Double Play

by Nikki Duvall

  “And how many can read since you’ve worked your magic?”

  “All of them.”

  “But the program is short on cash so you have a waiting list. How many are on the waiting list?”

  “Look, if you want to make a donation to North Shore Literacy, I’ll be the last one to stop you. But don’t muddy my cause by turning your donations into bribes. I’ll do what I want with my personal time and I prefer not to spend it with J.D.”

  Tony leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but this isn’t about you, Halee. It’s about all those young ladies who are counting on you. It’s about their kids looking for a better future. Ten thousand dollars will put books in their hands and shoes on their feet. It’ll send one of your shining stars to college. Tell me you won’t just go and talk to John for them.”

  Halee stormed off with a full tray of beers to a rowdy table of disappointed Cubs fans. “What’s Tony doing here?” asked Rita in passing.

  “He wants me to go see J.D.”

  “What for?”

  “For ten thousand dollars.”

  Rita dropped her jaw. Halee strode back to the bar and snatched the check from Tony’s outstretched hand.

  “Good girl,” said Tony. He threw out a hundred dollar bill. “Get yourself a new dress while you’re at it.”

  “I didn’t say I’d seduce him, Tony. I said I’d talk to him.”

  “Honey, when you two get together, it’s like a room full of fireworks. Prepare for blastoff.”

  ~FIVE~

  Halee made one more round through the apartment, spraying floral air freshener behind her. It was probably just her imagination, but everything in this run down studio apartment smelled like tequila and sex. She should have taken the Anne Klein dress to the cleaners. The home inspector from social services was due any minute. If word got out about her loose behavior with the infamous J.D. Shaw, she could kiss this adoption goodbye.

  The doorbell rang. Halee’s heart jumped into her throat. She straightened her pressed blouse, painted on her best virgin smile, and opened the door.

  A middle aged man in a tan knit suit tipped his fedora. “Buenos Dias, Senora. Es Usted Halee McCarthy?”

  “Si, Senor.”

  “Yo soy Ricardo Sanchez, de Social Services, de Ciudad Chicago,” said the man. He stared at her reddish blonde hair and green eyes with a puzzled expression.

  “Hablo Ingles.”

  Ricardo checked his papers with a furrowed brow. “You are Gringo?”

  “Si. I mean, yes,” said Halee with a giggle. “My parents were Irish, actually.”

  Ricardo bowed slightly. “My apologies, Senora.”

  “Senorita,” Halee corrected.

  Ricardo furrowed his brow. “Not married?”

  “No.”

  “Engaged to be married?”

  “No.”

  He paused. “But you want baby?”

  “Yes. Please,” said Halee, stepping aside, “come in.”

  “No husband, no baby,” said Ricardo as he entered the apartment. He removed his fedora and looked for a place to set it down.

  “That’s not true,” countered Halee, taking his hat and hanging it on a hook by the door. “Single women adopt all the time.”

  “We’ll see.” He looked around the shabby living room with a clear measure of disapproval. “Fire extinguisher?”

  Halee walked into the kitchen, reached down next to the old gas stove and held up a giant red extinguisher as evidence.

  “Fire escape?”

  “I’m on the first floor,” said Halee.

  “Bathroom?”

  She cocked her head toward a short hall leading toward the back of the apartment. Ricardo walked in that direction. She heard the medicine cabinet door creak open and shut, then the toilet flushed. Ricardo came out, checking off items on his clipboard.

  "Where is the bedroom?"

  "I don't have one."

  Ricardo adjusted his glasses. "And where would the baby sleep?"

  "I have a pull out couch," said Halee, motioning to the sagging brown velour model that took up most of the apartment's real estate. "I figure I can put a crib next to the sofa."

  "Santa Maria," mumbled Ricardo. He looked her up and down with squinted eyes. “You had a physical examination, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re too skinny. You Gringo girls don’t eat. How about your husband?”

  “No husband,” Halee reminded him.

  “Tsssk. How old?”

  “How old am I?”

  Ricardo nodded.

  “Twenty four.”

  “Tsssk.” He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled the door open, peering inside and taking notes. “Catsup, milk. Nothing else?”

  “I need to go shopping.”

  Ricardo released a heavy sigh. “No husband, no food,” he murmured, marking his checklist and shaking his head.

  “I can get food.”

  “But no husband,” Ricardo assured her.

  ~SIX~

  Halee slid off the front seat of Uncle Gus’ truck and scanned the Schaumburg Titans public parking lot. It had taken all her courage to get here tonight and even now every nerve was on edge. All around her young families raced eagerly toward the gates of the ball park as if tonight would change their lives forever. A different sort of anticipation flowed through Halee’s blood, better described as dread. Tony King had it right. Fireworks did ensue whenever anyone placed her near J.D. The night on Sam’s boat was proof of that. She wondered how long it would take before one of them exploded again.

  The home visit from social services had her feeling low. She couldn’t stop thinking about Ricardo’s remark- that she could buy groceries, but she’d never get a husband. Is that how men regarded her- not the marrying kind? She thought back to a year ago when she and J.D. had spent every waking minute together, as if they were building something to last. For her, it was the closest thing to romantic love she'd ever known. But she'd found out in a matter of weeks how little the whole thing had meant to him. Sam was right. Girls did mistake sex for love. Silly Halee.

  She checked her outfit one more time and tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. It had taken three tries and twenty minutes to select clothes that said I’m only here to talk. In the end, jeans and tee shirt rose to the top of the list as the most appropriate ensemble. J.D. liked his women dolled up. Seeing her in this getup would signal to him early on that the night on Sam's boat had been a frivolous roll in the hay with no follow up necessary. She wanted nothing more than a quick hello and just as quick a goodbye.

  Then why were her knees wobbling like gelatin?

  She took a deep breath and willed herself toward the gate. The smell of hot dogs wafted through the thick summer night air; overhead the field lights shone as fiercely as the noonday sun. Uncle Gus had provided a box seat for the evening, the one that came with his season ticket. He’d asked no questions and she’d offered no explanation. Just a Midwestern girl taking in a minor league ballgame on a hot summer night alone. Nothing more to say.

  She grabbed a tall soda, a Grilld brat, and headed for her seat, pretending it was just another night at the ballpark. Uncle Gus always went solo. Running Benedetto’s Bar and Grill, he said, provided all the social interaction he required. So Halee found herself wedged between a father and son duo and two primped women in their twenties sporting J.D. Shaw jerseys. One fidgeted in her chair, trying to score a better angle on the dugout, another leafed through the program in search of a five by seven of the man of the hour.

  “He’s from Kadele, Oklahoma,” the blonde said. She peered closer at J.D.’s profile. “Favorite color is red, drives a midnight blue Porsche Turbo, and lives in a condo uptown. Likes to ride horses and rope cattle.” The blonde furrowed her brow. “That doesn’t go together.”

  “He can rope me anytime,” said the brunette. “What else does it say?”

  “Captain of his high
school football and baseball teams in Kadele, drafted right out of high school, currently captain of the Titans. Did you know that?”

  "Which part?"

  "The captain part."

  The brunette grunted. “Doesn’t surprise me. J.D. is about all this team has going for it. Is he married?”

  “It doesn’t say.”

  “I’ve seen his picture in the paper with trashy women hanging all over him. He isn’t married.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe he just does whatever he pleases like every other guy.”

  An usher touched Halee lightly on the shoulder. “Miss McCarthy? Mr. Shaw requests your presence in the dugout.”

  An audible gasp sounded from the next seat over. Halee flashed the usher a kind smile and tried to appear unaffected. “Please tell him I’ll see him after the game.”

  “He insists, Ma’am.”

  The blonde elbowed her friend. They both stared.

  Halee bit her lip. The moment of truth had arrived. One year ago they’d been inseparable; three days ago they’d nearly capsized Sam’s boat in Chicago harbor. Now she dreaded five minutes alone with J.D. She felt like an addict being offered her addiction.

  Time to earn her ten thousand dollars.

  She got to her feet without another word and followed the usher onto the field, then down the several steps leading to the dugout. A row of young men lined up on a wooden bench looked up indifferently at first, then took double takes. One of them whistled.

  “Knock it off,” cautioned an old man in a little boy’s uniform.

  J.D. sat at the far end of the bench, intent on warm-ups, his dark eyes glued to the substitute player in his regular centerfield spot. He’d stuffed a bulky pack of ice between his uniform shirt and shoulder. Several minutes after the usher made his exit, he looked up.

  “Halee.” Instinctively he stood and took her hand, keeping the other braced against the ice bag. “What’s wrong?” he asked in earnest.

  Halee shrugged. “The usher said you wanted to see me.”

  “I always want to see you.” J.D.’s eyes were soft, his expression unusually calm. She gazed at his beautiful face and felt her defenses dissolve. All at once she was back in his life as if nothing had come between them. She had missed this man more than she cared to admit. How could it be possible to feel so deeply connected to someone she barely knew?

  She shook it off.

  “No women in the dugout, Shaw.” A brusque looking man with a three day beard and a bad attitude hobbled their way.

  “She’s my sister,” said J.D.

  “She’s a distraction. I want her gone.”

  “A little respect, Gordy.”

  The fat man spit over the fence. “Take it outside. Five minutes.”

  “Sorry,” said J.D., leading her down a darkened hallway toward the locker room. “Gordy’s always wound up tight before a game.” Before she could protest, he pulled her around to face him and leaned in, melting her lips with a sweet and gentle kiss. Her head fogged over. Her lips took charge. The kiss lasted longer than either of them realized.

  “Aw, thank you, Baby,” he said, staggering slightly. “That’s the best thing that’s happened to me all day.”

  Halee clutched J.D.’s jersey, her eyes still closed. God, it felt good to be held again. “What…” she asked, trying to pull herself together, “what’s wrong with your shoulder?”

  “Guess I messed it up on that long throw to the plate Friday night. Did you see that throw?” he asked with a sloppy grin.

  “I was at the benefit.”

  “Oh, yeah. Hell of a party.”

  “You hate fancy parties,” she said with a slight giggle.

  “I like yours.” His face lit up into a warm, sleepy smile, that same smile she’d woken up to more than once and dreamed about ever since.

  She cleared her throat. “J.D., I think Tony’s up to something. I mean, he asked me to come here and talk to you and I don’t even know why.”

  “The guy’s a snake, Halee. Stay away from him.” He leaned against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut, then gave his head a shake. “Just don’t do nothin’ he asks you to.”

  “He gave me a big check for the foundation.”

  “Look out,” he said in a sleepy voice. “King don’t give somethin’ away for nothin’.” He motioned her closer. “Come here a minute.”

  “How many pain pills did you take today?” she asked cautiously.

  "Don't you worry your pretty little mind over the likes of me," he said with a crooked smile. He reached out his good arm and caught her by the elbow. "Come here and kiss me."

  He didn't have to ask twice. Halee leaned up against his hard, warm body, one hand against his rock solid chest, the other gently caressing his stubble chin, and sank into his honeyed lips. "J.D.," she breathed, "why am I here?"

  "Cuz you love me?" He chuckled and kissed her again.

  "I mean, why does Tony want us together?"

  "Why does Tony want anything?" asked J.D. between kisses. "Good for business."

  "Me? Good for business?"

  J.D. squinted at her in the low light, his face tranquil and dreamlike. "Tony thinks I need a wife."

  She pushed away.

  "Whoa, there, Honey. I didn't mean to spook ya."

  A strange sense of dread overtook her. She took another step back. "Wife? Is that why we're together again?"

  "Together?"

  "Sam was right. You'll do anything to win. You set me up! You knew what Tony was up to and you let me walk right into his trap."

  "Baby, you ain't makin' no sense..."

  "I saw you at the gala. I saw you talking to Tony before I came over. You were plotting."

  "You got it all wrong, Halee."

  "Really? I don't see you for a year, I don't hear from you, not one I'm sorry, Halee, I didn't mean to sleep with someone else..." Halee clasped one hand to her chest, searching for the truth, trying to calm her voice, trying not to let the pain surface and take control. But it was too late. The tears had already begun to flow. "I'm sorry, Halee," she said in a broken voice, "'we really did have something good. I don't know what got into me. Not one word, J.D."

  He reached out to hold her but she stepped away.

  "Then suddenly you take up with me again like nothing ever happened. And I fell right into your little trap."

  "This has nothing to do with you..."

  "The hell it doesn't! I just took a $10,000 check from a man who thinks I can be bought and sold. I wouldn't expect anything different from Tony King. But you? Tell me you knew nothing about this, J.D. Tell me what happened on Sam's boat wasn't some plot to get you a Federals contract."

  "Baby..."

  J.D.’s answer was cut short by loud expletives echoing down the concrete tunnel. A general rumble followed and Halee turned in time to see a human tank approaching at full speed.

  “You got a lot of nerve showing up here tonight after you steal my woman out from under me!” Roudy Pickens came at them like a shotgun shell with a bevy of reporters on his heels. His face blazed fire engine red, his breath came in gulps.

  “Roudy?” J.D. asked in confusion.

  “You sonofabitch!” Roudy threw the first and only punch. J.D., in a narcotic daze, never saw it coming.

  The reporters pushed between Roudy and J.D. with cameras flashing and microphones shoved into Halee’s face.

  “How long have you and J.D. been engaged?”

  “Did J.D. know you were having an affair with Roudy Pickens?”

  “Is it true you’ll be moving to New York with J.D.?”

  Halee dropped to her knees at J.D.’s side and tried to shake him awake. He lay slumped on his back, moaning slightly, with a dumb smile on his handsome face. “Somebody get a doctor!” she cried.

  “Aw, J.D., I didn’t mean to whoop your ass,” Roudy whined from behind. “You were supposed to fight back.”

  “He can’t hear you, Roudy!” Halee shouted. “Go get one of the trainers!”


  Minutes later, Halee watched while the full set of Titan trainers gingerly checked J.D.’s head and body for injuries. “Lucky he fell on his left side,” she heard one of them say.

  “Roudy, you’re suspended for ten days,” bellowed Gordy.

  “I lost my temper, Coach,” Roudy explained. “J.D.’s marrying my girl.”

  “He can’t marry her, Roudy. She’s his sister.” Turning to Halee, he pushed his angry face closer to hers. “I told you not to come into the dugout. Now look what you’ve done.” He stormed off.

  “He’s probably got a mild concussion,” said the lead trainer to Halee. “You’ll have to watch him tonight. Wake him up every four hours and ask him to tell you his name. If you can’t get him to give you a good answer, take him to the hospital.”

  Halee spotted Tony King in the back of the crowd wearing an amused expression. He approached slowly as the rest of the crowd faded away.

  “I’ll help you get him home,” he said.

  ***

  “It’s better if you stay with him,” said Halee. She held the door as Tony dragged J.D. into his penthouse and dropped him fully clothed on his California king bed. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’m his agent, not his babysitter.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “Make sure he gets to practice by 5 A.M. You’ll have to drive him.”

  “I doubt he’ll be up to it.”

  “He’ll be up to it,” said King, heading for the door. “I’ve seen him look worse. He gets paid to show up.”

  “His head just crashed into a concrete floor.”

  “Shaw’s spent his whole life fighting. Lucky for him half his buddies are cops. Keeps him out of jail. He’ll get over it, I assure you.”

  “I thought you were friends.”

  “Business partners, Babe.”

  “So you don’t mind if he cracks his head open, as long as he follows through on his contract.”

  Tony paused in the foyer and sighed. “Cut the drama, Halee. His head isn’t cracked open. And yes, contracts are everything in this business. You’d better get used to that. Players get traded like collector cards. One season you’re in Philly, the next you’re in Seattle and nobody gives a fuck whether your kid has to switch schools or if you get to be home for fireworks on the Fourth of July. John knows what he signed up for. Don’t make him out to be a victim.”