The next day I nearly talked myself out of calling Marshall. I wondered what would happen if Blake knew that I went out on a date with another guy. Then I reminded myself that it was only a date. It wasn’t sex, and it would likely lead to nothing. Apparently, dating Blake wasn’t going anywhere anyway.
With my hands shaking, I punched in Marshall’s number just after eating dinner. He answered right away with a deep, sexy voice. “Hello?”
I stumbled over my words, but I managed to blurt out that I would love to go out to dinner with him sometime. I waited nervously for his answer.
He asked, “Are you asking me on a date, Ian?”
I felt like a teenager when I said, “Yeah,” and I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
I was shocked when he said, “That sounds like fun. Let’s set up a time and place.”
23
Blake
It was the second inning of a baseball game. We were up to bat, and I was sitting on the bench in the dugout. One of my teammates, a guy we all just called Whistler, leaned toward me and asked, “So are you gay or what?”
I turned to look at him and couldn’t determine from the expression on his face what answer he wanted to hear. I didn’t want to get into a discussion unrelated to the game and so I just said, “No, I’m not.”
He asked, “Well, why do you kiss guys then?”
I raced through memories to try and figure out where he would have seen me kiss Ian. I finally settled on our dinner at Satay. Other than my house or Ian’s, the only places I’d kissed guys in the past were Satay with Ian and Andy in a hotel room. I asked, “Why is it important for you to know? Are you looking for a date?”
My questions ended the conversation for the moment, and I hoped it ended the conversation permanently. I turned my attention back to the game and cheered along with the rest of the team when John hit a ground rule double scoring a run that gave us the lead.
He came home scoring another run just minutes later when the batter hit a solid single into the outfield. As John climbed into the dugout, he said, “Now it’s up to the rest of you guys to hold the lead. We can do this.”
He sat next to me on the bench and said, “I don’t know if I’ve said it directly before Blake, but I’m glad you’re on the team. I know this isn’t like the dreams we had in the minors, but it’s still the game.”
I nodded and said, “I appreciate that, John. Thanks. I’m glad to be back in the game.”
I looked up and saw Whistler in the corner of the dugout whispering to another of my teammates. It could have been about anything, but I felt a prickly sensation at the base of my spine. Information was out there, and I didn’t have control over it. It made me feel vulnerable.
My concentration was off during the rest of the game, and I recognized the feeling. It was like the momentary lapses in concentration after I kissed Andy. I did my best to kick it all from my head. I didn’t need another injury to deal with.
In the fifth inning, I managed a double that rolled to the wall. I stared directly at first base to make sure that I didn’t step wrong. I sighed heavily with relief when I tagged third base without incident as well. Maybe I did learn something after the broken leg experience.
The next inning, when our team was at bat, Pete slid in next to me on the bench. He whispered in my ear, “You know, Blake, if you are gay, it’s okay. You don’t need to worry about it.”
I lowered my head into my hands trying to figure out how to respond. I saw the whispers, and it was a safe bet that everyone on the team was now aware of the rumors. I turned to Pete and asked, “Why does it matter? Does who you fuck have anything to do with the game of baseball?”
Pete held up his hands and a few guys turned their heads near us. He said, “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it.” He looked to the other guys and said, “Get back to the game. There’s nothing of importance going on here. We’ve got a game to win.”
I couldn’t keep my mind on the rest of the game. I made two bad errors in the field, and soon the game was out of our reach. It wasn’t completely my responsibility, but I knew that I was off my game. We lost by three runs in the end.
Pete asked after the game if I wanted to go hang out at Balls, and I turned him down. I was suspicious of the motivation and extent of rumors about me floating through the team. It was something I didn’t experience anywhere else before, and it was starting to screw with my head. I decided to climb in my car and head home immediately without hanging around.
As I drove across the city toward home, I thought about Ian. Over the past several days, I successfully put him out of my mind for most of my waking hours, but now he was back. I felt ashamed that I denied being gay. I wanted to tell myself that I didn’t really have a choice, and I was backed into a corner, but I knew that I could have handled it differently.
I tried to support myself on a technicality saying perhaps I was bisexual, but I knew that was just avoiding the truth, too. I didn’t feel a physical attraction to women that remotely approached what I felt for men.
I hoped that Ian would be gardening when I arrived home. Then I could talk to him without having to make a phone call or knock on the door. Maybe I could tell him what happened and he would say it’s a really tough situation and give me a hug. That was probably what I most wanted. I wanted a hug from someone who understood the situation.
Unfortunately, there was no sign of Ian when I pulled into my driveway. His car was gone from his house. His plants were as neat and tidy as always, and mine were starting to wilt and be crowded with weeds. That’s how I felt about my life.
I walked in the house through the kitchen door and stepped into the living room tossing my glove on the couch. I stared at the three cardboard boxes that sat in the middle of the living room for the past week or more. The boxes of photos and old glassware were nearly empty with small piles of crumpled up old newspaper lying around them.
The remaining box that held an old catcher’s mask was still closed up with nothing removed. I walked to the kitchen, grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and decided to sit down and dig through the rest of the box.
I pulled out an old bat and an old glove that had very little padding compared with today’s models. Digging a little further down, I found kneepads and old-style uniform socks. I thought about putting up shelves somewhere in the house and displaying my historical baseball objects.
Then I dug clear to the bottom of the box, and I came up with a surprise. Three balls were buried in the very bottom of the box. I pulled them out one by one, and I set them on the coffee table.
I’m not someone who really believes in signs or suggestions from a different power, but it was difficult to look at the coffee table and come up with any other explanation. The three balls lined up together on the coffee table were not baseballs. They were, in fact, softballs.
24
Ian
The date with Marshall was only my second time eating at the 1428 Steakhouse downtown. The first time was a meeting with one of my best accounting clients. He invited me as a thank you for my solid work over the first full year of managing his books.
That first time was a great evening. We dismissed the talk about work within about fifteen minutes and then simply chatted like friends. He was more than ten years older than me, but the conversation was comfortable. I wondered if the conversation would be just as comfortable with Marshall.
An immediate difference was Marshall wasn’t part of my work. He was a real date, and I recognized that he was stunningly handsome when I was being honest with myself. That explained my nerves. I was also a little intimidated by really handsome guys. I felt like that when I first met Blake. I tried to keep my legs from shaking, but I worried that at any moment one of my knees might buckle.
I arrived ahead of Marshall and reported in to the host that I was one half of the Easterling reservation. Fortunately, comfortable seats were available for waiting. It eased my nerves slightly. At least I wasn’t worried that I might
simply collapse in the floor.
When Marshall walked through the door, I flashed a huge smile. He was wearing dark blue jeans, a button-down shirt, and a sport jacket that all looked perfectly tailored for his body. I wore a sport jacket as well over khakis. I knew that we would look good together.
I thought that we might generate some whispers about our age difference, but I guessed that we would generate just as many twinges of jealousy. As the host escorted us to our table, I stepped up close behind Marshall and noticed that he smelled good, too. It was an expensive smelling cologne that I couldn’t quite place. I wanted to reach up and run my fingers through his perfectly trimmed hair.
A server arrived immediately to take drink orders. After I ordered a gin and tonic, Marshall opted for bourbon on the rocks, and he said, “I was a little surprised you asked me out. I thought you were already dating.”
I explained that my relationship with Blake was in a bad place, and Marshall stopped me. My voice trailed off saying something about, “haven’t heard from Blake…”
Marshall asked, “Wait, so you haven’t formally broken up?”
I sighed and said, “I guess not. It’s a bad situation.”
“But you’re dating me, too?” asked Marshall. He furrowed his dense eyebrows. “Are you trying to make him jealous.”
I’m certain my eyes took on the appearance of a deer caught in car headlights. I said, “No, I’m not doing that at all. Wait, Marshall, I started this off all wrong.”
Marshall rubbed his chin and said, “So when a relationship hits a bad streak, you just find another guy to date so…in case it doesn’t get better… Do I have that sorted out right?”
I squirmed in my seat. The entire evening was going downhill swiftly. I said, “No, it’s not exactly that either.”
He didn’t look angry, but he did look a little confused. The server brought our drinks, and Marshall looked up saying, “Be ready. We might both need a second one soon.”
After the server left, I said, “I’m really not trying to screw with you, Marshall.” I closed my eyes for a moment realizing I made a really poor choice of words.
Marshall laughed and said, “No, you’re really not close to that point, Ian.” Then he laughed out loud again. I couldn’t help but laugh along with him. He said, “Let’s get our food ordered, and then it seems like we have some things to talk about.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and wondered if I would have kicked my own ass out of the restaurant by that point in the date. I ordered a medium rare steak with a baked potato and waited to hear what Marshall would dig out of me next.
He sipped at his bourbon and asked, “Are you still hung up on Blake, then? I thought he was gone from the team for good.”
I sighed and said, “I guess a little.”
“Well, why did you ask me out?” asked Marshall.
“Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror, Marshall? I think it might be over with Blake, and I want to get over it. You’re a nice guy, and…well, like I asked, did you ever look in the mirror.”
Marshall laughed softly and said, “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment since you look pretty great yourself, but it does sound like you’ve got something pretty major to sort out. What happened with Blake anyway? Did he leave the team over a spat between the two of you?”
I shook my head. “No, he found a baseball team.”
“He prefers baseball?”
I said, “He was a minor leaguer.”
Marshall’s eyes opened wider and he said, “Oh, that explains a lot then. He’s definitely a better ballplayer than the typical softball guy. I had a friend who played for one of the other softball teams, and then he tried one of the baseball leagues. He eventually came back.”
“What made him do that?” I asked.
“It’s not the nicest environment for guys that aren’t typical athletes. Why do you think Billy plays softball with gay guys? He’s talented enough that he could play baseball or softball anywhere, but he has horror stories to tell about playing baseball if you ever go out for a drink with him.”
I nodded. “I hope Blake does come back, but I hope he doesn’t have to go through anything like that. He really is a great guy.” Then I paused before I said, “And you are, too, Marshall. I wouldn’t have asked you out if I didn’t think that.”
He laughed and said, “Thanks for the compliment, Ian, but you don’t have to tiptoe around me. My ego is in good shape.”
I asked, “I’m sure you’ve been asked this many times before, but why is such a great-looking guy like you single? You seem like such a nice guy, too.”
“Do you really want to know?” he asked.
The server interrupted the conversation to set our plates of food in front of us, but it didn’t stop the talking. I said, “Yes, I would like to know…if it’s not too personal.
Marshall said, “It’s been almost twenty years, but I lost my first partner to AIDS. I’m not sure I’m over it yet. I was only twenty four.”
I dropped my fork and said, “Oh, wow, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged and said, “You know, it has been so long, I probably should be over it. Unfortunately, I guess somewhere in the back of my head I’m worried if I commit to someone again, something else will happen. It will be a new disease or something, and I’ll lose another love. I know it’s kind of crazy, but that’s me. I’ve had a lot of good dates and my fair share of great sex, and for awhile I had the best partner anyone could ever ask for. There’s no reason to feel sorry for me.”
I leaned across the table and said, “You know what, Marshall, we’re going to win the season championship this year. The Soft Serves are going to the top whether Blake comes back or not. I can feel it…and thank you for being such a great guy. I think this was exactly the kind of date that I needed.”
He gave me a half smile and said, “I’m not complaining either. I’m glad you asked me out. Maybe we can do it again. You’re good company, Ian, and you’re not half bad as eye candy either.” He followed the last comment with a good-natured smirk, and I blushed in response. Then he added, “But first I think you need to sort out things with Blake.”
25
Blake
“It’s the fag that doesn’t want anybody to know he’s a fag.” I was just winding my bat up and digging into the batter’s box. I was the third man up for my team, and we had a man on first. As I stared out at the pitcher, he let loose with the offensive comment.
I turned my head back toward the catcher and asked, “What the fuck did he say?”
The catcher started to answer, and the umpire cut us both off. He growled, “Watch the language, and now play ball.”
I dug my back foot into the batter’s box and stared out at the mound to see a smirk on the pitcher’s face. I did my best to ignore it, and I wound up my bat again before crouching down waiting for the pitch.
The first pitch was far inside, and I had to jump back to avoid being hit. It was a clear brush-back pitch, and I guessed that it had more to do with the verbal comments than anything about the game. I looked back at the umpire and said, “That was intentional.”
The umpire barked, “Play ball!”
I heard chuckling from the catcher as I dug in again. The next pitch was a solid one, and I swung, but I was early and missed. I pounded my bat on home plate to try and shake the comments and the intentional brush-back from my mind.
I heard Pete shout from the dugout, “Knock it out of the park, Blake!”
The next pitch was right down the middle and I swung. This time I connected and the ball soared into the outfield. Unfortunately, it was hit almost directly to the right fielder and he easily hauled it in for an out.
I jogged back to the dugout and looked for a back corner to sit on the bench away from the rest of the team. Pete sat down beside me and asked, “What was going on out there? That first pitch was really off the mark.”
“He was throwing at me,” I said.
“But why?” asked Pete. “The game is just starting. We didn’t do anything to any of their players.”
I growled, “Would that make it right?”
He said, “No, it wouldn’t but it might make more sense. Something happened out there, Blake. What was it?”
I shrugged and said, “It was nothing. Let it go. We need to go out there and win the game. Maybe next time I’ll jack it over the fence instead of to the right fielder.”
Pete slapped me on the back and said, “Well, you tell me if something is up. I don’t want you stuck in some kind of mess that isn’t your fault.”
Three innings later, I led off the batting for my team. I stared out at the pitcher once again, and this time he said, “Sheesh, it’s gay boy again.” Then he held a hand up to his mouth, and he said, “Oops, I’m not supposed to know that.” Then he leaned toward home plate and asked, “Am I?”
I clenched my hands tight on the bat and forced myself to stay in place. I turned my head to stare back at the umpire and asked, “What do YOU call harassment?”
The umpire simply barked back at me, “Play ball!”
Trying hard to tamp down the anger, I dug in to wait for the first pitch once again. This time it sailed inside, and I was unable to get out of the way before it hit me in the shin just six inches below my kneecap. I immediately threw down my bat and charged the mound.
Just before I reached the mound, I shouted, “I don’t give a fuck if the umpire is on your side, I’m finished with it.”
The smirk filled the pitcher’s face again, and he started to say, “The fag boy is…” when my fist connected with his jaw.
The next thing I knew, we were rolling on the ground, and the benches of both teams emptied. When Pete and John finally pulled me off, the pitcher’s nose was bloodied, and I had a black eye.
Complete Game: The League, Book 1 Page 13
