Free Homecourt Advantage by Rita Ewing Page A

different set of circumstances. Here she was worried that everyone might stare at her wide bottom and protruding stomach. She had to force herself into the largest pair of slacks in her closet: size sixteen. One of the fringe benefits enjoyed by the wives of the Flyers was the VIP Family Lounge. This was where all of the family members of the players would convene before, sometimes during, and certainly after the games. Trina had always loved it because of its vast array of delicacies, ranging from several types of salads to five or six entrées, seven to ten side dishes, and a separate dessert table. This was the arena’s unofficial meeting room, and more drama occurred here than on Broadway. It was where the players’ wives kept tabs on one another, the place to keep abreast of who’s new, who’s out, who should be out, and who’s in. And of course, who’s pregnant. Here the women were expected and encouraged to be natural extensions of their mates. As Trina watched some of the wives and girlfriends trickle in, she contemplated, rather morosely, the irony of this: how she was an extension of her husband not only here, but everywhere she went.
    Even though Trina and Rick had spent a whole season in New York, she was still having a difficult time adjusting. Staring around the bustling Family Lounge, she felt overwhelmed. For the past fourteen years, she had followed Rick to five different NBA cities, and none of them was anything like New York. Almost since the day Trina had arrived in the city, she’d felt as if she was a few steps behind all of the other wives and girlfriends, always trying to catch up but never quite knowing how.
    Looking at the fashionable, trim, fit women, some even mothers of the players, Trina felt way out of her league. She and Rick had attended and graduated from Tennessee State together. Of course, she’d never put her degree in sociology to use, at least not in a job that paid. Yes, she received an allowance from Rick, and she certainly deserved every cent. But somehow Trina imagined it wasn’t quite the same as making her own way in the world, something she’d been giving more and more consideration to: making her own money. Looking at the people around her and even a few of the other Flyers wives and girlfriends, she saw they really seemed to have their acts together—careerwise and physically. She must stick out like a sore thumb.
    When Rick had been playing for the Hornets, the games didn’t seem like fashion shows the way they were here in New York. At the Mecca, Trina felt like an outcast because her clothes didn’t have a made in italy tag and her body wasn’t made by Jake—hardly.
    Trina jumped as one of the players’ daughters rammed into the back of her chair while chasing the assistant coach’s son.
    “Watch it, little lady, you’re gonna hurt somebody!"Trina said, rubbing her back.
    “You’re not my mama,” the sassy little girl retorted as she continued to run around the room in her black and red RocaWear jeans.
    “I know, ‘cause if I were your mama, you wouldn’t be running around this room like you didn’t have any sense,” Trina said under her breath, rolling her eyes as the little terror ran off.
    She felt she had excuses: she had two small children and a demanding husband who left her no time for herself. But Trina knew that even if she did have any free time, the last thing she’d want to do would be to go huff and puff herself into exhaustion at some gym. She would much rather stay at home and snack on the various culinary delights she loved to prepare for her family, friends, and neighbors. Recently a neighbor friend of hers whose husband owned the local Safeway grocery store convinced Trina to start supplying their bakery with homemade treats.
    Even though Trina had ballooned up to nearly two hundred pounds, she was an attractive woman with rich, ebony-colored skin. She rarely made attempts to enhance her looks, though. Trina was prematurely graying