Homecourt Advantage (36 page)

“I … I think I better go,” Phil said, grabbing a sweater that had been flung over a wing chair in the corner of the library.

Phil did not look at Remy or Collin as he brushed past them leaving the room. The effect of his presence lingered on.

Remy felt as if her knees were going to buckle. She leaned against the wall closest to the door, farthest from Collin. Betrayal had previously been foreign to her; now the feeling penetrated her heart.

“Remy …” Collin began, with his hands up in the air as if offering something. “Remy. I’m so sorry about this. I never meant for this to happen, but—”

Remy held up her hand to silence him. “How long have you been lying to me?”

“Remy, it was not like that … I …”

“How long, Collin? How long has this
affair,
“ Remy said, spitting out the word “affair” with contempt, “been going on between the two of you?”

“Remy, it’s not an affair,” Collin said flatly.

“Well, whatever you want to call it!” Remy’s rage broke through the numb, hollow, empty space and propelled her. “Have you been doing it right under my nose all this time? That would certainly be convenient with all the late night business meetings the two of you had.”

“Remy, please,” Collin began.

“Or did you just wait until I was out of town so you could sneak around behind my back?” Remy said, strong enough inside now to move away from the wall.

“Please, Remy, it’s much more complicated than that. I don’t expect you to understand right away, but please give me a chance to explain. You have every right to be angry.”

“How did it work, Collin? Huh?” Remy said, beginning to piece things together. “No wonder you always looked so damn giddy on your postgame shows. You got to be with your lover, didn’t you? Let’s see, what did the article say? That the two of you have been seen gazing into each other’s eyes all around town. Is that it? Did you take your boyfriend to our spots, too, or did you pick some new hang-outs?” Remy said, feeling the rage strengthening her.

Collin fell back down onto the sofa and began rubbing his temples. “All right, Remy.”

“All right, Remy, what? Is this the point where I finally get the truth or do I have to read about it in part two of the
Post
exclusive, ‘Lovers at Play—Again'?” Remy said, mocking the headline as she walked into the library and snatched up a copy of the
New York Post
lying on the coffee table.

Remy studied the photograph of Collin and Phil on the cover and began shaking her head back and forth. “Did you think about how I would have to pick my humiliated ass off the floor? About my image, my career? Oh, and let’s not forget about my feelings.”

Gently he took the paper from her. “The freak show’s over. I have no excuse, I’m sorry—I couldn’t stop it. Please, Remy, I couldn’t help what I felt.”

“Couldn’t you have postponed the public displays of affection until you at least broke it off with your girlfriend?” Remy said, clutching her hands together so hard her knuckles turned white.

“Remy—”

“So now what?” Remy said, looking at Collin with her head cocked to the side.

Collin did not respond.

“Well? How do I go on, Collin? How do I hold my head up—and maybe go on to trust another man?”

“Stop, Remy.”

“ ‘Stop, Remy?’ When was Remy going to find out the truth? I ought to be thankful to the
Post.
I might not have ever known the true Collin.”

“Remy …” Collin struggled as he covered his face with both hands and began to cry.

Remy looked at this mammoth jock of a man so visibly tormented. “Collin, how long have you known that you’re gay?”

“Remy I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that I lied to you,” Collin said in anguish, still covering his face.

“How long have you known, Collin?” Remy pressed.

Remy watched as Collin began to rock back and forth on the couch.

“Collin? Was it before we even started dating?”

Collin slowly removed his hands from his face, revealing red eyes and damp cheeks. “Probably. It probably was.”

“That’s all I needed to hear. Good-bye, Collin,” Remy said, turning on her heel.

Remy hurried out of his apartment and into the hallway. Banging on the elevator call button, she tried to control the emotions and tears that were welling up within her. She felt as if her best friend, her lover, and a part of herself had just died.

“Who wants to get their ass kicked? It’s all about
the Benjamins’ baby!” Steve said, throwing a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the airplane seat next to Brent.

“Didn’t we get our asses kicked enough for one night?” Brent said, completely disinterested in the card game and wanting to stay engrossed in the latest book he was reading,
Stupid White Men,
by Michael Moore. The Flyers had lost game two to the Lakers, 78–109. No one was shooting well, least of all Brent. Good as his word, Coach had benched both Collin and Steve.

“Might as well take our minds off of it. There’s nothing we can do about our fucked-up coach this late in the series,” Steve said as he began to shuffle a deck of cards. “How ‘bout you, Paul? You feel like a game of blackjack?”

“I don’t feel like doing shit except strangling Coach,” Paul said in disgust as he stared out the window.

Steve walked to Rick’s seat. “Rick, my man! Now, I know you’re good for a game. I think tonight might be your lucky night. I’ll even start with two hundred for you,” Steve said, leaning back and winking at Brent.

Brent shook his head as Steve attempted to entice Rick. Everyone knew Rick never turned down an offer to win some money. The whole team knew about Rick’s gambling problems and his mounting debts.

“What? You hear that, fellas? Rick doesn’t want to win any money tonight!” Steve said, looking back over his shoulder toward Brent and Paul. “Are you feeling all right, Rick?” Steve teased as he placed his hand up against Rick’s forehead.

“Get your hand off me, man!” Rick began, smacking Steve’s hand away. “I’m trying to get some sleep. Just ‘cause you didn’t play tonight don’t mean nobody else ain’t tired. Shit, you try guarding Shaquille’s big ass for forty minutes in one night.”

“All right, man. That’s cool. You don’t got to get so sensitive.” Steve got up and started walking back toward Brent. “That’s never stopped you before, but that’s cool.” Steve sat on the edge of Brent’s seat and grinned sheepishly.

“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.”

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.