The Lucky Ones

by KG MacGregor

“It’d be nice if Castillo knocked one out of here, but I don’t think he’s much of a slugger. He’s fast though.”

  After a couple of bluffs, Castillo laid down a perfect bunt that advanced Cline to second, and he almost beat the throw to first. One down.

  “Not fast enough,” she said dryly.

  “Unfortunately, those of us who’ve followed this team for years are kind of used to losing. You know what they say—can’t beat the Longdogs for a night out. Unless you’re the other team.”

  “Now batting, shortstop Malik Terry.”

  It occurred to her that if Kip was the ardent fan he claimed to be, she might learn a thing or two from him that would help with marketing to others like him. “How come a diehard fan like you is sitting all the way out here? You should be in one of the club seats closer to the action.”

  “Right you are. It so happens I’ve got a couple of season tickets in the fourth row right behind home plate. Most nights I come with my daughter—she’s nine—but my in-laws are visiting this week from Cleveland, so I let her sit over there with her grandpa. Talk about a hardcore fan, that girl’s absolutely crazy about this team.”

  So Kip Barlow was a family man. She hoped that meant he wasn’t hitting on her after all. “A longtime fan, huh?”

  “As long as I can remember. I’m friends with the new owner, Vernon Iverson. Now there’s a real fan for you. The last guy, Duffy Barnett…boy, he let things fall all to heck. If you ask me, he took advantage of fans’ loyalty, raising prices, cutting back on the extras. Didn’t even keep the bathrooms clean. For a while there it looked like some rich guy was gonna buy the team and move it to Carbondale. But then out of nowhere, Vernon swoops in and saves the day for all of us. Shame he’s not here to celebrate tonight. Had a brain aneurysm last week and had to have surgery.” He pointed to a wide sign near the 385-feet marker on the center field wall. “That’s me, by the way. Better Smiles by Barlow.”

  “You’re an orthodontist.” That’s why his name sounded familiar. His was the only billboard ad in the entire park that was prepaid through the end of the season.

  “All righty, here we go,” he said, rubbing his hands together as he turned his attention back to the action on the field. His folksy Southern cadence reminded her of JT. “Base hit ties the game.”

  Tension rippled through the park as fans came to their feet. Even Britt found herself tingling with anticipation, though it dissipated instantly when the Moccasins manager ambled from the dugout and signaled to his bullpen for a left-hander. The last pitching change had caused a delay of about five minutes. The crowd grumbled in unison and returned to their seats.

  “Let the players play!” Kip yelled. Then to Britt, he said, “I don’t think I’ve seen you out here before. Have you been a Dogs fan long?”

  She was torn over whether to come clean or remain incognito. Since he was a friend of her father’s, he was sure to find her out eventually. She extended her hand and smiled. “I’m Britt Iverson. Vernon’s my dad.”

  He lit up with recognition, then wide-eyed delight. “Well, of course. I should have known. You look just like him. Same smile, same gum symmetry. I bet you don’t hear that every day.”

  “I don’t, but I’ll take it as a compliment. I’ve always thought my dad was handsome.”

  “And he’s one of the nicest guys in Leland.” He blew out a breath and visibly shuddered. “Boy, I sure am glad your father’s Vernon and not Duffy Barnett. I shouldn’t have said all those things about Duffy.”

  She laughed. “No worries. I’ve already heard some of it, and I imagine I’ll hear more as the season wears on.”

  He asked how her father was doing, and that she convey his well-wishes. Amazingly, he too had been at the house party the night of the health scare.

  “I take it you know Ninah Faust then, and Carly Griffin.”

  “Oh yeah, we all sit together over there. That Ninah, she’s an encyclopedia about baseball. I don’t mean like she knows facts. I mean she understands the game better than anybody. Her dad played in the majors for a season. I think he passed a couple of years ago.”

  Funny that Ninah hadn’t mentioned that…but then Britt conceded she’d rudely made every single moment about herself. “I didn’t know that about her father. No wonder she’s an expert.”

  In case she needed another reminder, Kip was further proof that in Leland everyone knew everyone else. With her luck, the whole town already knew she’d left Ninah’s house in the middle of the night.

  “On the mound for the Moccasins, Randy Jacoby.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, Britt, what are you doing out here in the rabble? You ought to be sitting up there in that air-conditioned suite eating shrimp cocktail and drinking champagne.”

  “Can you keep a secret?” When he nodded, she told him about canceling the interview with Wesley after being warned about his critical approach. “Dad should be back in two or three weeks. It’s better if he handles the baseball end. I’m here to focus on the fun stuff, like that silly wagon race. I paid my secretary’s son ten bucks to assemble those wagons in time for the game. All the entertainment you see over these next few games will be some idea we cobbled together at the last minute, so be sure to cut us some slack. I hope we’ll be a little more organized by the time the team gets back from its first road trip.”

  “My daughter loves all the games and contests. If you ever need a volunteer for anything, she’s your girl.”

  They turned their attention back to the field, where the relief pitcher was finishing his warm-up. That brought Malik Terry back to the plate and the crowd to its feet.

  Britt was glad she’d engaged with Kip instead of brushing him off. He could be an important ally in building more advertising support. She scribbled her name and email on the back of a generic Longdogs business card. “Let’s have a beer sometime and talk some more about the ballpark experience. Or whatever else you drink. I’d like to know if that billboard of yours is doing what you want it to.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “In fact, shoot me an email in the morning and I’ll leave some tickets at will call. No point in that suite sitting empty. Bring the whole family out tomorrow night.”

  “Oh wow, Tanya’s gonna like that. That’s my wife. She’d be here every night but the mosquitoes eat her up. I reckon that’s because she’s so much sweeter than the rest of us.”

  A crack of the bat sent a fly ball their way, but the right fielder made a running catch for the second out. Cline tagged up and advanced to third, just ninety feet from home plate. Two outs.

  A base hit would tie the game, possibly sending it into extra innings. Win or lose, the concessions stands would take in a few more bucks. Even an idiot had to appreciate that.

  “Now at the plate—Osssscar Lopez!”

  “Let’s see if Oscar can redeem himself for those errors in the eighth,” Kip said as the third baseman took his place in the batter’s box. “He’s got some power, this guy. A walk-off home run would be just the ticket.”

  Lopez connected sharply on the first pitch to send it soaring into left field, so high it nearly disappeared against the dark sky. Fans drew a collective breath and held it. Going…going…

  “Foul ball!”

  “Damn!” She smacked her hat against her thigh. That was precisely why people sat three hours on a hard bench, because there was always a chance it would pay off with a dramatic, come-from-behind home run that would send everyone home jubilant.

  “Boy, he sure tagged that one. You don’t see much power like that in A-ball. Something tells me this guy’s gonna be fun to watch.” He cupped his hands and yelled, “Straighten it out, Oscar.”

  The next pitch was wild, sailing over Lopez’s head all the way to the backstop. Troy Cline stumbled in the dirt as he broke for home. It was only a small slip but it gave the catcher an extra half-second to corral the carom and flip it to the pitcher, who’d scampered in to cover the plate. As Cline slid, the glove came down on his
calf and the crowd went deathly silent waiting for the call.

  “Out of there!” the umpire finally roared, setting off a chorus of boos—and a cascade of sponge balls, courtesy of Simmons Funeral Home.

  Chapter Fifteen

  As the game crowd thinned, Ninah looked about in hopes of catching a glimpse of Britt. But for a controversial call, they could have celebrated kicking off the “Iverson Era” with a win. The least she could do was offer consolation for the loss, or kudos for the hilarious wagon race. Or just an upbeat message of support for how well Vernon had looked this afternoon. Frankly, any excuse would do.

  She hadn’t expected to feel so anxious. Why was Britt avoiding her? Maybe it dawned on her that Ninah had taken advantage of her vulnerability.

  “You need a ride home?” Carly asked as she scooped up the trash pile she’d created around her seat.

  “I feel like a walk tonight, but thanks.” She patted her pockets. “I think I left my new pen in the press box. My GSA kids just gave it to me two days ago and I lost it already. I better go grab it before they lock up.”

  At the press box, Stu answered her knock and presented her pen. “Bet you’re looking for this. I thought about stealing it, but seeing as how it’s got your name engraved on it…”

  “You don’t have it in you to be a thief, Stu.”

  Wesley and the Cookeville radio announcer had packed up but were standing around chatting about Oscar Lopez’s impressive debut.

  “Too bad about that call,” she said to Stu. “We were sitting right on top of it. Carly and I both thought he got in under the tag.”

  “That’s the way we saw it from up here.” Stu leaned in and whispered, “Me and the radio guy, that is. You-know-who was of another opinion.”

  “Of course he was.”

  Ninah smiled politely at Wesley and noticed a flash of light behind him in the owner’s suite, which had been dark all evening. Someone had briefly opened the door from the offices and shut it again. It couldn’t have been Archie Davenport. She’d seen him only moments ago going into the visitors’ dugout. Nor the janitorial staff, who were at work already sweeping popcorn and peanut shells from the stands.

  “Excuse me,” she said, stepping around Wesley to the door that led to the administrative offices. Archie always left it unlocked so members of the press could access the executive restrooms, which were off-limits to the public. From the hallway, she observed a light coming from an office at the far end. “Hello?”

  Britt’s face peeked from the doorway. “Ninah?”

  Her pulse quickened as Britt started toward her. Aiming for nonchalance, she folded her arms and leaned against the wall, pasting on her warmest smile. “Was it something I said?”

  “I was going to call…sometime over the weekend when it wasn’t so crazy.”

  “It’s not that big a deal. I just want to make sure everything’s okay.”

  “Of course, I just…” Britt scuffed her sneaker-clad foot like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Like I said the other night, that’s not something I usually do. I don’t want to…”

  “Seriously, Britt. Whatever you say is fine. We got ahead of ourselves…our emotions got the best of us.” She hated that her voice was shaking while she was trying to sound casual. “If you don’t want to go in that direction, all you have to do is say so. Then we’re back to being friends.”

  Britt mirrored Ninah’s stoic pose and pinched her lips. “I hate to sound like such a cliché, but it’s me, not you.”

  “Of course it’s you. I was freakin’ amazing.” Ninah laughed awkwardly in an effort to dispel the tension. “In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if I was too much to handle. I get that a lot.”

  “You were freaking amazing, for the record. The thing is, I don’t plan to be here very long, and you’re way too nice to be just a…”

  “Fuck buddy?”

  “That.” Britt managed an embarrassed grin. “A freaking amazing fuck buddy. But this isn’t a good time for me to start a relationship.”

  “Or a good place, I suppose. I understand how you feel about Leland.” Summoning the maturity of her thirty-five years, Ninah willed herself to smile. She’d known all along it was too good to be true. Women like Britt never gave her a second look. But then Leland didn’t have any women like Britt. “So on that note, I have a favor to ask. A baseball favor.”

  “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

  Ninah took out her phone and scrolled to a series of photos taken last year at the ballpark, a small crowd waving signs and rainbow flags from the bleachers behind first base. “Remember me saying I’m the faculty sponsor of the Gay-Straight Alliance at Leland High? This was last summer, Pride Night with the Longdogs. Duffy agreed to let us do it as long as it didn’t cost him anything. We did all the organizing. The kids handed out purple wristbands and sat together behind the Longdogs’ dugout. And there was a moment of silence for victims of the Pulse massacre.”

  “How did that go over?”

  “Not as well as we’d hoped, but it comes with the territory, you know? We publicized it ahead of time with flyers and social media, so one of the churches showed up for a mini-protest in the parking lot. Like you said, the Assembly of Whatever. You can probably imagine what they looked like, with their little signs about loving the sinner, hating the sin.”

  Britt rolled her eyes and made a gagging gesture.

  “My sentiments exactly. We also got a few random boos when Stu announced that it was Pride Night, but we got some applause too. The hardest part for me personally was after the game, watching the kids pick up all those wristbands people threw on the ground. Talk about an apt metaphor. No matter how much progress we make, too many queer kids are still being thrown away.”

  Britt shook her head with disgust. “One thing I like about California is Pride supporters outnumber protesters ten to one.”

  “Right, which is why events like these matter so much. With most of the churches against us, we need to get the business community on our side.”

  “So you want to do another Pride Night?”

  “Duffy already gave us the go-ahead, but that was ages ago. We had it down for August fourteenth when the Paducah Dukes come to town, if that still works. This year we have a check to present to the library so they can buy some queer books. It would be really cool if we could do that in a ceremony at home plate before the game. Oh, and hand out more wristbands at the gate. Please tell me we’re still good to go.”

  “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little worried about the protests. People don’t hold back like they used to. I’ll probably need to hire some extra security.”

  Ninah thought of the men who’d stalked her and Thaddeus at the school, one of whom had also confronted Ike. Britt didn’t need to hear more negatives about Leland.

  “Believe me, we went over the potential risks, how important it is for everyone to stay cool. These kids need something to feel proud about. You know what that’s like. We won’t get respect unless we demand it.”

  After a studied silence, Britt nodded. “All right then, Pride Night it is. August fourteenth. And we’ll promote the hell out of it.”

  Ninah might have kissed her cheek had Wesley not suddenly emerged from the press box.

  “Brittany Iverson, right? I’m Wesley Hodges, sports editor for the Gazette.”

  Because sports editor sounded loftier than beat reporter, she thought cynically. In addition to being prickly, Wesley sometimes tried too hard. Too bad he hadn’t tried harder to iron his shirt.

  He looked past her to Britt, as if she weren’t even standing there. “I tried to get back in touch with you but we kept missing each other. We need to reschedule that interview. My readers are interested in your thoughts on the direction of the team. Like, what’s your strategy for winning back those fans who feel priced out of a night at the ballpark after last year’s increase in ticket prices?” He made a point of holding out his phone so Britt would know he was recordi
ng her response.

  “That’s a question I expect to study very carefully. But I’ve only been here a few days, so I’ve not yet familiarized myself with the team’s financial records.”

  “Understood. About that wagon race and the sponge ball toss…can we expect to see more diversionary entertainment designed to increase the fun quotient?”

  “That’s a great way to describe what we’re aiming for, the fun quotient. And yes, absolutely. We’ll be putting a lot of energy into making a night with the Longdogs a fun-filled experience for the whole family.”

  He put his phone away but showed no inclination to return to the press box. “I don’t suppose you have a window, say forty minutes, sometime tomorrow when we could sit down and talk in more detail about your vision for the team? More of a friendly chat, really. We could even do it on background over lunch if you want. You decide what’s on the record and what’s not.”

  Ninah found his cajoling smile borderline creepy. In the years she’d known Wesley, she’d never seen him attempt to charm his sources into comments. But none of those sources were as attractive as Britt. Given that he’d probably talked to several of Vernon’s friends and associates already, it was odd that he didn’t seem to know Britt batted for the other team.

  “I don’t think tomorrow is…” Britt’s forehead creased with a hint of panic, and she glanced at Ninah for help.

  “You’re too late, Wesley. I just this minute put the squeeze on her so we could go over plans for Pride Night. I’d offer to reschedule, but my students have a lot to do to get ready. It’s harder to get everyone organized now that school’s out.”

  “Some other time then.” A feigned smile did nothing to cover his annoyance that Ninah had beaten him to the punch. Or for that matter that she hadn’t yielded to him as soon as he butted into their conversation. He grumbled a cursory goodbye and returned to the press box.

  “Thanks for that,” Britt said when he was gone.

  “No problem. Oh, and my offer’s still good for a baseball chat anytime you want. Now that school’s out, I can even come to your office.” That was her way of letting Britt know she could pull back and stoke their friendship without the suggestion of more.