by Alice Ward
“I know,” I muttered.
“You should be able to make the association fees, and the basic bills, right?” His eyes were full of concern, and for the first time, I caught a glimpse of reality in them.
“Yes.” I clutched the ring in my pocket, rolling it around in my fingers that were shoved deep in the denim. I’ll be fine.
“I’m really sorry, Kitty-Kat. This is just a rough patch. I’ll turn it all around soon, and then we can go shopping for another pink Mercedes. Hell, maybe even a Lamborghini this time.”
His lips curled into a slick smile, and my mother’s eyes widened in pleasure at his words. I wasn’t sure which one of them was more delusional.
Did they not see the movers outside? Could they not comprehend that all of their life-long belongings had been sold to cover gambling debts and that they were reduced to a small truck of boxes, a couple pieces of unimpressive furniture, and a two-bedroom condo that was smaller than their current bedroom?
“Sounds good, Dad,” I murmured, not willing to push him while he was already down, or up, I couldn’t tell anymore.
My phone lit up, playing the “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” ringtone I’d been meaning to change. I pulled it from my purse, stared at the screen, trying to figure out who’d be calling me from New York.
“You gonna answer that?” my dad called to me. I knew the song irritated him. He didn’t have the warm and fuzzy feelings about baseball like he used to. Since he retired from the Braves, I didn’t even think he’d watched a full game.
“Hello, this is Katrina Delaney,” I answered as professionally as possible.
Often times, the radio station gave out my number to clients. Even though I’d probably be leaving there soon, I wanted to leave on a good note.
“This is Rhett Hamilton with the New York Beasts.” His voice had the same deep tone I remembered from years ago.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hamilton. How can I help you?” I responded, confused, excited, and a little intimidated. I knew of him, not only from the papers over the last couple seasons but also from years ago, when he and my dad were friends. The radio station was mainly a rock genre, rarely covering any sports events, unless to hand out free tickets as a contest. I couldn’t imagine what connection he’d have with them, but I was eager to find out.
My dad stared in my direction at the mention of the name. I turned away, keeping my focus on the phone call at hand and away from my curious father’s eyes.
“I have an exciting opportunity I’d like to talk to you about. When will you be free to meet with me?”
“I have a couple hours this afternoon. Are you staying in downtown Atlanta?” I asked.
A chuckle sounded over the phone. He was amused by my question, but I had no idea why. “No, I’m in New York. I need you here.”
My heart raced, and my palms began to sweat around the rubber case of my phone. “Can I ask what this is about?”
“Katrina, I’ve heard great things about you, and what you can do, so I’d like to see it for myself. You’ve heard of my team I’m sure, the Beasts?” He paused and left me to answer.
“Um, yes.”
“Then you know what trouble they can be. I need someone like you to clean them up, polish them for the press, so to speak.” He chuckled again, making me laugh too, even though I didn’t know why. I was nervous, still confused, and extremely overwhelmed. This was Rhett Hamilton, billionaire, owner of the most notorious team in the league. What did he want with me?
“I’ll make all the arrangements. You just show up at the airport, and then let me convince you as to why this would be an incredible opportunity for us both.”
I thought of my life here and what I had to look forward to — nothing. I wasn’t sure if I should tell him that I was only an intern, with no paid experience in the real world of social media management. I assumed he already knew, but should I bring it up? No, shut your mouth and accept, Katrina. You need this, badly!
“That sounds perfect.” Panic set in at my acceptance. What if he didn’t like me once we met? What if he realized he’d made a mistake hiring a college graduate with only eight months of internship under her belt? And that was only at a small local radio station. This was for the majors.
“I’ll have the information sent to you shortly. Is tomorrow afternoon okay with you? I can have you back that evening if you decline the position,” he said with confidence.
“Yes, that’s perfect,” I agreed.
I hung up the phone, slid it back into my purse, and turned to see my father staring at me with a mixture of confusion and excitement… and something else I couldn’t recognize.
“Was that Rhett Hamilton?” he asked. I nodded, still too shook up to speak. “He offered you a job?”
I nodded again. “I leave tomorrow afternoon for New York,” I managed to spit out.
“That’s great, honey!” My mother was enthusiastic, much more so than my father.
Larry, my Uber driver, was pulling up to the house. He was right on time, and for that I was thankful. I didn’t want to hang around and listen to one of my dad’s lectures about why this wouldn’t be a fantastic opportunity. I knew it was, and I was grateful to have it handed to me, even if I didn’t know exactly why.
CHAPTER THREE
Todd
I was grateful to still be in New York as I walked into the Beasts' indoor stadium. The place was new, fresh, and didn’t have that stank usually found in older stadiums. I was still reeling about the trade when my new coach slapped me on the back. “Glad to have you on the team,” he said quickly before rushing me to the center of the locker room.
I looked around the newly built locker room in awe. The Mets' locker room was nothing to complain about, but this, this was a player’s dream space.
“Listen up,” he called out to the group of guys who gave little to no attention to his presence. He lifted the whistle from his neck and pushed it into his mouth, blowing hard and loud until they all turned toward him in silence.
“This is our first pre-spring practice. I want the best of your best today, and every day this season. We’ve had a lot of changes, a lot of new players, and now, Todd Morris has joined us as catcher. One of the best defensive catchers in the league, he’s above average offensively as well, boasting a .306 batting average. He hit twenty-three home runs this past season. Malone, show him the ropes. The rest of you girls get your panties on and get in the cages.” I watched Calvin Malone’s eyes glaring at me as Coach spoke.
Rhett appeared beside me and slapped his hand on my shoulder. “Morris wasn’t an easy one to get on this team. I expect you will all work hard to get him up to speed on our standards.”
The guys continued their banter after the coach and Rhett finished their speeches. Coach motioned me toward the locker next to Calvin’s. Great!
Rhett had talked me up, acting like he’d fought to get me. In reality, we both knew I was tossed to him freely by my former team. This was the first practice, the first time I’d have to catch for Calvin, and I wasn’t looking forward to it, to any of it.
And standards, really? I wasn’t exactly sure what standards Rhett was speaking of, but from what I read about the Beasts, what I knew about them, I didn’t see any standards in place.
Coach pushed over a few guys, some of the heavy hitters on the team for Calvin and me to work with. “This way,” Calvin ordered, motioning for me to follow him to the back of the practice arena.
I grabbed my gear, following him without argument. I wasn’t ready to get into it with Calvin Malone, and in all honesty, I hoped we could put the past behind us. He won, he got the girl. Whitney, the beautiful Whitney. It was a sore point with me still, and I was certain for him as well. I geared up, walked out behind home plate, and looked around the large indoor field. It was nice, nicer than what I’d been used to. I was ready for his anger, for his distrust, but I was willing to make this work. If this was going to be my new home, I planned to make the best of it. Bring it on,
Malone. Get it out of your system before the season starts.
Calvin took his place on the mound while Kane Steele, the new first baseman, picked up a bat. He was fresh out of the minors, and personally, I’d never seen him play. With no connection with my pitcher, no read on the hitter, I was catching blind. Not a great start.
There was no discussion about how he wanted his pitch signals delivered, so I’d have to work extra hard to make this work. I squatted down, signaled with one finger for a fastball, and the bastard shook his head. Two fingers for a curveball, another shake of the head. I continued with the basics, all to which he shook his head. What the fuck did he want? Pick something, Malone. It’s just practice for God’s sake.
Steele was growing impatient. I was too. “What the fuck. You gonna throw a pitch or what?” he scoffed.
The lack of communication was killing me. I was used to having a connection with my pitcher, at least on some level. I slammed three fingers inside my thigh forcefully enough to leave a mark. Calvin grinned, nodded, and wound up his slider. Finally!
Steele slammed the ball without hesitation, sending it toward Malone with a vengeance. He ducked out of the way, slammed his glove on the field, and headed in my direction. “What the fuck, you tryin’ to get me killed?”
“Whoa, slow your roll,” I replied with more than a little hint of sarcasm. He wasn’t gonna pin this on me.
Steele dropped the bat, walked over to the dugout and took a seat. As Calvin’s face turned red with anger, and his words grew louder and more aggressive, the rest of the team began to flock from the batting cages and toward our scene.
“Malone, Morris, my office, now!” Coach’s face was its own shade of red.
I was fuming as I stepped off the field. Who did this asshole think he was? I was one of the better catchers in the league, maybe even the best. But, without the cooperation of my pitcher, I might as well be playing college ball.
“I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you two, but you need to work it out, now!” Coach screamed loud enough to create an echo down the long corridor outside his office.
“Nothing to work out, Coach.” Calvin’s stance was cocky as he spoke.
I glared at him with narrowed eyes, wondering if he was thinking about me fucking Whitney. I knew that’s what I was thinking. He had no right to hold onto that grudge. He was a playboy, a cheat, and he was damn lucky she gave him another chance. He didn’t deserve it. I was the better man, but Whitney’s heart was too consumed with her high school sweetheart to see that. Naïve.
“I want you two communicating. In fact, the only one you’re allowed to talk to is each other, got it?” Coach’s voice calmed, but his eyes grew wild.
“Got it,” I replied without hesitation. That’s all I wanted in the first place… communication.
“Yes, Coach.” Calvin stood tall and straight like he was a cadet in military school and the coach was the drill sergeant. I wanted to laugh, but that’d only get me another screeching from the coach.
“Look, whether we like each other or not, we have to communicate,” I said, walking alongside Calvin down the long corridor back to the indoor field.
“Yeah,” he replied without enthusiasm. This was gonna be tougher than I thought.
Back on the field, I decided to be the bigger man. “How do you want your signals delivered?” I asked.
“Where I can fuckin’ see them,” he snarled.
I bit my tongue. You can do this, Todd.
“Look, I want you to see them, but not anyone else.” Was I seriously explaining myself to Golden Arm Malone?
“Open your legs a little wider, guard with your glove if you have to, but make the signals clear to me, and we’ll do just fine.”
I took a deep breath. “Fine. You got it.”
After an hour on the field without a batter, Calvin and I seemed to work out most of our kinks. There were two kinds of pitchers, those you had to pat on the back, and those you needed to kick in the ass. Calvin thought he was the first, but he was the latter. I’d work him into shape soon enough.
“You girls ready for some real action?” Ace Newman stepped onto the field. He rested the bat on his shoulder, strutted to home plate, turned and winked at me before turning to Calvin.
“I mean, I don’t want to interrupt your tea party,” he snorted.
Calvin nodded in my direction, smirked, and then waited for me to signal the pitch. I’d been watching Newman for years. He was a switch-hitter, a power-hitter, virtually unstoppable. He and Calvin had been pretty tight, so he could handle any of the Golden Arm’s pitches.
I spread my legs, nodded toward Ace’s left side to direct how I’d be moving against a left-hander. Calvin watched my single finger slide to the inside of my right thigh, then two to direct him to a fastball inside Newman’s weak zone. I held my glove up, displaying the direct target as he nodded. He wound up the pitch. I kept my glove steady as the ball blasted into the thick leather. It nearly knocked me off my feet. I loved the rush of the wind off the bat, and that sweet swoosh sound it made so close to my face as the ball slammed into my glove. That was the sensation I lived for on the field, the one I was known for creating time and time again. This was what Calvin Malone needed to respect and learn to trust. “Holy fuck,” Ace exclaimed, turning to offer me a quick wink.
“That’s what I want to see,” Coach yelled out from the sidelines.
After practice, I stripped down and hit the showers, uninterested in the rub down or the ice bath. Adrenaline was rolling through my veins like thunder. I didn’t want that soothed away or numbed down.
“Good job out there today,” Ace said, patting me on the back as he walked by. Calvin took notice of his generosity with a quick glare in my direction. Oh, so not only Whitney but I need to stay away from Ace too?
I dressed, gripped my duffel bag, and rushed out of the locker room. This was going to be a tough season. But, all I wanted was to beat the Mets and prove to them the mistake they’d made by letting me go. I needed Calvin Malone on my side to do that.
I knew eventually we’d get to the point where we were unstoppable. As much as I disliked the guy, Calvin was one helluva pitcher. His ability to read a player and my ability to read the field would create a battery that was more powerful than any before it. We were the strategic players on the field, the ones who led the players to victory or brought them to defeat. The brunt of the weight was on our shoulders, and without Calvin’s full trust, respect, and cooperation, it rested on mine alone.
CHAPTER FOUR
Katrina
Marlo, my supervisor at the radio station, was super gracious about my leaving for New York. “Your position is safe, but you’d be crazy to turn down this offer.” She sat on her desk sipping on an iced coffee. She was the only one I’d confided my family’s troubles to, so she knew how much this offer meant to me.
She was right. I’d be an idiot to turn down this opportunity. I was just worried that I couldn’t handle it. Jumping in over my head would be a career ender. “Go have some fun.” She pushed me out of her office.
My bags were already packed, my driver waiting outside to escort me to the airport. This was it. I took a quick selfie with a large smile to show excitement, even though I was riddled with fear. I posted it to my Snapchat account and climbed into the backseat of the red Suburban that had been hired to whisk me off to a new life.
Airport security was a nightmare. I was pulled aside for a random check, and those little blue pills for my nerves stuffed in my bra started to melt against my warm flesh as I was patted down, placed in another scanner, and then zapped with a handheld one. One of the workers dug through my bag, pushing my personal items to the top for everyone to see. I suddenly regretted packing my lace thongs in my carry on as they were displayed so openly atop my other items. “All clear,” the large lady with a stained white shirt announced. Finally.
My ticket was for a first-class seat, the place where I felt most at ease. I worried when Rhet
t’s assistant sent my itinerary that I’d be in business class, or worse, coach. It was a relief when the lady at the ticket counter printed out my ticket with the class clearly displayed on the top. As I entered the plane and was ushered into what they considered first-class, my excitement quickly diminished. The seats were larger, and they did recline, but that was about the extent of the difference between my section and the back. It was a short flight, the plane was small, and so what did I expect? I’d better get used to this. My life of luxury was over. Thanks, Dad.
A man wearing a bright red and deep gray shirt held a sign with my name written across it as I walked toward the baggage claim. I extended my hand, introduced myself, and then explained that I had to retrieve my bag. I felt a little foolish for packing so much, but I knew if I agreed to take the position, flying back to get my clothes wasn’t an option until I got my first paycheck. He was gracious, carrying my oversized bag to the car that waited out front. I climbed into the back, tried to calm my racing heart with thoughts of my parents, and how much this would mean to them to know I was okay. I was good at what I did, great actually, so what was I worried about?
“Mr. Hamilton has secured a place for you in one of our team apartments. Would you like to freshen up before your meeting?” the driver asked.
His eyes were the only thing I could see in the rearview mirror. Yes, freshening up sounded great. “That would be perfect.”
The car stopped in front of a tall red-brick building. “I’ll be back for you in an hour,” the driver said cheerfully as he gripped my bag.
I followed him into the building, watching him enter a code in the door too quickly for me to remember. I guessed they’d give that to me if I stayed. He hit the up arrow near the elevators, and once inside, hit ten, the top floor. Impressive.
There was only one door when the elevator opened. A suite? “This is your key,” he said, handing me a large silver key on a Beasts' logo keychain.
“Thank you,” I replied, hoping my voice wasn’t shaking as I spoke.