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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.
The e-mail was waiting for him. It was addressed to all Monarch and Empire Arena employees from Jaclyn Jones. She’d bought the arena. The message went on to reassure everyone—staff, management, coaches and players—that the Monarchs were staying in Brooklyn. DeMarcus closed his eyes in relief. This must mean the Empire owners had accepted the bid from Jaclyn, Violet and Albert—without Jaclyn having to mortgage her house.
The good news reenergized him. He could only imagine the euphoria Jaclyn felt. DeMarcus locked his computer again and hurried toward his office door. There was a new arena owner he wanted to congratulate—and a woman with whom he wanted to celebrate.
Minutes later, DeMarcus stood in the threshold of Jaclyn’s office. He was loathed to interrupt her intense concentration as she sat behind her desk reading the thick document before her. She held a pink highlighter in one hand and braced her head with the other. She was wearing her red skirt suit, the one he’d come to realize she saved for critical meetings.
He knocked on her door. Jaclyn looked up from her reading and went very still. DeMarcus recognized the distance in her and understood it. He still hadn’t proven to her that she could trust him. That he respected her as his boss. He’d made a terrible mistake—a series of them. How was he going to make amends?
“Congratulations, Jack. You pulled it off. You bought the Empire, and without having to mortgage your house.” DeMarcus crossed her office and sat in one of her visitor’s chairs.
“That’s definitely a bonus.” Jaclyn seemed to relax by degrees.
DeMarcus laid his forearms on the chair’s armrest. He was restless with this gulf between them, the awkward conversations that feared hidden meanings in every word. “I wish I could have seen Gerry’s face when the lawyers told him you, Bert and Vi were the new arena owners.”
Jaclyn’s chuckle had a mischievous tone. “I should have brought a camera. It was a moment to remember.”
DeMarcus took in her wide smile and twinkling eyes. Her cheeks were flushed with victory. Her joy was contagious. “You look so happy.”
“I am happy. And I’m going to enjoy this feeling for as long as I can. It won’t last.”
That quickly, the light in her expression dimmed. DeMarcus felt her disappointment as his own. “You think Gerry hasn’t given up?”
Jaclyn’s full red lips twisted. She dropped her gaze to the papers in front of her. Contracts? “Not by a long shot. Bert said Gerry’s nurtured his resentment for decades.”
