by Jean Joachim
Jake let out the breath he was holding. He hit the dugout.
“Come on guys. We’ve gotta win. I gotta get out of here by three-thirty.”
“Keep your pants on,” Chet said.
“It’s true love,” Skip said, patting his chest over his heart.
“Shut the fuck up and get a hit, asshole,” Jake growled.
Bobby was at the plate, so Skip trotted out to the on-deck circle. He shot his teammate a nasty look and swung the bat to warm up.
Jake started to pace. Bobby walked. Skip hit into a double play. Now it was Jake’s turn. He tried to focus, but Kate kept creeping into his head. He struck out swinging, that was the end of the sixth.
In the seventh, Woody hit his stride. He got one strikeout, walked one, and the third hit a line drive straight to Skip, who caught it, then fired it to first base, doubling the runner off. Jake patted his friend on the shoulder as they ran off the field.
In the dugout, Jake paced. While the other players joked to relieve the tension, Jake’s sense of humor had evaporated. Matt Jackson, their clutch hitter, got on base on a single up the middle. The next batter walked. Hope sprang up in Jake’s chest. But the next batter popped one to third and into a double play. Their number seven man in the lineup got tagged out on a rotten bunt attempt.
The Nighthawks took the field in the top of the eighth. Woody Franklin was hot. He rifled curve balls, fastballs, and change-ups past Buck after Buck. Two more strikeouts and a pop foul that Jake plucked from the stands on the fly, meant the Hawks’ were at bat again.
Afraid to look, the third baseman couldn’t resist checking his watch. Three o’clock. And they still had six outs and maybe overtime to go. The Bucks sent in a relief pitcher. The fresh reliever struck out the Nighthawks’ eighth man in the lineup. Woody came up to bat. After two failed bunt attempts, he fouled out to the first baseman. Then it was Nat Owen’s turn. Jake was chewing nails, hoping his friend, who wasn’t a long ball hitter, would break out of his mold and hit a home run.
No such luck. He struck out looking.
‘Fucking asshole! Why didn’t he swing?” Sweat poured off Jake’s forehead.
Skip put his hand on Jake’s forearm. “Hey, buddy. I know you’re stressed but back off, okay?”
Jake shook off his buddy’s hand, but not his advice. He knew he was out of line, but he couldn’t help it. He’d promised to be at the theater by four. Well, no, he hadn’t actually promised, but Kate needed him. He had to come through.
The top of the ninth the tension was so high you could almost cut it with a knife. Out in the field, Jake prayed Woody still had his stuff. The first pitch looked good—a swing and a miss.
Jake hardly remembered to breathe, watching Woody winding up and tossing in winning pitches. Bobby Hernandez caught a line drive that was rifled at him like a bullet. Jake muttered a “thank you” under his breath. Woody added another strikeout to his belt. Another foul out to Nat Owen and Jake forgave him for striking out in the bottom of the eighth.
The bottom of the ninth. The lineup was Skip, Bobby, and Jake. The third baseman corralled his two teammates.
“Just get on base. I don’t give a fuck how you get there. Just do. I’ll connect and bring you home. Not a home run, a base hit. So get on base, and run your balls off to get home.” Jake checked his watch—three ten. “Time’s running out, guys. I need you to do this for me.”
Skip got a base on balls. Then Bobby came up. He hit a bouncer to deep short. Skip and Bobby were running full out. The shortstop elected to pick off Skip, but Bobby beat out the throw to first.
“I’m sorry, man. Sorry,” Skip said as he passed Jake heading for the plate.
“No worries. It’s okay.” Jake nodded, rubbing dirt between his hands to dry out the sweat.
He nodded to Bobby on first, then took his stance. He narrowed his eyes and forced his mind to focus on the pitcher. He’d been watching him. First two pitches he’d snag the corners, hoping for strikes. Sometimes he got ‘em. When he did or at least a count of one and one, then he’d put one right down the middle. That’s the pitch Jake was looking for.
He took a deep breath and calmed himself so he could wait out the first two. He faked a swing just enough to fool the pitcher on the second pitch. Then he drew back the bat. By his calculations, this would be it. The one he was looking for. And sure enough, there it was.
A big, juicy fastball, right down the middle. Jake let his natural talent take over. Bam! The bat broke as the ball soared over the heads of the infielders, hooked right, and dropped in the corner of right field. Fair ball!
The Buck fielder had been playing it closer to center. He took off, chasing down the ball that had dropped and refused to roll. In the meantime, Bobby Hernandez flew over the bases, heading for home with everything he had. Jake ran to first, hesitated, then got halfway to second before he returned to first base.
But Bobby didn’t stop. The third base coach was giving him all the signals to stop, but he kept going. The throw came fast and wide from right field. Bobby dove.
“Not head first!” Jake exclaimed, his gaze riveted on his teammate.
Hernandez flew into home plate along with the ball. The catcher made the mistake of blocking the plate. Bobby didn’t let that stop him. He barreled into the Buck, knocking him down. He barely had the ball, when he hit the dirt. The fall knocked it out of his glove. Bobby stopped sliding while he was still on base. SAFE! The umpire called him safe!
The Nighthawks had won the game! Bobby stood up and brushed the dirt off his uniform. Jake blinked several times. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Bobby was safe, the game was over and it was only three thirty! Jake ran to the dugout. No time to shower and change. He kept running right into the locker room. He grabbed his jacket, fished out his car keys, stuffed his street clothes under his arm and headed for the parking lot.
“Wait! Wait for me!” It was Skip.
“Me, too!” Nat Owen hollered.
One by one his buddies, except for Dan Alexander, who was still in the medical room, gathered in the hall.
“What the fuck?”
“I’ve never seen anyone audition for a Broadway show. I’m coming,” Skip said.
The others chimed in.
“Besides. You’ll need luck. And I’m the luckiest guy here today,” Bobby Hernandez said, brushing dirt off his behind.
Jake made a face. “Shit, Bobby, you’re going to get that all over my new car.”
“Hey, asshole. I probably tore a dozen muscles moving my ass to score so you could go to this thing. The least you can do is take me along.”
“What the fuck are we standing here for? It’s almost three-forty-five. Let’s go!”
Jake broke into a run, as did the others. The five men piled into the car, barely closing the door before the engine roared to life, and the third basemen flew out of the parking lot.
“Take my cell, Skip,” Jake said to the man in the front seat. “In case Kate calls. You can tell her we’re on the way.”
“Got it.” He rummaged around the friend’s coat pockets until he located the cell.
Jake hit the gas, hoping to make all the lights on Columbus. He knew the lights on Broadway weren’t nearly as well synced as Columbus.
“Where the fuck is the theater?” Jake hollered.
“I don’t know,” Skip said.
“It’s the Porter. She gave me the address on a slip of paper. Look in my pockets.”
Again, Skip shoved his hand in every pocket until he found it. “Got it Forty-eighth and Broadway.”
Jake jumped the gun on a traffic light and hit the gas. He was doing great, making the lights and almost at ninety-sixth street, when he heard the siren.
“Shit! Fuck!” he said, glancing in the rearview mirror. A cop with flashing lights was on his tail.
“Pull over,” came the command over a megaphone.
“No time. No time,” he muttered, slowing the car.
“If you don’t pull over, they’ll catch you,
arrest you, and you’ll never get there,” Bobby said.
“I’ve got an idea. Let me do the talking,” Nat said.
Jake pulled over and opened his window. “Yes, Officer?”
“License and registration, please.”
Jake handed over the documents, then looked at his watch. Ten minute to four.
“Are you THE Jake Lawrence? The Jake Lawrence who plays third for the Nighthawks?” The officer’s eyebrows shot up.
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“Officer, there are special circumstances. Can I explain?” Nat leaned over from the back seat.
“And you are?”
“Nat Owen, teammate of Mr. Lawrence.”
“You play first base, right?”
“I do. Let me explain.”
Speaking fast, Nat boiled the story down to a one-minute explanation. The officer handed Jake’s license and registration back.
“Mr. Lawrence. It’s three-fifty. I think you’ll need an escort if you’re going to make that audition on time.”
“Bless you, Officer.”
“Follow me,” he said, then climbed back into his patrol car.
The black-and-white pulled in front of the Hawks and turned on the siren. Jake threw the car in gear and stepped on the gas.
* * * *
Kate stood in the back of the auditorium.
“It’s five of four, Miss McKenzie. Are you ready to go on?”
“My partner is coming. Can we give him ten more minutes?”
The producer looked at his watch. “I can give him five. I have others to see today. Sorry.”
She nodded. He said he’d come. He said he’d come. He said he’d come. He said…maybe.
If Jake didn’t show, she’d have to go on by herself. She inhaled a big breath, then blew it out. It’s not like she’d never auditioned alone before. Most of the parts she won, she got by auditioning alone. Those were for regional theater. Small stuff, in her mind, and the mind of every Hollywood and Broadway producer.
She had some credentials, but they weren’t anything big, although she got great reviews and showed “promise”—whatever that was—she hadn’t cracked the big time. Today was her one chance, and she needed Jake.
The sound of a siren grew louder fast. Then it stopped. Unable to stifle her curiosity, Kate peeked out the theater door. There was Jake, dirty, sweaty, still in his uniform and parked in a no parking zone. He leaped from the car and ran around it.
As if she was seeing an old-time silent movie comedy, four other dirty, sweaty men in Nighthawks’ uniforms also piled out of the car and ran toward her. Jake got there first. He grasped her hand.
“Am I too late?”
She shook her head. “Just in time. Come on.” She held open the theater door. They moved through quickly. “Who are these guys?” she asked him.
“My teammates, my friends. They wanna watch. Is that okay?”
“Usually auditions are closed to anyone not involved with the show, but Hell, let ’em throw the guys out.”
“Ah, Miss McKenzie! I see your partner has arrived. Come up, come up.” The man waved them to the stage.
Jake turned to his buddies. “Find a place to sit and shut the fuck up. Not one noise. Not a sound!” he hissed, following Kate.
They ascended the stairs and she made the introductions.
“Are you Jake Lawrence, the baseball player?” Johnny Cleary, the producer asked.
“I am.”
“Are those men on your team?”
“They are.”
“What are they doing here?”
“They’re here for moral support. I hope that’s okay.”
“As long as they give out autographs after, that’s fine. Do you two want to go over it once or twice? I need to return this phone call.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cleary,” Kate said as he stalked out of the room.
She and Jake did some scales, then the song, and the little dance that went with it. When he heard a snicker from the audience, he turned and raised his voice.
“What the hell did I say about noise? Once more and I swear, I’ll throw you outta here myself.”
“Sorry,” Skip piped up.
“Better be,” Jake muttered.
Kate poured a glass of water for each of them from a pitcher and a stack of paper cups on a small table. Jake eyed the vessel.
“I could drink that whole thing in one gulp.”
“Jake!”
“We didn’t stop after the game.”
“Here, have another glass,” she said, refilling his.
The producer returned, full of apologies. He was joined by another man and a woman. After ordering a refill for the water, he sat in the front row with the others.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded. Jake gave her a warm stare and a thumbs-up. “You can do this,” he whispered.
Confidence transferred from him to her. For the moment, to her, there was no one in the theater but Kate and Jake.
She stuck her thumbs in the loops of her jeans and began the song. Jake chimed in on cue. They sang and did a little dance around each other. Kate relaxed. There was something about him that made her feel like she’d known him all her life. He smiled into her eyes, exuding self-assurance. The words tripped off his tongue.
When they were done, the guys on the team burst into applause. Kate buried her face in her hands while Jake glowered at his buddies.
“Well done. That was great,” Johnny said. “Let me talk to my colleagues for a moment.” The three left the auditorium.
Kate downed another cup of water while Jake wiped his face on his sleeve.
“Thank you so much. I couldn’t have done it without you,” she said.
“You were great. You coulda done it in the middle of Times Square.”
“When do you sign the contract?” Skip piped up.
“Shut up! Can’t you follow orders?” Jake shot his meanest look.
“Sorry, sorry.” Skip sat down.
The trio returned.
“Thank you, Kate. That was great. You’re an amazing singer, and we loved the way you delivered the song, but we cast the part of Kim this morning. But you’re first runner-up. Really. Great job. We wish you much success.”
Jake turned to her, but Johnny grabbed his arm.
“Wait a minute. We’re missing one male in the chorus. You interested, Jake?”
Kate’s mouth fell open. They wanted Jake but not her?
“What?” Jake asked.
“How about giving up baseball for the theater?”
The auditorium was silent.
“You’ve got to be crazy. Kate’s the star here, not me.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got great potential, my friend,” Johnny said.
Stunned, Kate thanked the producers and descended the stage stairs.
“Kate. Wait,” Jake called, but she didn’t stop. She picked up her backpack and almost ran the rest of the way out the door.
Jake pursued her, followed by the men on the team. When she reached the outside, she let out a sob. Tears blinded her as she headed downtown. Keith’s place was in Chelsea. A long walk, but what else did she have to do?
She heard Jake calling her name but didn’t stop. Humiliation burned inside her. How could she ever face him, again? Outclassed by a newbie. A guy with no training, nothing. Yet they wanted him and not her. She threaded her way through the crowd, not stopping, except for red lights. A man stopped. “You okay, miss?” She nodded and kept going.
She began to run and didn’t stop until she couldn’t hear him call her name anymore. She finally reached Keith’s place and pushed the buzzer. He released the door from his apartment three flights up. She bolted up the stairs, close to hysteria, as the truth sank in.
She’d gambled everything on this and lost. Her dice came up boxcars. Everything was gone. Keith opened the door and croaked out her name. She fell into his arms sobbing.
Chapter Nine
J
ake ran into Times Square, where he got surrounded by fans within minutes. He called and called for Kate, but she had disappeared into the thickening, rush-hour crowd. His heart was breaking. How could this happen? He was a slugger, a crackerjack third basemen, but far from a Broadway star!
As he signed autographs, his heart numb, he kept seeing the expression in her eyes. The hurt, the pain, the betrayal visible in her beautiful blue-greens, made his stomach lurch. Before long, his teammates caught up to him. The number of fans swelled, blocking traffic.
“We gotta get outta here,” Skip said, tugging on Jake’s sleeve.
“I know, I know. Just one more look,” the third baseman replied, scanning the sea of faces, looking for his lover. It didn’t take him long to realize she was gone. “Okay. Let’s go.”
The players eased north slowly, carrying fans with them like burrs on clothing. They tried to shake them off as they signed each autograph.
“If we don’t get outta here, my hand’ll be too sore to catch tomorrow,” Matt said.
When they reached the car, there was a parking ticket on it.
“Figures,” Jake mumbled as he unlocked the doors remotely.
One-by-one the men packed the car. Jake was the last one in. He locked the doors and turned the engine over. Slowly they managed to get back on Broadway, heading north.
“That was amazing. I’ve never seen an audition before,” Nat said.
“Where do you think she went?” Skip asked.
“I’m hoping back to my place.”
Bobby made a face. “Not likely. She was pretty upset.”
“She doesn’t have any money. Keith’s is the only place she can go.”
“Who’s Keith?” Matt asked.
Jake explained everything then asked, “Back to the stadium, right?”
“Yep,” Bobby said.
“Can you call this chick?” Nat asked.
“Yeah. When we get there.”
The men piled out of the car and headed for the locker room, leaving Jake alone. He dialed Kate, but it went to voice mail. He left a message. He called one more time, to be sure. She didn’t pick up. He’d like to smash that producer’s face. Asshole. How could he break her heart like that? What could Jake do about it? Not a damn thing. He kicked some stones, shoved his hands in his pockets, and hit the locker room.