The pleather-covered door swings open with such force the shaky old hinges almost rip off the wall. Into the dimly lit, smoke filled room steps one Todd Diamond. He's wearing uncomfortably tight bell-bottomed light blue pants, unpolished black shoes and a half buttoned shirt that looks like it was patterned after wallpaper in the men's. Though you can barely see through the exhaling cigarettes, he's still wearing sunglasses. They're black-rimmed with an orange tint to the lens...the kind you find when you're looking or Blue Blockers and are forced to go with the Rite Aid knockoff on the shelf next to the rubbers. The place is packed. Nobody bothers to look up at the new entrant except for a few lonely hearts sipping Chivas at the end of the room.
"Diamond in the rough...I've got a...Diamond in the rough...looking for a lucky gent to take this diamond off my hands..." He keeps mumbling the phrase to himself as he walks, pelvis first, to a table full of well dressed executives and asks if the fourth seat is taken. Reluctantly, they agree to let him sit down.
Before he says anything to the group he leans back and squeezes the ass of the nearest waitress. She's 40 and past her prime - the kind of girl you'd see during the afternoon shift at the YMCA attempting to regain her better form. She turns around and glares at Diamond.
"I'll have some turtle soup...and make it snappy. WAIT...WAIT....don't run away...OK...I should have known this was no time for jokes. Make it a sugar free mohito."
Estelle still hasn't said a single word. She just looks at him with a combination of despise and pity that Ernie behind the bar has seen a million times before. Guys like Diamond are a dime a dozen in Tampa and they've been snail trailin' through that door since the Carter administration.
Diamond turns back to the table and eyes the gentlemen. They've been sitting there for an hour and everyone knows they're out of place. The younger of the three squares up to Diamond. It's Steve Yzerman.
"What the hell are we doing in this place, Diamond? Holland told me to steer clear of your lying, worthless ass. I can't believe we're negotiating a player contract in this shithole."
"You don't like this joint? Come here all the time."
"I'll make this quick. I'm not in here on a personal call. I'm here to talk about Lilja. I'll give you 10% more than he had last year in Detroit on a 3-year term. We can get him on the ice about 15 minutes a night. I'm not thrilled about having to go this direction, but right now I need a familiar face back there and I'm banking that he picked up at least some serviceable skills having suited up next to Lidstrom the past few years."
"Wowa...wowa...baby, why are you so business-business? Diamond doesn't like to just jam it in there. Let's romance this a bit."
"I'm not here to talk personal you asshat. I want to pen the blueliner and get the hell out of here."
Diamond pauses, glancing over at the two 33 year old girls barside with the wavy hair and orange skin. One of them is looking his way and laughing. He's concerned they figured out he stuffed his pants with a sock to give his unit a better profile in the pantalones. He leans back in his chair, takes a long drag on a skinny menthol. He turns back to the stoic Yzerman.
"Back in Detroit, we were on your turf, Stevie baby. Down here in Tampa...this is Diamond country. We do things a little different around these parts. If you want to deal Diamonds with the Diamond dealer, I suggest you take a deep breath, loosen the tie and settle in. This could take a while..."
(to be continued)
and here I was thinking I couldn't want to punch Lilja's agent any more than I did earlier.
ReplyDeleteI think you've gone mad, sir!
ReplyDelete