Harper
I know I fucked up big time when I veered into personal territory with Marek the other day. But come on, it was the perfect segue. He gave me the pass and I took the shot. It’s exactly what he told me to do.
Unfortunately, it was an air ball and I missed.
He avoided me the rest of the week, which is fine. It only smarts a little and I’ve been able to keep my mind busy and focused on other things. I had a ton of other interviews scheduled through the week and spent a good portion of each day at the station with Doug as we poured through the video clips to edit and work on the timing sequence of our segment. I want it perfect before we send it to the producer at the studio.
The excitement over all the upcoming weekend events has me giddy, practically bouncing off the walls, but also because I was just contacted by the Seattle station’s executive producer. He’d heard rave reviews about the piece I’m working on and knew I’d be getting more exclusives at the Combine event this weekend, so he asked to meet with me when I return.
This could be the big break I’ve wanted for so long, and it’s all because of Marek.
Although, things between us might get awkward again since we’ll be on the same flight for the next three and a half hours. But I keep those negative thoughts out of my head as I settle into the plush leather seat of the team’s private plane, awaiting the rest of the team staff, and Marek, to board before we take off for Chicago.
I peer out the small cabin window at the private airport where even the heavy downpour of rain can’t dampen my spirits. I feel an enormous sense of pride to be the only sports journalist invited to join Marek and his coaches on the trip.
I’m hoping once I return and meet with the producer, I’ll be offered a position based on the product I’ve created. Admittedly, without Marek giving me carte blanche to the one-on-one sessions with him and his team, I wouldn’t be here and I feel guilty as hell for taking a snap at the hand that’s feeding me. But I did what I did, got the result I figured I would, and it’s time to move on. I even apologized via email to Marek, who sent me a terse reply back saying, “It’s fine. Don’t let it happen again.”
And I won’t. I’ve learned my lesson. This weekend, there will be abundant opportunities to interview a wide range of people involved in this league. From other coaches in the league, to recruit hopefuls, and with players who are already ranked as high draft picks. It will be a buffet of who’s who in the basketball world and I get to eat my fill.
Except for Marek.
I just can’t shut off my interest in his personal life and marital status. I know there has to be so much more to the story that he’s not sharing with anyone. I have to respect that and keep myself away from the topic or even the slightest hint that I’m prying, but the more he shuts it down, the more I want to know.
You can’t give a reporter a tour of a house, show them a locked door, and say, “You can’t go in there.” It’s impossible to resist the temptation Marek throws out there with his silent denial of his past.
As of late, there have been reports popping up in the entertainment news about scandalous insights that will be available soon in Jasmine’s tell-all autobiography. It’s already out in the media making headlines, yet Marek pretends it’s not there.
I’ve already overheard him on the phone with reporters calling to get his version and side of the story in response to speculation on the details in the book and excerpts that have been revealed by Jasmine’s publisher. It’s like throwing bread crumbs into a flock of hungry birds in a park.
It’s being sensationalized, yet Marek has held firm on his “no comment” policy with everyone. Including me.
Which is completely understandable, except I’m like a kid who’s been given a gift in the palm of my hand with stern orders not to peek or open it until my birthday. I can only stare at it longingly, wiggling impatiently as I wonder what the package contains under all the pretty wrapping paper.
In this scenario, Marek is the pretty wrapped gift.
Pulling out my laptop, I pull up my notes and refocus on the task at hand. The annual NBA Combine, an event where college ballplayers and top prospects for the draft are invited to show off their talents and skills. It’s kind of like the field days I participated in back in elementary school. But in the Combine, players get evaluated on all sorts of crazy stats and physical performance criteria. My favorites are their wingspan and the height of their vertical jump.
The only drawback about the weekend is not being able to go home to check on Hannah and the girls. Although we set her up with an in-home nurse, and she’s doing much better than we originally expected, I hate that she’s going through this alone.
I just keep reminding myself that everything I’m doing is for her benefit, to help her pay for her treatment. I just received the bill for her surgery and hospital stay last month. It totaled more than my car.
I’m lost in thought, my eyes having wandered out the window, when I hear a deep voice next to me.
“Is this seat taken?”
My head and eyes snap to find Marek standing in the aisle in front of my seat. I take in the relaxed style of clothing he has on. Instead of the formal suit and tie he normally wears, today he’s dressed in jeans and a Pilots’ logo shirt.
I’m surprised by his request, considering there are plenty of open seats.
But I nod politely and gesture to the seat next to mine. “Of course. If you want to sit next to the enemy, go for it.”
Marek chuckles and takes a few minutes to settle in as the flight attendant immediately steps up to offer drinks.
“Good morning, Mr. Talbert. Welcome back. Can I get you your usual?”
I turn my head to study him, wondering what his usual is as he considers this request. “Nah, thanks, Jennifer. Let’s shake it up a bit today. How about a Bloody Mary?”
Jennifer smiles as if this is a brilliant idea. “Excellent.”