That couldn’t be good.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
The others exchanged looks.
“A small disturbance, that’s all,” Mr. Brayton said. “If you want to go up and wait in my office, I’ll come and talk to you in a little while.”
This was weird. “Am I in trouble?” Jill asked.
“No,” Mrs. Doshi said. “You’re not. We just want to take care of a situation.”
“Please head up to my office,” Mr. Brayton said, “okay?”
She wasn’t about to argue with the GM, but—Terence looked downright ill, and now she wondered if he was the one in trouble.
“Yeah, well, fuck you!” someone yelled, inside Mr. Adler’s office.
Then, Adler’s door smashed open, and although the head of security and Mrs. Doshi immediately moved in front of her, she caught a glimpse of some player storming out—who they apparently didn’t want her to see.
“Go pack up,” Mr. Brayton said to Terence, who nodded and headed for the clubhouse.
So, he was in trouble? She wondered what he had—except then, she saw words scribbled in thick black Magic Marker across the wall in her changing room: “Go home,” followed by a denigrating profanity about women that she never even allowed herself to think, forget say. A word she utterly despised—and had heard far too many times over the years, usually in angry hisses, when she walked by people on the sidelines, or past opposing players.
She leaned against the doorjamb, staring at the jagged scrawl.
“Why would Terence do that?” she asked. She had been under the impression that he liked her.
“It wasn’t Terence,” Mr. Brayton said. “He just happened to walk in, and—well—” He stopped, looking very uncomfortable.
Okay, now it made more sense. Some guy on the team had come in, and Terence must have caught him in the act. “Well, it’s unpleasant,” she said, “but, it isn’t—” She stopped, realizing that she smelled something familiar, something— “Is that urine?”
Mr. Brayton, Mrs. Doshi, and the head of security all nodded.
Stupidly, her legs felt weak, and she reached back with one hand to keep her balance.
“Was it Owen?” she asked. Since he was the most obvious suspect.
“No,” Mrs. Doshi said. “But, are you having a problem with him?”
Not this serious a problem, so she shook her head. “No, I—” She was feeling fuzzy enough to need to shake her head. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t—is all my stuff wrecked?”
“We’re assessing that right now,” Mr. Brayton said. “We’ll have one of the clubbies do an inventory.”
She remembered, now, that because it was getaway day, her gear bag was in the clubhouse, and she had her gamer glove and caps and jerseys in there, so unless the guy had messed around with her main locker, too, all of that was probably safe.
But, it was still hard to take in the fact that one of her teammates had urinated in her dressing room. What kind of person would do that?
Mr. Adler came in to join them, silent, but exuding fury—and no one seemed to know what to say, including her.
“Is he going to go quietly?” Mr. Brayton asked.
“He’d better,” Adler said.
“If not, I have some of my people standing by,” the head of security said.
Jill still couldn’t figure out how she was supposed to be reacting, so she just stared at the furious writing on the wall—and the visible damage to her shower slides, turf shoes, uniform pants, T-shirts, and the care package Mrs. Wilkins had so nicely given her earlier.
“Do you want to press charges?” the head of security asked her. “Because we can—”
Did she? Was it a crime, or just an ugly prank? And did she want the big media fuss that would kick up, if the police came barreling in, and whatever else? So, she shook her head, and then glanced at Adler, whose expression was harder to read than usual.
“Who was it, sir?” she asked.
“Nelson,” he said.
Who in the hell was that? “Bullpen guy?” she asked.
He nodded.
Probably the sullen one who had made nasty cracks every time she screwed up at PFP, trying to cover first base or whatever. “I’ve never even talked to him,” she said.
“He’s already been released,” Mr. Brayton said. “He’ll be off the premises permanently within the hour.”
It was startling that they had taken such swift and decisive action—but, she wasn’t going to argue.
Mr. Brayton cleared his throat. “Jill, I want to apologize to you, on behalf of the entire—”
She raised her hand to cut him off. “Thanks, sir,” she said—probably more abruptly than was wise, but she wasn’t ready to have any kind of conversation about it yet. “I really don’t want to make a big deal out of this. It’s, um, it’s just—well—”
Mrs. Doshi stepped forward. “I think we’re going to open the gates about half an hour early tonight, and do an autographing session up on the concourse,” she said. “Benny, we’d like to have two players up there, so maybe you could pull someone out of the clubhouse, and have him meet Jill and me in my office?”
They all frowned at her. Maybe there was some kind of method to her madness, but Jill had no idea what it might be.
“Benny?” Mrs. Doshi said, sounding very no-nonsense.
Adler looked at Jill briefly, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll send Bronsky up.”
Scott. Yeah, she wouldn’t mind getting a chance to talk to Scott—and the sooner, the better.
“Great, thank you,” Mrs. Doshi said, and took Jill’s arm. “Please have one of the clubbies bring a fresh jersey and pants for Jill, also. Come on, let’s go upstairs.”
Jill went with her, since she couldn’t think of a way to escape.
They walked very quickly past the clubhouse, where there was still a lot of yelling going on, and Jill found herself reaching inside her shirt to take out her father’s dog tag, and hold it tightly in her right hand for a moment.
“We are so sorry about this,” Mrs. Doshi said, once they were out of everyone else’s earshot. “I mean, I assumed there would be a few malcontents, but—well, I just don’t know what’s the matter with some people.”
Jill nodded, trying to separate the unwieldy mix of rage and embarrassment roiling around somewhere inside.
Mrs. Doshi gave her a concerned, motherly look. “Are you all right?”
Yeah, she was nifty. Jill shrugged, and gently tucked the dog tag away, instead of answering. Mrs. Doshi had the sense not to push it any further—which she appreciated.
On their way upstairs, they ran into Jeremiah, who was rushing down, but stopped when he saw them.
“I was just coming to look for you,” he said. “I heard.”
Yeah, rumors—and exaggerations—were probably already flying around like crazy. And the press was going to go to town, and her mother would be really upset. “Can we keep it, you know, in-house?” Jill asked.
Jeremiah frowned. “Do you want to?”
God, yes. The last damn thing she wanted was for the media—and the Internet—to start pontificating and screeching about bullying or something—because that would make her a victim.
A role she had no intention of ever playing.
“It’ll probably get out”—since too many people already knew—“but I’m pretty much going to deny the whole thing,” Jill said, “and I don’t want to answer any questions about it. Ever.”
Jeremiah looked dubious, but he nodded. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks,” Jill said, and kept walking.
Mrs. Doshi had stayed behind to talk to Jeremiah, but Jill just wanted to go somewhere and absorb things, without anyone else looking at her. So, she went into Mrs. Doshi’s office, out of sight of the doorway. It would be good if she had her phone—but, she wasn’t sure who she should—or would—call, and—what if it was covered with urine now, and she would never be able to touch it again? Al
though both of her phones had been up on the top shelf of the locker, in a little box, so maybe they were okay?
She had forgotten that the team’s bat dog belonged to Mrs. Doshi, and apparently, he spent the day in her office, because he got up from the carpet by the desk and wagged his tail.
A dog was exactly what she needed right now, and Jill sat on the floor to pat him, happy to have him wag his tail even harder and lick her face playfully. He was a young golden retriever, who seemed to be unusually sweet and affable, and during every game, he was sent out during the third or fourth inning to retrieve bats—before, she assumed, going back to his owner’s office to nap.
When Mrs. Doshi came in a few minutes later, Jill started to get up, but Mrs. Doshi motioned for her to keep patting the dog.
“His name is Batty?” Jill asked, since that’s how he had been introduced by the public address announcer the night before.
Mrs. Doshi shook her head. “No, that’s just to be cute for the fans. He’s actually Oscar.”
Which was a much better name.
“You don’t have to do any autographing,” Mrs. Doshi said. “But I thought a quick change of scene was a good idea.”
And, it probably had been. “I don’t mind signing, if you think people would like it,” Jill said. Although she really would rather spend the evening—or maybe the entire season--sitting in here with the dog.
“I think they would love it,” Mrs. Doshi said. “But, if you don’t feel up to—”
“I’m fine,” Jill said. “No problem.”
Mrs. Doshi leaned back against the crowded desk and gave her a long look. A parent look.
“Do you have children?” Jill asked.
Mrs. Doshi nodded. “My son is going to be a sophomore at Northwestern, and I have a daughter who will be starting at Wharton in the fall, and my oldest girl is working in publishing.”
Not at all surprising, since she had that unmistakable motherly quality.
There was a tentative knock on the door, and they turned to see Scott standing in the hallway.
“Um, hi,” he said. “They told me to come up here?”
Mrs. Doshi straightened up from the desk. “Yes, thank you, Scott,” she said. “Come on in.”
Scott walked into the office, looking ill at ease and surprisingly uncoordinated. “Yeah,” he said, and then handed the cap, jersey, and uniform pants he was carrying to Jill. “Uh, here.”
He wasn’t even coming close to meeting her eyes, which made her wonder whether she maybe wanted to gather up her non-destroyed stuff—if there was any—and then call and ask her mother to drive all the way back to pick her up, and get the hell out of here.
“Thanks,” she said, also avoiding eye contact.
He glanced at Mrs. Doshi. “Um, I’ll go out into the waiting room, and—well, wait, I guess.”
He left the room without giving either of them a chance to answer, and now, Jill didn’t feel like putting the uniform on—or having anything to do with this damn team ever again. She hadn’t expected Scott to be such a—then, suddenly, he was back in the doorway.
“We all feel really bad about this, Jill,” he said. “I don’t even know what to—yeah, I knew there were some jerks, but not like this. I mean—I just—are you okay?”
In the past five seconds, she had started feeling about a hundred times better. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said. “But—well, it was really disgusting, and—are other guys going to do stuff like that?”
“Fuck, no,” Scott said, and then looked guiltily at Mrs. Doshi, who was now sitting behind her desk, and either actually reading some paperwork—or pretending to do so. “Um, sorry, ma’am.” He looked back at Jill. “You really think guys like me and Mother and Hector and all won’t totally have your back? But, we’ll get it, if you don’t want to have to deal with crap like this and you’re leaving.”
Is that how they thought she was going to react? That she was just going to walk away?
The fact that she suddenly had an out-clause didn’t mean that she had to take it.
Even if she kind of wished that she could.
They both glanced at Mrs. Doshi, who appeared to be engrossed in her paperwork.
“You know Andrew?” Scott asked.
Their quiet closer—so quiet that she had never spoken to him, or even seen him have a conversation with anyone else—who was a sixth round pick out of the University of Virginia.
“He whaled on that guy,” Scott said. “I mean, took him down. A bunch of us broke it up, but—well, we didn’t exactly hurry, if you know what I mean.”
That was gratifying—and embarrassing, somehow—to hear.
“Adler was pissed, but he didn’t yell right off, either, you know? Because—well.” Scott shifted his weight a couple of times. “Anyway. I’m really sorry, and I hope you’re okay, and—I guess I’ll go back now and let you hang out up here.”
She would have to be made of pretty flimsy stuff if anything that had happened today made her quit. Not that she was going to let go of it anytime soon—but, she wasn’t going home, either. “I was just waiting for you to come up with my uniform, so we could go out there and sign,” she said.
He looked surprised. “Oh. I mean, oh! Yeah. Okay.”
Mrs. Doshi pushed her papers aside, and motioned for him to follow her. “Scott, why don’t you and I go sit out in the reception area, and let Jill get changed,” she said.
“May I use your phone for a minute, ma’am?” Jill asked.
The fact that hers was—downstairs—was best left unsaid right now.
“Of course,” Mrs. Doshi said. “Help yourself.”
Once they were gone, Jill changed into the uniform pants, and put the jersey on over her T-shirt without buttoning it. Her mother should probably be her first call—but, she found herself dialing Greg, instead.
He answered right before it went to voice mail, sounding out of breath.
“It’s me,” she said.
“Sorry, didn’t recognize the number,” he said, still breathing hard. “What’s up?”
“What am I interrupting?” she asked.
“Crazy, exciting, scandalous things,” he said. “Or maybe me at the gym, working out. Don’t you have a game?”
All too soon, yeah. Good thing she wasn’t pitching tonight. “Some guy urinated in my locker while I was out at BP,” she said.
There was a short pause—and then, a loud clank, as he apparently set down some weights. “Those fuckers,” he said.
“I think there was just one,” she said, “but, yeah, for all I know, some of the others were egging him on.”
“Want me to get in my car?” he asked.
Which was exactly what she had expected him to say—and what she wanted to hear, even though she wouldn’t take him up on it. “No, I’m okay,” she said. Was she? More or less, probably.
After she had brought him up-to-date on the whole story—including the vicious invective scrawled on the wall, she checked the door to be sure that no one could hear.
“Part of me wants to say screw this and walk away,” she said. “But, that would be dumb, right?”
“There are guys there you’re pretty sure you can trust?” he asked.
Scott. Marcus. So, that was two. And probably Dimitri, and Hector. Shosuke. Jonesy, as far as she could tell. Diaz, as long as she didn’t hug him. From what Scott had said, Andrew—a total stranger—could be on the list, too. “Yeah,” she said. “Most of them seem to be fine. Nice, even.”
“How sick do you feel?” he asked.
Very god-damn sick. And grossed out. “I don’t know how much of my stuff is ruined,” she said. “I mean, we’re supposed to go on the road tonight, and I’m not sure what I still have, and—the truth is, I want to go pretty berserk.”
There was a pause.
“Hang on, I have to take this outside for a minute,” he said.
She had no idea why, but she listened, while he left the gym, and went out to the parking lot, or in
to an alcove, or whatever he was doing.
“Okay, I’m back,” Greg said, and then paused again. “Did Theo ever tell you what happened to me? Freshman year?”
That could be almost anything, and a lot of her freshman year was a blur, anyway, after her father died, right before Thanksgiving. “I’m not sure,” she said.
“Then, he didn’t tell you,” Greg said.
It was quiet again.
“If it’s private,” she said, “you don’t have to—”
“It’s just humiliating,” Greg said. “It was that fall, right after I came out, and some of the seniors—” He stopped. “It was all my stuff, too, but it was more than urine.”
Oh, God. “How come you never told me?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I was ashamed. My sneakers, my clothes—I had to throw away everything, while a bunch of those guys stood there, and—” He stopped. “And then, I had to walk home in my cleats, and my mother got mad when I said I lost my sneakers somewhere, and—it was terrible.”
He had been pretty tall when he was fourteen, but really skinny, to the point of being almost frail.
“I didn’t cry in front of them, because—well, fuck that, right?” he said. “But, I never wanted to go back there again.”
She wanted to cry for him, remembering how generally difficult it had been for him for a while, right after he had come out. But, she hadn’t known that it was that hard. “Where does Theo come in?” she asked.
“I needed to talk to a guy,” he said. “And my father wasn’t cool with me yet, and your father had already deployed—and one day, I went over to your house when I knew you wouldn’t be home, and—I don’t know.” He paused. “He was really cool—and I’ll always love the guy for it. I think he and some of his friends even went and yelled at them—but, I’m not sure. Seemed that way later, from the way they acted, but I took care of it on the field, anyway. Because after Peter got hurt, I was going to be their damn quarterback.”
And threw three touchdown passes, as well as scoring two on the ground himself, in his very first game. It wasn’t the size of the dog in the fight, it was the size of the fight in the dog. “How’d you take care of it?” she asked.
He didn’t answer right away. “Football’s a pretty rough game, Jill. And the quarterback has some control over what happens out there.”
A Season of Daring Greatly Page 18
