Homecourt Advantage (15 page)

Even though Paul felt physically exhausted, his mind was racing with too many thoughts to sleep. The prospect of the team being sold and relocated to Albany if they did not win the championship hung over every game like the stench of a cigar. And Leonard Hightower, lurking around the first two games as if he was checking out his new inventory, didn’t help matters. Paul knew the Flyers had the talent to go all the way this year, but he did not know if they had what it took mentally. The team needed to pull together and start behaving like adults instead of a group of freshmen in high school.

It was not only his teammates’ immaturity that bothered him. Their blatant lack of morals and complete self-centeredness were a constant source of trouble for the team. Arguing with the referees, picking fights on and off the court, disrespecting women and themselves had all made it increasingly difficult for Paul to tolerate the selfish attitudes of most of his teammates, who were only concerned with their next contracts or how many individual statistics they could rack up instead of focusing on winning for the team. Paul also detested the hypocrisy and the lies. He had yet to figure out why most of his teammates even bothered to get married or engaged when all they did was cheat on their women as soon as the team went on a road trip—if theywaited that long. And now with his boy talking about being gay, Paul shuddered to think where the team was headed.

Paul finished turning off all the first-floor lights that Lorraine insisted upon keeping lit when he was not at home and limped toward their bedroom. As he reached the base of the stairs, he began replaying his teammate’s admission. It
was
shocking. As much as Paul hated to admit it to himself, he held certain stereotypes about gay men. His boy did not fit the image. Paul was also reluctant to think about what the Bible said about his friend’s choice of lifestyle.

On one hand, Paul was flattered that he trusted him enough to confide in him, but he also felt burdened by such a heavy weight. It was a volatile piece of information that Paul would never disclose to anyone else, especially now that his friend’s secret was his as well. If the other guys on the team ever found out, they would never let him live it down. Some of them were so infantile, they probably would not even want to take a shower with him anymore. Paul shuddered to think what Coach Mitchell would have to say, especially with the impending sale of the team and the efforts at revamping its image. Paul knew enough about Leonard Hightower to realize that if he was as big a racist as everyone asserted, he would be doubly hostile toward a gay African-American basketball player.

Paul could not help but wonder why he had told him. Still Paul had listened and tried to be a friend as he spilled his guts. Somehow, congratulating him did not seem like the appropriate reaction under the circumstances.

In retrospect, Paul realized he’d done the only thing he knew how to do: be a friend. He’d been there for him when he needed to talk and he had not judged him. At least not to his face. Privately, Paul thought homosexuality was anti-Christian and against the teachings of Jesus.

Paul attempted to shut out all negative thoughts before entering the bedroom. He needed his rest and he wanted to give all of himself to Lorraine. Although he had wanted her to come to the game tonight, he knew that she had agreed to work a double shift the night before. It would have been impossible for her to stay awake. As Paulturned the glass knob on their bedroom door, he took a small measure of comfort in the fact that she was safely in bed right now. It was one less night that he had to worry about her driving home late from Harlem.

Paul quickly tore off his shirt and eased down his pants before he slid in next to his wife. Moving next to Lorraine’s warm body, Paul lifted up her hair and gently kissed the back of her neck.

“Stop it! Leave me alone!” Lorraine said, twisting away from him.

“What? What did you say?” Paul said, sitting up in bed, completely bewildered.

“I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!” Lorraine said, panicked.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Paul said as he turned on the bedside lamp.

“Leave me alone! Go away! Go away!”

Paul turned his wife toward him and saw that her eyes were tightly shut and her eyeballs were frantically twitching beneath the closed lids.

“Lorraine, wake up, honey, you’re dreaming. Wake up, baby,” Paul said, slowly pulling Lorraine to a sitting position as she fought him in the process.

“Leave me alone! Leave me alone!” Lorraine continued to holler as her head rolled back like a rag doll’s.

Paul shook Lorraine gently to wake her. Her breath came in quick, short gasps and her lips were cracked dry. Slowly she pried her eyes open and looked at Paul as if he were a stranger. Her gaze began to dart around the expansive room.

“Are you okay? You were having a nightmare,” Paul said, pulling Lorraine’s limp body into his.

Lorraine did not respond to Paul except to move away from him and stare into the distance with large, vacant eyes. It scared Paul, the way she was looking. Tears began to stream down her face before she covered it with her hands and began to shake her head.

“This can’t be happening to me. I can’t take this, Paul.”

“What? You can’t take what, honey?” As Paul reached for Lorraine, he watched her whole body stiffen. “Baby, what’s wrong? You’re beginning to frighten me,” Paul said, reaching for her hand.

“Would you get me some water?”

“Will you please tell me what’s wrong?” Grabbing some tissues from the nightstand, Paul leaned forward and wiped Lorraine’s tear-streaked face. He looked at her questioningly.

“Well?” Paul refused to let up.

“It was just a nightmare,” Lorraine quickly said.

“Some bad dream. You want to tell me about it?”

“I don’t really remember. It was just scary, that’s all… I’m fine … My throat is just dry right now … I’ll get the water myself,” Lorraine said as she started to get out of bed.

“No, no, let me get it. You just relax. Do you want anything else?” Paul said, standing up.

“Just some aspirin.”

“No problem,” Paul said, heading toward the door.

“Paul?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Paul sincerely said to his wife as he left their room.

He was not convinced that everything was all right. Lorraine had been more than scared. She had been terrified.

“If I have to tell you kids to be quiet one more time,
I’m not taking you to Discovery Zone tomorrow!"Trina firmly told her six-year-old daughter, Monica, and her ten-year-old son, Marcus.

“Why do we have to be quiet, Mommy? I ate all of my pancakes. That was Marcus screaming,” Monica said in her high-pitched voice.

“That wasn’t me, Mom. Monica kept putting her feet on me under the table so you couldn’t see her,” Marcus said.

“I did not! I didn’t touch him at all!” Monica screamed as she kicked Marcus under the table one more time.

“Look, I’ve had about enough of both of you. I told you to lower your voices while Daddy is sleeping. You know he had a hard game last night and he has to leave town today.”

“Why does Daddy have to leave again? He’s never home,” Monica whined.

“So they can beat Philadelphia and win the series,” Trina explained.

“Yeah, wouldn’t it be cool, Mom, if they could sweep the Seventy-Sixers?” Marcus said excitedly.

“Sweep them? Why would they sweep them?” Monica asked, confused.

“Don’t you know anything, dork?” Marcus said to his sister.

“I know a lot and I’m not a dork,” Monica said.

“Well, how come you don’t know what sweep means?”

“I do know.”

“No, you don’t. You just said you didn’t know five seconds ago.”

“I do know!” Monica hollered.

“Lower your voices, now! And, Monica, stop kicking Marcus. I saw you do it, young lady; you’re not that slick,” Trina said, grinning to herself.

Every time she looked at her little girl, she could not help but smile. She had almost lost Monica when she was born two and a half months early, weighing in at a little over three pounds. Monica was her miracle child, and she kept her laughing even through all of her mischief.

“I sure am glad Daddy doesn’t have to guard Allen Iverson, ‘cause it wouldn’t matter how much rest he got. He made Paul Thomas look like an old man. He runs circles around everybody.”

“Who would run circles around me?” Rick Belleville said groggily, his six feet eleven inches nearly filling the doorway of the kitchen.

“Allen Iverson, he’s the fastest!” Marcus said.

“I schooled that little boy,” Rick said as he headed straight to the refrigerator, grabbed a gallon jug of Tropicana orange juice, and began sucking it down in large gulps.

“Sure you did, Dad,” Marcus snickered.

“How’d you sleep?” Trina asked Rick.

“I could hardly sleep with all the noise y’all were making down here.”

“I was quiet, Daddy, because I want you to play good,” Monica told her father.

“I know you were, sweetie. I wish everybody else was too,” Rick said, giving Trina the evil eye.

“Sorry,” Trina said quietly.

“Sorry. You’re always sorry, everybody’s always sorry.”

“Do you want some breakfast?” Trina asked.

“After I shower, but just some plain pancakes and eggs. None of that fancy stuff you be experimenting with.”

“Fine, Rick.”

“I’m serious, Trina. I don’t want no scallions or garlic or nothing crazy in my eggs.”

“Okay, Rick, give me a break,” Trina said, looking to see if the kids were watching them.

“Give you a break? You’re kidding me, right? All you ever get is breaks. I don’t ask much of you except to keep the house quiet while I’m sleeping. It’s the play-offs. You been around long enough to know how important this time is for me, especially on a new team. Damn! It’s not like you have a real job. The only thing you have to do is cook me my meals. All I wanted was to have a decent night’s sleep.” Rick slammed the orange juice jug on the Corian countertop.

“You would have had a good night’s sleep if you hadn’t come home at four-thirty this morning,” Trina said under her breath as Rick stormed out of the kitchen.

After all these years, Trina should have been used to Rick’s outbursts, but it still stung each time he disrespected and belittled her, especially in front of the children. She was so tired of him blaming her for everything that went wrong in their lives. He was the one who had been running the streets doing God only knew what until the wee hours of the morning. And he had the audacity to be angry because his family was disturbing him. He should have been awake hours ago.

Trina fought off a wave of nausea as she walked to the refrigerator to get the eggs for Rick’s plain breakfast. Times had changed for them. The changes had been gradual, but they were changes just the same. And judging by how testy he had been since the end of the regular season, it did not seem as if his mood was going to improve any time soon. Rick’s outbursts on the basketball court had become more frequent despite the fact that the Flyers had decisively won the first two games of their series against the 76ers. Rick had been prone to blowups on the court for years, but usually he had a reason for exploding. Now he seemed to be lashing out for no apparent cause.

Trina recognized that Rick was under a great deal of pressure, but it troubled her that she was always the target of his frustrations. She had to remind herself that she was the only person at whom he could vent without fear of any repercussions. She never stood up to Rick. She let everything slide and played the part of a dutiful wife. She used to relish her role. These days she just felt as if she was going through the motions.

Trina forced herself not to get worked up over Rick’s antics. She had other, more pressing issues with which to concern herself. Judging from the way she was beginning to bust out of all of her clothes, one of them was not going to wait much longer. She already knew how he felt about the topic of pregnancy, and she had no idea how she was ever going to break it to him. Maybe she could avoid it until the season was over, but truthfully, she did not think it could wait that long.

She also had a financial matter to discuss with him, which was always a sore subject. During their thirteen years of marriage, she’d rarely asked him for more than her monthly allowance, and each time she had, he had been reluctant to give her more than her allotment. Rick even complained when their small joint household account ran short of funds. He deliberately kept the majority of their liquid cash in his own private account, ensuring that Trina was financially dependent upon him. Rick had always firmly believed that the money he earned on the court was his and his alone. He constantly reminded Trina that her monthly stipend was more than she deserved. This time she was determined not to back down. Trina was prepared to secure a loan if necessary.

“My breakfast ready yet?” Rick said as he bounded back into the kitchen, freshly showered, smelling of Coast soap.

“I’m just flipping the last two pancakes,” Trina said, turning over the fluffy, golden brown hotcakes.

“You didn’t do anything fancy to my eggs, did you?” Rick said, greedily looking at his breakfast plate on the counter.

“No, Rick. Where do you want to eat?” Trina said, emptying the eggs out of the skillet.

“I’ll take it in my office. Did you remember to make coffee?” Rick said as he strode toward his office.

“Do I ever forget?” Trina said, placing the utensils and napkin on his tray.

“It’s not flavored coffee, is it?”

“It’s plain, Rick.”

“Good. I don’t need anything messing with my stomach today. I have a meeting with Coach Mitchell and I need all my faculties in tiptop condition,” he said as he left the room.

Trina finished setting a lap tray, what had become the equivalent of Rick’s dining room table, and carried it into his office where he was hunched over going through some files. Trina carefully placed the heavy tray on his desk and sat down in the chair across from him. When he finished rummaging through his papers, he looked up at her expectantly.