by Regina Hart
“We were still friends, Em.” Why couldn’t the other woman have seen that?
“I know. I was childish.” Emma shrugged. “And I didn’t want to share you. I also was jealous of the fact that you’d won again.”
Marilyn frowned. “Won what?”
“The happily-ever-after before I did.”
“I hadn’t realized that we were in competition.”
“I know. But in my mind, we were.”
“Since when?”
“Since college.”
How was it possible that she hadn’t noticed Emma’s competitiveness before? Maybe she hadn’t wanted to see it.
“That’s ridiculous.” Marilyn crossed her arms.
“I know.” Her friend hesitated. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think of us as being in competition anymore. I need to compete based on my own talents and stop comparing myself to you.”
Relief eased the tension in Marilyn’s neck and shoulders. “I’m glad you finally realized that. I’m not interested in being anyone’s role model, Em. We each have to develop our own strengths and not compare ourselves to other people.”
Emma gave her a steady stare. “You were comparing yourself to someone who didn’t even exist.”
Marilyn frowned her confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“You were trying to be the perfect Devry offspring by becoming a partner in a high-profile clinic.”
Marilyn shrugged off her disappointment. “Yes, well, that didn’t work.”
“And the perfect Mrs. Warrick Evans to silence the gossip columnists.”
She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “No matter what Rick or I do, the gossips won’t be silenced.”
Emma shook her head. “No one’s perfect, Mary. The point is your patients and colleagues admire you. And as far as Rick’s concerned, you’re perfect just the way you are. I’m going to stop competing against you. But you should stop competing against nonexistent standards of perfection.”
Was that what she’d been doing? Unconsciously setting herself to fail by establishing unattainable standards? Why had she done that? “Thanks for the advice.”
“I’d better get back to work.” Emma stood. “I know it will take a while for me to earn back your trust. But I will. Maybe in time, we could think about opening a practice together. You could take care of expectant mothers and I could care for their kids.”
“Maybe.” Marilyn watched Emma return to her rounds. The idea of opening a practice together held appeal. A month ago, she would have rushed into the partnership with Emma. But now, their friendship needed time to heal—if it ever could.
“Are you sure you’re comfortable taking questions?” There was concern in Troy Marshall’s voice as well as in his ebony eyes.
From the back of the room, Marilyn scanned the crowd of broadcast and print media representatives gathered in the Empire Arena’s conference room Friday morning. The younger reporters seemed eager. The veterans tracked her movements as though she was chum in the water and they were planning their attack.
She pulled her attention back to the anxious expressions of the trio surrounding her, Troy, Jaclyn Jones, and Andrea Benson. She’d resented these three people at the start of the Monarchs’ postseason run. Now as she stood in the rear of the conference room with them, she was grateful beyond words to count them among her strongest supporters.
She glanced at the single sheet of talking points gripped in her right hand before offering Troy a weak smile. “I don’t want to, but I think taking questions would make the press conference a stronger presentation. What do you think?”
Troy looked grim. “If you’re nervous, they’ll tear you apart.”
She hadn’t expected such candor.
Andrea gasped. “Troy.”
Jaclyn shook her head at her media executive, then administered a bolstering pat to Marilyn’s shoulder. “Think positive. The Monarchs had a convincing win over the Nuggets during their second home game of the series Wednesday night. They’re on a roll. That means these vultures can’t pick at you for any recent losses.”
“And Troy and Jackie will be right behind you at the podium.” Andrea offered a bright smile. “If you get a question you can’t answer, one of them will bail you out.”
“That’s right.” Troy searched her features. He probably expected to have to bail her out fairly quickly.
“Thank you again for arranging this press conference.” Marilyn smoothed the jacket of her caramel suit. She glanced at her talking points again.
Jaclyn nodded. “The media have been hard on you and Rick. The message you’re going to deliver won’t stop them, but it will put them on notice. And you’re the best person to deliver it.”
Troy glanced at his watch. “Are you ready?”
Marilyn raised her gaze toward the podium. It seemed a great distance away. First the radio call-in program and now the media conference. She locked her knees as they began to shake. “Yes, I’m ready.”
Troy stepped to the side, putting himself between her and the restless press corps. His broad shoulders blocked most of the camera flashes that tried to blind her even before the conference began.
Andrea stayed behind as Jaclyn and Troy escorted Marilyn to the front of the room. The trip seemed to take forever. Marilyn and Jaclyn stepped back as Troy took the microphone first.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today. As we mentioned in the announcement, Dr. Marilyn Devry-Evans, wife of Monarchs’ shooting guard Warrick Evans, will address the media stories about her and her husband. Dr. Devry-Evans.” Troy stepped aside and gestured Marilyn toward the podium.
Marilyn squared her shoulders and strode forward. She scanned the room while Troy adjusted the microphone for her shorter stature. The Monarchs Wives Club was seated toward the back of the crowd. Peggy gave her a Mona Lisa smile. Susan waved with enthusiasm and Faye gave her two thumbs up. Their encouragement helped Marilyn breathe more easily.
She laid her talking points beside the mic and gripped the sides of the podium until her knuckles showed white. “Good morning and thank you for coming.” Her voice shook. She cleared her throat as though that would help. It didn’t. “This morning, you received a statement from Jordan Hyatt recanting her claim that she’s had an affair with my husband and that she’s pregnant with his child. She’s finally admitted what people who actually know my husband already realized.” Marilyn lifted her gaze and stared at the crowd and their cameras. “My husband is a man of great integrity.”
She returned her attention to her notes. “Much has been written—and photographed—about my marriage this postseason.”
Inappropriate giggles from the crowd pricked her temper. Marilyn let her anger strengthen her voice. “I hadn’t realized that by virtue of his profession, every aspect of Rick’s personal life was considered fair game to be exposed, dissected, and criticized by the public. However, no matter how you attacked him, he rose above your words and actions, and kept on winning. You claimed he didn’t have a champion’s mental strength. Yet he kept winning. You chased the lies of a stranger, allowing her to brand him an adulterer. He kept on winning. You turned his teammates against him. And he just kept on winning.”
Marilyn blinked back her tears and set aside her notes. “I never realized the value of what I had until I almost lost it. Rick wouldn’t allow the media to come between us. But I did. Because of the negative publicity and public criticism, I almost gave up on my marriage. But I’ve decided not to allow the worst thing in my life, the media attention, to cost me the best thing that could ever happen to me, my marriage. I admire Rick Evans. I’m proud of him. And those are just two of the reasons I love him.”
She took a breath and looked out over the crowd. “Are there any questions?”
A tall, heavyset man with short graying hair rose from his seat in the middle of the room. “You’re blaming the media, but isn’t your failed marriage your fault? Rumor has it you threw Rick Evans out after Jordan Hyatt
revealed he has a tattoo.”
Marilyn tightened her grip on the podium. “First, my marriage hasn’t failed. And second, I’m taking responsibility for the problems in my marriage. What I’m saying is that I won’t allow the media spotlight to cause a strain between Rick and me ever again. In fact, next season, when my husband helps lead the Monarchs to another NBA Championship title, you can turn your spotlight on us again. Just keep your cameras away from our windows.”
Applause from Jaclyn and Troy behind her joined with cheers from the Monarchs Wives Club in front of her. Marilyn almost shouted herself.
“Are there any other questions?” She extended the invitation against her better judgment.
Toward the front of the room, a small woman in a gray pantsuit accepted her offer. “During the LaMarr Green Show, you indicated there was a specific reason Rick Evans chose to get a tattoo. What is that reason?”
Marilyn smiled. “I’m not going to discuss my husband’s tattoo. Ever.”
She glanced over her shoulder toward Troy. Marilyn smothered a sigh of relief when he came forward to rescue her.
He must have sensed she wouldn’t be able to release her grip on the podium. Instead, he raised the microphone toward his mouth.
“That’s it, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you again for your time.” Troy turned off the microphone. With a gentle tug on her right elbow, he drew her from the podium.
“I’m shaking.” Marilyn’s voice trembled.
Jaclyn gave her a hug. “Nervous reaction. You were great.” She stepped back as Andrea, Peggy, Faye, and Susan joined them.
“Girl, you were wonderful.” Susan gave her a hard squeeze before releasing her.
Andrea nodded. “I was impressed. I’m sure the other reporters were, too.”
Faye grinned. “Way to go, predicting back-to-back championships.”
Peggy rubbed Marilyn’s arm. “You made us proud.”
“Shit, you represented.” Faye turned wide horrified eyes toward Jaclyn. “Excuse my mouth.”
Jaclyn laughed. “We’re in the NBA. I’ve heard worse.” She turned to Marilyn. “Congratulations again. I have some things to wrap up before tonight’s flight out. I’ll see you all in Denver Saturday?”
A chorus of agreements followed Jaclyn from the room.
Marilyn turned to the other women. “What’s next?”
Peggy took Marilyn’s arm as Troy escorted them through the conference room’s rear exit. “Now, we’re going shopping.”
24
Julian chuckled. “I hope you can make good on the back-to-back championships Mary just promised.”
Warrick stared blankly at the large, high-definition television in Julian’s living room. The local channel had just aired Marilyn’s press conference in its entirety. His thoughts were jumbled, spinning like a top across his mind. His media-averse wife had called a press conference to tell the country she loved him.
He asked the first coherent question he could pull together. “Did you know she was going to do that?”
Julian aimed the remote control at the TV to turn it off. “Jackie called earlier. But I don’t think Mary knew we were watching.”
Warrick freed his attention from the now dark television and turned to his host. “Why not?”
“It’s obvious. If she’d known you were watching, she would have said ‘I love you, Rick.’ Instead of ‘I love him.’” Julian set the remote on the white-veined ebony corner table. “Besides, Jackie asked me to try to get you to watch the press conference. She didn’t say anything about Mary.”
Warrick was still dazed. Marilyn had gone on television to defend him to the media and the public.
Julian continued. “Jordan Hyatt’s statement came out right before the press conference. For Mary to include it in her notes means she knew about it in advance.”
“How could she?” And why hadn’t she called me to talk about it?
Warrick rose and crossed the room, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened.
“Maybe she’s the one who convinced Jordan Hyatt to tell the truth.” Julian’s words followed him.
If that were true, Marilyn had gone to a lot of effort to restore his reputation.
Warrick stared out the window at the late afternoon. The trees in front of Julian’s home and across his street cast shadows on the sidewalks. “She challenged the press to keep their spotlight on us.” Did that mean she was ready for forever with him?
Behind him, Julian shifted on the sofa. “Yes, well, that might not have been a good idea.”
Warrick drew a hand over his scalp. “When the media first started invading our privacy, Mary wanted me to retire. She thought if I didn’t play basketball anymore, the press would leave us alone.”
“It doesn’t sound as though she wants you to retire now. It seems like she wants you to win the title next season as well.”
“Why?”
“Because she loves you and she knows it’s what you want.”
“What if I don’t win? What if I disappoint her?”
“You heard her press conference, Rick. You can’t disappoint her. The only person you could disappoint is you.”
“Maybe.” Warrick returned to the armchair. “I feel as though everyone expects me to fail—the press ... the public ... my parents.”
“You’ve already won, son.” Julian’s words were earnest. “You’ve been through the fire, but you didn’t let it consume you. Instead it made you stronger. There are a lot of people who admire you for that, including me.”
Warrick pressed back into the chair. “But what would this season—my career—mean without a ring? Nothing.”
Julian shifted on the sofa to face him. “Rick, with or without a ring, you’re going down in history as one of the greatest Monarchs ever. And ring or no ring, Mary will always love you.”
Warrick saw the conviction of those words in the other man’s eyes. He hoped Julian was right.
Marilyn entered her home, then locked her front door Friday evening. She was completely worn out from four hours of shopping with the other Monarchs wives. She hadn’t even been able to keep up with the very pregnant Peggy. Beneath her Mona Lisa smile, that woman was a live wire.
As she crossed the entryway, Marilyn frowned at the large shoe box balanced in her arms. She still wasn’t certain about that purchase. Regardless of what Peggy, Faye, and Susan said, nothing good could come of it.
The phone rang. Marilyn detoured into the family room. She dropped her bags and the shoe box beside the sofa before answering the call. “Hello?”
“Good evening, Marilyn. It’s Arthur Posey. You’ve had three days to consider the board’s offer. Have you made a decision?”
Marilyn sank into the nearby armchair. This conversation would undoubtedly take a while. “This is a life-altering decision, Arthur. Do you really think three days is enough time to consider it?”
“Either you want to return to the hospital or you don’t. Those are your choices.” He sounded at the end of his rope.
“The board must have you under a great deal of pressure.” The mental image was deeply satisfying.
“May I have your answer?”
Luckily, Marilyn and the other Monarchs Wives Club members had discussed the board’s offer and arrived at a proposal that would benefit the Monarchs and make the idea of working with Arthur again much more palatable.
Marilyn settled back in the armchair and crossed her legs. “Would the terms of my hospital privileges remain the same?”
“Yes, we would reinstate your original contract. Is that acceptable to you?” Arthur continued trying to push her into a quick decision.
Marilyn wouldn’t allow it. “I want to add another term to the contract.”
“You didn’t have any objections to the contract when you originally signed it.” It sounded as though Arthur was speaking through gritted teeth.
Marilyn grinned. “Times have changed, Arthur. You dismissed me. Now you want to reinstate me. The
original contract is no longer acceptable.”
“If you choose to make changes to your contract, I’ll have to consult with the board.”
Did he think that would dissuade her? “That’s reasonable.”
Arthur expelled an impatient breath. “What is this term you want us to consider?”
“I want you to do more than consider it. I want the hospital to agree to sponsor a table every year at the Monarchs’ annual charity fund-raiser.”
“You want us to do what?” Arthur’s incredulity sounded a bit exaggerated.
“You heard me.” Marilyn was firm.
“How much is the table?” After Marilyn named the sum, he continued. “That’s exorbitant. I’ll have to get the board’s approval.”
Marilyn chuckled. “I happen to know that amount is within your budgetary approval. Those are my terms. Take it or leave it, Arthur.” It really made no difference to her one way or another.
His pause was a little lengthier this time. “Fine. I’ll send the new contract to you tomorrow morning.”
Marilyn stood. “And I’ll review it when I return from Denver.”
“You’re going out of town?” Arthur infused his words with as much drama as possible. “I need you to return your signed contract to me A-S-A-P.”
“And A-S-A-P is once I return from Denver. Don’t worry, Arthur, I won’t keep it any longer than necessary.” Marilyn returned the telephone receiver to its mount before Arthur could frame a rebuttal.
She swept up her packages, then climbed the stairs to her room. She felt happier and more confident than she’d felt in weeks—despite the dubious purchase in the large shoe box. No good could come from it.
“Hey, stud.” Marilyn had to repeat herself before she caught Warrick’s attention Saturday evening as he walked into Vom Two, the tunnel to the visiting team’s locker room.
Warrick did a double take when he saw her posed on the top of the nearby staircase. “Mary?”
The heat in his eyes as they traveled from her thigh-high black boots, over her figure-hugging black minidress to her curled, teased, and sprayed-to-death hair almost made her forget her name. As it was, she struggled to remember the words to Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta’s Grease duet, “You’re the One That I Want.” It was a song she’d been singing since her teens.
