Keeping Score (20 page)

Warrick was treading sensitive ground because of Troy’s romantic relationship with the reporter. “My personal and professional lives are on the line. So are Mary’s. I have a right and very good reasons to ask what’s motivating the people who offer to help me.”

Troy narrowed his gaze. “Andy’s proven she’s a fair reporter. She cares about the truth.”

“You’re right. I apologize.” Warrick turned back to the window. “I’d almost forgotten decent reporters existed.” He heard Troy’s approach.

His friend squeezed his shoulder. “They do. Jordan Hyatt has had her fifteen minutes of fame. But we’ll discredit her.”

Warrick wasn’t as confident. There was too much at stake. “What if Andrea doesn’t find anything?”

“Andy’s persistent. She’ll find something. She knows how important this is to the team. And to me.”

“Thanks.” Warrick took an easier breath.

He remembered well Andrea Benson’s persistence. She’d been dogged in convincing Barron “Bling” Douglas, the team’s captain and starting point guard, to join a rehabilitation center to help recover from his alcohol abuse. Barron had eventually agreed. And Warrick had replaced him in the starting lineup.

Warrick faced Troy. “I hope it’s sooner rather than later.”

“So do I.” Troy glanced at his thick silver wristwatch. “You need to call Mary and I’ve got to get Jackie up to speed. You’re not alone in this, Rick.”

The marketing executive crossed the hotel room and walked out the door. Warrick recalled the scene in the locker room after the previous game, the message his father had left on his answering machine, his wife’s request that he retire from the NBA.

He wasn’t alone? It sure as hell felt that way.

Janet Crowley’s clipped speech came down the telephone line. “Dionne and I have discussed at great length the impact of your joining our Linden Boulevard Women’s Health Clinic.”

Marilyn was certain they had. In fact, if she was a betting woman, she’d lay odds the partners had discussed her application within the past hour. Right about the time the local television station had aired Jordan Hyatt’s press conference. She slid forward on her fat, coffee-colored couch and muted the high-definition television in front of her. She’d heard enough of the broadcaster’s analysis of that woman’s lies.

What would motivate someone to destroy a good man like Warrick Evans? Jordan Hyatt deserved a special place in hell.

Marilyn’s left hand trembled as she held the land line’s receiver to her ear. There wasn’t any background noise on Janet’s end of the call. Did the other woman also have her television on mute? Marilyn didn’t doubt it was still on.

She struggled for a confident tone. “Have you made your final decision?”

“Yes.” Janet spoke without emotion. “We no longer believe you would be a good fit for the clinic. Your negatives far outweigh the benefits.”

She was certain Janet considered her marriage to Warrick a negative. That knowledge burned like acid in her gut. Marilyn closed her eyes. Janet’s decision wasn’t a surprise. But Marilyn had wanted so badly to be a partner with that clinic. The opportunity to be her own boss and set her own hours was very attractive. Even more enticing had been the clinic’s focus on women’s health management, which was her passion.

She swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat. “This is because of Jordan Hyatt’s press conference, isn’t it?”

Janet hesitated. Hadn’t the clinic partner anticipated that question? Or had she expected Marilyn to simply thank her and hang up?

Welcome to my world, where nothing is ever as neat and tidy as you think it should be.

“Dionne and I have expressed to you on more than one occasion our concerns regarding your husband’s lifestyle.” Janet’s tone was stiff and defensive.

“Jordan Hyatt is lying.” Marilyn bit the words as her anger stirred again.

But why was she lying? What did she want? Money? Fame? Warrick?

“I’m sure every wife wants to believe her husband is a saint and that she’s the only woman who could ever hold his interest. But that’s not always the case, is it?” Arrogant amusement laced Janet’s words.

Marilyn’s palm itched to reach into the telephone and slap Janet’s face. It was fortunate for the other woman that they weren’t having this conversation in person.

She surged from her sofa and strode the length of the room. Marilyn tipped aside the oatmeal-hued venetian blind to peek at the sidewalk. There were even more reporters skulking in front of her home this evening than had been there before Warrick left yesterday. If they were waiting for her to say something to them, they could hold their breath—forever.

Marilyn turned from the window. “How many professional athletes do you know, Janet?”

“I don’t mix with that crowd.” The other woman sniffed her disdain.

Marilyn tightened her grip on the receiver. “Then on what are you basing your judgment of my husband?”

Janet sighed. “The lifestyle of star athletes is well documented.”

“All of them?”

“Enough of them.”

Marilyn switched the receiver to her right hand to ease her left fist. The fingers of her left hand tingled as circulation returned. “You and I are very different.”

“I suppose we are.” Janet sounded bored.

“You’re a status conscious, judgmental elitist.” She stopped short of adding “bitch.” How could she ever have entertained the idea of becoming partners with such a pretentious person?

“Excuse me?” Janet’s question was sharp.

“And I’m not.” Marilyn ignored her. “Yet we’re both O-B-G-Y-Ns.”

“I resent that.” The clinic partner’s tone bristled.

Marilyn narrowed her eyes. “And I pity people who judge all athletes by the negative behaviors of some of the extremely few players the media cover.” Marilyn’s voice shook as her temper grew. “Until you know even
one
of them personally, don’t. Judge. Any.”

Janet’s intake of breath was long and deep. “I don’t see a call for your hostility.”

Marilyn’s words rolled right over the clinic partner’s response. “I didn’t meet my husband at a club, Janet. He doesn’t frequent casinos or bars or strip joints. Do I seem like the kind of person who would marry someone like that?”

Janet stuttered. “Who knows what a woman would do for a man like that once he got his hands on her?”

Marilyn’s words came to a stop. She frowned. “Do you think he’s sexually enslaved me?” Intriguing.

“How would I know? However, the photo of the two of you in the paper was fairly provocative.” The other woman sounded almost jealous.

Marilyn braced her left fist on her hip, brushing the soft cotton material of her pleated brown shorts. “Rick would rather spend a quiet evening at home with me than a night on the town with the fellas. Do you think you’ll ever see that on TV? Neither do I.”

She exhaled. Where had this rant come from? It had been building for weeks, possibly months. She felt lighter and freer now that she’d gotten those words off her chest. Her thoughts were clearer. Maybe she should thank Janet.

Maybe not.

Her cell phone rang from across the room. Marilyn hurried to the end table.
Please let it be Warrick.

Emma’s text message read, “I saw the news! Are you all right? Want me to come over?”

Marilyn responded with one word, “Yes!” She dropped her cell phone into the front pocket of her shorts.

Janet cleared her throat. “Be that as it may, Warrick still has an undesirable image. His behavior reflects on you as his wife. Your husband’s behavior would also reflect on Dionne and me as your partners. Neither of us believe that image is well suited to the clinic.”

Marilyn’s attention shifted to the television screen. The station finally had moved on to something other than the Jordan Hyatt fairy tale.

She took the universal remote from the black marble coffee table and turned off the TV. “I know the real man. If you’d rather believe the media than trust my judgment, then you’re right to forgo our partnership.”

“Or perhaps you’re misguided.” Janet’s tone was cool.

“I’m not.” Marilyn’s voice was cold. “Besides, this media frenzy will disappear once the season’s over.”

“I guess we’ll see Monday morning.” Janet seemed dubious.

Marilyn scowled. The Monarchs’ season wouldn’t end Monday. The team would win the Eastern Conference title as well as the NBA finals. It was what Warrick wanted, and he wouldn’t let anything stand in his way.

She crossed the family room back to the telephone base on the ebony marble corner table. Marilyn squared her shoulders beneath her green T-shirt and the near crushing disappointment of not getting the clinic partnership. “Thank you for calling me with your decision, Janet. I appreciate the courtesy. I hope you and Dionne will be very successful with the clinic.”

“Marilyn, when you’ve had enough of your husband’s antics, give us a call.” Although Janet’s words were calm and confident, they didn’t mask her urgency. “Dionne and I are interested in everything else you would bring to the partnership.”

Everything else
meaning her parents? Marilyn’s disgust was self-directed. She’d wanted the clinic partnership. Unfortunately, her desperation had blinded her to how high a price the other women had required. It sickened her how close she’d come to paying it.

“I can’t believe I let someone like you try to tell me my husband isn’t worth keeping.” Could she ever forgive herself? “He’s a better person than you could ever dream of being. I wouldn’t trade him for your partnership even if your clinic was the only game in town.” It took all of her control not to slam the receiver onto the telephone base.

Marilyn left the family room to get a glass of ice water from the kitchen. Her thoughts were scattered. Her muscles were shaking with reaction.

How could she have been so blind—and desperate?—to have ever considered a partnership with Janet Crowley? She may not have been certain where her marriage was heading—the overwhelming media attention was still a concern—but she knew her career path could never lead her into business with the affected parasite.

Her cell phone chimed in her front shorts pocket, startling her from her thoughts. Marilyn retrieved the device. The cellular display identified Warrick as the caller. She selected the answer option with fumbling fingers. “How are you?”

Warrick’s mind went blank. He hadn’t expected that greeting from Marilyn. But he should have. She’d asked the same question when the
Horn
had published the photo of them in their kitchen. “I’ve been better.”

“So have I.” Some of the tension had drained from her voice.

“Mary, I don’t know Jordan Hyatt.” Warrick enunciated each word. “I’ve never met her and I’m certainly not having an affair with her. I’d never, ever be unfaithful to you.”

“You don’t need to convince me of something I already know.”

Warrick exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Thank God she still trusted him. He sank into the cushioned chair beside the writing table. “I wanted you to hear me say the words.”

“Why did she call a press conference to tell the greater New York City metropolitan area that she’s pregnant with your child?” Marilyn’s words tumbled over each other.

“I don’t know.” He didn’t understand why the media was trying so hard to destroy his marriage, either. Were they that desperate for sales? Or had he somehow offended every publisher in the city?

“Are you
sure
that you’ve never met her?”

“I’m positive.” Warrick stared into the middle distance of the view outside his window. Where was Marilyn? The kitchen? The family room? Wherever she was, he wished he could be with her right now.

“Maybe you signed an autograph for her or she attended one of the team’s fund-raisers.” Her voice was strained and breathless.

Warrick sorted through remembered encounters with Monarchs fans. “Most of the people who approach me are kids. There are a few grown men and women who ... don’t dress like her.”

“I can imagine.” Marilyn’s tone was dry. “What are we going to do?”

Outside his hotel room, Warrick heard other guests walking the halls, talking and laughing. They didn’t seem to have a care in the world. He had to believe this media-manufactured drama would end soon.

Warrick rose to pace. “Troy said Andrea Benson is researching Jordan Hyatt’s background to find out what or who put her up to this.”

“Andrea Benson? Isn’t she a reporter?” There was reservation in Marilyn’s response.

“We can trust her. She won’t write a salacious piece about us.”

“The articles she’s written about you in the past seemed fair. But I don’t want any more stories about us in the newspapers—or on the television or the radio. I’ve had enough.”

So had he. “I can’t ignore Jordan Hyatt’s lies.”

“Then sue her for slander. I’m done with the media. Let’s take her to court.”

In the background, Warrick identified the sound of ice collecting in a glass. Marilyn was in the kitchen pouring ice water. Not a good sign.

“Think about that, Mary.” He dragged a hand over his head. “A lawsuit brought by a married professional athlete against a woman who is not his wife yet claimed to be pregnant with his child would generate a lot of media coverage.”

The sound of the faucet running carried to his cell phone. Glass hit the tiled counter with unnecessary roughness.

“You have a point.” She didn’t seem happy about it. “But if we can’t avoid the media, we should at least control the message.”

She reminded him of Troy. “What do you mean?”

“If Jordan Hyatt can call a press conference, so can you.”

14

Warrick’s stomach turned at the thought of discussing his personal life in front of a camera. “A press conference would keep the media coverage focused on her lies. It would be my word against hers. I need to know why she’s trying to discredit me.”

“And while we’re keeping silent, the media and that woman will shred your reputation. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Yes.” More than he thought possible. “But there’s nothing I can do about that right now. We need to wait until Andrea gets information about Jordan Hyatt’s background.”