And then as if just noticing I’m next to him, her eyes flare wide as they catch mine, her smile only faltering for a moment before returning to their shining exuberance.
“And what can I get you, Miss Conrad?”
I startle, tipping my head to the side with a furrowed brow, bewildered why she’d know my name. Marek clarifies as he leans over the shared armrest between us.
“They have the flight manifest,” he says by way of explanation.
I blush, feeling ridiculous for not knowing that. I must look like a complete country bumpkin to him, a man who is obviously an experienced traveler.
I chuckle, flinging my hand in a nonchalant gesture. “Oh, right. I knew that, of course. I’m fine with water for now. Thank you.”
This appeases Jennifer, who smiles again and heads down the aisle to the next group behind us. For a moment, I wish this overly large seat would swallow me up and I could avoid feeling like a complete idiot in front of Marek.
But as I’ve learned over the last week, Marek is a humble, forgiving, and kind-hearted man. He treats everyone with equal respect, whether they’re the equipment manager, the janitor, the ticket sales rep, the flight attendant, or me. And that’s not an act. He truly is a good man.
In my interview with Zeke Forester this past Tuesday, he shared how Marek went to bat for him when he was struggling with a mental health crisis last year. Most GMs would have given up on Zeke, based on his behavior and the trouble it brought to the team. Instead, Marek got behind him and offered him help and treatment. To this day, the team has a sports psychologist on staff for anyone to seek help when they need it.
And that’s not the only tale of sainthood I’ve heard about Marek. Nearly every person in the organization is complimentary of his leadership and his humanity. Which is why I’m not surprised Marek is being honored at a leadership banquet the NBA is hosting this weekend to recognize the standards of commitment and integrity that the organization aspires to achieve.
I knew about the banquet and his award, but I only found out by accident that I had a ticket to the event as well.
I was leaving the Pilots’ offices when Vivian reminded me to bring formal wear for Saturday night. I gave her a look that clearly demonstrated I had not gotten that memo. She just winked and shrugged.
I sobbed giant crocodile tears as I stood in Jade’s closet, trying on several dresses that were bound not to fit me because I do not share Jade’s body type. She, however, was undiscouraged and continued to shove dress after dress into my hands with a ‘shut it and try this on’ look of exasperation.
The difference in our body types is comical. We are both on the tall side, but whereas she is tall and slender, I have what my sister has always referred to as “Kim Kardashian knockers and ass.” Trust me, they have not benefited me as well as they have Kimmy. It’s been one of the downsides of being an on-camera personality.
I’ve had to find a delicate balance between disguising my overly large attributes to tastefully cover and camouflage my cleavage or wearing non-concealing attire that does show some boobie mass, prompting my Twitter and social media accounts to be flooded with all sorts of sexual comments. There’s no win in this for me.
Honestly, that’s the toughest thing I’ve dealt with since beginning my career. Nothing prepared me for the type of troll talk that shows up on my Twitter and Instagram feeds after an on-air interview.
I finally chose a gorgeous and understated black cocktail dress that has a diamond cut-out in the back, thin straps at my shoulders and covers most of my chest leaving only a hint of cleavage. The heels were another disastrous adventure, but I’ll cross that bridge on Saturday.
Marek says nothing more for a bit and pulls out his laptop from his bag at his feet, opening it up to his email. I play with my phone, hoping to keep my attention elsewhere, but I can’t help but notice the enormous inbox he has as he scrolls through unread messages that litter the screen. I find it amusing that Marek grumbles and mutters to himself as he works through the unopened list.
After a few minutes, he curses, slamming the lid down with an exasperated sigh. I swing my head to look at him, his head bent, fingers massaging his temple.
“You okay?” I inquire, pulling my legs up and tucking my feet underneath my butt as I give him my full attention.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Doesn’t seem like it. But if it’s too personal, you don’t have to share.”
I know I’m walking on thin ice. He knows it and I know it. I’m a reporter on this trip, not his friend. I have no right to ask him anything about his frustration.
Which kind of sucks because I bet Marek would make a really great friend.
Or something else.
I shake that thought away and chew my bottom lip, testing the waters by placing my hand on his forearm that rests on the arm of the seat. “I’m happy to help if I can. This conversation is off the record.”
Marek’s eyes blaze a steely gray as they roam over my face. Maybe they’re looking for my veracity. The truth behind my words. The trust he needs to find before sharing anything with me.
As if he finds something there that gives him the answer, he nods.
I remove my hand from his arm, realizing I’d been touching him an awfully long time to be appropriate. I nod back in affirmation.
The corner of his mouth curls up into a half-smile.
“As a matter of fact, you can help me with something, but it’s a matter requiring discretion.” He turns his head to look over his shoulder, up and down the aisle. Seemingly finding what he is or isn’t looking for, he returns to pin me with his most frank sincerity. “And I need you to know you are under no obligation to accept.”
Marek leans in. Close enough so I’m enveloped in the spiciness of his cologne. My heart races and my belly dips with aswooshlike a ball through the net.
“I need a date for Saturday night.”