Base Ball Dads

by Matthew Hiley

  The entire Mount Everest water operation took more than two years and cost $3.6 million. Russ and Dwayne stopped for a glass on the way to their table, and both agreed on the taste. It tasted exactly like water.

  On their table, bidding badges were positioned between every second plate. These would be used during the after-dinner auction, which boasted expensive jewelry, exotic pets, fine purses, and luxurious vacations. All would be bid upon to raise money for the homeless.

  The table, sponsored by Dwayne’s landscaping company, couldn’t have been better placed to ensure an exciting evening. Pastor Jim Harper and his wife, Janice, sat at the table behind Dwayne, which was sponsored by the Westside Church of Jesus. The table to the left was sponsored by Honeycut Land and Cattle, where Estelle’s Bible-study partner Linda Honeycut was seated. To the right was Ed Snyder, the replacement coach for the late T-Bone Sprinkle. Eric Schimmy, who was now thankfully current on his landscaping bill, was a guest at Ed Snyder’s table. White Oil, owned by Brenda White’s family, had sponsored the table across from Dwayne. Brenda had been another of Estelle’s fellow biblical scholars.

  And at yet another nearby table sat Holly Dale, the widow of Ricky Dale. His furniture stores had purchased a sponsorship table before Ricky met his violent end, and Holly had come with friends to honor him. Pete Rearden’s wife, Selena, was in attendance with Holly. Their guests wore black armbands in remembrance of the fallen.

  A variety of other social climbers and baseball coaches could be seen mingling throughout the room, greeting each other while dripping with faux sincerity. Dwayne and Estelle knew they were in for a big night.

  In fact, it appeared that all four couples were in for a big night—with Steve and Judith being no exception. The ecstasy that Russ slipped them had apparently kicked in big time. They excused themselves from the table shortly after sitting down and made their way to the dance floor, getting down like they’d never gotten down before. Their intense, energetic disco fever was interrupted periodically by passionate make-out sessions. One session became so lascivious that while Steve grabbed two fists full of ass, Judith jammed her hand down the front of Steve’s pants. They disappeared a short time later for a half an hour. When they returned, Judith had grass stains on her back and Steve was missing a shoe.

  Dwayne sensed that the members of his table were setting off alarms in the heads of the other social circles. He could see them turning away conspicuously when he looked their way, obviously deep into gossip about his wife, his friends, and himself.

  After dinner, Russ, Dwayne, and Tommy excused themselves from their seats to stretch their legs, smoke a joint or two, and sample some dessert. The three of them were shitfaced. Russ appeared less hammered due to the startling amount of cocaine and LSD in his system. Steve didn’t join them. He and Judith continued to have the time of their lives.

  The three Jedi headed to the back of the ballroom, to the parking garage door. It seemed the parking garage was the best place to smoke some buds. On the way, they passed Ed Snyder and a couple of other baseball coaches.

  “I can’t fucking believe I lost to those guys and their fucking retarded kids,” Ed whined to Chip Conner and Reese Pepper, fellow baseball coaches.

  Dwayne and the guys slowed down. He looked at Russ and Tommy in a way that said, “We’ll pretend we didn’t hear that,” and continued walking.

  “I feel bad for their kids,” Chip Conner added. “I wouldn’t mind getting some ass from their wives, though.”

  “From what I understand, that would be pretty easy,” Reese Pepper cracked.

  The Jedi Alliance were very familiar with Chip Conner and Reese Pepper. They had coached at Jenny Field for years. Chip had been a very competitive coach. His teams typically did well. He was a big guy, maybe 6’2”, with an athletic build and a blond flattop haircut. He also had a mustache. Dwayne hated mustaches.

  Reese, unlike Chip, was very much a daddy baseball coach. He was a smaller guy, about 5’9”, and carried around about fifty extra pounds. Reese had a manicured goatee. Dwayne hated goatees.

  Like Ed Snyder, both Chip Conner and Reese Pepper were obnoxious jackasses. And both were set to play Dwayne’s team the following week in the playoffs.

  Dwayne, Russ, and Tommy all stopped walking once the comments had been made about their wives. The three of them turned and approached Ed, Chip, and Reese.

  “Hey, Russ,” Dwayne said, stepping close to Chip. “I read this article recently called ‘The Three Ps of Mustaches.’ It basically said that 100 percent of guys with mustaches were either policemen, porn stars, or pedophiles. Which category do you think our buddy Chip here falls into?”

  Russ didn’t answer. He was silent for a few moments. Finally, Tommy swatted Russ on the shoulder.

  “What? Oh, fuck, man. I’m sorry,” Russ finally answered. “I’m tripping my balls off right now. I don’t understand anything you’re saying. Just tell me when to hit one of them.”

  “He’s gotta be a pedophile, Dwayne,” Tommy stepped in. “He’s not a cop. He owns pawnshops or something, I can’t remember. It’s some line of work where stupid people find success.”

  “Yeah, I kinda figured him for a pedophile too, Doc,” Dwayne replied, getting an inch from Chip’s nose.

  “I guess he could be a porn star though, Dwayne,” Tommy said while moving closer to Reese. “If it’s gay porn you’re talking about. I bet he loves getting it on with his little buddy Reese.”

  Russ followed Dwayne and Tommy’s lead and inched closer to Ed Snyder.

  “I can’t fucking understand anything right now, guys,” Russ said. “It’s all garbled, like the teachers in the Charlie Brown cartoons. And my arms feel a lot longer for some reason. And my clothes are melting. And my shoes keep yelling at me. Fuck, I miss my cat. Jesus. Please let me know when to hit this guy.”

  Chip and Dwayne sized each other up. The others waited to see what would happen with them to determine what course of action to take next.

  “You need to think long and hard about what you do next, Dwayne,” Chip snarled. “I’m about to fuck you up.”

  Dwayne smiled. “I think it might be time to take this conversation out to the parking garage, fellas,” Dwayne said. “Tommy, Russ, … you ready to take out the trash?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Tommy replied.

  “Al-Qaeda and motherfucking cheeseburgers,” Russ growled. “They’re fucking up my Wi-Fi.”

  “You’re goddamn right they are, Russ,” Tommy said. “Let’s fucking do this.”

  41.

  Estelle and Kelly had been trying (somewhat in vain) to have a conversation with Jade. She fascinated them. They wondered if she might be some variety of genius. Her spiritual and sexual freedom, her quick vault from poverty to wealth, and her uncanny ability to entirely block out what social circles deemed acceptable appeared to imply that she might be an intellectual force to be reckoned with.

  “Gum is so stupid,” Jade commented to Estelle and Kelly while staring at the overhead lighting. “It just doesn’t make any sense. Why put all the effort into chewing it if you can’t swallow it?”

  Other times, though, Estelle and Kelly were just shocked that Jade had managed to survive for as long as she had.

  “Hello, ladies, are we interrupting anything?” Janice Harper, the Pastor’s wife, asked as she took the empty seat next to Jade, with a glass of wine in hand.

  Tiffany Blaine and Linda Honeycut took two other vacant seats at the table. The three of them looked as though they had been mixing the pain medication from their facelifts with their antianxiety meds and a sizeable quantity of alcohol.

  “It’s so wonderful for Jesus to give us such an amazing opportunity to help the homeless,” Janice remarked.

  “Praise Jesus,” Tiffany threw in righteously.

  “Yup. That was pretty awesome of Jesus,” Estelle said. “You know what would’ve been more awesome? Not making them homeless.”

  Janice attempted a fake smile, but her Botox pro
ved to be a worthy opponent. Jade slid her chair closer to Janice and rested her head on the shoulder of the preacher’s wife. She gently placed her hand on Janice’s thigh. “You smell fucking amazing,” Jade whispered in her ear. “You wanna get out of here for a few minutes?”

  “How’s Dwayne doing, dear?” Tiffany jumped in, adding to what seemed like a coordinated gossip-research mission. “Is he still dabbling in drugs?”

  “We’d be willing to hold an intervention at the church if you’d like, Estelle,” Janice added. “Your home is not a good environment to raise a child in right now.”

  “We just want what’s best for you and your family,” Linda consolingly continued. “His behavior has been erratic. The way he spoke to us was awful. There’s no need to talk so distastefully to a group of women studying and trying to live the words of Jesus.”

  Estelle and Kelly sat staring at the women, unsure of where to begin. Jade was content rubbing Janice’s leg, humming.

  “What do you think, Estelle?” Janice asked.

  Estelle picked up Dwayne’s half-full glass of Scotch and pounded it. She wiped a drop from her lower lip with her arm and stood up so that all of the women at the table could hear her. She was shitfaced, and she decided to get a few things off her chest.

  “What do I think?” She was ready to let them know. “Here’s what I think: I think that what upsets you the most is that someone actually said that stuff to your face. You’re totally incapable of saying things to people’s faces. You’ve spent your entire lives operating behind people’s backs. And don’t tell me that I don’t know what I’m talking about. Until recently, I was right there with you.

  “You are the self-appointed dictators of local high society. You decide who makes the cut and who is to be humiliated for not reaching your bullshit standards. You justify all of your condemnation by quoting Jesus, as if Jesus would actually approve of anything about you. Your prayer groups are just wine-filled judgment groups attended by hate-filled women. Again, I know first-hand, because I was right there with you.

  “As for my home not being a good environment to raise a child in, well, I love my family. We were lost for a while, but we’re good now. My son is pitching, playing shortstop, and hitting home runs on a team my husband is coaching. My husband puts his son and his wife above everything. He makes sure he spends real time with us every day. And at least a couple of times a day, my husband makes love to me in ways that are so deeply satisfying, you’ll never understand. We do it dressed as Star Wars characters. We do it dressed as superheroes. We do it on every surface in our home and office that’s big enough to set my ass on. We break shit when we make love. And it’s good.

  “I know how your home lives are. They’re unhappy. But you take pills so that you don’t care that you’re unhappy, and you point your fingers at others so they don’t look at your unhappiness. It’s the simple psychology of bullies.

  “You’ve attached your happiness to the number of diamonds you have, the cars you drive, how big your house is, what publications your name shows up in … This is how you measure your life. There’s no kindness or willingness to reach out and help. Your smile is a mask. I think that your homes are not good environments to raise a child in.

  “But I’ve rambled on for too long here, ladies. So allow me to summarize things: you are sad, fake, pathetic, insecure, insincere, arrogant, materialistic, out-of-touch, hypocritical, self-serving, gossiping, backstabbing bitches, and the world would be a better place if Jesus poured gasoline on you and lit you on fire. Any questions?”

  Estelle slammed the rest of her wine and looked around. The area surrounding her table had become quiet. Kelly’s jaw hung wide open. Others in the crowd had stopped to listen in. Linda, Tiffany, and Janice were humiliated, their stretched faces bright red.

  “Wow,” Jade said to the three horrified socialites, “Jesus totally hates you people.”

  Janice Harper stormed across the ballroom. Linda Honeycut crossed her arms, giving Estelle the ultimate stink eye. And Tiffany Blaine was too combative to go down without a fight. She decided to fire back.

  “Maybe I’d take you more seriously if you weren’t fucking half the town, Estelle,” she snapped. “I hardly think someone who’s humping the manager at Walmart has any room to cast aspersions at me.”

  “And thanks for standing up for us, Kelly,” Linda added, slurring her speech heavily. “I thought we had a bond after I told you I sponsored that black baby in Africa. Fucking Obama! So much for Fort Worth diversity!”

  Kelly was both offended and confused by Linda’s accusation.

  “Tiff, Linda, I think it’s time you two gathered your things and left my table,” Estelle stated firmly.

  “Right,” Tiffany responded. “You probably need to go screw a waiter or something. Maybe I’ll go find Dwayne and see if he’d like a blowjob from someone with some class. It’s probably been a while.”

  Estelle walked around the table and stopped in front of Tiffany. She leaned over, getting in her face. “Or maybe we should just step into the parking garage for a few minutes.”

  42.

  Linda, Tiffany, Estelle, and Kelly marched through the ballroom toward the parking garage. They moved with purpose, knocking people in the crowd to the side. It was go time. They were ready for a fight.

  Jade started to follow behind, but when the band cranked into “Superstitious” by Stevie Wonder, she redirected to the dance floor, where she and Judith began grinding on both sides of Steve.

  When the ladies came bursting through the parking garage door, they were startled to see six guys already squared off and ready to battle.

  “What the fuck?!” Tiffany shouted.

  Dwayne and Chip Conner were circling each other, their fists up in the middle of the drive, like boxers in a heavyweight fight. The other men were nose-to-nose talking shit.

  The ladies all stepped into the garage, joining the action, tossing their heels off and assuming the ready position. Estelle gave a “come on” motion to Tiffany.

  “Well, I guess the whores are here,” Chip smirked. “Hey, Estelle, you wanna bring that hot little yoga ass over here and get a taste of a real man?”

  And that was all it took.

  Dwayne threw a swift right cross at Chip. Chip stumbled back a few steps, and then drove a hard uppercut at Dwayne’s jaw before throwing him into a headlock.

  Tommy took a massive shot to the cheek and then delivered one right back to Reese, which caused Reese to go down on all fours. Tommy began kicking him in the chest and face until Reese no longer moved.

  Russ ripped his shirt off and cast it aside. He secured his tie around his forehead and let out a crazy battle cry. He lunged toward Ed, seizing him by the balls and squeezing with all his might. He then rammed his knee repeatedly into Ed’s crotch, followed by several elbow shots to his nose. Ed never had a chance.

  Tiffany sprinted toward Estelle with her fingernails out front. Estelle stepped to the side to dodge her while picking up a “SLOW” traffic sign, which was attached to a metal pole. Estelle spun around with lightning speed and swung the sign, catching Tiffany square in the face and sending her back on her ass with a substantial gash in her forehead.

  “GREAT FUCKING SWING, HONEY!” Dwayne yelled, even though Chip still had him in a headlock and he was receiving punch after punch to the face.

  “THANKS, SWEETIE!” she shouted back. “I LEARNED FROM THE BEST!”

  Kelly was next to enter the brawl. “Gimme that motherfuckin’ sign, Estelle,” Kelly growled, blocking Linda Honeycut from the door. “This little bitch is trying to get away. I’m gonna go all Serena Williams on her ass.”

  Estelle tossed Kelly the sign. Linda charged her, but it was no use. Kelly had been winning tennis championships since she was a child, and it showed. Backhand, forehand, backhand, forehand … And down Linda went, out cold.

  Blood dripped steadily from the “SLOW” sign as Kelly breathed heavily, standing over the unconscious body of Li
nda Honeycut.

  Chip Conner became distracted briefly by Kelly’s beatdown of Linda. Dwayne reached up over Chip’s shoulder and grabbed firmly. Dwayne shifted his weight, positioned his leg, then flipped Chip over in front of him, the hard cement ground knocking the wind out of Chip’s lungs. Dwayne kicked Chip in the side of the head with all his might.

  The fights between the others had come to a standstill, with the guests of Dwayne and Estelle, as well as Estelle herself, emerging victorious. None of them had faced an opponent like Dwayne, though. This was an epic battle between two large, strong, severely intoxicated men. The others stood back and watched. Occasionally, Russ or Tommy would try to jump in, but Dwayne would wave them off, even though he was taking a beating. He wanted Chip all to himself. No one talked to his wife that way and got away with it. Not anymore.

  He was fighting for her honor. It was a Jedi thing.

  The two of them rolled around on the pavement, trading blows. Blood dripped from both their faces onto their torn shirts. After several minutes of struggle, Chip regained the high-ground position and sat on Dwayne’s chest, delivering shot after shot to his face. His eyes had almost swollen shut.

  “You had enough yet, lawn boy?” Chip said with an angry snarl, his arm cocked back ready to finish him. “I told you I was gonna fuck you up. That’s exactly what I did. Now I’m gonna go take that pretty little wife of yours and—”

  Dwayne whipped his arm up before Chip could finish his sentence and jammed his index and middle fingers into Chip’s eye socket. As Chip shrieked in agony, swinging wildly and pulling back, Dwayne shot upward and pushed his thumb in as well.

  He clutched Chip’s eyeball and ripped it from his head. He held it up for Chip to see, then hurled it as far as he could off to the side. Blood came squirting and pouring from Chip’s face, and Dwayne flipped around behind him and put him in a headlock. He lifted Chip up onto his feet by his neck and ran forward with him, driving his head through the side window of a parked Cadillac.