The Man For Me

by Gemma Bruce

  He was pretty sure Jeff Whitelaw would look askance at his leaving town.

  Chapter 28

  J.T. spent the rest of the day sitting in the Taurus in the parking lot of the Holiday Inn Express. It was boring work and she wondered if she should be doing something else. But what was there to do?

  She finally had to take a bathroom break. She hurried to her room, turned on the television to ESPN. When she came out of the bathroom, three commentators were discussing the news of Tommy’s arrest, speculating about whether a possible drug problem had caused his early retirement. One threw up his hands.

  “I’ve followed Tommy Bainbridge’s career since he was a rookie. The man never took steroids. Never failed any kind of drug test. And this retraction in Sports Today pretty much seals it. Skinny Martin doesn’t do retractions.”

  The second commentator agreed. “Sounds smoky to me, too. Bobby Kurtz was a noncontender. The Devil Rays brought him up a couple of times, but ended up sending him down again. He’s been playing in an independent league in Pennsylvania. Who you gonna believe?”

  “Isn’t that the point? Big league players get away with way too much.”

  “That is so much bull. The game is healthy in spite of a few—”

  J.T. switched to Fox Sports. More of the same. J.T. had to force herself back to her stakeout. She wanted to know what the consensus was. But more than that she needed to catch Kurtz in his lie.

  He was the only real lead she had, so she’d stick with him. She went back to the car. This time she took her laptop. Maybe she could finish a follow-up article while she waited for Kurtz to appear.

  It was a long wait. She recapped the scene of Tommy’s arrest and introduced the probability of a conspiracy. It sounded good to her, not Woodward and Bernstein, but passable.

  Part news, part op-ed, part Ladies’ Home Journal. But she was pretty sure Skinny would print it. Tommy Bainbridge was big news for the moment.

  She kept hearing the beep of incoming calls as she wrote and kept one eye out for Kurtz. Skinny must have given out her cell number to everyone. Probably thought that if reporters could call her, they wouldn’t descend on Gilbeytown and scoop her story.

  She finished the article, saw that there were two bars on her wireless connection, and e-mailed the article to Skinny. Then she started answering calls. She spun her answers to fit what she knew of each reporter. Some she had to wing.

  And still Kurtz didn’t show. She was gaining respect for her colleagues who followed the trail to a story. This was boring. She was starting to worry that he’d left by the front entrance, been picked up or hired a cab.

  Around six, Kurtz came out of the motel and got in the SUV.

  Please let him be doing something that will lead me to the answers I need. She entered the time in her notebook. Waited a few seconds before following him out of the parking lot. She stayed a safe distance behind him, but she needn’t have bothered. He went only two blocks, then pulled into the Wendy’s drive-through.

  J.T. let out an exasperated sigh. Her stomach growled. If it had been any place but Wendy’s, she’d have followed him up to the window, but she didn’t dare take a chance that Grace was on duty.

  She bypassed the drive-through lane and parked on the far side of the building near the exit. When the nose of the SUV appeared around the corner she slumped down in her seat. He pulled out of the lot and turned left.

  The light at the mall intersection turned yellow. Kurtz sped up and passed under it just as the light turned red.

  Damn. She was stuck. While she waited for the light to change, she kept her eyes glued to the SUV. Several cars turned onto the street and for a moment, she lost sight of it. Although she was pretty sure he was just returning to the Holiday Inn, she couldn’t take a chance of losing him.

  She tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. Leaned forward, ready to accelerate the minute the light turned green.

  A car pulled to a stop next to her. She glanced over; the driver was staring at her. It was Tommy’s sister Grace. She must have just gotten off her shift.

  J.T. considered screwing the light and taking off. But she had on her cap and her sunglasses. There was no way Grace could recognize her. They’d only met twice.

  The light turned green and J.T. sped ahead. She wove in and out of cars and managed to catch up to the SUV. As she’d expected, Kurtz was going back to the motel to eat his dinner.

  This time she followed him into the motel. Skulked at the corner of the hallway while he stepped into the elevator. Then she ran to see where he was going. The light stopped at the third floor.

  That really helped. There were only three floors in the whole damn motel.

  She figured it was safe to grab some crackers and cheese from her room while Kurtz ate. She filled a bag with food and soda, checked the news once more, and went back down to keep her vigil.

  Tommy sat in his living room watching the Yankees-Braves game. For once, it didn’t hold his attention. He was too much in dread of the next lull, when the announcers invariably reverted back to news about him. He was causing quite a stir, damn it.

  And even though it was gratifying that so many of the news and sportscasters supported him, he was appalled that his name was linked with the general speculation about which players were taking steroids.

  He’d never had anything to do with drugs, but he felt contaminated all the same.

  The doorbell rang. Tommy ignored it. He knew reporters would probably start showing up, but he’d be damned if he’d let them into his home. The bell rang again.

  He went to the living room window and peered through a crack in the drapes. It was Grace, holding a grocery bag. He went to the door. Opened it. Grace breezed past him.

  “I’ve been calling you all night.”

  Tommy headed back to the living room. “Sorry. I haven’t been taking calls. Is everything okay at home?”

  “Yes.”

  “No reporters hounding you?”

  “No. But Ma and Gran are worried about you. They sent food.”

  “Thanks,” said Tommy. He had zero appetite. He couldn’t even remember eating that day, just drinking beer in front of the tube.

  “Something weird happened on my way home from work.”

  “Nothing serious?”

  “No. But didn’t you tell me J.T. had left town?”

  “Yeah.” And he’d never felt so awful in his life.

  “I think she’s still here.”

  Tommy’s heart skipped a beat. “Impossible.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I was stopped at a light and this woman was in the car next to me. Her hair was under a cap and she was wearing sunglasses—at six o’clock I might add—but I could swear it was her. She was driving a beige Taurus.”

  “J.T. drives a red Mustang.”

  “Oh,” said Grace, deflating. “I was hoping she’d changed her mind and come back.”

  “Not likely. Not after the way we—I—treated her.”

  “Well, doof, why don’t you call her and apologize?”

  Tommy sat down on the couch and leaned against the cushion. “I have called her. And called her. She doesn’t answer her cell and she doesn’t call me back.”

  “I like her.”

  “Me, too,” said Tommy. And he’d blown it big time.

  J.T. watched cars come and go from the Holiday Inn, until she was ready to scream. Kurtz didn’t appear again. By midnight, she was stiff and frustrated. For a minute, she considered knocking on doors until she found Kurtz’s room, then force him to confess. Totally stupid idea. She twisted in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position. Thought longingly of dinner and bed. But she kept sitting there, waiting, hoping something would happen.

  She yawned, stretched, let her eyes close for just a second. The next thing she knew, the clock read two thirty.

  She immediately looked for the SUV. It was still there and Kurtz was surely asleep. How did detectives do this all the time? No way was she going to sleep in he
r car when she had a nice comfy room and cable upstairs.

  She’d get up really early and hope Kurtz was a late sleeper.

  At daybreak, she dragged herself downstairs. The SUV was still there so she went back to the lobby for several cups of free coffee. She carried them to the Taurus.

  And thus begins day two.

  She drank a cup and a half and poured the rest onto the tarmac. It would be just like her to miss Kurtz while on a pee break.

  At nine, he still hadn’t shown and curiosity about the new edition of Sports Today finally got the best of her. She drove to the mall. The newsstand was just opening up. Like the day before, she waited for the clerk to cut open the copies and bought one, then she bought several other papers.

  If there was nothing new, at least she’d have something to do while sitting in her car.

  It was another long day. It had started great, with an op-ed by Skinny placed on the top of the front page. He was outraged that someone had filed a report under one of his reporters’ names. The staff of ST wouldn’t rest until the culprit was found and punished. It was an insult to sports journalism.

  J.T. was glad to see it, even if she knew that what Skinny was really saying was that he was afraid of getting sued. Her second article appeared on the second page along with archived bits about Tommy’s career and philanthropy.

  All the other papers ran stories. Her heart ached for Tommy and what he was going through. She spent several wasted minutes wondering if somehow it had been her fault. Then decided that her presence might have acted as a catalyst, but that this conspiracy had started long before she arrived on the scene.

  Still J.T. couldn’t help but feel responsible. The idea of vindicating Tommy, and herself, kept her seated and watching for most of the day. She called Skinny to give positive reinforcement.

  “Hey, how’s my ace reporter? What’cha got for me?”

  Nothing, she thought dismally. “I’m working on something.”

  “Good. I’ll save room. Did you see the front page today?”

  “Yeah, it was great.” She had never known Skinny to get so excited.

  “We had our two biggest circulation days of the year. So get hopping and keep it rolling in.”

  Something good. So they could sell more papers at Tommy’s expense. She knew as soon as this died over as news invariably did, she’d be back on the last page writing stats. And if she could find a way to spare Tommy from going through all this hype, she’d welcome the demotion.

  “Oh yeah, somebody from one of those women magazines called. I gave her your number.”

  Probably a telemarketer. She continued to return calls and was about two-thirds of the way when she came to the call. Ms. Magazine.

  She almost deleted it, then thought, What the hell? If they were soliciting she’d tell them to take her off the list. She pressed CALL.

  A woman answered. “Features.”

  Not a telemarketer. “This is J.T. Green from Sports Today returning your call.”

  “J.T., Ann Carlton. Thanks for getting back to me.”

  Friendly.

  “I saw your article in ST yesterday. I was very impressed.”

  “Thank you,” said J.T., wondering what the punch line was going to be.

  “So impressed in fact that I mentioned it at the editorial meeting this morning. I called Skinny Martin and got your number. I take it you don’t have an agent?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Well, if you’re interested, and I hope you are, I’d like you to send some samples of your work.”

  “For Ms.?” J.T. couldn’t stop herself. It seemed so impossible.

  “Yes. Something about women in sports. Something with a real human twist. With personality. Something with spin. What do you say?”

  “Okay. I actually have a couple of things that might be what you want.”

  “Great. I know you’re on assignment. Maybe you could e-mail them? You know we have a longer turnaround time than newspapers. If it’s something we can use, we’ll talk.” She gave J.T. her e-mail address.

  J.T. opened her laptop. It was a good thing she’d remembered to recharge when she slept walked to her room last night. But Ms. Magazine? How weird was that?

  And wouldn’t the Coach—but she no longer cared what he thought of her.

  She chose a couple of articles. Attached them to an e-mail and after a moment of deliberation, sent it to Ann Carlton.

  There were several calls from Tommy. She really wanted to call him back, but she thought it was best if he didn’t know she was still in Gilbeytown. And she’d didn’t want to have to lie to him. There had been too much lying already.

  At midday, she ate some crackers, drank a warm Coke, and made a pit stop. Kurtz refused to show. She went to the desk clerk. Decided she better not ask him if Kurtz had left the motel. Did some deep-knee bends holding on to the car door and got back in.

  Ann Carlton called back at four. “Love it. In fact I’d like to use the one about the inner city girls’ volleyball team. Beautifully done.”

  Skinny hadn’t thought so and it had ended up in her binder. The binder she no longer had.

  They talked money. J.T. was impressed.

  “I’ll clear it through Skinny. And send you a contract. Where should I send it?”

  Dilemma. “I don’t know when I’ll get back, if you send it to Skinny, he’ll find me.”

  “Great. Look forward to working with you.” Ann hung up. J.T. looked at the phone. Had she just sold an article to a woman’s magazine? She shuddered. Then smiled. Why not? She was a woman and women were athletes, even though there weren’t nearly enough jobs for professional women athletes. Sports Illustrated popped into her mind. No. Forget it. Stupid. You could never.

  But when the editor from Family Circle called to say they loved her take on the kids and what else did she have, J.T. sent three articles to them.

  For the first time in her life, she knew she was getting work without the Coach having to intercede for her. The editor at Family Circle had never heard of Abe Green.

  At four o’clock a car pulled into a space in the lot. Two men got out of the front as the trunk popped open. They pulled out suitcases and camera equipment. The press was starting to arrive. Were they here to meet Kurtz?

  “So help me if you screw up my investigation, I’ll slash your tires.”

  They went inside, came out almost immediately, and left. On their way to interview Tommy, Jeff Whitelaw, Bernie, and anyone else who would talk.

  She knew Tommy would hate having his life dragged before the public. “Damn it, Kurtz, move your sorry ass.”

  Tommy had hardly left the house in the past three days. He hadn’t even gone to the field yesterday. Bernie had called to say there were reporters waiting for him. He should probably talk to them, but his agent was arranging for a press conference and told him not to say anything until then.

  He’d taken a back route to the lot where the Bucks practiced and was relieved to see that no one but the kids were waiting for him. He’d taken a circuitous way home. He parked a block away and went through backyards to reach his house. It was getting annoying.

  The mailman had come and mail lay in a pile on the floor beneath the mail slot. He’d have to give the man a big tip. There was ten times as much as usual.

  Tommy stood at the entry table, tossing junk into the little wastepaper basket and slitting the envelopes of the rest.

  Most were from reporters. Some personal ones from supportive fans. He put those in one pile to be answered by his publicist. The insulting accusing ones, which he didn’t read, he put in another pile to be answered by the same publicist.

  One included a check for ten thousand dollars. He stared at it.

  Dear Tommy B.

  I saw the article in Sports Today about your work with kids in Gilbeytown. My father was a steelworker in Harrisburg. I never got to play anything but sand lot ball when I was growing up and I want you to have this to put toward your community center.<
br />
  Sincerely,

  Gavin McDougal

  Tommy looked at the check. Back at the letter. Carried it to the den and Googled him. There were several but the McDougal that fit was a successful contractor in Harrisburg.

  His first donation. It was hard to believe. In the midst of scandal, he’d received a donation. And it was because of J.T.’s article. He had a lot to thank her for, not just for this, but for all the other things she’d done to enrich his life.

  If she would only call him back.

  Chapter 29

  J.T. had all but given up hoping that something would happen. Well, something had happened. She’d gotten requests from Vogue for an accompanying article for a fashion spread on what to wear for sports outings, from Jane for an article on women in sports journalism, and from Family Circle for an article on the Bucks.

  After scrambling her whole life for attention and a chance to do something useful, it seemed crazy that all she had to do was sit here and answer calls. Calls that she would never have agreed to before. She’d been suffering from severe tunnel vision, determined to make a mark in baseball and carry on the Green tradition. It was baseball that was now opening up a whole new spectrum of possibilities. And she was just a little overwhelmed.

  Finally at nine o’clock, Kurtz emerged from the back door and looked furtively around. J.T. dropped her musings and pinpointed her attention on the man sprinting toward his SUV. For a person so willing to give an interview two days before, he was certainly lying low.

  He wasn’t carrying luggage, so J.T. guessed he was coming back. But after waiting all day she was more than willing to follow him to fast food or anywhere else.

  But instead of turning right out of the parking lot, he turned left and took the highway ramp to I-76 south. There wasn’t a lot of traffic on the road, so J.T. let herself fall two cars behind him. She was pretty sure he hadn’t spotted her so far, but even in his drug-hazed mind, he was bound to figure it out at some point.

  Several exits later, he took the off ramp to a four-lane road divided by a concrete barrier and lined with stores, gas stations, fast-food restaurants, and strip malls. He drove for about three miles, then turned suddenly into the parking lot of a sleazy-looking bar called the Baby Doll Lounge.