“Well then, I won’t keep you. Good luck.”
I hang up, fire up the car, and head to the near west side to surprise Molly at her office. Sure, it’s Woodie’s big day, but I can still sneak her away to lunch to open up to her. As I turn onto Fulton Avenue, a thick cloud of rising smoke alerts me to a car accident ahead. Traffic is backed up as far as I can see.
I do a drumroll on my steering wheel. “Damn. Come on, I’m trying to stay upbeat. I need all the positive vibes you can send my way, world.”
I hit the brakes and reach over to grab this morning’s paper from the passenger seat. Yesterday my father told me to snag a copy, because the Cleveland Press was doing a feature on Molly and her political work.
The paper falls apart into its various sections, lining my car with ads and unnecessary coupons. I grab the sports section. I don’t need to read the credit line to recognize the large photo of a local baseball player. Woodie seems to have hit the big-time. I read the article, forgetting lunch all together.
Five tool player will be a wonderful addition to a new team.
After a monstrous 1999, Woodie Wodyzewski is preparing to make his push to become a Major League starter. Many feel that if the White Sox hadn’t had such a stellar run in the past few years, he might have broken into the line-up sooner.
“I just want to go out and do my part to energize my team, make the plays I can, and leave the rest up to the guys to pick me up,” Mr. Wodyzewski said.
Coach Hargrove told us, “Based on his play, it’s becoming more apparent that we need to find a way to keep Woodie here, but with all of these trade rumors, all we can do is sit back and see how things shake out.”
In 1999, Woodie split time at left and centerfield, hitting .303 with 16 homers and adding 32 steals to his resume. What impressed scouts around the country the most, though, was his stellar defense.
“Woodie flies around the outfield with reckless abandon and carries himself like he owns his territory. This kid stands poised to take his game to the next level and be a star in this league,” said Chad Jeanne, a scout for the—
A blaring car horn rips my attention from the page. Traffic has inched forward. I put the car into gear, pull ahead, and wave one finger to the irritated driver behind me.
After parking at the first open space available, I pop in a mint and head into The De Leon’s headquarters. Molly’s assistant Claire looks up from her David Fulmer novel. “Hello, can I help you? Oh, hey Ryan, sorry. With the sun glaring, I didn’t realize it was you.”
She straightens her thick, red-framed glasses and stands, though Claire’s legs are short enough that the maneuver doesn’t help her peer over her imposing desk any better.
I tap my fingers against my leg, more nervous than I realized. “Molly around?”
“I’m afraid this is bad timing, Ryan. Molly has a big meeting today and she’s swamped.”
Her hesitation leaves me feeling like I’m getting brushed off, and I don’t like it.
Before I can get a word out, Claire pops a humongous gum bubble. “Well, the Senator is back in her office, so maybe she can tell you where Molly is.”
I nod and head toward Sen. Jane De Leon’s overtly decadent office. Over the years I’ve visited this building many times, mostly to help get Molly out of work and into trouble. Without a second thought, I enter the largest room in the building through the thick, mahogany doors.
Inside two people occupy the candlelit office. Neither one of them appear concerned with making Ohio a better place for its citizens. I recognize Senator De Leon’s slender frame, though she’s half hidden by a large mass of tousled brown hair belonging to the person she’s sucking face with.
The door slams shut behind me, jolting all three of us in the room. Before the couple turns, nervous words begin spilling from my mouth faster than I can process what I’m saying. “Molly, lunch, kissing...That’s not Mr. De Leon.”
I fumble for words and for the door. “So sorry to interrupt. Just going to take Molly for lunch and...”
As the second person turns around, I recognize Mrs. Wodyzewski. My guts twist into knots. Her dark brown eyes widen with surprise, but there’s no way she’s as shocked as me.
Sen. De Leon removes her hand from my friend’s mom’s neck and gazes at me with an even smile. “Maybe you can take me out for a bite instead?”
I reel back on my heels, until I feel my back pressing against the door. If there was ever a time to walk through walls, now would be it. I gauge each women’s emotions by reading their vastly different body language. Mrs. Wodyzewski’s eyes hold a mixture of panic and embarrassment, while Sen. De Leon maintains a calm and collected composure as if I just walked in on them completing their taxes and not committing adultery.
“Ryan, you know Deborah,” she says.
Mrs. Wodyzewski’s mascara blotches around her eyes as she looks to her partner for advice. Smeared rose-red lipstick gives her face a clownish appearance
The senator, however, only has eyes for me. “So, what do you say to my offer of lunch?”
I nod. The Senator hops off her desk and we shuffle out of her office.
We pass Claire, who refuses to make eye contact.
Sen. De Leon opens the door for me, and then follows out into the daylight. “I’m worried my daughter works too much and never meets anyone, so I asked another workaholic friend of mine to take her out on the town today. Of course, I had my own reasons for wanting the office clear, but that plan has been vetoed by you.”
Sen. De Leon flashes the bright, welcoming smile that has earned her votes since before I was born.
We walk a few blocks in silence, the senator’s expression assuring passersby life couldn’t be any better. We turn a corner, passing my car, and now she’s ready to talk. “You have feelings for my daughter, and you must know she has feelings for you as well.”
I search her statement for a question. Sure, Molly and I have never had a steady relationship through the years, but we’ve had our moments. I consider mentioning our first kiss, going to prom together, and even our weekend trip to Canada that remains a secret to this day, but I maintain my silence.
“She’s a beautiful lady, my Molly. I am so proud of her accomplishments already, but I fear for the day she realizes there are bigger fights to take on than what’s happening here in Ohio. I want to see my daughter succeed, of course, but I want it to be here at home, not D.C., New York City or Chicago.”
My stomach grumbles as we pass the deli I intended to treat Molly to. I want to know where we’re headed, but the longer the senator talks about Molly, it leaves less time to discuss what I just witnessed.
“My husband and I both thought Molly would have settled down by now, but that girl is just too stubborn. You must realize that Molly needs to live life on her own terms, and settling down with someone, anyone, right now is just not in the cards.”
Anger boils inside, but it’s not directed at Molly’s mother. It’s directed at the truth of her statements. At this point I just want to know why she’s making them.
Mrs. De Leon turns to me. “Behind me stands the restaurant where my only daughter is enjoying a stellar meal with a wonderful businessman. She’s not wasting away her day playing games, competing to see who can be the biggest loser in a triangle of fools.”
My jaw drops at her gall. This elicits a thin smile from the senator.
Unable to look at this predatory, cold-blooded animal anymore, I redirect my attention toward the restaurant facade. It’s a three-story rust-red brick building overgrown with a leafy vine. A maroon awning protrudes above the entrance, proclaiming words in a language I can’t read. I’m out of my league, a minnow in a kiddie pool full of sharks. I take an involuntary step back.
“Don’t get me wrong, Ryan. I admire your determination, but your particular set of skills is not what my daughter deserves.”
“Shouldn’t Molly decide what she needs and wants?”
“Shouldn’t a mother guide her dau
ghter down a path of success?” Her tone is icy, Lake Erie in February. Maybe she’s right, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“I just find it funny that as a concerned mother, you’d steer her clear of the two men in her life that genuinely make her happy rather than the stiffs you always feel are right for her. I’ve spent enough late nights listening to your daughter cry and recount how disastrous those forced parings ended up. Or is it that you’d prefer she find a nice woman to settle down with?”
She looks on, but her face remains stone.
“I could see her one day choosing Woodie over me, but I can’t see her ever giving up on both of us. Good luck explaining this to him, by the way, when Woodie knows you’re intentions to cut us out, he’ll go nuclear.”
She can hide behind her poker face all she wants, but I know she must be worried about dealing with him and his temper.
“Tell Woodie?” she says, looking taken aback. “There’s no need. I can see the hamster wheel spinning in that one-track mind of yours. I give it twenty minutes before you’re calling him, crying like a little boy who just had his toy stolen by the neighborhood bully.”
Too stunned to offer a retort, I let Sen. De Leon stroll away. I stumble over to the large window and peer into the restaurant like a lonely dog in the rain. As if the senator planned every detail of the moment, Molly sits at the back corner table facing me, beaming like she’s having the time of her life. The man at her table turns, and I recognize Mitch, the trainer I was supposed to work out with today. His family-run gyms are all the rage in town and I’d wager he donates plenty of cash to Mrs. De Leon’s campaign.
I step toward the door, pause, and then take a step toward my car. I turn back to the door and pause again, lost in confused thought. Through the window, I watch Molly for a few more moments. She looks happy, whether forced to be here by the senator or not.
With a few hours left until I’m supposed to meet my two best friends at the park, I decide I need time to think things through. I forget entering the restaurant and head to the deli by myself.
Chapter Eleven
A Couple Hours Later
Hopping in the car, I flip on the radio to hear Tony Drizzle, the local radio sports-talk guru, getting Cleveland amped for the return of our beloved football team.
“College football success is measured in vastly different ways than it is in the NFL. If there are any suspicions of one’s character, any bad grades, unfulfilled promises in big games, or even the shadow of a doubt regarding an ability to handle the big time, then you are branded a failure.”
He fails to mention the effects of getting stabbed in the shoulder and being expelled from school, but I know all about that firsthand.
“Tonight, a new class of rookies will be making their NFL debuts as the Cleveland Browns play the first of four preseason games. We’ll be joined after the break with one of them, rookie left tackle Dennis ‘The Menace’ Kramer, to discuss his unique path from college into the NFL. You’re listening to Tony Drizzle right here on your home for sports talk, WCLE.”
The familiar smell of burgers on the grill welcomes me as I approach the park. Picnickers in Cleveland know how to enjoy the last few remaining warm days of fall. I head toward the basketball court with no idea what to admit to Woodie or Molly about my recently discovered secrets. I crave a simple game of HORSE with my friends. I just want to enjoy what this day could mean for Woodie. To be here, watching him get the call up to the Major Leagues, would mean a lot to all three of us.
I stretch out my arms and test my shoulder with a few sets of circles. Woodie fidgets with a radio on the far side of the court. As I step toward him, he lobs a basketball my way without even acknowledging my presence. The instant the ball touches my fingertips, I’m ready to play. I push up the court toward Woodie as he tunes the radio to WCLE’s game coverage. Just as I pass the half-court line, Woodie pivots. Without making eye contact, He sizes up my advance and assumes a defensive pose while I feel out his technique.
His strong build might intimidate strangers, but I know just how to handle Woodie on the court. The cold air chills the sweat escaping above my temples.
I juke left.
I cross the ball between my legs and then advance. Right now, I don’t need a new transmission in my car, my apartment isn’t dirty, and I haven’t gone four years without a date because on this court, nothing else matters. My breath remains steady, my eyes laser-focused, and the fear emanating off Woodie betrays his unease. Smart man, indeed, to be scared. At this moment, I can beat anyone. I spin, push forward near the foul line, and chuck up an ugly skyhook. Nervous to put extra strain on my shoulder, I don’t put my usual spin on the ball, but it falls through just the same.
Still no words are exchanged as Woodie takes the ball out beyond the arch and dribbles toward me. Though basketball was never his game, his hands are quick. He fakes an advance and I’m almost pulled free of my shoes.
As I beat myself up over the sloppy play, Woodie resets. I snatch at the ball knowing Woodie won’t bite at an amateur move like that. Before I regain my balance Woodie shifts his weight to the right. This time, once he bulldozes forward, he doesn’t stop.
The radio broadcast announces the opening kick-off as we continue sparring, oblivious to the world around us. Though we aren’t going 100 percent, neither of us is giving up any easy points either.
An hour passes. We don’t speak. We just play.
Winded, sore, thirsty, and feeling the best I’ve felt in a long time, I make eye contact with Woodie.
Breaking the purity of our game and the moment, he shatters our silence. “Let’s take a breather.”
He must know after all these years that there’s no way I’m even close to quitting. I raise a challenging eyebrow rather than answer aloud, a little more winded than I realized.
He waves me over to his radio. “Come on, I need to check my phone to see if my agent called and I want to talk to you anyway. Which drink you want, green apple or grape?”
Catching my breath, I grab the purple sports drink my friend offers. “All right, tough guy. Just remember that in the MLB the games continue for nine innings, whether you’re tired or not.”
Woodie snorts as he wraps his arm around me. It feels good to see him happy. For years his parents pulled at each other, with Woodie stuck in the middle. In school I was always impressed how he handled not only the regular everyday pressures of balancing school, baseball practice and homework, but also the added stress his parents brought to the table.
Woodie downs his whole bottle in one gulp. “Well, I want to be somewhere familiar and comfortable, surrounded by the two people I care about, if I’m called.”
His shoulder length hair, weighed down with sweat, doesn’t move an inch as he speaks. “Who knows if I’m headed to Oakland today, but if I am, I owe it to you more than anyone, Ryan.”
“I’m stoked to be here for you, Woodster.”
“I know that, trust me, I do. You’ve always been there for me. That’s sort of why I wanted to talk to you before Molly arrived, so I’ll make this quick.”
He points toward the parking lot as a car we both recognize pulls in. “I know how you feel about Molly. And I know that you know how I feel about her. What you don’t know is that she and I have gone on a few dates recently. Things are moving fast with all of this trade talk, so today I’m going to ask her to move in with me.”
I raise my hands to signal caution. “Maybe you should—”
Woodie cuts me off. “Listen, before you say anything. I know I’m asking a lot of you, but I’m hoping for your support. You’re my best friend, man. I’m about to rush out onto a paper thin limb, and I’d be a lot more confident knowing you’re around in case it cracks.”
I’d love to crack the happiness from his face, but my jaw is clenched so tight now that I might crack my own.
Molly approaches from the far side of the court carrying more Gatorade. She’s still too far away to hear me whisper under th
e radio commentary, “Molly’s been seeing someone.”
Woodie’s cheeks blush. “Yeah, about that. I’m sorry we kept it quiet so long.”
Confused, I mumble, “You know you’re crazy to try this without our good luck charm, right?”
A quick moment of panic flashes across Woodie’s face, but when he sees my wink, he grabs the golden catcher’s mitt. “You son of a—”
Before he finishes his insult, however, he turns to greet Molly. “Well, lookie what we have here.”
Molly passes by Woodie, squeezing his hand as she does so. She looks as gorgeous as ever, wearing a pair of worn out jogging shorts and a T-shirt from a charity event she helped organize. Between breast cancer, cystic fibrosis, and poverty around Cleveland, the three of us have wardrobes full of race T-shirts.
Molly giggles. “You boys sweating out those last few shots from Stubby’s?”
“Don’t remind me, please.” I stroke my forehead for humorous effect, although the alcohol was sweated out at the gym before the sun came up. During the season, neither Woodie nor I get much time to cut loose, but I think we caught up for years of missed opportunities last night.
Orange and red leaves stir around the park as a chilly wind picks up. Just like they always say, if you don’t like the weather in Cleveland, wait fifteen minutes.
Molly stretches her legs. “So besides waiting for the best b-ball player to show up, what have you guys been talking about?”
“Well, I was telling Ryan that whether I get called up or traded, I’m still in debt for what he did for me back in college.”
I shoot the ball. “Forget about it.”
“Don’t you dare tell me to forget about it? I flew off the handle, man, and if it wasn’t for your sacrifice…” He sighs. “Let’s face it, if you hadn’t stepped in and gotten hurt, someone would’ve taken you two years earlier in the draft. You’d have made a major league club, rather than needing to face me in the minors, and...” He trails off, lips trembling, as his emotions get the best of him.
A Life of Inches Page 6
