Homecourt Advantage (7 page)

Mecca Arena. They’d all seen her act out on numerous occasions. Casey was certain none of them wanted to be bothered and she had to admit to herself, neither did she under the circumstances.

“So … I was wondering if we could maybe use your tickets.”

“I’m not sure if Brent is going to need them yet.”

“I’d only need one, Casey. Diamond could sit on my lap … or yours,” Kelly said as she coyly giggled, completely out of character. “And you know how she loves to be up under you, Casey.”

Yeah, right.
Flattery was obviously Kelly’s tactic for the day.

“I’ll have to check with Brent,” Casey lied. The seats were really hers to do with as she pleased.

“Come on, Casey. Doesn’t he get other tickets? Diamond and me will only need one, right next to you. Please, come on, Casey. For the baby’s sake. I just want her to see her daddy play.”

Casey didn’t know what to do. She knew how resourceful Kelly could be, and she would probably get into the game whether Casey gave her tickets or not. But she’d probably make a scene in the process, while trying to sneak in. At least if Casey let Kelly sit with her, she could monitor her behavior and prevent anything embarrassing for the team from happening. Especially if Kelly came into contact with Stephanie, Steve’s girlfriend.

“Dada. Daddy,” Diamond suddenly said, with a huge smile on her cute face.

“No, Daddy’s not here right now, baby. Maybe you’ll see him tomorrow. Hopefully,” Kelly said, hugging Diamond tightly against her silicone-enhanced, protruding bosom.

Kelly looked at Casey pleadingly with a pathetic expression on her face.

Casey hoped she didn’t regret what she was about to agree to. “I’ll probably be able to get you one ticket, Kelly, but that’s it.”

“Ooohh, thank you, Casey! Thank you so much! Diamond, can you say thank you to Auntie Casey?” Kelly said, beaming at her daughter.

Oh, so free Flyers tickets are the going price for being named an auntie these days?

“I need to get back upstairs, Kelly.” Casey began thinking once again about her guests. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“All right, Casey! Thank you so much, girl. I really appreciate it, and so does Diamond,” Kelly said, jumping up and snatching her Moschino purse over her shoulders. She hitched Diamond up on her hip. “I’ll see you tomorrow, girl. Go, Flyers!”

Casey shook her head in disbelief as Kelly scurried out of her building. She watched as Kelly virtually tossed Diamond into the backseat of the white Mercedes-Benz double-parked in front of her building on Central Park South.

What have I gotten myself into this time?

“Boy, you can’t check me.” Paul, the Flyers’ starting
point guard, taunted his teammate Collin as he dashed past him, making an easy layup.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna be what you sayin’ when Eddie Jones throws up those three-pointers over your short ass.” Collin laughed as he walked off the court toward the bleachers to grab a towel. Even at small forward, Collin was one of the taller guys on the court, standing six feet eight inches. Paul, at five eleven, was considered short, at least in basketball terms. Collin was not a great ball handler like Paul. It wasn’t really required in his position, but he could shoot the ball well and defend even better. Paul was a great defender, too, and he distributed the ball as well as any point guard in the NBA. But a great shooter, Paul was not.

“Hardaway ain’t got nothin’ on me. You had enough ass-whippin’ for one day?” Paul said, running out past the three-point arc and sinking a shot. “Nothing but net, boy!”

“Let me see that when it counts,” Collin said as he wiped the sweat off his face with the soft white cotton towel.

“Skills, baby, nothing but skills. I’ll do that with one second left in the final championship game.”

“The proof is in the pudding—plus we got to make it there first. But I guess we’ll be on our way tonight.” Collin wrapped the towel around his neck and began walking toward the locker room. They were the last two players at practice.

“Oh, so you’ve had enough? You gonna wimp out on me again?” Paul said, throwing the ball directly at Collin.

Collin reflexively caught the brown leather sphere that had been so good to him and began tossing it back and forth between his large hands. He felt slightly torn looking at Paul’s expectant face. They’d only been out on the court for fifteen minutes. Normally they’d play one-on-one for at least an hour after practice, and then go to Zinger-man’s Deli and talk trash or politics, depending on their mood. At least that used to be their routine.

“Man, I’ve got some work to catch up on.”

“You cuttin’ out on me again?” Paul said as he snatched one of the folded towels resting on the courtside cart.

“Yeah, you know, business calls,” Collin lied.

“Sure, man, you just wore out, you know how you old men are.” Paul slapped Collin on the butt as they entered the locker room together.

Collin and Paul headed straight to the shower. Collin felt terrible being dishonest with his friend, but he didn’t know how else to handle his situation. What was he supposed to tell Paul? At this point it was more than Collin’s ego that was hurt by Flyers management. His pride was deeply wounded. He was going to be a free agent at the end of the season, and management had not even approached his agent. He was a three-time All-Star and they had so little respect for him that they were making him play out his contract. Collin used to think he was the man. Management’s nonchalant treatment was a rude awakening.

Collin jumped in the steaming hot shower in a whirl of confusion. The stinging streams of water temporarily cleared his mind. He knewhe couldn’t go on like this forever. Something had to give. There was no telling what was in store for him after the play-offs were over. Truthfully, Collin could be seriously injured playing his ass off during the play-offs and his career would be over. One torn ligament and his basketball days might come to an abrupt end. And Collin still hadn’t gotten that superlarge NBA contract like Paul, Steve, and most of all, Brent.

“Yo! Yo! Collin!” Paul shouted as he slapped Collin with his wet twisted washcloth.

“What’s up, man?” Collin said, snapping out of his reverie.

“You coming to Zingerman’s at least?”

Collin felt the stinging in his chest where the washcloth had just struck. He hesitated before answering.

“Uhh, not today, man.” He was beginning to feel worse. Collin could not help but notice the look of disappointment on Paul’s face. It had been almost a month since Collin accompanied Paul to the deli. He was beginning to run out of excuses.

How could Collin explain to his friend the range of emotions he was feeling? Anger. Confusion. He felt jealousy too. He was feeling resentment that Paul’s life was packaged up so neatly. Everything was settled for him and his wife, Lorraine. Paul was set for life. He had a wife he adored and a strong spiritual base. Things were definitely not so perfect with Collin’s life. Even if he did sign a multimillion-dollar deal, it wouldn’t resolve the other issues.

Collin turned off the shower faucet and slipped past Paul to his locker. As Collin began to dry off, he sensed a presence behind him.

“Is everything okay, Collin?”

Collin feigned laughter as he turned around to face Paul. “Yeah, man, everything’s fine. Just a hectic time for me, ya know? Between Remy’s schedule, the play-offs, my work, free agency … there’s a lot going on,” Collin said, purposefully leaving free agency last as he nonchalantly sprayed on deodorant. Sometimes guys in the league looked at free agents who weren’t signed by their teams as scrubs, or even worse, pitied them.

“Oh yeah. Free agency, it’s a pain, especially since we don’t know what’s happening with the team. I understand, man. I guess your agenthas you in and out of strategic meetings with management,” Paul said, nodding his head.

“Exactly, I’m up to my ears,” Collin lied again.

“Cool, but when you get some real time, I’m regaining my title.” Paul smirked.

Collin laughed as he watched Paul go to his own locker, thinking about Paul “regaining his title.” He and Paul had an ongoing competition of one-on-one, and Collin was ahead of him by two games for the year.

Collin pulled his sweater over his head and sat down on the pine bench next to his locker. Pulling up his faded Levi’s, he knew he was going to have to level with Paul sooner or later. He was tired of lying. Collin needed to confide in a true friend about a lot of things. If he didn’t, he was going to burst keeping everything bottled up inside.

Dawn wrapped herself in a long, fluffy white Calvin
Klein bathrobe and headed toward the bed where her fiancé, Michael, was resting. She had just received the robe that morning amidst boxes of clothing from the vice president of Calvin Klein Underwear. One of the perks of being engaged to a Flyer was that a lot of top designers invited the players and their significant others to their New York offices and sample rooms to sift through the latest collections, allowing them to select all of the clothing they desired.

Dawn realized quickly in the beginning of her relationship with Michael that the more celebrities had, the more people gave them. Of course, she suspected these same generous people would not remember Michael Brown when his playing days were over. She and Michael had taken advantage of the offers just the same. Neither turned down free goods from RocaWear, DKNY, Tommy Hilfiger, Sean Jean, Phat Farm, or Calvin Klein.

Dawn lay down on the bed and cuddled up to Michael. She could have stayed there with him forever. She cherished moments like these when she had Michael all to herself. Sometimes she felt as if there wasn’t enough of him to go around. He had people tugging at him from every direction. She had begun to feel as if even she was demanding too much of his time and attention. Dawn knew that Michael loved her, but he was so focused on winning the Rookie of the Year award, bringing home an NBA championship, and being the official spokesman for every company seeking his endorsement that she felt like an afterthought. She needed an appointment just to see a movie with him, and she was afraid to broach the subject of their wedding date for fear of making him angry. She knew he would only think of an excuse to quiet her for the moment.

Dawn pressed herself closer to him, not wanting him to leave. She wanted to stay spooned together with him all day and night. She moaned softly as he rubbed his hand over her bottom. Dawn knew she had different ideas about the touch than Michael. For him, it was an obligatory caress before he left for the arena. She could sense his nervous energy. He was bucking to get out of bed and head to the Mecca as if he had something to prove to the world.

She wished it could be as it was when they were in college. It had been etched in stone at Stanford that he was already the big man on campus. He had had nothing to prove on the collegiate level anymore. The only thing he’d been interested in proving back then was how he wanted to spend the rest of his life making Dawn happy.

Dawn held tight to Michael’s midsection as he tried to inch his way out of bed. She looked at the clock and knew he did not have to be at the Mecca for game one of the play-offs versus the Philadelphia 76ers for another three hours.

“Where do you think you’re going, Mr. Brown?” Dawn said, forcing a smile in her voice, trying to keep in mind what Casey had said at her apartment yesterday morning.

“I have to watch some extra films before the game.”

“Do you have enough time to roll around in the bed with me before you go?” Dawn said, trying to tickle him.

“Come on, Dawn, relax. You know how important the first roundof the play-offs is. If we can sweep them, we’ll have a few more days of rest and practice than whatever team we’re gonna have to play in the second round,” Michael said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Dawn felt a lump in her throat, but she once again remembered Alexis’s edict via Casey and promised herself she would not pressure him about anything right now. She also reminded herself about the disturbing news Brent had passed on to Michael about the future of the Flyers.

“I understand. I just didn’t know you had to get there so early.”

“Things have been hectic since Brent told all the guys about the team possibly being sold. Some of the fellas are acting like we should be packing our bags for Albany, like the deal is as good as done. It’s making everybody talk and act crazy.”

“I hear Albany is pretty nice in the winter,” she said with a smile.

Michael scrunched up his face as if he were eating a sour grape. “Do you know how much endorsement money I would lose if the Flyers moved to Albany? That would be the worst thing for my career,” Michael spat out.

“That would be the worst thing?” Dawn said, barely able to contain her disgust. “Michael, I know you’ve heard what kind of a man Leonard Hightower is. How about the fact that you’d be working for a racist jerk who would probably fire you if he knew you planned on marrying a white woman,” Dawn said, scarcely believing that Michael only seemed concerned with his image and endorsement money.

Dawn was of Italian-Irish descent, with the violet eyes of Elizabeth Taylor and the cheekbones and full, pouty lips of Sophia Loren. Her thick, honey/blond hair was trimmed to all one length resting on her shoulders. The two of them made a handsome couple, with Michael’s flawless mocha complexion covering his lean yet muscular six-foot-five-inch frame. With his large, expressive brown eyes and killer smile, if basketball didn’t work out for him, then modeling could certainly be an alternative career. But basketball was his game, and Michael was quickly proving to be among the best.

“Don’t get paranoid. Nobody’s thinking about whether or not we get married but you.”

“So I see,” Dawn said, jumping out of bed and hurrying into the bathroom.

Michael quickly followed behind her. “Why does everything have to come back to us getting married?” Michael said, exasperated.

Dawn sat down on the edge of the bathtub and tried to calm herself. She did not want to say something she would regret later, especially on the first night of the play-offs. She never wanted him to walk away angry.