by KG MacGregor
Ninah grudgingly nodded as she recalled the GSA’s roundtable discussion of problems they faced for being queer. All of them related to the pain of rejection, even those whose families had gradually come around to support them. “We’re making progress though. Fifty-one percent of Kentuckians support same-sex marriage. Do you realize what a big deal that is?”
Britt tilted her head skeptically. “You wouldn’t just make up a number like that, would you?”
She smacked Britt’s shoulder playfully. “I can’t believe you just called me a liar. My civics class had a debate about it. It wasn’t all that long ago that a majority of Californians passed Prop 8, so give us some time. All it takes is critical mass, getting enough people to stand up for themselves.”
“I have to admit, I’m in awe of people like you and Carly and Justine. You read about gays who get their houses spray-painted and their tires slashed. It takes a lot of courage to put yourselves out there like that.”
“Somebody has to, especially at school. Otherwise we’re teaching the next generation they should expect to be shamed.”
Britt’s brow furrowed and she drummed her fingers on the wheel. “How do you think Longdogs fans would react if they knew I was gay?”
“Honestly? With a yawn.”
“So it wouldn’t make a difference one way or the other.”
“I didn’t say that. It’s always good for queer kids to see that people just like them can grow up and be leaders in the community. They can point you out to their parents and maybe take their anxiety down a notch. And it’s good for queer adults to know their family just got a little bigger. So yeah, I think it would be cool to have that be part of your public persona.”
“Mmm.”
“Something to think about. I’m not gonna judge you one way or the other.”
“Easy to say. What you guys think of me matters a lot, but not as much as what I think of myself. I don’t want to be a hypocrite. I just have to figure out how to do it without turning it into some big production.”
Ninah laughed. “Ha! Don’t worry, come tomorrow it’ll be all over town.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sitting in club seats behind the Longdogs on-deck circle, Britt scouted ideas from the Ashland Oil Cans, anything she could poach for entertaining the home crowd and boosting revenue. Ninah helped by rating the “fun quotient” for each.
“I’m glad you came along. Makes me less annoyed that I’m actually here to work.”
“That’s why you’re glad? Boy, aren’t you a silver-tongued charmer.”
“I hear that a lot.”
“I bet you do,” Ninah said, adding an eye roll. “If you want my opinion—since you’re working and all—this is one of the better ballparks in the Valley League. I like that you can look out over the mountains from the stands. Some ballparks, all you see are strip malls and people’s backyards.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Britt replied. “All that clutter detracts from my billboards.”
After the heavy conversation coming out of Coal Springs, they’d both made a concerted effort to lighten things up. Too bad the Longdogs weren’t playing along. Their four-game winning streak was in peril, as they trailed 4-1 in the top of the seventh inning.
“Leading off for the Longdogs, first baseman Scotty McCall.”
“We need some baserunners,” Ninah said. “The great thing about baseball is anything can happen. Doesn’t matter how many runs you’re down, the game’s not over till the last out.”
“Three up, three down!” yelled a man two rows back. He was a lively fan who clearly loved his home team, but his booming voice had begun to grate on Britt’s nerves. “Time to send these muttsss back to Leland with their tails between their legs.”
Ninah looked warily over her shoulder. “Sounds like someone may have had one too many beers.”
Throughout the game, Britt had jotted notes on her phone for ideas to pursue at Leland Field. The kids seemed to enjoy Squeaky, the team’s mascot. Dressed as an oil can, he drove around the field between innings on a golf cart and squirted fans with a Super Soaker.
“Think I could have Banger run around and spray people?” she asked absently.
“Or have him pee on their leg. Maybe just the umpires.”
“Don’t encourage me. Did I tell you I cut a deal with Tacos Chalitos? They’re donating two combo dinners for every Longdogs home run, one to the player who hits it and another to a fan. We’ll draw ticket numbers during the game.”
“Oscar will be eating there every night.”
Scotty chased a pitch low and outside for strike one.
The man behind them shouted, “That’s it, Ricky boy. This guy can’t hit the broad side of a barn.”
Britt took a gander at him, a middle-aged guy whose paunchy gut was visible below his T-shirt. “He’s definitely drunk. Let’s hope he’s not driving home.”
Scotty connected sharply with a line drive to the gap between left and center. By the time the outfielders chased down the carom and got the ball back into the infield, he was standing breathlessly on third.
Ninah slapped her program against her knee. “Didn’t I tell you? A couple more timely hits and we are back in business.”
“Now batting, right fielder Yuki Yakamoto.”
“Gooky Yakamoto!” the man yelled.
Britt twisted again in her seat. “You’ve got to be—”
Wesley Hodges suddenly materialized in the aisle beside their seats. “Taking in the competition, I see. Not a bad idea.”
He wore a lanyard that marked him as press, along with khaki chinos and a seersucker shirt that mostly forgave its wrinkles. His expression was odd, as if he were trying to smile through a scowl.
Britt accepted his offered handshake, if only to push it away from Ninah’s face. It was bad enough he invaded Ninah’s space—he didn’t even acknowledge her. “It’s…Hutchins, right?”
“Hodges. Wesley Hodges, Leland Gazette,” he said coolly. “Wondered if you might be ready to schedule that sit-down we talked about. It’d be a great chance for you to make your case directly to the fans for why they ought to come out to the ballpark and support the Longdogs.”
“A case that you undermined, if I recall…which makes me a little wary of talking with you again.”
He shook his head and muttered, “That explains the attack dogs.”
“Excuse me?”
“Right, I’m sure you have no idea what I’m talking about.”
Britt grunted as Yuki popped up to the second baseman. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
Feigning indifference, Wesley pushed his hands into his back pockets and looked away. “You’re saying you didn’t put Kip Barlow up to writing that letter to the editor? He basically called me a jerk.”
“Correct, I did not do that. In fact—in case you’d like to take out your phone and record this—I don’t know anything about it. I’m aware that Dr. Barlow often brings his family to the ballpark. Perhaps they enjoy some of the entertainment you belittled as distracting and trivial.”
His ears and throat burned red at her scolding.
She cut him off as he opened his mouth to reply. “Since you obviously have an ax to grind over the so-called fun quotient at the ballpark—that was very disingenuous, by the way—I’m concerned that whatever I say will get twisted into fodder for another hit piece.”
On the field, Hank inserted Austin Farmer as a pinch hitter for Angel Alvarado, who’d limped off last inning after a collision at home plate. Farmer had three homers this season, the only Longdog other than Oscar to show power at the plate.
“Down in front!”
Hodges squatted in the aisle, still not acknowledging Ninah’s presence. “My blog is only meant to start a conversation. Thing is, I’m a sportswriter. I go for the game, not the sideshow. Maybe that’s a guy thing. But I’ll admit you have a point about there being all kinds of people at the ballpark, and I know it’s your job to entertain all of them. That’s why
I really want to hear where you’re coming from.”
Surely he realized his condescending sexism only made matters worse. Ninah could probably run circles around Hodges and his “guy thing” when it came to baseball.
“Here, take my card,” he said. “Call me and let’s set up something for next week. Coffee, lunch…I’m up for anything at all.”
Britt dropped it in her purse without giving it a glance. As much as she wanted to blow him off completely, she couldn’t ignore his potential for influence. Sooner or later, she needed to submit to his questions. “I’ll be out of town for the next few days. Perhaps when I get back, I’ll have my secretary arrange a meeting in our office.”
“Okay, but don’t cancel on me this time. You’ll give me a complex.” He was too awkward to effect genuine humor.
Farmer slapped a ground ball down the first base line, scoring Scotty McCall and giving the Longdogs another baserunner with one down. DeVon Holliday came to the plate representing the tying run.
“I can’t believe you were so nice to that jack-wad. After what he did with that blog, I’d have told him to drop dead.”
“I wanted to, but it’s not too smart to make an enemy of the press. I might need him someday.”
The man behind them cupped his hands and yelled, “Let’s go, Ricky boy. Give this ape your fastball.”
Ninah suddenly dug her fingernails into Britt’s forearm. “Oh…my…God. He did not just call DeVon Holliday an ape.”
Shocked as well, Britt looked around expecting to find someone, possibly one of the man’s friends, calling him out. What she saw instead turned her stomach—literally no one seemed to mind his racist slur. If anything, his friends were amused.
Encouraged by their laughter, he began to grunt and scratch underneath his armpits.
“No fucking way,” Ninah said, pushing up from her seat.
Britt caught her shirttail and pulled her back down. “Don’t.”
“What do you mean, don’t? We can’t just let people get away with that shit.”
“I know, I agree with you. But please…don’t.” With as little fanfare as possible, she snapped the man’s picture with her phone. “Let’s get out of here.”
She hurriedly led Ninah down the stairs and toward the exit.
“Britt!” Ninah stubbornly stopped on the ramp. “I can’t believe you’re just gonna walk away. We have to stand up to these assholes, or we’re no better than they are.”
Judging by the collective grumble of the crowd, the Longdogs had done something good, a stolen base or a hit. Britt no longer cared about the game.
“I promise you I’ll deal with it. Section E, row eight, seat two. I even got a photo of him doing that stupid ape impression. I’ll send it to the Oil Cans’ owner and ask him to handle it, but I don’t want either of us in a confrontation with a man who’s obviously drunk, and whose friends think he’s funny. That’s not going to end well.”
“These assholes are always counting on people being too polite to call them on their bullshit. That’s how we got in this mess, and it’s only gonna get worse.”
“It’s not about being polite, Ninah. It’s about living to fight another day. One look at that Longdogs shirt and that crowd wouldn’t have cared what he said. You would have been the enemy.” As they passed through the turnstile to the parking lot, she put a friendly arm around Ninah’s shoulder. “I admire your principles and your courage, but what mattered most was getting out of there with all our teeth.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ninah’s cell phone service faded as they left the confines of Ashland. On her last refresh, the Longdogs were coming to bat in the top of the ninth, trailing by two runs. The final score would have to wait until they got more bars. Sadly, even a win wouldn’t be enough to erase their appalling ballpark experience.
Nestled in the cushy passenger seat, she could feel her entire body drooping with shame. “I hate giving in to bastards like that. I can’t get over how everybody else just sat there, not saying a word. How can people listen to garbage like that and not even care?”
“You know I care, right?” Britt patted her thigh, which Ninah decided to accept as a heartfelt show of support rather than a patronizing brush-off.
“Of course, and you were right to drag me out of there. There’s no telling how ugly it would have gotten because I was about to get in his face.” She kept thinking about Seth’s despicable remark, and how customers at The Bean sprang to Ike’s defense. “There was a time—not that long ago, in fact—when most people followed a basic moral code that said you weren’t supposed to drag your prejudices into the public square. Even if you had bigoted thoughts, you kept them to yourself.”
“Because you knew it was wrong and that other people would think less of you.”
“But now, no one gives a shit. They say whatever they want, no matter how rude or obnoxious, and there aren’t any consequences at all because people just don’t care anymore. I can’t believe it’s gotten this bad.” She laid most of it at the feet of Trump, who’d drastically changed the tenor of the nation’s discourse. “If anything cuts your heart out, it’s waking up to the fact that almost two-thirds of your neighbors voted for a racist. Not only that, his racism is one of the things they like about him. But don’t you dare call them racist. You have to use code words like, ‘he says what he thinks’ or ‘he doesn’t try to be politically correct.’”
Recognizing that she was angry enough to cry, Ninah took several deep breaths and closed her eyes. In a twist of irony, she opened them just as they passed the Coal Springs exit. There was little doubt in her mind who her family had voted for, but not discussing it with them let her hold on to hope that they hadn’t.
Britt sighed, and in a pensive voice said, “I’ll be honest, it creeps me out to know I’m surrounded by people like that here. Most of my California neighbors reject that kind of thinking. Not everyone, obviously, but enough to make people think twice before shouting out something racist in public. If that guy had pulled that kind of crap at a Padres game, the crowd would have turned on him.”
“Sounds like nirvana.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. California has its share of problems. Taxes are brutal…traffic is barbaric. And a halfway decent house is half a million dollars.”
“But it must be worth it if forty million people choose to live there.”
“Have you ever been?”
“No, the farthest west I’ve been is El Paso. Our softball team did a swing through Texas.” That was fifteen years ago, she realized. “I always wanted to see the West but Teri wasn’t much for traveling. Airplanes freaked her out, and she never got off work long enough to take a driving trip that far.”
“What if…” Britt’s fingers fluttered on the steering wheel, as if she were tapping along to music in her head. “How about coming with me to San Diego?”
“You don’t mean tomorrow?”
“Sure, why not? I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. If you help me pack, we’ll have plenty of time to see the city. I think you’d love it.”
An invitation to see the place Britt called home? Ninah already loved it.
“Assuming I say yes—which I intend to do, so you’d better mean it—what time do we leave?”
Britt laughed and clapped her hands against the wheel, her smile glowing in the dashboard light. “The flight’s at five o’clock tomorrow. Changes in Dallas and gets into San Diego at eight thirty Pacific Time.”
“All right, let’s do it.” Ninah began to squirm with excitement, her mind already racing with ideas of what to pack. “How long will we be there? What all do you have to do?”
“I’ve got it all planned out. Pick up some boxes to pack my clothes and personal stuff. That shouldn’t take long because I know exactly what goes where—it’s literally everything in my closet and bathroom. Then I need to ship it all back here, either FedEx or UPS.” She went on to explain that everything else—furniture, kitchenware, line
ns—would go into a storage unit she’d already rented over the phone. “I have a couple of guys coming Monday morning with a truck. After that, we’d have the rest of the day for sightseeing. Then we come home Monday night on the red-eye.”
“Two days, are you kidding? That’s a long way to go for such a short time.”
“I know, but I need to be back here by Tuesday. Dad’s getting out of rehab.”
It would have been nice to stay a few extra days, but Ninah wasn’t going to pass up this chance for a glimpse of California through Britt’s eyes. “Then we’ll have to make the most of it.”
“We will, I promise. My friend Holly’s getting some folks together Sunday night at Gossip Grill. That’s our main dyke bar. You’ll love it. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”
Of all the things they might have done, meeting Britt’s hip lesbian friends at a trendy bar was at the bottom of Ninah’s wish list. Nothing in her wardrobe was suitable for such a place. She’d embarrass herself and Britt too.
“Are you sure we’ll have time for that? It sounds like there’s a lot to do.”
“Some things you make time for. Friends especially, since I don’t know when I’ll get back for another visit. Sundays are great at the bar, kind of low-key. More talking, less getting wasted. Everybody has to be at work the next day.”
Obviously it was important that Britt have a chance to see her friends, so Ninah would have to deal with her trepidation. “It’s sweet that your friends are coming together for a sendoff.”
“More like bittersweet, I’d say.” Her tone held a trace of melancholy, and she paused a long moment before elaborating. “Candice always handled the social end of things. She cared about it more than I did, so I usually just went along with whatever she wanted. No matter what it was, she needed to be in the middle of the action. A real FOMO.”
Ninah knew from her students that meant “fear of missing out.”
“We fought about it sometimes, how she’d appoint herself emcee at parties so she could lead the songs and make the speeches. Such a ham, but nobody else seemed to mind—she had the personality for it. I thought she was being conceited. She’d get up there and tell stories about herself. Who does that on somebody else’s birthday?”
