by Rita Ewing
“Yep, the life of a first-year resident, it’s not easy.”
“I understand that’s why you haven’t been to a lot of the games this year,” Alexis said.
Here we go, Dawn thought. She sipped her wine, her senses not even alive enough to taste it, before responding.
“Alexis,” Dawn began, carefully weighing her words, “you hit the nail on the head. The life of a doctor is not conducive to moonlighting as a cheerleader.”
The derogatory image of herself as bimbo cheerleader must have gotten to Alexis, and Dawn felt a small sense of satisfaction as she saw Alexis visibly flinch.
“How long is your residency?”
“Three more years.”
“At the same hospital, in New York City, all that time?”
“That’s right,” Dawn said, snatching up a piece of sourdough bread as the waiter came and took their identical orders.
“So your schedule is going to continue like this for the next three years?” Alexis said with raised eyebrows.
“Basically, yes,” Dawn said, looking directly into Alexis’s eyes.
“And how are you and Michael doing?”
“Well, we’re both under a lot of pressure. Our schedules are hard on the relationship.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Dawn regretted being so frank with Alexis.
“Michael’s a big part of the future of the Flyers. He could be the Flyers’ franchise player one day. Do you realize the direction his career is taking? Stellar play on the court, a variety of new endorsement deals.”
“New endorsements?” Dawn knew nothing about any new endorsements, but then again, she hadn’t known about Miss Chicago either until busting him.
“Hilfiger, Continental Airlines, plus Disney wants to make a line of dolls. He must really not share anything with you,” Alexis said, putting down her wineglass.
“He shares enough with me. As I said, we’re both very busy,” Dawn said defensively. Inside, though, she was reeling.
“But you don’t take his career as seriously as you take your own work?” Alexis pressed.
“Alexis, with all due respect, what’s your point? I have my work; Michael has his. They’re both important. End of story.”
“Not really, dear. You do realize that the two may not be mutually compatible, don’t you?”
“How so? From where I sit, our two separate careers have nothing to do with each other.”
“Perhaps it’s time for you to consider his career; that is, if you still have plans to marry him.”
Dawn wanted to reach across and slap Alexis’s pinched face.
“Alexis, I haven’t thought that far ahead, and the last time I checked, the Flyers were still in New York City. That’s all I can base my decision on.”
Dawn noticed a look of contempt spread across Alexis’s perfectly made-up face.
“Oh, come on, Dawn. Surely you can’t be that shortsighted. You need to think about these things. My God! You’re engaged to a basketball star. They move around, teams move around, things change all the time, and you need to be ready to move when it’s time to move … and if you can’t do that … then … then sometimes you simply get left behind, especially when you don’t follow the rules of this profession. If you want to marry him, you need to put him and his career first.”
Dawn could not believe the words she’d just heard come out of Alexis’s mouth.
“How dare you tell me how to run my life. And when is it up to you whether or not I marry Michael?” Dawn said, throwing her napkin on the table.
“Now, now, Dawn. Calm down. The reality of professional basketball is such that the team does dictate the personal lives of its players. And that’s a fact you’d better get used to. Life is full of choices, Dawn, choices that you have to make. You choose to be the wife of a Flyer, then you choose to go along with the program, period. And as you were warned early on, that does not include surprise visits on the road, my dear.”
So Alexis did know; of course, she would. Why wouldn’t she know? Everybody probably knew about Michael’s indiscretion. This team was like John Grisham’s The Firm!
“Go along with the program? Are you kidding me? I have my own program, period!”
Alexis began rearranging the silverware in front of her. “I have a suggestion for you then, sweetie.” She paused. “I would pay more attention to your fiancé when he’s at home. Don’t worry about what he does on the road. That’s simply none of your business. You’ve discovered the hard way what accompanies the endorsements, haven’t you? A lot of female attention. Namely the supermodel, what was her name? Oh yes, Sandi Cole, I believe that was it.”
Suddenly Dawn was on her feet. Before she fully realized what she was doing, she’d thrown the remainder of her wine in Alexis’s face.
“How dare you … you!” Alexis seethed as she began to wipe her face with her napkin.
“How dare you tell me how to run my life! Priorities mixed up … inattentive wife!” Dawn spat out, as her whole body shook. “I’ve watched you stick your nose in everyone’s business all year long and I am sick and tired of it! You may bully everyone else with your highbrow bullshit and veiled threats, but I could care less about this team and even less about you! What I care about is Michael.” She reached for her purse on the floor, not caring that the entire room was staring at their table. “And one more thing … you’d better not ever come near me again!” Dawn said, and stormed out of the Grill Room.
It was all brought back to her, as if she needed another reminder: Michael in the arms of another woman.
Chapter 36
Lorraine involuntarily sat up in bed as she felt the sweat dripping down her neck and back. Her heart was beating so rapidly she feared she might have a heart attack. She struggled out of bed and ripped off her drenched T-shirt and shorts.
She wondered if her life would ever be her own again. In the last week the phone calls from little Crissy’s mother had increased, asking for money, threatening to reveal Lorraine’s involvement in Crissy’s death eight years ago. The images that had seemed scattered and ethereal all these years were coalescing, and it was not a pretty picture.
Her head throbbed as she dragged herself into the bathroom and turned the water on full blast. If only she could wash the filth of her dreams away. She had worked the graveyard shift the night before and had been trying to get some sleep so she and Paul could spend a quiet, relaxing evening together. Now, with one of her migraines surfacing and her mind racing with images that were either real or dreams, she did not know if she could muster a facade for anyone, especially her husband. Maybe it was better for her to be alone.
The steaming hot blasts of water offered Lorraine a small sense of relief. The image had been so real: In it she’d been a nurse making every effort possible to stop the child from dying. Crissy had kept calling Lorraine’s name to help her, to get her mother, to do something, anything. Yet everything Lorraine had tried failed.
Had Lorraine done everything in her power to help Crissy? Yes—everything except put her murderers away. Instead, Lorraine had chosen to save her own skin. She had opted for the path of a coward. The fact that she’d been only sixteen years old at the time was no excuse for her selfish behavior.
Picking up the bottle of sea-salt scrub, Lorraine rubbed it all over her body until she stung and then she continued to scrub until her skin felt raw. She wanted to scream out in anguish at the pain torturing her mind, body, and soul.
Sitting down on the marble shower bench, Lorraine curled over as her body was racked with agony. She rocked herself back and forth as the water beat on her head in steady streams.
Come on, Lorraine, you’ve got to get yourself up. You’ve got to get a handle. Get up, girl. Lorraine tried to regain a semblance of composure before Paul returned home. She could not let him see her in this condition. He was under enough pressure with his team.
Finally she opened the shower door and grabbed her terry cloth robe. Slipping her arms into the folds of t
he material, Lorraine felt the moisture soak into the soft fabric. Just as she reached for a towel, the phone rang. She froze standing next to the ringing phone on the wall of her bathroom. But maybe it was Paul on his way home from practice, wanting to know if he should pick up something for dinner—or maybe he just needed her that minute.
Lorraine tentatively picked up the phone and held it to her ear for a few seconds before speaking. “Hello,” she said softly.
“Off from work, huh?” a woman’s voice said on the other end of the line.
Crissy’s mother. “Please stop calling here—”
“A nurse! Pretty impressive. You save any lives lately?” the woman said. “And married to that nice rich athlete—”
“Please, just tell me what you want,” Lorraine said as her heartbeat began to quicken.
“I want my baby back, but you couldn’t save her! What, you think you some damn do-gooder now? Not good enough!” The woman’s voice shook with anger.
“What do you want from me? Why can’t you just leave me alone?” Lorraine cried.
“Leave you alone? I’ll never leave you alone! After all these years, I was sure that you were already in hell for what you did. But I see your little fairy-tale life has continued. Here I get to see your husband’s smiling face in the paper on my doorstep every morning complaining about his team trying to win a championship. And you let those animals get away with murdering my baby! And nobody complained about nothin’ then. Just another dead baby.”
Lorraine thought back to the night early in the season when she couldn’t bring herself to leave another little dead black child. “No! There wasn’t anything I could do—please, you’ve got to believe me,” Lorraine said in anguish.
“Shut up, you liar! You lied to the police when they questioned you, and those bastards got off scot-free, and now you think your little life should go on like you’re some damn Cinderella. Not anymore, Lorraine Thomas! I think it’s high time that the world knew that Paul Thomas of the New York Flyers is married to a lying, selfish … murdering … You were what they call, an accomplice—”
“Lorraine! Lorraine!” Paul said, suddenly walking up behind her in the bathroom.
Lorraine was so startled that she dropped the phone on the bathroom floor. “Paul,” she barely uttered.
“What’s going on? Who’s that on the phone?” Paul said, looking down at the dangling telephone. He made to pick it up, but she stopped him, quickly replacing the phone in its cradle.
“What?” Lorraine said, not meeting Paul’s gaze.
“The phone. Who was that on the phone, Lorraine?” Paul said, inching toward her.
“The phone? Oh … it was just a prank call.”
“A prank call? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. I heard you yelling. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing,” Lorraine lied.
“Lorraine, what’s wrong with you? Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m your husband, baby. It’s me, Paul, remember?”
Lorraine tried to push away the woman’s voice. She felt close to collapsing, but she was afraid to turn to Paul. What if he didn’t understand? Her past could ruin his image, maybe even his career in New York. What would happen then?
“Baby?”
Lorraine turned toward the sink, concentrating on brushing her teeth.
Leave, Paul, please.
Her thoughts flashed back to last Sunday when she sat in church with Paul. Reverend Lewis’s words were coming back to haunt her; she had no other choice. Lorraine knew she was going to have to open her heart to the Lord for guidance through the forest of pain and misery in which she had become lost.
“Baby?”
Chapter 37
Trina was worried about Rick. He’d checked into the Regency Hotel on Park Avenue after the first championship game. He’d told Trina that he needed some space so he could concentrate on his game. Even though the Flyers were the victors in the first game against the Lakers, Trina knew Rick’s ego had been deeply bruised. Shaquille O’Neal had run circles around him, making him look like an old man trying to play a young boy’s game. Rick was a four-teen-year basketball veteran, and the Flyers had only signed him to a one-year contract. He was at the stage in his career when every game was a test to prove that he was still worthy to be in the NBA.
With Rick so close but not at home, the house felt strange to Trina. They’d been through difficult times before, but even Trina’s faith in their marriage felt a bit shaken. It was all so complex. She knew she could no longer wait to tell him about her pregnancy. She was five months along, scheduled to find out the sex of their baby next week,and she needed to share that with Rick—whether or not he wanted another child.
Trina had been unable to reach him at the Regency Hotel because he’d had his incoming calls blocked. She had left a couple of messages for him, and when he had finally telephoned back, she’d missed his call, having gone to pick up Monica from school. The only message he’d left was for Trina to pack him a suitcase for his upcoming road trip to Los Angeles.
Trina placed her special homemade sweet-potato pie in the oven and then headed toward the family room. It looked like a tornado had struck. She could scarcely see the lavender carpeting beneath the kids’ toys. Marcus was absorbed with his latest electronic gadget, building his own Giga pet, and Monica was busy combing her Moesha doll’s hair. Aunt Thelma, who was visiting from Tennessee, was content to sit in Rick’s La-Z-Boy as she fiddled with her Discman and classic jazz CDs. Trina looked at her aunt and smiled. Aunt Thelma’s salt-and-pep-per Afro, which she’d worn since the sixties, was flattened by the headphones and she was rocking back and forth, undoubtedly listening to a scatting Ella Fitzgerald.
The older woman eased out of the recliner and danced into the kitchen. She was shuffling her feet back and forth, doing the jig.
“Stop looking out that window, child,” Aunt Thelma said in her no-nonsense manner.
“Ain’t nobody looking out the window,” Trina said.
“Every two minutes you’re looking out there.”
“How would you know, old woman? You had your eyes closed.”
“I know what I saw,” Aunt Thelma said as she began removing silverware from the dishwasher in between dance moves. “Stop worrying about that boy. You got better things to do with your time—like thinking about Marcus, Monica, and the little one on the way. I don’t care if he is your husband; he ain’t worth a dime.”
“Auntie, don’t be talking about Rick like that in our house.”
“Tree, I love you like the child I never had.” Aunt Thelma called Trina by her childhood pet name. “And I don’t mean no disrespect to you, but I’m gonna be frank with you like nobody else has. That boy ain’t good for nothing except paying the bills, and you can get thosetaken care of better without him holding the purse strings over your head,” Aunt Thelma spat out, with her southern accent more pronounced than usual.
“Well, I love him, even with all his faults,” Trina countered, even though her aunt was probably speaking the truth.
“How can you be married to a man you’re not even comfortable enough with to tell that you’re pregnant? What’s that all about?”
“I’m gonna tell him … when the time is right.”
“When, Trina? When you’re in labor? You never stand up to him.”
“It’s gonna get straightened out,” Trina said resolutely.
“Listen to me, Tree. At least think about your kids. What do you think Monica is ever gonna expect of a man, seeing how her daddy treats her mama? And what about Marcus? How you think he gonna treat women when he gets older? Do you even care about that?”
Trina did not know how to respond. So she looked out her window.
“Daddy’s here! Daddy’s here, Mommy!” Monica screamed, running into the foyer.
“Let me take care of my affairs, Auntie,” Trina said, yanking off her apron and smoothing her hair with her hands. “Now, how do I look?”
“Girl, scrape you
r pride off the ground,” said Thelma, grasping Trina around the wrist. “Look at me, girl. Don’t beg that man for nothing, except maybe to let you be.”
“Ain’t nobody begging. Now, you let me be, old woman,” Trina said, breaking free and rushing past her aunt into the entrance hall.
Marcus and Monica beat Trina into the foyer to greet Rick. He brought Marcus a bag full of the latest video games, and Monica some baby dolls. Monica was clinging to Rick, showering him with kisses. Trina liked watching Rick with their children. It was clear they adored their father. She stood back and pulled at her oversized sweater, suddenly becoming self-conscious of her ever-enlarging stomach.
Monica continued to hug and kiss her father as Marcus chattered away about his last soccer game, giving Rick a play-by-play report.
“All right, you two, Daddy’s got to get a few things upstairs,” Rick told them, putting Monica back down.
Rick turned toward Trina and looked at her quickly before he spoke. “You gather some clothes together for me to take to L.A. yet?”
“You didn’t say when you were coming by, but I’m almost finished packing for you,” Trina explained, noticing his freshly cut hair, which told her he had not deviated from his road-trip routine.
“That’s all right, I’ll finish it myself,” Rick said, walking past Trina up the staircase to their bedroom.
Trina scurried behind him, staring at the perfect buzz line at the back of his head. She did not want to lose the opportunity to talk to him. Following Rick into the bedroom, she closed the door behind her, in case Aunt Thelma decided to eavesdrop.
Trina watched Rick lay out his wardrobe bag, walking back and forth between the closet and the bed, throwing clothes into his luggage. Naturally he did not forget to pack the brand-new Calvin Klein underwear for his road trip, unlike when he was at home with his drawers full of holes. She remained transfixed in her spot by the door, not having the slightest idea how to proceed. Rick seemed so preoccupied as he packed, she felt as if she would be intruding.
