by Regina Hart
“Maybe you should fine him for not knowing the plays.”
DeMarcus paused. That was a good idea. “I will. Nothing else seems to be working.”
Some of the aggression drained from Barron’s eyes. DeMarcus thought he detected a spark of cautious optimism.
Barron nodded and made to rise from the table. “Good. Are we done here?”
DeMarcus tried to channel his more sensitive side. “No. I have one final question.”
“What?”
DeMarcus tried not to wince. “What do you need to be more successful on the court?”
Barron gave him an odd look. “What do you mean?”
DeMarcus wasn’t sure. “What can I or the coaching staff do to help you be more productive on the court?”
“I need to shine. I need to be a superstar. I can’t do that if there’s a circus act playing on the court with me. Bench. Jamal. Now.”
DeMarcus sighed. This wasn’t working. “In basketball, we play as a team. A team doesn’t succeed with only one superstar. We need five or six or seven. If you can’t get that concept, then you need to take up tennis. Are we clear?”
Seconds ticked by as the point guard glowered at him in silence. Finally, Barron gave in. “Yeah. We’re clear.”
DeMarcus nodded. “And get some of your teammates together to help Jamal learn to execute the plays. The coaching staff isn’t getting through to him.”
Impatience stirred again in Barron’s expression. “Haven’t you heard Rick out there on the sidelines feeding Jamal the plays?”
“Yes, I have.” DeMarcus hadn’t given much thought to it, though. But now that Barron had brought it up, why was the veteran helping the rookie who’d taken his starting spot? What kind of competitor did that? He should be trying to get his spot back.
Barron shook his head. “The rookie won’t listen. That’s why he’s an—”
“The rookie won’t listen to the player whose spot he took. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”
Barron leaned into the chair again. “Then do what you said you’ll do and fine him if he doesn’t learn the plays. And, if he still won’t learn them, bench him.”
“Deal. Get your teammates together to help Jamal.”
Barron scowled. “Why do I have to pull people together?”
DeMarcus arched a brow. “You’re the team captain.”
The point guard pushed away from the table and turned to leave the room. “That’s some crap, man.”
DeMarcus smiled. “It’s been a pleasure chatting with you, too, Barron.”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
DeMarcus scrubbed both hands over his face. One down, twelve to go. Would he be so lucky as to find the worst meeting was over and the other twelve would be easier? He thought of Jamal, Serge and Warrick. Probably not.
22
Gerald’s reaction was her new favorite memory. When he saw Jaclyn sitting between Albert Tipton and Violet Ebanks O’Neal at Bonner & Taylor’s large conference table Thursday afternoon, he looked confused, angry and scared. Mortimer Gandy and his younger brother, Sanford, sat opposite them.
On the surface, Gerald appeared confident and successful in his dark brown suit, tan shirt and bold pink tie. But there was uncertainty in his gaze as it moved from Violet to Jaclyn and then to Albert.
He looked to the firm’s senior partner, Gregory Bonner, seated at the head of the table. “What’s going on? I thought I was coming to review the Empire Arena contract with its new owners.”
Sanford raised his right arm and waved his hand in greeting. “Hi, Gere. C’mon in and sit down. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?” The twinkle in the elderly man’s gray eyes meant he knew they were not.
Gerald took the chair at the foot of the large conference table. “It’s good to see you again, Sandy.”
Mortimer hissed at his younger brother. “Control yourself, Sanford. This isn’t a barbecue.”
Sanford rolled his eyes. “I know that, Morty. I’m just trying to make everyone comfortable.”
Jaclyn swallowed a chuckle over the brothers’ antics. But she remained attentive to Gerald and his every move.
Gerald looked to the senior law partner and repeated his question. “What’s going on, Greg?”
Gregory gestured toward Jaclyn and her friends. “I’d like to introduce the new arena owners. I believe you’ve met all of them before—Albert Tipton, Violet Ebanks O’Neal and, of course, Jaclyn Jones.”
Gerald’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”
Jaclyn smiled. She was shaking, but this time with excitement. “Yes, we are. Vi, Bert and I are partners.”
Albert folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Jackie is the majority share owner with forty percent. Vi and I each have thirty percent.”
Gerald shifted his attention between the two Gandy brothers. “You sold the arena to them? I thought you wanted to make as much money as possible on the sale.”
Gerald’s manner switched between disbelief and anger. Jaclyn watched him with intense satisfaction. Disbelief and anger were the emotions she’d felt when she’d realized Gerald had convinced Albert to help him destroy her team. She’d also had those reactions when she’d learned Gerald had entered into negotiations with Abbottson Investments to build an arena in Nevada for the Monarchs. She could well imagine he’d feel disbelief and anger. Even betrayal and desperation. She’d felt all of those and more because of him.
Mortimer pursed his lips. “Without seeming indelicate, they did offer a significant amount of liquid capital for the Empire.”
Sanford shrugged. “Besides, how much money do we really need? We’re pretty darn old. It’s not like we’re going to live that much longer.”
Mortimer nodded. “In the end, we just wanted to get out of the arena business. Too many hassles, too much stress.”
Gerald inclined his head in Jaclyn’s direction. “It’s fine for her to keep the Monarchs in the arena. But what about your legacy? The Monarchs are falling apart. Do you really want them to take your arena down with them?”
Mortimer’s gaze met Jaclyn’s. “Jackie reminded us of the special history the Brooklyn Monarchs share with the Empire Arena. It’s fitting that the team continues to play there. And, when you think about it, it’s fitting that the children of the franchise founders also take over the arena. Very fitting.”
Sanford smiled at Gerald. “I wouldn’t worry about Jackie letting the team fall into the crapper, Gere. Jackie accomplishes whatever she sets her mind to. Like today. She was determined to keep the team in the Empire, and she figured out a way to make that happen. We appreciate your concern, but you don’t need to worry about our legacy. It’s in good hands.”
Gerald’s gaze narrowed on Sanford with suspicion. “I’m just afraid that you may have made a mistake.”
“We don’t think so. Besides, it’s a done deal.” Sanford tapped the stack of papers in front of him. “Signed, sealed and delivered.” He winked at Gerald. “I’ve always loved that song.”
Gerald turned his contempt on Albert. “And you’re a part of this? What about all that cock and bull you fed us about wanting to focus on your clothing store?”
Sanford rocked back in his seat. “Hey, now. There’s no need to be unpleasant, Gere.”
Albert spread his hands. “That’s the beauty of this partnership. I’m going to be very hands off.”
Jaclyn smiled. “Vi and I will deal with the operations and management of the Empire, including our relationship with the Monarchs.”
Violet nodded. “We’re even considering opening the arena to the NCAA women’s basketball tournament. But the Monarchs will be our priority client.”
Heat rose under Gerald’s fair skin. He again addressed Albert. “You’re not even going to be an active partner? Then why are you doing this?”
Albert kept his eyes on Gerald. “A very wise young woman reminded me that the franchise isn’t just about money. It’s about community. I may have been a little late in rememberi
ng that. But I did remember. Buying a few shares in the Empire to help keep the Monarchs in Brooklyn is my way of making amends for at least some of the damage you and I have caused.”
Jaclyn recalled Albert telling her the arena was the key. He did remember the motivation behind founding the franchise a little late. But late was definitely better than never. She blinked back tears. She couldn’t appear weak in front of Gerald, especially not now.
Gerald shifted his gaze between Gregory Bonner and Dennis Taylor. “You couldn’t have warned me that I’d be facing this farce? I came all the way to downtown Brooklyn for this?”
Gregory nodded toward Mortimer and Sanford. “Our clients believed that, as part owner of the Monarchs, you should be aware of the terms of the new contract. We were fulfilling our clients’ request. We don’t owe you anything.”
“This is a joke.” Gerald stood to leave.
“Wait, Gerry.” Jaclyn couldn’t mask the pleasure in her voice. “Don’t you want to hear the terms of the new arena contract?”
Gerald glowered at her. “I’m sure I can guess what it says.”
Jaclyn held up the document. “You’ve come all this way. You should at least hear the terms.”
Gerald’s lips tightened. He shifted his gaze to the other people in the room before settling his attention on Jaclyn. “All right. What are they?”
Jaclyn grinned. “The Monarchs have a contract term without restrictions for the life of the team to stay in the Empire. Isn’t that great?”
Gerald glared at the lawyers. “Don’t bother to see me out.” Without another word, he stalked from the room.
Violet broke the comfortable silence. “Well, that was fun.” She turned to Jaclyn. “Who’re we going to piss off next?”
Jaclyn grinned as she stood. “I don’t want to dilute the pleasure of this moment.”
Albert rose from his chair. “Enjoy your triumph, Jackie. You’ve earned it.”
Jaclyn wrapped her arms around her arena partner’s shoulders. “With a lot of help from my friends. Thank you so, so much.”
Albert gave her a hard hug before stepping back. “No, thank you. I’ve exorcised all of my guilt. Now, I can sleep more easily at night.”
“I’m glad.” Jaclyn squeezed his arm. “As soon as we’re making a profit with the team and the arena again, Vi and I will buy you out of the Empire so you can go back to focusing full-time on Tipton’s Fashionwear.”
Jaclyn circled the conference table to shake hands with the lawyers and the Gandy brothers. “Gentlemen, thank you for agreeing to the contract. I know you had higher bids.”
Sanford waved his signed contract from the Empire Arena sale. “No, thank you. Now I can live a little before I die.”
Mortimer stood. “You were right. The Monarchs belong in Brooklyn, specifically in the Empire Arena.”
Sanford scowled. “And when we read the article in the New York Sports about Gerry starting those horrible rumors about Marc Guinn, we knew there was no better bid than yours.”
Jaclyn made a mental note to send Andrea Benson another thank-you card. Her article had been the catalyst that finalized the arena deal. “My grandfather would be very grateful for your support.”
Sanford glanced at Mortimer. The older Gandy cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Jackie, this deal had nothing to do with your grandfather.”
“Heck, no, kid.” Sanford winked. “It was all about you. Good luck.”
Jaclyn thanked the lawyers again before leading Violet and Albert from the conference room. Waiting for the elevator, she gave Violet a high five. “OK, partner. Let’s see if we can put that business degree of yours back to work.”
Violet laughed. “I’m so excited. I feel like I’ve got my game back.”
“I’m . . . indescribably relieved.” Jaclyn found Albert’s gaze. “But then a part of me is afraid I’ve beat the play clock buzzer only to send the game into overtime.”
Albert nodded. “That’s a good analogy. You’ve kept the team in Brooklyn. Enjoy that. But remember Gerry will just try to find another way to destroy the team.”
Violet frowned. “Why is he so determined to hurt the Monarchs? It’s his family’s legacy as much as it’s yours.”
Jaclyn looked at her former teammate and new arena partner. “He doesn’t think so.” She turned to Albert. “I guess I’ll be looking over my shoulder a little while longer.”
“Is this about the plays again?” Jamal lowered himself into the chair on the opposite side of DeMarcus’s conversation table.
The rookie’s Allen Iverson basketball jersey revealed the tattoos down his arms. He’d noticed Jamal’s ink before, but he hadn’t paid much attention to them. He’d been distracted by the shooting guard’s apparent lack of interest in the Monarchs’ playbook.
Most of the designs were team logos and numbers of some of the NBA’s greatest players—the Los Angeles Lakers’ Earvin “Magic” Johnson, the Chicago Bulls’ Michael “Air” Jordan, and the Philadelphia 76ers’ Allen “AI” Iverson.
DeMarcus sensed Jamal’s defensiveness. He had to remember this kid was just out of college. He’d left after his freshman year. He was a lot younger—and somewhat less mature—than the rest of the team. “Let’s approach it differently. What do you think you need to be more successful on the court?”
This bonding thing was a lot easier the second time. Or maybe it just seemed less awkward with Jamal. For all his aggressiveness on the court, the rookie wasn’t as confrontational as Barron.
Jamal seemed baffled. “I am successful on the court.”
DeMarcus narrowed his eyes. Maybe they needed to start with the basics. “How do you define success?”
Jamal braced his forearms on the table and leaned across its surface. “Every game, I strap the team to my back. Then, I go out there and give the fans everything I’ve got. To me, that’s success.”
“What about winning?”
Jamal pressed his back against the chair. A look of surprise settled on his face. “I can’t do it all myself. Those other guys need to step it up.”
DeMarcus frowned. It wasn’t just him. Anyone would be confused. “Which one is it, Jamal? Do you put the team on your back and do it all yourself? Or do you play as part of a team?”
Jamal briefly dipped his gaze to the table. “Both?”
Was the rookie asking him or telling him? “Do you know how I define success?”
“How?”
“Winning.” DeMarcus held the younger man’s gaze and willed him to understand. “What do you need to be a more consistent winner?”
Jamal’s eyes searched the office. DeMarcus followed the younger man’s gaze to his MVP trophies, and his championship rings and Olympic gold medal set in cases on his bookshelf. He could guess at the player’s thoughts, and he’d probably be right. How long would he have to wait before he could have one of those? Every rookie wanted to know that.
Jamal’s dark brown eyes clouded. “I am a winner.”
“No, you’re not. Not yet.” DeMarcus didn’t want to crush the kid’s ego, but tough love was kinder in the long run. “Winning comes with practice and with discipline. You have to prepare for the games. You can’t just step onto the court.”
“Are we talking about practice, man?”
DeMarcus scowled. Did Jamal realize he was parroting the tough and talented—but undisciplined—Allen Iverson’s infamous quote? Was the rookie’s identity crisis cause for concern?
“You’re not Allen Iverson.” DeMarcus glanced at the other tattoos on the rookie’s arms. “You’re not Michael Jordan or Kobe Bryant, either. You’re Jamal Ward. Put in the practice time.”
Jamal pushed away from the table and got to his full six-foot-five-inch height. “I was drafted my freshman year. I took my team to the NCAA championship.”
DeMarcus lifted his eyes to meet Jamal’s. “That’s a great accomplishment. But you didn’t do it by yourself. You were part of a team, just like you’re part of a team now.”
Jamal jabbed his chest with his right forefinger. “I’m a superstar.”
DeMarcus stood. “Wearing Iverson’s jersey, talking like him, that ink on your arms—those things don’t make you a superstar. Your God-given talent and a whole lot of hard work is what will help you become a superstar. You’re not there yet. Do you want to be?”
Jamal glared at him. DeMarcus held his gaze. He saw the struggle in the younger man’s eyes. He understood the doubt in his mind. The rookie didn’t know whether he should listen to his coach or continue believing he already was a winner in the NBA, even though he hadn’t even played a full season.
Jamal broke eye contact. “Yes, I do. I want to be a superstar.” He sat down. “I want to be a winner.”
DeMarcus reclaimed his seat. “Good. First, drop the alternate personalities. Don’t try to be someone else. Learn who Jamal Ward is and play to his strengths.”
Jamal smoothed his hand over his brown, clean-shaven head. “OK.”
“Second, I want a hundred and ten percent during practice.” DeMarcus sensed Jamal’s discomfort. “What is it?”
“The other players don’t like me.”
This was the NBA. Why did he suddenly feel as though he were coaching a Pee-Wee team? “The other players don’t know you. You’ve been pretending to be other people. I bet you don’t even know you. Once you show them you’re committed to winning, they’ll come around.”
“OK.”
Another problem solved? “And third, learn the plays. The offense and the defense. If you don’t, I’ll fine you.”
Jamal’s jaw dropped. “But—”
DeMarcus interrupted him. “OK?”
Jamal frowned. “OK.”
“Good. I’ll see you at the airport tonight.” DeMarcus watched the rookie leave.
He had eleven more of these bonding sessions. Luckily, he’d spread them out over the next couple of weeks. But, if they were all like the first two, he’d lose his mind.
DeMarcus scrubbed his face with his hands. He was exhausted. He’d gotten to work at five o’clock this morning to better fit these player meetings in with the rest of his pregame preparations. DeMarcus stood and checked his watch. It was almost two o’clock. He logged back on to his computer to watch more game footage. He’d work for a couple of hours before heading to the airport.
