Taylor Made Owens (40 page)

“Not only will he feel it every time he throws, if something is hit back to him he may not be able to catch it. That opens a big hole up the middle for the Yankees.”

After walking the first man up, they began to guess this was the beginning of the end. His fastball was now topping out at eighty-six miles per hour. He threw it to the next hitter, and he walloped the pitch to deep left-center field. The crowd rose to their feet and screamed.

The play-by-play announcer said, “Long fly ball, deep to left! This could end it … Jones leaps and makes the catch! Right at the top of the wall!” The crowd hushed in disappointment as the marvelous play was replayed from different angles on TV. But now everyone believed it was only a matter of time. The Yankees and their fans smelled blood.

Robert’s curve was still working to perfection, however. The next batter up drove the pitch into the ground for an easy double-play. The TV showed Brian standing up and cheering.

Nothing happened in the top of the eighteenth, but the bottom was another story. His pitching speed dropped another notch, and the Yankees began to make regular contact.

•

“The Yankees have bases loaded with one out,” said the resident over the intercom a few minutes later.

“All right!” declared the surgeon. “Owens is starting to struggle. Now let’s get tissue samples from the other kidney and lymph nodes,” he instructed his protégé.

“Actually, he’s still doing well,” corrected the resident. “The Twins should be out of the inning, but the second baseman made an error on a double-play ball.”

•

Up to the plate strode the leading hitter in the majors. The situation once again looked grim, but Robert refused to give in. His next pitch was hit hard. The runners left their bases on contact. The crowd again jumped up and screamed. “Ground ball to short!” exclaimed the animated announcer. “Here comes the throw to the plate … he’s out!”

The color commentator noted, “That might’ve been a double-play ball, but the shortstop couldn’t take that chance with the season on the line.” Fans, tiring of the emotional rollercoaster, fell back down dejected. But there’s still another chance, they consoled; bases are still loaded. This would be a real battle between a weary pitcher and a fatigued hitter.

•

The surgeon looked around to prompt an update. The resident went to the intercom and reported, “Two outs now, with bases still loaded and a full count!” said the resident.

“Put the TV’s speaker up to the intercom,” ordered the surgeon. The resident did as his boss demanded.

“Three and two, two outs, bases loaded in the bottom of the eighteenth inning,” said the announcer to underscore the exciting situation. “If Owens misses the strike zone, the Twins go home for the winter. If he gives up a hit, the Twins go home. If he balks, the Twins go home.”

Oh, God!
Kristen said to herself.

“The payoff pitch … foul ball.”

The next four pitches were also fouled off. The clamor diminished then gradually rose again as the next pitch loomed. As each pitch was released, the din reached a crescendo. Kristen’s stomach followed a similar pattern.

“Owens gets the sign from the catcher. He winds and throws … Fouled off again! That pitch may have been a ball, but the batter swung.”

Added the color commentator, “It was a changeup. That sets up his fastball again. Listen to this crowd. It’s pandemonium here.”

By contrast, the operating room was muted as the doctors held their breath with each approaching pitch. “Owens is showing remarkable poise, throwing strike after strike in this tense situation. Here comes the pitch … Strike three!” Kristen whooped for joy, which earned her a smirk from the surgeon. “He froze the batter with a wicked curve. What a gutsy pitch. What a tremendous pitch! And we move to the nineteenth. Wow!”

This duel had been costly for Robert: eleven hard pitches to one batter. His shoulder was, by then, exceedingly raw, and every pitch made it worse.

•

The kidney operation ended. It was a complete success, with no visual evidence that the cancer had spread. The surgeon allowed Kristen to pass the happy news to the anxious family in the waiting room while he rushed to the nearest TV set.

“Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen,” she said as she joined the large family standing by in trepidation in the waiting room, “I have good news for you: the operation went well. We saw no sign the cancer had spread beyond the one kidney, though we need to confirm that with tissue samples we took from your son. But I’m optimistic the worst is behind us, and he’ll make a complete recovery.” The happy family, all eight of them, lined up to hug and thank his doctor.

“You have saved my son,” proclaimed the grateful and tearful Mr. Nguyen. “I can never thank you enough. Heaven has a special place for people like you!” She gave credit to the surgeons, told the parents when they could see their son, and left to find a television.

•

By this time, the game was in the bottom of the nineteenth inning. In the top of the inning, the Twins had hit a solo homerun to put them in the lead. Kristen watched as the Yankees began the inning with another double. “Owens threw that fastball at seventy-eight miles per hour. My grandmother could hit that,” jested the color commentator. “But let me say before this game ends: whatever happens, we have been fortunate to witness one of the clutch pitching performances of the year.”

He walked the next batter on four pitches. The fire in Robert’s eyes was all but extinguished.

The stadium was on its feet, screaming hoarsely as the announcer said, “Owens checks the runners and comes set. The pitch: Base hit to left! Here comes the runner home!” Kristen covered her eyes. “The throw … He’s out! Great throw by Petrocelli! The runners advance to second and third with one out.”

Robert was desperate, his physical and emotional strength gone, but he got a stroke of luck. “The pitch: Line drive right to third base. He dives to tag the bag for a double-play! The Twins win! The Twins win! What an unbelievable game!”

Jennifer, Kim, Brian, and Kristen leapt to their feet and screamed for joy. The team mobbed their pitcher, who was in a crouch because his arm felt like it exploded with the final pitch. Robert was in a daze, exhausted and in great pain. Walking back to the dugout, he stumbled to his knees; he was dizzy and couldn’t stand. New York’s finest permitted Jennifer to go to Robert. She ran to him, knelt and hugged him, impelling the disappointed but touched crowd to another crescendo. He lowered his head onto her shoulder.

Robert Owens, kneeling in front of the dugout with a teary-eyed Jennifer Taylor hugging him, was the picture on the front page of the New York, Minneapolis, Toronto, and London, Ontario papers the next morning.

As Jennifer helped him to his feet, he spotted Brian and Kim standing by the railing. He waved them over. “You were awesome!” Brian said as he ran to his father. Robert smiled and hugged his son as best he could. Kim kissed his cheek and added, “That was so exciting and nerve-wracking. You were so good you sent chills down my spine. My heart is still racing!”

The four went into the club house where Robert got medical attention.

•

Kristen, happy that Robert had performed so well, went home, her twelve-hour day at an end.

R
obert’s pitching shoulder was shattered. The next morning, the team sent him back to the specialist in Atlanta, who gave him the same news his dad had got over a quarter century earlier: there’s no way you’ll ever pitch again. He’d expected that news, but he nevertheless quietly wept after the doctor left the room. While the Twins were losing the next game 13-3, he underwent a long operation that afternoon to repair his hand and shoulder.

When he awakened the next morning, Jennifer and Kara were in his room. She kissed his forehead and put his beautiful baby on his chest. “I’m sorry for taking our issues out on our daughter,” he said to Jennifer. “I’d like to make it up to her, but I don’t know how.”

“Can we maybe live together? I could show you what kind of friend and partner I can be. And you can be with your daughter.”

“I have a big decision on what to do with my future. Your career is set. Mine is done, and I need to start something new. The only thing I can think of right now is to go to Berkeley to finish my PhD.”

“I’ll buy a place there. We can live together and raise our child.”

“You make it sound so easy. I’ll be taking courses, studying for orals, and writing my dissertation. Won’t you be going on the road soon?”

“Rehearsals begin in four months.”

“So, what then? You leave Kara with me for, what, six months or more?”

“I was hoping so. We can hire you some full-time help. God knows I have the money.”

“I want our child raised by her parents—one of us, anyway—not by strangers. If I make this commitment, I’m in all the way.”

“Well? Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

Jennifer said “Woo!” and hugged him.

He continued, “Don’t get your hopes up of marrying me again. It will never happen.” The hopeful woman nodded.

Jennifer’s publicist released the joyous news of their reunification and got her on some talk shows. Kristen remained dispassionate upon hearing the news.
I don’t care
, she told herself, with self-congratulations for putting him behind her and getting along so well.

•

Jennifer and Robert moved into an expensive condominium in Berkeley that had been selected and furnished by Jennifer’s manager. An excited Jennifer greeted her mate at the front door with a warm kiss. “Welcome home, Bobby. Come in, I’ll show you our new place.” They went through the family room and kitchen, then down the south hall to the bedrooms. “This is our daughter’s room, freshly painted pink. Isn’t it nice?” Robert nodded. “And just across the hall is our room.”

“
Our
room? No way, Jenny. You seem to think we’re married again or on the way there. Lose that notion right now.
Never again
. Do you understand me? I’m here for Kara. Period.”

Taken aback, she was speechless for a moment. Eventually she said, “Well, okay, um, you can have the guest room, but it’s on the other side of the apartment.”

“Why can’t I have this room?” he asked walking to the room at the end of the hall.

“Well, I had planned to give this room to the nanny so she could be near Kara.”

“The nanny? Why do you need a nanny? You’re not working now. I told you I didn’t want our child raised by strangers.”

“Well, her father had disowned her, and her mother has a very busy life. It seems to me you have no right to criticize me on this issue.”

“All right, you got me there.” Anyway, the presence of strangers made their little domestic scene less threatening to him. He knew Jennifer had wedding bells clanging in her mind, but this stranger interfered with the intimacy required to foster her designs. “I’ll move into the guest room.”

“No, you can have this room. The nanny can have the guest room.” So it was settled—and so, eventually, were they.

Other than being a one-man woman, and this was the one man she wanted on a permanent basis, Jennifer had nothing domestic about her. She had no interest in playing the role of a typical wife or mother. If Robert hadn’t come along, she would have been content to never marry. If Kara hadn’t come along, she would have been content without children. Now that she had both, though, she wanted to keep them forever. Her love, like her cousin’s, was difficult to earn but, once ensconced, almost impossible to dislodge.

Her goal was to secure his proposal. From his initial reactions, it was obvious she had a steep uphill climb in front of her. Other women would have given it up for hopeless at the start, but this was a sedulous woman. More to the point, this was an overconfident woman. Her life had been an enormous success, and nothing seemed beyond her reach. All this success convinced her that no one could resist her charms for long, and she could be oh so charming when it suited her purpose.

In the other corner was a man who knew how central family was to happiness and how empty life was without it. He’d known and adored Jennifer for over a decade, but had never loved her, and there can never be family without love. He’d married her out of sheer desolation after she’d told him the woman he did love had married someone else. He’d divorced her because he was miserable with her. He’d held her responsible for costing him his second family with Kristen as wife and mother. Fortune and fame would avail her not with a man who had no thirst for fortune and found bitter the taste of fame. Her quest was bleak.

Jennifer was warm, loving, and even wifely to him, but Robert shunned her advances with frequent warnings about expecting love from him. He wanted a platonic relationship with her, and he managed to keep it that way for the first three months. She felt if she could move beyond that roadblock, she could move much closer to her goal.

For her design, she chose a Friday evening in January. She got a bikini wax, dismissed the nanny for the night, put Kara to bed early, and mixed a few strong drinks for her quarry. As he sat watching TV—she’d tuned it to a porn movie—in his boxers and T-shirt, she went to her room and disrobed. She wrapped a short, white towel around her, and turned it so the slit was positioned just to the left of her crotch. Every step she took would give him a tantalizing peek.

“Nice boxers,” she said with a sexy smile as she strolled through the family room toward the kitchen.

Under the well-staged circumstances, the prey was helpless: too long abstinent, inebriated, stimulated by pornography on TV, and stalked by the nymph he still considered to be God’s most glorious work of art. His eyes opened wide as they followed her across the room. Her heart quickened; she could feel his eyes on her. She turned her head to catch him staring. He lowered his eyes, but now governed by lust, he quickly returned them to her.

In complete control over him once more—and savoring it—she said, “Don’t be shy. I love when you stare at me. Do you want to see more of me?”