by Gemma Bruce
Those things didn’t detract from the fun or the seriousness of the game. Tommy aside, she was glad Skinny had sent her to Gilbeytown. She’d written some of her best work here, not that it would ever see print, but she valued it all the same. Precious, like a diary that would never be read.
She turned to Thelma. “Exciting, isn’t it?”
“Always is,” Thelma said. J.T. nodded. She was curious to know how Thelma felt about selling her property to Tommy when her son was set against it. But she didn’t really want to be reporting right now, just soaking in the atmosphere. Besides, she would have nine innings to strike up a conversation.
Organ music suddenly filled the air with a warbled version of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” She hadn’t known there was an organ.
“A tape,” Thelma informed her. “Organ died ten years ago.” She shook her head as if some things in life were just inexplicable.
There was a burst of applause and the Beavers mascot, Bucky, gamboled onto the warning track. It was a full fur suit, with head and big beaver teeth and a vinyl tail that bobbled up and down as he ran up to the fence and threw candy into the stands.
Kids and adults alike scrambled to pick up the pieces.
A scratchy PA system came to life, screeched, then fell to a quiet static. A nasally voice came over the speaker. “Welcome to the first game of the season. The Gilbeytown Beavers versus the Allegheny Drillers.”
Cheers, bullhorns, and thunder sticks followed, until the announcer’s voice echoed over the loudspeaker. “Please rise for our national anthem.” The music started. The stands became silent as everyone stood and placed their hands and hats over their hearts.
As the last note died away, a cheer rose up and the bullhorns and rattle sticks began again. J.T. caught sight of the mayor and another man, who must be the triple-A scout, take their seats nearby. They were accompanied by Larry Chrysler, which seemed a nasty thing to put him through, since his job was on the line and he had serious alimony and child-support payments each month.
The home team ran onto the field amid cheering and clapping. Dela Rocha came out of the bullpen on an ancient golf cart. Got off at the pitcher’s mound, looking like his knees might start knocking together.
“And now,” wheezed the announcer. “We’re proud to welcome a hometown boy and a great professional ballplayer, Tommy Bainbridge. Show yourself, Tommy, and throw out the first ball of the season.”
The crowd erupted into cheering and banging and blowing. Bucky jumped up and down in a way that no beaver had ever jumped before. Shouts of “Tommy! Tommy! Tommy!” The chant was taken up by others and soon the little stadium reverberated with “Tommy!”
Tommy appeared out of the dugout. He doffed his red Beavers cap and his hair shined gold in the sunlight.
J.T. had been in larger stadiums with ten times as many spectators, but she’d never felt so thrilled as she did today. Boy. She loved baseball, she loved the crowd, she loved the lowest indie team in Pennsylvania, and most of all, she had to admit. She loved Tommy Bainbridge.
“Such a handsome man,” said Thelma above the din. J.T. nodded. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
Tommy put his hat back on and took his stance. Dela Rocha stepped aside while Tommy threw the ball to Pisano. More cheers. He nodded to Dela Rocha and returned to the dugout, and the game was on.
J.T. sat forward on the edge of the hard aluminum bleacher, excited, nervous, and hopeful.
The Driller batter stepped up to the plate. Swung a few times, adjusted his cup, and hunkered in for the first pitch. He swung, made contact. The crowd held its breath, but the ball arched toward the left field and went foul. Fans scrambled for the ball and J.T. let out her breath.
Thelma yelled, “Atta boy, Hector. Give ’em what for.”
Out of the corner of her eye, J.T. saw the mayor shoot his mother a dirty look.
“Don’t mind him,” said Thelma. “He’s mad because I sold the factory to Tommy. As if I’d let him tear down Gilbey Stadium. It may not look like much now, but it’s been here since 1936 and is made with Wiggins steel. It’ll outlast us all.”
Not if the team was brought down by a saboteur. “I guess you’ve heard about all the, um, bad luck the Beavers have had lately.”
Thelma puffed out air. “One losing season, big deal.”
“No, I mean the accidents, the fire, Sanchez’s hit-and-run.”
Thelma hadn’t heard. J.T. told her, though they had to stop and stand up and cheer when Boskey hit a double in the bottom of the third.
“If Charlie had anything to do with those things, he’s not too old to get his hide tanned. He was the last of nine. Don’t know if I spoiled the boy or didn’t give him enough attention. With that many children you don’t always remember who got what. But the rest of them turned out okay, except poor Davis. Died in Vietnam.”
Thelma fell silent. The inning ended with Boskey still on base.
It was still a scoreless game when Hector ran out of steam in the fifth. Bernie sent in Phil Gross, the young left-hander with all the freckles. He struck out two batters in a row. Then he loaded the bases. Two runs scored before he managed to retire the side and the score was goose egg to two. Bernie pulled Gross for Elton Jones. Elton managed to hold them the next inning. Ramirez scored on an error. The scoreboard changed to 1 and 2.
At the bottom of the ninth the Beavers were trailing by one point. Lewis popped out. Frankenberger walked. Then Oblonsky hit a single to left field. Brown sacrificed, moving Oblonsky to second.
Leonard Boskey stepped up to the plate. A chant of “Boz! Boz!” reverberated from the stands. A rag-tag wave rippled along the third baseline.
J.T. held her breath. Maybe she even prayed.
The first pitch whizzed by and the umpire called a strike. Boz swung and missed the second pitch. The stands became totally quiet. J.T. could hear herself breathing. She crossed her fingers hoping that the “mighty” Boz wouldn’t strike out.
He stepped out of the box. Rolled his shoulders and J.T. jumped to her feet.
“Banana split,” she yelled into the silence.
Boskey looked around. Caught sight of her and gave her a thumbs-up.
He stepped back to the plate. Two balls later the count was two and two and J.T.’s heart raced as fast as if she were standing at the plate instead of Boz. “Come on, Boz,” she said, mainly to herself.
The Driller pitcher hunkered down, checked the bases. The ball left his hand. Boskey swung. There was a whack as the bat made contact. J.T. knew that sound. But she was afraid to believe her own senses.
The ball soared into the air; the Beavers fans stood up. The nasally voice of the announcer crackled into the air. “Oh, my God.”
As the ball began to descend, Thelma grabbed J.T.’s hand. The two of them stood motionless while the center and left fielders converged on the ball.
The left fielder called for the catch and the center fielder dropped back. But the ball soared beyond him and disappeared behind the Lojek’s Garage sign.
The stands erupted in a roar of cheers, bullhorns, and thunder sticks. The announcer rattled excitedly. Tommy’s kids jumped up and down and hugged one another.
Boskey belatedly started toward first base. Frankenberger and Oblonsky scored while Boskey jogged around the bases, his gaze still on the spot where the ball had disappeared over the fence.
When he reached home plate, Oblonsky was waiting for him. The rest of the team, even Sanchez, his head swathed in the white bandage, rushed out of the dugout and surrounded him.
The numbers on the scoreboard flickered, then changed to Beavers, 3, Drillers, 2. The game was over.
J.T.’s eyes misted over as the whole stadium sprang to its feet, except for a sprinkling of Drillers fans and the box where Mayor Wiggins and Larry sat with the minor league scout.
The scout seemed bored. The mayor was tight lipped and grim. Larry just looked thoughtful.
J.T. didn’t know how Larry could cont
ain himself. He must be so relieved. The Beavers weren’t out of the woods yet, but the reaction to the win read loud and clear. The people loved their team.
Then they were lost to view in the swirl of people heading for the exits.
Thelma pulled at J.T.’s sleeve. “Did you see that? That looks like the team I know. Let’s get down to the clubhouse.”
J.T. followed her out and caught one more sight of the mayor and Larry before Tommy’s kids surrounded her. “We won! We won!”
“You bet we did.” And she high-fived every single one of them, including the parents.
She couldn’t have been happier if the Beavers had won the World Series or prouder if she’d hit that home run herself.
And that’s what makes baseball the people’s choice, she thought. No matter what level of play, the majors, the minors, an independent team in the middle of nowhere, or kids on a back lot of beyond. Baseball rocked.
J.T. and Thelma fought their way through the wives, girlfriends, and Gilbeytown dignitaries who’d stuffed themselves into the small visitors’ area to await the team.
Boskey was the first one through the door and J.T. saw that the rest of the team was waiting for him to receive his deserved ovation. Then the rest of the team emerged and were immediately surrounded by the crowd. Thelma and J.T. were separated.
J.T. made her way toward Boskey. She managed to hug him, Hector, Sanchez, and Danny Lewis before someone tapped on her shoulder.
“How about me?”
She turned to Tommy, who was all smiles. His eyes held hers with an expression so deep with feeling that it made her already excited pulse kick up to a dangerous level. She threw her arms around him, but turned her face away when she realized he was going to kiss her.
“Come on,” he said. “There’s a celebration at the Pine Tree. We’ll meet up with them there.” He took her hand and they threaded their way through the room.
They stopped briefly to say good-bye to Thelma who was giving Bernie a recap of every play. Bernie’s cigar was in his pocket and he was riding high.
“Congratulations,” J.T. said, and kissed his cheek.
The parking lot was still crowded and Tommy had to stop and sign baseball caps until his pen ran out of ink.
J.T. stood back and watched, love and respect and exhilaration mingling to make her feel giddy.
When the knot of autograph seekers finally dispersed, Tommy said, “Meet you at the Night n Day.”
When J.T. arrived at the motel, Kurtz’s SUV was the only car in the lot. Even the day raters seemed to be baseball fans. She wondered if Kurtz had even seen the game.
But Tommy pulled the Beemer in the next parking slot and she forgot about the suspended player.
“Key,” he said, and picked it out of her hand. He unlocked her door, pulled her inside, and locked the door.
He kissed her. “I want you now.” He walked her backward until she fell on the bed. Her purse fell to the floor.
“My article…” she began, and then forgot what she was saying as Tommy’s hands covered her breasts and his mouth came down on hers.
When they emerged an hour later, the parking lot was filled with team cars and trucks. They walked across the road to the Pine Tree Tavern.
The party was in full swing. Everybody seemed to be there. Larry was talking with a group of the second string players. Bernie was holding court in one of the padded booths. Groups of the players and their guests were packed shoulder to shoulder throughout the bar.
Boskey called out, “J.T., Tommy, over here. Everybody shut up for a minute.” He waited until J.T. had reached him, then he put his arm around her shoulders. “Here’s to J.T and banana splits. She got me out of my slump and she’s responsible for us winning the game. She’s the man.”
Cheers, lifted glasses, and beer bottles. J.T. felt herself blushing. Tommy stood off to the side smiling at her. She shrugged back at him and let Boskey buy her a drink.
They squeezed past people until they reached the bar. Bobby Kurtz sat on a bar stool with a shot glass and bottle before him. Alone in the crowd.
He wasn’t celebrating, just brooding into his glass. J.T. felt a stab of pity. He’d been rude to her, aggressive toward the other players, but she knew it had been brought on by the drugs. She truly wished he’d clean his act up and get back to playing. He might not ever make it back to an affiliated team, but he had something to offer baseball, if he could just get himself straight.
Kurtz glanced up, saw J.T., and put down his glass. A strange expression came over his face, and J.T. wished she could move away. Then he smiled at her and her blood ran cold. He fumbled inside his jacket. And J.T. knew what he was reaching for even before she recognized the paper he drew out. The Buzz. And with a sickening jolt, she knew what he was going to do.
He stood up, nearly falling down, but he held the paper high in the air. “Here’s to the slump buster. She’s a national sensation. She knows how to work a guy’s balls. She even got her picture on the cover of The Buzz.”
“Shut up,” said Boskey, and stepped toward Kurtz. J.T. grabbed his arm. “No.”
People backed away. The bar became silent.
“Check it out, asshole.” Kurtz shoved the paper in Boskey’s face. Boskey took it, straightened it out, and stared at the photo that was responsible for sending her to Gilbeytown.
Boskey blinked at the headlines, then looked at J.T., confusion and hurt in his eyes. Other players had gathered around Boskey to look over his shoulder at the supposed orgy.
“What is this?” asked Boskey.
“Your slump buster fucks for the camera.” J.T. swallowed, willed herself to assume a bravura that she didn’t feel. “Come on, guys. It’s The Buzz. I was getting an interview. They airbrushed my T-shirt out. Nothing was going on.”
It was the same explanation she’d given Skinny and he had sent her to Gilbeytown so she wouldn’t wreck the image of Sports Today. And she could see from the faces around her that they didn’t believe her anymore than Skinny had. SPORTS TODAY REPORTER IN LOCKER ROOM ORGY.
Rob Brown was the first to look away. Others were quick to follow. Conversations started up again in the embarrassed silence. Boskey shook his head.
“It isn’t true,” she said.
“I know that,” said Boskey, and turned away. J.T. was left alone, shut out of the celebration, shut out from their respect. Again. Was that damn photo going to follow her forever?
She turned on Kurtz. “Where did you get this?”
He slugged back his drink. “From the newsstand.”
“When?” The photo had come and gone weeks ago. It was old news, then it was no news and forgotten. If Kurtz had had it all this time, why hadn’t he shown it before?
“I think someone just gave it to you. So you could show it around tonight.”
Kurtz slipped off the stool “Yeah, I’ll show you something else, bitch.” He grabbed his crotch. “Suck this.”
A fist slammed into his jaw.
Kurtz fell back into the bar stool. He hauled himself to his feet and lunged at Tommy, but he was off balance and Tommy pushed him to the floor.
“Stop it! Both of you!” cried J.T. She turned to the others. “Somebody!”
Danny Lewis stepped between the two men.
Oblonsky hauled Kurtz to his feet. “Come on, Bobby. You’ve caused enough trouble for the team.” He walked him across the floor and out the door. No one spoke for a moment, then they all went back to their conversations. Danny had melted back into the crowd.
They all thought she was guilty. And she was. Of stupidity.
Tommy picked up the paper from the bar. Held it to the light.
“It isn’t true,” she whispered before her courage broke and she hurried blindly across the bar and outside.
The parking lot was empty. Oblonsky and Kurtz were already out of sight. J.T. didn’t stop until she was back in her room with the door locked and the chain in place.
She’d been so happy just a few min
utes before and now it seemed her world was once again crashing in on her—just like T-ball—just like the college play-offs—just like in Skinny’s office. Everything she did ended in disaster.
She’d manage to wreck her position with the team and her budding relationship with Tommy. God only knew what he was thinking. She imagined him shaking his head in disgust while the team passed the photo around, getting a good laugh. Making bets about who could get her next.
She threw herself on the bed and gave way to hot, angry tears. She’d been here two weeks. Had grown to respect a last-place independent team. Befriended a group of kids who met each day to play ball on a vacant lot. She’d come to know and love Tommy Bainbridge and it had just blown up in her face.
Chapter 24
Tommy stood outside the Pine Tree Tavern, clutching the tabloid in his hand, torn between going after J.T. and going back in the bar to stem the gossip.
The headlines didn’t describe the woman he knew and he never doubted J.T.’s version of the story, but she would have been smarter to have told them up front. That’s what a guy would have done. And they’d all be laughing about it now instead of letting Kurtz disrupt their celebration.
At least now he understood why she was so skittish about showing affection in public. No wonder she’d been so nutty the night they’d made love on the field. And he’d even suggested taking a shower together.
If she’d only said something, he wouldn’t have been so crass. Their whole relationship was chock-full of miscommunication and excess baggage. He didn’t know how to go about fixing it. He just knew that he wanted to.
The door to the tavern opened, bringing a blast of loud music and Bernie.
“Damn,” he said, coming up to Tommy. “That girl is a load of trouble. Whadda ya think? Is she just another groupie?”
“No,” said Tommy. He didn’t believe it. He wouldn’t let himself believe it. And yet, look how duped he’d been with Cheryl Lynn. Just thinking he might be going down that road again made his balls shrivel.