“This has to be tough for you.”
I was tiring of hearing people say that, but it wasn’t fair to her to let it show. “I’m getting better at dealing with it.”
“You know, you’re not giving off any signs of freaking out at all. That’s admirable.”
“Freaking out really isn’t one of my available choices. Not with a baby to take care of.”
“I guess you’re right. You’re lucky to have him at a time like this.”
I looked up at her, surprised at the insight of the comment. No one else had said anything like that to me. “You’re right; I am. It’s hard to wallow when he’s around. And it’s hard to think that the world sucks when you get a glimpse at how amazing it seems to him.”
She settled back in her chair. “You’re on an adventure.” I chuckled. “Yeah, like one of those guys who gets thrown into a heroic situation against his will.”
“A reluctant hero.”
“Something like that.”
She reached over and touched the original picture I handed her. “Too bad he doesn’t sleep.”
“Most of the time it’s too bad. Sometimes it’s just what you need at 2:30 in the morning.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Yeah, I can understand that.”
“It’s just that, a lot of times, I’m up anyway. It’s the weirdest thing how stuff will just creep up on me. Even when I’m sleeping. I’ll be floating along and then suddenly something will remind me that I’m that widower with the tiny baby and the runaway daughter.” I surprised myself by talking to her this way, since I barely knew her. But she seemed more receptive than most people I spoke to and not at all uncomfortable with these subjects. With most people, opening up made me feel like I was either being boring or feeding someone’s prurient curiosity. “It happens to me in meetings sometimes. You can watch for it now that I’ve told you.”
“At which point, I’ll bring up something completely inane like personalized cookie jars and snap you right back into the moment.”
I laughed. “That’s very generous of you.”
“The cookie jar thing really was stupid, wasn’t it?” “It wasn’t stupid.Work it up.”
“You think so?”
“Look, it might be stupid, but it’s worth exploring a little further. What’s the downside?” I smiled after employing my catchphrase of the moment.
“I will.” She stood up to leave. “Thanks for the time. They told me you were approachable, but I was still a little concerned about just barging in here with an idea.”
“Come in any time. Really.”
“Thanks for the invitation.”
Ally smiled and left the office. I ran my hand over the picture I showed her. Reese did look very different now. Are you changing right this second while I’m not with you? I needed to bring some new prints into the office. Maybe even one of those picture frames that cycled digital images so I could constantly have the latest shots of my son sitting on my desk with me. I was relatively certain that Lisa would object to a nanny-cam.
• • •
Just before lunch,Marshall called me down to his office.He’d just hung up the phone when I arrived in his doorway.
“Messerschmidt’s an asshole,” he said.
“I’ll have to take your word for it, since I have no idea who Messerchmidt is.”
“He’s the new director of fulfillment. And if you ever spend three minutes in a room with him, you won’t need to take my word for it. I wish I could dump the bastard.”
“Doesn’t he report to you?”
“I spent six months recruiting him. I can’t just dump him.”
“One of the many reasons I’m glad I’m not you.”
He gestured for me to sit down and leaned forward on his desk. “Enough with Messerchmidt. I’ll get him in line. Listen, I have some great news for you. Corporate wants you on this year’s retreat.”
“This is that thing you go on every year where you eat a lot and drink a lot and sit by a pool in some grossly overpriced resort for three days?”
“And also discuss corporate policy and make decisions about the future of the company.”
“In between massage appointments.”
He scowled at me. “A great deal of executive level business gets done at these things.”
“Yeah, I think one of the decisions you made last year was to cut T&E by 20%. Obviously the retreat is exempt.”
“Do you want to talk about your role in this or not?”
“They really want me to come?”
“I made a very persuasive argument for you. Your presence there will send a message.”
“These things happen in Bermuda or someplace like that, right?”
“Longboat Key this year – that is if the accommodations are acceptable to you.”
I shifted in my chair.Marshall didn’t take particularly kindly to things not going according to his plan. “I don’t see how I can do this. There’s no way I can get anyone to take care of Reese for that length of time.”
He took a deep, impatient breath. “Of course you can. You have a babysitter, don’t you?”
“I can’t imagine that she’d be up for a long weekend.” “What about your parents?”
“They absolutely couldn’t handle it.”
“What about Maureen’s parents?”
“I really don’t think I can ask them.”
“Shit, I’ll have Denise take care of him.”
“Marshall, you’re not following me. Setting aside that I wouldn’t even consider foisting a four-month-old on your wife for three days, I don’t think that this would be a good thing for me to do right now.We’re just beginning to develop a routine. There’s a huge amount going on in his life at this stage. If this was an overnight, I might be able to pull it off, but three days would be nearly impossible.”
Marshall’s brows creased. In spite of the fact that he was my boss, we maintained a good friendship by avoiding professional confrontations like this one. “What if this was an essential business trip? Would you beg off because you were too busy playing mommy then?”
“I’d have to give it serious thought. And this is not an essential business trip. You can dub me ‘a comer’ some other time.”
His expression darkened again. “I went to bat for you. You were my pick.”
“I’m sure you did and I’m sure I was and I really appreciate it. I need you to understand this.”
“This would be good for you, Gerry. You need to get away.”
I held up a hand. “Really, I don’t. I don’t think I’ve ever needed to be home more.”
He scribbled on a piece of paper. He wasn’t writing anything. This was simply one of the ways in which Marshall showed that he wasn’t happy about something.
“You’re really telling me to get another guy?”
“I have to. I’m sorry, but this would be a real hardship for me right now.”
“These things happen when they happen, Gerry.” “And hopefully this will happen again when I can take better advantage of the situation.”
Marshall crossed something off his to-do list and then looked up at me. “You’re making progress with the catalog?”
“We’re getting there.”
“It’s gonna blow me away, right?”
“Let’s hope so.”
“Yes, let’s hope so.”
• • •
I was gathering up papers to review at home when Ben came into my office and sat down.
“You’re taking all that stuff with you?”
“I am so far behind. And I would be even further behind if you didn’t do such a great job with the prototype status report.”
“Glad to be of service. Listen, a bunch of us assistants are going out for a drink and I was wondering if you wanted to come along.”
“I thought your club didn’t let people like me be members.”
“Usually we wouldn’t. But we were talking about it and we decided that you were cool enough.”
I looked up from my papers and eyed him skeptically. “You guys don’t think I’m cool. You think I’m sad and this is a pity invite.”
“No really. It wasn’t even me who suggested it. I mean I think the person who suggested it has a little thing for you, but that’s not the point either.”
“Somebody in your group has a thing for me?”
“I think a couple of them think that the guy-with the- baby thing is pretty romantic.”
“Gee, maybe I should start cruising bars with Reese strapped to my chest.”
“You promised you would lend him to me for that purpose. So are you going to come with us?”
“I can’t. Lisa made me promise to be back on time tonight and I have a lot to do after Reese goes to bed.” “Next time, then.”
“Some other time.”
I continued to put papers in my briefcase, but Ben made no effort to get up.
“Have you been out at all since Maureen died?”
“Ben, I have an infant at home. Coming to work qualifies as ‘out.’”
“Lisa is never available at nights?”
“I have no idea if Lisa is available at nights. I’m supposed to be home.”
“Because Reese will grow up to be a serial killer if you go out for a drink?”
I stopped fiddling with my briefcase and looked him squarely in the eyes.
“I’ve stepped over that invisible line, haven’t I?” he said.
I laughed joylessly and sat back down. “You haven’t stepped over the line. And I appreciate the drinks invitation. And you can tell whoever has a thing for me that I’m flattered even if my actual situation is far from romantic. But I’m not ready for a night out. I’m just not. Reese needs me and I need him and that pretty much covers my social obligations for the moment.”
“You sure?”
“For now I’m sure.”
“We’re going to Cameron’s. The Five Alarm Wings are addictive.”
“My loss. Some other time, I promise.”
Ben stood up. He pointed to my briefcase. “Want me to stay here and take some of that stuff off your hands instead.”
“Thanks. If I could pass anything off, I would.”
He nodded and headed toward the door.
“And Ben, I really do appreciate the invite. Thank the other assistants for me.”
“We wanted you to come with us, you know.”
“I know.”
“It wasn’t a pity thing.”
“Thanks.”
“Some other time, right?”
“Some other time. Definitely.”
SEVEN
Plate Discipline
The next Saturday, I rushed into the house with several bags of groceries, putting them away with less care than usual. I threw together a fast sandwich for myself, warmed a bottle for Reese, then positioned both of us in the family room and clicked on the television.
The first televised Yankee preseason game of the new year was about to start.
I’d been a dedicated Yankee fan for as long as I could remember. As a child, I was obsessed with them, and even as I discovered new inspirations – music and girls, most specifically – I held fast to my commitment to the team. I scheduled dates around important series. I made bands listen to games on the radio while we drove to gigs. I even slipped out of the hotel room during our honeymoon, while Maureen napped, to watch a game that was critical to the pennant race.
The Yankees were my companions through the toughest times in my life and the best. They served a function for me that others might find in a different form of entertainment – the ability to sweep me up into their world, to make the drama they played out on their stage more consuming than whatever was going on in my head. And unlike any other form of entertainment, none of it was pre-scripted. There was no way to know in advance how things would turn out. The best teams sometimes lost, the poorest teams sometimes won, and how it all happened was a continuing mystery. And so, though I delighted in little other than my son these days, I still looked forward to the new baseball season.
Maureen never shared this passion with me, even during the great Yankees seasons of the ’90s with Bernie Williams, Paul O’Neill,Mariano Rivera, and Derek Jeter. She found the game to be slow, a criticism no true baseball fan understands. And while she tolerated the occasional postseason game, I had to watch most of the regular season by myself, which meant that I tended to watch fewer games than I really wanted to. But she always ceded me certain events – like the first exhibition game televised back to New York from Florida.
I especially loved watching baseball in March. Even though, since 1993, the Yankees always had championship-potential teams, there was something exciting about considering their chances for another World Series. And then there were the personal stories that always emerged during this time. The aging veteran five years from his best seasons trying to play himself onto the team in a backup role. The tender-armed pitcher trying to prove that last year’s stay on the disabled list was only a detour. And the dozens of rookies with numbers like 87 and 92 on their backs who stood virtually no chance of playing in the Bronx, but could be the next coming of Don Mattingly. Standing out from this latter group was Bobby Kitterer, already nicknamed “Kid” Kitterer. He was a 21-year-old from Oklahoma – Mantle country – and he tore up the league while playing for the AA Trenton Thunder last year with a combination of power, speed, and defensive brilliance. It was widely assumed that next year he’d force his way onto the major league club, but this spring training was all about his getting his feet wet. I’d read about him since the Yanks made him their number one draft pick a few years back and hoped he’d get to play a little in this game.
Reese drank his bottle in his high chair, but during the bottom of the first inning as the Yankees came to bat, I took him out and sat him next to me on the couch.
“The leadoff hitter is a total pro,” I said to him. “He makes the pitcher work and he sets things up for the other hitters. When you get older, we’ll talk about plate discipline. You want to bat like this guy. You want to make the pitcher sweat in the first inning.”
Predictably, the leadoff hitter saw eight pitches before stroking a single into left field. The Yanks were on their way. They wound up scoring twice in the inning, but they gave back the early lead and fell behind 3-2 in the top of the second.
“That’s one of the worst things a pitcher can do,” I said to Reese. “His team just gave him a lead and he gave it right back. You can’t do things like that.” It was only the preseason, but like the players, I needed to get my critical faculties into regular season form. And I needed to explain the essentials of the game to my son.
It could easily have been my imagination, but it seemed to me that he paid special attention to the television during the game. The TV had yet to hold any more fascination for him than a spoon or a sunbeam. But I could swear he concentrated on what the players were doing on the field. And while he normally squirmed all over the place – especially since he figured out how to roll over – he sat nestled against my side for the longest time.
The Yankees’ manager had planned to use the regulars – who had not started a game together this March and wouldn’t have now if not for the television cameras – only four or five innings. It would turn out to be one inning too many. In the fifth, the very same leadoff hitter I lauded earlier ran in after a low line drive and blew out his knee. He seemed to be in excruciating pain and, even before the announcers reported on his condition, I knew he was going to be out for a long time.
“This is trouble, Reese. Real trouble.”
Trotting out to replace him was Kid Kitterer. He looked confident and ready. But I wonder if he knew that trepidation filled every true Yankee fan’s heart due to the event that hastened his arrival.
Eventually the Yankees won the game 8-6. But it was hard to take comfort in this. Something much bigger than the game had happened, something that would unquestionably affect the team throughout the
summer. I had a very bad feeling about the season to come.
Reese fell asleep on his playmat. I picked him up to put him in his crib and then just decided to lay on the couch with him on my chest for a while. I felt a little cheated by what happened during the game, as though one of the few pure things in my life had been sullied. I never liked it when anything went wrong with the Yankees, but this was so much worse than that. One of the key pieces of their foundation was gone.
• • •
That night, Tate came over for dinner with his kids for the first time since splitting with Gail. Zak and Sara ran into the family room, saw Reese playing on his mat, and immediately got down on the floor with him. Tate and I sat on the couch.
“How are they doing?” I said, nodding toward his children.
“They’ve been a little intense today. Zak wanted everything he could get his hands on at Toys ‘R’ Us and Sara refused to order a single thing from the menu at the pancake house. I think she needs a nap or something.”
I looked down at the three of them playing quietly on the floor. “Maybe they want a baby brother.”
“Don’t even joke about stuff like that.”
“Have you talked to Gail?”
He grimaced. “It was hard to avoid it when I picked up the kids. I tried, believe me.”
“I meant have you talked about what’s going to happen between you.”
“I know what’s going to happen between us. She’s going to steal my house and my money and I’m going to babysit Team Hyperactive on the weekends.”
I was surprised that he said that as loudly as he did. The kids didn’t appear to hear him, but you never knew what they were actually listening to. Reese seemed perfectly comfortable with them – he rolled over twice already and he didn’t just do that for anyone – and Zak was old enough to let me know if the baby was in trouble. I asked him if it was okay if we left the three of them alone for a while and then motioned Tate into the kitchen.
“He’s a pretty mature little kid,” I said, nodding toward the family room.
“Reese?Don’t you think you might be stretching it a little?”
When You Went Away Page 7