by David Horne
When the plane landed at Tampa International Airport, a young woman was waiting in baggage claim for Martin. A printed sign in her hands had Martin’s name on it. She grinned at Martin when she saw him. There was a hint of attraction in her twinkling eyes.
“I’m Leslie Underwood,” she said when Martin stepped up to her. “I’ll help you to the car with your bags.”
“You’re my chauffeur?” he asked lightly.
“Of course,” she responded. She folded the card and slipped it into the nearby trash receptacle. “I pretty much do whatever the team needs.” She was younger than Martin, but he couldn’t narrow her age. She wore a Coyotes’ ball cap, a team summer jacket, and tight blue jeans. “If the guys need something while they’re here, I go get it.”
She took Martin’s carry-on duffle bag without asking. She hefted the weight without complaint.
The drive from the airport to the training camp was close to an hour with traffic. On the highway, Martin popped open the passenger window to let in some of the Florida air. It was heavier and warmer than the air he got in Virginia in March. The sunset to their left was golden through Leslie’s sandy-colored hair under the cap. She gave him several approving smiles along the way while grilling Martin on how he made it as team physician.
“You’re younger than I thought you’d be.” It came out as a veiled compliment.
“Thanks,” was his only reply.
“Are you married?” she followed up. “Have a girlfriend?”
“Nope, and no,” he responded.
Her face lightened up. “Me either,” she offered, that suggested her freedom was something of interest to him. “Who has time for a relationship?”
“I would think the guys on the team would keep you pretty busy.”
“They do.” She frowned as she darted around a slow-moving semi-truck. “But I don’t date the ballplayers.”
“Does that have something to do with their rules or yours?” he asked. It was forward and moderately intimate when it came to first impressions but Martin wanted to make Leslie feel at ease with him. She had a tomboy manner about her.
“It’s my rules.” The words came out with some venom as if she’d broken those rules in the past and it continued to haunt her. “I just see them as a big family of hormonally-challenged boys.”
“That’s a good way to look at it.”
“They’re athletes first.” It was a statement of admiration. Martin saw the look on Leslie’s slim face that said the girl had baseball in her blood. “They’re wired differently than most guys.”
“That’s true.”
“I’ll take you to the hotel first.” She pressed her foot down on the accelerator. Martin saw the speedometer hover around 75mph. “Then we’ll head over to the training offices so you can meet management.”
Martin took a chance and asked if Leslie had any advice. “Anything I should know before we get there?”
She smiled at him. “I’m still single.”
“Me too,” Martin replied. “I don’t date athletes either.” He saw her face respond to the statement. A look that brightened her smile a little more and she stared at the road ahead. “Hopefully, we’re not after the same guy later.”
He allowed his words to sink it. Martin knew Leslie caught the meaning when her eyebrows unfurrowed and she smiled at Martin again, knowingly.
Chapter Four
Floyd Matthews was an overweight man in an ill-fitting uniform. He wore his weight all in front. The buttons of the uniform shirt strained against the paunch. Martin suspected the man had severe back problems and never complained. As head coach of the Cloverdale Coyotes, he looked to be in the high-end of his fifties and wore a permanent scowl that had something to do with his views on the career he chose and the intense Florida sunshine that assaulted the players on the field. His face and hands were leathery from exposure to the sun.
“So, you’re our new Doc?” he said. There was gravel in his voice. Years of yelling commands at players. He sat in an office chair that squeaked as the cleats tapped on the tile floor.
“I am.” Martin stood inside Floyd’s office, waiting for the man to suggest what he had to do next. Instead, Floyd gave Martin a silent appraisal. He had dressed in a button-down shirt and black slacks. While he wasn’t used to the Florida weather, it was still cool enough to wear casual northern clothes and not feel the humidity that came with the southern state.
“Did Leslie show you around yet?” he asked.
“She did. I checked into the hotel, and I wanted to see how everyone was doing now.” Martin had an idea of how he wanted to evaluate the players. It was important that he saw each of them and had discussions with them to establish a baseline for their relationship.
“We’ll get to that later.” Floyd had a notebook open on the desk in front of him. By the look of the office, he didn’t spend a lot of time sitting at the desk. There were cardboard boxes stacked up against the wall behind Martin as he faced the desk. Other than a lonely folding chair in front of the aluminum and Formica desk, there was little else. Floyd occupied the only other chair in the office, and its limitations were spread thin by his weight. “You’re to wear some Coyote logo apparel when you’re on the field. I want people to see you’re with the team. Leslie will get your measurements.”
“Okay.” Martin gave him a slight nod. “When do I get to see the players?”
“When I think you need to,” came the staunch reply. It came off rude, but Floyd did not attempt to apologize. He opened the desk drawer. The aluminum scraped against the track. He removed the stack of files and dropped them on the desktop. “These are the players’ medical records.”
Before Martin grabbed for them, he made the mistake of saying, “It’s okay. Mr. Brant’s office sent me the files online. I prefer to keep notes on the laptop.”
Floyd’s intake of breath strained on the arms of the chair. He exhaled slowly. The man was pushing a lot of weight and wore his stress as thin as the material on the uniform jersey. “I appreciate that you want to keep it all modern, but I like to see what’s going on with my boys. So, when you doodle your little notes on the computer, I want you to add it to these files.” He motioned with a wave of his meaty hand. “You have a filing cabinet in the medical office. You and I are the only two people with the key. Leslie will make sure you get your set of keys for the field,” he added seeing Martin’s frown at the suggestion of keys. "Just keep those files up-to-date. I want to know what’s going on with the team.”
“That’s fine.” And there was a moment when Martin wanted to suggest that patient privacy was part of his legal obligation.
Floyd added, “And before you give me any crap about HIPAA Privacy, all the players signed a disclosure that allows me access to their files.”
“Thank you, Mr. Matthews,” Martin said.
“It’s just Floyd or Coach. That will do.”
“Okay.” Martin slipped his hands in the pockets of his pants. The gesture made Floyd narrow his eyes at him. He was a man that believed someone showed respect by not being too casual in front of him.
“We’ll go through the list of players soon enough. I get you want to evaluate them. But I want to see if there’s anyone I’m cutting before we start sending boys your way. You’re on Coyote time and the company dime. We’re not spending money on half-assed players. After the first week, barring any immediate injuries, just hang back and watch. You’ll get to know everyone soon enough. My assistant coaches are first stop to get to me. They’ll take what you have to say and send it up the chain. Speak to them as you’d speak to me directly.”
Martin nodded. He’d removed his hands from the pockets of his pants and folded them behind his back. The gesture was not unnoticed by Floyd.
“Anything you need, Leslie can get it for you.” He gave Martin a smug look that suggested he knew Leslie was a young woman who spent her life surrounded by virile young men. “But Leslie’s off the list of your needs.”
“I und
erstand.” It reminded him of the conversation Leslie wanted to have earlier. But Martin didn’t point out any more of his personal life to Floyd. Leslie wasn’t Martin’s type. But he kept the obvious to himself.
“Brant said you’re qualified. We’re just a simple team here. Keep the boys healthy, and you’ll do just fine.”
“Thank you, Floyd. I’ll do just that.”
Chapter Five
Martin gained a particular perspective when he viewed baseball from the inside of the stadium. From near the dugout, part of the extension of the team, Martin had an aspect of the game that made him feel profound. There was a competitive spirit that gave the players equality on and off the field. They played against each other and simultaneously encouraged each other. Every day devoted fans showed up to practices. Rarely were the gates closed off to anyone interested in how any of the men did in their pregame traditions. He watched and waited and reviewed each of the files.
Still the outsider, Martin made small talk with some of the players and business people behind the bleachers. There were more people than he realized when he walked the halls among the team and the business crew that kept the game going.
After a week, Martin had his first real patient. One of the players twisted a finger, caught on another player’s shoe when he dove for the base. It was a mild sprain, but he sent the player with Leslie to get the obligatory x-rays at the local urgent care unit. The business from the Coyotes was enough to keep the business thriving during training season. The staff made concessions for the players to get right in without a wait. When the player returned, it wasn’t Leslie who escorted the young man back to Martin’s office.
“So, fancy meeting you here.” The voice gave Martin an immediate jolt of recognition. He felt chills spread over his face and arms while he kept his face from betraying his excitement.
The player exited from the medical office. Leaning against the door was a trim and older version of the man who Martin shared his first sexual encounter. Joel Bray was taller than Martin by a few inches. Still close enough in height to kiss his lips without having to stretch too much on the balls of his feet. Lying down and kissing Joel was always better, Martin reasoned. It matched them perfectly and their trim bodies meshed together with the perfection of lovers who knew every inch of each other.
He felt his face flush seeing Joel. There was an intensity between them that Martin never felt before or since their liaison. It was something chemical and animal, something electric and surreal. Joel had had experience with other men before Martin. It was something he shared in their conversations before they shared a bed. He experimented in high school. Martin had only fantasized. He had found the pleasure of another man in a way that Martin only dreamed about.
But it was their union that Martin remembered above anything else that he ever experienced. Joel was a compassionate and gentle lover. There was never any aggression between them. Even in the heat of frenzied lovemaking, it was deliberate and never chaste. Joel went only as far as Martin wanted to go. When Martin wanted a partner to experiment with, Joel was an open canvas to his novice easel. Joel was patient and accommodating. They shared a physical attraction, and Martin was wholly in love with him before Joel graduated with his master’s in business and moved to the other side of the United States.
It all came rushing back to him then. In a moment as if standing in the center of the baseball diamond with an iron rod grasped in his fists, the memories came back to Martin as if struck by lightning. Alongside the love and passion, was the unmistakable sense of loss he felt when Joel went away.
“You are a long way from California.” Martin tried to steady his trembling hands. He pressed them to the examination table. But his movements betrayed him. Joel saw his hands and his gray eyes softened.
“I went the long way around.”
“And you ended up here?” Martin pointed out. “What is it you do here?”
“I am not as important as you are,” Joel pointed out in a light tone. He stepped further into the room. The door closed behind him.
They were alone in the private examination room. Martin hadn’t put any effort into the closed space. There was nothing personal about the room that suggested he was the doctor who had some Feng Shui when it came to adding flourish to the place. It was a cold space devoid of personality, and Martin felt Joel filled the room beyond its capacity.
“How did you end up here?” Martin asked finally. He didn’t know how to address their past. Maybe it was one of those things that former lovers danced around until it tripped up underfoot. So far, they had a clear floor and nothing to trip on.
Playing coy, Joel shrugged. “Maybe the same way you did.” He crossed his arms to his chest and leaned against the door. “I’m a marketing specialist for the Coyotes.” Then he made a face as if the title gave him gas. “I sometimes have the pleasure of scouting for them if they get a lead and can’t send a scout.”
He didn’t move any closer to Martin. Joel’s broad shoulders looked as if they could hold up the whole wide world. He waited for a long moment that turned into awkward silence. Then his hand found the door handle. When he opened it, before slipping out, he looked back at Martin. “We’ll catch up later.” And he smiled before adding, “It’s good to see you, Martin.”
And Martin had to figure out how he’d function for the rest of his day, when his heart stopped beating once Joel slipped from the office as casually as he entered. It was a day of reflection, of happy memories together, and an ending that really never had a severed connection. The distance was a deciding factor in their relationship. Neither man wanted to hang on tight enough when life was starting to pull them apart. They had long phone conversations and shared current events after Joel moved. But it wasn’t the same. The intimacy in their proximity removed the familiarity in their dialogue. And then, one day, the calls just stopped between them.
And, as far as Martin understood, the relationship was over. It wasn’t animosity Martin felt welling inside him after Joel slipped away, it was loss. Heartbreak came from a clash of expectations. Since they didn’t talk about what to expect once Joel moved away, Martin never asked what Joel presumed their relationship would be, if he wanted to continue it. After Martin stopped receiving text messages from Joel, he did his crying only in the late hours of the night. They were brief and rehabilitating, and it didn’t take as long as he anticipated for his heart to mend. And yet, after Joel found Martin’s office at the training camp, he knew they were going to eventually have the conversation they’d put off for so long.
Chapter Six
After a restless night, Martin woke and started on a new routine. The hotel offered the team access to the pool and gym equipment during hours that were private. It allowed the players bonding time without the integration of the general public who were guests at the hotel. There was a business agreement between the Cloverdale Coyotes and the hotel. If either party didn’t like the arrangement, business went elsewhere. It was solid rental agreements for the duration of training. And Martin was part of the upper management who stayed at the hotel.
“You don’t have an apartment in Tampa?” one of the players asked Martin while he ran his five miles on the treadmill. Usually, engrossed in his music, he ignored most of the people who milled around the exercise equipment.
Martin stopped the digital music player and removed the earbud from the ear closest to Curtis Simpson on the nearby treadmill. He was a center field hopeful and spent an hour every morning before practice running 10 miles on the treadmill. He was in the cool-down phase when Martin passed 4 miles on his exercise machine.
“I’m new to all this, just like you.”
Curtis was nineteen and an early pick for the Coyotes. The coaches had their eyes on him as a first draft choice for major leagues by the end of the training season. He was a pragmatic and respectable young man. His first check up with Martin went well, and he made healthy choices when it came to taking care of his body.
Curtis nodde
d. “I know a lot of upper management has timeshare apartments around. Some of the guys were saying you were too young to be their doctor.”
Martin nodded. He was thirty and as a late bloomer made him look not much older than Curtis. There was always resistance from people who assumed all doctors were middle-aged and gray. “Well, I can assure you, I’ve got all my credentials.”
“Oh, I don’t care Doc.” Curtis toweled off the perspiration from his face. “I just wanted to give you a heads up if you get a little flak from the guys.”
“I appreciate the feedback.” It was interesting how some people took to Martin, and others just considered him a man too young to do the job. While he minimized the negative comments, it still cut Martin, but he did his best. Curtis left the hotel gym. Martin lost his inspiration to run the last mile. He slowed to a walk and pulled the towel from the treadmill. He returned to his suite trying to feel good about his job when there weren’t enough opportunities to show his abilities. And that was about to change.
***
Practice went as expected. It was the bottom of the fifth inning for the mock game, and the players drew a small pool of spectators. From Martin’s viewing position of the game, he not only had access to watch the patrons of the practice games, but the players as well. The stadium wasn’t as accommodating for patrons as regular stadiums, where baseball games drew in thousands. Training camps were designed to allow players to show off their gifts, and if they didn’t have the experience of audiences, their fans could help the bashful players to overcome their shyness.
Martin scanned the crowds for Joel. But his former lover hadn’t made an appearance since he found Martin the day before. There were a few reoccurring faces. One was particular because the gentleman spent a lot of time watching the players and Martin equally.
It started a few days after Martin’s arrival. He saw the man in the bleachers, not far from the dugout. Out of courtesy, he’d nodded to the gentleman. A gray-haired, thin man who wore glasses and expensive shirts, Martin dismissed him as a recruiter or scout for one of the major league teams. He was there now, close to the dugout. The gentleman’s proximity gave him access to the players and coaches if he wanted to have dialogue.
