Dan Alexander, Pitcher

by Jean C. Joachim

  Temptation lured him. Usually, there were three or four women in a bar, all eyeing him. He’d have his pick. If that had been true tonight, he wouldn’t hesitate. But Gloria was the only female in the joint. As lonely and horny as he was, he refused to buy sex. He’d never been a paying customer before, and tonight would be no different. A quick blowjob for a hundred bucks wasn’t exactly appealing.

  Dan liked to take his time with a bed partner, but to a hooker, time is money. It helped to have a woman who was willing, even eager, for him, but not one who looked at him with dollar signs in her eyes. He finished his drink, settled up with the bartender, and gave a polite bow to Gloria as he turned toward the exit.

  Two months earlier, when he’d turned thirty, he’d changed. Youngest of three kids in his family, he was the only one not married. For the first time, he thought about settling down. Maybe it was time to find a serious girl, one he could take home to Indiana.

  With no candidates for wife on the horizon, the only attractive girl he’d met in a while, Holly, came to mind. He hadn’t found out her story yet. Now that he was a free man, his curiosity grew. He’d wangle an invite to dinner from Bud when he got back to New York and check her out. Time to explore all his options. Besides, he’d at least get one of Nancy’s delicious meals out of the deal.

  He stripped down and got into bed. He’d be training tomorrow. A pitcher can’t keep his arm idle for long. As he stretched out on the queen-sized mattress, his thoughts returned to the sexy Hot Dog Girl. What was a chick as pretty as she was doing hawking franks? With that unanswered question in his brain, he drifted off.

  * * * *

  A bus took the team to Ocelot stadium. Dan ran before warming up. He and Matt jogged together before most games. At five miles, they hit the bench, cracking open water bottle after water bottle. After catching his breath, Matt turned to his friend. “Get laid last night?” Matt sucked down liquid.

  “Nah. Only a hooker in the bar,” Dan said.

  “Ever screwed a hooker?”

  Dan shook his head then put the bottle to his lips. “You?”

  “Nope. Never had to.”

  “When was the last time you got laid?” Dan asked, shooting his friend a sideways glance.

  “Not that long ago.”

  “When?”

  “A couple of months, maybe?” Matt shrugged.

  “Have you ever slept with a woman?”

  Matt’s face reddened. “You think I’m a virgin? Fuck you. No way! I had a steady girl in high school.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Her parents moved. We lost touch.” There was a wistful tone to Matt’s voice, one Dan had never heard before.

  “I get it.”

  “We were serious. Her name was Kirstie.” Matt stared at the sky. “She was real pretty.”

  Dan clapped him on the shoulder. “I bet she was. I bet she was.”

  Matt sniffled for a second then pushed to his feet. “I gotta warm up Payton.” Jackson headed for the bullpen to meet up with starter Manny Payton.

  Dan nodded. He didn’t know his friend had been serious about a girl. He wondered why Matt was so awkward around women. He shrugged. Maybe he’s just a shy guy. Lost his touch since he lost Kirstie. The mention of high school brought memories for Dan too. He’d also had a serious girl his senior year. They’d stayed together until after his first season of pro ball. She’d met a law student while he had been on the road and had dumped Dan on his return. He’d been crushed.

  Remembering brought back what it was like to have a steady girl, one you could rely on—and bed on a regular basis. Or at least he’d thought he could trust her. He’d been heartbroken for about a year. Then, he had decided he’d avoid that ever happening again by leaving serious relationships behind. Now, he wondered if he’d done the right thing. Could he commit? Or had he been a player too long to be faithful to one woman? With his latest betrayal from Valerie, trust had become an issue.

  “Come on, Alexander. Let’s get you warmed up,” said Buzzy, one of the trainers, as he slid his fingers into a catcher’s mitt.

  Dan pushed the question out of his mind and joined the man in the bullpen. When they were done, the pitcher donned his jacket and claimed a good seat in the dugout. Orlando wasn’t their biggest rival, and nowhere near the top of the league, but if you didn’t bring your “A” game, they might surprise you.

  Nat Owens, the Hawks’ first baseman and lead-off hitter, was loosening up in the batter’s box before taking his stance. Owen didn’t hit many home runs, but he was a dependable singles and doubles hitter. His job was to get his ass on base, maybe steal one and come home when Jake “Slugger” Lawrence put one in the upper deck. Owens batted righty. Their pitcher was shooting from the left.

  Matt approached Dan. “We’re letting you play, even though you’ll probably win, ’cause you’re on the bench,” the catcher said, thrusting a cap filled with fives at the pitcher.

  Dan slipped five bucks out of his back pocket. “I’m in.” Dan held the record for the most hot chicks spotted. The others groused about it, stating he’d won whenever he wasn’t pitching. He didn’t feel like playing today. Women were a sore spot with him, but he had a reputation to uphold.

  Matt eased down next to his friend, and they turned their attention to Owens. First pitch—strike. Dan handed a piece of chewing gum to his buddy. Matt shoved it in his mouth, never taking his eyes off the batter. Owens swung at the next pitch. Crack! Nat connected, and the ball looped over the shortstop’s head for a base hit to center field. Safely at first base, Owens took off the batting helmet and ankle protector.

  Skip Quincy, the shortstop, was next up. Owens took a big lead off first. He was tied with Bobby Hernandez for the title of team’s best base stealer. Might have been a dangerous move with a left-handed pitcher, but he knew that Quincy was a jump-on-the-first-pitch hitter. Owens sidestepped, increasing his lead, but leaning toward first. He wanted to disrupt the pitcher’s concentration, make him nervous enough to send a nice, fat, juicy fastball right down the middle to his teammate.

  The wind up and the pitch—exactly what Nat had hoped for, and Quincy didn’t miss his chance. The two teammates had been playing this game together ever since they had joined the Nighthawks. Pitchers never caught on that the two infielders were in cahoots. Quincy swung and connected. The ball went sailing over the head of the left fielder and caromed off the wall for a stand-up double.

  By the time Skip rounded first, speedy Nat Owens was rounding third. He came home a heartbeat ahead of the ball. Skip trotted to second, and the Nighthawks took the lead, one-nothing. The team rose up in the dugout to greet Nat and to exchange high fives. The manager, usually a stoic, stony-faced man during games, cracked a small grin.

  “Cal loves it when his strategy works,” Dan said to Matt.

  Another speedy player, known for base stealing, Bobby Hernandez, second baseman, stepped up to the plate. He was a switch-hitter and planted his feet to the right of home plate. The men divided their attention between Skip on second and Bobby up at bat. Tension mounted as Skip edged closer to third, increasing his lead.

  Dan noted Bobby blinking twice as he stared at Skip, who nodded. The hit-and-run play was on. Bobby was a better long ball hitter than either Nat or Quincy. So, the Ocelots expected him to blast one out of the park. But two blinks from Bobby meant their surprise play. They didn’t often have the chance to try this. They had the green light from the third base coach. Skip took another step away from the bag, bent his knees, and kept his hands and arms loose as the pitcher wound up.

  The ball soared to the plate, and Bobby squared around to bunt. He laid one down perfectly. Skip was halfway to third before the pitcher knew what happened. By the time he fielded the ball, the only place to go was first base.

  The defender on first tried to block the plate. Bobby, fast in his own right, charged ahead, realizing he had a chance to beat it out. There was a collision, and both players went down. The first ba
seman rolled around, clutching his ankle. Bobby had spiked him accidentally. Of course, if he hadn’t been blocking first base, that wouldn’t have happened.

  The umpire called Bobby safe. Skip, who took a head-first slide, which Crawley had warned against a thousand times, was safe on third. And now, the clean-up man, their slugger, All Star and World Series MVP, Jake Lawrence, strode to the batter’s box. Nighthawk fans cheered as Jake shouldered the bat. Dan saw sweat break out on the pitcher’s face. For a split second, Alexander felt sorry for the guy on the mound. He’d been in that position more than a few times himself.

  Matt got up and strolled to the on-deck circle to warm up.

  Jake’s eyes narrowed as he took a called ball on the first pitch. Second one was the same. Shit! Are they gonna walk Jake to get to Matt? His buddy was no slugger like Jake, but he could hit. Cal referred to Jackson as a “clutch hitter.” And, yeah, Matt almost always came through when the pressure was on.

  Time was called as the catcher went for a short conference with the pitcher. He glanced over at Matt. The men whispered some more then the pitcher nodded and the catcher returned to his post. Nat Owens joined Dan.

  “Assholes are gonna walk Jake to get to Matt,” Dan said.

  “Yeah. Idiots. They’ve got a big surprise coming.” Nat popped a piece of bubblegum into his mouth as the ump called “Ball four!”

  With a look of disgust on his face, Jake took first base. He bent his knees, resting his palms there, and faced home plate. Matt took his stance and narrowed his eyes. Dan held his breath and crossed his fingers. No one produces all the time. Baseball players have too many games in a season to be stars in each and every one, but this one was choice. Matt was going to be either the hero or the goat.

  The rest of the team in the dugout rose to their feet, their eyes trained on Jackson. He took the first pitch, called a ball. Second was the same. The pitcher’s face was slick with sweat. Dan noticed Matt’s knuckles turn whiter as he tightened his grip. Dan recognized that as Matt’s signal he was swinging on the next pitch. This is it. This is his pitch. It’s gotta be. Dan clenched his jaw muscles.

  The crowd was quiet as the pitcher let the ball go. There it was, right down the middle. Just where Jackson liked it. He swung, hard. A loud crack sounded, and the ball took off as if it had been shot out of a cannon. It soared, higher and higher, faster and faster. Matt dropped the bat and took off, chugging full speed toward first base.

  Bobby rounded third, and Jake left second in the dust. The outfielders, who had been playing Matt wrong, hustled back toward the warning track. The center fielder leaped high into the air, his arm extended, his glove open. Dan sucked in air and held it. The ball continued its trajectory, about five feet above the outfielder’s glove. It was over the wall! A three-run homer!

  Dan jumped up and danced in the dugout with Nat and Skip. Crawley took off his cap and waved it in the air. Matt ran the bases wearing the biggest shit-eating grin Dan had ever seen. Jake and Bobby waited at home plate for him to cross. Then, the three high-fived and bumped chests before heading down to the dugout. Once there, Matt was mobbed by his teammates with congratulatory hugs and slaps.

  “Almost a grand slam,” he said, sucking down water.

  “Damn good, buddy,” Dan said.

  The next three batters made out, and the side changed. Matt donned his catcher’s protective gear and his big glove and headed toward home plate.

  Woody Franklin, a relief pitcher, joined Dan. He’d also put money in the pool. “Find any chicks, yet?” he asked.

  “Too busy watching the game.”

  “Now might be our best chance,” Woody replied.

  Having a four run lead relaxed Dan. He sat back and perused the stadium. His confidence that his teammates would keep the Ocelots scoreless, gave him the luxury to look around. Although he didn’t want to think about the opposite sex, he had always enjoyed scanning the stands for pretty women.

  “Bingo!” Woody said, pointing to a brunette with “D” cups, wearing a low cut top. She bent over a couple of times, making Woody whistle. She had long, dark hair and wore red lipstick.

  “Wow! You win,” Dan said, pulling his gaze back to the game.

  The Ocelots managed to score three runs, but Jake hit a grand slam, bringing the score to eight to three. The Nighthawks hit the showers then filed onto the bus for the airport.

  Next stop, Atlanta to take on the Athletics.

  * * * *

  While the team was on the road, Holly was unemployed. The hot dog vendors were paid only when they sold, so no work, no pay. She didn’t have much to do but read and help Nancy around the house. After a week of being housebound, fear of discovery took a backseat to boredom. She ventured out to investigate the neighborhood.

  The streets around the stadium in northern Manhattan had few high rise buildings. The Magee’s, at fourteen stories, was the tallest for at least ten blocks. People lived in tenements and old townhouses with big stoops. Laundromats, deli’s, liquor stores, dress shops, bars, small grocery stores, diners, and ethnic restaurants populated the avenues, with a few doing business on the side streets. Rounding the bend on Kennedy Place, she found a café called “Hawk’s Nest.”

  She went in and ordered a latte and a chocolate croissant. The clientele was varied. Mostly student types. Northern Manhattan Community College was only two blocks away. On her way back to the Magee apartment, she checked out three little dress shops, for Lisa’s dance. Two of them had possibilities, garments that weren’t old fashioned, but weren’t too revealing either. She stopped in the grocery store and bought a steak, potatoes, and salad fixings. Tonight, she’d be making dinner for Nancy, for a change.

  Holly hadn’t known what would await her when she’d moved into the old fashioned apartment. She’d expected to be treated with suspicion, to be an outcast, ignored and left on her own. Instead, she’d been welcomed into the family like a long lost cousin. She ate at their table, shared their television, and took the role of big sister to their second daughter.

  Every morning, she thanked God for her good fortune. And each day, she relaxed more and more, no longer worried about being found by Flash or the District Attorney’s office. Although she still didn’t go out at night, staying in had become a habit, not motivated by fear. She enjoyed hanging with the Magees. She laughed at Bud’s jokes, learned about cooking from Nancy, and shared music and celebrity gossip with Lisa. In fact, she fit in better with them than she had with her own family. That realization shamed her some as she wondered what part in that she had played.

  Slipping the key in the lock, she opened the front door to hear Nancy’s off-key voice singing along with the radio. She ambled into the kitchen.

  “Take off that apron. Tonight, I’m cooking,” Holly said, pulling at the bow tied behind Nancy’s back.

  The older woman fussed, but Holly wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. She unpacked the groceries and got everything ready. Potatoes were boiling, and salad was mixed. She plopped down on the sofa, next to the older woman.

  “I don’t know what to do. Laundry is done. House is clean. You’re doing dinner.”

  “Let’s watch a movie. Here,” Holly said, flipping channels. “There you go. Serendipity. I loved that movie.” She hit play and settled back in her seat.

  At the commercial, Nancy made popcorn. They chuckled and chatted. A piece of Holly’s heart had wished she could have done that with her own mother. Was she at fault? Did she push her mother away from her like Lisa did to Nancy?

  Lisa sulked into the room and commandeered a seat on the couch. “Do we have to watch this?”

  “Yes. Holly and I are watching a movie. You’re welcome to join us, but we’re not switching channels.”

  “I need my own TV. What movie is this?”

  Before long, Lisa had been pulled into the story. She took a handful of popcorn and watched with the older women. Nancy slipped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, but the girl shook it off. With a sigh,
the mother sat back and returned her attention to the film.

  Dinner turned out better than expected. Lisa complimented Holly, making her feel uncomfortable. She didn’t want to compete with Nancy for Lisa’s approval. Nancy took it in stride and joined in, claiming Holly must be related to her, because they make steak and salad the same way.

  The next day, Holly texted Lisa.

  Dress shopping. Today. Come home now.

  She didn’t get a response, but fifteen minutes later, Lisa walked through the door, bright, smiling, and eager to go.

  “Let me know which dress, and I’ll go by with my credit card,” Nancy said, as she sorted laundry. “Your father’s coming home tonight, so be back by six for dinner.”

  Holly agreed. She steered Lisa to Maria’s Fashions three blocks away. “I saw some cute dresses in the window at this little shop on Amsterdam.”

  “I don’t want cute. I want hot,” Lisa said.

  Holly grabbed her shoulders and turned the girl to face her. “Look, there are ground rules here. First of all, you’re thirteen, so hot is definitely out of the question.” Lisa squirmed under her grasp. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be old fashioned, or ugly, or anything. Come on. Keep an open mind. It has to be a dress your parents agree to.”

  Lisa made a face, but gave a nod and fell into step with Holly.

  A small bell tinkled when she opened the door of the little shop.

  They were greeted by a smiling Hispanic woman. Holly explained what they were after, and she brought out some dresses for them to try.

  “Pink is a baby color,” Lisa said, frowning at the first one.

  “Really? Pink is my favorite color,” Holly responded, eyeing the garment.

  Lisa’s eyes widened. “It is?”

  “Yep.”

  Holly recommended three others for Lisa to try on. The girl had naturally blonde hair and light blue eyes. She stood about Holly’s height. With her figure still changing, they had to pick a dress that wasn’t too snug. Of the three she tried on, Holly liked the dark, Prussian blue satin one best. Lisa couldn’t make up her mind.