Keeping Score

by Regina Hart

  “You were a pretty bride.” The compliment seemed almost grudging. Susan met Marilyn’s eyes over her shoulder. “How many guests did you have?”

  “I don’t remember. A hundred?” What did it matter? Marilyn glanced at the pearl clock mounted above the mantel. Almost six o’clock.

  “What’s this? You like Grease?” Susan frowned at the compact disc soundtrack that Warrick must have left on top of the CD player.

  “Hey, that’s good shit.” Faye sprang from the sofa. She snatched the case from Susan and sang a couple of lines of the movie’s soundtrack.

  Marilyn blinked. “You know the words?”

  Faye set the case back on the CD player and crossed the room in strappy wedge-heeled sandals. She was wrapped in a figure-hugging minidress. Its jeweled magenta and black patterned cloth matched the highlights in her hair. “Of course. The young John Travolta.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Pretty hot.”

  Peggy shifted in her chair. “The old John Travolta’s not too bad, either.”

  “Shit, I’m hungry.” Faye rested her hip against the fluffy sofa and rubbed her flat stomach. “You got anything to eat?”

  The sudden shift in topic challenged Marilyn’s sluggish mind. She started toward the kitchen. “I’ll check.”

  Susan’s stilettos echoed behind her. The sound stopped at the doorway. “This is nice. Do you do a lot of cooking?”

  Marilyn faced Susan. The other woman was casting her gaze around the kitchen as though estimating the cost of the state-of-the-art appliances, green and white marble counter, white tiled floors, and blond wood cabinetry.

  “Some.” Marilyn pulled two packets of tilapia from the freezer and set them in the microwave to defrost.

  “What are you making?” Faye nudged Susan from the doorway, then stepped aside so Peggy could enter the kitchen first.

  “Tilapia and salad.”

  Marilyn wasn’t hungry, but her guests probably were. The meal wouldn’t come close to the culinary brilliance of the Italian restaurant they frequented, but they wouldn’t starve. She turned on the oven, then pulled vegetables from the fridge and a salad bowl from the cupboard.

  Susan traced her fingers across the stainless steel stove top. “Everything’s so clean. Do you have a maid?”

  Marilyn nudged the refrigerator closed with her foot and placed the vegetables on the table. “Yes. She comes in twice a week.”

  “Tilapia?” Faye wrinkled her nose. “I could order us a pizza.” She settled her hips against the counter and looked at Marilyn with hope in her toffee brown eyes.

  Peggy lowered herself into a kitchen chair at the table. “Tilapia sounds great to me.”

  The microwave buzzed. Marilyn avoided the other women’s gazes as she made quick work of seasoning the four slices of fish. “I don’t think you’re here for a meal. If that’s what you really wanted, you’d have gone to the restaurant.”

  Peggy rubbed her pregnant belly. “We saw the interview with Jordan Hyatt.” There was empathy in the other woman’s words.

  “I thought so.” Marilyn put the fish in a pan and set the pan in the oven. She closed the oven door as she straightened, then faced the other women. Her voice was firm. “Rick has never had an affair with Jordan Hyatt or any other woman.”

  Peggy, Susan, and Faye exchanged concerned looks. Peggy frowned. “Okay. If you’re sure, then we believe you.”

  “But how did she know about his tattoo?” Susan pulled a knife from the butcher’s block. She washed the tomato at the sink before slicing it for the salad.

  Marilyn grabbed another knife from the block to chop the lettuce. “She must have seen the pictures that deviant photographer took through our kitchen window.”

  Susan nodded toward the window on the far right wall. “That one?”

  “Yes.” Marilyn bit the word through her clenched teeth. If she could get her hands on that photographer, she’d break his fingers.

  Peggy peeled the cucumbers. “What did Rick say?”

  Marilyn avoided Peggy’s eyes. The other woman’s gaze seemed to reach into her mind. “He’s as upset as I am.”

  Faye joined the group at the table to cut the carrots. “I didn’t see a tattoo.” She shrugged. “But then I wasn’t looking all that closely. I’ve got a man.”

  Susan rolled her eyes. “We all do and they’re all fine.”

  The conversation turned to the NBA play-offs, the physical results of a professional athlete’s workout regimen, the sexual benefits, and the restrictions of their healthy diets. Faye’s biggest and most frequently voiced complaint was the moratorium on pizza. Marilyn lost herself in the other women’s energy, their laughter and their irreverent conversation. By the time they’d finished cooking and consuming the meal, Marilyn was more relaxed than she’d felt since Warrick had driven away from her in the Monarchs’ parking lot three days earlier.

  Marilyn escorted the other women back to the family room after they’d cleaned the kitchen. “I’m glad you came. I feel much better.”

  The admission surprised her. She’d never expected to find genuine friendship with these women. She’d at first believed she had nothing in common with them. Meanwhile the woman she’d known more than a decade longer had become worse than a stranger. Marilyn shook off the sadness before it took hold.

  Peggy returned to the armchair. “You look better, too.”

  Susan crossed the hardwood flooring to examine the caramel-colored drapes. “Almost back to your old self.”

  Faye helped their pregnant friend get comfortable before sprawling onto Marilyn’s sofa. “The tilapia was good. But next time we get pizza. I get enough of that healthy shit with Jarrett.”

  “So what are you going to do about Jordan Hyatt?” Susan wandered the room, touching the framed artwork mounted to the walls and fingering the sculptures placed around the room.

  “I don’t know yet.” Marilyn settled into the other armchair. “I’ve got to find a way to let people know she’s a liar.”

  Faye sat straighter in the sofa. “Why don’t you call your own press conference?”

  “That’s one idea.” Susan circled back to the black lacquered entertainment system in the room’s corner. “But it would be even better if you could get her to admit—publicly—that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

  Peggy combed her fingers through her ash blond hair. “How is she going to do that?”

  Faye scowled. “I mean, the pictures were so small, how could she tell what the tattoo was?”

  Marilyn had a mental picture of a light coming on. She blinked in its brightness. “She couldn’t.”

  Peggy’s grin spread slowly. “That’s right. Now we’ve just got to get her to admit it in public.”

  Susan flipped her light brown hair behind her shoulder to get a closer look at the sound system. “I’ve got that covered. A friend of mine has a popular radio talk show. He’s always asking me to convince Darius to go on his show.” She looked at the other women from over her shoulder. “Either he’s lost his mind or he thinks I’ve lost mine. I don’t give up my man like that.”

  Faye inclined her head. “I know that’s right.”

  “But he’d lose his mind over the opportunity to have Jordan Hyatt as a guest on his show and Mary as a caller.” Susan took another look at the Grease CD.

  Marilyn gaped. Ice cubes danced in her stomach. “Me? I’ve never called in to a talk show before.”

  “Don’t worry, Sandra Dee.” Susan faced Marilyn, waving the CD case. “Once we’re done with you, Barbara Walters will be calling for tips.”

  Pandemonium greeted Warrick when he arrived home Sunday afternoon. After his four hours of working out and practicing with the team, he’d showered and changed before coming home.

  Warrick locked the back door and followed the raised voices to his family room. His entrance brought an abrupt end to the shouting, allowing him to identify the participants if not the reason for the argument.

  “Mom. Dad. I would ha
ve come home sooner if I’d known you were visiting.” His sneakers were silent as he walked farther into the room, taking in the sparks shooting from Kerri Evans’s eyes and the tight line of John Evans’s lips.

  “Are you sure?”

  He ignored his father’s question and offered his in-laws a socially acceptable lie. “Hello, Terrell, Celeste. It’s nice to see you. I didn’t realize you were coming, either.”

  Celeste gave him a dispassionate once-over, taking in his tan khakis and black jersey. “Were you at work?”

  He ignored Celeste’s biting sarcasm. Warrick knew she didn’t consider his profession legitimate work. Hours of training, film and playbook study, and team meetings all amounted to a hobby as far as Terrell and Celeste Devry were concerned. But for him, they’d all added up to an Eastern Conference Championship and a one-and-one game record against the Denver Nuggets in the NBA finals.

  Warrick drew closer to Marilyn. He resisted the allure of her jasmine scent. “Why were you arguing?”

  She gestured to both sets of parents. “My parents are paying us a surprise visit.”

  Warrick’s brows jumped up his forehead. “All the way from San Francisco? That’s quite a surprise.” He glanced at Terrell and Celeste. In their formal clothes, they looked ready for a board of trustees’ meeting for one of the organizations that benefited from their support. What was behind this impulse trip?

  “That’s right.” Marilyn’s smile was tight around the edges. “And, by happy coincidence, your parents came by to see you.”

  With an effort, Warrick kept an even tone. “Yes, that’s great.” How many socially acceptable lies was a person allowed in one day?

  Celeste managed a delicate snort of disbelief. “Don’t worry. Terrell and I aren’t staying long. We’re just here to bring our daughter home.”

  Shock cut through him. “My wife is home.”

  Warrick’s words were the reflexive response of a man determined to hold on to the one he loved. But were they true? Where were he and Marilyn going? He might not have known, but he wouldn’t allow anyone else to answer that question.

  Marilyn searched his eyes, a question and a wish in hers. But he no longer knew without a doubt that their wishes were the same.

  Celeste gave him a cool look. “Marilyn has the opportunity of a prestigious position with a well-respected hospital in San Francisco.”

  “What does she have here?” Terrell looked around the family room as though searching for an answer. “She lost her job because of you. Is she supposed to sit at home while you father children with other women?”

  “That’s a little bit of the pot calling out the kettle, isn’t it, Terrell?” Celeste’s laughter was light and brief but with a noticeable edge. “Charming.”

  Terrell chose silence in response to his wife’s mockery. His cheeks bloomed bright red under his dark brown skin. A look of pain crossed Marilyn’s delicate features. Warrick wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

  “How dare you speak to my son that way.”

  Warrick was distracted by his mother’s angry words. Kerri’s knuckles were white from the tight-fisted grip on her navy purse strap. He released Marilyn and crossed to his mother. Cupping her elbow, Warrick tugged her toward the sofa. “Mom, why don’t you sit down?”

  John Evans’s raised voice almost overpowered Warrick’s request. “Don’t blame my son for that hospital firing your daughter. Rick had nothing to do with that.”

  “He had everything to do with it.” Celeste’s neck strained forward from the high collar of her dark blue jacket. “His irresponsible behavior reflected poorly on Marilyn’s judgment to marry him. It cost her the job with the hospital and the partnership with the clinic owners.”

  Kerri strained against Warrick’s hold on her arm and jabbed her index finger toward Celeste. “Small-minded people like you cost Mary those opportunities, not my son. Get it right.”

  “Do you think an irresponsible man would be able to afford a house like this?” John spread his arms to encompass their surroundings. “Would an irresponsible man become a success in the NBA, leading his team to the finals?”

  Warrick stared in disbelief at the older couple flanking him. Who were these people? They looked like his parents. They sounded like his parents. But he never would have believed their words had come from his parents.

  Celeste scoffed. “Behind every great man is a woman. Your son was lucky to find a woman as accomplished and intelligent as my daughter to help him.”

  His mother tugged against his hold again. Warrick held on for dear life. He was careful not to hurt Kerri, but he envisioned terrible things happening if he let her go.

  Kerri jerked a thumb over her shoulder at him. “My son graduated magna cum laude.”

  Terrell grunted. “From Rutgers. Marilyn graduated from Stanford. It’s a top five school. I think he got the better deal.”

  “Undoubtedly.” Celeste adjusted the navy strap of her Coach purse more securely on her shoulder. “Marilyn, are you coming with us or not?”

  “I’m not, Mother. I’ve told you before. This is my home and I’m staying here with my husband.” Marilyn’s response was quiet, her tone inflexible.

  “What are you saying?” Celeste hissed the question. “He’s ruined your career. He’s ruining your life. You need to get away from him and get your life in order.”

  “My life is in order.” Marilyn arched a brow. “Can you say the same about yours?”

  Celeste gasped. “How dare you?”

  Marilyn’s gaze shifted from her mother to her father and back. “I’ll make a deal with you, Mother. I won’t pass judgment on your marriage if you’ll stop judging mine.”

  Terrell’s eyes widened. “You told her?”

  Celeste grabbed her husband’s upper arm. “We’re leaving.”

  With her head held high, Celeste dragged Terrell from the family room. Within moments, Warrick heard the front door open, then slam shut.

  Warrick was still staring at his parents, who now seemed like strangers to him. He glanced at Marilyn. Her eyes were clouded by sadness. But she gave him an encouraging smile as though prompting him to prolong this rare positive experience with his parents.

  He cleared his throat. “Mom? Dad?”

  “What?” John’s response was characteristically brusque. He stared into the hallway as though expecting Celeste and Terrell to reappear.

  Kerri tugged against his hold. “Let me go. I’m not some feeble old woman.”

  That quickly, everything returned to normal. Warrick released his mother’s elbow. “I had no idea you were proud of me.”

  “Of course we are.” John gave up his vigilant watch over the hallway.

  In his peripheral vision, Warrick saw Marilyn shake her head.

  “I guess I should have read that in between your telling me Marlon Burress was making a fool of me and I was failing the team.” Warrick couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his tone.

  John shrugged. “I’m hard on you because I don’t want you to become complacent. You’re in the NBA. Great. But that shouldn’t be the end of it.”

  Kerri finally sat in the nearby armchair. She cradled her purse in her lap. “Other people can feed your ego—your fans, the media, Mary.” His mother sent a smile in his wife’s direction before returning her attention to him.

  Warrick dragged a hand across his forehead. “You may not have noticed, Mom, but the fans and the media haven’t exactly been kind lately.”

  Kerri’s brows knitted. “That’s true. Still, as your parents, it’s our job to keep you grounded and remind you that you’re not perfect.”

  “I never thought I was. I’m thirty-four years old. I probably never will be.”

  His mother rose from the chair and crossed to him. She cupped his cheek with her hand. “But you’re pretty darn close.”

  Warrick gave her a wry smile. “Any chance you and Dad could ease up on me?”

  Kerri dropped her hand and turned to her h
usband. “John?”

  His father gave him a curt nod. “But don’t let the championship ring go to your head. Come on, Kerri. Let’s go home.”

  Warrick walked with his parents to the front door. He sensed Marilyn following behind him. “We’ve only played two games against the Nuggets and we split those wins.”

  “Work harder.” John tossed the command over his shoulder.

  Warrick smiled at his parent’s standard response. “Thanks, Dad.”

  The encounter was surreal. All of his life, his parents had made him feel as though he wasn’t good enough. Today, he learned they were trying to keep him from getting an ego. They’d done their job almost too well.

  Once he and Marilyn had bid his parents farewell, Warrick locked the front door and turned to her. “What are the odds of our parents coming to our house at the same time?”

  “Your mother said she hadn’t heard from you in a week. You weren’t returning her calls.”

  He evaded the question in her eyes. “And your parents?”

  She shrugged. “My mother probably thought she’d have more influence over me if she made a personal appearance.”

  “She underestimated you.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “That’s true.”

  Her parents had underestimated Marilyn when they thought they could forbid her from marrying him. Almost three years later, they were still miscalculating the strength of her will. Her parents, her best friend, even the hospital and the clinic partners had tried to come between them. But Marilyn had stood by him despite all of that pressure.

  Wasn’t that evidence that their love was enough? How much more proof did she need?

  Marilyn tilted her head and offered him a smile. “Congratulations.”

  Warrick straightened from the door. “We lost Friday.”

  “You won Wednesday. Game one on Denver’s home court. You looked unstoppable.”

  He offered her a smile. “Denver underestimated us.”

  Marilyn gestured to his empty hands. “You’re not carrying a bag.”