Homecourt Advantage

by Rita Ewing

  “Sandi! Look at you, you look good enough to eat,” Michael began, laughing as he took Sandi in his arms and hugged her. “Of course, I don’t know how big my appetite will be. I gotta be ready for the Bulls tomorrow.”

  “Oh? Really?” Sandi asked as she pushed against the star ballplayer so she could look up at him. “Well, I’m hungry enough for the both of us. I’ll do all the eating myself.” She smiled coyly and twisted a long lock of her auburn hair around her finger.

  Michael liked Sandi’s quick literal interpretation of his words. She wasn’t the type to dig too deep searching for something that wasn’t there. Unlike someone else I know, he thought as he remembered his last argument with Dawn. He and Sandi could just free-flow together.

  “So,” Michael asked. “How was your trip?”

  “Fine, I guess,” Sandi answered. “I hate airplanes, though.”

  “Yeah, I know. They can get pretty scary when there’s turbulence. Was your flight rough?”

  “Rough? Oh, no. I don’t like planes because all that stale, dry, recycled air is bad for my skin,” Sandi said, stopping for a moment to peer at her own reflection in the mirror.

  The two of them stood there like that for a long moment looking at their reflections.

  Damn, Michael thought, we sure look good together.

  “We look good together, huh?” Sandi asked, shaking her mane ofcurls into place. “We’d make some pretty babies.” She smiled up at him and licked her full, glossy lips.

  “Umm,” Michael stuttered, “I don’t think I’m ready for kids yet.”

  “Yeah, well, who knows what the future has in store,” Sandi nonchalantly tossed back at him.

  “What are you drinking tonight?” Michael was anxious to get a few drinks into his date so that he could take her up to his room and relax.

  Sandi had met Michael on the road on more than a few occasions after their initial meeting at a popular New York strip club one night after a game. Sandi was open-minded and was not the type of woman who got jealous about him going to gentlemen’s clubs. Hell, she enjoyed a good lap dance herself. Michael knew from experience that Sandi was an expert lover, especially when she was slightly intoxicated. She might even do a little dance for him tonight.

  It had been easy to convince himself that he had a good thing going with the beautiful model. As he’d rationalized on more than one occasion, most of the guys cheated, and he wasn’t even married—and wouldn’t be if he could help it. The two other Flyers in the lobby bar were very married. But he’d learned quickly, the “side girl” and the “wifey” were separate. The two had nothing to do with each other.

  With Sandi there were no strings attached, no questions asked, nothing, in fact, but a round-trip first-class airline ticket and some of the best sex he had ever had. What could be better? he asked himself as he brushed away her nagging comment about them making pretty babies.

  They sat together at the bar drinking and talking for a couple of hours. By the time Michael helped Sandi gather her overnight bag and belongings from the bell captain’s desk, both of them were drunk and ready to retire to Michael’s suite and king-sized bed.

  He had Sandi’s black Chanel duffel bag slung over one shoulder and one arm around her waist when he stepped forward to push the button for the elevator. Just as Michael held the door open for Sandi and stepped into the elevator himself, he turned around to press the button for his floor. The button lit up and Michael dropped her bag as he turned around and gently pushed Sandi up against the elevator’s mirrored rearwall. As he bent to kiss his date fully on her delicious open mouth, something in the mirror caught Michael’s attention. The doors had not closed completely as Michael looked up in horror at the reflection.

  The young star immediately recognized his fiancée striding across the lobby, clutching her own overnight bags. She stared directly at Michael and Sandi, looking shell-shocked.

  As the elevator doors closed, Michael stood there feeling deflated and oblivious to Sandi’s persistent tugging fingers. For once in his life, he didn’t know what to do.

  Michael sat by himself in the front of the bus on the way to the Chicago Bulls’ new arena for shoot-around practice. He wanted to be alone. He could hear his teammates’ loud talk and was already, after only one year in the league, familiar with the various topics of conversation swirling around him.

  Some of his colleagues would be engaging in ticket switching for tonight’s matchup against the Bulls. This, Michael learned early on, was a simple matter of swapping tickets with your teammates so that no one’s wife, fiancée, girlfriend, mistress, or some miscellaneous groupie came in contact with someone the player did not anticipate having at the game. Michael remembered fèeling as if he was a true Flyer the first time one of his teammates had approached him to switch tickets. He had proudly handed over his seats in exchange for his comrade’s tickets.

  Some of the guys, Michael knew, would be discussing their latest road-trip conquest, most often referred to as “roadkill.”

  After last night, Michael felt like putting all of his own sextracurricular activities on hold. Somehow it wasn’t as fun when he got busted. He figured Dawn must have had a few days off from work and had planned on surprising him in Chicago. After Michael had gotten over the initial shock of seeing Dawn in the hotel lobby, he had rushed Sandi up into his room and left her there, telling her he’d be right back. By the time he’d gotten back down to the lobby, Dawn was nowhere to be found. He searched the hotel, and if she’d checked in, she hadn’t registered under her name. Michael had been calling their apartment all morning trying to reach her.

  When he’d returned to his room hours later last night, he’d found Sandi prepared to go and stay with a girlfriend of hers who lived nearby. He’d been grateful and relieved that she’d realized she was no longer a welcome visitor, first-class plane ticket or not.

  “Yo, Mike! Whassup, man? You awfully quiet today. That fine-ass honey you was with last night wore you out, huh?” Michael’s teammate Kyle started cracking up at his own comments.

  “Whatever it is, brother, you better shake it off. We need you to kick some ass tonight,” Brent said from his seat in the rear of the bus.

  Michael didn’t even turn around.

  “Michael? You all right, man?” Collin asked, tapping him on the shoulder from the seat directly behind him.

  Michael sighed deeply and turned around to face Collin. “Naw, man.” He shook his head and looked out the window. “I fucked up. I fucked up real bad this time.”

  “You wanna talk about it?” Collin asked gently.

  Michael was quiet for a long moment before answering. “My girl showed up,” he said softly.

  “What? What happened?” Collin asked, leaning in toward the seat in front of him.

  “My girl showed up. I got caught,” Michael repeated loudly.

  “Damn, Mike!” Kyle interrupted. “How’d you let that shit happen? You know the rules; no women on the road. Well, at least not the ones you’re serious about.”

  “Man, I couldn’t help it. She surprised me. What the fuck was I supposed to do?” Michael knew his teammates gossiped more than the wives, and wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

  “Man, fuck that! You do your own thing! She ain’t going nowhere. Where else is she going to be able to live large, shop all the time, and drive dope-ass cars?” one of his other teammates demanded of him, obviously thinking the problem had become a community affair. “And I speak from experience. Look at how many times my wife walked out on me and came running back with her tail between her legs. And they want to call us dogs!” He howled with laughter.

  “For real, Michael,” a voice chimed in from the card-playing section of the bus. “He’s right. Your girl probably just wanted a little bit ofdrama so you’d feel sorry for her and get her a fat gift. Don’t even worry about it, man.”

  “That’s right, dude. Add a little cash to her stash; that’s the only reason they stay with us anyway, all the money
we make,” someone else chimed in.

  It was hard, but Michael tried to ignore his teammates. Everyone seemed to have some type of advice for him, but he knew Dawn well enough to know that if he followed in their footsteps, he would lose her forever. Plus they were wrong. Dawn was not like the women they were talking about; she genuinely loved him. This just needed to blow over, but as Michael thought about it, he figured maybe a gift would speed up the forgiveness process.

  Michael looked up as he felt Collin slide into the seat next to him. “Okay, so what’s your take on my situation?” Michael asked the veteran.

  Michael was actually glad that Collin had sat down next to him. He had a lot of respect for Collin and admired his maturity and composure. Collin tended to keep to himself, especially lately, and Michael was slowly beginning to understand why, free-agency blues or not. Collin DuMott was on an entirely different level from the rest of his teammates, with the possible exceptions of Paul and Brent.

  “Funny, I was going to ask you the exact same thing,” Collin answered. Before Michael could respond, Collin continued. “Before you let your teammates tell you how to handle your affairs, you might want to ask yourself how you think Michael should manage Michael’s business. These guys don’t know your fiancée. Hell, they barely know you. Some of us have been playing together for years, but we all get so caught up in our careers and winning and making more money, it’s rare that we ever take the time out to really get to know one another.”

  Michael slowly nodded his head.

  “You let them convince you your lady is no different from any other woman and you’ll be just like the rest of them: spineless, selfish, egocentric jerks,” Collin continued.

  Michael agreed with everything Collin was saying. Still, he was not sure how he was supposed to apply it to his situation with Dawn.

  “So many guys are just so happy to be part of the league thatthey’ll do whatever it takes to fit in. That includes adopting the league’s stereotypes of women. That’s one of the reasons why so many of our relationships are fucked-up. Just because the majority of men in the league cheat doesn’t make it right. It just means that a lot of men are out there dogging their women. Nothing more, nothing less,” Collin said disgustedly.

  Collin paused for a moment. It occurred to Michael that Collin sounded as if he may have been rehearsing these lines to himself. Michael wondered just who it was Collin was trying to convince, himself or Michael.

  “I’m not saying that I’m any different from any other guy in the league,” Collin said. “There’ve been times when I jumped on someone else’s bandwagon myself. But there’s something to be said for knowing the difference between right and wrong and knowing what’s appropriate or inappropriate for your own relationship. Otherwise, you end up walking in other people’s footsteps. You’ve heard what’s good for the goose is not always good for the gander?”

  Michael was beginning to understand what Collin was saying.

  “You’ll wind up trying to convince people you love that you can do no wrong, saying to yourself, since everyone else is doing it, it must be right. In the long run, you’ll either end up in a relationship where your woman won’t respect you and she’ll be afraid to have any expectations of you. Or you’ll be in and out of meaningless relationships, hurting yourself and others over and over again,” Collin said.

  This was all so heavy for Michael. It was like a huge dose of reality that he wasn’t ready to swallow. “What’s wrong with meaningless relationships?” he sardonically asked.

  “Hey, if you think that would make you happy, then go for—”

  “No, seriously, I hear what you’re sayin', man,” Michael interrupted, feeling as if his head were spinning. “But I don’t really know how to deal with this stuff. I mean I know I love Dawn and I want to marry her …; one day. But what if some of the things I’m hearing are true? Maybe I am too young to even be thinking about getting married. Maybe I do need to just sit back and enjoy the lifestyle with all its perks, and see what else is out there.”

  Michael shook his head back and forth. “I don’t know, Collin. Imean shit, just about every guy on this team cheats. We all see it, everybody’s doing it. It’s accepted, it’s cool, and if you’re one of the few who’s not down with that, then they call you a fag or say you’re pussy-whipped at home or somethin'. Even you, Collin, they think you’re different ‘cause you’re so devoted to Remy—not that anyone could blame you. But it’s like when you’re in Rome, you do as the Romans do, and if you don’t, you just get dogged out.”

  “Look, I know it’s hard,” Collin told him. “The pressure to do what’s right according to you or what’s right according to your boys; it’s a tough position. You’re young too. You’re probably not even sure exactly what it is you want out of life, much less one relationship. Take your time, man. You’re going to end up doing what you want to do anyway. Just make sure the decision’s yours.”

  “Thanks, man,” Michael said as he lightly tapped Collin’s fist with his own. “For everything.”

  Michael had said more than he should have, but he was getting tired of people telling him what he should do. Even if he was able to find a solution, it would not matter. In his mind, he was in a no-win situation. He wanted Dawn to still be his woman, but she would have to be patient and willing to give him time before he was ready for marriage, or faithfulness for that matter. Michael only wondered if Dawn would remain with him under those terms.

  Chapter 32

  The crowd in the Mecca was on its feet as the referee called a foul against Scottie Pippen, who had just slapped Steve Tucker’s wrist in an attempt to steal the ball while Steve tried to make a shot. Now Pippen was visibly furious as Steve approached the foul line to shoot his two free throws.

  Steve could hear Pippen yelling, “That was bullshit, Tom, you know that call was bullshit! I ain’t touch him!”

  The referee just ignored the star.

  Steve’s adrenaline was pumping like crazy as he prepared to take the two shots. If he made the baskets, the Flyers would go to the NBA championship series. There were only four seconds left in the game, and the Flyers were one point ahead of the Bulls.

  Steve bounced the ball up and down as the home crowd quieted so he could concentrate.

  “Ain’t it about time for you guys to choke again?” Pippen taunted Steve just as he released his first shot.

  As soon as the ball left his hands, he knew that the shot was good, and so did the fans as they erupted into wild cheers. Steve lifted up his hands to receive high fives from Brent and Collin while the referee waited to toss the ball back to Steve.

  “Naw, man, we just trying to get one of what you have already,” Steve pointedly said, looking at Scottie with a mixture of respect and fierce competitiveness.

  As Steve bounced the ball again, he looked out into the stands to see Stephanie’s reassuring smile. He was so grateful that she was a part of his life now and that the chapter with Kelly was finally behind him for good. As much as Steve longed to advance to the championship, even more, he wanted to make Stephanie proud of him. Saying a silent prayer, Steve released his second shot. The ball seemed to move in slow motion. As the leather sphere reached the rim, it rattled around and around for what seemed like an eternity before finally toppling inside the basket.

  Everyone in the Mecca was on their feet as the Flyers quickly returned to defense. Since both teams were out of time-outs, the Bulls were immediately back on offense as Jason Williams threw a long pass downcourt to Pippen. The Flyers defense swarmed Scottie as if he were honey and they were bees. Realizing that there was no way he could get a shot off, Pippen attempted to throw the ball to a very wide-open Eddie Curry. Paul obviously read Scottie’s mind as he jumped in the line of the pass and practically stole the ball from Curry’s hands. Paul dashed down the court, making an easy layup just as the buzzer signaled the game was over and the Flyers had officially become the Eastern Conference champions.

  Steve felt eupho
ric as he jumped up and down and ran up the court toward Paul where all of the other guys had begun to converge around him in celebration. Steve looked around to hug Coach, but Mitchell was nowhere in sight.

  The media did not waste any time getting on the court as they began filming. Steve knew the New York media well enough to know what their angle would be on this defeat: the team that eliminated the Bulls.

  Amidst more high fives than he could count, congratulatory slapson the back, and cameras shoved in his face, Steve headed off the court toward the locker room on a high he had never before experienced. He could not stop smiling thinking about going to the NBA finals and the fact that he had played a big part in getting the team this far. Just as Steve made it through the mouth of the tunnel, he began envisioning tomorrow’s headlines, heralding him as THE FLYER WHO SAVED THE DAY OR TUCKER DETHRONES THE BULLS.

  Steve was having a difficult time reaching the locker-room door with all of the reporters swarming his path. They seemed to be as worked up as the players.

  “Excuse me, Steve Tucker?” Someone grasped Steve’s arm.

  Steve turned around to discover a police officer holding on to his arm. The cop was about a foot shorter than Steve.

  “I’ll be all right Officer, the crowd’s a little excited about the win, that’s all. They’ll clear out in a few minutes,” Steve said as he tried to continue on his way.

  When the officer failed to release his grip, Steve looked back and said more brusquely, “I said I’m fine.”

  “Mr. Tucker, I’m afraid that my partner and I are going to have to detain you,” the short officer said, motioning for someone else to join him.

  “Detain me? For what?” Steve asked.

  “We have a warrant for your arrest.”