The mosquito drank her fill. With a buzz, a slender woman in gossamer panties was leaning over Richrad Jefferson's neck. She kissed her fingers as if she were dabbing lip gloss.
The curvy shade pulled RJ's black hoodie over her soy milk shoulders. It was long enough to be worn as calf-length shift dress. It looked great with her brown leather ankle high Beatle boots! She ripped silver stripe from RJ's Spurs uniform and fashioned a chic scarf with her clever talons. She spun for the mirror. She did not see her own disappointment when there was no reflection. She snapped for RJ's wallet on the dresser and scattered its contents about the room. A hotel key ricocheted off of RJ's saved head still he did not stir.
The slender shadow palmed RJ's American Express black card. She pulled the hood tight over her black curls and slipped between the door and base-board out to the red evening and Burgundy Street, the French Quarter.
How lucky she felt! Who was that silly man expecting when she knocked on his door and he casually yelled, "Come in." Her master would be pleased.
* * * *
Alone in his office Coach Gregg Popovich drew another card from the ancient deck -- Three of Wands: a scatter of energies, mistakes made through carelessness, and disappointment. RJ? Every game he sucked a little bit more. He would play well for a stretch of minutes, only to seem exhausted and confused for quarters at a time.
Pop burned the card and took a final swig from his wine glass. It seemed odd that the Malbec, a cold weather grape, could be grown so well in California. It was a fantastic vintage. Phil Jackson sent him a third case yesterday, and he was already halfway through it.
Pop drew another card -- Justice: harmony, balance, righteousness, virtue, honor, a considerate person. Tim Duncan, of course.
He dealt four more cards -- 9, 3, 8, 10: Tony Parker, George Hill, Roger Mason Jr., and Keith Bogans. Small ball! That's it!
Pop rummaged under the desk for another bottle to open.