by Rita Ewing
“Serves you right, trying to take advantage of him,” Brent said.
“What are you so damn chipper about, Steve?” Paul asked. “Coach railroaded your ass and Collin’s ass and cost us a game.”
“I’m not happy. I’m mad as hell, too, but shit, what can I do about him benching me? He won’t even talk to me, and I’ve tried, believe me. You know what a control freak he is. I guess he thinks he’s teaching me a lesson or something.”
“Yeah, well, it’s gonna be a lesson that he regrets when we lose the championship, ‘cause Rick can’t keep up with Shaquille for five more games—if we make it that far,” Brent said.
“Coach is gonna have to put you back in the rotation, Steve. That’s all there is to it,” Paul said seriously.
“Yeah, well, you try telling him that,” Steve said, putting the deck of cards on Brent’s tray.
“We already did, this morning, in fact,” Brent said, glancing at Paul sitting across the row from him. Brent hesitated telling Steve about theconversation in the sauna, but then figured the players were all in this together.
Steve looked back and forth between Paul and Brent. “This morning? Y’all knew he wasn’t going to play me this morning?”
Brent and Paul both nodded their heads.
“Because of Kelly’s goddamn charges?” Steve demanded.
“He said it was an embarrassment to the NBA to have you playing in the finals amidst all the controversy in the press surrounding her allegations,” Brent answered.
“What bullshit! Well, Coach may not be able to play that angle for long. I was finally able to reach Kelly yesterday, and she’s agreed to meet me when I get back from L.A. I think I may be able to talk her into dropping the charges,” Steve said.
“Why didn’t you say something?” Paul asked.
“I just did.”
“Well, according to Coach’s logic, he can’t keep benching you if Kelly drops the charges,” Brent said as an idea began to emerge. “Is she going to make a public retraction statement?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t ask her all that.”
“You know what, Brent?” Paul interrupted. “Even if she doesn’t make a public retraction, we could get some leaks in the paper to print that reliable sources report that the trumped-up assault charges against Steve Tucker are being dropped,” Paul said, looking at Brent.
“This way, Coach’s NBA ‘negative image reason’ for benching Steve can justifiably be shot down,” Brent said, finishing Paul’s thought.
“Couldn’t we ask Jake to use some of his connections?” asked Paul.
“Hell, that bastard didn’t even help me get out of jail. Fuck him,” Steve said.
“Jake represents Coach too; and it seems the troll always sides with Coach when push comes to shove,” Brent said.
“It’s bullshit that Coach benched his All-Star forward during the NBA championship because he’s allegedly gay,” Paul said. “That, coupled with you being benched, Steve, is almost enough to guarantee us losing.”
“Well, Collin didn’t help matters by skipping practice this morning,” Steve said.
“My God, Steve, the most embarrassing photo of his life was plastered all over the city; give him a break! Would you have come to work if a picture of you was like that all over town?” Paul said curtly.
“Listen, you two. Never mind that stuff right now,” Brent interrupted. “Collin missing practice this morning had nothing to do with him being benched tonight. Coach told us this morning, before practice, that he planned on taking Collin out of the rotation before Collin had even skipped practice.”
“I’ve been thinking about how Coach was talking about how sponsors were going to pull out if Collin played in the game and how the so-called ‘powers that be’ were making all of these decisions,” Paul said. “The Post article just came out this morning. How could he have talked to all those sponsors, Commissioner McDeavitt, and the powers that be by, say … seven-thirty in the morning, Eastern time. I don’t think that’s possible. And even if he had talked to them, how would they have reached such monumental decisions so quickly—like pulling million-dollar advertising spots for the game tonight? It’s bullshit. Coach has been acting funny ever since we made it to the Eastern Conference finals. I’ve got a mind to call those sponsors myself.”
“Whoa. What are y’all talking about? I’m lost,” Steve said, looking bewildered.
“It’s like … like Coach was deliberately trying to make us lose, and blow air up our asses trying to cover his own,” Brent said.
“But I don’t understand why Coach would do that. He’s always been about winning at all costs. Coach’s whole MO is winning,” Steve said.
“Winning at all costs. Winning at all costs,” Brent repeated. “But not tonight. Tonight he was not about winning at all costs. Ever since I’ve known Coach, that’s how he operated—doing anything and everything for the big win, even the small ones. Hell, the dirtier and harder a guy played on the court, the more time Coach would give him. He even gave tips on how to foul the shit out of an opponent without getting caught by the refs. The coach I know would have never let an accusation of domestic abuse keep one of his best players out of a game. Hell, he’d normally be the first one in front of the camera denying all of the allegations on behalf of his player. And he’d keep the team runningnormally until further investigation into the matter. He wouldn’t risk losing. Shit! He’s covered up past incidents similar to this. Steve, you’re not the first Flyer ever accused of domestic violence.” Brent was trembling when he finished.
“And he tried to give us this bogus argument that the NBA has an image to protect and that Commissioner McDeavitt is breathing down his neck,” Paul chimed in.
“Paul, since when has Coach been intimidated by the commissioner?” Brent asked.
“Never, as far as I can remember. The two of them have gone head to head for years. Coach loves a good fight, and if it’s with Commissioner McDeavitt, all the better,” Paul responded.
“Exactly,” Brent said.
“He’s bullshitting us, but why?” Paul said. “Why doesn’t Coach want us to win?”
“Maybe Coach is playing to win,” Brent slowly said. “Maybe there’s just another game going on that we don’t know about.”
Chapter 44
Trina sat alone amidst three other couples in the waiting room of her obstetrician’s office. She had grown accustomed to these solo visits to the doctor.
Trina removed her grocery list from her black leather Coach sack purse. She had several items to pick up for the desserts; already she had more orders than she could possibly fill. She’d sent around samples and an advertisement to all the owner-run bakeries and local caterers in Stamford and Greenwich, Connecticut. This was prime wedding and graduation season, so the caterers welcomed the extra supply of desserts. It probably didn’t hurt that she was Rick Belleville’s wife. Trina just prayed she’d be successful.
Trina had managed to secure a short-term business loan, using the house as collateral. Rick’s agent had helped her set up a repayment plan for Rick’s debt. He’d also told her that Rick had been attending Gambler’s Anonymous, though how often, Trina wondered. He was inthe middle of the NBA championship round. Besides, she knew if Rick was to change, it wouldn’t happen overnight.
“Mrs. Belleville. Mrs. Belleville,” one of the nurses called from behind a glass wall.
“Yes. That’s me,” she answered, not wanting to draw attention to herself.
“Dr. McCray is ready for you now.”
Trina never understood why doctors called for patients when they were not ready to see them. She had gotten undressed from the waist down and was sitting on the edge of the hard examination table dangling her legs. The cloth gown she’d been given only covered the front of her body. Trina was embarrassed when she glanced down at her ashy feet and chipped burgundy toenail polish. She was getting antsy and cold sitting in the sterile room half dressed.
The previous excitem
ent Trina had experienced when she’d been pregnant with Monica and Marcus was absent. She was moments away from finding out the sex of her baby and she felt little emotion. Trina had been moving in lackluster circles ever since Rick had gone. If it were not for the kids’ needs and Aunt Thelma’s easy companionship, she may have never gotten out of bed. She missed the certainty of knowing that Rick would be there for her and their children. And she missed Rick.
Dr. Ruthie McCray finally sauntered into the room, smiling from ear to ear, with her tortoiseshell glasses only slightly obscuring her bright green eyes. As the statuesque doctor looked around the small room, Trina realized she was searching for Rick. Trina had an ache in her heart wishing that Rick could have been there to share in this moment. She stared at Dr. McCray’s simple gold wedding band as she quickly read over Trina’s chart and wondered if her marriage was one of wedded bliss or if she ever experienced problems with her own husband.
Trina lay back at Dr. McCray’s direction and jumped when the cold gel was spread over her ever-expanding stomach.
“So Mr. Belleville won’t be joining us today, huh? Trying to beat the Lakers on their turf? Well, I sure hope they can bring a championshiphome to New York,” Dr. McCray said as she moved the Doppler mechanism in circular motions over Trina’s stomach.
Trina only nodded her head.
Even at the doctor’s office, partially nude, Trina was unable to escape who she was married to. In the past, questions surrounding Rick’s career had flattered her. She had always thrived on his accomplishments. But recently the luster of his career had begun to fade. She had her own personal goals to accomplish; no longer was she content to bask in the glow of his light.
Suddenly there was nothing glamorous about being married to Rick Belleville, the NBA star. Reality had replaced glamour. Trina was alone, tending to a pregnancy that only one parent wanted.
“It looks like you have a little boy! See there?” Dr. McCray said, pointing to the screen displaying the fetal image. “Looks like another basketball player in the making.”
“I hope not,” Trina said under her breath, staring at the speckled ceiling.
“He’s a busy little thing. You see him, Mrs. Belleville?”
Trina slowly turned her head toward the monitor and watched her baby’s black-and-white floating image on the screen. It was hard to believe that he was swimming around inside of her. She was the holding tank for this new life, and she had no idea what their future held. She could not say with any degree of certainty that this unborn child would ever spend any birthdays or holidays with his father.
For the first time, she did not have the security of knowing she could depend on her husband when the baby came. It was a sobering feeling. At least with Monica and Marcus, she’d been able to count on his presence with some regularity. And thinking about it, really that was all he did—show his face every now and then. Trina thought about Rick’s involvement with his children, and the only thing that came to mind was him picking up Monica on his shoulders occasionally or taking Marcus to practice with him every now and then.
As Trina began to ponder her husband’s role as a father, she realized that Rick rarely helped the children with their homework. He never even sat on the floor and played with them. What would herunborn baby be missing other than unfulfilled expectations? No matter how much she missed him, if Rick ever wanted to come back home, he was going to have to work on a whole lot more than remedying his gambling problem. He had to learn to put family first. Trina had known long ago that she came second place. But the children deserved to be number one in their father’s life.
Chapter 45
Casey leaned back in her chair, clasping both of her hands behind her head, and stole a glance at Nikki. The little girl abruptly sat back in her miniature chair with her chubby hands locked behind her head, mimicking Casey. Quickly sitting forward, Casey placed her elbows on her desk and put her open palms under her chin. Nikki imitated her once again, resting her tiny elbows on the play table Brent had bought for her. The table had been in the kitchen, but since Nikki liked to color in Casey’s home office while she worked, they had moved it there. All morning long, whenever Casey made the slightest shift of her body, Nikki would try and do the exact same thing. Even when Casey was on the phone, Nikki pretended that she was talking as well, repeating blurbs from Casey’s conversation.
Nikki’s mother, Shauna, had yet to return. Casey knew by now that Shauna was not suffering from any illness as she had claimed when shefirst dropped Nikki off on their doorstep. She simply had another agenda—one that did not include raising a child. Casey had walked in on a conversation between Brent and Nikki’s mother. She had called Brent two weeks ago, claiming she had personal problems and couldn’t handle Nikki in her life right now but that she planned on depositing Nikki with some nameless cousin in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Understandably, Brent had been outraged at the prospect of Nikki living with a strange cousin of Shauna’s. He was furious at Shauna for even suggesting it. Truthfully, Brent would have been outraged at the thought of Nikki being anyplace except with him and Casey. Of course, this had been exactly what Nikki’s mother was counting on—Brent’s fierce love for his daughter. He had played right into her hands when he told Shauna Nikki wasn’t going anywhere. Showing her colors, Shauna had reacted by putting a price tag on her own daughter’s head. Casey had tried to explain to him that legally he had just as much right to be with Nikki. But Brent had been so shaken up, it didn’t matter to him that what Shauna was attempting amounted to extortion. He simply wrote her a check in hopes of getting her out of their lives. Brent just didn’t understand that they couldn’t buy her off forever. Casey was well aware that the custodial issue regarding Nikki could ultimately only be resolved in court or arbitration. Brent didn’t want to hear it, though. His only concern was for his daughter to be with them right now.
The truth was, Casey felt sorry for the innocent little girl. It was obvious that Shauna was using both Brent and Nikki. Casey didn’t want to see Nikki hurt any more than she already had been.
Casey was supposed to be at work right now, but Martha was visiting her daughter who had just given birth. And the alternate baby-sitter had called in sick at the last minute. The timing could not have been worse. Casey was working against a deadline for one of her clients, the Harlem Renaissance Theatre Company, and she needed to file a temporary injunctive order within the next twenty-four hours against one of the major Broadway production companies. The company was trying to cancel HRTC’s remaining performances of Body and Soul because of pressure from right-wing religious groups claiming that the subject matter of the play was lewd, lascivious, andobscene. The religious group’s assertions that the production was patently offensive scared the production company into trying to censor its own partner, HRTC, in the joint venture.
Casey probably would have been more upset about the cancellation if Nikki had not gotten so excited when she found out that Casey was not going to leave. It was fortunate for Casey that she did not have any actual meetings today or she would have been forced to take Nikki to the office with her and leave her with her secretary. Now Casey only needed a messenger to come to her apartment and pick up the temporary injunctive order that she’d been able to pull up from her home computer, which was connected to her office system. Brent was not due back in town until tomorrow morning, and Casey had been taking care of Nikki in the evenings when she returned from work.
For the past week the two had been following a comfortable routine. They had dinner together each evening, then Casey would bathe her and they would play with some of Nikki’s new toys until it was time for Casey to read her a bedtime story.
A couple of times Casey actually found herself rushing home, wanting to see the little girl run to the front door to greet her. Once she’d arrived home late and found Nikki in the foyer, half asleep on the floor, with the pictures she had colored for Casey clutched in her small hands. The baby-sitter had said she hadn’t been able to get
her to move from the spot. That nearly broke Casey’s heart.
“What are you doing, little girl?” Casey said, squeezing Nikki’s button nose. “Are you acting like me?”
“Yes.” Nikki nodded. “I Casey. I go to work.”
“Is that what you’re doing? You’re working like me?” Casey asked, smiling.
Nikki nodded again. “I busy. I very busy. See?” Nikki said as she tucked her head over the paper in front of her and began to scribble.
Casey quizzically looked at Nikki and wondered what she knew about Casey being busy. She was only three years old.
“Who told you I was busy?” Casey asked as Nikki continued to draw on the papers.
“See, Casey, see?” Nikki said, holding up her work for Casey’s inspection.
“Oh, that’s pretty, Nikki,” Casey said, looking at Nikki’s picture.
“It’s for you, Casey. It’s Nikki’s work.”
“Nikki. Who told you I was busy?” Casey gently asked the little girl, curious as to why she made that comment.
“Daddy say Casey busy. Daddy say Casey very busy,” Nikki said, trying to sound like a reprimanding adult.
“Daddy said that?”
“Daddy say Casey busy. Be good little girl and leave Casey lone. I be quiet. I work too, Casey.” Nikki started drawing another picture.
She and Brent had not exercised any birth control methods since her second miscarriage, but their efforts at getting pregnant had failed. Finally Casey’s doctor had told her that because of an earlier ectopic pregnancy, her chances of ever carrying a pregnancy to term were slim. She had cried herself to sleep on many occasions thinking about the doctor’s bleak prognosis, but with Brent’s constant support, she was beginning to accept her situation. They had all sorts of high-tech methods to choose from, the doctor had told them. But to Casey, it wasn’t an option—it didn’t seem like the way babies were supposed to happen.
