“I love that dude. We see eye to eye on a lot of things.”
There should be a cut off age for using the word dude.
I take a slow sip of my tea. “What can I do for you, Winn? Tomorrow night’s agenda seems more or less straightforward; nothing too urgent. Since you’re here, though, I would like to talk to you about board composition.” In my sixty-second strategy session with myself and the teapot, I decided it would be best for me to bring up the subject of selling board seats before any other topic comes to pass.
“Yep. Good place to start.” Winn scoots himself forward in his chair, eager to dig in to this contentious topic. His enthusiasm for this discussion was not part of my bad boss game plan, so I’m a little thrown.
“Help me understand why, without discussing it with me, you invited Courtney to join the board,” I say, direct and to the point.
“During my time in high school at Royal-Hawkins, our soccer and baseball teams were all right, nothing special. Never made it out of our division into any sort of regional playoff.” This jaunt down Winn’s high school memory lane is super boring and taking this discussion I don’t know the hell where. “And when your daughter was here, what’s her name again?”
“Xandra.”
“Yes, Xandra. Were the sports teams she was on very good?”
“I don’t remember, and it was elementary and middle school. As you know, Royal-Hawkins has a no-cut policy, so she played soccer and everyone made the team.”
“You’ve worked at Royal-Hawkins for fifteen years, and you’ve also been a parent here, and you have zero recollection of anything memorable about sports at Royal-Hawkins? What about basketball?”
“No, I don’t, Winn, but I also have never considered myself a big fan of any sports team, high school, college, or professional.” I mean really, I went to Wellesley for God’s sake, I think to myself. “Royal-Hawkins is an academically focused school, not a sports-driven one.” I’m getting irritated at the local sports trivia, my raw emotions from last night not helping the situation. “What’s your point?”
“For decades Royal-Hawkins has sucked at sports. Meaning, I can’t remember a time we were any good. It’s embarrassing, and it needs to change for the future health of the school. It’s no longer enough to be a strong academic institution, Nina. In fact, I would argue, looking at our competition in Los Angeles, it hasn’t been enough for quite some time. We have to perform on the field, on the track, on the court, in addition to in the classroom if we truly want to be one of the best day schools in the country.”
“So, you want to abandon our areas of growth laid out in the strategic plan and build an athletic pipeline to D-1 schools?”
“Ah, so you do follow collegiate sports.” Winn winks at me, thinking he’s found an entrée to budging my leadership needle. “No, I don’t want to change the strategic plan, Nina, you and the rest of the board can continue to focus on it as it stands. Courtney and I have improvements to the athletic program at Royal-Hawkins covered.”
My moment of illumination is here. I open my desk drawer and pull out the envelope with Courtney Dunn’s quarter mil check still in it. It’s been in there over a month as I considered whether to march it over to the finance office for deposit or return it with a thanks, but no thanks Post-it. “I take it you are leading the sports improvement campaign, and the Dunn family is funding it?”
“I’ll be putting up matching funds, and I have a few alumni on the hook for sizable contributions up to a million dollars. A lot of money can be raised on a golf course. Sports begets sports,” Winn brags. This is not my time to debate if golf is truly a sport. Doesn’t sweat need to be involved to call something a sport? Hey, look at me, I do have an opinion on athletics!
“A million is a lot to put toward bleacher upgrades and new uniforms.”
“There’s facilities and uniforms, yes, but that’s the low-hanging fruit, Nina. Courtney and I have a plan and an aggressive timeline to turn the Royal-Hawkins athletic program around. We’re thinking bigger. We can sort details out later, just leave it to me to get the ball rolling. Courtney is on board as my number two,” Winn says confidently, reaching over to pat my shoulder for assurance and for acting as his assist. It gives me the creeps like most interactions with him do. There’s no way I am trusting anything related to Royal-Hawkins to someone I don’t trust.
TWENTY-TWO
For the love of keeping your job, put that finger away,” I say, swiftly grabbing Roan’s pointer finger and giving it a twist. My reflexes are lightning fast despite my vigilant focus on the road in front of me. “I don’t need you AND Google Maps telling me where to go.”
“What you need is for me to drive; you missed our turn.” Roan raises his spare pointer finger and signals me to flip a U-turn. I shut up and do as I’m told. We only have a few hours to get to the bottom of the Burns boys’ application mystery before I have to return to school for an investment committee meeting, and Roan has to be at his weekly Core and More cardio class. Roan and I have been tied to each other’s lives long enough now that I know not to ask what the more stands for.
“You don’t think the boys are home, do you? That’d be super awkward if they are.” I can tell Roan is attempting to mask his discomfort of driving through Crenshaw with chitchat over what a couple of fourteen-year-old boys will think of us while they’re grabbing an after-school snack.
“I bet they’re at practice somewhere. They both play on three different teams,” I offer to calm Roan’s nerves. It’s a guess dressed as fact since it’s winter and these are teenage boys.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Roan agrees, distracted. I can tell he’s looking around for my car’s automatic lock button.
“You’ve never been to Crenshaw, huh?” I ask, figuring if I provoke Roan, it’ll distract him from his concern.
“Please. When was the last time you traveled south of your sleepovers in Silver Lake? Oh, maybe never? That’s what I thought. You’re traveling through foreign country as much as I am, you just blend in better. And I’m not talking about that contour you use.”
Roan’s blathering is interrupting my developing plan to play on our joint sistahood for the meet and greet with Carmel Burns, mother of the basketball prodigies. I let the car crawl down two blocks, finally locating the address we’re looking for, and find a parking spot a half block farther down near the park I suspect was mentioned in the twins’ application essays. After we’ve stopped, I wrestle my blazer off, tossing it in Roan’s lap. I undo one more button of my blouse and shake my shoulders to give my top half a bit more of a casual look. I don’t want to come across too uptight. I’d even take off these pantyhose if I could, but I have Roan and a bulging belly in the car with me today, so I don’t see it happening.
“What, are you planning to seduce Carmel Burns or something?” Roan accuses as I apply a coat of lipstick. I shove my oversize handbag under my front seat. I don’t want to appear like an insurance sales team and have the door slammed in our faces before introductions are made. I give my purse a final swift kick to be sure it’s well hidden, because I also don’t want to return to find my driver’s side window and two weeks’ salary gone.