The Lucky Ones

by KG MacGregor

  Now seated at her desk across from Archie, she began to massage her temples. “How long has it been like this?”

  “A little over two years,” he replied grimly. “Started right after Junie died. Ovarian cancer. She was kind of a den mother to all the players. Junie loved the Longdogs like they were her own boys. Once she passed, Duffy kind of lost interest. I could see it in his face when he came to the park. He was gutted.”

  It made sad, convoluted sense from an emotional standpoint. Duffy should have divested sooner…but then he probably would have squandered even more in the development deal. At least this way, he now had a couple million dollars of her father’s to see him through retirement.

  “What kind of marketing did you do last year?”

  “Misty helped me dredge up some of the old promotions, plus we had a bunch of stuff saved back for giveaways. T-shirts and caps and the like.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s anything we can hand out for the opener tomorrow night?”

  “As a matter of fact, we rustled up a bunch of foam rubber balls to throw out. About a hundred or so. Got the Longdogs logo on one side and Simmons Funeral Home on the other.”

  That was too much irony to unpack, she thought.

  According to his personnel file, Archie had just turned sixty-eight and had held the general manager position for six years. Short and paunchy, with a flattop haircut that squared his face, he bore no traces of ever having been an athlete. Apparently he wasn’t much of a general manager either, but that probably wasn’t his fault. He’d only taken the job as a favor to Duffy, accepting a salary that was half the league average, with no revenue responsibilities. His career goal at this point was to retire, but he hated to see the Longdogs go out on his watch.

  “Let’s talk about some of these others. What all does Misty’s job entail?”

  “She handles the phone, the mail, payroll…basically all the paperwork. Ask her for whatever you need. She’ll get it done.”

  From her quick review of personnel files, Misty was a solid hire. She had an associate degree in business from the community college, and her pay was reasonable. But that ringtone had to go.

  “And Coy Guthrie?”

  “Coy’s our clubby. That’s what we call the clubhouse manager. Every team has one. He puts out the spread, does the laundry, keeps all the equipment in order. Takes care of whatever the guys need.”

  “He does all that for only four hundred a month?”

  Archie went on to explain the clubhouse dues structure, whereby the players paid for their upkeep out of their meager salaries and signing bonuses. On game days, Coy laid out a light afternoon meal following batting practice and a full meal postgame. “Plus they give him tips. But just between you and me, he likes his job so much he’d probably do it whether they tipped him or not.”

  Britt scribbled a note on her pad to remind her to seek Coy out so she could get a clearer picture of how the money flowed in the clubhouse. Yet another item on the long list of things she didn’t totally understand.

  “And Pervis Yates. Who is that?”

  “Pervis is…Pervis. He does a little bit of everything. Cuts the grass, chalks the lines. Fixes things that get broke. Oh, and he’s Banger.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Banger’s our mascot. That’s Pervis all dressed up in a dachshund costume. Dances and does handsprings across the infield. Kids love him.”

  “I see.” A mascot could figure prominently in promotions, appearing at birthday parties and shopping centers. “All right, then…who have we got selling advertising?”

  After an awkward silence, Archie shook his head. “I asked Duffy about maybe hiring a couple of interns from the business school at UK, but that kind of fell through the cracks.”

  And by now the best prospects would be locked up in other internships. “What about you, Archie? Ever done any advertising sales?”

  “No, I’m the baseball guy.”

  “The baseball guy…okay, now I’m confused. It’s my understanding the Pittsburgh Pirates make all the baseball-related decisions. How does that mesh with your duties?” She honestly didn’t want to come off as confrontational, but she needed to know just exactly what the GM of a business did if he wasn’t concerned with revenue.

  In a tone that bordered on defensive, he started his list. “Well, for one thing, I’m responsible for the condition of the field. It has to meet Minor League Baseball standards—the height of the mound, the clip of the grass, the width of the chalk. Everything’s got to be perfect.”

  “You do that?”

  “Not me personally…but I supervise Pervis and make sure he does it right. I do the hiring and firing, make all the travel arrangements, hand out the per diems, pay the vendors. That is, I give all the invoices to Misty and tell her who to pay and how much. And I’m here most days to accept deliveries. You’d be surprised how often they have to order food and beer. You can’t just let the driver drop off a keg at the door if nobody’s here. It has to go in a locked cooler right away, or somebody’ll sneak by in a pickup truck and tote it off.”

  “Heavens, yes.” An important job, for sure. “And in the off-season?”

  After a noticeable squirm, he turned his eyes to the floor as he spoke. “That’s when I line up the vendors, and order supplies and stuff. Naturally, the workload’s a little lighter…but it balances out on account of all I have to do in the summer. By the time the guys shower and eat, it can be twelve thirty, one o’clock in the morning. I’m always the last man out so I can lock up and turn the lights out.”

  It occurred to her that she had two choices with regard to Archie. She could let him retire and absorb his supervisory duties herself while distributing the rest of his responsibilities across the remaining staff. Or she could double both his salary and his workload and lure him into staying at least two more years so she wouldn’t have to take on a new GM. The latter wasn’t feasible unless he possessed an aptitude for sales.

  “I appreciate what you’re saying, Archie. It’s just that…” She spread out a set of printouts with expenses and revenues. “The baseball end of this business gets handled in Pittsburgh. Sure, we provide them a little support for that, but basically we’re here to sell stuff—tickets, concessions, advertising, and merchandise. If no one’s doing that, we can’t keep paying people like Pervis, like Coy…like you. Are you following what I’m saying?”

  He nodded, but that was about the extent of his concern, which she found worrying. Still, he was indispensable. For now, anyway. He’d forged relationships with the staff and vendors, and he seemed to know all the day-to-day minutiae of operations. She’d hate to find herself mowing the field and chalking the lines.

  “Look, Dad and I plan on turning this franchise around. We’ll be putting a great deal of effort into making Leland Field the place to be on game nights. Before this season’s over, we’re going to fill every seat and sell them all the hot dogs and popcorn they can eat. I assume you want that too, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Can we count on you to help us get there?”

  He nodded eagerly. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to see this stadium rocking again.”

  “Okay, then. Friday, opening night. What are we doing to get fans pumped up for the season?”

  “Well, there’s the rubber balls…and we usually do a drawing from the ticket stubs to bring some lucky family from out in the bleachers over to the club seats behind home plate. And we’ve got Mayor Wilson throwing out the first pitch. He does that every year. And Deke Sullivan, that’s Misty’s uncle. He’s the choir director at First Baptist. He’ll lead the singing of the national anthem.”

  Thrilling. How would she ever contain the crowd with that kind of mayhem?

  “The big news this year is Cory Hanover. He’s that kid from Vandy that threw a no-no in the College World Series.”

  “A no-no? Is that like a spitball or something?”

  Archie had the good sense no
t to laugh at her expense, but she could tell he wanted to. “A no-no is short for no runs, no hits. It means he shut down every batter who came to the plate. It’s a good thing.”

  “Right, got it. So is he pitching for us or the other team?”

  “Oh, he’s a Longdog. I reckon that’ll get fans excited. It’s been a while since we had an ace. Except he’s probably too good for Leland, which means by August they’ll probably call him up to Bradenton or Altoona.” He became more animated as he talked about the team. “And there’s this kid from Panama, Oscar Lopez. Eighteen years old but he’s a real bruiser, plays third base. Scouting report says he can hit the ball a country mile. And Scotty McCall out of UNC, all six-foot-eight of him. That’s who you want on first, somebody who can stretch like Gumby and pull in a throw. We might win a game or two with those guys before somebody calls them up.”

  The more he talked, the more she realized how little she knew about the most basic aspect of her business—the game itself. JT had assured her it didn’t matter, and she’d convinced herself that her dad knew enough for both of them. But it could be weeks before her dad was around to take charge. In the meantime, every stupid question she raised would cost her credibility, which would lead to whispers of incompetence and erosion of support for her leadership. She was caught in that old maxim, whether to remain silent and be thought a fool or speak up and remove all doubt.

  Setting her papers aside, she conceded that for now she was at the mercy of this skeleton staff and whatever meager plans they’d made thus far. Until her father came back to point them all in the right direction, her best hope was not to tank his investment in her very first week on the job.

  “Thanks, Archie. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate for the opener. Why don’t we pick this up next week when we have a better idea of where things stand.”

  Alone in her office, she methodically ripped her list of questions into strips too small to read, dropped them in the trash, and poured the dregs of her coffee on top. Then she buzzed Misty to have her call the Gazette and cancel the interview with Wesley Hodges, who would have had a field day with her ignorance.

  Fortunately, she knew someone who could help.

  “R u busy 2nite? I need a crash course in baseball.”

  Chapter Ten

  Ninah had no doubt Britt was a smart cookie. Anything she absolutely needed to know about baseball was at her fingertips on the web, so it was possible her urgent request for a “crash course” was a pretext for something else. A reason to call, an excuse to see each other. That’s what she wanted to think, and she was happy to oblige.

  After a hurried farewell to her students and colleagues, she’d raced home to change into shorts and a shirt she could unbutton an extra inch or two. It was all she could do not to call Emmy with the news that Leland was getting a new lesbian and she’d appointed herself the welcoming committee.

  It was odd to drive by Carly and Justine’s house without stopping. These posh houses in the Sandstone development were out of reach on a teacher’s salary, with each lot carefully carved among ancient oaks to preserve a woodsy character. All the homes were two stories high and shared certain architectural features—multi-level rooflines, arched windows, and exteriors faced with natural fieldstone from the Elkhorn Quarry. A girl could dream.

  Vernon’s house, the last one on the street, fronted Lake Leland. Last year he’d added a gazebo to the dock, and that’s where Britt had suggested they share some beers and talk baseball.

  Britt met her almost as soon as she pulled into the drive, dressed in denim shorts and an oversized purple V-neck tee. Her hair was twisted in a knot on top and held in place by a large clip. Hands on hips, she declared, “I hope you’re as fed up with adulting as I am.”

  “All that and then some.” Ninah presented a dripping six-pack of Blue Moon ale. “I officially survived year thirteen without getting shot, assaulted, arrested, fired, or sued. For a public school teacher, that’s a banner year.”

  “Welcome to freedom.”

  “What’s up with your dad today?”

  “His doctor says he’s at ninety-six percent. So precise. I feel a lot better now that he’s starting to act like his old self. He can’t wait to be discharged, and he’s obsessive about his therapy. But then I say something about the Longdogs and he forgets everything else exists. He’s so excited about this.”

  “No wonder. He’s got his two favorite things—baseball and you.” Ninah was happy to see the emotional turnaround in Britt, especially after her breakdown in Justine’s arms. Fear and exhaustion never played well together.

  Britt handed her a couple of beers. “Let me put the rest of these in a cooler and we’ll take it with us down to the dock.”

  Ninah took a moment to appreciate Vernon’s house in the afternoon sun. The living room was sparsely furnished and decidedly masculine. On one side, a towering stone fireplace dominated the room, softened by plush leather seating and colorful accent rugs across the knotty pine floors. Floor-to-ceiling glass lined the back wall, granting a spectacular view of the lake.

  “I love your dad’s house. It’s like Carly and Justine’s, grand without being ostentatious.”

  “Anything beats that old farmhouse on Pinckard Road where he used to live.” She returned with a large bag of lime-flavored tortilla chips, as well as the cooler. “Grab that door, will you?”

  When they stepped outside, Ninah took the cooler from her hand. “But what a shame about the fire. Your dad must have lost a lot of precious memories.”

  “He’d already given a lot of stuff to the historical society, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. In fact, it probably turned out to be the luckiest day of his life. That’s how he found out his family owned nearly half of the Hickson pasture. He sold it for a bundle just in time for a baseball team to fall in his lap.”

  “I can’t believe he kept it secret so long. Especially with JT as a partner. Justine says he blabs about everything.”

  “They kept it quiet so that guy from Carbondale wouldn’t up his offer. Dad didn’t want to get into a bidding war. But you’d have thought he’d tell his own daughter. I think he was worried I’d try to talk him out of it.”

  Ninah kicked off her flip-flops to enjoy the feel of grass between her toes as they traipsed across the lawn toward the dock. “Would you have tried?”

  “Probably not. He’s crazy about baseball and it’s his money. But if I’d known his plan was for me to help, I’d have told him I didn’t want to be involved if it meant moving back here. Which—”

  “Do you really dislike Kentucky that much?”

  Britt ignored the question and pointedly continued, “Which clearly would have been a huge mistake on my part. Because now that I’ve had a chance to study the business aspect, I see what an extraordinary opportunity it is, both financially and career-wise. It’ll be fun to work with Dad on something where we can see tangible results. Right now the promotions calendar looks like a clothesline at a nudist colony.”

  Ninah had to think for a second. “Nothing on it?”

  “Just a couple of lame ideas they recycled from thirty years ago. It’s no wonder the Longdogs have been circling the drain. But there’s nowhere to go but up. All they really need is a fresh approach to ballpark entertainment—which is exactly the sort of work I’ve been doing for the last fifteen years.”

  “I can’t wait to get this party started. With the two of you calling the shots, the Longdogs are gonna be fun again.”

  The wooden dock ran forty feet out over the water to the gazebo, which sheltered some Adirondack chairs and a picnic table. On it, weighted down by a cell phone, was a small stack of papers and files.

  “Nice office you’ve got here. Adulting isn’t all bad.”

  “It doesn’t totally suck with a view like this.” Britt twisted off their bottle tops and raised a toast. “To summer.”

  “To summer.” She sat at the table opposite Britt with the bag of chips between them. “How d
id it go with Wesley Hodges?”

  “It didn’t. That’s what set me off today.” She tasted a chip and made a face. “These are stale. You want me to go back in and find something else?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Anyway, I got to thinking about what you said about him, how he honed in on the negatives. It occurred to me that I didn’t know enough about baseball to wing it all the way through an interview, so I had Misty call him and cancel. He wanted to reschedule for tomorrow, but I said we were too busy right now with the changeover. I’m going to try to hold him off till Dad gets back.”

  “That’s probably smart. If he gets an inkling you aren’t into baseball, it’ll be like blood in the water. Once the season starts, he’ll probably lose interest in a profile. He’ll have game stories every night, plus all the player news.”

  “It’s not just him I have to worry about. It’s all the vendors, the potential advertisers, even the fans who might stop me to talk. As soon as I open my mouth to someone who knows anything about baseball, they’re going to find out I’m basically clueless.”

  “Play it like a politician. Come up with your own talking points and stick to them, no matter what the questions are. We practice this in my civics class. It’s a debate technique. Here, write these down.” She nudged a pen and pad toward Britt and counted on her fingers. “Good clean fun for the whole family. The best value in town for your entertainment dollar. Top quality concessions to round out your ballpark experience.”

  “Damn, you’re good at this.”

  “I’m making stuff up but you get the idea. Figure out what messages you wanna push and practice saying them ten different ways. And don’t let anyone knock you off script.”

  “This is great. Why don’t I just hire you as our spokesperson till Dad gets back? Then you could answer all the baseball questions too.”