Taylor Made Owens

by R. D. Power

The smile quit his face as he turned to Jennifer, seized her upper arm, and whispered, “What the hell did you say about something really special I did for so many people?”

  “Nothing, I swear. I just said that much, that’s all. You’re hurting me.” He let go.

  “Well, that’s enough for all those nosey bastards to keep asking me what I did that was so special.” He turned up the volume again, continuing, “So keep your goddamn mouth shut.”

  “I was just trying to defend you when people were booing.”

  “The booing that you caused? I’m hearing a lot of that everywhere I go now because of your big mouth.”

  “If you were honest with yourself, you’d know you deserve the criticism. You are the father, Bobby.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I was never unfaithful to you. Take a paternity test if you please.”

  At a whisper again, he said, “You were supposed to be on the pill. Tell me you conveniently forgot to take it.”

  “Well, I have a very hectic life. I did forget it for a while there.”

  “The same while I was warning you I was going to end things? This was your way of keeping me around, right?”

  “Our baby’s due in five and a half weeks. Please come to see the birth. I need you to be with me. Please?”

  “No! You cost me Krissy, and I hate you for that. I don’t want anything to do with you or the baby. Do not ever, ever bring this up in public again!” He left.

  Jennifer ran off to the washroom sobbing.

  The gossip columnist for the Post ran off to her computer to write tomorrow’s column entitled, “Heartless Ex-pitcher Rejects Singer’s Plea to Reunite.” He was portrayed as a brute who barged into an exclusive restaurant, terrorized the patrons, beat up a star and a bouncer, and manhandled his weeping ex-wife, who had merely asked him to do what was decent. The story was picked up by papers across the continent. Only Jennifer’s intercession precluded an arrest for assault and battery.

  •

  “Gertrude,” said Mr. Carlton, “some jackass baseball player who left his pregnant wife high and dry is giving London a black eye. I’d like to give him a black eye. I hate them spoiled, rich baseball players …”

  •

  The renewed pressure lasted longer this time. Fans of his team booed him every time he pitched, thereby inciting him to perform at the top of his game. After going unbeaten in his first five starts, he was promoted to triple-A in Rochester. There the pressure subsided. It had been a few weeks since the incident in the restaurant, and he was in a new city where few knew his history. He lay low and pitched his best in hopes of earning another shot at the majors.

  Jennifer had their baby four days after he was called up to Rochester. She was hoping he’d walk through the doors until the last minute. She had to settle for her mother; her father stayed in the waiting room. The flawless little girl was named after Jennifer’s mother, who’d expressed her expectation that her granddaughter would have her name, and the baby’s father, with the hope that it might make him more likely to accept her: Kara Taylor Owens.

  •

  Out west, Kristen wrapped up her residency in pediatrics that June. Stanford offered her the position of Chief Resident in the children’s hospital, with an appointment to the faculty as an Instructor of Pediatrics. It was difficult to turn down that honor, but she had several other attractive offers for fellowships at top university hospitals in pediatric oncology, including Stanford, Johns Hopkins, Harvard, and UCSF, and she wanted to get on with training in her chosen specialty. It was also awkward working with Dr. Katz, whose marriage proposal she had rejected the year prior. She accepted the fellowship offer from UCSF with a start date of July first.

  Chapter Three

  Back to the Majors

  In late July, Robert got called up to the Twins. The team was in first place, with all eyes on the pennant. It had been so far, so good with his shoulder, and he was hopeful that problem was behind him. He got his first chance to pitch in early August, with his team behind the Royals. He pitched hard and did well, but he felt a definite twinge in his shoulder during his third inning of work. The pitching coach noticed a change in his delivery and came out to the mound to ask why.

  “I felt some discomfort in my shoulder,” he admitted. He was immediately taken out. The trainer gave him the green light to stay in the bullpen, but he was used sparingly during August. When he did appear, he was effective.

  When Jennifer found out he was back on the Twins, she went to see him in another attempt to get him to fulfill his responsibilities. She came to the ballpark two hours before game time one day in early September, went up to him and said, “Bobby, meet our daughter, Kara Owens. Isn’t she perfect? Take her in your arms. You’ll fall in love with her, I promise.”

  He looked sadly at the infant and wanted to hold her, but he couldn’t let go of his anger with Jennifer. “No. I’m sorry,” he said, with eyes looking down.

  He started to walk away, but Jennifer said, “Wait! I’m guilty of getting pregnant on purpose, I admit that. I did it because I love you and didn’t want to lose you. It was wrong, and I’m sorry, but it’s done. Now we have a child, a wonderful little girl, and it’s so unfair of you to reject her. You never even gave her a chance. You’re a good man, but what you’re doing to her is a disgrace, and I think you know that. You’re so ashamed you can’t even look at her or me.”

  “Jenny … Please, not here, not now. Wait until the season is over, and we can talk, okay? Only a month. I need to think things through. Okay?”

  “I’m holding you to your word. The minute the season is over, we will discuss this. But I’m warning you, I will not let you get away with disowning her. Do you understand?” He nodded and went to the locker room. She left happy to have made progress toward her goal of reuniting with him.

  As September passed, Robert’s shoulder held up well, though the twinges came more often. With his team in the midst of a pennant race, he came through with excellent performances. He won four games in five decisions, helping his team into the playoffs. Because he’d pitched so well, he made the playoff roster, despite the team’s concern over growing tenderness in his shoulder.

  The playoffs began in early October. The New York Yankees visited Minneapolis for the first round best-of-five division playoff series. The Yankees took the first game in convincing fashion, eight to three. Robert pitched two innings, allowing two runs. Game two was closer, but the Twins nevertheless lost, nine to seven. Robert pitched the sixth and seventh, keeping the Yankees off the scoreboard, but had to come out with a sore shoulder. The Twins’ pitching staff was in questionable shape, going back to New York with three pitchers ailing with nagging injuries and a tired relief staff.

  Game two was memorable for Robert for the wrong reason. He’d achieved notoriety with his treatment of Jennifer and had attracted the attention of some busybody paparazzi. The Twins’ bullpen enjoyed great camaraderie, often being crude, as men are wont to be when they get together without women around. The other pitchers enjoyed his sense of humor and would bait him to try to get some laughs. This game was little different from many others that summer, with a good deal of tomfoolery, except this time someone was recording it with a video camera.

  The exchange caught on tape took place during a wild fifth inning when the Twins scored five times. We join the risible conversation with the closer for the Twins, Austin Veens, telling Robert, “You know what the worst thing about dumping Jennifer Taylor is? Telling your father that you’re gay.” Robert laughs, but says nothing. Austin then asks what she’s like in bed.

  He answers, “Well, I never kiss and tell, but I will say that before marriage, Jenny transported me to a realm as much better than heaven, as heaven is better than hell, then afterward would purr, ‘Wow, that was incredible!’ But after we got married, while I was at her, she’d yawn, read a magazine, or talk on the phone. I’d hear her end of the conversation: ‘Nothing much. What are you doing?�
� Afterward, she’d growl, ‘Oh, yuck, move over. You sleep on the wet spot for a change.’” The pitchers laugh.

  At this point, the Twins hit a long fly ball that bounces right off the top of the wall and stays in the park. Ron Shaw, a long reliever, gripes, “Oh, just one inch, one measly, little inch. Shit!”

  Robert states, “Your wife cries herself to sleep thinking that every night.” Everyone chuckles again. Then he adds, “I miss a lot of things by one, too. I invested ten grand in the Boeing 746, goddamn idiot stockbroker, and just last week I was the millionth and first customer in a supermarket where the lady before me won a trip to Tahiti. I’ll never hold the fucking door for an old hag again.”

  “Oh, look at her, would you?” says Austin. “Up there.” Several pitchers turn around to catch a pretty brunette with a low-neck sweater bending over to get something. “I could have so much fun with those,” Austin remarks. Ron agrees they look like two jugs of fun.

  “Now, now,” Robert reprimands. “Don’t be pigs. Women should be judged by their character, not their bodies. I’m sure there’s an extraordinary mind underneath that delectable set of tits.”

  “You’re right,” answers Austin. “I’m ashamed of myself. From now on I’ll judge a woman by her mind. So, what do you think her IQ is, Owens?”

  “I’d say maybe 36C.”

  More laughter.

  Joe Sodeman comes to the plate for the Twins. “Go Sodomy!” screams Ron, using the nickname the Twins favored.

  “Sodomy?” asks another pitcher named Carlos Sierra. Carlos was stupid in Spanish and moronic in English. “What means?”

  “Owens, you’re smart. Explain sodomy to Sierra,” says Ron.

  “Me? You’re the expert,” Robert responds. Then he turns to Carlos and says, “All right. You know what you did to your pet goat when no one was watching?” The others chortle.

  “Huh?” asks a confused Carlos.

  “You know what Shaw did to you when you dropped the soap in the shower?” The other pitchers laugh again as Carlos gets more confused. “Sodeman is some shitass name, all right,” continues Robert. “Almost as bad as Austin. Why did your parents give you such a crappy name, Austin? Was your mom punishing you for a hard labor?”

  “It’s better than boring old Bob. I was conceived in Austin, Texas.”

  “Lucky for you they didn’t go to Guadalajara that day.”

  Austin laughs.

  A couple of minutes later, Ron contributes, “On the way here I was driving on my Harley next to a semi when its tire blew. Pieces of rubber went everywhere, and I just about lost control. I even got some in my mouth.”

  “That’s not the first time you’ve had rubber in your mouth, is it, Shaw?” Robert asks.

  “You mean a soother?”

  “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

  “You’re a laugh riot, Owens. Hey, do you know what they call the worthless skin at the end of a penis?”

  “Foreskin?” answers Austin.

  “No, a man,” says Ron. The pitchers howl. “My wife told me that one.”

  “Well, in her position, I’d definitely agree,” responds Robert. “But it’s a good job she’s not a doctor or there’d be some mighty upset parents when she returned with the leftovers after she circumcised the boy off. Especially when it’s so insubstantial as in your case, Shaw; at least, that’s what Guadalajara tells me.”

  “Okay, Veens, that’s the last time I give you a soother,” says Ron to everyone’s chuckling.

  “What do they do with the foreskin they snip off, anyway?” asks Austin.

  “They use it for rhinoplasty,” Robert replies. “The trouble is, when you get excited, your new nose grows like Pinocchio’s. You have to blow it to make it go down again.”

  Robert is told to warm up at that point to pitch the next inning.

  The man who recorded this offered the tape to the highest bidder, but was disappointed in the response. Little of it could be played on the air. One entertainment news show did pay him for Robert’s observations on sex with Jennifer. It aired the next evening. The paparazzo then uploaded the entire tape onto the Internet to boost his reputation and damage Robert’s.

  Twins management laughed, but they were not amused. Some of the content had the potential to bring the organization into disrepute. Robert was called on the carpet and swore to be a paragon of virtue henceforth. He was told to apologize publicly. A contrite and mortified pitcher did so at the Twins’ news conference the next morning. Questioning from reporters referred to the Internet site, and hits thereafter registered in the thousands. Major League Baseball let him go with the apology and decided not to fine him.

  During the questioning, the issue of his disavowing his child perforce came up. With team management looking on, he had no choice but to finally go on the record. “Everyone sees this as black and white: Bobby bad, Jenny good. It’s nowhere near that simple. I won’t cast blame, but I will say our marriage was unendurable for reasons that are none of anyone’s business. Neither of us knew she was pregnant when we got divorced. But as Jenny and, it seems, pretty well everybody else on the planet have made clear, that’s all beside the point.

  “Whatever my feelings toward Jenny, I should be doing right by my daughter, Kara. My conduct in this matter is indefensible and reflects poorly on the organization. I want to apologize to Jenny and Kara, and to the Twins for any blight I may have put on their good names. I will not under any circumstances remarry Jenny, but I would like to be in my daughter’s life. I’ll talk to Jenny about how that might happen after the playoffs. That’s all I have to say.”

  •

  October 5th was a hectic day in the lives of Robert Owens and Kristen Taylor, with more than its share of joy, tension and pain.

  Game three, played that afternoon at Yankee Stadium, was a wild affair, one of the most memorable games in playoff history. Robert had earlier invited his son and Kim to the game. They were in the stadium about twenty rows behind the Twins’ dugout. Jennifer invited herself and, Twins cap notwithstanding, was admitted without a ticket and shown to one of the best seats in the house, just two rows behind the Twins’ dugout.

  By the end of nine innings the score was tied nine nine. The Twins had used all but three of their depleted pitching staff and all but one bench player in trying to stop the Yankees. In the top of the tenth inning, the Twins scored a run on a homerun, but the new reliever had no control and loaded the bases in the bottom of the tenth. In came the second-last reliever, a man who’d been mediocre during September. The announcers were puzzled that the Twins wouldn’t use Bob Owens first, speculating as to the reason.

  “Do you think he’s in the doghouse because of his conduct in the bullpen in game two?” asked the play-by-play announcer. “I saw the recording this morning on the Internet, and I have to admit I did laugh, but I can’t imagine the Twins are happy about some of the off-color stuff on it.”

  The color commentator answered, “No, I can’t imagine the Twins would keep their best middle reliever out of this do-or-die game just to make an example of him. The best guess is the shoulder pain that took him out of game two is more serious than we thought.”

  The new pitcher allowed in the tying run before retiring the Yankees. To the eleventh inning they went. Again, the Twins scored a run in the top of the inning. Could they hold it? The bottom of the inning began with a walk. Next there was a scary play in right-center field: the Twins’ second baseman and right fielder collided in trying to get to a pop fly. Both had to come out of the game. That left the team with no choice but to use their last bench player, and to put Owens in the outfield, a position he’d never played at the major league level.

  A chorus of boos and catcalls greeted his entry. “There’s the moron who ditched Jennifer Taylor and won’t take responsibility for his kid,” half the crowd mumbled to the other half. “Owens is a bum, Owens is a bum,” chanted the bleacher creatures. The TV showed Jennifer and Robert on a split screen: the lovi
ng woman/mother, who looked impossibly cute in her baseball cap, versus the heartless ex-husband/deadbeat dad.

  With men on first and second and nobody out, the next batter sent the ball through the right side of the infield. The third base coach, knowing there was no one out and realizing a player with a good throwing arm was out there, held the runner at third. Smart move, for Owens charged, picked up the ball cleanly and threw a strike to the catcher.

  “No sign of any arm troubles on that throw,” commented the color commentator.

  Now the bases were loaded, with no one out. If the Twins’ general manager was having conniptions already, picture his tantrum as the next pitch was hammered back to the pitcher, hitting him on his pitching elbow. The ball bounced away, and the tying run scored. The gods were apparently pissed at the Twins. The manager, pitching coach, and trainer came out to check on him. He was in evident pain, but said he would try to continue. The next two pitches, both balls, caused him too much pain to carry on. Out went the call to Owens to come in and pitch. The heckling started anew.

  Robert was on the spot, with bases loaded, nobody out, and two balls already on the batter. The Twins’ chances looked grim. If the Yankees scored they would win the game and the series. With the team’s season on the line he had no choice but to go all out, dropping any concern about ruining his shoulder. I will not lose this game! he defiantly resolved as he took his warm-up pitches and the fans jeered. Kim, Brian and Jennifer got up to cheer.

  “Play ball,” pronounced the umpire. The batter stepped back into the batter’s box. The crowd, sensing imminent victory, rose to their feet and screamed. How sweet it’ll be to beat this deadbeat! The first pitch was a ball. The screaming from the crowd was earsplitting.

  “What incredible pressure on this young pitcher,” said the play-by-play announcer. “One more ball and the series is over! One more ball and the Twins go home for the winter.”

  •

  Three thousand miles to the west, after spending the morning in the hospital, carrying out bone marrow aspirations and biopsies, administering chemotherapy, giving a half-hour talk on transfusion therapy and going on rounds, Kristen opened her afternoon at an outpatient clinic. She spent a half-day a week at the clinic, seeing her own hematology/oncology patients and helping in the care of other patients. As Robert was getting set for his next pitch, Kristen was passing on bad news to anxious parents: