by Alice Ward
“Yes, Coach.” Calvin stood tall and straight like he was a cadet in military school and the coach was the drill sergeant. I wanted to laugh, but that’d only get me another screeching from the coach.
“Look, whether we like each other or not, we have to communicate,” I said, walking alongside Calvin down the long corridor back to the indoor field.
“Yeah,” he replied without enthusiasm. This was gonna be tougher than I thought.
Back on the field, I decided to be the bigger man. “How do you want your signals delivered?” I asked.
“Where I can fuckin’ see them,” he snarled.
I bit my tongue. You can do this, Todd.
“Look, I want you to see them, but not anyone else.” Was I seriously explaining myself to Golden Arm Malone?
“Open your legs a little wider, guard with your glove if you have to, but make the signals clear to me, and we’ll do just fine.”
I took a deep breath. “Fine. You got it.”
After an hour on the field without a batter, Calvin and I seemed to work out most of our kinks. There were two kinds of pitchers, those you had to pat on the back, and those you needed to kick in the ass. Calvin thought he was the first, but he was the latter. I’d work him into shape soon enough.
“You girls ready for some real action?” Ace Newman stepped onto the field. He rested the bat on his shoulder, strutted to home plate, turned and winked at me before turning to Calvin.
“I mean, I don’t want to interrupt your tea party,” he snorted.
Calvin nodded in my direction, smirked, and then waited for me to signal the pitch. I’d been watching Newman for years. He was a switch-hitter, a power-hitter, virtually unstoppable. He and Calvin had been pretty tight, so he could handle any of the Golden Arm’s pitches.
I spread my legs, nodded toward Ace’s left side to direct how I’d be moving against a left-hander. Calvin watched my single finger slide to the inside of my right thigh, then two to direct him to a fastball inside Newman’s weak zone. I held my glove up, displaying the direct target as he nodded. He wound up the pitch. I kept my glove steady as the ball blasted into the thick leather. It nearly knocked me off my feet. I loved the rush of the wind off the bat, and that sweet swoosh sound it made so close to my face as the ball slammed into my glove. That was the sensation I lived for on the field, the one I was known for creating time and time again. This was what Calvin Malone needed to respect and learn to trust. “Holy fuck,” Ace exclaimed, turning to offer me a quick wink.
“That’s what I want to see,” Coach yelled out from the sidelines.
After practice, I stripped down and hit the showers, uninterested in the rub down or the ice bath. Adrenaline was rolling through my veins like thunder. I didn’t want that soothed away or numbed down.
“Good job out there today,” Ace said, patting me on the back as he walked by. Calvin took notice of his generosity with a quick glare in my direction. Oh, so not only Whitney but I need to stay away from Ace too?
I dressed, gripped my duffel bag, and rushed out of the locker room. This was going to be a tough season. But, all I wanted was to beat the Mets and prove to them the mistake they’d made by letting me go. I needed Calvin Malone on my side to do that.
I knew eventually we’d get to the point where we were unstoppable. As much as I disliked the guy, Calvin was one helluva pitcher. His ability to read a player and my ability to read the field would create a battery that was more powerful than any before it. We were the strategic players on the field, the ones who led the players to victory or brought them to defeat. The brunt of the weight was on our shoulders, and without Calvin’s full trust, respect, and cooperation, it rested on mine alone.
CHAPTER FOUR
Katrina
Marlo, my supervisor at the radio station, was super gracious about my leaving for New York. “Your position is safe, but you’d be crazy to turn down this offer.” She sat on her desk sipping on an iced coffee. She was the only one I’d confided my family’s troubles to, so she knew how much this offer meant to me.
She was right. I’d be an idiot to turn down this opportunity. I was just worried that I couldn’t handle it. Jumping in over my head would be a career ender. “Go have some fun.” She pushed me out of her office.
My bags were already packed, my driver waiting outside to escort me to the airport. This was it. I took a quick selfie with a large smile to show excitement, even though I was riddled with fear. I posted it to my Snapchat account and climbed into the backseat of the red Suburban that had been hired to whisk me off to a new life.
Airport security was a nightmare. I was pulled aside for a random check, and those little blue pills for my nerves stuffed in my bra started to melt against my warm flesh as I was patted down, placed in another scanner, and then zapped with a handheld one. One of the workers dug through my bag, pushing my personal items to the top for everyone to see. I suddenly regretted packing my lace thongs in my carry on as they were displayed so openly atop my other items. “All clear,” the large lady with a stained white shirt announced. Finally.
My ticket was for a first-class seat, the place where I felt most at ease. I worried when Rhett’s assistant sent my itinerary that I’d be in business class, or worse, coach. It was a relief when the lady at the ticket counter printed out my ticket with the class clearly displayed on the top. As I entered the plane and was ushered into what they considered first-class, my excitement quickly diminished. The seats were larger, and they did recline, but that was about the extent of the difference between my section and the back. It was a short flight, the plane was small, and so what did I expect? I’d better get used to this. My life of luxury was over. Thanks, Dad.
A man wearing a bright red and deep gray shirt held a sign with my name written across it as I walked toward the baggage claim. I extended my hand, introduced myself, and then explained that I had to retrieve my bag. I felt a little foolish for packing so much, but I knew if I agreed to take the position, flying back to get my clothes wasn’t an option until I got my first paycheck. He was gracious, carrying my oversized bag to the car that waited out front. I climbed into the back, tried to calm my racing heart with thoughts of my parents, and how much this would mean to them to know I was okay. I was good at what I did, great actually, so what was I worried about?
“Mr. Hamilton has secured a place for you in one of our team apartments. Would you like to freshen up before your meeting?” the driver asked.
His eyes were the only thing I could see in the rearview mirror. Yes, freshening up sounded great. “That would be perfect.”
The car stopped in front of a tall red-brick building. “I’ll be back for you in an hour,” the driver said cheerfully as he gripped my bag.
I followed him into the building, watching him enter a code in the door too quickly for me to remember. I guessed they’d give that to me if I stayed. He hit the up arrow near the elevators, and once inside, hit ten, the top floor. Impressive.
There was only one door when the elevator opened. A suite? “This is your key,” he said, handing me a large silver key on a Beasts' logo keychain.
“Thank you,” I replied, hoping my voice wasn’t shaking as I spoke.
He waited for me to open the door, carried my bags inside, then left. I looked around the enormous apartment, in awe at the city view, and slightly intimidated by the lengths that Rhett had gone to impress me.
A small recording device was placed on the coffee table with a note beside it that said, “Play me.” I picked it up, hit the play button, and sat down on the couch as Rhett’s voice began to sound through the tiny speakers.
“Welcome, Katrina. I hope that your flight was smooth and that you find your accommodations acceptable. Please make yourself at home. My assistant has ensured that the place is fully stocked, but if you need anything else, you’ll find a company credit card to use in the envelope left on the coffee table. Also, the codes to the building, some quick notes for you to review about the
players, and key points that will be discussed during our meeting are included. I look forward to speaking with you soon.”
I was half expecting the last part of the message to include this message will self-destruct in 5, 4, 3, 2…
I chuckled at my James Bond reference, lifted the envelope from the table and opened it to explore the contents promised to be inside. A credit card, sure enough with my name already imprinted on it, was inside. I pulled out the folded papers, opening them to find notes that Rhett had provided for my review. I’d already done my homework on the team, so I skimmed past the part where he advised me to review each player’s social media status. Some of these players were real wild men, badasses, and troublemakers. The Beasts were known for their players' shenanigans. Rhett seemed to flock toward the players with the roughest reputations. Yes, they were some of the best in the league, but with the best you usually got over-sized egos, quick tempers, and giant cravings for self-destruction. Rhett was looked at as a glorified babysitter; some called him naïve for thinking he could tame the players he pulled in. I looked at him as revolutionary. He didn’t fear the bad publicity but used it to his advantage. Let’s face it, without all the problems that Ace, Calvin, and Luke had created during the first two seasons, who would’ve even cared what was going on with this new team? He was smart. So, why did he want me to clean it all up?
A loud buzz sounded inside the apartment as I packed my notes into my bag. “I’m waiting out front whenever you’re ready.” The voice belonged to my driver, but I wasn’t sure where it'd come from. I looked around the room, found an intercom near the front door, and hit the button below it to let him know I was on my way down.
I was nervous as we pulled up to the enormous stadium. The driver escorted me through the large building to a private elevator to which I didn’t have a key. Once the doors opened, he motioned for me to exit, and hit the button to close the doors without stepping out with me. The floors were so shiny they created a glare. The long glass display case offered up the complete uniforms of all the players. “Miss Delaney.” I turned to find an attractive blonde standing before me.
“Mr. Hamilton is expecting you,” she said graciously.
I followed her through a set of thick wooden doors to a large office overlooking the city. The tall buildings, the Long Island Sound, and the view of the city made my heart race. It was breathtaking. Rhett Hamilton stood behind his large walnut desk. His dark hair slicked back from his face, his square chin widened with the curl of his lips, and as he walked around the desk to greet me with an open hand, I felt intimidation run through my veins. He was much more handsome than I remembered, and even more so than in any of his pictures. “So glad you made it,” he said as if I’d done him a favor.
“Of course, thank you for inviting me,” I responded.
His hands were smooth, as if they’d never seen a day’s worth of hard work in their life. He had a strong manly scent, a mixture of pine and musk as he stepped closer to me. The blonde disappeared from the office, closing the doors behind her. “Sit.” He motioned toward the chair in front of his desk.
I took my seat, looked around the office at all the plaques, photos, and sports memorabilia. Not just the Beasts, but the Mets, Yankees, and even some from my dad’s old team, the Braves.
“Did you get a chance to go over my notes?” he asked, sitting back down behind his regal desk.
“Yes. I’d already done the research on the team though,” I noted to show my professionalism and enthusiasm.
He chuckled. “I figured.”
“Do you have any questions for me before I dive into what I need from you?” he asked.
“Yes. Why do you want the image cleaned up? Isn’t the publicity from the players what drove the spotlight onto your team?”
He leaned back into his tall leather seat, his hands clamped together behind his head, and a smile curled on his lips. “You see, this is why I wanted you. You’re smart.”
“So, you don’t want them cleaned up?”
“This is where it gets tricky. I need a good image for my players, one that the fans can respect. But, their bad boy mentality is what keeps the fans interested, so there’s a fine line I don’t want to cross.”
“What do you need me to do?” I asked, still confused on why I was here.
He leaned forward, placed his elbows on the desk and gazed at me with an intense stare. “You know baseball. Hell, you were raised by one of the best players in the league, and a bad boy in his own right, I’d like to add. You wouldn’t change what makes your father who he is, but wouldn’t it be nice to create a smooth edge that allowed everyone to see what you see?” he asked.
I was stuck on the not changing what makes my father who he is. That part, I didn’t entirely agree with. But, I did understand what he was trying to do. Many people looked at my dad as a hot head, but he was really a teddy bear. It was passion that drove him to go face to face with the umpires, passion that created the fights with other players on the field. “Okay. I think I understand what you’re trying to accomplish.”
His grin widened, and his eyes softened as he leaned back into his chair. “Good.”
“My players' publicity, good or bad is what got us where we are. But, now it’s time to create good PR without taming the Beasts too much. So, rein them in as much as possible without killing their spirits. For everything they do to create bad publicity, coat it with ten great things to create positive publicity.” His words sounded rational in my head, but implementing what he set out for was going to be tough, maybe even impossible.
“I can do that,” I said confidently.
“Does that mean you’re in?” he asked.
There was no discussion of salary, wage, or workload. Normally I wouldn’t have cared, but now it was all that mattered. Whether or not I could do the job he wanted was irrelevant to what he was going to pay me to try. “I’d like a bit more information on my position,” I said, hoping that was enough to encourage the discussion of money. Rhett Hamilton was a business man, so he had to respect that I needed the details before signing. But he was used to getting what he wanted, that was obvious. His demeanor was cocky but kind. He was the man who spit out what he wanted and had three dozen people at his feet vowing to make it happen, no questions asked. I didn’t have that benefit anymore, thanks to my daddy. I needed details. I couldn’t afford to move to a new city for another unpaid internship.
His smile faded as his expression turned serious. He grabbed a pen, scribbled on a piece of paper, and pushed it in my direction. “The apartment you’re in now will remain available to you for three months, until you can find a place of your own. Of course the company card is yours to use for anything you need relating to the position, and this is what the position offers,” he said, lifting his hand from the white paper.
I slid it from the desk, looked at the generous salary with more zeros than expected, and tried not to show too much enthusiasm as I looked back up at Rhett. “And the position responsibilities?” I asked, clearing my throat to eliminate the cracks in my voice.
“That is where Lana will have to take over. You will be answering to me, no matter what she tells you. Not everyone likes my plan to keep the bad boy image, so you’d be my inside girl, so to speak. You would be expected to interact with players, coordinate charity events, update social media pages, and of course, keep a close eye on all the press surrounding the team and each player individually.”
Overwhelmed with emotion I was trying to force back, I simply nodded.
“Do we have a deal?” he asked, standing to extend his hand to me one last time.
I was excited; ecstatic really. Of course we had a deal. “I look forward to the challenge,” I said, reaching out for his hand. “Thank you for this incredible opportunity.”
He shook my hand, then pushed a button on his desk. “I want you to meet Lana. She will fill you in on everything you need to know.”
Seconds later, a tall woman with fire red hair spiked
atop her head entered the office. She wore cat-eye glasses with a gold chain, bright red lipstick, and a pants suit that looked manly and unflattering on her thin frame. “Lana Lawson, PR and Marketing Director for the Beasts,” she said with authority. Her hand extended to me with a stiff arm. I wondered if her face had ever smiled.
“Katrina Delaney,” I responded, taking her hand for a formal introduction.
“I want you to show Katrina the ropes. Give her access to everything and everyone. She is our new social media management lead for the team and the players.” Rhett gave her a stern look. It was evident she wasn’t pleased with her orders as her lips pursed tightly together and her grip on my hand tightened.
“Of course.” Her mouth spread open in what appeared as an attempt to smile, showing more teeth than an angry Rottweiler.
Lana was quick to escort me from the office alone, to get her shiny white teeth into me I was certain. “Everything you do goes through me first,” she barked. I smiled and nodded, knowing that Rhett had told me otherwise.
“Set up your Google Alerts with the team name, all the players, and anything surrounding our brand.” I’d already done what she requested but simply nodded instead of trying to prove myself worthy in the moment. I walked fast to keep up with her long legs. Her high heels made a vicious sound on the hard floor, and her long, manicured nails snapped hard against her phone as she tapped with a vengeance at the screen. “Why Rhett has given you such access to the venue, I have no idea. But be careful where you tread, this isn’t a local radio station that can handle a few mistakes. This is major league baseball, the Beasts, a New York team, a new team; it takes precision, dedication, and patience to get it right. So you do nothing without my approval, got it?” she said in a professional but cold tone, hitting the down button on the elevator with her long red dagger.
She’d done her homework on me obviously. Her ego was huge, which made her more intimidating than Rhett had been. Was I cut out for this?