Keeping Score (8 page)

“If that’s true, how did he know when you would arrive?”

Marilyn swallowed a sigh of frustration. “He waited for me in the parking lot.”

She hated Arthur’s false smile. “I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s the truth. He just showed up.”

Arthur reached past her to open the door. He was chivalrous, even as he pissed her off. “That’s a good story.”

“Why won’t you believe me?” Marilyn entered the bustling hospital lobby. She took a deep breath, inhaling the satisfying scent of antiseptic as she waited for Arthur.

“Because people like you love living in the spotlight. That’s why someone with your options would continue to work outside the home. You feed off being the center of attention.” Arthur’s black dress shoes echoed against the tiled lobby almost in unison with Marilyn’s flats.

Marilyn gaped at him. “What are you talking about?”

Arthur adjusted his grip on his briefcase. “Why are you here?”

Her boss was asking her to defend herself and her work. The question hurt. It was tempting to pretend not to understand it but that was the coward’s way out. She wasn’t a coward, despite what Warrick had said yesterday.

Marilyn faced the older man. She adjusted the strap of her mud brown backpack higher on her shoulders. “I’m a doctor, and I’m good at what I do. That’s why I’m here and that’s why I won’t give up my career.”

Arthur gestured around the lobby. “The staff is distracted. Patients are complaining and now reporters are gathering in our parking lot. There’s only so much I can tolerate and you’re coming dangerously close to that line.”

Marilyn swallowed resentment and fear. The taste was bitter. “I understand.”

Arthur shook his head. He seemed confused. “Your husband is a multimillionaire. You don’t need the money.”

Cold seeped into her pores. Marilyn arched a brow. It was an attempt at bravado to mask her trepidation. “You’re beginning to make me feel like you don’t want me here.”

Arthur dragged a hand over his thinning gray hair. “Your presence has become disruptive since your husband has started drawing so much media attention.”

Marilyn tightened her grip on her backpack. “That wouldn’t be a problem if people worried less about my personal life and more about the hospital and our patients.”

“But you don’t have to be here. You don’t have to work.”

Marilyn blinked in mock surprise. “I wish you’d told me that eight years ago—before medical school and my residency.”

Arthur shrugged. “You know now. So why are you still working?”

“Would you ask the same question of a male doctor?”

“Yes, I would.”

She believed him. “I love what I do. I wouldn’t give it up even if I hit the lottery.”

Marilyn turned toward the obstetrics and gynecology unit. She manufactured a brisk and confident gait as she strode away from Arthur. For years, she’d wanted to be a baby doctor. So her presence was a distraction for the hospital? Too bad. She wasn’t giving up her dream for anything. Arthur would just have to deal with her.

Marilyn hesitated. She glanced around the hallway as people maneuvered around her. Was that the way Warrick felt about his career? His passion, commitment, and talent had led him to be one of the few players who succeeded in the NBA. His dream had come true just as hers had. How could she then ask him to give that up? But what would happen to them if he didn’t?

“Lena, you’re progressing wonderfully.” Marilyn spoke with satisfaction after completing her patient’s prenatal screening later that afternoon. She removed her gloves and closed the manila folder in which she kept Lena Alvarez’s medical files. “You’re right where you should be in your third trimester.”

“It’s not as though this is my first time.” The very pregnant mother of three wiggled into a more comfortable reclining position on the examination table.

Marilyn grinned. “Do you have any questions for me?”

“Yes.” Lena rested the palms of her small hands on her belly. “When are you and Rick Evans getting back together?”

Marilyn’s smile faded. Had she heard the other woman correctly? “Excuse me?”

Lena’s Puerto Rican accent was more pronounced as she spoke louder. “I said when are you and Rick Evans getting back together?”

Marilyn’s gaze darted around the tiny yellow and white exam room. “Lena, when I asked if you had any questions for me, I meant questions that pertained to your health—”

“This does concern my health.” Lena rubbed her belly through the white paper gown. “The play-offs are causing me stress. Stress isn’t good for the baby. Evans needs to keep his mind on the game. He doesn’t need the distraction of an unhappy home.”

Marilyn’s cheeks heated. Had everyone lost their minds? When had her home life become an acceptable topic of public discourse? “Lena, I like you—”

Lena’s expression softened into a smile. “I like you, too, Doc.”

Marilyn shook her head at the woman’s antics. “I’m not going to discuss my personal life with you.” It was incredible that she was even having this conversation. Where was the hidden camera?

Lena’s big brown eyes widened. “Why not? Every time I come here, your nurse takes my height and weight, and asks me if I’m sexually active.” She gestured toward her belly with a comical expression. “All I want to know is if you and Evans are getting back together. You don’t have to tell me what he’s like in bed—unless you want to.”

Marilyn blinked. She must be the last sane person on earth. “I have no intention of discussing my sex life with you. My private life is private. It doesn’t have anything to do with the way my husband performs on the court.”

Lena stopped rubbing her belly. “Why else did he play like garbage the first game of the Miami Waves series?”

Marilyn stood. “That was Thursday. The Monarchs won game two Saturday. How do you explain that?”

She froze. The team had won Saturday night. But when she’d seen Warrick Sunday, she hadn’t even congratulated him. Instead she’d yelled at him for coming home. Marilyn’s heart was heavy. When had things between them become so crazy? And why?

Lena smiled. “You must be getting back together.”

“That’s it, Lena. We’re not having this conversation.” Marilyn offered Lena her hand to help her sit up. “I’m his wife, not his coach. It’s not my responsibility to explain his performance.”

Lena held on to Marilyn. “Well, if you’re so concerned with my health, you’ll straighten up your marriage, Doc. Otherwise, I’ll have a heart attack, and that won’t be good for the baby.”

Marilyn pinched the bridge of her nose. No one listened to her so why did she bother to say anything? The next time someone asked about her marriage, she’d just recite the stages of fetal gestation.

She released Lena’s hand. “Take care of yourself, Lena. I’ll see you in two weeks.”

Marilyn pulled the examination room door closed to give Lena privacy to get dressed. She then strode down the hall, past the nurses’ station to the desk she used during her shift. She lifted her backpack onto its surface.

“Where’s Rick living these days?” Emma’s voice directly behind her startled Marilyn.

She spun around, pressing her hand against her chest. “
Why
are you sneaking up on people?”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “Sorry. So where is he?”

Marilyn dropped her hand and took a calming breath. “He’s home.” She turned back to her desk.

“With you?” Emma sounded incredulous. She came around to search Marilyn’s face. “He said he was moving out.”

Marilyn’s tense features eased into a wry smile as she relived Warrick’s homecoming. “He never actually said that. All he said was that I could move back in.”

Emma dropped into the stiff green chair beside the desk. “He lied to you.”

“No, he didn’t.” Why did she feel defensive?

Emma rolled her eyes. “Lying by omission is still lying. But it doesn’t matter. You can move back in with me.”

Marilyn settled in to the brown desk chair. “No, but thanks. The house is big enough for Rick and me to live together while we figure out what to do.” Warrick was right about that.

Emma’s eyes widened. “You’re going to stay there with him? Suppose he puts the moves on you?”

Marilyn frowned at Emma’s question. “He’s my husband. Besides, Rick’s a gentleman and I’m an adult. He won’t do anything that I don’t want him to do.”

Emma’s lips thinned. “And what do you want him to do?”

Marilyn deliberately misunderstood her friend’s question. “I want him to help me figure out what
we
should do.”

“You know what he’s going to say.”

Yes, she did. “Would that be so wrong?” Marilyn smoothed both palms over her hair, checking the clip that restrained the mass at her nape. “I didn’t even know who he was when we first met.”

Emma crossed her legs and adjusted her red skirt over her knee. “That’s sad.”

Marilyn shrugged. “He wasn’t famous at the time. A lot of people didn’t know who he was, including you. Then the Monarchs made the play-offs.”

Emma pursed her lips. “Now his picture’s in all the papers and his game highlights are on all the television stations.”

If Marilyn didn’t know better, she’d think her friend was jealous of her husband’s success.

“Once the team made the play-offs, we couldn’t go anywhere without people recognizing him.” She spun her chair toward the desk. Her restless fingers released the fastenings on her backpack. “They stare at us when we go out to eat or pass him their movie tickets to autograph when we’re at the theaters. We’ve stopped going out.”

Emma shook her head. “I couldn’t live like that. I’d feel like a prisoner in my own home.”

So did she. Is that the way Warrick felt? Why hadn’t she ever asked him? “He always responds to the fans with good humor. But he can never relax. I can tell it puts a strain on him.”

“I meant you.” Emma sighed. “If I were you, I’d hate not being able to go out without people harassing me and my husband. You get married so you can share your life with another person.
One
other person. Because of Rick, you have to share your life with an entire city.”

Marilyn was proud of Warrick’s success. But the constant public attention was the inevitable dark side of celebrity. “It’s not his fault that the fans give him so much attention.”

“Whose fault is it?”

“The media’s.” With a finger, Marilyn traced an imaginary pattern on the surface of her backpack. “And they’re getting worse. This morning, a reporter tried to follow me into the hospital for an interview.”

Emma’s green eyes widened. “You’re kidding. What did you do?”

She didn’t want to relive that event. “Arthur showed up.”

“Oh, no.” Emma squeezed her eyes shut.

“Oh, yes. The good news is he got rid of the reporter. The bad news is he blamed
me
for causing a disruption in the parking lot.”

Emma opened her eyes again. “That’s not fair.”

“That’s what I said. But you can’t reason with Arthur—unless you’re a member of the hospital’s board.”

“You’re right. So while Rick’s becoming famous, his fame is ruining your career.”

It sounded worse when Emma said it. “Don’t you think that’s exaggerating the situation?”

Emma counted her fingers. “Reporters are following you to work. Your boss is blaming you for the media disruption. And Janet and Dionne still haven’t accepted your offer to join their clinic.” She dropped her hands. “To top it off, patients are complaining about you whenever the team loses.”

Marilyn frowned. “How do you know what they’re saying about me?”

Emma waved a negligent hand. “I’ve heard them talking in the waiting rooms.”

Marilyn’s gaze slid away. “Talk about being unfair.”

“Maybe Rick or his coach should tell people to stop blaming you.”

Should he? “That would only keep the topic alive. If we ignore it, hopefully, it’ll go away.”

Emma grunted. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Marilyn slid her hand into her backpack, reaching for the treatment notes she’d worked on overnight. Her fingertips brushed the sharp edge of an unfamiliar object. She opened her backpack wider and pulled out a gift-wrapped package.

“What is it?” Emma stood behind her.

“I don’t know.” Marilyn read the gift label. “To M, From R.” She tore at the wrapping, knowing Warrick used too much tape to harbor any hope of preserving the paper.

Marilyn’s lips stretched into a broad grin. Sandy and Danny smiled at her from the cover of the
Grease
compact disc.

“I thought Rick didn’t like musicals.”

Marilyn’s smile broadened. “But he knows I do. And
Grease
is my favorite.”

“That’s such a guy thing to do.” Emma straightened away from Marilyn. “A couple of songs won’t make everything better.”

“Speak for yourself.” Marilyn used her scissors to slit open the compact disc wrapper. “You’re welcome to stay and enjoy the songs with me, if you’d like.”

“No, thanks.” Emma turned to leave. “I agree with Rick. People don’t just spontaneously break into song.”

Marilyn loaded the compact disc into her laptop. She sighed as “Summer Love” played softly on the computer’s drive. If only she and Warrick could overcome their relationship obstacles with a few songs and a couple of dance moves the way Sandy and Danny had in
Grease
.

6

Warrick came slowly awake Tuesday from his midday nap to the sound of the ringing telephone. What time was it? Three-thirty in the afternoon. The alarm would have gone off in another thirty minutes, giving him just enough time to get to the arena and warm up before game three of the Eastern Conference Championship.

The phone rang again. Thinking wistfully of another thirty minutes of sleep, Warrick hit the alarm’s off button and shed the bedsheets. He strode down the hallway to use the master bedroom’s telephone extension. He should have been napping in that room. The answering machine picked up the call before he could.

He cleared his throat. “Hello.”

“Rick?”

“Hi, Dad.” Was he wrong to wish he hadn’t answered the phone?

“Were you sleeping? You should be getting ready for the game.” John Evans’s voice was sharp, his tone disciplinary.