Homecourt Advantage (9 page)

Michael rushed to the elevator in the basement
garage below the Mecca Arena. He was angry with himself for getting drawn into an argument with Dawn. She had a way of making him feel guilty all the time just because he had a busy schedule. And her obsession with getting married was the last thing he needed to deal with right now. When he had left her in their Fort Lee, New Jersey, condo earlier, she had looked so devastated and pitiful, he ended up turning his car around and going back to check on her. He found her there alone, locked in the bathroom.

One thing had led to another, and now he was going to be late for the first game of the play-offs—fined a shitload of money for sure and maybe worse, depending on Coach’s mood.

“Damn! How do I get myself in these situations?” Michael said to himself as he reached the elevator that would drop him off down the hall from the Flyers’ locker room. Thank God I missed the hordes, thought Michael, relieved that he had been given clearance to park

beneath the structure along with the other starting players rather than in the more public part of the garage. It gave him a few more minutes to spare when he was running late. Although the parking priority seemed like unfair star treatment, there was actually a rationale behind it. Space inside the Mecca was limited, and management had to draw the line somewhere in determining the allocation of the few remaining parking spaces. The logic was that since the easily recognizable starting players were more likely to be mobbed by the fans before and after a game, they were allowed to use the basement garage with its guarded entrance.

Most of his nonstarting teammates did not mind their parking situation since it allowed the fans access to them after the home games. Signing autographs seemed to make most of the players feel like celebrities, especially if they had just spent most of the game keeping the bench warm.

While Michael enjoyed the attention he got as a result of his various local commercials, he had grown tired of the mobs of fans who accosted him constantly. After a while it had become intrusive, particularly when he was out trying to have nice quiet dinners with Dawn. The young female autograph-seekers tended to be more aggressive than the males or even the kids. He knew fans like those made Dawn uncomfortable. But he planned on staying in New York—maybe for longer than his basketball career, and she’d have to learn to accept his life.

He had dreams of acting once his basketball career was over. Michael wondered how Dawn would react if he ever had to do a love scene in a movie. She would probably trip out just as she had today. No time to think about that. Michael darted out of the elevator. He was going to be fined another $750 for arriving late.

He’d already been fined once during the regular season. He had walked out onto the floor four and a half minutes late and tried to explain to Coach about the traffic he’d run into coming down the West Side Highway. Coach had not wanted to hear any excuses. He had cut Michael off in midsentence with a wave of his perfectly manicured hand and a terse reply of “Not on my team.”

Michael had not given the incident a second thought until he’dreceived his next pay stub and noticed the deduction under “Team Fines”: a figure almost as bad as the New York state and city taxes routinely deducted. Fines seemed to be handed down so arbitrarily. Michael began to hear of deductions for fines for anything, from one of his teammates speaking to the media without prior permission from management to one of the guys’ two-ways going off during a meeting. Mitchell was tough—sometimes too tough, thought the young rookie. But Michael had to admit to himself, Mitchell sure kept his guys in line, not an easy task.

As Michael reached the entrance to the locker room, he looked at his watch one last time. He was a full hour late. Forget fines. Coach might punish him in other ways, such as benching him during tonight’s game, which was scheduled to start in thirty minutes. Tentatively opening the locker-room door, Michael promised himself that from this day forward, no one was going to come between him and his goals as a basketball player or an international celebrity. The world was his, and he did not have time for anyone obstructing his path—even Dawn.

“Do you know who I am? Excuse me, but do you
know who I am?” Kelly angrily asked the security guard at the entrance to the Family Lounge while she struggled under the weight of her daughter. Diamond sat on her hip with a bewildered expression on her face.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m new here and I don’t know who you are, but unfortunately your name isn’t on the list,” the security guard patiently explained.

“Well, there’s obviously been a mistake. My fiancé is Steve Tucker and this little girl here is our daughter, and if you value your job, you better let me in that room now!” Kelly shouted as Diamond began to cry.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but if you just give me a moment, I’ll go in and check,” the guard said.

Just then, Casey and Remy walked up behind the security guard on their way down to Casey’s seats. Catching her eye, Casey realized that she had assumed Kelly would be able to enter the Family Lounge andretrieve her ticket as she did when Steve left her tickets. Casey hadn’t taken the beefed-up security measures for the play-offs into consideration. She should have remembered to leave Kelly’s name at the Family Lounge door.

“Sir, I’m Casey Rogers, and this woman’s name is supposed to be on the list. Now, please let her in,” Casey interrupted the security guard. The ‘guard immediately stepped aside, sputtering his apologies.

Casey led Kelly and Diamond to the foyer area of the lounge.

“Was that guard tripping or what? He needs to learn some manners,” Kelly snapped.

“Just chill out for a minute, Kelly; you know how tight they get with security during the play-offs. I should have remembered to leave him your name myself.”

“He didn’t have to disrespect me like that. I don’t know who he thought he was, talking to me any kind of way.” Kelly shook her free hand, making her bangle bracelets clatter loudly.

“Relax, don’t start making a scene,” Casey began.

“A scene? I’ve been coming in here all year long and now they’re gonna act like I don’t belong.”

Casey took a deep breath. “Listen, Kelly, lower your voice; you don’t want everyone in your business.”

“I wouldn’t have to be going through this if Steve hadn’t taken my name off the permanent list. I know what he’s up to. He was hoping I wouldn’t show up tonight. I can’t wait to see his sneaky ass after the game,” Kelly said, sounding more incensed with each word.

Casey looked over Kelly and Diamond’s shoulders at Alexis, who was quickly approaching them in the alcove.

“Look, Kelly, let’s just try and enjoy the game, okay?” Casey said quietly.

“Right! I’m gonna enjoy it all right, especially from where I’ll be sitting,” Kelly said.

Unfortunately, Casey knew exactly why Kelly was going to enjoy her view. From her seats, Kelly could keep track of whoever was occupying Steve’s complimentary seats across the court—and if Casey figured correctly, it would probably be his new girlfriend, Stephanie.

Kelly, holding Diamond, practically sprinted to the seats in front of Casey and Remy; Remy began to shake her head. Casey knew that Remy was pissed that she’d invited Kelly to sit with them, but Kelly had caught Casey off guard when she’d just shown up at her apartment begging for the coveted ticket. Worse, Kelly was getting more riled, and Casey was afraid she’d pull one of her infamous scenes in front of Alexis.

The tension worked its way up and down Casey’s spine as she berated herself for getting in the middle here. The last thing she needed was to take on someone else’s problems. She had enough personal issues to last her a lifetime. True to her foolish promise to Alexis, she had not brought up any subjects that might disturb Brent’s concentration. Unfortunately, what Casey was aching to talk to Brent about was more than a mere topic of discussion that could dangle between them until the play-offs were over. Brent was deceiving her, again. She felt as if she were going to burst from holding it inside. At least she hadn’t been forced to be in his company much while he was preparing for the play-offs. Between watching game films of the 76ers, participating in interviews, practice, physical therapy, and extended naps, it wasn’t difficult staying out of his path. Ironically, even though she persuaded the other women to hold their tongues with their men, Casey didn’t know if she could do it much longer.

“Casey! Casey! Earth calling Casey!” a deep male voice said, interrupting her reverie.

Casey looked up, scarcely realizing that she had entered the folds of the sold-out Mecca Arena with its twenty thousand-plus anxious fans in the stands waiting for the main event. She felt surreal in her surroundings as Phil Jones, the Mecca’s Flyers correspondent, grasped her arm and shoved a microphone in her face.

The blaring music began pounding in her ears, and the neon lights circling the arena caused Casey to involuntarily squint. She might as well have been waking from a deep sleep.

“How about a pregame interview from my favorite Flyers wife?” Phil said, motioning for his cameraman to assume the position.

“Gosh, Phil, you caught me off guard,” Casey said, feeling flustered.

“So I see; nervous about the game, huh?” he said with a grin before turning toward Remy and Kelly. “Pardon me, ladies, how are you all doing this evening? Nervous for your men as well?”

“Me, nervous? Never. Hey, Casey, go on and do your interview; I want to catch Collin warming up,” Remy answered, heading down to the court trying to spot her man. The renowned Mecca correspondent hardly noted her departure and immediately pounced back on Casey

“I’m coming with you,” Kelly yelled at Remy’s back. “Can I have my ticket, Casey?” she asked, holding out her greedy hand for the cherished courtside seat.

Casey looked longingly after Kelly and Remy as they wove their way through the bustling arena, wishing she could escape Phil’s probing questions. The aisles and seats were filled with crowds of people in business suits, designer clothes, blue jeans, miniskirts, and New York Flyers paraphernalia. Little kids wore jerseys with Brent’s number 51 on the back, and attractive women of all ages boasted T-shirts with Michael Brown’s picture on the front. Strobe lights flashed back and forth over the hordes of people in the arena fighting to get a view of the players warming up on the court. Up in the higher seats, fans with high-tech binoculars studied the players and the variety of stars, ranging from Puffy to Jennifer Lopez to Madonna, who were sprinkled throughout the Mecca. Purple and black, the Flyers’ colors, were waved wildly on towels, banners, and assorted souvenirs throughout the stands.

“Surely you can find someone more interesting than me to interview tonight,” Casey said. “There’re all those celebrities here for the play-offs. How about Jay-Z and Beyoncé?” Casey pointed across the court.

“Too hot. Won’t get past the bodyguards,” Phil said with a wave of the hand.

“Well, there’s Mariah Carey sitting in Star Row.”

“She’s too chichi.”

“What about Ed Bradley? His seats are right near mine,” Casey offered.

“He’s out of my league,” he said, “too intellectual.”

“What about Remy?” Casey said with a smirk, knowing Remy would be annoyed. She liked tweaking her friend about her star status.

“Remy’s too much of a diva for me.” He hesitated. “Besides who else could be more interesting than the wife of the legendary star of the Flyers, who I might add is a gorgeous personality in her own right? No, you’re not getting off that easy, Casey. I want the scoop. How was Brent feeling before he left for the game? Does he think they can sweep the Seventy-sixers? I want to hear it all.”

“Coming through! Beep! Beep!” The cotton-candy man shoved past the two of them heading toward a frantic baseball-cap-clad father motioning to him above the squeals of his young boys.

“It’s a circus in here tonight,” Casey said after almost being knocked down by the overzealous salesman. She knew the food vendors depended on quantity sold to make their commissions.

The smell of peanuts, onions, popcorn, pretzels, and hot dogs floated through the air. Casey looked at the hundreds of cameramen jockeying for position at each end of the basketball court. She began to feel warm from the intense overhead lights, and she could have sworn that her whole body was vibrating from the Dolby sounds of “We Are the Champions.”

Throughout the stands, purple-and-black-uniformed waiters dodged teenagers holding cumbersome signs with catchy phrases created in hopes of being televised on ESPN or NBC.
WE LOVE THIS GAME
banners were hung and
MR. ROGERS’S NEIGHBORHOOD
signs were waved throughout, referring to the Mecca belonging to Brent.

“So, Casey, can the Flyers do it this year? Can they break the championshipless drought?”

“One game at a time, one game at a time,” Casey said diplomatically.

“Come on, how about a prediction,” Phil pressed.

“I never make predictions … and I think I better get to my seat,” Casey said, motioning to the Flyers dancers being lowered from the ceiling by purple ropes onto the court. Casey knew this was the favorite part for many of the audience members since they wereafforded an unobstructed view of the taut rear ends of the dancers in their purple velour Daisy Duke shorts. Landing on the court, the dancers eased into backbends, much to the crowd’s delight, generously exposing their other assets.

“I’ll find you after the game, Casey,” Phil said rather cattily as the lights were dimmed.

Fat chance,
Casey thought as she quickly continued down the stairs to her seats.

As one unit, it seemed, the crowd was on its feet roaring at the top of its lungs as a multicolored laser light show began. The traffic in the stands was so thick, Casey found herself saying, “Excuse me” to a different person every couple of feet. When she finally reached her seat, Diamond was barely steadying herself as she stood in Casey’s chair while Kelly and Remy were on their feet clapping. Diamond looked like she was seconds away from slipping down and being trapped in between the collapsible seat.