He walked me back to the front desk, gave me a handful of paperwork and we said our goodbyes. This Azmir Jacobs must be a force to be reckoned with. His front desk staff was beyond professional and I’m sure it was by design. They are the frontline salespeople of the business and boy, did they play it very well! These standards told me more about who he was, which is what I needed to know to save my career.
After getting into my car, I drove around to the vacant business district of the property. So far they were all empty—fresh construction. It was pitch dark out and I didn’t feel safe enough to get out to peek into the window to gauge the size of the units so I did the best I could using the high-beams from the car. But from what I could make out the unit right next to the recreation center was the largest and that’s what I would shoot for. I went straight home to jump on my laptop. It was time for me to get my game plan together and create a business proposal.
I stayed up almost all night putting together the proposal. I didn’t want to just be ready for my meeting with Michelle—I wanted to be ahead of the game. I knew the business from wearing so many hats over the past two years. I knew the vendors and equipment needed for a solid practice as well as how to oversee the budget and payroll. What I needed was a seasoned therapist on staff to offset my lack of experience as a physical therapist. I’d learned a lot over the past few years working with the experienced P.A.s at the practice, probably more than my fellow classmates but that’s not enough when you’re dealing with starting NBA and NFL players. Not to mention our insurance premiums being off the charts because of the liability we’d carry.
When Michelle and I met, she was surprised by my proposal. She didn’t think that I could put together something viable and salient overnight. She filled in a few holes on the financial end but we both were very satisfied by the end of the night. That Monday we attended the meeting with the senior staff and by the following Friday we were in the boardroom of Mr. Azmir Jacobs.
I was nervous as all get out that morning, palms were clammy and my mouth was dry. Once we arrived, we were escorted up to the conference room by a staff member just as warm and articulate as the young lad who gave me a tour the previous week. Thankfully, he didn’t recognize me. Strolling down the third floor corridor towards the conference room I noticed there were professional pictures of many of his businesses including the Cobalt club with their addresses engraved on the frame. Businesses such as nightclubs, restaurants, apartment complexes, beauty salons, barbershops and even a movie theater co-owned by Mr. Magic himself that made my stomach zip even more.
Michelle turned to check up on me while walking into either my doom or destiny. Of course, he wasn’t in the room waiting but his “people” were. There were four men seated. Two of the men were African American, one Caucasian and the other Asian. What a nice mix. They were competently dressed in business attire—this was no family affair here, it was the strictest of professionalism. There were no pleasant smiles, small banter of neither weather nor networking, only silence thick enough to choke on.
The door opened and I was anxious and fretful at the same time, I could hear blood rushing through my ears. I was beyond ready to see who this man was to ease my concerns. If I knew at least what ethnicity he was, I could determine my approach. But it was the office receptionist, an older Caucasian woman who was clearly warped in time from her butterfly shaped reading glasses and large broach that clasped at the center of her chest to drape her crocheted shawl.