by JL Paul
Playing the Game
JL Paul
Smashwords Edition © 2011 JL Paul
All rights reserved worldwide.
No part of this ebook may be copied or sold or distributed without prior written permission -- if you have this file (or a printout) and didn't pay for it, you are depriving the author and publisher of their rightful royalties.
All characters in this book are entirely imaginary and any resemblance to persons living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.
Republished 2011
Chapter One
Skipping like an idiot to the mailbox, I gathered the conglomeration of bills and junk mail in my hands, thumbing through the stack without much care.
“Bills, bills, bills,” I bellowed as I walked through the door, trying to sound like my dad. It didn’t work, of course, but it usually cracked him up. Dumping the mail into his lap, I purposely ignored the television. He was watching baseball and I’d developed a dislike for that particular sport years ago.
“This is one is for you, Miss Aubrey Rose,” my dad said.
Frowning, I snatched the envelope from his outstretched hand. Probably another application my mother had sent to some production or other. She always used my full name. I hated that.
The return address was from American Star: Indianapolis and I just rolled my eyes. She’d sent tapes to American Star: Dallas, American Star: L.A. and American Star: Orlando. And all we got back in return were polite rejection letters.
“You gonna open that?” my dad asked, eyeing me furtively. I shrugged, brow lifted. Since when did it matter to him whether or not some talent reality show wanted me to audition? Baseball was on and the rest of the world could go to hell for all he cared. “You might as well open it now before your mother gets home.”
Sinking to the sofa, I tore open the envelope. The crisp, white letterhead suddenly felt heavy in my hands. I shook it open and allowed my eyes to roam over the words.
Miss Aubrey Rose Quinn,
Thank you for your recent submission to American Star: Indianapolis.
After viewing your tape, we would like for you to audition in person. Please contact us at the number below to set up an audition time.
I skimmed through the rest of the letter, not believing I had actually made it that far.
“Hmph,” I said. My father turned his eyes from the television to give me a thoughtful glance. “They want me to audition.”
“Wonderful,” he said. Someone on the television had hit the ball so I wasn’t sure if he meant me or the player. I couldn’t blame him, really. I’d been to many auditions and had participated in a ton of productions. It was pretty much old news to him.
“Mom will be happy,” I sighed. I knew I should be excited but I couldn’t be. Not yet. Auditions didn’t mean anything. It was the call backs that mattered. Still, I set the letter on the coffee table and trudged up the steps to my room. Clearing my throat, I began the scales my mother insisted I do every day, sometimes more than once, before jumping into other warm-up exercises.
My mother ruled my life entirely. Granted, I was of legal age, twenty-one years-old in fact, but still under her thumb. Ever since my music teacher extolled my talent after a third grade musical, my mother had plunged me into the world of music. For the most part, I did enjoy it. I often dreamt of a career on a stage, singing for thousands of fans. But it hadn’t happened yet and sometimes, I longed for a real life.
During my high school years, I’d had a real life. Sort of. I was allowed to go out with friends on the weekends that Mom didn’t have auditions lined up for me. And I was allowed to date.
I cringed. I wouldn’t think of him. Mom hadn’t approved of him and maybe that was what had attracted me to him at first. Yes, he was extremely good-looking and popular and athletic. But I had found there to be more to him on the inside. During the entire relationship, I was the popular, peppy, happy girl.
My happiness had ended when he graduated. Oh, we'd tried to stay together but then baseball had stepped in and became his love. I’m sure the love was there all along, hiding behind the love he'd professed to have for me. But baseball won and I lost and we all moved on. End of story.
And I didn’t want to think of him anymore.
My mother came home an hour later. I didn’t hear her car but I did hear her excited scream. Rolling my eyes, I planted a smile on my face, and raced down the stairs.
“Aubrey Rose! Oh baby! This is your shot!” My mother always said this but the look in her eyes confirmed she actually meant it this time.
“Sure, Mom,” I grinned. “It’s exciting.”
“I’ll call them now,” she said, running to grab the cordless. “I’ll set it up as soon as possible.”
And then I heard his name on the television.
“Jess Rivers has lasted seven quality innings. We’ll see if Lou Harding lets him continue. The pitcher's spot is due up third and if Lou sticks a pinch hitter in, we’ll know Rivers is done. We’ll be back after this.”
How stupid was I? I always ignored baseball to the point of staying out of the room when Dad watched it.
My traitorous eyes darted to the TV and caught a glimpse of him stalking toward the dugout before the station cut to commercial. My eyes flickered to my dad and for a brief second I saw the horror on his face. He replaced it quickly with a sympathetic smile. I returned it before scampering off after my mother.
I found her in the kitchen, talking to someone on the phone so I dropped into a chair and pretended to listen. My mind wasn't on her conversation, though. It was on the little look I got of Jess Rivers that had sent my heart to my toes. He'd looked just as wonderful as I remembered; even more so. The longing was nearly overpowering and it took my breath away. It’d been years – five actually - since I’d last been in his arms.
“Okay, honey,” my mother said as soon as she clicked off the phone. “We have two weeks to prepare.” Her eyes sparkled pure energy and I knew it was going to be a long two weeks. “We need to select your music immediately and figure out your wardrobe.”
I nodded as she continued with her list of things to do. I’d been through this before so I was able to inject the appropriate answers in the appropriate places with not much effort.
Once we went through her list two more times and she confirmed that I was doing my daily exercises, she excused me so she could make her phone calls. I knew the first would be to my sister, Gwen.
Gwen was five years older than me and sort of the black sheep of the family. It wasn’t fair and I probably knew it better than anyone but her. When I was much, much younger, I had totally been a daddy’s girl. My mother already had a little princess in Gwen so my dad was content to take me fishing and to ball games.
And I was happy. I had trailed after him in the garage, shop rag shoved in my back pocket just like him and grease smeared on my face. In the winter, my mother would often have to shake me awake after I’d fallen asleep squeezed beside him on his recliner watching Monday Night Football. She’d just sigh, shake her head, and run off to sew another dress for Gwen.
Then, in third grade, I tried out for the school play. It was a musical celebrating fairy tales and my music teacher had assigned me the lead. My voice had been good back then, even though it was still immature and untrained. But I had caught my mother’s attention. Suddenly, she had a star. Gwen, who never really showed interest in anything but boys, had been pushed to the backburner. I became everyone’s girl while she was…well…still Gwen.
And I loved her fiercely as only a little sister could. I admired her, too, for her bravery. She'd left our family home after receiving an Associates degree and moved in with her boyfriend. It had horrified my mother enough to distract her from me for two weeks and I
'd called Gwen every night to thank her. She'd just laughed and told me to get my ass back to work. Oddly enough, Gwen wanted me to succeed as much as my mother, if not more. She was just a little more reasonable about it.
She was my only friend, too. As I said before, I didn’t really have a life and the few friends I did make were all in the same business as me and therefore always busy. But Gwen made time for me. I truly didn’t deserve her. She laughed every time I told her that which in turn made me laugh. That’s one of the things I loved most about her. She made it her personal duty to keep me real.
I listened on the top of the stairs and as soon as my mother ended her call, I raced to my room to call Gwen on my cell.
“What took you so long?” she asked.
“Please,” I snorted.
“Good job,” she said and I knew she meant it. Gwen didn’t mince words.
“Thanks,” I grumbled.
“Okay, what’s the matter?”
“Baseball.”
“Oh. Did you see him on TV tonight?”
“Only for a second. But it was enough.” I sighed dramatically. Maybe I should go into acting.
“Call him, Aubrey, geez,” she said. “He’s in Indy and Mom’s not dragging you all over God’s green earth.”
“No.”
“You do need a life. That woman hardly allows you to have friends. You’re twenty-one, you know.”
She was right, like always, and I knew it. But what could I do? “I’m not calling him. I’m not going back there.”
“Aubrey, you know deep down he had a point. Geez, you were just kids.” I could hear her light a cigarette which signaled that she was upset. She rarely smoked.
“And things have changed since then.” I groaned. “You know it would be nice if I could get a job or something. I mean, I’m not complaining about all Mom’s done but I’m not getting any younger and I have nothing to fall back on.” It was a complaint Gwen had heard from my lips before. “The only education I have is performing arts classes.”
“I agree, kid,” she mused. “If you ever get truly desperate, you can work for me.”
Gwen owned an antiques shop. It wasn’t prosperous by any means but she enjoyed her work. I envied her sometimes.
“Can we just switch places for awhile? I’m trying very hard not to whine here. I know I’m lucky to be blessed with the voice I have, but sometimes I’d like to just be a regular person.”
“Not a chance in hell,” she laughed. “We both have our roles in life; yours is to make the parents proud and mine is to antagonize the hell out of them.”
I couldn’t hold back the smile. Gwen had a wonderfully succinct way of putting things into perspective. And unfortunately, she was right once again. I was tired of always doing what Mom wanted. I just wished I had the guts to be more like Gwen.
“I better go,” I murmured. I could no longer hear my mother’s voice singing my praises. “I’ll call you later.”
“Sure, kid. Take care. Love ya.”
“I love you, too,” I said, ending the call. I held my phone in my fist as I waited for Mom to bellow for me. It didn’t take long. Running down the steps, I found her standing in the living room. I took a chance and glanced at the TV but the pitcher on the mound was not Jess Rivers. Obviously, he hadn't been able to complete the game.
“Once your father is finished, we’re going out to celebrate. Please change into something more appropriate,” she ordered. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I ran back upstairs.
***
Later that night, I stared at the ceiling as my thoughts once more turned to Jess. He’d been a senior when I was a sophomore and he'd dazzled me like no other boy had. I never could figure out why he wanted to be with someone like me; I wasn’t the cheerleader type. I wasn’t ugly, per se, but I wasn’t a sparkling, buxom beauty, either. He’d once told me that was one of the reasons why he loved me. I was me – a short, brown-eyed brunette who could belt out a tune not many could. He'd admired my work ethic, even though it was mostly my mother’s work ethic, and had always told me I’d go far.
I snorted in the darkness. He’d gone much farther than me. The Racers' farm team had signed him before he could even step foot on a college campus. He'd made his big league debut shortly after his twenty-first birthday.
After a mostly stellar year, he'd had problems with his shoulder. His sophomore season was not to be as he spent his first Big League off season recuperating from surgery. Last year had been his first full season back. I had occasionally checked his stats online to see how he was faring. Last year hadn't been stellar. This season was only a couple months old and I had somehow managed to refrain from looking him up on the Indianapolis Racers’ webpage. I was always afraid his bio would read that he’d married or had a kid or something equally heartbreaking.
I squeezed my eyes shut in hopes of dispelling all thoughts of Jess Rivers out of my mind. I turned my focus to American Star. My mother was an avid fan and I watched it with her out of obligation. I knew how it worked. The audience was allowed to give their opinions online but it was the judges overall who chose who would move on each week until they finally crowned a new Star.
I smiled a little as I imagined standing before all five judges, microphone trembling in my hand, as I listened to what they had to say. I even imagined the dreaded Marissa and the equally evil Richard telling me they had absolutely adored my performance.
“Fat chance of that,” I murmured sleepily as I drifted off. But my American Star dream melted into one that played out on a baseball field – the pitcher’s mound to be exact.
Chapter Two
The next couple of weeks flew by much too fast for me but not fast enough for my mother. She was so excited that you’d think it was her audition. But then, American Star was her version of Broadway or the Grand Ole Opry.
And Jess Rivers wouldn’t stay out of my head, either. I could almost see his arrogant smirk like he’d forced the thoughts of him into my brain himself. I wouldn’t put it past him. He was nothing but an egotistical, manic bastard.
So why do you keep thinking about him, I often asked myself. I had no answer. And to make matters worse, I’d creep into the living room while my dad was watching a game in hopes of getting a glimpse of him. I’d even figured out the Racers’ five man rotation and knew what day he'd be starting.
Yes, it was bad. So bad. But at least it helped my writing. My new music was a little more soulful and melancholy but it was good. My mother harped on me to come up with something original in case I made it to the finals and they allowed me to play my own stuff. So I’d sit on my bed against the wall with my guitar in hand and pluck out chords until something made sense.
I gave in, a little too willingly, to temptation and turned my own television on a few days before the auditions. There he was, looking still as a statue on the mound, with the equivalent of ice water in his veins. He stared down the batter and the empty glare in his eyes chilled me. It was the same pose I remembered from his days playing in high school.
He went into his wind-up, delivering a fast ball that the radar guns clocked at ninety-nine miles per hour screaming past the hitter. My heart leapt as the umpire declared it a strike. He caught the ball when the catcher tossed it back to him and went back into his still stance. I was enthralled as he shook first one pitch then another off the catcher. Finally, he gave a curt nod and began his wind-up. His long leg kicked up and flew to the mound as he delivered a curve that fooled his opponent, causing the batter to swing nearly all the way around.
“He’ll throw a breaking ball next,” I said to no one in particular. “Watch.”
He didn’t let me down. But the hitter was expecting it also and watched as it crossed the plate a little outside. The ump called it a ball.
“Come on, Jess,” I whispered, mesmerized. He nodded immediately at his catcher, throwing hard. The ball sailed past the plate and was called strike three. Grinning, I clapped quietly. Jess picked up his rosin bag and
tossed it in the air a few times; a movement I had memorized. He returned to the mound as I settled on my bed, far more engrossed than I should be.
Lou Harding, manager for the Racers, removed Jess in the seventh though I couldn’t see why - he still had excellent command and they were leading by two runs. A quick camera shot in the dugout showed the trainer taping a huge bag of ice to Jess’s left shoulder and I winced in horror. Was he hurt? I hadn't noticed any traces of pain on his face, and I’d been paying far more attention than was healthy. For me that is.
Sighing, I shut off my television. My mother would be home soon and I was certain she’d have tons of things for me to do.
***
My mother paced the backstage waiting area of the Channel 4 Indianapolis studio with other eager parents, spouses, partners, etc. My lips curled into a wry smile as I realized the only people in the room who had a little more control of their emotions were the ones who actually had to perform.
Even though I appeared calm, my nerves were jangled like the strings of Christmas lights my father cussed each year – tangled and knotted. When my name was finally announced, I ignored my mother as I strolled confidently behind the man with a headset onto the stage. I’d been through this before so the lights glaring in my eyes didn’t bother me in the least. The group of people in the front row of seats, however, they scared the hell out of me. All five of them had made a name for themselves in the music industry somehow and now they were all staring at me, waiting to judge whether or not I was worthy to come back tomorrow for the final cut.
I cleared my throat and smiled.
“What’s your name, honey?” Chelsea Miller, perhaps the sweetest of them all, asked.
“Aubrey Quinn,” I replied, holding in my smirk. My mother would fume that I hadn’t inserted my middle name but there was no way I would be known as Aubrey Rose if I did make it to the televised competition.
