by Gemma Bruce
J.T. tried to be upbeat. But seeing him with a white bandage wrapped around his dark hair and skin made it hard to be perky. He gave her a weak smile that broadcast all the pain, the disappointment, and the fear he must be feeling.
“The guys all miss you and said to tell you to hurry back.”
“I can’t play.”
“Hey, only for a couple of weeks. Better to be safe than sorry.”
“I need to play.”
“You will. It’s only to make sure you’re okay. Bernie will take care of you.” At least she hoped he would. And Tommy had paid for his hospital stay. The rat fink.
“My money.”
“Boz went straight to the Giant Eagle last night. He’s coming to tell you himself after practice.”
J.T. pulled a visitor’s chair close to the bed. “Do you think you could tell me what happened last night?”
“The police was here.” J.T. thought she saw anxiety in his eyes. But she could be mistaken. He had to be legal. He’d been playing in plain view for two years now. It would be horrible if he got expelled after what he’d been through.
It was nearly impossible for someone without papers to work in baseball, even in the independent league. But the INS had picked up Gonzales and Nunez. She’d have to follow that story, too—but later.
She’d have to pin down Bernie. If Sanchez was playing with false documents, she bet Tommy would sponsor him. The authorities wouldn’t give the great Tommy B. a hassle about keeping Sanchez in the country.
His eyes closed, opened again. She’d better hurry. “Tell me—” She changed her mind. No reason to make him even more frightened. Instead she asked, “Do you remember how it happened? The accident?”
“A truck. Big. Big tires. It hit me.”
“You didn’t see it coming?”
Sanchez licked his lips. His eyelids fluttered. He was going to nod out on her. “Hechiceria.”
J.T. leaned closer. “What? I didn’t understand.”
He fingered her jacket. “Yankees.”
“But what about the truck?”
“Magia. Mágica.”
“Magic? What was magic?” He must be on some doozy of a pain medication.
His hand fumbled at this neck. “Jesu.”
The nurse came in. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to leave now. Give our ace pitcher some rest.”
“He’s looking for his rosary.”
The nurse crossed quickly to the nightstand and opened the drawer. She lifted out a silver chain and crucifix. “There you are, Mr. Sanchez. Remember, we put it in the drawer. No jewelry.” She let him hold it for a few minutes before she pulled it gently from his fingers. He’d fallen asleep.
She put her fingers to her lips and motioned J.T. to follow her out. “It gives them comfort to have the Lord near them.”
That sounded alarming. “He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”
“Of course. We’re keeping him a few days. There’s no one to take care of him at home. The Plaskis both work all day.”
The nurse gave J.T. a woman-to-woman look. “We can just be glad that Tommy Bainbridge was here when it happened. Paid for his whole stay. But that’s just like Tommy.”
J.T. smiled politely and headed for the door. She didn’t want to hear any glowing reports on Tommy B. or his generosity. He’d left her high and dry.
It was getting late, but J.T. picked up a sandwich from the local Subway and returned to the field. As she walked down the hall toward the dugout, she heard voices coming from the locker room.
She peeked inside. The locker room was empty, but the television was blaring in the media room. They must be reviewing game tape. The thought of all those guys sitting on the couch where she and Tommy had made love the night before brought a wave of heat to her face. And other body parts.
She dropped her sandwich wrapper into the trash can and walked into the media room.
The whole team was crowded around the television. J.T. couldn’t see a thing, but it didn’t sound like a practice or game tape. It sounded like a press conference.
“What are you watching?” she asked Jerry Oblonsky, who was standing on his toes to see over the others.
“Tommy B. He’s just announced his retirement.”
Chapter 14
J.T. stared at him. She could hear Tommy’s voice in the background, but her brain wasn’t taking it in. Tommy retired? Oblonsky must be mistaken. Tommy was back in the rotation. Pitching well. Why would he quit now?
She squeezed through the cluster of bodies until she was standing in front of the wide screen. There was a close-up on Tommy. He was wearing a suit. Looked relaxed. He was smiling as he took the next question.
The blood rushed to J.T.’s cheeks, then fled, leaving her dizzy and slightly sick. She frowned at the screen. There must be a mistake.
“Joe Leipzig from CNN. Does your decision to retire have anything to do with the signing of Daituri Isotori?”
“Only in that I can leave the team in good hands.”
“Did you keep this a secret until the deal was cinched?”
“My first consideration was for the team. If they hadn’t signed Isotori I would have continued until they found another right-hander. I wouldn’t leave them shorthanded.”
“Was there any coercion for you to leave? To open up a starting spot for Isotori?”
The shot pulled back and the general manager for the Galaxies leaned into his microphone. “Absolutely not. Tommy has been the foundation of our pitching staff. This is entirely his decision.”
“Yeah, but is there room on the roster for both of them?”
“Absolutely. This was Tommy’s decision.”
Oh right, thought J.T. Like that wasn’t double-talk. Had they forced him out?
He hadn’t disappointed the team in the last season. At least he’d looked good to J.T. Maybe a little stiff and sometimes she had wondered if he was feeling pain. The little hitch in the shoulder after his curve ball was the only indication that maybe things weren’t a hundred percent.
As if echoing her thoughts, Tommy said, “The surgery was successful. It kept me pitching longer than I thought would be possible. But I’ll never be back a hundred percent—”
“We’ll take you at eighty percent.” There was laughter and agreement.
Tommy’s smile, which had seemed to J.T to have begun to wane, brightened. Her heart did a little lurch.
“Thanks. I appreciate that. And the Galaxies have said the same. They’re a fine team and I’ve spent some wonderful years with them. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I’ve had a great run, but it’s time to hand over the ball to someone new and there’s not a better choice than Daituri Isotori. I’m sure he’ll be a great asset to the team and I wish him all the best.”
Tommy B. was leaving baseball. She heard him say it and yet she still couldn’t believe it. He was only thirty-six. He had another three or four years in him. Maybe more. So he wasn’t a hundred percent? It was like the reporter had said. His eighty was as good as most pitchers’ one hundred.
“Ted Hennessey, Sports Today….”
Shit. Skinny had sent Ted to cover the press conference. The real news. She’d been sitting on the scoop of the year and had missed it. What kind of reporter was she? Skinny was going to kill her. The Coach was going to tell her to get married. She’d finally managed to live up to his expectations. She was a failure.
She felt tears well up behind her eyes. For Tommy. For herself. For Sanchez. She stared over the top of the screen, blinking until she got them under control.
Everyone else was staring at the television. No one moved. No one spoke. The only sound was someone’s stuffy breathing.
“Thanks, Ted. I’ll miss you, too. And to answer your question, I’m keeping my options open. If ESPN calls me, I’ll certainly listen to an offer.” Laughter. “But I do have some plans for the future. And I want some time with my family. And as much as I love you guys, I’d like to spend it without reporters.”
>
Tommy looked directly at the camera and J.T. knew he was talking to her. That was loud and clear. And after she’d risked Skinny’s wrath to respect his privacy.
He wanted her gone. He hadn’t cared enough to let her break the story. That’s why he’d been so evasive. He’d been waiting for them to work the deal. Well, he’d done a damn good job of it. And snowed her to boot. Fine. She’d be gone in another week or two. When he finally got around to visiting again, she’d be a minor memory in the clubhouse.
She’d eaten dinner with Tommy, met his family, had one hour of intense sex—and she’d missed the damn story. She would return to Atlanta with disgrace added to disgrace.
She looked around at the stunned faces beside her. In the short time she’d been here, she’d come to care about every one of them. About their lives. Their dreams.
The interview was over; the picture switched to a commercial.
“Okay,” said Bernie. “We still gotta game next week. Chop. Chop.”
Talking erupted. Speculation. Amazement.
As everyone filed out of the room, Lewis said, “Maybe he’ll come back to Gilbeytown and help Bernie coach us.”
Kurtz knocked him on the shoulder. “Grow up, Lewis. Tommy doesn’t give two shits about you or the Beavers. The only way you’ll see him again is on the teleplay.”
J.T. felt her defense of Tommy on her lips. She clamped them shut. Maybe Kurtz was right. Tommy sure hadn’t cared enough about her to tell her what was in the wind.
Then she saw Bernie. He’d turned back to the television where guys in a bar slapped each other’s backs and the bartender passed around Bud Lights. The commercials ended and a trio of commentators began speculating about Isotori’s ability to lead the team to a winning season. Tommy was already forgotten.
Bernie jabbed at the remote and the screen went blank. He swung himself around. Caught J.T.’s eye, shook his head, and clunked out the door. She followed him into his office before he had a chance to close the door.
“Did you know about this?”
“No.” Bernie’s eyes were sad. “I taught him how to throw a curve ball.” He cleared his throat, but said nothing more. He leaned his crutches against the wall and dropped heavily into his chair.
“Why would he quit, Bernie? It doesn’t make sense. How could he just give it up like that?”
“Hell, J.T. I don’t know. It seems crazy to me.”
“That’s why he was here. Laying low.”
“No. I mean—” He sighed heavily. “Hell. I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”
J.T. had been hurt because Tommy hadn’t confided in her. How must his uncle feel?
She sat down. Bernie hadn’t invited her. Probably wished she’d take a hike. And she felt like leaving. She felt like crawling in a hole and pulling the grass over her head.
“Last night at the hospital. When he said that I should find out who was sabotaging this team—”
“Goddamn it. Are you still harping on that?”
“Is someone sabotaging the team? Or was that just a deflection?”
Bernie reached for the cigar propped against his ashtray. Stuck it in his mouth. Looked up at her. After a few studied seconds he said, “Yeah. Tommy thought so. I think so, too. That’s why he—” He reached in his shirt pocket. Pulled out his roll of Tums. Chewed, swallowed, stuck the cigar back in his mouth, and chewed on it.
“That’s why he was here?”
“Yeah. That’s what he said. I sure as hell hope I’m not responsible for him having to quit.”
Tommy smiled for the cameras. He smiled while he shook Isotori’s hand. Smiled when the general manager took him in a bear hug. While cameras whirred and video rolled. He smiled until he thought his mouth might crack. Along with his heart.
He’d done it. He knew it was the right thing to do. And he was scared shitless.
He thought about J.T. and wondered if she’d seen the interview. What she would think about his decision. About him not telling her what he was planning. He’d meant to call her as soon as he got to Portland. But he was met by the team manager and a crowd of newspeople.
He’d meant to call her when he checked into the hotel to change for the press conference. But he had only twenty minutes to shave and dress and he knew it would take more time to try to make her understand.
He missed her. Which was stupid—she was a reporter. He could have given her the scoop and jump-started her career. He hadn’t done it, and he didn’t think she’d be forgiving him anytime soon.
But he was a team player first and foremost and he just couldn’t do it. Even though he really…what? Liked her. Respected her determination?
She was always surprising him. Constantly challenging him. She’d turned him on, satisfied him like he hadn’t been satisfied in a long time.
He’d known a lot of women. More than he could remember. The crème de la crème, witness Cheryl Lynn. Top model, a little cold in bed, but what arm candy. He’d been young, infatuated with her beauty, his own power. She made him feel like “the man,” for at least two months after he’d married her. Then the claws came out. She made his life miserable while she enjoyed his fame and his money.
Since then, he dated only women who entertained him. He was always polite, treated them with respect, let them know there was no future with him. It had been fun. But he never found someone to complement him. Make his heart sing.
Then he goes home to Gilbeytown and meets J.T. Green. Young, hotheaded, vibrant with life. If he’d been a superstitious type, he would think it was fate. But Tommy was a realist. He knew that a couple of dinners and one night christening the new media room couch did not make for happily-ever-after. He was pretty sure that didn’t exist.
Besides, J.T. would be really pissed at him for not giving her the story. She might have already packed it in and returned to Atlanta.
Just as well. He had work to do. A fight coming up. He was pretty sure that even if he managed to make it through the three-day review without Charlie finding out about the deal, Charlie would still find a way to make things difficult.
The new stadium was his pet project. He’d been reelected on the promise of revitalizing Gilbeytown. He wouldn’t go down without a fight.
As ridiculous as it sounded, Tommy wanted to have J.T. by his side when the fight came. But he’d pretty much botched the chance.
If she was still in Gilbeytown when he returned, he’d give her an exclusive interview. Make it up to her. But would anyone even want to read about Tommy Bainbridge, ex-pitcher?
He’d felt the exact moment in the press conference when interest shifted from his retirement to Isotori’s future. Even though everyone wished him the best. Told him to stay in touch. Said they’d be watching for him on ESPN, or MSN Sports. They slapped him on the back, shook his hand, and turned their attention to the new roster.
Tommy Bainbridge was history.
J.T. took out her notebook.
“Put that thing away. Larry will have a hissy fit if any of this shows up in the papers.”
J.T. looked up. “Why?”
“He thinks any more bad publicity will just add another shovel load to our grave.”
“It might stir up public opinion,” said J.T. “Someone trying to undermine their home team. Come on, Bernie. You can’t buy publicity like I could give you.”
Bernie shuddered visibly. Reached in his pocket for more antacids.
“Start from the beginning. Why would anyone want to sabotage the team?”
“I gotta get to the field.” He hoisted himself out of his chair and reached for his crutches.
J.T. grabbed the crutches and held on. “I won’t report anything until we have enough evidence to prosecute. Larry can’t argue with that.” She knew that was a rash promise. She’d send in her story when she had enough to whet Skinny’s appetite. But Bernie didn’t need to know that.
Bernie held out his hand. “Hand ’em over.” J.T. tightened her grip on his crutches. “Why?”
Bernie huffed out a sigh. “Damn. Tommy’s right. You’re like a goddamm terrier.”
“Forget Tommy. Everybody else will.”
Bernie’s eyes widened. “You ain’t being fair.”
“I’m a journalist. Why?”
“And then can I have my crutches back?” J.T. nodded.
“The mayor’s hot to build a new stadium. Lure a triple-A team in here to pump up the economy. But I guess you know that.”
She nodded.
“Hell, maybe he’s right. We’re not doing shit for the economy. We don’t get a full gate even on toilet toss night.”
“You actually have a toilet toss night?”
“Yeah. Stick around till the regular season for the thrill of your life.” He frowned. “I didn’t mean that. Get your story and go. You’re a nice girl, but guys can’t concentrate when there’s a pair of skimpy jeans around.”
J.T. gave him a look. “I’ll hit the mall. Buy larger jeans.”
Bernie’s eyes rolled to the ceiling.
“The INS?”
“Beats the crap out of me. We sent copies of the papers to a lawyer we sometimes use. He’s working on it.”
“And the ladder?”
Bernie huffed. “The screws came out. Just thought it was rotten. Maybe somebody unscrewed them.”
“Can you trust Mr. Harris?”
“Jesus. Absolutely. And don’t you go casting aspersions on his character.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.” At least not until she’d talked to him. Hopefully, he wouldn’t recognize her from last night.
“Now, can I have my crutches back?”
She handed them to him and he swung himself out of the locker room.
A broken pipe, a rotten ladder, a visit by the Feds, a mugging, a hit-and-run. How far would the mayor go to protect his agenda? She’d never seen Charlie Wiggins. From what she’d heard, he was an idiot, but not the kind of man who would hire someone to run down Sanchez. He might have been killed. That would be premeditated murder.
There were crooked politicians everywhere. But this seemed extreme for a town this size. And it was baseball, for heaven’s sake.