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“I suppose we are.” Janet sounded bored.
“You’re a status conscious, judgmental elitist.” She stopped short of adding “bitch.” How could she ever have entertained the idea of becoming partners with such a pretentious person?
“Excuse me?” Janet’s question was sharp.
“And I’m not.” Marilyn ignored her. “Yet we’re both O-B-G-Y-Ns.”
“I resent that.” The clinic partner’s tone bristled.
Marilyn narrowed her eyes. “And I pity people who judge all athletes by the negative behaviors of some of the extremely few players the media cover.” Marilyn’s voice shook as her temper grew. “Until you know even one of them personally, don’t. Judge. Any.”
Janet’s intake of breath was long and deep. “I don’t see a call for your hostility.”
Marilyn’s words rolled right over the clinic partner’s response. “I didn’t meet my husband at a club, Janet. He doesn’t frequent casinos or bars or strip joints. Do I seem like the kind of person who would marry someone like that?”
Janet stuttered. “Who knows what a woman would do for a man like that once he got his hands on her?”
Marilyn’s words came to a stop. She frowned. “Do you think he’s sexually enslaved me?” Intriguing.
“How would I know? However, the photo of the two of you in the paper was fairly provocative.” The other woman sounded almost jealous.
Marilyn braced her left fist on her hip, brushing the soft cotton material of her pleated brown shorts. “Rick would rather spend a quiet evening at home with me than a night on the town with the fellas. Do you think you’ll ever see that on TV? Neither do I.”
She exhaled. Where had this rant come from? It had been building for weeks, possibly months. She felt lighter and freer now that she’d gotten those words off her chest. Her thoughts were clearer. Maybe she should thank Janet.
Maybe not.
Her cell phone rang from across the room. Marilyn hurried to the end table. Please let it be Warrick.
Emma’s text message read, “I saw the news! Are you all right? Want me to come over?”
Marilyn responded with one word, “Yes!” She dropped her cell phone into the front pocket of her shorts.
Janet cleared her throat. “Be that as it may, Warrick still has an undesirable image. His behavior reflects on you as his wife. Your husband’s behavior would also reflect on Dionne and me as your partners. Neither of us believe that image is well suited to the clinic.”
Marilyn’s attention shifted to the television screen. The station finally had moved on to something other than the Jordan Hyatt fairy tale.
She took the universal remote from the black marble coffee table and turned off the TV. “I know the real man. If you’d rather believe the media than trust my judgment, then you’re right to forgo our partnership.”
“Or perhaps you’re misguided.” Janet’s tone was cool.
“I’m not.” Marilyn’s voice was cold. “Besides, this media frenzy will disappear once the season’s over.”
“I guess we’ll see Monday morning.” Janet seemed dubious.
Marilyn scowled. The Monarchs’ season wouldn’t end Monday. The team would win the Eastern Conference title as well as the NBA finals. It was what Warrick wanted, and he wouldn’t let anything stand in his way.
She crossed the family room back to the telephone base on the ebony marble corner table. Marilyn squared her shoulders beneath her green T-shirt and the near crushing disappointment of not getting the clinic partnership. “Thank you for calling me with your decision, Janet. I appreciate the courtesy. I hope you and Dionne will be very successful with the clinic.”
“Marilyn, when you’ve had enough of your husband’s antics, give us a call.” Although Janet’s words were calm and confident, they didn’t mask her urgency. “Dionne and I are interested in everything else you would bring to the partnership.”
Everything else meaning her parents? Marilyn’s disgust was self-directed. She’d wanted the clinic partnership. Unfortunately, her desperation had blinded her to how high a price the other women had required. It sickened her how close she’d come to paying it.
“I can’t believe I let someone like you try to tell me my husband isn’t worth keeping.” Could she ever forgive herself? “He’s a better person than you could ever dream of being. I wouldn’t trade him for your partnership even if your clinic was the only game in town.” It took all of her control not to slam the receiver onto the telephone base.
Marilyn left the family room to get a glass of ice water from the kitchen. Her thoughts were scattered. Her muscles were shaking with reaction.
How could she have been so blind—and desperate?—to have ever considered a partnership with Janet Crowley? She may not have been certain where her marriage was heading—the overwhelming media attention was still a concern—but she knew her career path could never lead her into business with the affected parasite.
