by Regina Hart
At least he’d seemed better last night. He’d been gone before Marilyn had risen that morning.
She stirred her lunch. Her stomach growled, expressing its disapproval of her eating so late. Despite the unconventional lunch hour, the cafeteria was crowded with other hospital staff, medical professionals, and administrators who hadn’t been able to break away before two P.M.
Emma swallowed a forkful of her lasagna. “I heard some of the patients talking about his bad game this morning.”
Marilyn gave the other woman a sharp look. “Did they say anything about the other twelve players on the team?”
“Don’t get defensive.”
Marilyn scowled. “He’s my husband. Why shouldn’t I be defensive?”
Emma pursed her lips. “All they’re saying is that he’s not playing up to his potential.”
“The media wouldn’t be stalking us if he wasn’t one of the best players in the league.” Marilyn twirled her spaghetti around her fork. “That’s the problem. If he was the horrible player these so-called fans seem to think he is, we’d have more privacy.”
Emma swallowed a sip of her diet soda. “Have you talked about this with Rick?”
Marilyn suppressed a frustrated sigh. “I have and he understands, but there’s nothing he can do about it.”
Emma sliced into her lasagna. “Maybe he can get another job.”
Marilyn spun spaghetti onto her fork. “That’s easier said than done, Em.”
“All that you’re asking is for him to get a job that’s not as much in the public eye.” Emma ate more lasagna. “Did you tell him what the clinic partners said?”
“I won’t ask him to change his career to satisfy people he doesn’t even know.” She’d been starving a minute ago; now Marilyn’s appetite was almost gone.
Emma gestured toward Marilyn with her plastic fork. “How about changing his career to satisfy you?”
“I knew what he did for a living before I married him.” Maybe they should change the subject. But she didn’t have anyone else to talk with about this and she really needed a sounding board.
Emma sipped her soda, then lowered the can. “Have you heard from the partners yet?”
Marilyn made herself chew, then swallow the spaghetti. “I don’t know what to make of their silence.” But every time she thought about the partnership, her stomach muscles knotted.
Emma narrowed her eyes. “And if they do call you, who will you be, the Devrys’ daughter or Rick Evans’s wife?”
“I’m going to be Dr. Marilyn Devry-Evans.” Marilyn wasn’t reliving this argument. “I’ve told them I’m not bringing my parents into this partnership. Rick isn’t a part of this, either.”
“But the partners are concerned about what his image will do to their practice.” Emma fed herself another forkful of lasagna.
Marilyn took a long drink from her bottle of water. The ice-cold liquid soothed her. “What would you do if you were me?”
Emma straightened in the bright orange hard-plastic chair. “I’d realize that I had to make a choice between my job and my husband.”
Marilyn’s breath lodged in her throat. “Why?”
Emma made a face, part surprise, part impatience. She counted her fingers. “The partners told you they’re concerned about Rick’s image. Your boss warned you that he doesn’t want the media disrupting the hospital. Your patients are turning against you because your husband has lost his basketball magic.” Her friend spread her hands. “It’s obvious that if you want to get back to a normal life, you’re going to have to leave Rick.”
There was a buzzing in Marilyn’s ears. “You think I should sacrifice my marriage for my career?”
“It’s not just your career. He’s turned your whole life upside down.”
“But what you’re proposing would turn my life upside down again.”
Emma’s regard was steady. “It would be different if you were happy in the relationship, but you’re not. I warned you not to marry him.”
Her friend’s condemnation stung. Marilyn took a moment to pull her thoughts together. “Every relationship goes through a difficult period. No marriage is perfect one hundred percent of the time.”
“But you said yourself that, even though you may love Rick, you don’t think you can live with him.”
It hurt to have those words repeated back to her. “I’m hoping that Rick and I can work things out.”
“What if you can’t?”
She didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to consider that she couldn’t have a happily-ever-after with Warrick.
“Lena, you’re appointment isn’t until next week. How are you?” Marilyn pulled the door to the examination room closed behind her later that afternoon.
Lena Alvarez, her pregnant patient who was close to her final trimester, sat fully clothed on the examination table. Her café au lait skin glowed in the ruby red, scoop-necked cotton dress. She’d propped her overburdened silver purse beside her. “Not so good, Doc.”
Marilyn’s heart thumped once with concern. She crossed to stand in front of her patient. She took Lena’s wrist and checked her pulse. “Are you in discomfort?” She counted the seconds on her silver Rolex.
Lena gently slipped her wrist from Marilyn’s grasp. “Only my heart.”
Marilyn lifted her gaze to Lena’s. “What?” She sensed the other woman was nervous but not in distress.
Lena rested her hands on her stomach. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and my baby since my last doctor retired. I do. But I’m going to have to find another doctor. I wanted to tell you in person.”
Marilyn glanced at Lena’s stomach, rounded in her sixth month of pregnancy. “Why?”
Lena squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “I don’t want my baby delivered by a doctor who doesn’t support the Monarchs.”
Marilyn’s lips parted in shock. Her eyes stretched wide. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t want—”
“Lena, your reason doesn’t make sense. What do the Monarchs have to do with your pregnancy?”
Lena’s rounded cheeks flushed. She poked Marilyn in the chest with her right index finger. “You see? You don’t care about the Monarchs. If you did, you wouldn’t have to ask that question.”
Marilyn’s eyebrows crinkled with confusion. Were Lena’s hormones triggering her irrational behavior? “Of course I care about the Monarchs. My husband works for them.”
Lena rubbed her stomach. “Then why are you putting the team—putting your husband—through this?”
“Through what?” This must be some sort of dream, some sort of nightmare. She’d walked into a parallel dimension. Marilyn stepped back and lowered herself into the examination room’s chair.
Lena wiggled into a more comfortable position on the table. Her tone was just short of strident. “Can’t you see what the tension is doing to him? What it’s doing to the team?”
Marilyn studied the petite woman. Lena was passionate in her defense of the Monarchs. She honestly believed Marilyn was hurting the team. Medical schools didn’t prepare their students for sports fanatics. At least her medical school hadn’t. How should she approach this situation?
Marilyn drew a steadying breath, catching the hint of antiseptic beneath the vanilla-scented room freshener. She crossed her legs and folded her hands. “Lena, what do the Monarchs have to do with my ability to safely deliver your baby?”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with you.” Lena scowled. “It has to do with me and the fact that I don’t want the first person who touches my child to be the person responsible for the Monarchs losing the championship. My husband agrees with me.”
Oh, my word. If Lena and her husband could, they’d arrange for their baby to enter this world fully dressed in a Monarchs’ home uniform, complete with sweatband, mouth guard, and Air Jordans.
Marilyn was the last sane person in this room. She had to pull herself together. The health of her patient depended on it. “Le
na, you’re entering your final trimester. This isn’t a good time to change obstetricians.”
Lena’s expression became mulish. “This isn’t my first pregnancy. I have three children. I know how it’s done. If need be, I’ll deliver the baby myself.”
The other woman would do just that. And her husband—another Monarchs fanatic—would help her, making his hands the first to touch the next generation of Brooklyn Monarchs lunatics.
Heaven help us all. Marilyn clenched her jaw to keep it from dropping open. She studied the expectant mother’s stubborn chin, tight lips, and determined eyes. “I don’t like to talk about my personal life with my patients.”
“We’ve had this conversation before. You know the date of my last period, but your life is this big secret.” Lena raised her hands and wiggled her fingers.
Marilyn ignored Lena’s interruption. “Rick and I are going through a difficult time right now. But we’re trying to work things out.”
“No, you’re not.”
Marilyn’s head jerked back at Lena’s forceful denial. “Excuse me?”
“Why are you always asking to be excused? It’s not me you should be asking. It’s poor Rick.”
Marilyn’s head began to hurt. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re getting a divorce.”
Shock made Marilyn’s facial muscles lax. “No, we’re not. Where did you get that idea?”
Lena gave her a skeptical look. “The papers say you’re getting a divorce.” She reached into her crowded purse and pulled out a folded newspaper section.
Marilyn took the gossip section Lena offered and stared at the item on the top. According to the Horn, an anonymous source claimed Mrs. Evans had filed for a divorce from Brooklyn Monarchs shooting guard and twelve-year NBA veteran Warrick Evans. They’d referred to her as missus instead of doctor. They couldn’t even get that right.
“I don’t want my baby delivered by someone who would break poor Rick’s heart.” Lena sounded serious.
The words in the newspaper’s announcement wavered in and out of focus. The sheet went black, then white. An anonymous source? Really? From where had the newspaper gotten these lies and why did it print them?
“This. Isn’t. True.” Her words were thick and rough as she pushed them through her rapidly compressing vocal chords.
“Why would the newspapers lie?”
“To increase sales.” Marilyn handed back the paper. Her muscles were stiff. Her temper was straining. “It’s my marriage. I would know whether I’ve filed for divorce—and I haven’t.”
Lena stared at the folded publication. Her certainty seemed to be wavering. Marilyn no longer cared. Nothing she said would change the other woman’s mind.
She stood. “There are several O-B-G-Y-Ns on staff at this hospital. They’re all excellent. I can recommend with confidence any one of them.”
Lena looked from the gossip section to Marilyn and back. She stuffed the paper back into her purse and struggled to stand. “All right.”
Marilyn assisted Lena to her feet. “I’d be happy to meet with your new doctor to ensure your continuity of care.”
Lena frowned her confusion. She settled her purse on her left shoulder. “What?”
Marilyn forced her neck and shoulders to relax. “I’ll tell your new doctor whatever she or he needs to know to keep you healthy and ensure you deliver another strong baby.”
Lena rubbed her hands over her pregnant belly. Her troubled brown eyes met Marilyn’s. “Thank you.”
Marilyn forced a smile. “You’re welcome.” She needed to get away. She wanted to be by herself. She reached around Lena to open the door.
Lena caught Marilyn’s forearm. “I’m sorry, Doc. I do like you, but ...”
Marilyn waited a beat after Lena’s hesitation. “But you love the Monarchs more.” Lena nodded miserably. Marilyn pulled the door open. “I understand.” No, she really didn’t.
She stood back and watched Lena leave the examination room. The expectant mother of three wasn’t her only patient who also was a Brooklyn Monarchs fan. How many more patients would believe she was divorcing a beloved member of their treasured team? What did this mean for her practice at the hospital or potential partnership with the clinic?
8
Arthur Posey looked even more uptight than usual in his smoke gray pinstripe suit. The hospital administrator hovered near the break room table Marilyn usually used as her workstation. Marilyn had watched enough vampire movies to know better than to invite him closer. She wouldn’t ask what he wanted, either. She returned his stare in silence. Arthur could say whatever he had to say—or not—without her prompting.
The administrator sighed. “I understand one of your patients has left your care.”
“That’s right. Lena Alvarez.” Every muscle in her body tensed. Why was Arthur here?
He clasped his hands in front of him. It was a pose that wouldn’t encourage creases in his perfectly pressed suit. “It took some effort to convince her to stay with the hospital under the care of another physician.”
Marilyn’s mind raced to stay ahead of him. “It couldn’t have taken that much effort, Arthur. She told me she would make an appointment with one of the doctors I recommended before she left today.”
Why was he pretending he’d been the one to change Lena’s mind?
Arthur’s eyes widened, a barely perceptible indication of surprise. “Still, Kings County Medical Samaritan is not in the habit of sending our patients to other hospitals.”
“I know.” She gave him a patient look, which took all of her amateur acting skills to pull off.
“I told you this would happen.” Arthur drew closer without her invitation.
“That what would happen?”
He stood beside her chair, crowding Marilyn. “You’re disrupting this hospital.”
She frowned, confused. “Lena’s devotion to the Monarchs clouded her judgment about her care.”
“Your husband’s connection with the Monarchs is costing us patients.”
Had Arthur lost his mind? “No, it’s not.”
“You’re alienating patients and losing credibility as a physician among your peers.”
“And my supervisors?” Marilyn stared him down.
Arthur’s lips thinned. “You’re trying to live in two worlds.”
Marilyn arched a brow. “How did you draw that conclusion ?”
Arthur looked down his nose at her. “You’re trying to be a celebrity and a doctor. You’re either one or the other. You can’t be both. Not at this hospital.”
Marilyn was losing the battle with her patience. She pushed herself up from her chair, forcing Arthur to take a step back. “Ah, yes. I’m sure lab coats are all the rage among Brooklyn celebrities.” She glanced down at her clothing. “And I’m just dripping with pearls, diamonds, and rubies, aren’t I? Do you like my tiara?”
Arthur looked as though he’d just sucked a lemon. “It’s not the clothes you wear. It’s your attitude. You think you’re special, that everyone should pay homage to you because you’re married to an NBA player and the two of you have almost as much money as God.”
This from an administrator who expected hospital staff to kiss his ring. Marilyn’s face and neck burned. “Don’t pretend to know anything about me or my lifestyle.”
“It’s more than Lena’s leaving. You have reporters congregating in the parking lot. Patients complain about the newspaper stories about you. Other patients are leaving the hospital.”
Marilyn had been angry before. She was incensed now. She released a slow breath. “Every statement you’ve made has been an exaggeration. Tell me, Arthur, what’s really bothering you?”
He remained silent.
Marilyn prodded him. “Is it envy? Do you wish the media were harassing you? Perhaps you’re bitter. Weren’t you ever picked for a team at school? Or is it more materialistic? All of the above?”
Arthur sneered. “Rick Evans is a basketball player.”
Marilyn shrugged with forced nonchalance. “You’re a paper pusher.”
Arthur unfolded his hands and clenched his fists. “I’m a hospital administrator.”
“That’s what I said.”
He glowered at her a moment longer, then smoothed his wine red tie. “I’m giving you one final warning. You’ve already received one for causing a major disruption at this hospital.”
“That reporter’s presence wasn’t a major disruption.” Marilyn felt as though she were speaking through cut glass to a stone wall.
“Are you contradicting me?”
“Yes, I am.”
Arthur held his hand up like a traffic cop when Marilyn tried to continue. “I’m not finished.” He lowered his hand. “If you bring even one more disruption to this hospital, I will terminate your hospital privileges so fast your head will spin.”
Marilyn narrowed her eyes. “Are you threatening me, Arthur?”
“That’s not a threat. It’s a promise. Our mission is to save lives. Your lifestyle is impeding our mission. I won’t allow that to continue.”
“My personal life has nothing to do with my work at this hospital.” Marilyn enunciated each word. “Judge me on my patient care, not your personal prejudices.”
Arthur gave her one last, long glare. “You’ve been warned. But don’t worry. Your husband makes good money. You won’t starve.”
Marilyn returned his stare. “Am I supposed to sit on my sofa with my eight additional years of education and training?”
“Go to your husband’s games. Attend charity balls.” He arched a brow. “Isn’t that what your crowd is supposed to do? Be seen at fashion shows and theater openings?”
“It sounds as though you want to do that.”
Arthur turned to walk away. “Pity I’m not a ballplayer.”
Marilyn watched him leave. She’d suspected jealousy was the motivation behind his behavior. How did she convince him she wasn’t playing at being a doctor? She couldn’t lose her job, especially if she were about to lose her marriage.
Marilyn cast her gaze over the other three women sharing the table with her in the quaint Italian restaurant Wednesday night. She had nothing in common with them, except they were all either married or engaged to a Brooklyn Monarchs player.
