A Midsummer Madness

by Guy Franks

  Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince:

  And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!

  Shake and Speed were pall bearers and they helped lay Rex to rest in the St. Mary Cemetery. Mourners were invited to the Lyon Estate for a brunch in memoriam. Only Shake and Orson attended from the Kingsmen. Speed and the other employees left for their homes after the burial with no intention of visiting the castle of the Wicked Witch of the East. All of them, to one degree or another, blamed Rae Cornwall for Rex’s death and feared what was coming in terms or ownership.

  Shake had been there for about an hour, had a couple beers and some food from the buffet table, when Rae came up to him. She held a glass with a mixed drink in it, scotch by the looks of it, and it wasn’t her first one, he figured. Her naturally frowning brow was somewhat softened.

  “Shake,” she said affably.

  “Mrs. Cornwall.”

  “Call me Rae.” She took a sip of her drink and studied him for a moment as though he were an odd-looking fish in an aquarium. “Youuu don’t like me much, do you? Doesn’t matter… That was quite a eulogy you gave. Very poetic. But I don’t know who you were talking about.”

  “Your father.”

  “That’s not the father I remember. And just for the record, all those ‘charitable works’ you mentioned were done for one reason and one reason alone—tax write-offs. There was no ‘good will towards men’ about it.”

  “Why does any of that matter,” replied Shake coolly, “It’s the act of giving that matters. The reason is irrelevant.” As she said, he didn’t like her and he was certain she didn’t like him so he was curious where all this was going. Why was she talking to him, he wondered.

  “I suppose you could look at it that way,” she said doubtfully. “But the man I grew up with was something different all together.” She paused here and Shake thought that was it—she’s made her point and would move on—but instead a strange look of earnestness came over her face as though what she’d come over to really say to him she was going to say now. “People have their opinion of me but they don’t know. They’ve got no clue what I’ve been through with my father. He was not a good man. He divorced my mom and used his high-priced legal team to prove she was an unfit mother. It destroyed her and she ended up in a mental institution. He never gave me much love—not like Corey—but I stuck by him and pulled him out of his money problems and took care of him when he started forgetting things and drinking too much.

  “You have no idea what it’s been like in this house over the last year. He had poker parties here with his drunken buddies, and we would find him the next morning wandering around the house in boxers not knowing where he was. When I tried to help him he would yell and scream terrible things. It was abusive. And I couldn’t get him to see a doctor. He refused and screamed at me that I was trying to commit him. So I had to take a stand. For his own good, I had to take a stand. And now that he’s gone, what’s left? Memories of abuse. That’s pretty much his heritage to me. He owed a debt to my mother and he owed a debt to me but he never paid it.”

  She seemed to finish, swirled her drink and took a sip, then added, “Well, anyway” and turned away.

  “Rae,” said Shake, and she stopped and glanced back at him. “He that dies pays all debts.”

  In the downstairs den of the Lyon House that same evening, two lawyers sat behind a large mahogany desk and peered lawyer-like out at their clients Ed and Rae Cornwall. Corey sat in a big leather chair.

  Rae

  I thought we were here to talk about Corey. When my father disowned her he removed her from the trust and we’d like to discuss her options. Is there something from the trust we can give her? Isn’t that what we’re here for?

  First Lawyer

  In part. We can certainly talk about those options as well.

  Second Lawyer

  We’re here to talk about the baseball team. The New Britain Kingsmen.

  Rae

  We plan to sell the team. We already have buyers lined up.

  First Lawyer

  Well, that will be up to Corey Danzig.

  Ed

  What do you mean?

  First Lawyer

  It means that sole ownership of the baseball team passes to Ms. Danzig. It’s clearly stated in his will and was never amended otherwise. She inherits the New Britain Kingsmen lock, stock and barrel.

  Ed

  But—how can that be? All titles and ownerships were transferred into my wife’s name, including the ball club.

  Second Lawyer

  No, it wasn’t. The baseball team was not included in the transfer. Your father-in-law was adamant about that. He should have told you. He said he would. We assumed all this time you were aware of this provision in his will, since you never asked about it or questioned it.

  Rae

  YOU never asked about it? How stupid is that, Ed?

  Ed

  Well, I assumed it was all a part of the terms of receivership. No one told me any different. Rex never mentioned it and I’m not in the habit of reading hundred page legal documents. I rely on my lawyers to do that.

  Rae

  Perfect. Just like him. One last insult from his grave… So what are our options?

  First Lawyer

  Options? As I’ve said, that will be up to Ms. Danzig. She can sell or not. The team makes a sustainable profit every year but I’m sure she can make a larger profit if she chooses to sell.

  Rae

  (to Corey)

  We have buyers lined up. One million dollars they’re willing to pay. One million, Corey—for a baseball team… Let’s work something out here, dear. We’ve done all the leg work for you. Once you sell it we can split the profits and you’ll have more than enough to live on for years to come, especially after we kick in some money from the trust. You can’t run a baseball team. You don’t want that kind of headache, dear. Grab this opportunity and let us help you sell the club.

  All four—the two lawyers and Ed and Rae Cornwall—looked expectantly at Corey awaiting her answer. She rose from her leather chair, and with hands on hips eyed her sister and brother-in-law. She raised her head and laughed—a strong hearty laugh—and looked back down at them with a triumphant smile on her face. “I’m not selling,” she said and left the room.

  Rex Lyon is buried, long live the king; it’s Corey the Rocket, his loving offspring.

  23

  CHAPTER

  Thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife!

  Much Ado About Nothing

  August 1st came and went and with it the trade deadline. No one on the Kingsmen was optioned, traded or designated as a player to be named later. Everyone breathed a little easier and it showed. August brought the heat but it was always a lot less hot when you were winning. By the end of the first week in August, the Kingsmen were ten games up and headed for the top seed which gave them home field advantage throughout the playoffs.

  Shake kept writing glowing progress reports about Hank Prince. The kid was a revelation, spraying base hits to every field, stealing bases at will, tracking down everything in the outfield, hitting the cut-off man, not missing signs, showing up early and working hard at his craft. He even dressed better. Gone were the high-top sneakers and baggy pants. Instead, Hank came in to the clubhouse nowadays wearing slacks and a sports coat, looking sharp and snazzy like a young Billy Dee Williams. It appeared Mr. Hyde was under wraps and Dr. Jekyll was here to stay. Whatever elixir Chili Leonard served Hank, it worked, and Shake wanted the rights to bottle it.

  Saturday the ninth was a day game and had been re-named from Papa Dodge Day (where a car was given away) to Rex Lyon Day. A car was still going to be raffled off by Papa Dodge of New Britain, and there would be plenty of media coverage to please the local car dealership, but the real focus for the day was a tribute to Rex Lyon. A
nice-looking plaque with his image on it, his years of ownership, and the words “Vivat Rex” (Long Live the King) engraved upon it was presented to Corey before the game. She thanked the loyal fans and gave a short speech. Shake also spoke at the ceremony as did a number of dignitaries. A good friend of Rex’s—President Reagan—sent a thoughtful telegram and it was read by the P.A. Announcer.

  Corey quickly and firmly established herself as the new owner of the New Britain Kingsmen. Like the rookie Barry Bonds—the prodigy well-schooled by his old man—she walked the clubhouse hallways with an easy confidence. The first day Shake saw her on the job as the new owner, she was talking to the groundskeepers but pulled up and yelled out at him, “Toni Stone!”

  Shake stopped and smiled. Game on. “First woman to play pro ball,” he responded. “What team?”

  “The Negro League.”

  “No, no, no. You don’t get off that easy, Danzig. What team?”

  “The… San Francisco Sea Lions. Right?”

  “Right,” he said with a laugh. He saluted her and she saluted back. Shake suddenly felt a wave of pride and happiness—almost as if she were his own daughter—and he spun around and went back to his office before anyone could see the tears welling up in his eyes.

  The drawing for the car was in the sixth inning and a woman won. She leapt from her seat, hugged her equally excited husband and two kids, and bounded down the steps, almost tripping in her rush, and claimed the keys to her new Dodge Omni. The game itself was another win for the Kingsmen, 4-0, with Santiago pitching a shutout over the Vermont Reds. After the game there was a free concert put on by Corey’s husband’s band “Bone Dry.”

  Shake hurried up his postgame paperwork, skipped the concert (which wasn’t his cup of tea), and drove over to the Burtons for their barbecue. Linda Burton met him at the door with a cold beer and he took it, said “Merci beaucoup,” kissed her on the cheek and walked out into the backyard where he found Rick barbecuing and the rest of his coaches sitting around a patio table. A chair was waiting for him and he sat down.

  The Burton kids immediately ran up to him to say hi. They were dripping wet from swimming in the Doughboy pool. The boys, Ricky and Gordy, were eleven and ten while the youngest, their daughter Sophie, was eight years old. The boys tussled playfully with him and demanded he play catch with them later. He promised he would and they ran off satisfied, leaving Sophie behind. Her nickname was “Pooh” or “Pooh Bear” because Winnie the Pooh was her favorite thing in the whole wide world. “Pooh Bear” was also Shake’s favorite human being in the whole wide world.

  “Hey, Pooh Bear,” he said happily. “Where’s my hug?”

  The little girl jumped into him and gave him a big hug, leaving a wet imprint on his clothes. Shake didn’t mind.

  “Where’s your witch friend?” she asked innocently.

  “Huh?”

  “Your witch friend. Mommy says you have a witch friend.”

  The adults sitting around laughed at this and Shake looked over at the sliding glass doors but Linda had ducked back inside. “Yeah, where’s your witch friend?” added Benedict with a grin. Shake gave him a mock frown and looked back at Pooh Bear.

  “She got on her broomstick and flew away,” he said convincingly.

  “Really? Where to?” she wanted to know.

  “Ahh, the Emerald City, but she said she might fly by later, so keep an eye out.”

  Pooh Bear looked up at the sky, scanning north and south. “Really?”

  “Really, so keep a look out. If you see her let me know right away.”

  “I will,” she promised, but the adult laughter caused her to look half-suspiciously at Uncle Shake. He changed the subject to her dancing and she happily gave him a progress report. The other kids started calling her name from the pool and the enticement was too great. She struggled to remain standing there.

  “Go swim,” encouraged Shake. “Go. If I see her fly by I’ll let you know.”

  She was happy with that answer and skipped back to the pool, glancing up in the sky as she went. She wanted to see a flying witch, for sure, but she wanted to swim with her friends even more. When Pooh Bear was out of earshot, Shake called out for Linda.

  “Hey, I know you’re hiding back there!” he yelled trying to suppress a laugh. “I’m gonna get you for that. ‘My witch friend’. I’ll give you ‘my witch friend’. Bang, zoom, to the moon, Alice!”

  Everyone was getting a good laugh out of it. Teddy was there with his wife and kids, Bob brought along his live-in girlfriend, and Larry was there with Bernie (who were now a serious couple). Orson Kent was there and introduced Shake to his date. She looked a lot like Balt Porter and turned out to be his twin sister. Also at the barbecue was Mike Faust who brought his date—an attractive, chiseled gal that looked like a body-builder—but Shake never learned her name and they left early. There were a few other friends and family of the Burtons, all couples, and Shake quickly figured out he was the only one there stag. Speed was absent (because he drove Rick crazy) and there were no ball-players.

  Rick cooked up his famous barbecued spare ribs, Linda made her delicious potato salad, and the beer and wine was plentiful. The first time Shake finished off his beer, Linda appeared and handed him a new one and whispered, “Has she flown by yet?”, and Shake tried to swat her butt but she got away in time. By the time he finished off the ribs and potato salad and other good things, Shake had had a few more beers and the shade had grown longer in the backyard. The conversation was light and witty and Shake was on his game, cracking jokes, telling tales, and offering witty observations on just about any subject. Despite being the only one there without a main squeeze, he felt comfortable and relaxed as he always did at the Burtons.

  When Shake sat back down at the patio table after playing catch with the boys, Larry stood up with Bernie. She wore a beaming smile. Larry clinked his beer bottle.

  Larry

  Hey folks! Listen up. We’ve got something to tell you… Bernie and I are engaged.

  Bernie

  (showing off her engagement ring)

  We’re getting married!

  All

  Whoa! Yeah! Congratulations, you too. Wonderful news!

  Bob

  I liked it better when you two used to fight all the time.

  Larry

  I know you did, Bob. But I like it better this way.

  (kisses Bernie)

  Bob

  Another one bites the dust. That only leaves Shake.

  Linda

  When’s the happy date?

  Larry and Bernie

  (simultaneously)

  Next summer—Next spring.

  Bob

  So when is it? Next summer or next spring?

  Bernie

  (whispering)

  I thought we agreed on next spring.

  Larry

  (whispering back)

  No, you agreed to next spring. I agreed to next summer.

  Bernie

  I said ‘spring’ and you said ‘okay’. As usual you weren’t listening. Why did God waste ears on men if they’re not going to use them?

  Larry

  Well, they’re working now and I wish they weren’t.

  Bernie

  Hey, folks, if we get married it will be next spring—not summer.

  Larry

  ‘If we get married’? IF… If’s a big word, almost as big as your—But I won’t go there. If we knew what we knew, there’d be no ifs—only dreams that come true. We’d all be coaching in the big leagues. Kalecki would have all his teeth. The Red Sox would win the World Series. Babies would change their own diapers. And women—wives, girlfriends or fiancées—would have our backs and only wear nighties to bed.

  Bob

  Here, here.

  Bernie

  And hus
bands, boyfriends or fiancées would pick up after themselves and go all night.

  Bob’s Girlfriend

  Here, here.

  Larry

  There you go. That makes us even and the only thing left to do is get married. In the spring. Next century.

  Bernie

  You won’t live that long. You drink too much.

  Larry

  I have good reason to.

  Bernie

  Excuse us, folks.

  (she pulls Larry away)

  We’ll be back in a few. After I sober him up.

  Larry and Bernie, arm in arm, walked back into the house still arguing with one other under their breath. “Now that’s more like it,” said Bob. “Bob!” chastised his girlfriend but everyone laughed quietly.

  “Hanging and wiving goes by destiny,” quoted Shake.

  “Don’t be so cynical,” replied Linda. “Some people spend fifty years of married life happily arguing with one another. It spices things up. It’s their music, like one of those Johnny and June Carter Cash duets.”

  “All right, so be it,” said Shake with a glint in his eye. “If music be the food of love play on.”

  It got later into the evening and Larry and Bernie only reappeared to say their goodbyes. The kids went inside to dry off and watch TV. Couples and families soon drifted away leaving Shake, Rick and Linda sitting out on the deck. It was a pleasant warm evening and the patio lights gave off enough of a glow to see each other’s face. The bug zapper was working overtime.

  “So, Shakearoni, where’s your witch friend?” asked Linda with a laugh. “Why didn’t you bring Lucy?”

  Shake expected this. Whenever he visited the Burtons, it usually ended up with a heart to heart with Linda. Rick would listen in, contributing a word or two, but would eventually wander off to see after the kids. She was intelligent and refreshingly blunt like his mom and could get him to fess up things he wouldn’t otherwise. He pretended to dislike these talks but the truth was he really enjoyed them.