Unreasonable Doubts

by Reyna Marder Gentin

  “Yes, Bobby. That would be very thoughtful of you,” she said between sniffles. She blew her nose hard into a tissue, and Bobby fled. Not five minutes later, she was mostly recovered when Tony’s voice came over the intercom.

  “Liana, you have a call on one,” he said.

  “Who is it, Tony?” she asked.

  “Daniel Shea.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Do you want me to tell him you’re unavailable?” Tony asked.

  She considered it but said, “No. Please put him through.”

  Liana checked her hair in the small mirror she and Deb had hung on the wall, inhaled and exhaled to the count of four, as her father had taught her to do before starting every important exam, and picked up the phone.

  “Hello, Mr. Shea. What can I do for you?” She concentrated on keeping the tremor out of her voice. It had been three weeks since she had seen Shea at Starbucks, and she’d forced herself to push him out of her mind, when she wasn’t replaying the scene over and over again to relive the kiss on her head. Nor had Liana forgiven him for the Passover evening phone call or for the fact that somehow, without her realizing it, he had gotten hold of her cell phone long enough to figure out her number. But Liana decided it was better to pretend none of that had happened than to get into some sort of back and forth with him. He was too smooth and she was too weak—she knew she would lose.

  “Liana, it’s Danny,” he said. “I need to see you.”

  “Why? Have you been arrested? Where are you?” she asked, the concern too evident in her voice.

  “Hey, hey—slow down, pretty lady,” he said. “You don’t have a lot of faith in me. No, I haven’t been arrested, and no, I’m not in trouble. I told you I’d be patient, and I’m trying so hard, but it’s difficult. I’m not asking for much, just to spend a little time with you.”

  The morning’s rejections still ringing in her ears, Liana asked, without allowing herself to think, “Do you have plans for Monday?”

  “My dance card is still pretty open,” he retorted.

  “I’ll meet you at the Homerun Apple outside the Jackie Robinson Rotunda at twelve thirty. The tickets are my treat.”

  “You’re joking, right? You’re inviting me to opening day?” Danny asked. If he had been a twelve-year-old boy, he couldn’t have sounded more excited. Liana wondered if he’d bring his mitt to try to catch foul balls.

  “Don’t say another word, or I’ll come to my senses,” she said and gently put down the receiver.

  She was so involved in the phone call that she hadn’t noticed when Bobby came back into the office. “You found someone else to take to the game?” he asked, clearly relieved that Liana had stopped crying.

  “Yes,” Liana said, “someone who’ll appreciate what’s happening on the field and will appreciate being with me.”

  The whole idea is nuts, but what is there to worry about?

  There would be over forty-two thousand people in a sold-out stadium—she wouldn’t have a moment alone with Danny Shea. Besides, she figured he might be better company in some ways than Jakob, who didn’t care if the Mets won or lost. Liana knew she was being somewhat unfair—Jakob might be working harder than the other associates, but he was striving to be the best. But she was so damn tired of playing second fiddle to Wilcox & Finney. Maybe it would do her good to have a day out with a man whose sole desire was to be with her and who didn’t want anything in return.

  Even if he is an ex-client and an ex-con.

  On Monday, Liana headed out to Citi Field, dressed in a form-fitting Johann Santana jersey over black leggings, her hair tucked up into her favorite well-worn Mets cap. Although the game didn’t start until 1:10 p.m., she had treated herself to the whole day off from work, boarding the number 7 train to Flushing in plenty of time to meet Danny. She loved soaking in the high spirits of the fans on the subway, forgiving the unruly ones who had started to drink before getting anywhere close to the stadium.

  Even among the growing crowd, she easily spotted Danny by the Apple. He was wearing faded blue jeans, ripped at the knees, and a tight black Mets T-shirt that showed off every muscle in his chest and arms—pecs and biceps and triceps undoubtedly sculpted over the year in the prison gym. Marta would be impressed. He had no cap on, and his longish, dirty-blond hair was hanging loose, falling in waves over his eyes in just the same way it had in the photograph Liana had first seen in the file. She sighed.

  What a pity that this beautiful man is so absurdly inappropriate.

  Still, it was opening day, and the world seemed filled with possibilities.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey to you,” Danny replied, a big grin on his face. “This is awesome. I’ve never been to opening day.”

  “Huh. In my family, opening day—” She stopped abruptly, remembering to keep her personal life out of this. Danny didn’t notice—he was so entranced by the hubbub of the fans, the electricity on the first day of the season. “Come on,” Liana said. “I like to hear the National Anthem. It reminds me how great it is to be an American and have baseball as our national pastime.” Danny looked at her, amused, and followed her through the gate and up the escalator. The seats were high up, and by the time they got to their row, a beautiful brunette was making her way to the microphone.

  “Who’s she?” Danny asked.

  “That’s Emmy Rossum. She’s a singer, but she’s also the star of a show that runs on Showtime called Shameless. It’s really good. Have you ever seen it?” Only after she asked the question did Liana realize that the show had premiered while Danny was incarcerated.

  “Nah,” Danny said. “I don’t have a lot of time for television, and I don’t have any of those premium channels.” He didn’t sound bitter, which Liana would have been without HBO, just matter-of-fact. They stood up for “The Star Spangled Banner,” and Liana removed her cap, reluctantly letting her curls fly free, much to Danny’s obvious delight. He had a surprisingly pleasant voice—he wasn’t Rabbi Nacht, and he wasn’t Jakob, who had more music in his little finger than anyone else on the planet, but he could sing on key, and he sounded sweetly boyish for so manly a man.

  When they sat down, to make conversation, Liana continued, “The plot of Shameless is interesting. It’s about an alcoholic, drug-addicted dad who has, like, five or six kids—I can’t remember what happened to the mom, but she’s not around. Emmy Rossum plays Fiona, the oldest child—she’s the most responsible, and she always ends up having to deal with the younger children because the father’s such a screwup.”

  “I could star in that show; too bad no one asked me,” Danny said quietly but without rancor.

  Liana felt like a jerk. Here she had been talking nonsense, just to avoid any awkward silences, and she had touched a nerve. “I’m sorry, Danny. I didn’t realize. The nature of my job—it’s very circumscribed,” Liana said, proud that she had used a Danny-type word that he’d appreciate. “I don’t really know anything about life for the client before I represent him, and I don’t know much about his life after either.”

  “That’s okay,” he responded. “It saved me having to get you up to speed. Besides, I’m not your client anymore, remember?” They sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes, until Rusty Staub ran out to the mound to throw out the ceremonial first pitch and everyone stood and started cheering like crazy. Before he sat back down, Danny pulled a scorecard and a pencil out of his back pocket.

  “You score the game?” Liana asked.

  “Yeah. Keeps my head in it,” he said. Liana was impressed. They talked about the Mets roster—dissecting the familiar favorites: David Wright, Lucas Duda, Daniel Murphy, the pitcher Jonathon Niese.

  “Who the hell is Collin Cowgill?” Liana said, seeing a new name playing in center field.

  “He got traded in the off-season from the Oakland A’s,” Danny said, sounding pleased that he knew something that she didn’t. “He’s a relatively young guy—like my age.” He winked at her, and Liana won
dered if he knew she was pushing thirty. She couldn’t believe how refreshing it was to be at a game with someone who knew what was going on, even if he was teasing her; it made her miss her dad even more.

  “My father was crazy about the Mets,” Liana said, apropos of nothing, suddenly feeling the need to share something personal.

  “Was? It’s hard sometimes to root for them—did he give up?” Danny asked.

  “No. He passed away three years ago.”

  “I’m sorry, Liana.”

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  He would have liked you.

  In the bottom of the second, Danny bought them each a beer, a hot dog, and a pretzel. Liana tried to pay him back, but he was having none of it. “You bought these tickets,” he said. “The least I can do is buy you something to eat.” In between innings, they watched what Artie used to call “the shtick” on the big screen in center field—the trivia games, “This Day in Mets History,” and a tribute to the first responders during Hurricane Sandy.

  “Do you know why Jason Bay sucked at the plate last year?” Danny asked, referencing the player du jour that fans loved to hate.

  “Because he was sluggish and lazy and couldn’t stay off the disabled list?” Liana suggested.

  Danny smiled. “Well, that was certainly part of it. But I have another theory.”

  “Hit me,” Liana replied.

  Danny gazed out over the fence in center field. “Bay’s timing was all off. Timing is everything. Every at bat is another opportunity to get it right. If you’re overanxious or impulsive, you swing too soon and you miss. If you’re unfocused or indecisive, you swing too late and you also get nothing but air. But if you’re patient, you don’t rush or stall but you seize the moment at just the right time, the sky’s the limit.”

  The hope in Danny’s voice was so pure it was almost painful. Liana wondered when his moment would come and whether she would recognize her own moment when it arrived. They sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost in contemplation. Opening day could have that effect.

  By the fourth, the Mets were beating the Padres seven to one. Liana had bought them each a second beer, and she had a pleasant buzz on. She was happy she had invited Danny to the game. He had been totally considerate and gentlemanly, and he knew the ins and outs of the game and the team. Not as well as she did—but she didn’t let on, keeping her more esoteric facts, figures, and opinions to herself.

  “Want to hear something funny?” Danny asked, turning away from the game for a minute.

  “Always,” Liana answered. Jakob often said that he spent 90 percent of his free time trying to think of ways to make Liana laugh. Lately, it hadn’t been working too well.

  “Do you know what I was studying before all of this happened?” Danny turned back to the screen in center field, where the Yankees score was being displayed—the fans were avidly following both games. Red Sox 4, Yankees 0 flashed on the screen, and the crowd erupted.

  When the sound died down, Liana said, “Nope. Tell me.”

  “Prelaw.” Danny said. “Pretty ironic, right?” He stared fixedly at the scoreboard, the color rising in his cheeks.

  She watched him, carefully choosing her words before speaking so he wouldn’t doubt her sincerity.

  “You’d make a fantastic attorney, Danny,” she said. “I’ve never had a client who intuitively understood the fine points of the arguments the way you did and who could express himself as persuasively as you can. You’d be a credit to the bar.” For a moment she pictured Jakob—golden boy of Columbia Law School and rising star at Wilcox & Finney.

  If things had been different, if Danny had enjoyed the advantages Jakob had, couldn’t he have done just as well?

  “Well, that’s sweet of you to say, Counselor. But I think that ship has sailed.” He turned his focus back to the game, immersing himself in every pitch, shutting down the conversation with his concentration.

  After the inning was over, the fan-favorite kiss cam got rolling. Liana was transfixed. The gimmick was always the same: the cameraman would focus in on a man and a woman and wait for them to notice themselves on the jumbotron in center field; then the crowd would goad them into the smooch. Liana watched intently as the picture first zeroed in on a young, good-looking couple. After the initial shocked look, they went at it with a vengeance—too much tongue and groping—and the crowd groaned. Next was an older couple, probably in their late sixties, sweet but kind of unappealing; who wanted to see them kiss? They brought to mind her mom and Irv, and Liana felt sad and unsettled. The next couple turned out not to be a couple—both the woman and the man shook their heads vehemently and turned away from each other.

  Liana was so absorbed she didn’t realize what was happening when Danny gently took her face in his hands, turned her toward him, and kissed her, slowly, gently, but intensely and insistently, the taste of the salty pretzel still on his lips. Completely transported, Liana wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, his warmth and passion spreading through her whole body. Seconds passed before the sound of the crowd and the feel of Danny’s unfamiliar hair between her fingers brought her back, forcing her to remember where she was and who was with her.

  “You bastard!” she yelled, pushing her hands uselessly against his chest.

  He held her wrists lightly and shrugged. “Kiss cam,” he said, nodding his head toward center field. And there they were, forty feet tall on the big screen, a cute blond trying to shove away a gorgeous younger man’s ripped torso. The fans, undoubtedly thinking that the protest was an act after seeing the all-consuming kiss, were cheering at the top of their lungs. Liana broke free and sat with her head in her hands, the cameraman soaking up the drama and continuing to broadcast it to the crowd’s delight until play on the field resumed. For a moment, Liana thought she had been on television, forgetting that the big screen was internal to the stadium.

  For the next two innings, Liana sat in stony silence, staring at her feet and refusing to say a word to Danny or even to cheer on the team. She wasn’t sure if she was angrier with him for crossing the line or with herself for having, momentarily, given in to a magnetic attraction.

  Liana knew she needed to put an end to this nondate, but the kiss lingering in the space between them and the questions it raised were like a paralyzing force keeping her in her seat. Danny continued to take in the action on the field and the whole scene, totally unruffled. He sat back in his seat, relaxed, drank another beer, and bought a bag of peanuts, which he cracked open and ate, filling the floor space around him with peanut shells.

  “I’m really sorry,” he tried. “The kiss cam was on us. What was I supposed to do?” he said, only half joking. When she looked at him but didn’t answer, he continued, staring straight at the field and speaking deliberately, with a hint of hardness, just loud enough to be heard over the din. “Listen, Liana. I made it very clear from the day you got me sprung that I wanted to spend time with you. You invited me today—I’m sure there were plenty of people who would’ve been more than happy to take your free ticket to opening day.”

  “I did invite other people, but—”

  Without turning his eyes toward her, Danny raised his hand in a signal for her to stop talking, and she fell silent.

  “So I have to figure you want to be with me too. I intrigue you. You still can’t believe that the guy who was just supposed to be another name in your transcript is flesh and blood now. And the kiss cam was convenient, but that kiss would have happened at some point, because we both wanted it. You let your curiosity run a little wild, and now you’re scared. You’re a bit of a tease, Liana, but it’s okay; I don’t mind. I told you I’d wait for you, and I’m a man of my word.”

  Moments later, when Danny got to his feet to sing “God Bless America” during the seventh inning stretch, Liana finally pulled herself together, stood up, and turned to him.

  “I’m going. I was wrong to think we could be some kind of friends, and I’m sorry if I led you on—it wa
sn’t my intention. Please, stay, enjoy the rest of the game and the rest of your life.”

  She walked to the aisle and down the steps to exit the section, a handful of fans booing her unpatriotic departure. She could feel Danny watching her every move. Out of the corner of her eye, Liana saw him mark something on his scorecard.

  As she got down to the rotunda, there was a sudden roar from the crowd, as if the whole stadium had exploded. The sound was so deafening Liana barely heard the ping of her text notification.

  Cowgill. Grand slam. Wish you were here. D.

  CHAPTER 20

  The next morning, Liana called in sick to work. “I’ve got a spring cold, Tony. I’m going to stay home and take it easy today,” she said.

  “Okeydokey, Liana,” Tony responded. “How about those Amazins yesterday?” The Mets had beaten the Padres, eleven to two.

  “Yeah, I had some stuff going on. I didn’t see the last couple innings.” If Tony was suspicious that something was up, he had enough tact not to say anything. Still creeped out that Danny had her cell phone number, Liana continued, “And, Tony, if Danny Shea comes to the office looking for me, please make sure not to tell him where I live.”

  “Jesus, Liana, what kind of receptionist do you think I am?” Tony asked. “Besides, you got him out of prison—I would think he’d be your biggest fan.”

  Good thinking, Tony.

  When she got off the phone, Liana got back into bed and tried to sleep, but she was too agitated. She thought about Danny and the kiss cam, and her anger flared, and then she thought about the kiss itself. She recalled Jakob’s warning: remember who Danny Shea is. But she couldn’t cast Danny in the one-dimensional role of “criminal,” as she had so easily before; she knew too much now. He had started as the object of Liana’s experiment in totally arms-length lawyering, and she had ended up, albeit briefly, in his arms.

  She must have dozed off, because when she heard her cell phone beep, it was already eleven. There was an email from RNacht@dt.org. Liana opened it, wondering what new synagogue social justice activity the rabbi was promoting today.