Double Play (29 page)

Not only did her
crushing disappointment elude him, but he especially didn’t
understand how sports fans looked for anyone to blame. What was
worse, their opinions carried weight. Benji’s students might hate
his guts, but as long as he competently taught his subject,
followed the rules, wore a sports coat and kept his hair at a
somewhat respectable length, there wasn’t a thing those students
could do about it. In her job, fan backlash could chase anyone,
even players, out of town.
After this at-bat,
Joel might’ve taken her number
one spot as Buffalo’s Most Wanted, but her mug shot was still
hanging next to it.

“
Hey,
you with me still?”

“
Huh?”
Cat blinked. Spencer was waving his hand in front of her face. “Oh.
Yeah. Let’s go. I’ve got to get an explanation of that
at-bat.”

Right now, the
rage the fans were directing at Joel Faulk had nothing on her
own.

They passed the
visiting clubhouse. The screams and whoops could be heard all the
way down the hallway.

“
That’s salt in the wounds, huh?”

Cat snuck a peek
inside as reporters buzzed in and out. “Have fun trying to get the
champagne out of your hair,” she muttered under her
breath.

Spencer wrapped
an arm about her shoulder and gave it a comforting
squeeze.

In the clubhouse,
they had nearly arrived at Joel’s locker when Cat stopped in her
tracks, grabbing Spencer’s arm to make him do the same.
“Wait.”

“
What?”

“
Where’s all the media? A play like that should have this
corner packed.”

They scanned the
clubhouse. Sure enough, various reporters were scattered around in
clusters, with no one player getting all of the
attention.

Each player was
spouting his sound bite, but Cat could’ve written them all without
hearing the words.

“
I
can’t believe it ended like that. I’m going to be going over this
game all winter long.”

“
I
don’t know what to say. Maybe we should’ve taken Chicago more
seriously. We had the best record in the league and they were the
wildcard, but you wouldn’t know it from the way we
played.”

“
None
of us is ready to go home. We wanted to keep playing until the end
of October.”

Players filed out
of the showers under the watchful eye
s
of both Cat and Spencer. She gave another look
around the room. “I don’t get this. Where is Joel?”

“
Joel?”

They both turned
to Santiago, the aged pitcher who bailed the team out in the tenth
inning, after Adam’s collapse. “That fucking punk walked out on us.
He and Adam both.”

Spencer fumbled
to switch on his recorder. Cat didn’t bother. She wouldn’t have any
trouble remembering his words. “They left?”

“
Tucked their tails and ran out of here before the fans had
even left.” Santiago pointed his finger in her face. “I’ll tell you
this much. We can forgive mistakes, gaffes, bonehead plays. But you
don’t walk out on your teammates and leave them to face the
music.”

“
Did
either of them say anything?”

“
Not
one word.” As Santiago walked off, leaving Cat and Spencer more
flabbergasted than ever, he said, “They better hope I don’t see
them again until spring training. Even then might be too
soon.”

“
Hey,
you two, Skipper’s gonna be in the conference room in
five.”

Cat smiled to
acknowledge the local TV reporter’s heads-up, and she and Spencer
followed her into the conference room.

The manager
slumped in and shook his head. “Not too much to say tonight. That
game could’ve gone either way but it went to Chicago.” He adjusted
his ball cap before eventually taking it off and running his hand
through his graying hair. “No, actually, it couldn’t have. The
first nine innings, maybe. That tenth inning was inexcusable. From
Alvarez’s impression of a pitching machine to whatever the hell it
was that Faulk was trying to do, we gave them this game with a
crooked bow on it. Merry Christmas, Windy City.”

Cat was shocked,
but it took a lot more to quiet the seasoned reporters.

“
Skipper, what were you thinking when you saw Joel pull back on
that bunt?”

“
Did
he miss the sign for the squeeze play?”

The manager
clenched his teeth. “You’ll have to ask Joel. He showed bunt
initially so I thought we were on the same page. Obviously we
weren’t.”

Cat stepped
forward. “We can’t ask Joel. He left.”

“
What?” The manager’s brown eyes flashed with anger. “He’s not
in the clubhouse?”

“
N-no,
sir. Santiago said he left with Adam.”

The manager’s
hand slammed down right next to the microphone stand, sending a
screeching feedback through the room.

Cat and Spencer
both jumped, startled from the sound.

His sunburned
neck reddened even more and the veins began to bulge. “They are
singlehandedly responsible for this loss and they can’t even own up
to that?”

The audience was
salivating for more. Cat cringed, already picturing the bloody
headlines this would produce.

Spencer jutted
his recorder closer to the podium. “Skip, are you saying you blame
Adam Alvarez and Joel Faulk for the outcome of this
game?”

“
Hell
yes, I do!” He closed his eyes and took a beat. “Look, our offense
could’ve done more during the first nine, that’s true. But once the
game entered the extra innings, Alvarez and Joel mucked it
up.”

A reporter from
the back piped up, “Are they going to face punishment for
leaving?”

“
I’ll
have to discuss that with Roger, but I think it sets a pretty piss
poor example for the younger guys if we don’t address it.” He shook
his head. “You don’t walk out on your team.”

Spencer leaned
over and whispered in her ear, “
Walk
out? I’m guessing they
ran.”

Officially, Cat
was working from home today. Unofficially, she was standing on the
sidewalk in an affluent Amherst neighborhood, staring up at an
oversized brick colonial. The street was beautiful, but quiet—like
the residents were striving for the timeless beauty of a Norman
Rockwell painting, without the pesky children or pets. There wasn’t
a single weed between the sidewalk cracks and her Jeep was the only
vehicle parked on the side of the road.

The colonial was
guarded with a six foot iron fence. She tried its gate with
trepidation and was pleasantly surprised when the handle turned
with ease. She skipped up the four steps to the private sidewalk
and approached the tall set of double doors. Each had a large brass
knocker but she opted for the doorbell instead. It chimed from
inside. Locks clicked on the other side and it swung
open.

“
Cat?
What are you doing at my house?”

“
Hi,
Joel.” He wore sweatpants and a sleeveless Soldiers
’
shirt. From the bags under his
eyes
and his disheveled red
hair
, she guessed he had gotten even less sleep than she.
No smile appeared on his
freckled face.

“
We
need to talk.”

There was some
degree of satisfaction in being the one to say those words, rather
than hearing them.

“
I
left last night without talking to the media for a reason,
Cat.”

She shivered on
the porch. The October morning was chilly and she was wearing only
a light jacket. Joel took a step closer, halfway shutting the front
door behind him to both keep the heat in and block an uninvited
entrance.

She crossed her
shivering arms. “This is off the record.”

“
Hon?”
said a female voice from inside the house. “Who’s at the
door?”

Joel cringed at
the sound of the voice and she seized the moment. “I know what
happened on my balcony and I know about your money
problems.”

“
What?” His eyes bulged. “Okay, shh! Just hold on a second.” He
looked behind him and then craned his neck outside, looking up and
down the quiet neighborhood. “Come in, but keep it
down.”

The front door
opened to a spacious foyer with a set of double staircases framing
each side. The marbled floor sparkled and reflected the lit
chandelier that hung from the open second level.

“
Nice
digs.” She took another survey of the grand room. “You ever think
about Astro-turfing this foyer and playing games in
here?”

Before he could
answer, a beautiful woman came around the side
, dressed to the nines in a Diane von Furstenberg
wrap dress. Its yellow silk matched her shiny hair
.
“Hello?”

Cat smiled.
“Hi.”

“
This
is the team reporter, Babe. Cat, this is my fiancée,
Savannah.”

“
Oh,
hi.” She fussed with her long hair, though not a curl was out of
place. “I wish Joel had told me he was expecting
company.”

“
Don’t
blame him. I kind of ambushed him but he was kind enough to invite
me in for an interview.”

“
Well
that was sweet of him. Not that I’m surprised.” Savannah locked
arms with Joel and kissed him on the cheek. “Why don’t you two go
into the
mehmaan khana
and I’ll bring you out some
coffee?”

Cat smiled back.
“That would be nice. Joel, you lead the way?”

He gritted his
teeth. “Thanks, Babe.”

Joel escorted her
down a hallway and through a set of double doors that opened into a
sunroom, or at least what had once passed as a sunroom. Now its
windows were covered with thick gold curtains and the walls were
painted a dreary burnt sienna. The tile floors were mostly hidden
under a massive Persian rug, a burgundy background with intricate
swirls in its pattern and a frame of gold fringe. The chairs were
of a similar tapestry and instead of end tables, oversized brass
pots sat between each piece of furniture. “What did she say this
was called?”

“
Mehmaan khana
. I think it’s Hindu for rumpus room.
Savannah started volunteering at the museum and since then she’s
into all this Indian shit. She’s turning my house into the God damn
Taj Mahal.”

“
It’s
certainly big enough.”

Once he’d closed
the doors behind them, he whipped around and dropped the doddering
fiancé act. “This whole mess with the Soldiers … it’s not what you
think.”

She
took her black leather messenger bag off
her shoulder and
sat down on one of the antique replica
chairs. “I’m listening.”

“
I’m
not some shitbag, okay?” He threw himself on the armless sofa. “You
don’t know what kinda pressure I’m under right now.”

“
Financially?”

Cat cringed,
fearing she’d showed her hand.

Joel didn’t catch
her slip; instead he nodded glumly. “I can’t even make my house
payment this month.”

Cat rolled her
eyes. Granted, her callous reaction wasn’t the best way to gain his
confidence, but she had to draw the line somewhere. If he wanted a
violinist, Joel would have to look elsewhere. Grams had raised them
on a truck stop waitress’s salary and never once missed a payment
on the trailer.

She gestured
around the room, her hand stopping in front of them to tap on the
wooden Bengal tiger sculpture that served as a coffee table. “You
mean your Taj Mahal payment? If money is so tight, why don’t you
scale down a bit? There are two of you in this giant house, you
drive a Porsche Panamera and you spent last winter in
Monaco.”

“
Hey,
I have to live like this, okay?” He sat forward. “I’m a celebrity
and expected to uphold a certain lifestyle. I can’t live in some
middle class neighborhood where people would always try to peek in
my windows. I can’t drive some old rust bucket that might break
down in a neighborhood of NYC fans. I can’t go to a regular gym,
fly coach or even eat at chain restaurants because I’d constantly
have fans demanding autographs and razzing me about
games.”

Cat grimaced.
“Spare me the sob story.”

There were a few
players who couldn’t walk the streets without being recognized, but
most of them appeared unremarkable without a polyester uniform and
team cap. Joel Faulk was such a mediocre player that he had barely
been on the fans’ radar. The irony was, after last night’s batting
debacle, he was more recognizable than ever.

“
Societal obligations or not, you’ve got a lot of nerve
complaining about money problems when you live like
this.”

“
Why
are you singling me out? I’m not the only celebrity with a flashy
home.”

She gave him a
pointed look. “Yeah, I watch Cribs, but it’s a little more
sickening when you’re standing in one.”

“
I
know you don’t understand this, but the other half has to live this
way.”

Cat felt that
one’s sharp stab on her already exposed nerve.