Dan Alexander, Pitcher

by Jean C. Joachim

  Holly clung to her. “I’m scared,” she whispered.

  “Nan said Bud Magee and his wife, Nancy, are really nice. They’re expecting you.”

  “And they know my story, right?”

  “Right. Call me when you get settled.”

  “I will.” Holly plaited her fingers through her brown hair that used to be blonde, before Jory had dyed it.

  Her friend stayed in the vehicle, motioning for her to go in. The young woman inched toward the brick building. She glanced up, counted twelve stories, and then searched for 5K. She depressed the button and almost immediately, the buzzer on the front door sounded.

  She picked up her valise and entered. When the elevator reached the fifth floor, the door to Bud Magee’s apartment was open.

  A short woman of middle age with a bit of extra weight around her middle filled the doorway. “Holly?”

  She nodded.

  “Come on in, honey. We’ve been expecting you.” Nancy Magee grinned and opened her arms.

  The friendly welcome brought the sting of tears behind Holly’s eyes. She’d been on the run, away from her family, for over a year. Not that they’d miss her. She had disgraced the Merrill name by taking up with a member of the mob. She figured they were happy to be rid of their misbehaving daughter and the incessant pestering by the news media.

  Holly had had glimpses of them in the style section of the newspaper when they attended a charity function or art gallery opening. They appeared happy, smiling for the cameras. She’d sigh and long for her old life. She didn’t miss the irony of her wanting back what she’d so desperately fled two years ago.

  It wasn’t the rich, entitled life she wished for. She’d spent enough time in reduced circumstances in a small town to see the benefits of her former lifestyle. Holly had adjusted, made friends, and appreciated the people of Pine Grove. But she missed the safety, the ability to go out and about without fearing someone would come along and shoot her or run her down.

  Twenty-eight now, she had a better understanding of what had happened when she’d lived with her parents. Perhaps her descent into a bad girl existence hadn’t been such a mistake. Of course, hooking up with a guy who turned out to be a criminal wasn’t smart. Did she regret it? That part, yeah. Absolutely. But the part about striking out on her own, and leaving the rich bitch persona behind, was the best thing she’d ever done—even if it was through the witness protection program.

  Nancy pulled back. “Bud’s not here. He’s hoisting a few with the guys at Freddie’s.”

  Holly nodded, like she had any idea what Nancy was talking about.

  “He’ll be back by midnight. It’s late. Are you hungry? Do you just want to go to bed? Let me show you your room.” Nancy moved down the hall.

  “I just ate, thanks. I’m fine.”

  Numb from the terror of the previous twenty-four hours, Holly followed her in silence. Too tired to talk, she simply nodded in response to her hostess’s questions.

  “Here you go, honey. The windows get morning sun. Bathroom’s in here,” Nancy said, opening a door. “Closet here. You don’t have much, do you?”

  “No.”

  “No worries. You don’t need much for the job. Bud’ll give you a uniform. Breakfast’s at seven thirty. Dinner at six thirty. Lunch at the stadium. Do you need any money?”

  “No, thank you. I’m okay. The room is great. Thank you so much for doing this.”

  Nancy took Holly’s hand between her two. “Nan told us about you. I’m so sorry for you, dear. You’ll be safe with us. We didn’t even tell our daughter, Lisa.”

  “Lisa?”

  “She’s thirteen going on thirty, if you know what I mean. Can’t keep a secret. Bless her heart. I hope you’ll be comfortable. Just holler if you need anything. It’s past my bedtime. Goodnight.” Nancy closed the door on her way out.

  The room was painted cream with pink trim around the window and door. A few pictures were tacked up on a bulletin board. The girl who had occupied the room had been a cheerleader. Her smiling, pretty face resembled Nancy’s. Must have belonged to the older daughter, who’s married now. The décor was girlish, with pink and lavender on the bed, dresser, and curtains. There was a good-sized mirror on the back of the closet door.

  Holly stepped up and took a peek. She had been avoiding looking since she had changed her hair color.

  Her mouth dropped open at the image reflected back at her. Who was this person? Certainly not Holly Merrill. It wasn’t that the warm, reddish brown was an ugly color, it simply wasn’t hers. She’d hoped that she was done losing things—her freedom, reputation, her looks, her family, and friends.

  Now, she’d lost her identity too.

  Tears filled her eyes. She flopped down on the bed, slid off her shoes, and curled up. Wrapping the colorful patchwork comforter around her, she cried herself to sleep.

  * * * *

  Dan Alexander wound up and fired off a fastball. His buddy, catcher Matt Jackson, caught it and threw it back. The warm-up continued for another hour. Although the May sun didn’t burn as bright as August, it heated up Dan. He took off his cap and wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve. He’d been practicing for two hours.

  “Batting practice?” Matt asked.

  “Nah. I’ve had enough.”

  “No late night. What’s up?” Matt removed his glove.

  “Not today. I was up watching a stupid movie ’til one.”

  “Okay.” Matt clapped his friend on the shoulder as the two headed for the showers.

  Dan was tired. His six-foot-three-inch frame needed sleep. He raised his hand in greeting to Bud Magee as they passed in the hall, before the pitcher ran smack dab into a young woman. He would’ve knocked her to the ground, if he hadn’t caught her first. He’d never seen her before, but her wide, blue eyes and hair the color of mink captured his attention.

  “Excuse me, miss. I didn’t see you.” Though she felt good in his arms, he let go before she started to scream.

  “Dan Alexander, one of our top pitchers. This is Holly Merrill. She’s new. Gonna be selling hot dogs for us.”

  “Welcome,” the ball player said, as his gaze slid down her curvy body.

  “Thanks.” She straightened her shirt and smoothed her jeans.

  After shooting her a sexy grin, he tipped his cap and replied, “The top pitcher.” With a chuckle, he disappeared into the locker room.

  “Why do they hire pretty girls to sell hot dogs?” Dan asked his teammate, Jake Lawrence, in the next shower stall.

  “Guess they sell more dogs,” Jake said, lathering up his hair.

  “That must be it. The new one I just met is fine.”

  “Yeah? What about what’s-her-name?”

  “Valerie?”

  “That’s it. What about her?”

  “This girl sells hot dogs, Jake. Get real. You don’t think Mr. All Star Pitcher would hook up with a Hot Dog Girl, do you?” Matt Jackson piped up from the other room.

  “If she’s hot, and he’s a horndog, sure. Why not?” Jake said, rinsing off.

  “She didn’t look like a Hot Dog Girl,” Dan said, wrapping a towel around his hips.

  “Probably one of Bud’s charity cases,” Jake said.

  “Yeah, a hooker or a drug addict.” Matt stripped off his clothes.

  “She didn’t look like either. Kind of classy.” Dan headed for his locker.

  “You’d give up a great blow job from Valerie for a Hot Dog Girl?” Matt stepped under the running water.

  Jake snickered. “You never know. This girl might give more than hot dogs, Matt.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not giving up Valerie. Just curious.” Dan pulled on jeans.

  “Damn! I was already dialing her number,” Jake said.

  Dan snorted. “Like you’d ever have a chance with her.”

  “What makes you think I haven’t?” Jake cocked an eyebrow.

  “Why, you fuckin’ asshole!” Dan bunched Jake’s shirt in his fist.

>   “Keep your fuckin’ pants on, Mr. All Star. I never touched her.”

  “And you’d better not.”

  Jake smoothed the fabric across his hard chest. “Geez. Pretty touchy for a guy checkin’ out other chicks.”

  “Boys, boys,” Matt said, imitating a mother’s voice. “No fighting. We’re all on the same team.”

  “Leave my girl alone,” grumbled Dan.

  “I don’t need your girl. I’ve got plenty of my own,” Jake said, zipping up his pants. “It’s Matt who needs some hand-me-downs.”

  Dan laughed. “That’s right. Got some rejects for him, Jake?”

  Jake whipped out his phone. “Let’s see.”

  “Fuck off! I don’t need anyone’s rejects. I can find my own babe,” Matt said, heading out the door.

  “You need something!” Jake called after him, but Matt was already gone. “You really checking out hot dog chicks?” he asked, while tying his shoes.

  “Naw. Ran into Bud. He introduced me. She’s cute. That’s all. You’re right. She’s a Hot Dog Girl. Not in my league.”

  Dan combed his short, brown hair and headed for his car. The fullness of the girl’s lips and the curve of her hips stayed with him. She didn’t look like the usual stray Bud Magee dragged in and hired. This one was different. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but there was something about her that made him curious. He wanted to know her story. His intuition told him she had one, and it was probably a doozy.

  Chapter Two

  Holly glanced back for a moment. She noticed his perfect rump, broad shoulders, and long legs. He seemed like a giant to her. Without the ultra-high heels she used to wear, she barely hit five four. He towered over her. But the way he’d held her made goosies break out on her arms. She rubbed them away and continued on behind Bud.

  “Don’t mind Dan. Pitchers can get arrogant. Come on, let me show you to the room where the supplies are kept.”

  She followed him. He stopped at the door.

  “Most of our vendors, but not all, belong to a union. Nelson Hingus, the team owner, allows me to hire non-union folks, from time to time.”

  “You mean, like doing people a favor?”

  “Yeah, sort of. Well, you know, sometimes people fall on hard times, and they need a job to get back on their feet,” Bud said.

  “Like me?”

  “Not exactly. You’re different. Sometimes, a friend or a player or a vendor will come to me with someone they know who needs a helping hand.”

  “And you take them on?”

  “I do.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  “I’m fortunate to have this job. Mr. Hingus took a chance on me, so I pay it forward.”

  “I’m so grateful to be here. You have no idea.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, I think I do. Anyway, the union vendors pay for the food up front then they keep the proceeds from whatever they sell.”

  “Okay. I have some money. How much do you need?” She opened her handbag.

  Bud put his hand over hers. “Not necessary. I already anted up for your first round.”

  “I can pay you back.”

  “You don’t have to. Just work hard, and you can pay for the next round. That okay?”

  She sensed a flush in her cheeks. Holly had never accepted charity before, had never needed to. “I don’t need it. Please. Let me pay you back.”

  “Hey, if you’re a hot seller, we’ll talk. In the meantime, this one’s on me.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Tears stung. Such kindness from a stranger was new to her.

  “Okay. Let’s get started,” Bud said, fitting a key in the lock.

  He gave her two uniforms, one to wash and one to wear. They were brown with blue and white stripes on the short sleeves—Nighthawks colors. While she hated the outfit, she realized it would provide the perfect camouflage. Who would notice her in that? No one. She sighed, trying to be happy about the safety factor and ignore the fact that she’d be dressed ugly every day. Straight from a princess to a brown wren.

  Drawing in a breath, she managed to smile at Bud.

  “You’ll be safe. No one’ll recognize you. Trust me.”

  “Oh, I believe you. I’ll be invisible.”

  “Isn’t that the point?” He stuffed the clothing into a shopping bag and handed it to her. “See you at dinner. You start on Saturday. Game’s at noon. Be here by ten to pick up your vending cart and food.”

  “Got it. I will. Thank you so much.” She nodded and headed for the gate. Fresh tears clouded her eyes, and she couldn’t keep them back. As she walked, she wept, covering as much of her face as possible with her hand. Someone in a uniform passed by, but he didn’t see her. Hot Dog Girls are invisible, everyone knows that.

  In a daze, Holly walked the four blocks back to the Magee’s apartment. From Park Avenue bad girl to Hot Dog Girl. She had fallen far. She laughed when she thought about what her parents would say if they could see her now. They’d be horrified at the brown suit, watching her go up and down the aisles hawking frankfurters.

  “Get your hot dogs! Get ’em here! Franks! Only four bucks,” she said aloud, practicing. It made her giggle. Maybe this was what she needed—a whole new life? Maybe hanging around with real people who have hardships and challenges might be good for her?

  She didn’t know the answer to that question. But like it or not, there she was, in the same playpen as the other folks in her class now. And she’d better learn to get along.

  When she arrived at the Magee’s, she let herself in with the key they’d given her.

  Nancy had music on. She danced and sang while she cooked. “How was your first day?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “Okay. What’re you making?”

  “Lasagna. Its Bud’s favorite. I hope you like it.”

  Holly’s mouth watered. Memories of the salads her mother had fed her constantly to keep her thin as a toothpick haunted her. Laura Dailey, Pine Grove’s best cook, had given her a few lessons. She loved to eat and had rounded out her figure nicely with the homemade meals she’d enjoyed in the tiny town. “I love it. Can I help?”

  “Thanks, dear, but I’m about done. You can set the table. Lisa has a piano lesson this afternoon.”

  Holly put her hand on Nancy’s arm. “I can’t thank you enough for taking me in. You’ve saved my life. Really. Literally.”

  “Happy to help.”

  At six o’clock, the Magee’s, plus one, sat down to dinner. They ate hearty with the rich pasta dish, salad, and garlic bread.

  “How was school today, Lisa?” Bud asked, stabbing a piece of lasagna on his fork.

  “The usual.” She kept her gaze on her plate, her head down, and ate quickly.

  “What does that mean?” Bud chewed while he stared at her.

  “Nothing. I’m finished. Can I be excused?”

  “You haven’t said a word to our guest. Lisa, this is Holly,” Bud said.

  “Hi, Holly. Welcome. Now can I be excused?”

  “Go. Go. Kids,” Bud said, shaking his head. “I apologize, Holly, she’s not usually this rude.”

  “Middle school. Impossible,” Nancy put in, a touch of pink coloring her cheeks.

  “Don’t worry about me, please. I’m just grateful to be here.”

  Nancy reached over and squeezed her hand. Bud picked up the pan and offered it to Holly. “More? Nancy makes a great lasagna for a Jewish woman,” he said with a chuckle.

  That night, Holly donned an old T-shirt and climbed into bed. A knock on the door jolted her for a moment, until a familiar voice spoke.

  “Holly, dear. I don’t mean to disturb you, but I have some books here, if you’d like to read. I noticed you travel light. I’ll just leave them out here in the hall.”

  The young woman peeked out, looked down, and spied the stack. “Thank you, Mrs. Magee.”

  “Please call me Nancy. And you’re welcome.”

  Holly took the books inside and returned to her bed. She o
pened each one and skimmed the first few pages. They were romances. Her mother had never let her bring anything other than New York Times literary bestsellers into their fancy apartment. Holly always preferred to read a romance. In college, she’d binged on them, though her fellow classmates at the ritzy-titzy school she’d attended had looked down their noses at them.

  She hunkered down, pulled up the covers, and opened the book, If I Loved You.

  * * * *

  Saturday was sunny, and the Nighthawks were playing at home. Dan Alexander sat in the dugout. Manuel Gonzales was pitching against the Cincinnati Coyotes. It was the bottom of the sixth inning, and the Nighthawks were ahead by seven runs. Dan was bored. He knew he should be watching the action, making mental notes about each batter, but instead, his eyes roamed the stands.

  The players had a game. They anted up five bucks each, and the guy who spotted the hottest chick in the stands won. So, Dan was making the rounds, looking for sexy ladies. He spotted Holly trudging up and down hauling the heavy hot dog cart. She traveled the aisles, calling out “Hot Dogs!” His gaze was glued to her cute butt, following every step as she wiggled her way up the stairs.

  She leaned over to give a man his hot dog, but that’s not all he got. Dan saw him staring down the front of her shirt. When she stood up, the pitcher noticed that the low-cut neckline was even lower on her because of her build. He figured the guy had gotten a free eyeful, and it made him mad. Instead of scanning the crowd for hot chicks, he kept watching her. She was slow, but steady.

  A couple of times, people yelled at her. She got flustered and was even slower giving them what they wanted or making change. Sympathy rose up in him. It was obvious she’d never done this before and needed a whole lot of training.

  Then, it happened. She dropped a hot dog loaded with mustard. The man in the stands stood up and started hollering. Holly bent over to clean it up. The guy in the TV booth running the camera zeroed in on her ass, and there it was, cute and big as life on the Jumbotron!

  People clapped and hooted. The players laughed. Dan held his breath. She craned her neck and looked around. Although Dan couldn’t hear what the man was saying, the pitcher saw him point to the giant screen. Dan cringed as she spied her backside, huge, amusing the crowd.