I hear my phone ringing from the bedroom and while fastening the towel around my chest, I take my time to retrieve it and silence the ringing.
I look at the name on the screen and take a steady breath as I press the green button to answer.
“Hello Mr. Lyons.” I answer.
“So, shitty huh?” He starts the conversation. “I wasn’t too keen on shit ass news to start my day with yesterday, so I can only imagine that you weren’t either. Did you have any indication that we were going to get canned?” He fires question after question.
“None. Earlier, I was interviewing the new players and then eating lunch, and then I was called into the coach’s office and was given the news. Why wouldn’t they have pulled us before spring training?”
“I have no clue. Listen, I’m sorry Ms. Rotham, I know that the assignment with the Hornets was close to you and you’ve excelled with the team and our agency for the past few years. But don’t fret; when you get back into town, we have some new prospects for a new client load for you that I would love to get your take on.”
“Speaking of which, when are you expecting me back in, now that my assignment is over?” I ask.
“Just come back when Gunnar is coming back. You haven’t had a solid vacation in a while. I know that is happening in a few days, right?” He asks.
“Yeah, he’s got some meetings at the end of the week, he’s coming back early,” I reply.
“Good, take the time to get some R&R and to soak in the life of a civilian at Spring Training.”
“Will do. Thanks Mr. Lyons.”
“See you when you get back,” he says hanging up.
I resume getting dressed, by the time I emerge from the bedroom, its noon, and my stomach is growling.
I open the fridge and see a plate wrapped in Saran Wrap with a note in front of it with Gunnar’s chicken scratch. I pull it out and smile as I finger the plate.
SAW,
Figured you could use some deliciousness in your stomach.
Game is at two, hope you are feeling well enough to come by.
Love you babe.
XX - Gun
I SMILE and pull the covering off the sandwich and pick it up.
It’s delicious.
Gunnar’s sandwiches are my favorite; one of his favorite things to do is to experiment with different sandwich ingredients. Sometimes his concoctions are successful, while other times the both of us would be green in the face and spitting out the contents in the trash. I take a bite of the sandwich and moan in happiness. He accidentally came up with this one during the off-season last year, roast beef, Muenster cheese, sprouts, and cream cheese on sourdough bread was my favorite of his creations.
I sink my teeth into the mixture of textures again and chew in a content and satisfied silence while looking around the space. Gunnar said that he rented this huge house to see how it would feel living in a larger space and since I have been here, I haven’t taken the time to actually bask in it.
I finish my sandwich, my glass of water and set it in the sink. I have some time before I should get ready and head to the stadium to watch the practice game. We currently live in one of the high-rise buildings overlooking the ball field in downtown San Diego and while I love our two-bedroom condo, it would be nice to have a little more space. The second bedroom, which is our office, has a pull out couch, but couch pull out beds are never comfortable. And what about if we choose to have children down the line, or have more than one guest overnight. We will definitely need to have more room. I stand by the French doors that lead to an entertainer’s dream backyard and lean my forehead against the cold window. I would like a backyard, a green space to have a dog eventually to let run around in the backyard.
I smile and envision Gunnar in the backyard playing catch with a smaller version of him with a dog chasing after the ball they toss back and forth. With Gunnar grilling at the BBQ and a bunch of our friends hanging out too. Or the same picture, with a miniature version of him and me running and laughing around the space.
My cell phone ringing breaks me from the haze of my daydream and I turn to the counter and answer.
“Babe?” Gunnar’s voice asks.
“The one and only.” I say dryly.
“Sarcasm. Nice. I see that you must be feeling better, did you get my sandwich?”
“You mean my sandwich?” I tease.
“Yes.”
“I did. Thank you for thinking of that. What’s up?”
“You coming this afternoon?” he asks anxiously.
“I am, everything okay?” I ask with concern.
“Everything good. I just um, left my cup at the house, and I kind of need it, you know just in case I have to play today.” he says in a low voice.
“Why is your cup here?” I ask.
“I washed it last night and think I left it in the washroom. Can you do me a solid and bring it with you? I swear, it’s clean, so don’t afraid to touch it.” He teases.
“Like I’ve never touched your package before.” I tsk.
“See you in a bit then.”
“I’ll see you with your cup in a bit.”
EIGHT
GUNNAR
A FEW OF the pitchers and I practice for the game this afternoon with Bellows and one of the farm boys. I catch a pitch right in the groin and felt like the world went black. It was then that I was aware that I left one of the most essential pieces of a catcher’s equipment at home, my cup.
Thankfully, Sawyer appeared about thirty minutes before the start of the game with my cup twirling on her finger for everyone to see.
The whoops and hollers that the players gave was comical, and while I should be embarrassed, the fact that my woman was twirling my cup, reflected to these idiot farm guys that she was mine.
I hated that part of her being here at Spring Training, not all the players knew who she was and who she was to me, so luckily this time I didn’t need to push around any novice, instead my lady did it for me, non-verbally.
Whistles echoed through the dugout as Bently, Masters and Bellows latched onto the chain-linked fence to point and call out to me as I walk up to Sawyer.
I grab the cup out of her hand; wrap my arm around her waist to pull her to me.
“You didn’t have to parade it through the field like that you know.” I say against her lips.
“I kind of did,” she replies into my mouth as her head cranes to the side and our tongues meet briefly.
The whistles continue behind us from my teammates as my hand splays across her ass as I pull her closer - despite our bodies being pressed firmly against one another - to me.
“This is un-professional Gun. I’ll be the one cheering the other team on,” she jokes breaking the kiss.
“Very funny.” I say squeezing her ass lightly as she pulls herself completely out of my grasp and begins to walk away. I watch her shapely ass, sway from side to side until she walks out of my sight and is behind the dugout, then re-emerging in the stands as she takes a seat.
SAN DIEGO WON against Seattle by a landslide. I played the first two innings since Bellows wasn’t ready and as requested by the Skipper. Then one of the farm kids stepped up and took over. He kept getting his signals messed up, then as the same continued - he got with the program just as the Skipper took him out and replaced him with Bellows, when he was finally ready. I showered in the locker room before coming out of the clubhouse and walked straight to Sawyer who was standing talking with Brad Masters.
I place my arm around her shoulder and kiss her temple as a greeting.
“Think any of these kids are going to make roster?” Brad asks me.
“I think there are a few good contenders, and I hope we’ll have some who stay on the farm.”
“What do you think, Chainsaw?” Brad directs to Sawyer.
“I agree with Gun. I think that the new guys can learn a lot though through you old men.” Sawyer says with a laugh, while punching my side.
“Isn’t that what Spri
ng Training is though, a chance for some of these rooks to up their game, show the Skipper and the rest of the managers that they’re worth bringing up on the roster?” Masters asks.
“Fellas, fellas. Let’s simmer down and get this show on the road. We’ve only got a couple of days left here in Arizona and I want to make the most out of it.” I say.
“What do you plan to do?” Masters asks.
“Sit poolside with a margarita while my man waits on me hand and foot in a thong.” Sawyer jokes.
Masters wiggles his eyebrows and smirks at me. “Looks like you have a full schedule ahead of you until you take off.”
“If only it was warmer outside, but I also didn’t pack any man thongs.” I reply.
“You headed back to Diego soon?” Masters asks the both of us.
Sawyer nods and I respond; “Yeah, we both take off from Sky Harbor on Friday.”
PENS ARE WAVING in my face. Pads of papers are thrusted in front of me. I smile and take each pen and scrap of paper carefully in hopes to make a small moment where these fans are in the presence of an athlete. There are both children and adults in front of me, all are patiently waiting for their turn, and a few of the younger boys are asking questions.
“Gunnar! Gunnar! Are you and Bently best friends?”
“Gunnar, what do you do when you’re not playing baseball?”
“Gunnar! What’s your favorite color?”
Sawyer stands off to the side, watching the crowd around me with a smile on her face. She’s leaning against a wall with her arms crossed over her chest observing the scene in front of her. She’s used to this when we travel together, and she’s so easy going about it that sometimes I feel guilty for taking my time with some of the people asking for an autograph. She knows that I will stand there until our flight needs to take off, and I love her for her utmost patience.
“Flight number Seventeen Eighty for San Diego, now boarding first class passengers. Now boarding first class passengers.” A voice on the speaker chimes.
“Gun. That’s us.” Sawyer says sweetly coming up to the edges of the crowd. I nod and smile at the kid in front of me.
“Last one guys, I’ve got to make my flight home.” I smile signing my name on the notepad handed over to me. I hand it back and ruffle the kids’ shaggy hair as a gap in the small crowd surrounding me breaks so I can get through. Sawyer holds her hand out to me and I take it, bringing it to my mouth to kiss the back.
“Let’s go home.” I say.
“Home,” she confirms.
NINE
SAWYER
THE FRONT OFFICE doors swoosh open and I put one dreaded foot in front of the other. I weave through the cubicles all the way to my office along the back wall. I was granted an office after the first year of working with the Hornets, even though I pushed back and refused the office at first, I came into the office one morning and all my belongings in my cubicle was moved into the office that I am now walking into.
It’s nothing glamorous, it has four walls and a roof, one of the walls was half window overlooking Interstate 8 freeway. I have a few photos hanging on the wall, some inspirational quotes and a few of Gunnar and myself.
I haven’t been at work in two weeks. I left excited to start on another season full of promos for the teams’ new players and the current roster. I came back with no idea or direction as to how my career will go and what my future days will contain.
Will I get new clients? Will those clients push me harder or less than the Hornets did? Will my new clients like me? Will I like them?
My nerves are rattled as I take a seat behind my desk, not just because of the potential of a completely new workload, but also because today Gunnar has his meetings with management to discuss his future and the options that are on the table for him. I start up the computer and see the calendar appointment for a meeting with Mr. Lyons, to likely discuss new clients.
I look at the clock and note that I have a few minutes to spare before my meeting and make a visit to the ladies room and then to the kitchen to fill up my mug with coffee.
“Rotham!” A booming voice from behind says into the empty room.
I turn around and see Wayne from the Art Department.
“Hey Wayne.” I say with a smile as I stir the milk into my coffee.
“Welcome back! How was the beiges of Arizona?”
“The beiges of Arizona?” I ask.
“You know, because Arizona is all desert and shit.” He laughs.
I roll my eyes and bring the mug to my lips as the warm smoky vanilla-like flavor bursts onto my taste buds.
“Oh Wayne. Always the joker. Arizona was great; it was perfect weather and good company.” I say as I make my way across the room, in his direction. “I’ve got a meeting, nice to see you.”
I walk past him, into my office to pick up my notepad and then I knocked on my boss’s office door. I open the door and take a seat in front of his desk, ready for whatever he hands me.
He had a bunch of different colored folders lining up one side of his desk and on the other side; his computer screens had a few spreadsheets on them.
I settle into the chair with an eagerness to hear what he has to say. I just didn’t expect it to bum me out as much as it did.
TEN
GUNNAR
I FEEL like today has been a busy day.
So much information, and so much to look forward to. I just had a lot of thinking to do, and I couldn’t wait to share the information with Sawyer.
There are still another few hours until Sawyer would get home from her workday, so I worked out in the gym. I got over the initial high of all the information discussed during the several meetings today and after I showered in the locker room, I made my way home.
“Hey laaaaady?” I call through the house as I set my bag down just inside the door to our condo.
I hear her tinkering around in the kitchen and set my feet in that direction.
Our condo is small; it is two bedrooms and condensed. The kitchen, the dining room and living room are all one big room. Spending so much time in that huge house in Arizona definitely left me craving change for something bigger. I just hope that Sawyer feels the same.
I turn the corner, see Sawyer slinging back a shot and then slam the shot glass down on the counter.
“Whoa. Shit day babe?” I ask her as I stand on the other side of the counter.
“Definitely not an awesome day,” she slurs.
With concern, I observe her and notice that her hair looks like she’s run her hands through it repeatedly; she hasn’t changed out of her work clothes, which she usually does as soon as she comes home, and she’s obviously drunk.
“Babe?” I side up next to her and pull her to me.
“It’s okay, I’m okay,” she defends herself.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“I had a meeting with Mr. Lyons today and he presented me with some new companies to consult for, and well I’m sure they’re great - but I feel that the companies are just not up to par with the Hornets. Like I’m being demoted, because the Hornets went with another company, as if it’s my fault that they switched.”
“You don’t believe that do you?” I ask, hoping that she doesn’t.
“I don’t know. The accounts are bullshit. A dog walking company, a coffee shop - that’s far from the high status of the Hornets accounts,” she replies. “It’s mini ponies in a huge whatever grand show that those stupid horses prance around and do stunts in. Then they get those freaking huge flower necklaces or whatever those are.
“Maybe these companies are looking for someone of your caliber to bring their company into the public eye that they haven’t had previously. Maybe you are just what these companies need to succeed and become something great.” I tell her, hoping that she hears my words as my hand around her waist traces her curves lightly.
“Do you really think so?” She asks her voice unsure and seeking confirmation as she looks at me.
“Bab
e. You revamped up the Hornets team with making the players personable. We did more community events that made us human and not just celebrities. That was you! When management hired you it was because of you and not because of me.”
“The Hornets has always been a great franchise, nothing about your previous branding or anything was bad, I just changed it up a bit,” she hiccups.
“I can go on and on about how much you’ve done for the team. However, babe, you are awesome at what you do. I would just write this off as a new opportunity and that’s it.”
“I’m scared Gun. I am scared of failing, of starting over. I mean, shit… there is so much happening right now. You… you are going to… oh my God - your meetings today. I’m so sorry, what happened? What do we know?” She asks looking up to me.
“A lot. A lot happened today, but we can wait until later to talk about everything.”
“No, I want to know. It was eating at me all day, amongst my crap,” her hands grasp onto my shirt.
“You sure?” I ask for confirmation.
She nods her head and angles her head to the couch.
“The trade rumors are true. I’m a free agent right now and other teams are asking for me to play for them. San Diego flat out said that they’re not going to keep me. They’re aiming for players for each team and if the money’s right, I don’t know – we’ll see what happens.”
“Who is interested?” She asks eagerly.
“Boston. Arizona. And Seattle.” I run my palm over my face as I gauge her reactions.
“It snows in Boston. It’s hot as sweaty balls in Arizona and it rains in Seattle,” she replies.
“Thank you for the weather report Ms. Rotham.” I joke. “What’s on the forecast for tonight?”
Clutch Endgame Page 9
