Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)
Peggy’s smile widened. “Mary’s clothes aren’t bad. Besides, you’ve just come from work, haven’t you?”
Marilyn took a bracing breath, drawing in the scents of marinara sauce, oregano, and cheese. “I’m not with the hospital anymore.”
Her throat almost closed over the admission of failure. Marilyn sipped her ice water with lemon. The glass was cool and wet against her palm.
Faye clutched Marilyn’s wrist. “You’re not? That’s great. Now you have more free time to help with the charity auction. We need to sell a shitload of tickets. We have to impress Jackie Jones.”
Marilyn pushed her chicken parmesan around the plate. “Of course, I’m glad to help as much as I can. But I also need to find a new job.”
Susan made a comic face. “What? Why?” She cast her gaze around the table. “Your husband is the second highest paid player on the Monarchs’ roster. Why do you need a job at all?”
Marilyn winced. Susan must have found the Internet site listing the NBA players’ salaries. Wonderful.
“I may not need a job, but I enjoy my career.” Marilyn sliced her chicken parmesan. Fragrant steam rose from the well-seasoned dish.
Susan chuckled as she twirled her fork around the center of her linguine and clam sauce. “As a doctor, you probably know all kinds of ways to get rid of Rick’s mistress without leaving a trace.”
Marilyn stilled. She lifted her eyes and pinned Susan with a steady gaze. Her voice was firm and even. “Rick does not have a mistress.”
Susan’s brown eyes narrowed. “That woman ...” She looked to the other two women at the table for help. “What’s her name again?”
“Jordan Hyatt.” Faye was helpful yet again.
Marilyn’s lips twisted with wry amusement. Susan was more likely to forget her own name than the identity of key people involved in a social scandal.
Peggy shifted in her seat and shook back her salon-styled blond tresses. “She called a press conference to tell everyone she’s carrying Rick’s baby. Why would she do that if it isn’t true?”
Marilyn’s muscles tightened. “I don’t know why she lied. But I do know she’s not pregnant with my husband’s baby.”
Peggy’s smile spread. “I think it’s beautiful that your faith in Rick is so steadfast.”
Marilyn regarded the other woman with bafflement. “I don’t have any reason not to trust him.”
Her mother must have said the same thing about her father once. But then he’d cheated on Celeste. Marilyn still couldn’t fathom that. She’d always considered Terrell Devry to be a trustworthy, honorable person.
Susan chewed, then swallowed a forkful of linguine. “Are you going to confront Jordan Hyatt?” Her tone was almost gleeful.
“No.” Marilyn tried another bite of her chicken parmesan. It still tasted like expensive cardboard.
Faye’s jaw dropped. “Girl, if you think she’s punking your man, you have to confront her. Shit, you have to.”
Was she really having this conversation? Marilyn blinked at the other three women at the table. They’d regressed back to elementary school and her classmates were egging her on to fight the new girl.
What little appetite Marilyn had completely disappeared. “I’m not going to speak with her. That would legitimize her claim of being part of my husband’s life. She’s not.”
Beside her, Faye rolled her brown eyes. “This isn’t about making her legitimate. It’s about representing your role in Rick’s life.”
Marilyn scowled. “My role isn’t in question.”
A slight smile curved Faye’s lips. Her lipstick was a dark plum, which complimented the brighter plum highlights in her hair. Very edgy. “For a doctor, you’re not real bright. You’re a professional athlete’s wife. Groupies are always challenging our role.”
Marilyn shook her head. “I don’t want my entire identity to be the wife of a basketball player.”
Faye turned in her seat to face Marilyn. “That’s stupid. You’re Rick Evans’s wife and he’s a ballplayer.”
Marilyn spread her hands. “But that’s not who I am.”
Susan waved her fork. “You think you’re different from us because your husband used to be the Monarchs’ captain and you’re a doctor.”