Homecourt Advantage (31 page)

Oh, Brent wanted the championship! He had grown up a fan of the New York Flyers, and since joining the team, it had become his goal to bring a championship to the team he had loved as a child. It was what he had been waiting for his entire life. Despite all of her unresolved issues about their marriage, Casey prayed that Brent could get his wish.

The game of basketball was not merely about the money for Brent. He was a competitor and he hated to lose more than anything. Brent even played his heart out during the preseason, which was rare for most players. Brent couldn’t stand to lose in a game of Scrabble!

When Paul Thomas got possession of the ball with twenty seconds left to play in the game, Casey leapt to her feet with the rest of the screaming crowd at the Mecca.

Paul ran down past the half-court line and guarded the ball as if his life depended on it. The Flyers were four points in the lead, and Casey suspected he’d hold on to the ball unless he was fouled. In the split second Rick Fox attempted to steal it with thirteen seconds left, Paul passed the ball to Brent, who quickly passed it to Collin, who kicked it back out to Paul. The Lakers failed in their attempt to foul one of the Flyers in order to stop the clock. The buzzer signaled the end of the game, and the masses in the Mecca were in a frenzy as confetti was thrown around the stands by the Statue of Liberty-clad dancers.

Alexis slowly approached Casey as she stood outside the locker room waiting for Brent. They had decided before the game to pick up some carry-out Chinese food and take it home to have a family dinner with Nikki.

Casey braced herself for Alexis’s interrogation about the other wives. Where was Dawn? And why hadn’t Lorraine made it? No doubt Robin Stillman had debriefed Alexis about all the gossip in the lounge.

“Hello, Casey. You look divine,” Alexis said as she gave her customary phony European kisses.

“Thank you, Alexis. You look great yourself.”

Truthfully, Alexis looked more distracted than fantastic. Normally she would have been elated about a win, especially in the finals. Casey noticed that Alexis kept looking at the locker-room entrance and then at her watch. She then started fidgeting with her hair and adjusting her sparkling diamond charm bracelet.

What was up with Alexis? Casey was ready for her tonight and was almost disappointed. She had a few lines rehearsed to explain why Dawn, Lorraine, and Remy were not at the game. Casey had planned on explaining to Alexis that they all had to work. She wanted to rub it in that those wives and fiancées had jobs of their own, that their schedules did not center around their husbands'. That would get under Alexis’s skin.

“It was good seeing you, Casey; take care,” Alexis said, not even looking at Casey as she hurried off toward Coach, who was quickly leaving the locker room.

Weird, Casey thought. What had gotten into Alexis? Maybe she was sick. God, Casey felt terrible thinking those mean thoughts while Alexis was under the weather. Oh hell, she and Coach were probably running off to do “The Late Show with David Letterman,” albeit a little prematurely. The Mitchells could at least have waited to ensure that the Flyers actually won the championship first, considering the team’s history in the finals, Casey thought.

“Dawn, dear, how are you?” Alexis gushed as she
floated through the revolving door at the Four Seasons.

Dawn smiled through her exhaustion and pain, dutifully going through the kiss routine.

“I’m okay, Alexis, just a little beat. And you?”

Dawn said, noticing Alexis’s driver return to the long black limousine and pull away.

“To the Grill Room,” Alexis said, taking Dawn’s elbow. “Follow me, dear.”

The maître d’ approached them and said, “It’s a pleasure to see you, Madame Mitchell. May I take your wrap downstairs to the cloakroom for you?”

“No, thank you, I’d prefer to keep it,” Alexis said, casting her wool crepe cloak dramatically over her arm.

“I have your favorite table reserved, madame. If you’d kindly follow me,” the maître d’ said with a click of his heels as he escorted them to the best table.

Dawn noticed that virtually everyone in the restaurant looked up from their meals as they passed by to get a glimpse of Mrs. Mike Mitchell. Dawn felt like Alexis’s underdressed step-daughter in her wrinkled linen pantsuit and no jewelry other than her small diamond studs. Feeling like a zombie when they reached their table, Dawn gladly took the offered seat. She stifled a yawn as a crisp white linen napkin was spread across her lap. She had just finished a thirty-six hour shift at the hospital; anything was better than being in the apartment with Michael. Even though they still lived together, she had not spoken to him since busting him with that other woman in Chicago. She didn’t know what to say. Hadn’t she seen enough? And as much as he had tried to explain and apologize, what could he really say other than “I fucked up"?

Dawn had seriously contemplated breaking the lunch date with Alexis, but it would have been her third time canceling. And there was a small part of Dawn that secretly fantasized Alexis was going to pass on a message from Coach that Michael had been miserable since she caught him red-handed and that he was ready to get married now to prove his undying love for her.

Picking up the menu in front of her, Dawn did not even feel like reading it. She would have much preferred having a quick McDonald’s cheeseburger.

“Dawn, you’ve got to try the spinach Strudel. It’s heaven to start with, and then I’d suggest the grilled swordfish with the glazed
pomme de terres.”

“Sounds good to me,” Dawn said, closing her menu, glad to have one less decision to make.

As the waiter poured them each a glass of chardonnay, Dawn watched Alexis inspect and rotate the liquid around her glass before she lifted it to the center of the table in a toasting gesture.

“Cheers. This is to change and transition,” Alexis said, lightly tipping her glass against Dawn’s.

Taking a sip of her wine, Dawn waited silently, a trick she’d learned during her psychiatry rotation to make the other person speak.

“You look tired, Dawn.”

“I feel tired, Alexis … You know, long hours at the hospital.”

“So I hear,” Alexis said, holding her wineglass with both hands as she swiveled it back and forth.

“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.

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.