The explosion came as she reached the bench, stooping to tie the laces of her cleats. “Whitman, it’s about goddamn time you showed up! I wanta talk to you!”
“Hi Bobby, nice to see you too.” Julia “Juls” Whitman smiled, straightening to her full height, gray blue eyes regarding him without a hint of consternation. She stood at least six inches taller.
“Where the hell’s Mikawski?” Bobby resisted the urge to hop up on the bench to continue his harangue. He didn’t much care for women looking down at him.
“Isn’t she here?”
“No, and if she doesn’t show in five minutes, you’re pitching.”
‘But I—”
“Put a sock in it and start throwin’. I gotta a date tonight and we’re starting on time for a change. Belles have been warming up for forty-five goddamn minutes.”
“Rosie’ll be here. She’d never miss a game,” Juls called over her shoulder trotting out to the mound.
Fifteen minutes later the game was underway with Juls pitching. Still no sign of Rosie Mikawski.
By the third inning, Juls, agitated and distracted, allowed three runs to score, two of them on errors.
Gagnon blew up. “What the hell are you doin’ out there, Whitman? Jesus Christ!”
“Watch your language Bob, there are kids watching,” called Dan Powers, husband of Ruby, the Flames second baseman.
Powers’ words had little effect. After the next pitch yielded a triple, Bobby charged out to the mound, arms flailing, eyes bulging, curses punctuating the night air.
Juls endured his screaming for several minutes before exploding herself.
“Stop it Bobby! I didn’t want to pitch and you knew it! How do you expect me to concentrate when I’m worried about Rosie? This isn’t like her, I talked to her this morning and she was psyched for this game. Something’s wrong.”
“You got that right, and you’re it!” Gagnon snarled, worried himself, but unwilling to show it.
“Look, you’ve had it,” he continued, turning towards the outfield. “Mendoza, get your fanny in here, now! And you, get out there where you belong.”
“Fine,” she mumbled, turning towards left field.
“Juls,” he called after her, his voice softer. “She’s fine. Forget about it and play ball. We’ll go over to her place right after the game, okay?”
He watched Juls’ retreat, her long straight back knit with tension. Even in league issue orlon, she was just short of gorgeous with those long, thin legs and slender hips. Juls Whitman had commanded his secret admiration since the day he’d volunteered to coach the Flames. Her hair had been long then, tied back in an unruly braid that reached her waist. Shoulder length now, the auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail that stuck out above the strap adjuster on her cap. A smile to die for and lips that begged to be kissed, the woman had no idea of her effect on men, least of all, middle-aged Bobby Gagnon.
Tuck Potter, Juls’ partner in a suburban caretaking business was a boyhood friend of Bobby’s younger brothers. Tuck had coached the Flames for five years, but the business had grown to the point where it was impossible for both partners to be unavailable three or four nights a week during the summer. Tuck had described the team as a “great bunch of ladies” and he had been right. Coaching the Flames had been Bobby’s salvation.
Years earlier, the J and T partners had had a brief affair, but nowadays, Tuck described Juls as “one of the guys.” It was bullshit, of course, since Bobby knew damn well that Tuck still harbored more than friendly feelings for his partner. Juls had prevailed, however, and she now kept Tuck, and most men for that matter, at arm’s length.
Gagnon hadn’t failed to notice the tears rimming his pitcher’s eyes and she was right, it wasn’t like Mikawski. The Bedford Belles were their biggest rivals and Rosie would never have missed this particular game voluntarily. All the punch knocked out of him, Bobby withdrew to the bench, glumly taking his place alongside his players.
The game dragged on, Juls’ dread mounting with each inning. The Belles finally put them out of their misery, burying the Flames under a merciless barrage of hitting. The ump called the game in the seventh, Belles-12, Flames-1, as darkness descended over the Globe Corners field, the headlights of passing cars a distraction the Flames would no longer have to endure.
Juls gathered her things scanning the crowd. “Where’s Tuck?” she asked to no one in particular. “He was supposed to pick me up! He should have been here hours ago. The one night I really need him!” She waved at her teammates who were heading for a beer at Archie’s across the street.
“Go in and call Mikawski,” Gagnon yelled, tossing the equipment bag into his trunk. “If there’s no answer and Tucker isn’t here by the time you’re back, I’ll run you over.”
“You sure?” Juls asked, dropping her bag at his feet. “What about your date?”
“Screw that, now get goin’. Give her hell so we can go in and get a goddamn beer to drown our sorrows after this fuckin’ game from hell.”
“Thanks Bobby, watch my stuff okay? Be right back.”
Gagnon threw her bag into the car, starting the engine and pulling the Impala up in front of Archie’s. Knowing Rosie Mikawski as well as he did, there was no way he’d be havin’ a beer in the foreseeable future.
Two minutes later Juls appeared, “No answer,” she said, hopping in. “Let’s go.”
“You know she’s probably all fucked up, three sheets to the wind at the Bluebird right now doncha?”
“No way.”
Gagnon didn’t believe it any more than she did. Softball and her teammates were Rosie’s life.
Bobby had spent many evenings with Juls, Tuck and Rosie drinking, playing cards, enjoying cookouts on the beach, going to concerts, out to dinner. Just last weekend they had all sailed to Nantucket on a friend’s boat, camping on the beach, all the men in one tent and Rosie, Juls and two other women in a tent up the beach, giggling all night long.
Mutt and Jeff he called them. When the two friends walked into a room one was first struck by the contrasts—Juls’ tall, slender beauty, alongside the handsome, but shorter, stockier Rosie. The latter’s coal black curls wild and unkempt, her dark eyes dancing with light mirrored her personality. Rosie was gregarious, loud and physical in her affections, whereas Juls, although friendly, was quieter, more reserved. Beneath the facades, however, dwelt two kindred spirits and together, they created a whole, distinct from their individual selves, a palpable warmth radiating from the pair that enveloped all around them in its warm, comforting embrace.
Their easy camaraderie was nearly impossible to resist and people were drawn into their circle of friendship. For Bobby Gagnon—to whom women had always been strange, elusive creatures—the friendship with Juls and Rosie had been a revelation.
The “girls” as Tuck called them, had known each other since grade school, remaining close friends through high school and college despite long periods of separation. Bobby never tired of listening to the stories of their growing up years. The Whitmans had never approved of Rosie Mikawski from the Flint, but that hadn’t mattered a wit to their daughter. During her high school years, Juls was sent away to a boarding school in the Berkshires, while Rosie stayed at home, but the friends wrote, sometimes five or six letters a week, calling as often as they could. Weekends, if Rosie could get away, she’d coerce a friend into driving her up to visit Juls, sneaking her out of the dorm.
As he started down Willett, Bobby began praying. “God make everything be okay,” he thought, as he pulled the Impala up to park across the street from Rosie’s building.
“What?” Juls asked, looking over at him.
Not realizing he’d spoken aloud, he mumbled, “Nothing,” adding hoarsely, “Come on let’s go give her hell.”
Chapter 2
Dan “Tuck” Potter walked into Archie’s Tavern not three minutes after Bobby’s Impala rounded the Globe Corner rotary, disappearing from sight. Spying the Flames clustered at their usual ta
bles by the jukebox, he waved, grabbing a beer on his way to join them.
“How’d ya do?”
“We stunk up the field,” Karen Ramos replied, her leg slowly extending, pushing an empty chair towards him. A come hither move if he’d ever seen one and he’d seen most of ‘em.
“No?”
“Yup. Lost twelve to one,” Ann Greeley said, rising to fetch another round. “It’s okay. We have two more shots at ‘em. We were missing players. We’ll get ‘em next time, you wait.”
“Gagnon must be a happy camper. Where is the lad anyhow and for that matter, where’s my partner?”
“They’ve gone to Rosie’s. She didn’t show for the game, Bobby’s pissed and Juls is a basket case.”
As Ann prattled on, Karen leaned back in her chair eyeing Potter, her eyes leaving little doubt as to her intentions. The team uniform—baggy on most of the women—fit Karen like a second skin. The top was stretched tight across her ample bosom, nipples clearly visible under the thin, white orlon. Reddish blonde curls—frisky even after three hours shoved under a baseball cap—ringed her heart-shaped face and her dark eyes danced with mischief. Karen was pretty and she knew it.
She had always had the hots for Tuck, but her interest had never been returned. He barely knew she was alive except when he needed to locate one of his buddies, Juls, Rosie or Bobby. Fuck him, she thought, not my type anyway, too preppy with all that tousled, sandy hair and sea blue eyes. His tan canvas slacks were worn and ripped, but she had to admit, they looked gorgeous on his trim athletic body. A faded blue work shirt fell loosely over the broad shoulders and although Karen had never seen what lay beneath the shirt, she could imagine.
“Well, ladies, gotta go. See you at the next game.”
He had barely sat down and now he was rushing off, as usual, trailing after Juls. It was always Juls, more like a marriage than a partnership, Karen mused, grabbing his untouched Pabst, calling “thanks” as she turned back to her teammates.
“Phew,” Tuck mused as he headed towards the North end, driving at least twenty miles over the speed limit. “Cat’s on the prowl tonight,” he said aloud, thinking that Karen Ramos was trouble with a capital T. He’d just broken up with one bitch and he sure as hell didn’t need another.
After Gracie had packed up and left a year and a half ago, Tuck’s lady luck had taken a decidedly sour turn until Marcia came into his life. In the beginning, their relationship had been sweet indeed. A friend of a friend, they’d hit it off from day one and Marcia had fit right into the gang. Then, she moved into the beach house he shared with J and T’s office and things had gone downhill fast. Juls didn’t like Marcia, but hell, Juls hadn’t liked any of his girlfriends except for crazy Annie from Boston. Juls claimed he only dated bitches, but she and Annie had hit it off from the start until Annie had fallen in love with big Jim and run off to Colorado to run a saloon. They still sent Christmas cards.
He had to admit, Juls was right, he did attract bitches, no doubt about it. As soon as Marcia moved in she started screaming, a continual screech that never let up except when Juls was in the office, which wasn’t often. During Marcia’s residence, Juls had avoided the office as much as possible. Too much of an effort to be pleasant.
When the whole gang got together, it was easier for his partner to keep her distance, but in the office it was impossible. From day one Marcia insinuated herself into every facet of the business and once she grabbed hold of a project, there was no wresting it away from her. Tuck had initially encouraged his live-in’s involvement, but things had quickly gotten out of hand. He smiled, remembering Juls’ long overdue explosion after a particularly trying day with Marcia.
“That’s it Tuck! Either she goes or I do! No... that’s not right. I’m not going, Marcia is and you’re telling her as soon as she gets back!”
“Telling me what?” Marcia purred, voice smooth as silk as she sauntered in from the kitchen.
Taking in the saucy stroll, the self-satisfied grim—Marcia had a wicked smile—and the haughty flip of her silky blond hair, Juls took a deep breath and let her have it.
“Marcia, I started this business with Tuck almost twelve years ago. It’s a good business, we make a decent living, we get along and our customers are happy.”
“So what’dya want, a medal?”
Tuck cringed, fearing he was about to witness a murder.
Juls ignored the sarcasm, “Then you come along and suddenly Mr. Longfield’s calling saying you’ve insulted his wife. We’ve got dirty units that you were supposed to have had cleaned and we’ve got a phone bill that’s three times what it usually is. Then there’s the—”
“Can I get a word in?” Marcia interrupted, her voice squeakier than usual.
“I’m not finished.”
“You’re just jealous, that’s it, isn’t it? You can’t stand it that Tuck and I are partners now and doing a great job without you!”
Tuck intervened at this juncture. “That’s enough Marcia. Juls is right, it’s our business, hers and mine and you’ve been screwing up. It’s my fault, I take the blame for encouraging you to become involved in the first place. Stupid move on my part. Sorry hon, you’re gonna hafta bow out. It’s not working and if Juls hadn’t spoken up, I would have. The Longfields are two of our oldest customers; they’ve been with us since the beginning. There was no reason for you to treat Janet like that, calling her dog—-”
“A fucking guinea pig! I can’t believe what I’m hearing! The little rodent bit me, for crying out loud, and all you care about is the old bat and that decrepit husband of hers! What’s the matter with you people?”
“What’s the matter with us is that J and T is built on good will and friendly service neither of which you seem able to deliver,” Juls replied. Her voice had lost its fire, but her cheeks were flushed and blotchy, betraying the anger still smoldering beneath the surface. “And we don’t have the money for all these hour-long phone calls to California, New York and wherever else you’re always calling.”
Jaw set, her face flushed and angry, Marcia glared at the partners standing side by side behind the desk. “Fine, I’m outta here. Screw the both of you and your cozy little partnership. No one could step between you two and live to tell about it anyway! I’ve been offered a job in New York starting next week so good riddance!”
“What the—?” Tuck stared at her.
“That’s right. I’m leaving Sunday so you can go back to your pathetically chummy existence.”
So, Marcia had departed and Tuck had heard nothing from her and didn’t expect to. Something told him that Karen Ramos would make Marcia look like Pollyanna. Best keep his distance from that one. Besides, it wasn’t as if he needed lady friends. A coed working for J and T this summer had already caught his eye and if he and Kerry hit it off, the last thing he needed was Karen breathing down his neck.
Marcia had been right about one thing, he and Juls did lead a chummy existence. However, he doubted that Juls had ever been jealous of Marcia or any of his girlfriends, she just didn’t have it in her. He had known his partner for nearly fourteen years. She was warm, funny, stubborn, practical in business matters, athletic, compassionate, opinionated, a fiercely loyal friend, a forgiving opponent, a hard worker, a loving daughter and sister, but jealous? Not Juls.
They’d met in Laguna Beach, California where they were both attending an advanced workshop on the craft of leaded glass construction. Amazed to find fellow Fall Riverites so far from home, they had sought each other out during the workshop, spending their free time together during the six-week course. At the workshop’s conclusion, they extended their stay for four weeks, traveling up the coast to Northern California, Washington and Oregon. A brief romantic fling during that trip had ended the day they stepped off the plane in Providence.
While a fierce attraction lingered, by the time they arrived at home, they had decided to go into business together and Juls had insisted romance give way to friendship if they were to work together. By
his own admission, Tuck had already dated and discarded more women than he could remember and she wasn’t about to start a business only to have it fall prey to his romantic whims. Tuck reluctantly acceded to her wishes, but more than once over the years he had regretted the promise made in the parking lot of Green Airport. He was still very much in love with Juls Whitman.
The past twelve years had been prosperous ones. They’d started with the glass shop, making windows and lamp shades on commission as well as restoring old windows in local churches and the turn of the century Victorian homes of Fall River, Newport and surrounding areas. While the business grew steadily, stained glass was not the booming business on the East coast that it had been out West. After three years, J and T branched out in another direction, becoming J and T Limited in the process.
Most of their business now was caretaking the summer homes, condominiums and multi-million-dollar beach houses of Windy Harbor, a wealthy summer enclave fifteen minutes southeast of Fall River. The tiny coastal town had grown by leaps and bounds over the last twelve years as farmers sold out for millions to the affluent New Yorkers and Bostonians voraciously gobbling up the last stretches of virgin coastline. A sleepy little fishing and farming village for many generations, Windy Harbor had finally been discovered. Like it or not, the locals had had to adapt and many did not do so graciously.
The hostility of Windy Harbor’s natives had in fact been largely responsible for the initial success of J and T. Snubbed and shunned by their neighbors, the Harbor’s newest residents had had nowhere to turn for help and services until Juls and Tuck appeared on the scene. With open arms and friendly smiles, the partners catered to their clients every whim with efficiency and discretion. J and T looked after clients’ properties in winter and summer, handling all rental agreements and arranging to have services—water, phone, electricity, trash collection and so forth—resumed or terminated with the changing seasons.
Poof! Page 22
