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“We talked yesterday.” He should have listened to her. She’d told him Gerald and Albert weren’t trustworthy.
DeMarcus selected the word-processing program and typed a short, curt resignation letter. Two more mouse clicks and he sent the document to the printer.
“It doesn’t matter if you don’t have Gerry or Bert’s support as long as Jackie’s on your side.”
“She’s not.” DeMarcus went through the process of shutting down programs that were running on his computer.
“What makes you think that?”
“She asked for my resignation.”
“What? When?” Troy seemed as baffled as DeMarcus was angry.
“Yesterday.” DeMarcus switched to his Microsoft Outlook program. He checked his Calendar schedule and scanned his e-mails. He forwarded his messages to other coaches to handle and canceled meetings he’d scheduled for the day. He didn’t bother with explanations. He didn’t have the time or the patience to make them.
“You should call her. Tell her what Gerry told you.”
“She already knows.” DeMarcus stood. “I can’t dig this team out of the league’s basement without management’s support, and I don’t have that. Two of your three partners don’t want me to win, and the third one doesn’t think I can.”
DeMarcus gathered the few belongings he’d brought to what used to be his office. He shoved his stopwatch into the front pocket of his dark gray warm-up pants. He placed the antique silver-framed photograph of his parents into his briefcase. But he’d carry the green and blue Miami Waves water bottle.
“What are you going to tell the media about your quitting?”
DeMarcus studied the other man. He had the sense Troy wouldn’t let him leave the arena until he was satisfied with DeMarcus’s response. “I’m not speaking to the media.”
Troy gave a dry laugh. “You were our coach for one day. They’ll want to speak with you.”
DeMarcus expelled an impatient breath. “Fine. I’ll feed them the usual leaving-for-personal-reasons crap. Tell them I want to spend more time with my father.”
“That won’t satisfy them.”
“It’ll have to.” DeMarcus itched to walk out the door.
Troy shoved his hands into the front pockets of his tan suit pants. “All right. And I’ll tell them we’re sorry things didn’t work out, but that we understand your reason for leaving.”
The media executive’s statement seemed personal. His words helped ease DeMarcus’s temper. “I appreciate that.”
Troy inclined his head, then left the office.
DeMarcus dropped back into his chair and scrubbed his palms over his face. What a rotten option: lose or quit. He couldn’t stomach either choice. DeMarcus dropped his arms and clenched his fists. Being a quitter seemed the lesser of two evils, but it still didn’t sit well.
He grabbed the executive binder human resources had given him yesterday—his first and only full day on the job—and turned to the contact information page. DeMarcus found Jaclyn’s direct phone extension at the fancy law firm where she worked. He punched the number into his cell phone and waited for the call to connect. Her voice mail activated almost immediately.
Jaclyn’s honey-and-whiskey voice took the edge off his temper. He remembered her pacing this office. The sway of her hips; the fire in her eyes. The discordant beep at the end of her message broke the spell.
DeMarcus straightened in his chair. “This is Marc Guinn. You were right. Gerry admitted he’d hired me to lose. I’ll leave my resignation with his secretary.” He hesitated, unsure how to end his message. “Good luck. With Gerry and Bert as partners, you’ll need it.”
He disconnected the call and stood. Removing his resignation letter from the printer, he folded it into an envelope he found in one of his desk drawers. He’d deliver the letter on his way out. Then he had to tell his father why he’d quit the team.
4
“You did the right thing.” Julian Guinn’s response came after a contemplative silence that had stretched forever. However, the clock above their fireplace mantel said it had only been minutes.
Some of DeMarcus’s tension drained with his father’s approval. Would his mother also have agreed with his decision?
The Park Slope neighborhood outside the den’s bay window was quiet. It was after noon on a sunny and warm Tuesday. Most of their neighbors were working. The retirees were enjoying Brooklyn’s waning summer. The long, dark winter wasn’t far away.
DeMarcus paced away from the bay window toward the fireplace. His sneakers were silent against the rich mahogany floor. He stood with his back to his father. “I’ve never given up on a job without at least trying. I wasn’t cut out to be a broadcast reporter, but I stayed with ESPN for a full NBA season. I wasn’t comfortable in that management position with the sports apparel line, but I stayed there, too.”
