Player no more, p.31
Player No More, page 31
“You find the place okay?’’
“Sure. I just received a phone call as I was parking in the lot.’’
“Everything all right?’’
“Fine.’’ She smiled a plastic grin.
“I’ve missed you.’’ Rod held her chair out for her then circled the small, round table.
The waiter came over on Kat’s heels. Rod told the man two glasses of the house Merlot. Katherine really didn’t go for red wines but she just didn’t care to mess with Rod’s roll. He took up his menu. “You like Chinese food?’’
“Sure do.’’
“What do you have a taste for this evening?’’
A real man. “Oh, I don’t know.’’ She exhaled and her eyes cris-crossed the menu.
When the waiter returned with the wine, they ordered. Rod had a beef and eggplant dish and Katherine decided on Kung Po Chicken. The red-jacketed waiter smiled at her when she told him to make it very spicy.
“I know this isn’t Alice’s, and that you are used to dealing with fellows with real money, but I got some dough. I can get you anything you might want, take you anywhere.’’
Kat rolled her eyes. “It’s not about that. You are making me sound superficial. I don’t appreciate that.’’
“I am just saying that I can make you happy. I want to make you happy. If he doesn’t love you right, don’t waste your time. If he don’t treat you like he should, then you should be mine.’’
What the hell is he saying? What is he talking about?
“I don’t see you as the type that is going to be out all night clubbing. How is that love? He doesn’t respect you.’’
She had to say something. But what should she say? She did a quick search of her wisdom, years of dating. What words had guys used to dump her easy?
She didn’t come up with anything right off. She just wasn’t the fake type. Katherine was honest with others to a fault.
She instead asked, “Why are you giving me the full court press when you know I’m leaving in a month or two?’’
“I like you, Katherine. I want to make you smile. I want to love you like you deserve it.’’
“Listen, Rodney,’’ Kat moved up on her seat, elbows on the table. “I respect where you are coming from. But I don’t see us as a couple. This is not what I want.’’
The food came.
“This? What does that mean?’’
The young Asian runner moved quickly, placing the plates down with precision and stealth.
Kat said, “I came to Portland to accomplish a job. That is my number one priority. I didn’t come seeking love or a man or someone to love me.’’
She lied and it didn’t hurt coming out.
“But that’s what you have. I love you.’’
“You love me, Rodney?’’
“With all my heart.’’ Rod’s voice didn’t crack, didn’t show the kind of emotion that would have swayed Kat in his favor.
Kat was touching her fork, twirling it. “How did you fall in love with me? We haven’t spent that much time together.’’
“It’s all about you. You are all that, and I want to be with you.’’
Shit. Be honest, she told herself. “Rod. I don’t feel the same way. It’s not you. You are a nice guy, but it’s just that right now I’m not ready for a relationship. I just want us to be friends. That is all I want from you, is your friendship...’’
Damn, he said to himself. She just used two old, tired lines on me. He understood that that’s what women told a man when he was not the guy.
“A nice guy,’’ he said.
“...I’ll be going back to Milwaukee soon and...’’
“Don’t call me that.’’
“There’s nothing wrong with being a nice guy.’’
“Yes there is. Women want assholes. You’d rather have a man treat you like crap. Show you no respect no interest.
“That’s what women like. Women like dogs.’’
“Is that what you think of me?’’ She was holding her filled fork and searing him with her eyes. “If so, how could you say you love me?’’
“You’d rather go out with a known womanizer than a man that treats you like the African princess that you are.’’
“That is not true.’’
Rod sighed and looked away as if in disgust. “So what’s the deal with you and Oscar Taylor?’’
Katherine was stunned, but remain chilled. She put the food back off her fork and rested the fork on the plate. Her voice lowered. The sound of the piano chimed into her words. “Oscar Taylor and I are friends. Just like you and I. I enjoy his company. He does treat me with respect.’’
“Until you give him some.’’
“If we can’t be friends then maybe I should just leave.’’ She pushed her chair back and stood. She tossed her napkin over her half-eaten dinner. “Good night, Rodney.’’
“He’s got you fooled.’’
Katherine moved away, wanting very much to kick herself. Should have dropped him that first night...but still she smiled. She recalled her mother’s words to her when she was worried about Katherine reaching her thirties single. Mom said, You could meet your soul mate just about anywhere at anytime. Be prepared.
“How about after a date with a loser, Mom?’’ Kat said aloud and she keyed the Jag. “Could Mister Right be the guy I found passed out in my bed?’’
THIRTY-FIVE
Katherine could barely sleep the night before the Crowns were to fly back into Portland. During that day at work she was a wreck. Anticipation was shaking her thoughts and bones.
The Crowns flew into town at the dawning of a new workweek, another Monday. The team was asleep most of the two-plus hour flight from Los Angeles. The players moved through PDX, Portland’s airport, like zombies, and they looked the part. PDX was eerie in the morning darkness, silent and dead. They snatched up their personal bags from the team’s carousel and schlepped out to their respective rides. No one was pleased that Louis wanted to have practice that afternoon, just a few hours later, at Adkins.
Unlike most of his teammates, Oscar stayed awake. After two hours of reading the gathered daily newspapers off his porch, and avoiding listing to Vidal’s date screaming for mercy, he phoned Katherine at her office.
When her secretary told her it was Oscar a streak of fright brought panic. She took a deep breath and let him wait until she was cool.
“Good morning,’’ she said cheerfully.
“Back at ya.’’
“When did you get in?’’
` This was an Oscar-winning performance.
“A couple of hours ago. We still on for dinner?’’
“Sure. You up to it?’’
“Yeah. I’m looking forward to seeing you.’’
She was knocked silent. Her mind was telling her to say something cute, like ‘are you now?’ but nothing came.
Oscar said, “We have practice this afternoon, we should be done by six. I can pick you up.’’
“No no,’’ she shook her head. “I have to work late. Why don’t you just come to the house? Meet me there after practice?’’
“Okay. See you then.’’
“Bye.’’
She hung up and sighed in relief.
For the first time in his career Jack Newhouse knew coming to the ballpark he was not going to be in the starting lineup, and wouldn’t be for what seemed to be a long time. The Crowns had made a trade the night before for a rightfielder. It was disheartening and disparaging. There he was, still in many people’s minds one of the better right fielders in the game and he can’t start on the team he had led to so many victories in big games. He had had a fine World Series, had signed a spanking new fat contract. But now he was just a benchwarmer.
Leslie Louis thought Jack’s better days were behind him. Louis wanted and got a new right fielder. And when Jack made a game-costing error that was Louis green light to implement his change.
Maybe he was losing it, Jack considered. Maybe he no longer could be productive. There were many fastballs he hadn’t caught up to that season before Juris was fired and Louis was brought in. And he was haunted by the play the got him benched. It was a low, sinking line drive that was hit hard and right at him. He froze like a deer in headlights. When he move to catch it, the ball skipped by him and Oscar had to run a country mile to get the bounding ball. Not many outfielders, including Oscar, would have made that play easily. But Jack used to, often.
Oscar wouldn’t let Jack get down on himself.
“All this means shit, nothing,’’ Oscar told him while they dressed for that afternoon’s practice. “Life is more than just baseball, and more than whether you started a game in late July. Who cares?’’
Jack listened, very surprised of the source. He asked Oscar, “What, are you growing up?’’
“Been grown.’’
“Used to be all you’d say was fuck ‘em.’’
“Let me tell you something, New, fuck is a good word and I still feel that way often. I am playing baseball because I love it. I’m talking to you because I love you. If I got benched, I’d take and I’d be here because I love the game, I love being around the guys. And fuck Leslie Louis. He ain’t the man, he’s just the supervisor. And like most Americans, we hate our boss but love our job.’’
Jack swallowed the knowledge.
“None of these motherhumpers can take away any of what you accomplished here. Your name is in the books for life. This place wasn’t even on the major league baseball map before you got here. You did shit here, shit they can’t erase. None of them. Not Slight, not that faggot-ass Louis, nobody. That white boy starting in your stead ain’t shit. Juris would have cut him.’’
The word you never meant so much. Jack was feeling better, respected.
Oscar went on, “Like always, if you decided to go next year, or sooner, we both out. I am not staying without you. But I think you have no reason to hang you head. You are an all star in this league. If you have to sit, hold you head high. You can look anybody in the eye. I wouldn’t have caught that ball. And you didn’t because Louis and his no-nothing coaches have you playing too deep.’’
“Damn,’’ Jack could have kicked himself. He was too deep to play that ball. Juris had taught him to play shallow, how to go back on balls and it had made him a great outfielder.
When Guy Falatico, the Crowns new rightfielder, was introduced to Oscar, and given the locker near Jack and Oscar, O showed his allegiance in full color. Oscar slapped him on the back of his neck really hard. The sound vibrated through the chatty locker room. Guy, new to the Crowns and Adkins, then had nerve to ask Oscar where the underground batting cages were. Oscar told him to go around Adkins, through a door with the security guard sitting out front.
So, Guy Falatico went outside, with his bat on his shoulder and his pearly white uniform on, past fans on line buying tickets, to which he said, “Hi. Just getting a little batting practice.’’ He went through the door-not noticing the guard scratch his head in disbelief. He walked down the corridor and there were all the Minnesota players working out. Their manager looked at Guy like, ‘What the fuck do you want?’ and Guy said, “You guys must still be hitting, huh?’’
The manger of the visiting ballclub said, “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but this is the Twins clubhouse, dumbass.’’
Guy ran all the way back to the Crowns’ locker like a rabbit that had strolled into a fox meeting, and half the team was on the floor laughing when he returned. Oscar was laughing so hard that he was crying.
Jack smiled in admiration; that’s my man.
After the three-hour workout Jack dressed quickly after practice and for the first time in his career hid from the press. He stayed in the showers, off limit to reporters, with a six-pack of Bud. He just didn’t want to answer any questions; not about losing his job or his wife’s attackers being arrested. He was considering that Oscar was right; it just didn’t matter whether he started for these Portland Crowns. He was there when the team became world famous, and when the franchise won its only championship.
When he knew Oscar would be dressed, and most of the reporters had gone, he came back into the clubhouse. He’d walk out with Oscar and not have to worry about being approached by the media.
Jack thought he had out waited the press and his teammates when he returned to the silent clubhouse. But he found Oscar sitting in his stall, also drinking a Bud.
Jack asked his boy, “Waiting for me?’’
“Not really. Just killing time.’’ He wanted to tell Jack about Katherine, to tell his best friend just how he felt. To hear the words come out his mouth. He was open, eager to start something new with a woman and couldn’t get himself to tell his boy. He felt Jack would just shrug it off. Oscar hadn’t taken a woman seriously in a long time. He also felt that Jack was bitter about the way things went down with Sondra. Jack told him before they got engaged that he would hurt Sondra.
“I’m sure Djuana is cooking,’’ Jack said undressing. “Why don’t you come home with me?’’
“I have plans.’’
“Really?” Jack’s eyebrows raised.
“Nothing like that. Just some quiet time.’’
“Good.’’
“You know something,’’ Oscar finished off his can of beer. "I was sick to death the other week, the other day. I was sick as hell and nobody gave a shit. There was a young lady I barely knew that took care of me, but after that, psss. Nothing.’’
“Sick, man?’’ Jack was naked. He tossed his practice uniform in the laundry bin. “I didn’t know that.’’
“The flu, fever, whatever. My point is that I don’t have anybody.’’
“Yeah, you do. Man, you have friends. More than most.’’
Oscar watched Jack strut to the showers.
“But are they friends?’’ Oscar said behind Jack.
“I am. You can count on me.’’
O popped another brew.
The two men left out together, their cars next to each other in adjacent parking slots.
Professional athletes, much like actors, were used to being stared at constantly so the small audience gathered at the gate was no big deal to veterans like Jack or Oscar. A few of the children called to Oscar and Jack, they waved and caused the begging to start. “Please sign this...Give me a ball...I love you Oscar.’’ Some numnutt shouted, “Oscar, you suck!’’
Among the small gathering of gawkers was Rodney Rose. When he saw the two players leave the stadium and enter the gated lot he was excited and relieved. Not giddy like the Crowns faithful he had been standing near. He was satisfied that he was closer to finally get his feelings off his chest. He watched the players while the other fans grew irritated by the snubs. While they dispersed Rodney stood there and watched.
When he caught Jack’s eye he nodded. Jack glared at him and turned his eyes to Oscar. O was putting new CDs into the holder in the trunk. Through the quiet dusk, Rodney called to him, “Can I have a word with you, Mr. Taylor? In private?’’
Oscar studied the guy. He wasn’t a reporter; he would have been inside. Oscar looked the guy over. He had nothing in his hands, nothing for Oscar’s signature. Oscar didn’t recognize him, so he continued to load the CD player. Fuck him, was his mannerism.
Rodney called to Oscar again.
“What motherfucker?’’ a red light was flashing in O’s head, his sixth sense that he never ignored. Shit was about to get thick up in here.
“I just want to talk to you for a second.’’
“Talk.’’
“Face to face.’’
“What do you want?’’
“Not to talk through this gate, for one.’’
Jack was concerned. The security guards were all inside. Jack and Oscar had passed them on the way out. They were chilling, fooling around as if their night was over.
Oscar set the CDs and closed the trunk.
“You know him?’’ Jack whispered.
“No. Don’t worry about it. Head home.
Jack didn’t move.
Oscar closed the hood and went about twenty feet to the entrance/exit that had the mechanical arm that the players had a key card for. Rodney followed, as did the fans who scurried to be the first to Oscar. Jack was stiff, leaning on his Pathfinder. He wondered if Oscar was strapped. He must have a gun to walk up on some guy he didn’t know that had been waiting outside for him.
Jack and Oscar had many experiences with men that waited for them in certain places, like their hotel or a stadium. It was never a good meeting. Either the guy was a drug dealer, a gambler or a robber.
Oscar waved to the people. “I’m not signing any autographs.’’
“I just wanted to say hi,’’ an overweight white woman grumbled.
“Hello, now get ghost. Aren’t you too old to be begging?’’
“Asshole.’’
Rodney said, “Let’s walk.’’
Oscar led them back into the lot. He knew that the people in Portland, unlike other urban places, respected lines, Keep Out signs and boundaries. No one came in behind them.
Oscar put his hands in his jacket for no reason, just fidgeting, and discovered a stogie. He revealed it; it was one of Slight’s finest. Oscar licked and lit it. He scolded himself, gotta stop robbin’ the boss man. He was thinking of offering Rodney the cigar but thought better of it. What if the guy was out for a fight and he gave him his last stogie?
Jack leaned on his ride and took in the whole scene.
They walked a few parking spaces before Rodney said a word. He cleared his throat and said in an undertone, “Your season’s going pretty well, considering. You’re probably going to lead the league in steals again.’’
Oscar blew smoke in his direction. “Cut the bull like a matador. What you want?’’
“Oh, you like it forward?’’ He turned bitter, speaking confidentially now. “Stay away from Katherine. I don’t want you to hurt her. If she hurts...Every ounce of tears she sheds will be equaled to an ounce of blood I will take from your body.’’
