Rivals (2010)

by Green, Tim - Baseball 02

  “No unauthorized stops,” she said without looking back.

  The bus continued on for two more blocks and pulled to a stop at the curb where several rain-drenched visitors stood waiting under an awning. Josh followed Benji down the aisle to get off the bus. At the bottom step, Benji turned around.

  “Lady,” Benji said, “honestly? It’s people like you who give Red Sox fans a bad name.”

  “And you two brats can find your own way back,” the driver said. “I don’t have to take your abuse.”

  “Whatever,” Benji said, stepping down and flicking his hand in the air.

  “Lido,” Josh said, hustling to catch up. “You screwball. Now how are we going to get back?”

  “Stop worrying,” Benji said, flipping his hood up over his hat. “Let’s just get there.”

  They trudged silently through the rain, back up the street leading to the Hall of Fame. When they arrived, they saw that not one but seven stretch limousines had arrived. A small crowd of people was moving through the courtyard and in through the center of three arched entryways.

  “There she is,” Benji said, “at the front of the line, Miss Fancy Pants, all snug and dry.”

  To change the subject, as they got into line Josh pointed up at the faded brick building and said, “Just look at it, Lido. The Hall of Fame. Everyone who loves baseball comes to this place. Everyone in the world.”

  “Yeah,” Benji said, looking around. “I could use a hot dog or something.”

  When they got to the ticket booth, the man pushed his glasses up higher on his nose and studied them for a moment before he said, “Sorry, part of the museum’s west wing is temporarily closed due to the press conference. You’re welcome to come in and see the exhibits that aren’t blocked off, but access to the entire museum won’t resume until five-thirty.”

  “Five-thirty?” Josh said, turning to Benji. “That’s too late. We’ve got to be back by dinner, and we don’t even know how we’re getting back.”

  “Can we see the Babe’s statue?” Benji asked, his hands plastered against the window of the ticket booth.

  “And Hammering Hank’s,” Josh said.

  “Uhh,” the man said, running his finger over a map he had in front of him, “no. Sorry. You’ll have to wait to see them. They’re holding the press conference at the auditorium near the Mickey Mullen exhibit. He’s here, you know.”

  “Imagine that,” Benji said to the man. “Remind me to get his autograph…on a roll of toilet paper.”

  The man frowned. “You two going in or not?”

  “We got these passes,” Josh said, taking his out of his pocket. “We’re playing in the tournament. Can you let us in and give us, like, a rain check so we can come back to see the rest of it?”

  “Sorry,” the man said. “One time only. I’d like to, but those are the rules.”

  “Maybe we can get some more of these,” Josh said to Benji.

  “Yeah,” Benji said, slapping his pass down for the ticket man, “let’s go.”

  Inside, a woman in a red skirt and white blouse with her back to them hooked up a velvet rope to block the doorway that led into the part of the exhibition where the press had gone. Josh looked around at the balls, bats, pennants, pictures, uniforms behind glass, and bronze statues from all the most famous players and teams the game had ever seen. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “Benji,” Josh said softly, “if Jaden can go in there with all those other people, I just can’t see the harm if we slid in there too. This place is all about realizing your dreams, right?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not dreaming of a jail cell,” Benji said.

  “Come on,” Josh said, eyeing the red velvet ropes and the woman guarding them. “No one’s gonna put two kids angling to see their heroes’ statues behind bars.”

  “I don’t know,” Benji said, wrinkling his brow. “She’s standing right there. I don’t see how the heck we’re gonna get past her.”

  “Shh,” Josh said. “I got a plan. Follow me and don’t say anything.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  JOSH TOOK ONE STEP, then started to jog toward the woman and the red velvet rope. He waved his arms frantically and said, “Lady, lady, that guy in the ticket booth—I think he needs help!”

  The woman spun around.

  “He collapsed or something,” Josh said, his voice filled with fake panic, “the guy with the glasses.”

  “Yeah,” Benji said, pointing back toward the entrance. “His face turned all purple and he keeled over. Hurry!”

  The woman’s eyes went wide and her mouth became an O. She took off, running with her high heels clacking along the floor. Josh took Benji’s arm, stepped over the rope, and tugged him along.

  “Man, Josh,” Benji said in an urgent whisper. “This is great.”

  “His face turned purple?” Josh said. “Jeez, Benji.”

  “You know I got a flair for the dramatic,” Benji said. “Did you see her take off?”

  “Come on,” Josh said, “let’s get out of here before she figures it out.”

  They rounded a corner and heard someone talking over a loudspeaker in a large hall, then a flurry of applause. They hurried past the crowd that stood watching the people up on a small stage at the end of the large space and soon lost their way in a deeper maze of empty passageways, displays, and small rooms. They walked quietly in the stillness and spoke in hushed voices so they could listen for the coming footsteps of the lady by the rope—just in case she decided to pursue them—or maybe something worse, like security guards.

  “Man,” Benji said after a while in a regular voice, “where’s the Babe?”

  “I think we just passed this way,” Josh said, keeping his voice down. “There’s Ty Cobb’s cleats again.”

  “Yeah, imagine those things coming at you full speed,” Benji said, loudly now. “They’d punch a hole in your lung if he hit you right. But we gotta find the Babe.”

  “Well, keep it down. We can’t ask anyone now. That’s for sure. Come on,” Josh said, checking his watch and doing his best to enjoy the sights and ignore the feeling of dread that crept into his bones whenever he did something he knew he shouldn’t really be doing.

  They wandered some more and ended up right back at Ty Cobb’s cleats.

  “You got to be kidding me,” Benji said, stamping around a couple more bends too quickly to look at anything before they stopped again.

  That’s when they heard someone coming.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  JOSH DUCKED BETWEEN A large glass display on the evolution of the catcher’s mitt and the brick wall behind it, crouching low beside the wooden base and worming his way deeper in to make room for Benji, whose eyes had grown as large as grapefruits.

  The voices kept coming. Benji gripped Josh’s arm and froze.

  “What are they gonna do to us, right?” Josh whispered hopefully into Benji’s ear.

  Benji’s grip tightened and he said, “Arrest us, that’s what.”

  “For what?” Josh asked, his heart chilled.

  “I don’t know,” Benji said with a quavering voice. “Trespassing or criminal mischief or something. Shh.”

  Josh held still and listened and soon realized that the one voice belonged to a boy no older than them.

  “So this is it,” the boy said, his footsteps stopping almost next to Josh and Benji’s hiding place. “Sandy Koufax.”

  “Really? Not your dad?” a girl’s voice asked. It had a slight southern lilt to it.

  “He was the best,” the boy said as if he hadn’t heard her question, “but he wouldn’t play on Rosh Hashanah no matter what. I mean, who does things like that anymore?”

  “Hey,” Benji said, wriggling free from their hiding place before Josh could stop him. “Jaden? What’s up? Josh, come on out, man. It’s just Jaden.”

  Josh felt his face go hot with embarrassment as he struggled to get free. When he did, he noticed the gray powder of dust covering Benji’s dark hair
and shoulders. He looked down at his own clothes and realized he too was covered in dust.

  “So, who’s that?” Benji asked, pointing at the boy.

  “Hi,” the boy said, extending a hand to Benji, “I’m Mickey Mullen.”

  Josh knew his name before he said it. Mickey Mullen Jr. had wheat blond hair like his father, only curly. His skin was tan and his eyes pale blue. The smooth skin on his face reminded Josh of a statue he’d seen in an advertisement: Michelangelo’s statue David. Josh touched the scar on his own discolored face.

  Mickey wasn’t as thick as Josh, but he stood just as tall, and he smiled sheepishly when Benji stared at his hand like it was a rotten fish.

  Josh looked at Jaden, who scowled and said to Mickey, “Don’t mind Lido; he wears his shirts so tight they cause a serious oxygen deficiency to the brain.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Benji asked, scowling right back and tugging on the collar of his T-shirt.

  “I’m Josh,” Josh said, shaking Mickey’s hand and returning his smile. “She’s right; don’t mind him. He doesn’t really mean it.”

  “This guy is the enemy,” Benji said, raising his voice. “Are you two kidding me? Look at this guy—all that’s missing is his surfboard.”

  Jaden stepped closer to Mickey and touched his hand. “Come on, Mickey. Thanks for showing me.”

  “What is he, like your new boyfriend?” Benji said, pointing to Jaden’s hand.

  Jaden snatched her hand away from Mickey’s and glared at Benji. “Easy, fathead.”

  “Now I’m a fathead?” Benji said, raising his voice to a roar. “You turn traitor to the Titans and you cheat on Josh and that makes me a fathead?”

  “I’m not cheating on anyone!” Jaden shouted. “Josh isn’t my boyfriend. He doesn’t even like me like that. We’re just friends.”

  Josh sighed and covered his face with one hand as he shook his head. Then he heard a sound that made him even sicker.

  “There they are!” the woman from the velvet rope shouted. She nudged the security guards who accompanied her. “Those two right there!”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ONE GUARD’S HAND BIT into Josh’s shoulder while the other one’s clamped down on Benji.

  “Let’s go,” Josh’s guard said in a low, rough voice.

  Josh hung his head and let the man steer him toward the woman, but Benji resisted.

  “Take your hands off me,” Benji said, struggling free from the second guard. “I’ll sue you if you touch me again. My mom’s sister’s husband works at a law firm.”

  “You can call your parents from the director’s office,” the woman said. “They can come get you after I fill them in on how you snuck in here.”

  “Oh man,” Josh said, groaning. “Couldn’t you just call the police?”

  The woman gave him a funny look, then turned on her heels and clacked away. Josh glanced back at Jaden, who stood beside Mickey Jr. with a look of shock and worry on her face. Mickey Jr. seemed unfazed. From above, the picture of Sandy Koufax seemed to scowl down at Josh, disappointed in a young ballplayer who didn’t know enough to stay out of trouble.

  Inside the director’s office, Josh and Benji sat in two wooden chairs facing a big empty desk. On a table in front of a wall of bookshelves stood two magnificent trophies. Several people popped their heads inside the doorway to look them over before disappearing. The man from the ticket booth did the same thing, pausing long enough to cluck his tongue before shaking his head like the others and disappearing.

  “Great idea,” Benji said, his face buried in his hands. “My dad’s gonna kill me if he has to come all the way here to get me. Man, I didn’t even get to see the Babe’s statue. Talk about exponential injustice.”

  “What’s that?” Josh asked.

  “I don’t know,” Benji said without removing his face from his hands. “I made it up. I heard Jaden use that word one time. I make stuff up when I’m depressed. Pretend I’m smart. Makes me feel better.”

  Josh sighed again. The knot in his stomach tightened when the woman reappeared with a white-haired man in a gray suit, who sat down at his desk.

  “These are the boys, Ms. Simmons?” the director asked.

  “They tried to ruin my event,” she said, pursing her lips and nodding sharply. “They lied to me and they snuck in. Mr. Mullen was very precise that he wanted a press conference that was closed to the public. They embarrassed us all, and as the Mullens’ official Coopers town event planner, I want them banned from this place for life.”

  The director narrowed his eyes, then shook his head with a sigh. “I can’t see banning two kids from the Hall of Fame for life, Ms. Simmons. This isn’t a movie set, and that’s not how we operate.”

  “At a minimum,” she said, scowling at the director, “their parents need to make sure they stay away from Mr. Mullen for the rest of the week. I have several events planned, and I don’t want these little stalkers showing up everywhere I turn.”

  Josh appealed to the director. “We just wanted to get our pictures with the statues of Hammering Hank and the Babe.”

  The director sighed and picked up his phone. “You want to give me your parents’ number, son?”

  Josh considered lying but thought about Sandy Koufax’s scowling face and knew he’d only dig himself deeper. If this went on much longer he’d miss dinner, and his dad would come looking for him anyway and that would only make it worse. He said his father’s number and the director began to dial.

  “Wait,” someone said.

  Josh turned his head toward the doorway.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “MR. MULLEN,” THE WOMAN said.

  The director put the phone back.

  In the doorway, looking remarkably small next to his twelve-year-old son, stood Mickey Mullen. His craggy face was deeply tanned, and his dirty blond hair fell in shaggy waves nearly into his striking bottle-blue eyes. He smiled with perfect teeth as white and gleaming as the stretch limo that got Jaden. The muscles in his arms looked tight beneath a short-sleeved white polo shirt. On his wrist hung a gold watch big enough to belong in Josh’s dad’s toolbox at home, and his fingernails had been carefully cut and polished to reflect the light.

  When Mickey Mullen stepped into the room, Josh felt a current of excitement rush through his body. This was the man he’d seen in old sports clips and more recently on the big screen with nerves and fists of steel, defeating villains, and always ready to flash his knowing smile or crack a joke even in the face of serious danger. Josh felt like he knew Mickey Mullen, like Mickey Mullen was part of his life. Then he realized that Mickey didn’t know him from twenty million other kids. Josh choked with a flush of words he wanted to use to impress the famous man, to show him all the ways in which he and Josh were exactly alike.

  Mickey Mullen stepped into the room as if it were a stage and delivered his lines.

  “You’re our event planner for the week, right? Felicity, right?” Mickey Mullen said. “I think that means ‘beautiful.’”

  Felicity blushed. “Actually it means ‘happy.’”

  “Which is the same thing, isn’t it?” Mickey Mullen said with a grin he now showed the director. “These boys are my son’s new friends.”

  Mickey Mullen nodded toward Mickey Jr., who stood now in the doorway. When Jaden peeked around him to give Josh a thumbs-up, he knew that bringing Mickey in to save them had been her idea.

  “I think this whole thing is just a misunderstanding,” Mickey said. “Heck, it was my shindig, and I don’t care that they got in.”

  “But Mr. Mullen, you said—”

  Mickey Mullen smiled that smile and the woman froze, blinking just once before melting into a soft puddle of good humor.

  Mickey turned to Josh, pointed at his cheek, and said, “Ouch. Hope you got the license plate of that truck.”

  “What truck?” Josh asked, baffled.

  “The one that ran over your face,” Mickey Mullen said, then laughed. “Only kidd
ing, son, but what happened to you?”

  “He got hit by a beanball,” Benji said, breaking in on the conversation.

  Josh scowled at Benji for answering the question that belonged to him.

  “Sure,” Mickey Mullen said. “Threw a couple beanballs myself back in the day. Part of the game, right, son?”

  Josh didn’t know what to say, so he touched his healing face, nodded lamely, and said, “I’m here for the tournament.”

  “I bet you are,” Mickey Mullen said, turning to the two elaborate trophies and pointing to the slightly smaller one. “And I wish you all the best on the runner-up’s trophy here. That’s what this is, right?”

  Mickey stepped to the table by the books and pointed to the smaller of the two trophies.

  “Yes it is,” the director said.

  Josh knit his eyebrows. He couldn’t keep from saying, “I play for the Titans, and we’re planning to win the big one.”

  Mickey Mullen smiled at Josh with twinkling eyes and shook his head ever so slightly, as if that just wasn’t going to happen. “Talk is cheap, and champions are like blue moons. They don’t come around much.”

  “Mr. Mullen,” Felicity said, “the director was just about to call these boys’ parents.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Mickey said. “I know just what these kids need.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  JOSH AND BENJI LEANED back, afraid of what Mickey Mullen would say.

  “An ice cream,” Mickey Mullen said, breaking out into his big grin again. “That’s what they need. These are good kids.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Mullen,” Josh said, hearing the words leave his mouth like he was playing a role in a Mickey Mullen movie.

  “Call me the Mick,” the great man said with his smile burning bright. “That’s what my friends call me. And watch out for those beanballs, will you?”