"In a manner of speaking," Joel said. "The wives would mean well, of course, but it wouldn't be long before they'd insist that their husbands invest in modern art or skin creams or some other nutty . . ."
Joel stopped when he glanced at Grace. He needed only a second to see her folded arms and white-hot glare and realize that he had overstepped. He wasn't talking to Adam at a bachelor party. He backtracked quickly.
"You're right, though. Most of these people don't come here to discuss business. Most talk about personal matters. Baseball is great family therapy. In fact, if you're looking for a real domestic situation you need only to look up there."
Joel casually pointed to a party of four about ten rows up in their section. A stern-looking man of thirty, his frowning wife, and their twin sons, who appeared no more than six, followed the action on the field with varying degrees of interest.
"I know they're not talking right now, but that family's easy to figure out. The boys are having fun. This is probably their first baseball game and everything is exciting and interesting because it is new. They have never seen this many people in one place and have never heard this much noise. And they're happy because their usual routine on a Saturday night is a bath, a story, and a quick trip to bed. Who wants that?"
Grace smiled.
"And the boys' parents?"
"Oh, they're even easier. The man had planned to take their sons to the game by himself – a boys' night out, if you will. But he and the missus had a little spat this morning, and she insisted on coming along. They haven't resolved their differences, as you can see, and will continue to ignore each other at least until the seventh-inning stretch. Then the boys will fall asleep and Mom and Dad will put them on their laps and realize that the poker game last night and the unpainted kitchen are pretty unimportant in the grand scheme of things."
"And you know all this simply by looking at them?"
"Absolutely," Joel said. "The same thing is going on right now at a thousand other games in a thousand other towns. It's what baseball's all about."
* * * * *
Grace wondered whether there were enough dump trucks in Seattle to carry Joel's social observations to the proper destination. But she made no attempt to disrupt his discourse or counter his commentary. She loved listening to his baloney.
When they reached the edge of the bleachers on the third-base line ten minutes later, they put their hands on the railing and gazed at the fans on Tightwad Hill. Some sat on lawn chairs, while others rested on blankets. A few stood or walked around. All enjoyed minor league baseball for free.
"What a bunch of cheapskates," Joel said.
"That's rather harsh. Maybe they don't have enough money to see the game."
"That's not the point, Grace. Baseball is a business that depends on ticket-paying customers. If everyone sat out there the team would go bankrupt and no one could watch any game. They're undermining the franchise. The police ought to hose down the lot of them or at least make them buy a few bags of popcorn."
Grace sighed, shook her head, and then looked at the hill, where a few teenagers chased a foul ball that landed in a clump of weeds. Two scrapped for the ball before one retrieved it cleanly and held it high over his head.
"You have to admit they're pretty clever," she said. "They get all the foul balls and home runs. All they have to do is wait."
"Have you ever gotten a foul ball?"
"Never. But then, I've been to only three games."
"I think I can change that. But we'll have to stay here for a bit."
Grace shook her head.
"No. Let's go."
Grace wanted to return to their seats and their friends. Though she had no problem listening to more of his blather, or even actually watching the game, she wanted to do so while sitting down. She was tired of standing.
Joel compromised and talked her into staying an inning. He said it would only be a matter of time before a right-handed batter put a ball within their reach.
He was right. A few minutes later a San Francisco slugger sent a hanging curve high over their heads. The deep fly hooked just left of the foul pole and bounced off a rock into the parking lot. Within seconds Joel went through the railing, down the bleachers, over the fence, and out of the stadium.
"What are you doing?" Grace shouted.
"I'm getting you a souvenir!"
Two boys and a girl from Tightwad Hill also saw the ball and got the jump on Joel, but the time traveler made the most of a superior vantage point. He saw where the ball rolled and headed straight for a shiny black sedan. In no time he pulled the object from behind a front tire, held it up, and smiled at Grace.
Apparently not content to win graciously, Joel waved the booty at his juvenile competitors and strutted like a bandleader as he returned to the stadium. When he reached the fence, he looked up at Grace and tossed the ball into awaiting hands.
"For you, my lady."
She put the ball in her purse and then watched Joel attempt to scale an eight-foot fence. The spectacle proved more entertaining than any game. For nearly a minute Joel paced frantically along the smooth-sided barrier. He searched for handgrips and footholds but found slick, useless steel. The useful stuff was on the other side. When he threw his hands up, Grace laughed.
Serves you right.
Just as Grace began to feel sorry for her hero and dig out his ticket, she glanced toward the knoll and saw the three ball-chasing kids bicker among themselves. The boys yelled at each other for losing the prize and at the younger girl for getting in their way. Unable to fend for herself, she began to cry and drifted away.
Grace stared at the girl for a moment and then raced down the bleachers to a spot closest to the outfield wall. She called out to the youth. Dressed in denim overalls, the girl turned around and walked toward the well-dressed woman until she was within voice range. Grace dug the ball out of her purse and tossed it near the child's feet.
"Take it, dear," she said. "You deserve it. And don't let the others get to you. Boys can be dreadful at times."
The freckle-faced redhead hesitated for a moment, as if suspecting a trick, and stepped tentatively toward the offering. When Grace smiled, the girl picked up the ball, flashed a toothless grin, and ran to her mother screaming about her new find and new friend.
* * * * *
Grace waved at the girl and then hurried back up the bleachers to Joel's departure point. When she arrived, she found him in the immediate company of a burly man in a stadium security vest. Neither appeared particularly happy.
The bouncer, who doubled as an usher for paying customers, spoke first.
"This guy says he's with you."
Grace walked up to Joel, closely inspected his appearance, and wrinkled her nose a few times, as if offended by an odor. She smiled and turned to the authority figure.
"He is clearly mistaken. This man is obviously a cheapskate trying to undermine the franchise. You should hose him off and wash him of his sins."
Joel stared at Grace with wide eyes.
Are you freaking kidding me?
Joel started to speak but stopped when he saw more trouble approach. A tall Seattle policeman, wielding a baton, arrived on the scene just as the inning ended and the crowd turned their way. The cop wore the face of a man who had not yet had his dinner.
"What's going on here?"
"I just nabbed a gate crasher. He climbed over that fence," the usher said. "You can even see the crate he used to get over the top."
"I have a ticket, Officer. I have every right to be here," Joel said. "I jumped out only to get her a foul ball. Tell him, Grace."
"Well?" the policeman asked.
"That may be the case," Grace said, putting a finger to her lips. "But I'm not certain. It all happened so fast. One minute he was standing beside me. The next he was looking under parked cars. He said this place was good for business."
Joel turned white and closed his eyes.
The cop looked at Joel.
"Is that so?"
"I did nothing but chase a ball into the lot," Joel said, emphasizing the nouns. "As God is my witness, that's all I did."
"It doesn't matter," the security man said. "You don't have a ticket in hand. No ticket, no admission. You're going back out."
"You want some help?"
"I think I can handle it from here, Officer."
"Suit yourself."
The usher grabbed Joel by the elbow and ushered him forward.
"Let's go, buddy."
As the policeman departed and returned to his post near the home team's dugout, the security man slowly guided Joel through a crowded walkway toward the grandstand and the first available exit. Grace, smiling at the accused, followed closely behind.
Joel glanced over his shoulder at the blonde. He couldn't believe she had abandoned him like a feral dog. He had risked his neck getting that ball. Talk about ingratitude. He remembered something Adam had told him their freshman year.
Trust no woman.
But as the usher and Joel approached the exit, Grace put her hand in her purse and pulled out two slips of paper Ginny had given her at the gate. She rushed forward.
"Excuse me, sir," she said. "It seems I've made a terrible mistake. I have his ticket right here. I found it in my purse. I'll gladly claim him, if it's all the same to you."
Grace showed the man the stubs. He examined them, scowled, and handed them back. The college senior smiled and batted her eyelashes.
"You're on the wrong side of the stadium. I suggest you return to your seats."
"We will, sir," she said. "Thank you."
The bouncer shook his head, released Joel, and walked away.
Joel stared hard at Grace.
"Why did you do that?" he asked. "I could have gone to jail."
"I thought your attitude needed a tune-up," she said. "Cheapskates are people too. They just have fewer pennies in their pockets."
The comment broke Joel like a twig. He looked at Grace and saw a disarming smile and gently scolding eyes. How could he get mad at that? How could anyone?
* * * * *
By the time they returned to their seats, and Tom and Ginny, the third inning had become the fifth, Seattle led three to one, and Grace was smiling and laughing.
"I almost sent for security," Tom said, grinning. "Where were you two?"
"We went to chase foul balls, chat with law enforcement, and greet the tightwads on Tightwad Hill. They're still pretty tight."
"I'll bet they are," Tom said, putting his arm around Ginny. "Sit down and stay for a while. This is a double date, after all."
Tom returned to the game, seemingly unaware of the daisy-cutter he had dropped in Row 12. Was this a date? For a moment Joel considered the question and two possible answers. He looked at Grace and Ginny and saw they were likely doing the same. No one wanted to address such a delicate matter on what was supposed to be a simple night at the ballpark. Joel changed the subject before others jumped in. He turned to Tom.
"Did you know the ponies ran today? It was the best opening day at Longacres ever. Some horse from Arizona, Over Drive, broke the track record for six furlongs."
"Did I know? Did I know? Do fish have lips? Of course I knew. If it weren't for this gorgeous dame next to me, I'd have been all over it. We're there next weekend, and I'm not taking no for an answer."
"You won't get a 'no' from me."
"Good. I'll hold you to it."
As the sixth, seventh, and eighth innings rolled into the ninth, San Francisco tied the score and then pulled ahead five to three. The hosts needed two in the bottom half of the frame to send the game into extra innings. But Joel paid less attention to the action on the field than to a report by the public address announcer that Joe DiMaggio had extended his hitting streak to forty games with a double and a single against Philadelphia.
"Do you think he'll get to fifty?" Tom asked.
"I know he will. In fact, he'll get to fifty-six."
"Fifty-six? Don't you think that's a bit optimistic?" Ginny asked. "He still has a long way to go. No one has reached fifty, and only a few have made it to forty."
"OK. I'll put my money where my mouth is. Tom, do you know a bookie who can handle something like this?"
Joel saw Tom redden and instantly regretted asking the question, at least in mixed company. He suspected that even compulsive gamblers liked to maintain a modicum of innocence around those who did not share their lofty opinion of high-stakes wagering.
"I think I could find one," Tom said.
"Great. Here's twenty dollars. Put it on DiMaggio to reach fifty-six – not fifty or fifty-five or fifty-seven but fifty-six. And while you are at it, put some lettuce on Ted Williams to bat .406 for the season. This is going to be a good year for baseball."
Grace smiled as she turned to face the man who tossed twenties around like candy at a parade.
"You sound rather confident. Did you consult a crystal ball this morning?"
"No," Joel said. "Just my intuition."
And a very good memory.
* * * * *
Seattle won seven to six in ten innings. Its star first baseman doubled off the wall in left field to bring in two runs and send six thousand fans home smiling.
Joel too had a smile on his face. On the drive back to the university district he locked eyes with Grace for forty delightfully long minutes. Heavy traffic, red lights, and a conspicuous absence of efficiency measures nearly doubled the length of the trip home. But no one in the Plymouth complained.
When Tom finally stopped in front of the house on Klickitat Avenue, he walked around to the passenger side, let Ginny out, and escorted her to the door. He kissed his girl good night, promised to call the next day, and returned to the car.
Joel found his closing act a bit more challenging. He helped Grace out of the back seat and walked her to the top of the stairs but froze when he arrived. For all of his worldly experience, he had never had to search for words to end a date – or at least what Tom Carter had flippantly called a date.
Ginny made the search easier. Standing inside the partially opened door, with her hand on the knob, she told her friend and sorority sister that it was time to come in. Joel knew then that he didn't have the luxury of time. The right words would have to wait for another day, if there was another day.
"Good night, Grace. I enjoyed tonight."
"I did too," she said, eyes fixed on his. "Have a safe drive back. Good night."
CHAPTER 35
Grace looked at the frequently replenished stacks of paper and wondered if she would ever finish. Since eight that morning she had filed hundreds of three-by-five-inch cards into narrow wooden drawers with uncompromising accuracy, so that faculty, students, and staff would be able to find new authors, subjects, and titles without blowing a gasket. By eleven thirty her mind had turned to mush.
"Machines will someday make that a whole lot easier."
Grace smiled but did not lift her eyes from the tedious work or budge from her chair at a small wooden table. She recognized the voice and its mischievous tone.
"Have you come here to harass me, Mr. Smith?"
"Not at all, miss. I'm seeking reference assistance."
"Then why don't you ask the reference librarians?"
"Because they're old and mean and ugly and go 'shush' a lot."
"They do not!" Grace protested. She lowered her voice and spoke dismissively. "And some are young and pretty."
"OK. I won't argue."
Joel pulled up a seat opposite the disagreeable file clerk and visually inspected the small, stuffy room, which architects had placed in a windowless corner of the main library. Two other girls filed cards at a larger table a few feet away, but no Dickensian authority figures roamed the workhouse to keep the coeds in line or inhibit the time traveler's private pursuit of a public employee.
"This doesn't look like much fun," Joel said with a playful grin. He grabbed a title card from the top of the stack and inspected it fo
r typos. "Do you ever shuffle the deck to make things interesting or bundle the cards with chewing gum?"
"I do not," Grace said matter-of-factly.
She continued her work.
"That's good. You're a consummate professional."
He grabbed another card, held it up to the light, and shook his head.
"I don't think we can accept this one, Grace. It spells Smith with a 'y' and an 'e.' I don't spell it that way."
"Perhaps you should."
"Maybe I should. But if I took that name I'd have to order a stiff upper lip to go with it. That might make eating difficult."
"You'd manage."
Joel returned the card to the stack, sat up straight, and put his hands together on top of the table, as if finally realizing that the needle on Grace's annoyance meter was drifting into the red zone. He ditched the smirk and the attitude.
"I thought you worked in the rare books section. That's what Ginny said."
"I normally do. But they needed extra help down here this week, so I volunteered. There aren't many students around during the summer months." Grace pulled more cards from the nearest pile. "Why aren't you working today? Did Carter's run out of furniture?"
"No. The old man just decided to give me a weekday off. Business is pretty slow on Tuesdays, so that was the obvious choice."
"And so you've come here to watch me sort slips of paper."
"I came here to thank you for Saturday. I had a good time."
"I did too."
Grace took a breath, pushed the cards away, and looked at Joel. She knew he had come to the library to do more than thank her for an enjoyable evening. But she did not know how to handle his visit any more than she knew how to handle the conflicting thoughts bouncing in her head.
"When do you get off?"
"I can leave at four, but I may stay later."
"Great. Maybe I can come back."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why?"
"Because I'm engaged to be married, and I don't think my fiancé would appreciate me spending time with another man, even as friends," she said in a firm whisper.
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