by KG MacGregor
Ninah laughed. “Not this teenager. I didn’t have sex till I was twenty.”
“Guy or girl?”
“Do I have to answer?” She looked askance, feeling herself blush. “Fine, I’m a Lone Star Lesbian. One guy. It was terrible.”
“And you waited till you were twenty? That should have told you something right there. If you’d really wanted to be with a guy, you’d have done it way sooner than that.”
There probably was a lot of truth to that, since Ninah had spent most of her adolescence trying to convince herself she wasn’t sexually attracted to women. It wasn’t easy given how often she saw them naked in the locker room. “I suppose you have a pristine record.”
“Gold Star all the way. First sex at fifteen.”
“Aren’t you the early bloomer!”
DeVon Holliday, the Longdogs center fielder, appeared at their table and asked Britt to take a photo for a family who wanted to pose with all three players.
“All right, but Annie Leibovitz I ain’t.”
Ninah chuckled over the likelihood that DeVon, a nineteen-year-old from Muscle Shoals, Alabama, even had a clue who Leibovitz was. It was fun to see Britt hanging out with her team, especially after the rude welcome they’d given her in the locker room. She’d been so intimidated back then, not by the testosterone, but by baseball itself. It was a game she didn’t play, a language she didn’t speak, a song she didn’t know. Now it was in her blood.
Even Wesley Hodges was convinced. His glowing profile of the Iversons had rightly credited her as the driving influence behind the Longdogs’ turnaround to profitability. Quoting Vernon, he’d written that Britt’s focus on improving the ballpark experience was key to keeping the team in Leland, and that Longdogs fans were lucky to have lured her back from California.
“Hey, you get ditched by your girlfriend?” Carly said as she dragged a stool over from a counter along the wall. She’d taken off her apron, and somehow the polo shirt underneath was splotched with spills and splashes.
“I was just looking at her and thinking how much fun she’s having. Remember that night at your house when we all met for the first time? She was so miserable. I didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance in hell she’d still be here six weeks later, let alone enjoying herself.”
“We told her she’d like it here once she got to know people. And obviously it didn’t hurt that you two…” She made a raunchy two-handed gesture to simulate sex.
“Stop it.” Ninah looked around sheepishly, always expecting to find a group of her students nearby.
Britt returned, slapping Carly on the back. “Stop what? This lady bothering you?”
“She’s being crude, rude and uncalled for. I don’t know how Justine puts up with her. Where is Justine anyway?”
Carly grimaced. “She’s out on a run. A long one up at the logging trail.”
“She’s amazing,” Britt said. “I have a couple of friends in San Diego who are into running, but I don’t think either of them trains as hard as she does.”
“She’s not training today. This is how she copes with stress, by running and running and running until her muscles won’t fire anymore. It’s even worse when she thinks she’s done something wrong, like she’s required to go out there and punish herself.”
“What’s she upset about?” Ninah asked.
Carly looked back over her shoulder, where Ike was wiping down the espresso machine. “Emmy came over last night and finally told us who she’s been seeing for the last five months. I couldn’t believe it—Ike Martin.”
“I know,” Ninah said. “About a month ago, I accidentally caught him trying to sneak out of her apartment.”
“I wish you’d given me a heads-up.”
“Sorry, it was Emmy’s news to tell.”
“Yeah, I guess. I’ve never seen so much tension between Justine and one of her kids, and believe me, there were some really hairy moments with Trey when we first got together. She was trying so hard to say the right things but her face gave her away. Emmy got upset, accused her of being a phony liberal, wanting acceptance for herself while denying it to others. Justine was so afraid of saying the wrong thing that she just disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door.”
“Wow. Talk about awkward.” Ninah couldn’t help but be disappointed in Justine, especially since she’d encouraged Emmy to tell her. Addressing Britt, she said, “You said you heard them arguing the other night. What were they saying?”
“Yeah, I was on Ninah’s porch,” she explained. “Ike sounded frustrated about her hiding it from her family. He even said maybe it was Emmy who had the problem.”
Carly grimaced. “I wondered the same thing, if you wanna know the truth. Why else would she wait five months to tell us?”
“Maybe she was worried her mom would freak out…which it sounds like she did.”
“I wouldn’t call it freaking out. She was surprised is all. I know Justine better than anyone, and she doesn’t have a bigoted bone in her body.”
“Emmy thought she’d more upset over Ike being a barista.”
“I’m a barista!”
“My words exactly.”
“What happens now?” Britt asked. “Is there anything we can do?”
“No, she has to process this by herself. She told me later it was her fear talking, that she pictured Emmy and Ike being harassed by some of the rednecks here in Leland. We don’t have many mixed-race couples around here, but there was one at her church a few years ago. They woke up in the middle of the night and somebody had torched their car in the driveway. The police never arrested anyone.”
Ninah wondered if Seth and his friend had been in Leland back then. It was easy to imagine them intimidating Emmy and Ike if given the chance.
A surge of new customers streamed through the door and Carly rose. “Guess I’d better get back to work. Thanks for bringing me all this business, Britt. Keep this up and I might get to retire early.”
When she’d gone, Britt said, “You’re annoyed, I can tell. Do you really think Justine would have a problem with a black son-in-law?”
“Of course not, but it’s obvious we have a long way to go before we’re truly colorblind.” She nodded toward the players, who were sitting on the stone hearth chatting with young fans. “Look over there at DeVon Holliday. Those kids he’s talking to don’t care that he’s black.”
“No, but take away his uniform and his white teammates. How do you think these same people would react if he was walking down their sidewalk?”
The answer was obvious. And depressing.
Cory Hanover pressed Britt into service again, this time for a photo with a group of kids who’d arrived at The Bean on skateboard. It was good for people to see the players out and about as part of the community, especially the ones who didn’t look like everyone else in Leland. Now if they could just get back to being the team they were at the start of the season. They’d struggled for wins after Oscar’s departure, even with the addition of Boomer McBride.
“What’s up with the Longdogs anyway?” Ninah asked when Britt returned. “They ought to be going gangbusters with Boomer. He’s hitting even better than Oscar but the rest of the team is letting him down.”
“Archie says there’s bad chemistry in the locker room, that the guys don’t like him.”
“I can understand a little professional jealousy, seeing as how they’re all making about seven thousand bucks this year and he’s making twenty million.”
“Dad thinks it’s more than that. Hank’s been pounding it into them every day what a precious opportunity this is for them. They feel like Boomer’s taking up a space for a kid who deserves a shot.”
“Yeah, I get that. We were all excited a couple of years ago about getting to hire a new social studies teacher. They wasted it on Tommy Britton. He’s a decent basketball coach, but he doesn’t know jack shit about world civilization. Really makes you stop and think how we glorify these sports guys…and it’s always guys, isn’t
it?”
“Oh shit,” Britt mumbled, craning her neck at a commotion on the sidewalk. “Speak of the devil and there he is.”
Boomer McBride had picked this moment to stop in for coffee, effectively spoiling the planned appearance of his teammates as fans abandoned them mid-sentence to rush outside. Angry and humiliated, the three younger players prepared to leave.
“Quick, come with me,” Ninah said as she hurried to catch DeVon by the elbow. “Wait, guys. I’m a huge fan. I’ve been dying to get some pictures but you were swarmed by all those kids.”
Troy Cline grumbled, “Wouldn’t you rather be out there with Mr. Big Shot? Everybody else is.”
“Nope, he’s a Pirate. I’m a Longdogs fan.” She posed them for several photos, including some she promised to give Carly to frame for her wall. “You’ll have to come back and sign these. Someday it’s gonna be you drawing crowds like that. I’m glad I got my chance to meet you.”
“You made their day, Ninah Faust,” Britt said. “I love how you do that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I saw an opening to have them all to myself and I took it.”
“Right…then in that case, I love your quick thinking. Especially when it just happens to make other people feel good,” she added, sticking out her tongue. “I’m glad their morning ended on an up note. Between us, I like having a full house at the ballpark, but I’ll be glad when Boomer goes home.”
Ninah felt the same on principle, but there was one thing she was happy about—Boomer’s last scheduled game in Leland was on Pride Night. That all but guaranteed the biggest crowd of the season would be there to see her GSA members celebrate Pride and present their check to the library.
Chapter Thirty-Three
In the owner’s suite, Britt corked the bottle of Black Stallion Cabernet Sauvignon and set it aside to enjoy at home later, ideally in the gazebo with Ninah. She should have known better than to offer fine wine to these particular guests, a group of wannabe jocks representing a sports media group interested in acquiring the broadcast rights for all Longdogs home games. They preferred Corona with lime, especially with the taco bar she’d arranged from Tacos Chalitos.
Like everyone else in the ballpark, they were keenly focused on Boomer McBride, who entered the batter’s box with runners on the corners. The Longdogs were clinging to a one-run lead over the Terre Haute Wabashers in the bottom of the eighth. After three straight losses, fans were anxious for a win.
“What do you think, Dad?” she asked, keeping her voice low as the two of them huddled at the back of the suite out of earshot of their guests. It was a whole different experience to be on the receiving end of a sales talk.
“We can’t sell hot dogs to people listening to the game at home.”
“No, but it might build fan loyalty, which would help with merchandising. Plus we get paid even if the team sucks…which right now, they do.” She went on to describe a chart of Ninah’s that showed a marked increase in fielding errors since Boomer joined the team. “Ninah thinks he’s a distraction, that the others are focused on competing against him instead of working together as a team.”
“Archie talked with Coy, the clubby. He says the real problem is they miss Oscar. He used to gather the team in a circle after every game and lead a prayer. It was broken English, but the guys didn’t mind. They helped him out. Archie said they liked how it brought everyone together. Boomer’s not like that.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. He knew how she felt about empty religious rituals.
“You can understand it from their point of view,” he went on. “They’re a long way from home, so they need to feel that connection with each other.”
“They shower together. How much more connected can you get?”
He chuckled. “Oscar was authentic, Coy said. And humble. And when he got called up, some of them felt like it was his reward for doing what God wanted.”
“Some reward. They’ve used him what, four times as a pinch hitter? He was better off here in Leland where he got to play.”
“I’m just saying the boys looked up to him. He was a spiritual role model.”
She found the whole topic irritating, especially after capitulating to the ministers who wanted to give the invocation on their church night. “I just wish they’d do it on their own time instead of in our locker room. I’m fine to let them have their space if that’s their thing, but we have to consider the others too.” She gestured toward the on-deck circle, where Troy Cline was swinging a bat with a weighted donut. “Take Cline for example. What if he’s an atheist but he feels pressured to join the circle and pretend he’s praying too? Or suppose one of the guys is Jewish and the others go on about Jesus this and Jesus that? Is that fair to them?”
“Technically?” He crossed his legs and folded his arms, a stall tactic she recognized from her childhood when she asked permission for something and he didn’t want to give it. “It’s probably not fair. But we all have to navigate the world with our peculiarities. Sometimes that means going along.”
Her throat suddenly burned with anger and she gritted her teeth so their guests wouldn’t hear. “Seriously, Dad? You think I should I have gone along with Mom and that insidious cult leader of hers?”
“Britt, that’s not what I meant. I would never—”
“Suppose their little ‘Jesus circle’ decides they need to pray over Cline and cast out his demons so he can hit a curve ball?”
“You’ve made your point.” He abruptly rose and joined the men at the front of the suite, playing the charming host again with an offer to fetch them another beer. As he reached for the cooler, he cast a hurt look at Britt.
“Way to go, asshole,” she grumbled to herself. The one person who’d been there for her all her life, and she’d taken him down with a thoughtless absurdity.
A crack of the bat brought a gasp from the crowd, who rose as one to watch Boomer’s shot clear Grace Hospital’s towering digital display in left field by twenty feet at least. It was by far the longest homer Longdogs fans had seen all summer, and it boosted their lead to four.
“Now batting for the Longdogs, right fielder Troy Cline.”
As her dad negotiated the broadcast rights, she quietly scolded herself for her tirade. So what if they wanted to pray together? No one had complained. She’d created a problem where there was none.
She cleared her throat to catch her father’s eye. When he turned her way, she patted her chest and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” he silently replied, with the gentle smile he always seemed to give when she needed it most.
Behind him on the field, Cline suddenly went sprawling to dodge a fastball that tailed up and inside toward his head. Within seconds, Boomer charged out of the dugout on a beeline toward the Wabashers pitcher. The infielders collapsed around the mound to protect their ace as more Longdogs rushed the field. Shoving became punching became stomping as the infield erupted into a full-blown brawl.
After almost ten minutes of mayhem, Boomer, Cline, Holliday and three of Terre Haute’s players were ejected to loud boos. With order finally restored, the final four outs of the game were recorded and fans headed for the exits.
“I’m going down to find Ninah,” Britt said to her dad. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
“Don’t worry about me, honey. I’ll get Archie to drop me at home.”
She cut through the press box to reach Ninah and Carly at the club seats.
“Hey, Britt. Too bad about the ugly finish,” Carly said. “Otherwise we got a good win.”
“And probably a suspension or two,” Ninah added.
Britt found the whole thing childish. “Which means this win streak is over at one. What did they expect, sending a brawler down to Leland? How am I supposed to make a marketing pitch for the Longdogs being good, clean family fun if they’re going to act like a street gang?”
Ninah nodded toward the field, where Wesley Hodges was holding out his phone to r
ecord an interview with Boomer. Cline stood beside him, sporting a swollen nose and bloody shirt. “Let’s go down and hear what they’re saying.”
“Boomer, this isn’t the first time you’ve mixed it up on the field. What was going through your head when you charged the mound?”
“He threw at my guy here.” Boomer hooked his arm around Cline’s neck. “I’m not going to let anybody get away with that. Teammates stick together.”
“And what about you, Troy? Did you know that pitch was coming up and in?”
“I figured it might. Boomer smoked his ass with that homer. Probably sucks to give up one that deep.”
Britt made a mental note to ask Hank to talk to the younger players about the language they used with the press.
“Lots of ejections tonight, including you and Boomer. Do you think that was fair?”
“Hey, whatever happens, happens. If they come at us, we’re not just going to sit back and take it. I saw him take a swing at Boomer, I wasn’t thinking about getting thrown out. Your guy’s getting swung at, you jump in there and crack heads.”
“There’s a good chance the league is going to hand down suspensions. That means the Longdogs will probably be shorthanded tomorrow night in Cookeville, with three starters on the bench. Was it worth it?”
“Heck, yeah!” Boomer said with a laugh. “Besides, it won’t matter. There’s plenty of guys on this team that can play. Once they get out there and show how good they are, the three of us are going to have to bust our tails to earn our jobs back. That’s why we’re here, to toughen up for the majors.”
Cline jostled him. “It’s not why you’re here, Boomer.”
“Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.”
Britt leaned into Ninah’s shoulder. “Never mind what I said about good, clean family fun. Looks like we’ve got our team chemistry back.”
“And just in time to make a run for the playoffs.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Carrying a canvas lawn chair over her shoulder and a tub of Mexican corn salad, Ninah walked the five blocks from her apartment to the park for the annual Pride picnic. Justine coordinated the effort jointly each year with Rob Freeman, who owned a B&B on Lake Leland and managed an email list of the town’s gay men. Last year’s picnic had drawn over a hundred men, women and children from Leland’s LGBT community, and this year’s event promised even more. Ninah couldn’t wait to see Britt’s reaction to the crowd.
