“All right. I don’t see what that—”
“What we need is a temporary solution. So we aren’t seen together during the rest of the baseball season. That doesn’t mean we can’t see each other. You’re here now, aren’t you?”
“I can’t ask you to stop going out. I know you love your nightlife. The booze and jazz and everything.”
And Walt would have given it all up in a heartbeat if that was what he had to do to keep Skip.
That was his first thought, anyway, although the longer it sat there, the more he wondered how true it was. Could he give up his life as he’d become accustomed to it? Would leaving the speakeasies and Times Square behind make him resent Skip?
He wasn’t convinced that was the real solution, however.
“I do love to go out at night,” Walt said. “I will continue to do so. I’m not sure for how long. Maybe a day will come when I’ll want to give it up or settle down. But for now, I want to live my life as out in the open as I can. I want to see things and be seen; I want to experience everything the city has to offer.” He took a deep breath, feeling like this had gotten a little bit small, that liquor and music were wonderful things, but not essential. What was all that without love, without companionship, without that one person who made you feel complete and alive?
Was that how he felt about Skip?
He wasn’t prepared to analyze his feelings that closely. He cared for Skip, but was he willing to make significant changes to his life for the man? He said, “Maybe, just for now, for the next six weeks of the regular baseball season, the two of us only spend time together in private spaces. I don’t have to be out in a club or speakeasy to enjoy your company.”
Skip scrubbed his face with his hands. “All right. What happens when the season ends? What happens next season?”
Walt was glad Skip wasn’t looking at him, because he couldn’t keep the surprise off his face. “You think we’ll be together that long?”
Skip turned his head, looking at Walt out of the corner of one eye, a little smile on his face. “Well… yes.”
Walt’s heart seized for a moment. He couldn’t begin to guess what was happening here, but he liked it. He smiled back. “So, we take things one day at a time. It’s not going to be easy, but there has to be a way.”
Skip lunged across the space between them and landed a rough kiss on Walt’s lips. Walt put his arms around Skip and held him, though his head still swam with the situation he’d been placed in. There was something about Skip, something Walt wasn’t ready to let go of just yet, and he was thrilled that Skip saw them together for the foreseeable future. But this dilemma they’d been pushed into was troubling: Keep their lives as they knew them or choose each other?
He stroked Skip’s hair. “I wish you had talked to me sooner. Maybe I could have helped.”
“I wanted to work it out for myself.” Skip’s voice was thick with emotion. “I thought I could figure something out or make a decision. I wanted to decide what was more important before I spoke to you, if it was you or baseball, but I couldn’t decide. I’m just so…. I’m too stu—”
Walt put his fingers on Skip’s lips. “Don’t say stupid. You are not stupid. This is an incredibly difficult decision. I still can’t help you make it. All I can do is offer comfort. And that’s all I meant. You could have come to me and I would have listened and talked it out with you. That’s all.”
Skip let out a breath and leaned his head on Walt’s shoulder. “I wanted to decide something so you’d think I’m smart.”
“I do think you’re smart. I told you, you’re a goddamn genius.”
“What are we going to do, Walt? I don’t know what to do.”
Walt just held him. “We’ll figure it out.”
Chapter 9
SKIP didn’t think sneaking around was much of a solution.
As September began, baseball season showed no sign of waning. The Giants were still in contention to win the pennant, so there was plenty of media attention on them. But it paled in comparison to the press devoted to the Yankees, who won their one-hundredth game of the season, and Babe Ruth, who was now looking to break the single-season home-run record. The World got lips flapping when they declared Lou Gehrig would beat that home-run record before Ruth. Skip was content to let the newspapers hash it out, because at least they weren’t talking about him.
Even Walt got bogged down in the baseball happening in the Bronx, writing essays on Ruth and Gehrig instead of sticking with his coverage of the Giants, although he admitted in one of his columns that he was hoping for a Yankees-Giants World Series.
Joe had taken to reading the gossip pages, particularly Walter Winchell’s column, which was how Skip knew Walt was still being seen in all the important clubs. Winchell had taken to calling anything Walt said in public “the Dapper Dandy’s Discourse” and a fair amount was being implied between the lines. Or so Skip understood, given how the information was filtered through Joe. Skip wasn’t sure Joe really understood what Winchell was saying, but Skip had figured out what some of the invented slang Winchell was fond of really meant.
Mickey got it, though. “You were friendly with Selby, weren’t you?” he asked over breakfast one morning before a road trip to Philadelphia.
“Yes. But, well. You know. Mr. McGraw thought maybe….”
Mickey nodded knowingly. “Perhaps Selby was sweet on you.”
Skip just laughed at that. The statement was so ridiculous, given the truth.
Joe laughed with him. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? That men can be like that? My brother kept telling me when I moved to New York that I’d run into men like that, but I never did. You, Mickey?”
“Not that I know of.”
“But now Skip made friends with this Selby guy.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” Skip said.
Mickey and Joe seemed to interpret the topic change as Skip’s discomfort with the idea of a man who was interested sexually in other men. They teased each other about it for a few minutes while Skip ate. By now, they were used to Skip’s silences and seemed unfazed by it.
Then Joe said, “I’m asking Estelle to marry me. Day after we get back from Philly, I plan to take her to a swanky restaurant and ask her.”
Skip and Mickey congratulated him. It occurred to Skip that this probably meant Joe would be moving out soon.
“Think she’ll say yes?” Mickey asked.
Joe chuckled. “She’s had wedding bells in her eyes since our third date.”
Mickey grinned. “Don’t suppose you’ll have room for me and Skip in your new house after you get married.”
Skip didn’t think much of it. Joe would move out and they’d find some other rookie to bunk with them. This very apartment had been lived in by a rotating combination of Giants rookies for the past seven years, and Skip didn’t anticipate that changing.
“It’s been great rooming with you guys,” Joe said. “But if I get married, well, I’ll want to spend time with my lady.”
“She hasn’t said yes yet,” Mickey pointed out. “Maybe she’s changed her mind. Maybe she’s decided Skip is more ideal husband material.”
Everyone laughed, though it didn’t escape Skip’s notice that Joe looked a little worried.
WALT covered the Yankees while the Giants were out of town. The last day of the series, he took a photographer with him, hoping to catch Ruth or Gehrig in action.
It really was a remarkable time to be a baseball fan, Walt couldn’t help but reflect. He’d be a Giants fan until his death, but this Yankees team was one of the best baseball teams that had ever existed—even Walt could see that. They were deserving of all the press, as far as he was concerned.
The photographer, a fellow named Lassiter, clicked away as Gehrig went up to bat. Lassiter murmured about the man’s beautiful swing. Walt agreed that Gehrig was a pleasure to watch, but he was distracted by all of the personalities in the audience. Among those in attendance at the game that day were Mayor
Walker, Governor Smith, and Jack Dempsey. Damon Runyon had wandered in and out of the press box a few times.
Reinhold from the Times stumbled in. “How are you, Selby?” he asked.
Walt glanced at Lassiter, who was changing the film in his camera. “I’m all right. Hell of a game, eh?”
“Sure is.” Reinhold took a bite out of an apple. With his mouth full, he said, “Heard the Giants won today.”
“Not hard,” Walt said, watching Tony Lazzeri go up to bat. “Phillies are likely to finish dead last in the National League.”
“Your boy Littlefield hit two home runs.”
A bit of pride warmed Walt’s chest, but he frowned to cover it. “He’s not my boy. I just think he’s a gifted ballplayer.”
“Mmhmm.”
Walt assumed Reinhold only thought he knew something, so he shrugged it off and went back to watching the game. Lassiter got back to the business of taking photographs.
Surprising no one, the Yankees won the game. Gehrig, Ruth, and Lazzeri hit a home run each, which the crowd ate up. Walt enjoyed the game, but was feeling a little introspective, missing Skip and wishing they could watch a game like this together. Of course, the issue here was not just the moratorium on their being seen together in public, but also the fact that Skip was currently in Philadelphia. The Giants’ travel schedule during the regular season was another factor in the negotiation of this relationship, something that hadn’t really occurred to Walt before. He’d gotten so used to seeing Skip daily during the recent home stay—Skip had spent the night at Walt’s more often than not—that he felt at loose ends now.
“The rumor,” Reinhold said, “is that everyone is headed to the 300 Club tonight.”
Walt had only been to Texas Guinan’s club on West Fifty-Fourth Street once before. It was almost too high profile, too exclusive, too hard to get noticed, since many of what Guinan called “butter and egg men”—the wealthiest men in the city—were there competing for attention from the laypeople who clamored to get in. “Everyone?”
“Writers, athletes, probably the mayor. So, yes, everyone.”
“Do you plan to go?” Walt asked.
“I thought I might go celebrate this victory. I’ve been trying to get the Babe’s autograph for weeks.”
“You can’t just track him down after a game and ask for an interview?”
Reinhold shrugged. “Or I could get him to write something outlandish while he’s zozzled. Which, let’s face it, he will be.” Reinhold chuckled. “Anytime he complains about a bellyache, I just assume it’s because he drank bad moonshine again.”
“That’s likely.”
Reinhold grinned. “Maybe we should tell these rookies that the real secret to hitting fifty home runs in a season is booze and women.”
Walt laughed, but his heart wasn’t in it.
He and Reinhold shared a cab back to the city. Walt stared out the window most of the drive, thoughts of Skip plaguing him. What had he gotten himself into? This wasn’t temporary, the relationship he had with Skip. Once he’d persuaded Skip they could make a go of things in the long term, it was a serious thing. If Skip were a woman, Walt supposed he’d be thinking about proposing by now. Well, maybe not; this was the twenties, after all, and dating didn’t work the same way it had when his parents were young.
“You have a girl, Reinhold?” Walt asked.
A funny smile came over Reinhold’s face. “Sure. I got married last year, remember?”
Walt did now vaguely recall that Reinhold had taken a few weeks off in the middle of the baseball season last summer. “What’s she like?”
“She’s a bearcat. Don’t get me wrong, I adore her, but she’s a bit of a troublemaker. She doesn’t like places like the 300 Club, though, because she doesn’t like it when she’s not the one in the spotlight.” Reinhold laughed.
“And you? How do you feel about being the center of attention?”
“Oh, I’m content to let her have the center. I just like watching.”
“Which is why you’re the only baseball fan in New York who doesn’t have Babe Ruth’s autograph on something.”
Reinhold shrugged. “Yes, well. You clearly like it when you get mentioned in the papers, since you seem to put yourself in a place to do it all the time.”
“I like to have a good time.”
Reinhold smirked. “I’ll bet you do.”
“I’m content to fade into the background sometimes.”
Reinhold crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re a lot like my wife. You thrive on the attention. I don’t think you’d really be living if you were home leading quiet and domestic life.”
Walt understood that Reinhold meant it in jest, but it struck him how true that was. “Well,” he said. “Perhaps we do not always get what we want.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Walt said. “Forget it.”
“You have a Babe Ruth autograph?”
Walt laughed at the subject change. “He signed a baseball for me when I started covering baseball for the Times. In 1923.”
“Hooey,” said Reinhold.
THE Giants did not win the pennant that year. After Babe Ruth hit his sixtieth home run, breaking the single-season record, the Pittsburgh Pirates won the National League championship.
Once the season was over, Skip found himself with too much time on his hands. He and his roommates went to a couple of the World Series games, cheering for the Pirates out of principle, although Skip secretly wanted to see that Yankees team triumph. How could they not? He was grateful he’d spent his first season in the National League, avoiding playing against an American League team he didn’t think the Giants could beat, even in their dreams.
After the Yankees swept the series in Game 4, Skip and Joe ran into Walt in one of the corridors of Yankee Stadium. Skip wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to say hello, although Joe did part of the work for him by offering his hand to shake. Walt shot Joe a surprised look but played along. Then he shook hands with Skip, who took a moment to savor the warmth of Walt’s hand in his own.
“Hell of a season,” Walt said.
“That it was,” said Joe, oblivious.
They chatted for a moment. Skip was unable to contribute anything to the conversation, too nervous to speak. Walt eventually bowed out, saying, “It’s been a pleasure talking to you fellas, but I have some business in the press box.”
Skip hated that they couldn’t even pretend to be friends in public, especially not in a baseball stadium, where even if John McGraw wasn’t around—which Skip couldn’t swear to—whichever of the Giants’ spies who had spotted Skip with Walt the first time could be lurking.
On the other hand, once the Yankees secured their victory, the season was over, and technically Skip wasn’t beholden to the Giants’ management again until he reported for Spring Training in six months.
It made him wonder what he could get away with. As he and Joe descended the stairs to street level, he thought about whether it would be safe to go with Walt to lower-profile clubs and speakeasies, or if it would be better to just spend nights together at Walt’s place with no one else knowing.
“Did Mickey tell you he’s headed back to Baltimore for the winter?” Joe asked.
“No.”
“He said he missed his family. And now that the season’s over, I want to take Estelle to spend time with my family in Long Island for a few weeks. So you’ll be holding down the fort for a while. Is that okay?”
“It will give me time to find a replacement for you,” Skip said. As they walked to the subway, though, it occurred to him that he’d have a lot of time on his hands in an empty apartment. “Maybe I should get a job or something too.”
“Do you need the money?”
Skip shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt.”
“You’re not going back to Ohio?”
Skip had given some thought to that too. It might have been nice to go see his parents, but on the other hand, all his father w
ould do would be to remind him of his failures. No one thought the baseball career would last longer than a season or two. Skip’s father still wanted him to come back to work at the repair shop or else get a “real job” that wasn’t playing a game. The last time Skip had been home, he’d just felt stupid the whole time.
He hadn’t been feeling stupid much lately. He definitely didn’t feel stupid when he was with Walt.
“Nah, I probably won’t go to Ohio. There isn’t really anything there for me anymore. Plus, now I’ve got time to spend in New York. I know things are less crazy in the winter than they are in the summer, but I’ll be able to explore the city without worrying about having to be ready to play the next day.”
Joe frowned. “Like you didn’t get out to enough nightclubs this summer?”
“Maybe I’ll go see the Statue of Liberty.”
Joe laughed. “You’re right. That sounds pretty great.”
“I’ll miss you when you get married, you know. It’s been a lot of fun, this summer.”
“It has.” Joe grinned. “I’ll see you on the field, though.”
“I hope that’s true for a very long time.”
Chapter 10
THE Giants were all invited to a party at the Penguin to celebrate the end of the season. Skip put on one of the suits Walt had picked out for him and was making sure his hair was slicked into place in the hallway mirror when Mickey whistled.
“You look darb,” Mickey said.
“Thanks. You like the suit?”
“Sure, it’s pretty swell. Looks like it cost you a pretty penny.”
“I got a deal.”
Mickey pursed his lips but nodded and led Skip back into the main room.
Joe joined them at the door before they went out. They took the subway downtown. Skip couldn’t help but remember the first time he’d been there with Walt, and it made him feel sad and nostalgic. Tonight, Estelle was waiting for them in front of the club, not Walt, and Joe gave her a hug and a brief kiss before they all went inside together. That display made Skip feel even sadder.
Playing Ball Page 7