Homecourt Advantage (2 page)

Two days before, the Flyers had ended the regular season with the best record in the Eastern Conference for the second year running. Now with the play-offs about to start, the real test for the team would begin. Would they finally win it all? But though the Flyers had advanced to the finals for the last three seasons, easily beating all of the other teams along the way, they had never won the championship. Bringing home the NBA championship trophy was the one goal that continued to evade the Flyers.

This would be the subject on Alexis’s mind.

“What do you have up your sleeve this time, Ice Queen?” Casey asked aloud in her cobalt blue Jaguar convertible as she finally madeher way up the endless driveway and arrived in front of the French Normandy Tudor estate.

Alexis came out the glass doors. “Casey! You look gorgeous, as usual. How
are
you? It seems like
forever
since I’ve seen you. Take your coat off!” Alexis spoke in a rush as she embraced Casey, withdrew even more quickly, and turned with her coat to an older black servant who had appeared out of nowhere.

As usual, Alexis looked stunning in her ice blue silk Escada blouse and matching slacks. A gold Chanel belt rested against her flat stomach. Her sparkling stone-encrusted Cartier watch and the ten-carat emerald-cut diamond on her finger kept flashing in Casey’s eyes as Alexis gesticulated with her hands. Casey still marveled at the sheer extravagance of Alexis’s trinkets. It was difficult to discern the woman Alexis really was beneath all of her adornments.

Alexis didn’t look a day over thirty-five, though she was actually in her early fifties by Casey’s reckoning. Though she was not overdressed, there was something too perfect about the way Alexis was put together; she looked like she was prepared for a tea at the White House. Not a hair moved from her French twist—even the honey color looked natural. Casey was certain that Alexis was not a natural-born blonde: her two brunette daughters gave her away. And Casey suspected that Alexis must have had a hairdresser on call twenty-four/seven.

Once Alexis ceased her flurry with the servant, she turned her blue gaze on Casey, who could feel Alexis’s eyes all over her. In true Alexis form, she began at the feet, gazing at the shoes, then made her way slowly up to the clothing, with a slight hesitation at the midsection to determine whether a gut was developing, then to the face to check out the makeup application, and finally to the hair. For those who did not know Alexis’s modus operandi, they would think she was either rude or trying to pick them up.

“Lovely. Casey, you just look lovely … without ever really trying. How do you manage to constantly pull it off?” Alexis asked, completing her once-over. Casey simply smiled in response. She hadn’t yet summoned the energy to deal with Alexis or her verbal barrage.

“Thanks, but I’m actually exhausted. I’m sure I look a mess. I haven’t been getting much sleep lately.”

Casey had always been uncomfortable receiving compliments, even as a child, especially since she was often referred to as the beauty of the family. The praise somehow made her feel guilty. Now, being married to Brent, she was constantly scrutinized by everyone from his employees to his fans, and she hated being sized up.

“Casey, I know how you feel. The games are so stressful for all of us, but you must get your rest. Brent depends on you to be strong.”

“It’s not the games, Alexis,” Casey said, marveling at Alexis’s total fixation on basketball. “It’s my job. I’ve been working long hours lately dealing with my clients and some pretty complicated legal issues.”

“Casey,” Alexis said, shaking her head. “I don’t know why you even bother to work outside of your home. It’s obvious that you don’t have the time, and I’m sure Brent could use your one hundred percent undivided attention. It’s such a crucial time.”

Casey’s voice didn’t change. “Brent will have to settle for what I have to offer. I like what I do, Alexis. I didn’t go to college and law school so I could sit home and be Brent Rogers’s personal cheerleader. Besides, Brent likes that I have a career of my own.”

“Well, I suppose as long as it’s acceptable to Brent, it shouldn’t pose any problems for the two of you.”

Casey shook her head, realizing that it would be futile trying to get Alexis to understand her point of view. Plus, she was far too tired to even try and convince her of anything.

In reality, it would take a great deal of work for Casey to look a “mess” even after three and a half hours of sleep, a scenario becoming even more frequent for her lately. Casey had a fit, long-limbed frame, standing five feet ten inches tall. Her caramel skin was flawless, and her high cheekbones offset her full, pouty lips. Casey had classic smiling eyes set below a thick mane of jet black curly hair. She was apt to underdress in a retro conservative uniform consisting of turtleneck, slacks, and Gucci loafers or boots for almost every occasion.

Casey stifled a yawn. Between the work that she brought home and the nights waiting up for Brent to get home, she was beat. She still had a difficult time sleeping if Brent was not home. She hated to admit—even to herself—that part of her sleeplessness was due to herworries of where Brent was spending his time. His affair a few years ago was still a sore spot, and though Casey told Brent that she’d forgiven, she hadn’t forgotten.

As Casey tried to suppress another yawn, she promised herself to make more of an effort to trust Brent. She had to, not only in fairness to their marriage but to herself. If she didn’t stop obsessing, she was going to run herself ragged.

“Why don’t we go into the morning room where it’s more comfortable,” Alexis suggested as she led Casey through several lavish yet tastefully decorated period rooms.

Casey felt a bit dizzy as she was led through the maze, each connecting room lovelier than the last. Although she had been to the Mitchells’ home before on several occasions, Casey was still astonished at the elegance and aura of her surroundings. When they finally reached the morning room, Casey almost gasped. There were four enormous new eighteenth-century oil paintings on each of the four walls. The ambience made her feel like she was in a museum even if the paintings weren’t bona fide treasures. Even the frames were gilded.

The sun highlighted the deep tones of the paintings, as well as the warm yellows and creams of the other furnishings in the room. The cumulative effect of the decor was masterful—both soft and gentle. The brown velvet sofas seemed to be overflowing with down fill, and the window treatments were canary-and-cream-striped works of art made of Scalamandre silk. There was a white marble mantelpiece, adorned with Limoges cherubs which housed roaring fires during the cold winters. Resting also on the fireplace was an exquisite floral arrangement consisting of fresh wild orchids, lilies, and baby’s breath. Casey felt intoxicated, despite the cold, harsh presence of Alexis.

“Alexis, this room is exquisite,” Casey said.

“It was a labor of love for me. Each room in my home is like an extension of myself,” Alexis said, clearing her throat as she motioned for Casey to sit beside her on the sofa, a sure indication she would change the subject quickly. “Casey, we’ve known each other, what … five, six years now, and I feel that I can
trust
you. You’ve always made Coach and me proud to have you in the Flyers family. You carry yourself well, you’re intelligent and articulate, and you’re an excellent envoy for your husband.”

Alexis dropped her voice conspiratorially. “Now, we both know how important this championship is to the boys.” Alexis paused and refolded her hands in her lap.

Casey’s toes curled at the description of her husband as a “boy” or any of the players as “boys.” The connotations were demeaning and never sat well with her, no matter how often the term was used to describe grown men, especially black ones, as were most of the Flyers players. Casey didn’t know how much longer she could take this little tête-à-tête, and she was having a difficult time concentrating on Alexis’s pitch. She was about to explode.

“Casey? Casey? Are you following me?” Alexis asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“Yeah,” Casey said, trying to hide her distaste.

“Well, do you agree with me?”

Casey shook her head, clearing her thoughts before she answered. “I agree that it’s important to carry myself in a dignified manner, but not only for my husband and his team—there are more important reasons.”
Like myself,
she wanted to say.

“Of course, Casey, but
my
concerns pertain to a few of the other wives and significant others who are not so—how shall I put it—aware of the delicacies of being involved with a professional athlete. Do you follow what I’m saying?”

“I hear you, Alexis, but I’m not so sure that I know what you’re getting at.”

“Well, let me put it this way: This is a crucial year for the Flyers for a variety of reasons. With the acquisition of the new players, especially Michael Brown, we are under a lot of pressure to win. We had to give up our top three draft picks for the next four years. But in order to pull it all together we need the cooperation not only of all the players but also their
partners.
“Alexis paused again.

Casey was totally aware that the real reason for her being there in the overstuffed, overgilded room had still not been mentioned.

“I’m not supposed to tell you this, and none of the boys know it yet either. Brent is finding out today at the meeting, but …” Alexisstopped in midsentence and looked around the empty room as if someone might be eavesdropping before she continued. “The Flyers will be sold and moved out of New York City if they don’t bring home a championship this year.”

“What?” Casey looked at Alexis in amazement. Was this one of her tricks?

Alexis continued. “It would be the worst for all of us,
especially
since the lurking buyer is Hightower Enterprises.”

Casey knew that not only was Leonard Hightower a bigoted, right-wing zealot, he was also known for acquiring sports teams as if they were toy trains. He treated his players like machines on a southern plantation.

“We’ve got to bring home the championship! Our boys need complete concentration during the play-offs. They get enough distractions from outside sources; they don’t need to get it from home too! We need to be on our jobs.”

“What exactly are you saying, Alexis?”

“It’s really quite simple, dear. The Flyers women need to stay out of the way. We should not be asking to meet our mates on the road for away games. You know how that can be such a distraction. And at home, the women need to stay in the background, and, Casey, I need your help to get through to them on this. You can teach them better than I can. I’m hoping you can help them get involved with activities of their own. Maybe then they won’t be so eager to disturb the boys. Do you think you could handle that, Casey?”

“Boys” again! Who the hell did Alexis think she was?

Casey swallowed hard before she answered, reminding herself that she was talking to her husband’s boss’s wife. Very carefully she said: “First, I don’t know how I can motivate the other wives to get involved in independent activities. That’s a personal decision; I can’t be responsible for their lives. Second, I have a career, Alexis, and I don’t have time to play house mother.”

“I know you can’t change their outlooks on life, Casey. That would be like getting water from a rock, but they admire you. If you could just get them to understand that this is a do-or-die season, then maybe they’d be willing to cooperate,” Alexis said in her syrupy voice.

“What are you proposing?”

“I want to encourage the ladies to arrive at the home games on time dressed in presentable attire, and I want to make sure that no outbursts occur with any of the fiancées or girlfriends during the play-offs. I want to ensure that the ladies are up to par on their etiquette. We’ll have a few public engagements, and I want to avoid any embarrassments. Whatever their personal problems may be, they can wait until after the season has ended. I think that’s a small price to pay for a championship title and the team remaining at the Mecca Arena where it belongs. I think you know better than anyone how to get through to them.”

Casey was speechless at her audacity. She knew that Alexis was prone to outrageousness, but this approached the ridiculous. Everyone was supposed to forget that they have a personal life and instead center their lives around the Flyers.
Yeah, right.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Mitchell.” A servant appeared, interrupting them. “A few other ladies have arrived and the parlor is properly prepared.”

Casey watched as Alexis jumped from the sofa and straightened her clothing. She then readjusted her diamond charm bracelet. Casey followed suit, feeling disgusted and defeated knowing that Alexis held all of the cards. That was usually the case with her and Coach.

“Casey, I need to know if you’re with me on this.”

Casey reluctantly nodded her head before she answered Alexis. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, feeling as if she had made a pact with the devil. But what could she do? Her husband, her marriage—both were involved.

“Wonderful!” Alexis beamed, changing face once again. “Oh and there’s one more thing. I’m glad to see that you and Brent have finally worked out your problems, especially about the little girl.”

“Excuse me?” Casey said.

“I saw Brent with the little girl and, I believe, her mother in Boston.”

“What?” Casey felt the floor dropping beneath her.

“She’s really a precious little thing. Brent looked so proud. He really dotes on her. I’m glad you can be generous enough to let him involve her in his life. You’re a fine example.” Then Alexis walked away to greet the other women as they filed into the living room.

Casey found her way into the circular parlor and
requested a cup of espresso from one of the women dressed in black and white. How was she going to make it through the breakfast? Alexis had just told her, basically, that Brent had violated his promise to her: he’d seen Nikki and her mother, Shauna — Casey’s nemesis.

Casey stared at the large round mahogany table with lace placemats. The table was decorated with a silver candelabra and settings for a nine-course meal. Freshly squeezed orange juice had already been poured into each glass at the table, and a fruit bowl was sitting in the center of each setting.