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“Then why are you giving me a hard time? Just tell me what you’re seeing and why you think the team’s losing again.”
“Why waste my breath?” Oscar set his mug on another pile of reports. He laid his hands flat on the papers strewn across his desk.
“Why would sharing your insights be a waste of breath?”
Oscar shrugged. “You never listen. You think you have all the answers.”
DeMarcus stood. He shoved his hands into the pockets of yet another pair of black warm-up pants. The assistant coach was right. Oscar had often volunteered his thoughts, but DeMarcus hadn’t listened. “That was in the past. Look, I’m out of ideas. I’m asking for yours.”
Oscar heaved a deep sigh. He settled back into his chair. “I’ll tell you what I’ve told you before. The only person who likes Jamal is his mother.”
DeMarcus was pretty certain that wasn’t true. Although, in addition to Oscar, Jaclyn and his father also thought Jamal should be benched. “You don’t have to like your teammates to win.”
“It doesn’t hurt.” Oscar was back to pinching his words.
DeMarcus scanned Oscar’s office. How did the assistant coach find anything in the chaos on his desk? With the reports and boxes lined up across the floor, there wasn’t any room to pace. “I’ve had teammates I haven’t liked. That didn’t matter when we were on the court.”
“That’s one of your problems, Marc.” Oscar rocked back in his chair. “You think everyone should be like you.”
DeMarcus knitted his brows. “No, I don’t.”
“Teammates should be able to play to win whether they like each other or not.”
“That’s right.”
Oscar shook his head. “That’s you. Everyone’s not like you.”
“What are you suggesting? That I use Match.com to put the team together?”
The hint of a smile touched Oscar’s lips. “Not everyone’s a basketball machine. Those one-on-one meetings with the players aren’t going to mean a damn if you don’t remember that.”
DeMarcus nodded. “Thanks for the tip. Anything else?”
Oscar leaned back in his seat. “Peacocks are very pretty birds, but they don’t fly for long.”
DeMarcus cocked a brow. “Meaning?”
“Just because a player draws attention to himself and has exciting moves doesn’t mean he’ll carry you to the play-offs. Take a look at a couple of pigeons. You find those birds everywhere, including—with the right coaching—the play-offs.”
DeMarcus hooked his hands on his hips. “Are you going to point these peacocks and pigeons out to me?”
Oscar shook his head. “You’ll recognize them.”
DeMarcus turned to leave the office. Everyone was speaking in code this morning. He had no idea there was so much mysticism in NBA coaching.
“Are you going to fire me?” Vanessa lowered herself with a noticeable degree of caution onto one of the three black guest chairs in front of Jaclyn’s desk.
Jaclyn folded her hands on the manila folder in front of her. She studied the younger woman. Vanessa’s confrontational attitude was much subdued.
Her almond-shaped, dark brown eyes were wide and wary. “Do you think I should?”
Vanessa angled her chin. There was the aggression to which she’d grown accustomed. “No.”
Jaclyn hadn’t expected any other answer. “Why not?”
Vanessa’s gaze wavered. She bit her lip. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Jaclyn arched a brow. “You weren’t gossiping with Gerry about Marc and me? You weren’t giving him information about the players so that he could pass it on to the media?”
