by Regina Hart
Warrick slowed to a walk. He’d give her the time she’d asked for to process these latest events. “I can’t believe Arthur fired you because of the newspaper’s lack of morals.”
“You know, ‘ex-boss’ would sound a lot better if I’d gotten to keep my job and he’d lost his.”
Warrick forced a brief laugh. “You’re right. Are you sure you don’t want me to come home?”
“Positive.” The word came out on a breath. “I’ve never been fired before. I want to be alone right now.”
Warrick wanted to break something. Rip something apart. Pummel the photographer and the newspaper editor and cause them the kind of pain they were causing Marilyn. Why couldn’t he protect his wife?
“Mary, I’m really sorry.”
“So am I.” Marilyn’s voice was choppy with grief.
“I’d tear that newspaper apart, but it would only give the media another excuse to show that damn photograph.” Warrick ran his right hand across his forehead.
“Then we’ll have to come up with another idea.” Her voice was getting stronger as her temper seemed to rise.
“I’ll keep working on it.”
“When will this nightmare end, Rick?” Marilyn’s voice was barely audible.
The sea breeze worked to cool him off as his wife’s words tore him in two.
“I don’t know.” His throat muscles flexed as he made the admission.
Marilyn sighed. “Will it ever?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know that, either.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” She ended the call without waiting for a response. It didn’t matter. Warrick didn’t have a response to give her.
11
Marilyn was home at half past ten on a weekday morning. How strange. She locked the front door, took off her shoes, and wandered into the family room. The numbness was wearing off. The house was silent as though it, too, were in shock. She’d been fired. And regardless of what Arthur had said, she knew for him this day was the culmination of a two-year dream.
Marilyn put away thoughts of Arthur’s vendetta. She had to call Janet Crowley and Dionne Sproles, the clinic partners. As much as she wanted to bury her head in the sand, she had to deal with this—the sooner the better. But what should she say?
Did you see the photo in the Horn of my husband and me making love? What did you think? Marilyn shuddered with nausea.
How many people had seen that photo? Coworkers, patients, neighbors, friends?
She wouldn’t think about that right now. She couldn’t. If she did, she’d never make the phone call.
Marilyn crossed the family room. The polished hardwood floor was cool beneath her stocking feet. Her hand hovered above the black cordless telephone. Hopefully, the clinic partners were more reasonable than Arthur.
What if they weren’t?
Arthur had fired her on the spot. Could this photo also cost her the clinic partnership?
What was she going to tell them?
The truth.
She lifted the handset, took a fortifying breath, and entered Janet’s direct phone number. The senior partner answered on the third ring. “Good morning, Mary.”
Marilyn froze. Caller identification. It eliminated social pleasantries and jump-started conversations. At this moment, she deeply resented the telephone feature. She could have used the icebreaker.
“Hello, Janet.” She resisted the urge to clear her throat and adopted a brisk, businesslike tone. “I assume you saw the photo in today’s New York Horn.”
“Indeed I did.” Janet sounded smugly amused. “It looks like you and your husband are getting back together.”
Marilyn smoothed the hairs on the back of her neck. “We were never apart.”
“That’s not what the papers reported.”
Marilyn heard the thin woman’s superior tone and pictured her condescending expression. She gripped the phone to rein in her temper.
Stay focused; don’t allow the other woman to distract you. “I wanted you to know that our kitchen blinds were closed.”
Janet’s hum slid down the phone line. “I’d wondered what caused the shadows on the top and bottom of the photo. Still, your blinds must not have been closed all the way.” More smug amusement.
Marilyn turned away from the telephone’s base to pace the family room. “They were. The Peeping Tom who took that picture snuck onto our property and pressed his camera lens against our window.”
Janet chuckled. “Still, Mary, no one can blame you for wanting to show off your husband. I’m certain all the women in the tristate area are even more jealous of you now. Well, those who aren’t married to professional athletes themselves, that is.”
Did the clinic’s senior partner really think she would have staged that photo? What kind of person would consider going into business with an exhibitionist? And did she want a business partner who believed her capable of such behavior?
“I’m not an exhibitionist.” Marilyn was inflexible.
Janet laughed again. “I would be.”
The conversation was degenerating. “Listen, Janet. I just wanted you to be aware of how this situation came about. I wanted you to know the truth while you’re considering my application.”
Janet’s pause was unnerving. “Marilyn, you’ll recall that when we last discussed the possibility of your joining the partnership, Dionne and I voiced our reservations with your husband’s lifestyle.”
Marilyn’s grip on the cordless phone tightened. “And I assured you that my husband does not have the kind of lifestyle that would negatively impact the clinic.”
Janet huffed a breath. “Well, the photograph that appears enlarged on the front page of the Horn illustrates otherwise.”
Marilyn’s temper stirred. She wouldn’t allow this attack against her husband. “First of all, that photograph does not appear on the newspaper’s front page. It appears on the front page of the gossip section. And, since I don’t engage in gossip, if someone else hadn’t brought it to my attention, I never would have seen it.”
“Well, I only happened across it myself,” Janet stuttered.
Marilyn ignored Janet’s interruption. “Second, making love with your spouse is not generally viewed as a high-risk or immoral act.”
“Be that as it may, it would be wiser for you and Rick to confine your intimacies to your bedroom.” Janet’s pompous response grated on Marilyn. “I trust your bedroom is on a higher floor and photographers wouldn’t be able to peek into it.”
Marilyn told herself to breath. Giving in to her anger against her prospective business partner wasn’t wise, especially since she was unemployed. “Yes, Janet, our bedroom is on a higher floor. Thanks for your concern.”
Janet must have missed the irony in Marilyn’s words. “You’re still under consideration but so is everyone else. We hope to make a decision within the next few days.”
They’d been saying that for weeks. “Thank you. I hope I’ll be hearing from you shortly. This is an opportunity I would dearly love.”
“We’ll be in touch. Either way.” Janet disconnected the call without waiting for Marilyn’s response.
Marilyn recradled the cordless phone. Janet’s parting comment hadn’t been encouraging. “We’ll be in touch” was the mother of all noncommittal responses. Still she held on to hope that she’d get the partnership with the women’s health clinic. With it, she’d fulfill her goal of being her own boss and—more importantly—having a positive impact on the community. And she could set her own hours. Maybe then she and Warrick could start a family, provided they could ever get out from under the media’s spotlight.
Marilyn turned to leave the family room. The phone rang, stopping her in midstride. Could it be Janet again, calling to discuss the partnership further? Hope was almost painful. Marilyn crossed her left fingers and grabbed the receiver with her right hand. “Hello?”
“What in the hell were you thinking? Your father almost had a heart attack when he saw those pictures of yo
u on the Internet. What were you thinking?” It was hard to understand her mother’s words as she shrieked into the phone, but Marilyn caught the gist of Celeste’s hysterical rant.
She closed her eyes. She’d forgotten her parents had established a Google Alert account to receive notices when she and Warrick were mentioned in the media. A headache blossomed from the center of her forehead like a mushroom cloud.
How often would she have to defend herself? “We were in our own home.” She opened her eyes, glaring at the shadows across the hardwood floor. “Don’t you and Father ever make love outside the bedroom?”
“Watch how you speak to me, young lady.” Celeste Devry’s voice whipped across the phone line. “Your father and I have never had sex in front of an open window.”
“Neither have Rick and I.” Marilyn’s tone was hard with disappointment. Her own parents were casting her and Warrick as the villains. Why couldn’t anyone see they were the victims?
“Come home.”
Marilyn frowned. “What?”
“You heard me. Come home. Now.” Celeste sounded like a drill sergeant directing new recruits. “This has gone far enough. Your father and I have worked too hard and too long to build this family’s reputation as people our community can look up to. Honorable, respectable, philanthropic members of society. In one day, you’ve destroyed all of that. Now there are naked pictures of our daughter taking booty calls on the Internet.”
Marilyn’s thoughts were spinning. “What do you mean photos on the Internet? There was one photo and it was in a newspaper.”
“On the New York Horn’s Web site, there are at least half a dozen pictures of you and Rick in all kinds of poses having sex.” Celeste sounded apoplectic.
“Oh. My. God.” Blood roared in Marilyn’s ears. She couldn’t catch her breath. Was she going to faint? “Mom, I have to call you back.”
“Do not hang up on me.” Celeste chewed the command. “Pack your things and come home. I told you not to marry a basketball player. He’s a professional child. He makes his money playing a game.”
Marilyn’s knees were knocking. She stumbled across the room and tumbled into an armchair. “I did not marry a child.” Her words were sharp and angry despite her chattering teeth. “I married a responsible adult. This isn’t Rick’s fault. It’s not my fault, either.”
“Then whose fault is it?” Celeste spat the question. “Who told you to open your blinds and have sex on your kitchen table?”
Marilyn bent over in her chair, rocking herself. Why was this happening? And why was her mother blaming her?
She held on to her control with sheer desperation. A respectful daughter would not speak to her parent in anger, no matter how many buttons her mother pushed. “You should be yelling at the photographer who violated our privacy and the publisher who gave his approval to post those photos.”
Dear God, were there really photos posted to the Internet of Warrick and her making love? Was Warrick aware of them? Had he seen them? If so, why hadn’t he told her? If not, how was she going to break this news to him? He didn’t need any more distractions. She needed him to win the conference and the finals so they could move on with their lives.
“We should never have allowed you to move away from home.” Some of the steam drained from Celeste’s tone. “As a child, you always needed direction and you obviously haven’t outgrown that.”
Direction? More like commands. She never had the choice or opportunity to think for herself. She’d always planned to go away to college, if only to escape her parents’ control.
“Mom, I’m thirty-three years old. I’ve been making my own decisions for a long time.”
“Look at where it’s gotten you.” Celeste’s temper was stirring again. “Naked photos of you posted to the Internet.”
“I prefer to concentrate on my medical degree.”
“Of course.” Celeste snorted. “That reminds me. I tried the hospital before calling you at home. The system said yours was a nonworking number. Why is that?”
This was a never-ending nightmare. Marilyn pinched the bridge of her nose. “I was fired this morning.”
“Oh, my God. Was it because of the photos?”
Marilyn swallowed a sigh. “Yes, Mom. It was because of the photos.”
Celeste’s building anger communicated itself across the phone lines almost three thousand miles away. “Marilyn, this relationship with Rick is ruining your reputation and destroying your career. You don’t have to stay with him. Come home.”
“Mom, this isn’t just a relationship. This is my marriage.”
“You made a mistake, but you can do something about it.”
Marilyn shook with impatience, outrage, and embarrassment. Was her marriage a mistake? The disloyal whisper snaked across her thoughts. Her mind recoiled from the suggestion. But she’d been successful at the hospital at first. After her marriage, her relationship with Arthur had deteriorated.
You’d still have your job if it weren’t for those photos. The traitorous thoughts continued.
If it weren’t for Warrick’s celebrity, she wouldn’t have photographers creeping onto her property and peeking through her windows.
How do you know when love isn’t enough?
“My marriage isn’t a mistake.” Her voice lacked conviction.
“You married a professional athlete. You were obviously acting out against the strict upbringing your father and I gave you.”
“I was thirty-one when I married Rick. I wasn’t acting out.” Acting out hadn’t influenced her parents when she’d been sixteen.
“Age has nothing to do with it.” Celeste dismissed Marilyn’s argument like sand shifting through her fingers. “Your marrying a ballplayer was a clear message to us.”
“Then maybe you can explain it to me.”
“Don’t be fresh, Marilyn.” Her mother’s disapproval didn’t faze her. “Your choice of husband told us you were rejecting the structure we gave you in favor of a more irresponsible lifestyle.”
Marilyn rubbed her eyes with her thumb and middle finger. “Mother, you have to separate Rick the man from Rick the ballplayer. Those are two different people.”
“We can’t.” Celeste’s tone was firm. “Whatever Rick does ends up in the news and reflects on our entire family. Think about that the next time you want to pretend that your marriage wasn’t a mistake.” On that note, Celeste disconnected the call.
Marilyn slammed the handset back onto its base. How could her mother blame Warrick? He was as much a victim as she was.
But Celeste was right. Warrick’s celebrity had placed her in an untenable position. It had embarrassed her family. It had cost her her job and had hurt her chances of joining the clinic.
The serpent whispered in her ear again, “How do you know when love just isn’t enough?”
A reporter stood in Warrick’s driveway. For Warrick, it didn’t matter whether the other man worked for the Horn, some other print rag, a television station, or the devil. Warrick’s foot itched to floor the accelerator and drive over the little anchor and his camera crew. Instead, he maintained his speed as he directed his black BMW into his driveway, forcing the television crew to leap from his path. It was small satisfaction.
Warrick stopped his car before continuing past his remote control private gate and into his garage. He unfolded himself from his sedan. “You’re on private property. Leave.”
As though he hadn’t made himself clear, the pudgy reporter ignored Warrick’s warning and stuck a microphone in his face. “Rick, what went through your mind when you saw the Horn’s photos of you and Mary?”
Warrick glared at the squat broadcaster. He’d never even seen the man before. What gave the stranger the right to invade Warrick’s privacy? Why did he think he could refer to Marilyn so casually, as though she were a one-night stand and not his wife?
With Herculean effort, Warrick kept his hands at his sides. “No comment.”
The worst thing Warrick could do was get i
nto an exchange with the vipers circling him. Microphones and video cameras were jabbed toward his head. Flashbulbs scorched his vision. He masked his expression, returned to his driver’s seat, and pulled his car into his garage. On how many channels would footage of this media swarm appear?
After parking his car and securing the garage, Warrick let himself in through his back entrance. He controlled his urge to slam the door before setting the main lock, dead bolt, and chain. He crossed his kitchen and walked through his home.
What were his neighbors thinking? They were probably considering buying homes in a quieter area. The media saturation was turning his teammates against him, putting a strain on his marriage, and now possibly alienating his neighbors. The only ones enjoying this circus were the media.
The curtains over the front windows of his brownstone were closed. It was barely two o’clock in the afternoon. Marilyn loved fresh air and natural light. The fact that she’d been forced to change her habit because of the newshounds prowling the sidewalk in front of their home was an additional burden. One more thing to include on his list of transgressions.
“They’ve been here since noon.”
Warrick’s gaze followed the sound of his wife’s voice. She stood in the threshold between the hallway and the family room. Her face was pale, her features drawn. “Are you all right?”
Her chocolate eyes glittered with anger. “They were aiming their cameras toward the house, taking photos and videos through the windows. Why would they do that?”
Because they lacked a sense of decency. Because the more scandalous the photo, the more money they’d make. Because they’d lost all sense of humanity. All of the above.
Warrick ran his right hand over his forehead. “I don’t know.”
Marilyn was still wearing the light gray slacks and pale blue blouse she must have worn to work. But she’d pulled the clip from her hair, which now spilled behind her shoulders in soft dark waves.
