by KG MacGregor
Britt summed up the situation in seconds.
“And this is Ike. He works for Carly at The Bean.”
“That’s right, I work for Carly,” he snarled, flashing Emmy an angry look. “I’ll be going along now so I can work for Carly tomorrow.”
As he stomped down the porch steps, Emmy closed her eyes and sighed. “In case you didn’t catch that, I’m the biggest asshole in all of Leland. I know it. Ike knows it. And now you know it. Ninah too.”
Britt held up her hands. “I really don’t know anything.”
“I’ll let her fill you in on the gory details. But the bottom line—like I said, I’m an asshole.” She retreated and closed the door, leaving Britt to reckon that her current drama with Ninah paled compared to this powder keg.
She announced herself and stepped inside Ninah’s apartment to the sound of water running in a distant room. “Ninah, it’s me. Is everything okay? Ninah?” On her way to the bedroom, she kept talking so as not to startle.
Ninah stood at the foot of her bed sorting the contents of her suitcase into laundry piles. In the adjoining bathroom, the tub was filling.
“Ninah, what’s this about?”
She glanced up only briefly and kept sorting.
“I get it. You’re upset about something. Whatever it is, let’s please just talk about it. If I’ve done something wrong—”
“If you’ve done something wrong?”
“I’ll try to make it right,” she continued evenly. “I don’t want to fight with you, but we can’t resolve anything if you go running off. Don’t I at least get a clue what this is about?”
“You should ask Margot.”
“Ugh, Margot. I told you already, I didn’t invite her to the house. She just showed up out of the blue with those stupid magnets. Dad and I were having a beer and waiting on the pizza when she got there. Then it came and it felt rude not to offer to have her join us. Granted, I should have known she’d take it as an invitation to hang around and regale us with her infinite knowledge of horse physiology. But I figured once you got there she’d—”
“She told me you kissed her.”
Britt stopped short, taking in the fury on Ninah’s face. Precious seconds ticked by as she weighed whether to challenge her assumptions or calmly explain.
“Obviously I misunderstood what we were saying the other day. I’m thirty-five years old, Britt. I’m not interested in dating someone who’s still playing the field.”
“Is that what you think?” This was utterly ridiculous, and Britt briefly considered throwing up her hands and walking out. But she couldn’t stand to have Ninah think she was so shallow. “Have I said or done anything to make you think I’m remotely interested in Margot? Or that I’d go and kiss somebody else after making it clear how I felt about you?”
“So she’s lying then.” Ninah retreated into the bathroom and turned off the water.
“There was a kiss,” she admitted grudgingly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “It happened in the barn when we were getting ready to mount up. I didn’t see it coming, but as soon as I realized what she was doing, I pushed her back. Not hard, but enough that she got the message.”
“Obviously not or she wouldn’t have followed you to your house.”
“I know this about Margot—she’s into games. I told her that instant that I was seeing you, and that you were plenty to handle at one time.”
“So you joked about it.” She emerged from the bathroom with her hands on her hips. “Would you have been making jokes if a guy had forced himself on you like that?”
Clearly Ninah wasn’t going to be happy no matter what answer she gave. “She got in my face all of a sudden and did it. Yes, it was inappropriate and yes, I was annoyed. But I wasn’t threatened by it. I handled it. Are you saying I should have stormed off like you just did?”
“At least you can tell when I take something seriously.”
“Too seriously in this case. I thought I made it clear that I’m interested in you, not her.” From the redness pooling around Ninah’s nose and mouth, it looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment. Britt let go of her frustration and wrapped both arms around her shoulders. “I’m sorry she got under your skin. If it helps at all, I’m pissed off she said that to you. Obviously she was trying to provoke a fight between us and it worked.”
“I hate her.”
“No need for that. Hating people uses up too much energy. But I promise I’ll handle this if and when I see her again.”
Ninah groaned and her shoulders slumped. “You don’t have to. I’m just mad for walking into her trap. I always knew she was a yammering bore but I had no idea she had such a mean streak. She’s probably home right now licking her chops.”
“You’re probably right.” Britt cradled her head against her shoulder. “I’m sorry you came home to that. Believe me, it’s not the homecoming I had planned. I’ve been counting the hours till you got here. I was so excited about us dating again.”
“And then I threw a tantrum.”
“I won’t lie, it bothers me you ran off that way. If you’d stayed, we could have driven her sorry ass home. And I could have done this.”
She took Ninah’s face in her hands and kissed her. Light brushes to the corners of her mouth, a gentle nibble of her lower lip. Then the velvety texture of their tongues together. One hand slid around to the small of Ninah’s back and urged her closer as the other dropped to graze her breast through her T-shirt.
“I’ve wanted this every day since the night you were here, Britt.”
“What happens next is up to you.”
Ninah made her wishes known by raising Britt’s shirt over her head and relieving her of her bra. In mere seconds, she’d made a pile of their clothes on the floor. Then she took Britt’s hand and led her into the bathroom, where the tub was almost overflowing with bubbles. She lit a half-dozen candles and turned out the overhead light.
“A candlelight bath. Very romantic.”
“Mmm.” She stepped into the center of the tub and held Britt’s hand as she got in behind her. “I think this’ll do us both good.”
“I’m not the one who drove all day.”
Ninah’s lips curled with the hint of a grin. “And I’m not the one who smells like horse.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The powder-blue shirtwaist dress, with its hem well above the knee, was arguably the only one in Britt’s newly filled closet that was suitable for meeting a roomful of ministers. Especially since Ninah had dissuaded her from her first choice, a T-shirt that proclaimed her a “vagi-tarian.”
Presbyterian minister Jerry Creach had invited Britt to address the Faith Luncheon, which was held in a private room at Guido’s Italian Café and Pizzeria. Present today were eighteen men sitting packed together at two long tables. All were Protestant except the Catholic priest, Father Joseph. The only other woman in the room was Pearl, a middle-aged waitress who kept the red plastic glasses filled with sweet tea.
Despite her misgivings, Britt was ultimately convinced that a targeted appeal to area churches would not only bring more fans to the ballpark, it would elevate the team’s standing in the community. Once she grudgingly accepted that, she set aside her general animosity toward organized religion and prepared a pitch that emphasized her quest for family-friendly entertainment. So far, the presentation was going better than expected, though she found herself fighting the heebie-jeebies at being confined in such a tight space among men who, like Brother James so many years ago, would be itching to cast out her lesbian demons had they known she was so possessed. She’d pared her comments to ten minutes, hoping to be long gone when they started praying over their pasta.
“I’m proposing a special ‘Focus on Faith’ section in the stadium that will seat up to two hundred fans. That’s the bleacher section in right field behind the Longdogs dugout. Come next season we’ll add seat backs to make those benches more comfortable. We can rope off the entire section if you have a rea
lly large group, and even limit beer sales there if you like.”
She’d handed out brochures with all the particulars, including discounted tickets and recognition of their church on the website and by the public address announcer. Those were extras she offered to any pre-registered group of twenty-five or more. The featured church got the added bonus of delivering a brief invocation before the national anthem. It was a painful concession, one she had to rationalize with the knowledge that she’d pocket thousands of dollars if she managed to book a group every night.
“And finally, we’ll give lucky members of your congregation the chance to participate in some of the contests and games we do between innings while the teams are warming up. That’s another chance for you to publicize your church. Think about it. Fans will see you out there having fun and think, ‘Hey, I’d like to go to a church with people like that.’”
Around the room, heads bobbed in agreement, and she congratulated herself for sufficiently sucking up to their interests in a way she wouldn’t have thought possible a month ago. Maybe one of these days she’d even put the past behind her and learn to respect those with—
“Point of clarification, if I may,” one of the pastors blurted as he scraped his chair back and rose. “Brother Ned Coppins, Assembly of the Holy Word.”
Her stomach tightened as she realized she wasn’t going to make it out without having to face the very thing that made it nearly unbearable to even be in this room. Ninah had warned her to watch out for Ned Coppins, who’d organized the protest at last year’s Pride Night. Brother Ned. Why did these creeps always presume to be her brother?
“I have heard a rather unsavory rumor that the Longdogs are planning on holding another of those L…T…BQ alphabet soup pride carnivals at the ballpark.” In an obvious effort to show his disgust, he choked out the words and paused for a gulp of tea. “Now I hear you’re from out there in California where anything goes, so you might not be aware of the conflict those of us here in the Christian part of the country have with these misguided kooks trying to cram their homosexual lifestyles down our throats. I for one don’t believe Assembly of the Holy Word ought to align itself with the Longdogs if they’re gonna turn around and give the same recognition to people who are out there flaunting their unnatural sexual perversion in our face.”
Britt had prepared for the possibility this issue would be raised and had practiced her response no less than twenty times in front of the mirror. Feelings of anger and insult were unavoidable, but she’d convinced herself she could control her verbal response if she just took a deep breath and reminded herself that she wanted their money, not their blessing.
“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Coppins. In promoting the Longdogs as an asset to the entire community, we’re mindful that baseball fans come in all stripes. Thus we feel it best to focus on the things we share in common, such as wanting the team to play well, to avoid injuries, and to exhibit sportsmanship that our children will grow to emulate. I think if we can get behind that purpose—”
“Why yes, I think we can agree that all those things would be to the glory of Christ Jesus. However”—his voice took on a fiery tone that signaled God’s wrath—“we are not called to abandon our righteousness for the sake of uniting in sport. On the contrary, the Apostle Paul directed the Corinthians not to associate with those guilty of sexual immorality. To the Thessalonians, he commanded they not walk with any brother not in accord with the teachings of Christ. And to the Galatians—”
Reverend Creach abruptly rose and proclaimed, “Before you get the wrong idea about our group, Miss Iverson, we often engage in robust discussions of our theological differences. Several of us represent congregations that are welcoming to the LGBT community.”
Coppins twisted his portly torso toward the other table and sneered. “The Word of God is sacrosanct, as Brother Jerry well knows. Betraying that under the guise of theological differences denies the authority of the Holy Scriptures. Be assured that we at the Assembly of the Holy Word shall lift those congregations in prayer that God might light for them a pure path through Christ Jesus.”
A wave of restlessness from both tables seemed to suggest impatience with Coppins’s holier-than-thou manner, though Britt knew better than to think it was a rebuke to his views. She had one last arrow in her quiver, which she hoped would put the matter to bed.
“If I can clarify, we’re guided in this instance by Major League Baseball’s inclusion policy, which prohibits us from discriminating against specific groups—by race or ethnicity, by gender, age and sexual orientation.” She glanced at the other table and weakly added, “It even protects the Presbyterians.”
While her quip didn’t get a raucous laugh, it seemed to dispel some of the tension, and it prompted some good-natured ribbing at the expense of Creach and the other Presbyterian minister in attendance.
“The Longdogs organization would love to welcome your congregation, and we hope you’ll take advantage of this opportunity for a night of family fun at the ballpark. All the information is there in the brochure. Just call our office and we’ll put you on the schedule.”
“And for those of us who follow the Good Book,” Coppins continued, “can you guarantee that our worshippers will not find themselves being forced to associate with those who do not walk with Christ Jesus?”
“If you’re asking not to be scheduled on the same night as LGBT Pride, I’m sure we can make that accommodation,” she replied coolly, taking a step toward the door in hopes of getting out of there before she lost her—oh, screw that. “But if you’re asking to be shielded from having to share company with those who live proudly and openly as members of the LGBT community, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Because I plan on being there every night, Brother Coppins. With my girlfriend.”
The silence that ensued was shockingly satisfying. Even Pearl stopped filling tea glasses and stared at her, mouth agape.
Britt slung her purse strap over her shoulder and collected the unused brochures from the end of the table, wishing she’d followed her gut in the first place and steered clear of this group. No amount of money was worth their pompous sanctimony.
“I appreciate your time, gentlemen. Enjoy your lunch.” And your petty theological squabbles, she thought miserably.
“I have one more question, Miss Iverson, if you’d be so kind.” All eyes turned toward a white-haired gentleman who wore an old-fashioned seersucker suit with a bowtie. His face red from the heat of tight quarters, he fanned himself with a brochure. “Lawrence Dalton, Friendship Christian Church. I was friends with Charlie Iverson, your granddaddy.”
She steeled herself for another diatribe, this one probably even more vicious now that she’d sullied her grandfather’s good name by having the audacity to be gay.
“I just wanted to ask, if Brother Ned here doesn’t wish to take advantage of his invitation, would you consider allowing Friendship to sign up for his night too?” He shook his finger at the others around the room. “And I’ll make that offer for anyone else here who wants to sit this out. I’ve been to some Longdogs games this season. Folks are having more fun than pigs in the mud.” He pounded the table with his fist. “And by golly, the Dogs are winning.”
The tenor of the room relaxed dramatically as others began to chatter and grab for the brochures.
“Call my office when you’re ready to schedule and I’ll give you as many nights as I can. That goes for everyone here. If we fill up, we’ll open another section. How’s that?”
Walking to her car, she couldn’t help but notice pep in her step. She felt as if she’d gone into the lion’s den, tossed them catnip, and scratched their little chins. Her dad would be pleased. Ninah would be astounded.
The drive from Guido’s to the ballpark was all of five minutes. Her father was waiting by Archie’s office when she entered from the stairwell. “Get in here, Britt. You’re gonna wanna hear this.”
Archie was wrapping up a call. “Yes, sir. Yes, sir. We’ll be re
ady.”
“What’s going on?”
He rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Tell her, Archie.”
“You’re never gonna guess who I ran into this afternoon at The Bean—Boomer McBride.”
“The guy who peed off the balcony in South Beach?”
“The very one. I started to speak to him and this other fellow got between us, like he didn’t want me to bother him. Turned out it was his agent, and when I told him who I was, he said—you’re not gonna believe this.” He looked to her father and grinned. “You tell her this part, Vernon.”
“The Pirates sent him down here to Second Dawn. That’s the substance abuse treatment center off Barnard Road. He’s been there a week, and they’re moving him to outpatient as of today. Which means—”
“He’ll be in uniform for the Longdogs tonight,” Archie blurted.
“Are you kidding me?”
“The Pirates want him out of the spotlight while he works through the program, but they need him to stay in shape. So we’ve got him for the next three weeks.”
“I can’t believe this,” her dad said. “A Major League All-Star playing for the Longdogs. You know what this means, Britt?”
“Yeah…standing room only.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ninah carried a pair of lattes to a tall table by the window where Britt was watching Hanover, Cline, and Holliday sign autographs and pose for photos with fans. “Here you go. I bet Carly’s ecstatic. She’s always busy on Saturday but I’ve never seen The Bean this packed.”
“I just hope they’re all spending money. I’d hate to put her through this circus for nothing.”
“It’s fun seeing people so excited over the team. That said, I love my Longdogs, but I’ll be glad tomorrow when they hit the road. I’ve hardly seen you since we got back from California.”
“That isn’t true,” Britt demurred. “You saw every inch of me night before last when I sneaked you into my basement at midnight. Took me back to my teenage years.”
