Homecourt Advantage (32 page)

Finally she opened the shower door and grabbed her terry cloth robe. Slipping her arms into the folds of the material, Lorraine felt the moisture soak into the soft fabric. Just as she reached for a towel, the phone rang. She froze standing next to the ringing phone on the wall of her bathroom. But maybe it was Paul on his way home from practice, wanting to know if he should pick up something for dinner—or maybe he just needed her that minute.

Lorraine tentatively picked up the phone and held it to her ear for a few seconds before speaking. “Hello,” she said softly.

“Off from work, huh?” a woman’s voice said on the other end of the line.

Crissy’s mother. “Please stop calling here—”

“A nurse! Pretty impressive. You save any lives lately?” the woman said. “And married to that nice rich athlete—”

“Please, just tell me what you want,” Lorraine said as her heartbeat began to quicken.

“I want my baby back, but you couldn’t save her! What, you think you some damn do-gooder now? Not good enough!” The woman’s voice shook with anger.

“What do you want from me? Why can’t you just leave me alone?” Lorraine cried.

“Leave you alone? I’ll never leave you alone! After all these years, I was sure that you were already in hell for what you did. But I see your little fairy-tale life has continued. Here I get to see your husband’s smiling face in the paper on my doorstep every morning complaining about his team trying to win a championship. And you let those animals get away with murdering my baby! And nobody complained about nothin’ then. Just another dead baby.”

Lorraine thought back to the night early in the season when she couldn’t bring herself to leave another little dead black child. “No! There wasn’t anything I could do—please, you’ve got to believe me,” Lorraine said in anguish.

“Shut up, you liar! You lied to the police when they questioned you, and those bastards got off scot-free, and now you think your little life should go on like you’re some damn Cinderella. Not anymore, Lorraine Thomas! I think it’s high time that the world knew that Paul Thomas of the New York Flyers is married to a lying, selfish … murdering … You were what they call, an accomplice—”

“Lorraine! Lorraine!” Paul said, suddenly walking up behind her in the bathroom.

Lorraine was so startled that she dropped the phone on the bathroom floor. “Paul,” she barely uttered.

“What’s going on? Who’s that on the phone?” Paul said, looking down at the dangling telephone. He made to pick it up, but she stopped him, quickly replacing the phone in its cradle.

“What?” Lorraine said, not meeting Paul’s gaze.

“The phone. Who was that on the phone, Lorraine?” Paul said, inching toward her.

“The phone? Oh … it was just a prank call.”

“A prank call? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. I heard you yelling. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing,” Lorraine lied.

“Lorraine, what’s wrong with you? Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m your husband, baby. It’s me, Paul, remember?”

Lorraine tried to push away the woman’s voice. She felt close to collapsing, but she was afraid to turn to Paul. What if he didn’t understand? Her past could ruin his image, maybe even his career in New York. What would happen then?

“Baby?”

Lorraine turned toward the sink, concentrating on brushing her teeth.

Leave, Paul, please.

Her thoughts flashed back to last Sunday when she sat in church with Paul. Reverend Lewis’s words were coming back to haunt her; she had no other choice. Lorraine knew she was going to have to open her heart to the Lord for guidance through the forest of pain and misery in which she had become lost.

“Baby?”

Trina was worried about Rick. He’d checked into the
Regency Hotel on Park Avenue after the first championship game. He’d told Trina that he needed some space so he could concentrate on his game. Even though the Flyers were the victors in the first game against the Lakers, Trina knew Rick’s ego had been deeply bruised. Shaquille O’Neal had run circles around him, making him look like an old man trying to play a young boy’s game. Rick was a four-teen-year basketball veteran, and the Flyers had only signed him to a one-year contract. He was at the stage in his career when every game was a test to prove that he was still worthy to be in the NBA.

With Rick so close but not at home, the house felt strange to Trina. They’d been through difficult times before, but even Trina’s faith in their marriage felt a bit shaken. It was all so complex. She knew she could no longer wait to tell him about her pregnancy. She was five months along, scheduled to find out the sex of their baby next week,and she needed to share that with Rick—whether or not he wanted another child.

Trina had been unable to reach him at the Regency Hotel because he’d had his incoming calls blocked. She had left a couple of messages for him, and when he had finally telephoned back, she’d missed his call, having gone to pick up Monica from school. The only message he’d left was for Trina to pack him a suitcase for his upcoming road trip to Los Angeles.

Trina placed her special homemade sweet-potato pie in the oven and then headed toward the family room. It looked like a tornado had struck. She could scarcely see the lavender carpeting beneath the kids’ toys. Marcus was absorbed with his latest electronic gadget, building his own Giga pet, and Monica was busy combing her Moesha doll’s hair. Aunt Thelma, who was visiting from Tennessee, was content to sit in Rick’s La-Z-Boy as she fiddled with her Discman and classic jazz CDs. Trina looked at her aunt and smiled. Aunt Thelma’s salt-and-pep-per Afro, which she’d worn since the sixties, was flattened by the headphones and she was rocking back and forth, undoubtedly listening to a scatting Ella Fitzgerald.

The older woman eased out of the recliner and danced into the kitchen. She was shuffling her feet back and forth, doing the jig.

“Stop looking out that window, child,” Aunt Thelma said in her no-nonsense manner.

“Ain’t nobody looking out the window,” Trina said.

“Every two minutes you’re looking out there.”

“How would you know, old woman? You had your eyes closed.”

“I know what I saw,” Aunt Thelma said as she began removing silverware from the dishwasher in between dance moves. “Stop worrying about that boy. You got better things to do with your time—like thinking about Marcus, Monica, and the little one on the way. I don’t care if he is your husband; he ain’t worth a dime.”

“Auntie, don’t be talking about Rick like that in our house.”

“Tree, I love you like the child I never had.” Aunt Thelma called Trina by her childhood pet name. “And I don’t mean no disrespect to you, but I’m gonna be frank with you like nobody else has. That boy ain’t good for nothing except paying the bills, and you can get thosetaken care of better without him holding the purse strings over your head,” Aunt Thelma spat out, with her southern accent more pronounced than usual.

“Well, I love him, even with all his faults,” Trina countered, even though her aunt was probably speaking the truth.

“How can you be married to a man you’re not even comfortable enough with to tell that you’re pregnant? What’s that all about?”

“I’m gonna tell him … when the time is right.”

“When, Trina? When you’re in labor? You never stand up to him.”

“It’s gonna get straightened out,” Trina said resolutely.

“Listen to me, Tree. At least think about your kids. What do you think Monica is ever gonna expect of a man, seeing how her daddy treats her mama? And what about Marcus? How you think he gonna treat women when he gets older? Do you even care about that?”

Trina did not know how to respond. So she looked out her window.

“Daddy’s here! Daddy’s here, Mommy!” Monica screamed, running into the foyer.

“Let me take care of my affairs, Auntie,” Trina said, yanking off her apron and smoothing her hair with her hands. “Now, how do I look?”

“Girl, scrape your pride off the ground,” said Thelma, grasping Trina around the wrist. “Look at me, girl. Don’t beg that man for nothing, except maybe to let you be.”

“Ain’t nobody begging. Now, you let me be, old woman,” Trina said, breaking free and rushing past her aunt into the entrance hall.

Marcus and Monica beat Trina into the foyer to greet Rick. He brought Marcus a bag full of the latest video games, and Monica some baby dolls. Monica was clinging to Rick, showering him with kisses. Trina liked watching Rick with their children. It was clear they adored their father. She stood back and pulled at her oversized sweater, suddenly becoming self-conscious of her ever-enlarging stomach.

Monica continued to hug and kiss her father as Marcus chattered away about his last soccer game, giving Rick a play-by-play report.

“All right, you two, Daddy’s got to get a few things upstairs,” Rick told them, putting Monica back down.

Rick turned toward Trina and looked at her quickly before he spoke. “You gather some clothes together for me to take to L.A. yet?”

“You didn’t say when you were coming by, but I’m almost finished packing for you,” Trina explained, noticing his freshly cut hair, which told her he had not deviated from his road-trip routine.

“That’s all right, I’ll finish it myself,” Rick said, walking past Trina up the staircase to their bedroom.

Trina scurried behind him, staring at the perfect buzz line at the back of his head. She did not want to lose the opportunity to talk to him. Following Rick into the bedroom, she closed the door behind her, in case Aunt Thelma decided to eavesdrop.

Trina watched Rick lay out his wardrobe bag, walking back and forth between the closet and the bed, throwing clothes into his luggage. Naturally he did not forget to pack the brand-new Calvin Klein underwear for his road trip, unlike when he was at home with his drawers full of holes. She remained transfixed in her spot by the door, not having the slightest idea how to proceed. Rick seemed so preoccupied as he packed, she felt as if she would be intruding.

“So when are you scheduled to leave?” Trina asked, shifting from side to side.

“The day after tomorrow,” Rick said, not missing a beat in his packing.

“You plan on staying in the hotel even when you get back from L.A.?”

“I don’t know, Trina. That depends on if we’re still playing then. The series could be over if we beat the Lakers tomorrow night and then beat them twice in L.A. So I really couldn’t tell you. Now, let’s see, do I want to take my gray suit?” Rick said to himself, holding up the suit to his chest and looking in the mirror.

“You feeling any better?”

“I’m fine; nothing was wrong with me. I just need full concentration on my game. It helps to be alone.”

“Oh,” Trina began as she walked toward the bed.

“And that should about do it,” Rick said, throwing a pair of black Bally loafers in his bag.

Trina sat down on the edge of the bed and watched Rick zip up the garment bag and fold it over.

“Rick, before you go … I need to talk to you about something.” Trina had gotten herself into a bind waiting so long to tell him. With the rest of the championship series ahead … well, this sure wasn’t the time. Maybe … Thelma’s advice about what message she was sending her children reverberated.

“You can stop right now if it’s that baking business. I told you no.” Rick was shaking his head.

“No, Rick, it’s not about that; it’s something else …”

“Come on, spit it out. I don’t have all day. I need to get an extra workout in before my dinner,” Rick said, walking toward the door.

“Rick, could you please just sit down a minute?”

“Trina, I don’t need to—”

“Rick, please, please, would you just have a seat?” Trina said.

Rick reluctantly dropped his bag and took a seat on the chaise lounge across from the bed.

“What’s going on, Trina?”

“Rick, I know how you feel about this, but there’s nothing we can do about it now ‘cause it’s done … I’m gonna … We’re gonna have another baby,” Trina said, dropping her eyes to her lap.

“I hope I heard you incorrectly.”

“You heard me right. I’m almost five months along.”

“Five months pregnant! How did this happen? Don’t you use your diaphragm anymore?”

“I don’t remember when it happened, but it was probably one morning when I was too groggy to be thinking about something like that.”

“Well, damn. Ain’t that a fine thing to forget about. I don’t even remember doing anything with you,” Rick said, shaking his head.

“Well, I’m pregnant and we got to deal with it.”

“You sure have perfect timing telling me this,” Rick said, standing up as he began to pace.

“I guess as far as you’re concerned, there’d never be a good time to tell you.” Trina felt the anger rising in her throat.

“I got a lot going on right now, Trina. You know I’m not gonna be making money like this forever. This is the last year. Hell, this is the last few weeks I’ll be making money like this. We can’t afford to be spitting out babies. Not to mention all the debt we have now,” Rick said as he began to pace even faster.

Thanks to you,
she wanted to scream—but she loved him. He was her man.

Trina noticed Rick breaking into a sweat.

“Well, we’ll manage somehow, Rick. We don’t have a choice.”

“Trina, you had a choice. You act like money grows on trees.”

Trina could not believe the gall of Rick. She was not the only one he was depriving now. It was their unborn child. Her maternal instinct was ignited and she felt a rumbling ferociousness rising up in her.

“Rick Belleville! You’re the one who acts like money grows on trees! I’m not the one who has over a million dollars in gambling debts,” Trina said, no longer wanting to stop herself from mentioning the forbidden subject.

Rick stopped in his tracks with widened eyes and stared at Trina, stupefied. He started to speak two or three times but couldn’t get a complete sentence out.

“Trina … I … I don’t know where you heard that from, but I don’t owe no million dollars to nobody. I told you about meddling in my business,” Rick sputtered.

“Rick, cut the crap. I know you’ve been spending our money as fast as you get it and—”