by Guy Franks
“Okay. Where do you want to meet? In the lobby?”
“Yeah, in the lobby at noon. That’d be great.”
Shake folded back a yellow post-it that had Speed’s riddle written on it and wrote down the time and place for himself. He pealed off Speed’s riddle and read it again.
“Any good at riddles?” he asked Dane who stood at the door.
“Riddles? I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Well, Speed gives me these riddles every so often that I have to unravel. It’s irritating—he can’t just tell me—but the riddles, believe it or not, usually have something important to say. The guy knows everything that goes on around here. Anyhow, here’s the latest one: ‘He sold his soul to the devil, and now he’s set on amending your constitution.’ Now the first part might refer to Mike Faust. Faust sold his soul to the devil. But I’m stuck on the ‘amending your constitution part’.”
A sly grin came over Dane’s face. “Constitution can also mean body or physique, right?” he said. “So amending your constitution could mean ‘changing your body’.”
“Hmm, never thought of it that way but you’re right. It could mean body. But whose body? As a trainer he fixes bodies, which isn’t quite the same as amending or changing bodies. So whose body is he amending?” Shake rubbed his chin in thought. He read the riddle again.
“Look to Estrella,” said Dane quickly.
Shake looked up but Dane had ducked out the door and was gone.
Shake pulled into the parking lot of the museum and walked into the lobby exactly at noon. Dane was waiting for him. “She’s inside,” explained Dane, so Shake paid for admission and followed his second baseman into the museum
The museum specialized in Colonial and Federal-era portraits along with landscapes and some impressionist works. There were also sculptures by artists such as Borglum and Rogers. Shake noticed they were headed into the area that displayed a variety of plaster, bronze and stone statues ranging in size from miniature works to life-size. Once in the room, Dane looked around for his mother.
“I thought she was in here,” he said absent-mindedly and wandered off.
Shake didn’t follow and instead looked around the room. There were only a few other people—a young couple and an older man—and Shake shifted his attention to the sculptures themselves. There appeared to be a couple new pieces since his visit last year and he meandered in their direction, reviewing some of the older pieces as he went along. He reached the first new piece and looked carefully at it. It was a sculpture of a woman in a white dress sitting on a small marble bench, head down, holding a floppy sun hat.
Shake felt a chill across his neck as he stared at the statue more closely. It was remarkably life-like. It wasn’t bronze or stone, he concluded. Maybe plaster, but the flesh tones and long honey blonde hair were too real-looking to be sculpted. The thought struck him that it might be a wax figure, like something from Madame Tussauds, and the more he studied the figure the more he was sure that had to be it. But there was something else, something too ethereal to put into words, that fluttered suddenly from his unlocked heart and caused him to stare dumbfounded at the statue. He sensed someone standing behind him but did not turn around.
He had the sensation of running and running for a foul ball, of diving for it and thinking he missed it, of rolling over and being amazed at seeing the ball in his glove. They say miracles are past, he thought to himself and, as he thought it, he pulled back in dream-like fear and told himself it was just a coincidence that the statue looked like Mimi. His beloved Mimi. Just a coincidence. He went down on a knee and leaned over to look at her face. As he did he touched one of her hands. It felt warm to the touch and the discovery startled him. He peered in closer and saw that the eyes were shut. It was Mimi’s face. Older but still beautiful. Mimi’s face. And he whispered aloud:
Such tricks hath strong imagination,
That if it would but apprehend some joy,
It comprehends some bringer of that joy
At these words the woman’s eyes opened and she looked up at him with those blue-green eyes. “What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?” she said.
“My God!… Mimi!”
“Shakespeare… Louis… Glover,” she replied with a smile.
“Good God! It can’t be… How can it be?” He took her two hands and raised them both to their feet. He stared ravenously at her face, devouring her eyes, her lips, her cheeks and chin. She did the same. He barely heard the words spoken from the person behind him.
Jack shall have Jill;
Nought shall go ill;
The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.
Holding his hands, she slowly turned the two of them around until they were facing Dane. Her eyes left his face and she looked at her son. Shake followed her eyes and regarded Dane for a moment. He thought he understood and asked simply, “Your son?”
“Our son,” she said with all the world behind it. “He’s our son.”
Shake knocked and the cathedral opened, finding the fix for what had been broken.
25
CHAPTER
I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Shake was in a daze during Saturday night’s game. His coaches noticed it and even Rick asked him what was wrong. He ignored the question and resumed his happy sleep-walking. Whenever the Kingsmen were in the field, he stood in his spot in the dugout and watched Dane, his son. Between innings he looked up in the stands and found Mimi, his beloved. She was still there, and each time he looked up at her she waved at him and smiled. He was like some lucky bum who’s just won the lottery and keeps glancing down in disbelief at his winning ticket, but at the same time can’t help but fill his head with all the ways he plans on spending his good fortune.
The Kingsmen won and Shake was still in somewhat of a pleasant daze when he met with the local press. They asked questions and he answered them without much thought behind it. He did notice that Balt Porter was home from summer vacation and back on the job. After they left, Dane poked his head in.
“Mom said she’d meet you back at the motel,” he said.
“Oh, okay… Come in for a second. Sit down,” urged Shake gently. Dane complied and stepped into his office. He was in his baseball socks with a t-shirt and uniform pants. Shake studied him carefully as the young man sat in the chair and settled himself. He had an overwhelming urge to talk to Dane and keep on talking to him until he found out everything there was to find out about his new-found son. They’d talked a little already and agreed to keep their relationship quiet until after the play-offs. But Shake frankly struggled against the urge to go out into the clubhouse and cry out the news. Now was not the time, he knew, and he also knew that their long talk could not happen today, so he was contented with studying Dane’s face and mannerisms and seeing the resemblances that had always been there.
“I thought maybe we could get together, maybe on our off-day Monday, and have a long talk?”
“I’d love to,” replied Dane.
Rick Burton rapped on the door and came in. “Hey, what’s with you today, pal,” he said to Shake. “You left your clip board in the dugout.” He handed the clipboard to Shake and made a move to exit.
“Rick, hold on a second,” said Shake. “Close the door.” He watched as Rick closed the door and turned back to him with a quizzical look on his face. Shake possessed a big, beautiful secret and he could not keep it from his best friend. He indicated Dane with a glance and said calmly, “I’d like you to meet my son.”
“Your what?!”
“My son.”
Rick paused, taking it in, and quickly composed himself. He looked from Dane to Shake and back to Dane again. “Well,” he said simply. “That explains a few things.”
“It’s a secret for now,” explained Shake.
“Just you know, so we’d appreciate it if you’d keep it to yourself for a short while.”
“Sure. Of course. How long have you known?
“A day. Dane’s known for a few weeks but he wanted to find the right time to tell me.”
“No shit. Will wonders never cease… You don’t mind if I tell Linda.”
“Of course not… We just think that this late in the season, with call-ups coming and play-offs and everything, we don’t want to lose focus.”
“Yeah, the kid’ll get a good razzing.”
They all laughed at this and Dane got up to leave. “I gotta get dressed and tell mom. See you later,” he said. But before he could leave, Rick grabbed his shoulders in both hands and looked him up and down.
“Rubbing the chin should’a given it away,” he said to father and son. They all laughed again and Rick let Dane go to finish dressing. “What he mean by ‘mom’?” he asked Shake.
Shake gave him the quick lowdown: Mimi, his college sweetheart (“Yes, that one.”) was pregnant when they broke up. She married and her husband—Hamilton—raised Dane as his own. The husband died years ago, Dane became a professional baseball player, and of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he got drafted and assigned to the Kingsmen. “Fate, my friend,” concluded Shake, but then added the couplet:
O God, that one might read the book of fate
And see the revolution of the times.
Rick left Shake’s office in his own sort of daze. He couldn’t wait to get home and tell Linda all about this.
It was Speed’s turn to poke his head into Shake’s office.
Speed
There’s a whole lott’a shakin’ goin’ on, Shake.
Shake
What you mean? And no more riddles.
Speed
Trouble. More trouble than you can shake a spear at. So you might want to shake your booty. Shake, shake, shake.
Shake
Trouble where? In the clubhouse?
Speed
It’s about to shake, rattle and roll. Shake your world. Shake your foundation. Shaken not stirred. So you better shake a leg, Shake, before we get all shook up.
(There is loud shouting and banging heard from the locker room)
Oops, too late. The salt’s outta the shaker.
Shake hurried out the door into the locker room and found a fight going on. Basset was swinging wildly at Cappadona, and Chuck Davis was trying to hold Basset back while others jumped in to separate the two. Shake had never seen Basset this way and it startled him. His affable, Christian ace pitcher was red-faced and wild-eyed.
“What the hell!” shouted Rick coming on the scene at the same time as Shake.
“Stop! Now!” yelled Shake. As he made his way into the heart of the melee, he saw Basset break free and run out of the clubhouse half-dressed. “Steve!” he hollered after him, but it was too late. He was gone.
Everyone stood down and Shake looked first at Cappadona, who stood licking his bleeding lip, then over at Chuck who seemed to be in the know. “What’s going on here?” he asked Chuck.
“Just a misunderstanding,” he replied between hard breaths.
“I can see that. What started it?”
“Can we talk in your office?”
“Yeah, in my office—you and Phil. Someone see if they can find Steve. Rick, join us.” Shake led the march to his office.
“We’ll need Tiago,” said Chuck.
“Santiago! In my office!” yelled Shake without stopping. The four of them filed into his office. Phil and Chuck both sat down and Shake handed Phil a Kleenex for his lip. Luis appeared and looked confused. “Why me?” he asked but Shake ignored the question and told him to shut the door.
“Now tell me what the hell’s going on?” he asked as he glanced at each player. He rested his eyes on Chuck who looked ready and willing to spill the beans. “Chuck? You’re the veteran here. What happened?”
And Chuck told him, mixing facts with sound deduction to paint a full and ugly picture. It all started back before the All-Star break when Luis bet Cap a hundred dollars that he could screw Basset’s fiancé. The bet was made and proof had to be provided in the form of her gold chain and locket. When Luis produced the locket, Cap paid up but there was an argument over who’d get to keep the locket. He settled the argument by taking the locket himself and promising to find a way to secretly get it back to her. He was never able to that, but just the other day Luis asked him about it. Luis wanted it as a memento and promised not to tell Cap, so he gave it to him. What happened next, he could only guess but he was pretty sure of—Luis slipped the locket into Cap’s locker and told Basset it was there. Steve found it and the fight started.
As the story was told, Shake noticed Phil nodding in agreement while Luis stood quietly without an expression. When Chuck was done, both Shake and Rick looked at one another in shared astonishment.
“So let me get this straight,” said Rick, glancing at Phil and then Luis. “You made a bet that you could screw your own teammate’s fiancé. Why would you do a stupid thing like that?”
“I warned them,” said Chuck.
Phil had his head down so Rick focused his attention on Santiago. “Why in god’s name would you screw your teammate’s fiancé? Why would you do a thing like that?”
“I didn’t,” replied Luis coolly.
“You didn’t?”
“I didn’t. I bribed a hotel maid for her room key and I went in there and stole it. I never went to bed with her.”
“Son of a bitch!” growled Phil as he started out of his seat.
“Shut up and sit down!” commanded Shake, and Phil sat back down muttering to himself. Shake turned his full attention to Luis. “So you’re the architect of this whole mess. What did you tell Steve that triggered this fight?”
And Luis told them, without emotion or drama, like a man relating “a twice-told tale, vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.” He put it in Steve’s ear, as his friend who was looking out for his best interests, that he had seen his fiancé in a car with another player. He wouldn’t say who but the two of them were awful affectionate. Steve begged him to tell who it was. He said no but Steve insisted, so he finally told him. It was Cap, he lied, and after that lie he told him (“for his own good”) that he’d seen her lost locket in Cap’s locker. In the toe of his spare cleats. The rest took care of itself and he was a little surprised at how easily Steve was willing to believe him.
Rick rubbed his hand over his face in frustrated anger. “Un-fucking-believable,” he sighed in disgust. “You’re a total piece of shit, kid.”
“But why?” asked Shake, trying to wrap his brain around this betrayal or callousness or cruelty or whatever the hell it was. “Why do a thing like that?” But Luis merely shrugged and remained silent. Shake felt a strong wave of disgust at Santiago and he tried to check it, but in doing so he was left with its residue—a kind of oil-stained sadness.
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Make ill deeds done!
He thought about Mimi and it had a cleansing effect. “I don’t want to hear anymore. I want you all out of my sight. The coaching staff will talk this over and I’ll let you know what happens tomorrow. I want you all in my office at 10:00 am. Got it? Meanwhile… Luis, you owe Cap a hundred dollars and, Cap, stay away from Luis. And all of you stay away from Steve until I can talk to him and calm him down. Now, get out of here.”
In a moment they were gone. The two veteran coaches—Shake and Rick—shook their heads at one another in a way that said “I-thought-I’d-seen-it-all-but-I-guess-I-haven’t.”
“Suspend the bastard,” said Rick.
“Yeah,” replied Shake engrossed in his thoughts. “I’ll have to call the front office… He’s on their list of potential call-ups.”
“Fuck him.”
Shake found Steve sitting in the driver’s seat of his Nissan. His forearms rested on the steering wheel and his head was buried between the vise of his arms. He looked like he was praying. Shake rapped on the window and Steve’s head came up. His cheeks were streaked with tears.
“Unlock the door,” said Shake. “Let’s talk.” He walked around to the passenger’s side and heard the doors unlock. He got in and closed the door. Steve was hunched up, almost in a fetal position.
“Oh, Jesus, Jesus… Help me,” he moaned to himself.
“Steve, listen to me,” said Shake firmly. “Steve! Listen up!” he repeated, and Steve raised his head and looked at him. The young man’s eyes were a mix of confusion and sorrow. “It’s going to be okay,” Shake assured him. “I got the truth out of Santiago and you’ve been lied to.”
“Huh? What?”
“He lied to you. You’ve been duped.” And with that Shake launched into the story. When he finished, Steve stared at him in disbelief with hints of anger growing around the edges of his face.
“But why?” he asked. “Why would a person do such a thing? It’s the work of the devil.”
“I don’t know,” sighed Shake. “I really don’t. Some people just like to tear things down.”
Steve shook his head woefully and then began to roll it in an exaggerated motion from side to side. “Holy Mary, Mother of God!” he cried out and began beating his head with his fists.
“Steve! Stop! Calm down—just calm down. Tell me what’s wrong?”
He stopped beating his head and stared out into the night as he spoke: “It’s too late…I ran out here and found Gwen—my fiancé. She was waiting in her car… I screamed at her and called her a whore and told her it was over… Oh, God, Jesus, what have I done?”