With turn-of-the-century grandeur, the room was like a large, opulent greenhouse. Its focal point was a domed ceiling made from hundreds of beautiful glass panels. Originally built as the carriage entrance to the hotel when horse and buggy dropped off their guests, it was transformed following the earthquake in 1906, becoming part of the interior.
Since the invitation we received was flocked in golf leaf and read “formal,” I knew I had to raid my sister's closet. On an afternoon when Jenise was in school, Colleen and I searched through her dressy clothes.
“Damn, Nick, your sister has some cool stuff,” she said. “I’d like to borrow some of her clothes. Can you ask her?"
"Yeah, sure. This one is pretty," I held up a long green dress.
"No, it won't . . . your big boobs . . ." She kept looking through my sister's clothes. "I'm not sure you can fit into anything in here. Damn, Nick. How did you end up with those anyway? Your mom and sis aren’t overly busty.”
“I don’t know." I hate my body. "Is there anything in here or do I need to go shopping?”
“Aren’t you hoping Ryan Tilton will be there so you can flirt with him?” She cracked up.
"No, I'm not—"
“Here you go.” She held up a black, full-length, Jessica Simpson sleeveless gown with a rounded neckline, sequined empire waste, and crisscrossed back. “This is perfect. It will stretch right where you need it and Jenise will never know.”
She took some of my sister's clothes and held them up to her, put them back, and made a mental checklist of what she wanted to borrow.
"Can we go to your house and study?" Let's get out of here before Dad gets home.
"Let's hide this dress in your room first," she said, generously granting my request with a knowing smile.
After tucking it in the back of my closet, I grabbed my backpack and books and walked next door.
On the night of the party, my teammates and I arrived separately, but sat together at dinner. It was loud, the lights were bright, and male conversation dominated the room. While we ate, some of the Goliaths’ ownership, management, and a few of the players spoke to the crowd about the importance of teamwork, a positive attitude, and how we had all contributed to the organization. Their message: we were all important.
I bought into it in every way.
It was why I'd put together a team. I wanted it so badly. I was afraid of being alone.
When dessert and coffee were served, those who spoke circulated throughout the room. They shook our hands and thanked us individually.
Of course, I had questions prepared for each person so they’d hopefully remember me and add to my letters of recommendation for college.
When the live music and dancing started, it wasn’t long before I was by myself. Looking around the room and watching my friends, it looked as if a spark had begun to glow between Colleen and Sy Deej, assistant to the Entertainment Manager, Jose Vasquez. The others had their eyes on boys who had also volunteered or worked as a vendor or usher, some of whom they had flirted with all year.
“Nicky?” A young man’s voice called my name.
When I looked up I saw it was Tommy, the Goliaths' ten-year-old batboy. We had talked off and on all year. The players and coaches liked him and I complimented him on a job well done as often as I could.
That night, he looked adorable in a suit and tie, obviously picked out by his parents who sat together with him. I came close to telling him how cute he was. But as I thought about it, I decided a young man’s heart didn’t want to hear “cute.” The courage he had to come over and talk to me, especially in front of his parents, had to be rewarded. So as much as I wanted to pinch his cheeks, I didn’t.
“Hi, Tommy! Wow you look handsome tonight. Did you bring a date or are you here with your parents?”
He blushed. "My parents. You know I don't date."
"Oh, I forgot about that. I was sure you'd have a girlfriend by now." I looked at his parents, watching them light up as they watched their son ask a girl to dance, maybe for the first time. "Are you having a good time?" We walked onto the dance floor.
“This is so cool.” His face was innocent and happy. “Are you time? I mean,” he cleared his throat, "having a good time?"
“Yes, I am, but . . . tell you a secret?”
"Yeah!"
“I hate dressing up, Tommy. I’d rather be in sweats and my baseball jersey. What about you?”
He smiled a knowing grin. “This suit is too stiff and the dang tie around my neck makes me feel like I’m choking.”
“You look great." We danced two steps to the left. "In fact, you're the most handsome man here. Did you know that?"
“No, I'm not." He looked at the floor. "The ballplayers have everyone's eye."
"Yes, yes you are. Who cares about those old guys? You're the future and don't you dare doubt yourself." I asked him as many questions as I could think of to try and help him relax. He had my complete empathy the way his hands shook, trying to hold mine.
"Do you want to dance for one more?" I asked when I felt him start to let go. "I think this one is a little faster so you don't have to worry about slow dancing." I still had a hard time going to high school dances and forcing myself to mingle. I could only imagine how nervous Tommy was.
“I like seeing you at the ball park. You’re the only grown up who talks to me. Well, except the players once in a while. Mostly, they just order me around.”
“I like seeing you there, too." We changed our steps to match an upbeat song. "You’re really alert when it comes to making sure the umpire has enough balls, getting the guys' bats and keeping the home plate area clean . . . I'm sure the players' think so, too. Don’t worry if they're crabby. They’re under a lot of pressure and they don’t mean it when they yell.”
“I know they are." He focused on his feet as if making sure they didn't get tangled. "They apologize after they blow their top. Plus, I've got a cool collection of autographed baseballs!”
"Well that's an unexpected bonus, huh?"
He blushed and told me about his baseball collection.
The music ended and we walked back to his table.
“Your son is a real gentleman,” I told his mom and dad. “Tommy, I can’t wait until next year when we can talk again. Garlic fries on me, okay?"
"Deal."
"Have fun in school, but study hard.”
"I will. Thanks for the dances." He escorted me to my table and then sat down again with his parents. I imagined they began to investigate and ask him all about his dances by the wink he gave me. He turned his chair to reassure his parents they had his attention, or perhaps—that he was their little boy a little longer.
Thirty minutes passed. I decided my teammates had made their connections and wouldn’t return.
I wanted to jot down a few notes so I'd remember the night and all I was feeling before I left the Palace Hotel. I took out the small notepad from my purse I carried with me when I couldn’t bring my journal.
I’d kept journals for many years. Using them as a tool to record my thoughts was a way to reflect on daily or weekly happenings—mostly trauma at home. They were also great for poetry, writing down my goals, and analyzing the challenging events of school life.
As I was writing, my favorite employee stopped at my table to talk. He was an African-American man in his mid-twenties, and part of the Goliaths security team. His name was James Lightman and he was generally assigned to the ballpark’s Bay Gate—a gate where fans with bleacher seat tickets and the cheer team entered into the ballpark. When he asked me to dance, I immediately accepted, putting down my pen and notepad. After two dances, we sat down at my table.
Listening to him share unbelievable stories of what working with the public was like was beyond entertaining. His smooth and relaxing voice was easy to listen to as he shared his experiences of the downright wacky attempts from people when sneaking alcohol or pot into the ballpark.
The funniest of all of them was his story about an
elderly couple that brought a pair of binoculars to the game. They’d hollowed out each side and filled them with bourbon. He didn’t have the heart to confiscate them and instead, let the couple go inside. Later, they were caught drinking from them on TV.
“Well, I gotta get home to the missus." He pushed back from the table.
“How come you didn’t bring her?" I stood up to say goodbye. "I've wanted to meet your sweet wife all year."
“She works swing shift at night court over at the jail. When you're cheering, she's working. You need a ride home?”
“No, I’m good, thanks. I’ll miss you in the off-season, James.”
“You have your phone?” I gave it to him and he entered his number. “Gimme me a holler and lemme know how you’re doin’ with your studies. Remember, my baby’s in business law; she’d be happy to help make you shine on your college applications.”
“Thanks, I'll definitely give you a holler. I'll be submitting my application for admission to Stanford in January.”
"You'd better! See you next year Nicky Young. Peace out."
When he walked away I once again opened my note pad to write down the memories of the evening.
“Watcha doin’ sitting all by your lonesome?” Kevin Reynolds stood next to me, the man I'd overheard speaking to Ryan while I hid behind the centerfield fences earlier in the year.
“Hello, Mr. Reynolds.”
“Come on, join the rest of us and let’s dance.”
“I’m not much of a dancer." I pointed to my feet. "Just warning you.”
“I’m not so great either. Guess we'll have to put up with each other. You seem to do okay on the field. In fact, you seem to dance great in front of the fans. Are you tryin' to get out of dancin' with me? Didn’t I just see you with James?”
“Yeah, but that's just . . . me and James were goofing around. And as far as the cheer team, we practice our routines repeatedly. When it’s spontaneous like this—no bueno for me.”
“Whatever,” he laughed. “You guys did a great job this year.”
“Thanks, Mr. Reynolds.”
His conversation earlier in the year with Ryan—will he behave himself? Does he know I heard? Did Ryan tell him?
“Just call me Kevin." He twirled and dipped me a few times. After two dances, I discovered he had a quick sense of humor and a natural ability of putting people at ease.
“I think you’re destined to be a force in business, Ms. Young. I’ve heard a lot of great things about your team from the fans and management.” He escorted me back to my table. “You’re a special lady. Ryan’s a lucky man.”
“Thanks. What do you mean about Ryan?” Tell me more.
“He’s lucky to have you as a friend," he smirked. "You’re intelligent, modest, lovely . . . don't tell me you know that about yourself."
“Most of the time I do.” Once again I made light of a compliment.
“I guess . . . see you and the cheerettes next year?"
“I hope so,” I giggled. “Cheerettes. We won’t actually know if we’re invited back for a couple of months yet, so cross your fingers. Be safe in the off-season.”
“Always am.” He shook my hand and then went to another table, taking another woman to the dance floor.
It was impossible to see who came and went with several hundred of us in the room. The music and voices were loud. Candles burned on the tables, throwing shadows on the walls. Their flickering light gave the room a dreamlike ambience. I finished writing a few more notes about the evening, unaware that Ryan had come in—until he sat next to me.
“Hello, Ms. Young.” Ryan's low voice gave me chills and brought to life more than just my skin.
Chapter 13
Save Your Heart for Me
“Oh, Ryan! Hi, stranger!” My voice was an octave higher and many decibels louder than normal. I was more than a little excited to see him.
Finally. Where have you been?
“How come you’re not dancing?” He looked relaxed and at ease, wore gray slacks, a matching jacket, and a cream-colored knit V-neck sweater underneath. A lavender rose was pinned to his lapel, and a gold cross was hung from a black leather cord around his neck. He was stunning. I thought he must be the most handsome man in the entire world.
“I danced. Several times, in fact.” I folded my hands.
“Yeah, with James and Tommy, and a required dance with Kevin. That’s not exactly cutting loose.”
I can't cut loose. Especially not around you.
“You’re nosy.” I looked away and couldn't help but smile.
“I want to know more about the mysterious Ms. Nicky Young.”
“Nothing much to know," I opened one hand as if by my showing that I held nothing in it, that meant I held no mysteries in my heart. "I pretty much already told you everything. You’re not here to ask me to dance, I hope.”
“No, I’d rather dance with you somewhere else.” His low laugh went straight to my chest and slowly dripped to my feet, making my toes tingle. “What are you writing?”
“Just some thoughts about tonight.” I tucked my pen and notepad inside my purse. Dance where? Why do you tease me like that? “I want to remember a few things about the speakers, decorations, lights and stuff. By the way, I’m mad at you.”
I changed my conversation and tone so fast that Ryan’s head jerked a little.
“Please don’t be.”
“How come you don’t want to go to the Veterans’ Hospital with me anymore? And don’t tell me you’re not going, because I hear about your visits from the staff as well as the vets.”
He put his arm around my shoulder.
“I have my reasons." His face softened and he rested his hand on my arm. "None of them were easy decisions. I have so much to say to you, Nicky.”
“What reasons?” Don't say too much. I'm already losing my breath. "Give me two."
“We were in the playoffs for one, and two? My schedule got crazy with workouts and meetings every day. I had to go to Yountville whenever I could sneak in a few hours. Most of those were when you were in school. From the beginning I wanted you to take it on by yourself. That was the plan, wasn't it?”
“Yeah. But that was before.” I heard Colleen's laugh and it temporarily caught my attention. "I'm glad she's with Sy."
"What?" Ryan chuckled.
"Oh, I . . . I was talking out loud." I put my hand to my cheek. "Colleen's had a crush on Sy and they're dancing."
“You were saying? Before Colleen and Sy?” His lips revealed a hint of amusement.
“Before we became friends. You want to know something strange?" I turned my chair.
"What's that, Ms. Young?"
"No one asked my teammates to go to any charities. You wanted me to go with you so my teammates could try the others, but no one ever called them." I shrugged my shoulders. "Why did you introduce yourself to my parents if you were only going to stop going up there with me?”
He looked down at the floor and closed his eyes while I continued. It was as if he was gathering his thoughts.
“It's my fault management didn't call the rest of us, I guess. I never did tell my teammates about Yountville. I love it so much." I put my hands to my heart. "Sometimes I help the staff with Johnny's therapy. Just small things of course, like working with flash cards, puzzles, and going for walks. I met his mom, too.
"It's just, if you would have at least given me some warning that you weren’t going with me anymore," I continued. "I knew once school started, it would be tough for me and once the playoffs started you couldn't, but I missed you.”
“Nicky, I told you a white lie about your teammates being assigned to other charities.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to go to Yountville with you alone. I had to understand more of who you are and be certain . . . of what I thought . . .” He cleared his throat. "About you, more of your kindness and the way you give, I had to know."
“Seems like it's mission accomplished; what difference does it
make now? You stopped going with me and haven't since late August. It's November for crying out loud! You had plenty of time to check on me and know more about me.”
“I know, but . . ." He seemed on the verge of a confession.
“It's okay, Ryan." I was ready to sweep everything under the rug the way my family did when something difficult challenged us. "I understand your life doesn't include being friends with a girl who's still in high school.”
“I’d love nothing better than to pick you up at your house and go to Yountville." His voice lowered. "But . . ."
“What?” Spit it out and stop circling around it!
“What I’m trying to say is that right now I can’t be around you. You’re one hell of a woman—strong, smart, and—”
“Yes, I am strong,” I interrupted. “I know exactly what I want and how to get it. But what does any of that have to do with not being around me?”
"You're too powerful," he confessed.
“Oh, sure," I dismissed his comment. "Boys find me so intimidating.”
His body turned to face mine.
He sat up straight and held both of my hands.
Oh damn. What have I done?
“You once asked if I liked someone on the cheer team."
“Yes.”
“I know you heard me talking to Kevin in centerfield."
“Yeah.” I looked down. "I admit I did."
“You know I was talking about you.” He squeezed my hands.
“No, I wasn't sure. I thought you knew I was standing there and you were joking. But then I couldn't decide because your conversation . . . I mean, damn, the way you and Kevin talked—"
“I'm sorry you heard some words from two crude men who didn't realize a sweet young woman was nearby." His smile melted me. "I wasn’t joking." His eyes probed my body. "I think about you and me all the time. The reason I can’t keep going to Yountville with you is because I can’t risk being near you like that.”
"I don’t understand what you're risking." I'm spinning big time.
“Even being here with you now . . . it’s almost too much for me. I have to stop myself from reaching for you and bringing you close for a kiss. I'm barely keeping myself from giving into the pleasure of taking you in my arms." His gaze was firm. I couldn't move. "Next year, I’ll do everything and anything I can so you'll look at me the way I'm looking at you. I want you to see me in a way you never have any man.”
Shadow Heart (Broken Bottle Series Book 1) Page 8