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“Thanks.” Warrick took an easier breath.
He remembered well Andrea Benson’s persistence. She’d been dogged in convincing Barron “Bling” Douglas, the team’s captain and starting point guard, to join a rehabilitation center to help recover from his alcohol abuse. Barron had eventually agreed. And Warrick had replaced him in the starting lineup.
Warrick faced Troy. “I hope it’s sooner rather than later.”
“So do I.” Troy glanced at his thick silver wristwatch. “You need to call Mary and I’ve got to get Jackie up to speed. You’re not alone in this, Rick.”
The marketing executive crossed the hotel room and walked out the door. Warrick recalled the scene in the locker room after the previous game, the message his father had left on his answering machine, his wife’s request that he retire from the NBA.
He wasn’t alone? It sure as hell felt that way.
Janet Crowley’s clipped speech came down the telephone line. “Dionne and I have discussed at great length the impact of your joining our Linden Boulevard Women’s Health Clinic.”
Marilyn was certain they had. In fact, if she was a betting woman, she’d lay odds the partners had discussed her application within the past hour. Right about the time the local television station had aired Jordan Hyatt’s press conference. She slid forward on her fat, coffee-colored couch and muted the high-definition television in front of her. She’d heard enough of the broadcaster’s analysis of that woman’s lies.
What would motivate someone to destroy a good man like Warrick Evans? Jordan Hyatt deserved a special place in hell.
Marilyn’s left hand trembled as she held the land line’s receiver to her ear. There wasn’t any background noise on Janet’s end of the call. Did the other woman also have her television on mute? Marilyn didn’t doubt it was still on.
She struggled for a confident tone. “Have you mad
e your final decision?”
“Yes.” Janet spoke without emotion. “We no longer believe you would be a good fit for the clinic. Your negatives far outweigh the benefits.”
She was certain Janet considered her marriage to Warrick a negative. That knowledge burned like acid in her gut. Marilyn closed her eyes. Janet’s decision wasn’t a surprise. But Marilyn had wanted so badly to be a partner with that clinic. The opportunity to be her own boss and set her own hours was very attractive. Even more enticing had been the clinic’s focus on women’s health management, which was her passion.
She swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat. “This is because of Jordan Hyatt’s press conference, isn’t it?”
Janet hesitated. Hadn’t the clinic partner anticipated that question? Or had she expected Marilyn to simply thank her and hang up?
Welcome to my world, where nothing is ever as neat and tidy as you think it should be.
“Dionne and I have expressed to you on more than one occasion our concerns regarding your husband’s lifestyle.” Janet’s tone was stiff and defensive.
“Jordan Hyatt is lying.” Marilyn bit the words as her anger stirred again.
But why was she lying? What did she want? Money? Fame? Warrick?
“I’m sure every wife wants to believe her husband is a saint and that she’s the only woman who could ever hold his interest. But that’s not always the case, is it?” Arrogant amusement laced Janet’s words.
Marilyn’s palm itched to reach into the telephone and slap Janet’s face. It was fortunate for the other woman that they weren’t having this conversation in person.
She surged from her sofa and strode the length of the room. Marilyn tipped aside the oatmeal-hued venetian blind to peek at the sidewalk. There were even more reporters skulking in front of her home this evening than had been there before Warrick left yesterday. If they were waiting for her to say something to them, they could hold their breath—forever.
Marilyn turned from the window. “How many professional athletes do you know, Janet?”
“I don’t mix with that crowd.” The other woman sniffed her disdain.
Marilyn tightened her grip on the receiver. “Then on what are you basing your judgment of my husband?”
Janet sighed. “The lifestyle of star athletes is well documented.”
“All of them?”
“Enough of them.”
Marilyn switched the receiver to her right hand to ease her left fist. The fingers of her left hand tingled as circulation returned. “You and I are very different.”
