her eyes with a smirk.
“Shoot ‘Em Up! sho don’t! He gives me life!” I hoot.
“I meet with Rut in a few minutes to see if he’s game. Knowing him, he’ll try to rope in his footwear company to get a slice of the pie.”
I push back my cuticles, seeing it’s time for a manicure. “I ain’t mad at him.”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “Neither am I. But on to other TM matters. Your Sports Illustrated feature just got a shakeup.”
“How?”
“It was supposed to be Tyler Thomas doing it.”
My throat bobs to swallow without me asking it to. Then relief sets in. The idea of being interviewed by Tyler Thomas is nerve-racking. I was aware of his name and how long he’s been in the business before Elle and our team explained his request to interview me. But I didn’t know about his reputation and wild resume until then. Thomas has traveled the world covering poverty, war, and politics. Dude was one of the team of reporters for the Watergate Scandal in D.C., but was not tenured in the group yet, so he’s rarely mentioned with the other journalists who broke the story. It also didn’t help that he was Black in the seventies. He traveled with Muhamad Ali during many of his press tour runs in his prime. Tyler made sure Ali’s name stayed alive and positive during his troubles with the government when he rejected the U.S. draft. Tyler’s been interviewed by his peers like Diana Sawyer, and even Oprah for his work in journalism.
The man has done so much in his career that it’s hard to recount it all. But no matter how many pages Tyler Thomas’ résumé yielded or the impressive bullet points on it, his name alone brings flips to my stomach.
“Are you even listening to me?”
My eyes blink and then move to her. Elle’s arms are in the air, and I can tell she used them to say whatever the hell I missed.
“Yeah…” I hear come from my belly, but not my throat. Then I blink again, admitting, “No.”
Her forehead tightens. “Where the hell did you just go?”
I shake off the encroaching thoughts. The what ifs, where nows, the what nows…all of it. It’s never-ending torture for me.
Swallowing hard, I finally answer, “Nowhere I need to be. I’m sorry. Go ahead.”
After a few seconds, she speaks again. “He’s not going to be able to do it.”
“Oh.” I can feel my lungs again. “So no more feature?”
Elle nods. “Yes, girl!” She drops her chin and rolls her eyes. “You were on a trip, I see! He’s sending a replacement; some mentee of his.”
Oh… Okay.
I try to examine how it feels to be dumped by the Tyler Thomas.
“Do you have a name?”
“Yes.” She’s still annoyed by my mental trip. “Ashton Spencer.”
My spine gives out and back slams into the chair. The pits of my arms tingle and mist out of nowhere. For a short while, I can’t breathe and my chest is pumping wildly.
“What the holy fuck, Tor?” Elle is out of her chair and over to me. “What’s going on?”