Love's Home Run, page 42
The guard posted at the door to the Crowns clubhouse, patted Jack on the back , as he had done each player that walked past that day.
“One game at a time, New,’’ the guard said. “One at a time.’’
Jack entered the locker room, and was surprised to hear rap music blaring from Bryant’s portable CD player. The room was loud and vibrant. And, for the first time in years, Oscar was there before him, in uniform.
“We ain’t losing to these asswipes ever again,’’ O said as Jack reached his locker.
Floyd came over just as Jack had begun to undress. He was not carrying his bible. “How you feel?’’
Jack nodded. “I feel good.’’
“I feel like beating some sinners,’’ Floyd said. “That’s how I feel.’’
Jack’s eyes followed Floyd across the room, he saw that Mike was banging his head on the cement wall inside his locker.
Floyd turned in the finest pitching outing by a Crowns hurler that season in Game Four. He shut out the Trojans for 10 innings. He struck out Cris three of the four times he batted, the other time he got him to ground out meekly. Each time he got Cris out, he would uncharacteristically pump his fist in the air.
Mike won the game with his bat, his mouth and his anger. Anytime the Trojans seemed on the verge of scoring, Mike would bark at his teammates. Then, in the tenth inning, with the game scoreless, he broke up the tense, pitching duel with a home run. When he hit the ball, a high arching shot into center field bleachers, the stadium erupted. The sound was more of a delight to the players than the hit. They mobbed Mike at home plate, slapping his helmet as hard as they could. The 1-0 victory sent the two teams back to Los Angeles for the fifth game.
After the game, most of the Trojans shrugged off the win. They had the collective thought that the proud ex-league champions had to win one game home before being dethroned.
Cris told reporters that the Trojans didn’t mind losing.
“We just want to clinch the series at home in front of our fans,’’ he said repeatedly.
Cris would not get another hit in the series.
The Crowns won game five, 6-3, behind Mike’s suddenly hot bat. He set a league championship record with seven consecutive doubles during the course of two games.
The teams flew back to Portland, and the fans in Adkins were never silent in a thrilling 5-3 Crowns victory that tied the series at three wins apiece. Their loud cheering seemed to rattle the already nervous Trojans. Jack had his best game of the series with four hits, including the game winner in the bottom of the eighth. With the score 3-3, and runners on second and third, Jack hit a pitch he was fooled on between the second and first basemen to score both runners.
The game to decide who would play the Gamblers, who had destroyed a decent Maine baseball team in four lopsided games, was played in front a record crowd in Los Angeles. LA’s best pitcher was on the mound and Cris had guaranteed a victory for the Trojans.
But Portland had regained its pride and spirit. Each starting player had at least one hit. Oscar’s three hits were homers, and after each one he did a dance around the bases.
The Crowns won easily, 13-3.
The Crowns celebration was short. After the last out, a grounder to Pugsley at second, they hugged one another, slapped high-fives, and then dodged debris from the disappointed Trojans fans on their way into the dugout.
The clubhouse was draped with plastic to protect the players street clothes from champagne. But the Portland players that had been around for the disappointing losses to Las Vegas knew better than to celebrate now. The veterans only wanted to party hardy after knocking off L.V.
The younger players, though, and those veterans new to Portland like Howie, who thought a trip to the World Series a big deal sprayed champagne on their teammates and raised a ruckus in the locker room. The cameras were on Oscar, the series Most Valuable Player for the third time in his career. Print journalist hovered over Jack, and he gave short answers. They tried to get him to comment on Cris, then Djuana, but he refused.
Don whistled him over to the showers when the reporters’ questions died down.
“I got us some Trojans juice,’’ Don said, presenting two bottles of champagne.
Jack smiled, “Where you get them?’’
“The losers, bro’. Them scumbags won’t be needing it.’’
The two men sat under an idle shower and drank the sparkling, dry grape juice. The sound of heels on the tiles was lost in the whooping of their teammates in the locker rooms. Don saw the woman walk toward them, her hips shifting with the swinging of her arms.
Jack heard the heels, turned his head, and saw the long legs first. On those long, creamy ivory legs were sheer white stockings, and a short sheath dress revealed all. Jack unconsciously licked his lips, and immediately felt guilty, then angry.
“Congrats,’’ Kris’ voice was pleasant and her smile inviting. “I didn’t think you guys could do it again.’’
Don struggled to get up from the wet floor. He wiped off his uniform pants, then reached down to get his bottle.
“I’ll be inside,’’ he said to Jack. He walked past Kris, turning up the bottle and letting his head fall back.
Kris leaned against the cold, tiled wall, her hands shielding her beige skirt. “I tried calling you in Portland.’’
“Bullshit.’’
“True.’’
Kris took in a deep breath of the damp air. “I kept hanging up because that woman was answering.’’
Jack took a hearty swig. “Ah huh.’’
“Don’t hate me, Jack. I don’t want that.’’
“Whatever.’’
“I’m going to take a job here in Los Angeles covering the Lakers.’’
Jack drank some more.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I caused you any pain.’’
“Apology accepted.’’
“If you ever needed me, Jack, I’d be there. I don’t think I’d ever lose my feelings for you.’’
Jack slapped his palm on the moist tiles, and braced his body as he stood. “I gotta go.’’
Kris grabbed him, hugging into his ribs from the side, her head on his right shoulder. Jack looked away, feeling the effects of the alcohol.
“Kris, let me go.’’
“I love you, Jack. Please don’t hate me.’’
“I don’t. Just let me go.’’
“I can’t,’’ she slid her body into his chest, squeezing the gray jersey tighter. “When you walk away you’re gone. I know that.’’
Jack sighed through his nose, “Kris, let me go.’’
“I will, after you hug me.’’
Jack looked to the ceiling for help. He wrapped his arms around her, and she cried softly.
Slight called Len Canisa from his limo on the way to the airport. He fought his giggling long enough to declare, “We’re baaaack!’’
“Welcome back to the show, Vinny,’’ the owner of the best team in baseball said solemnly.
“Oh, I’m back! And I’ve got the best team ever waiting for your spoiled, overpaid humps.’’
“Vinny, please. I sent my boys to Hawaii for the three days it took you to finish LA. We knocked out Maine in four easy games, if you hadn’t heard. My boys didn’t break a sweat.
“You think they are not ready?’’
“Oh, I hope so. We’ve got something for you.’’
“What? What do you have? Don’t tell me Danny and Floyd? Those two can’t pitch to my team. You have no offense. New and O, and that’s it. You had better give Mike a drink.
“Vinny, I’m begging you. Don’t bet me.’’
“Los Angeles thought the same thing. You see where they are? Shit, we were the first team in history to come back from a three-game deficit in the playoffs.’’
“Vinny, goomba, we are not Los Angeles. We are not scared of your team.’’
FORTY-FOUR
Djuana was surprised to be invited to Las Vegas for the first two games of the World Series. She had thought Jack would consider her a distraction during the biggest games in baseball. But she was proud when he told her he needed her there. She vowed to herself to be as quiet as a church mouse, and to not give him any sex...no mater how he begged.
She flew with the team into Las Vegas the day of the first game, a blisteringly hot Saturday. The Crowns stopped at the hotel for less than an hour, then it was off to the Money Dome. She enjoyed the bus ride past all the casinos. The city was lit up in the early afternoon, and Djuana was impressed. Jack let her sit in the window seat of the bus, expecting she would like the lights and action of Las Vegas Boulevard.
“If you want to check out the sights, you can,’’ Jack said. “I’m sure some of the other wives will be going out after the game.’’
“You going?’’
“No. The players will be under tight curfews.’’
“I’m not going without you.’’
Jack took her hand, “We’ll come back after the series.’’
Djuana was amazed at how big an affair the World Series was. The players’ wives and family were seated in the same small section, some 10 rows from the Crowns third base dugout. Directly across the field were the Gamblers’ wives. Djuana was pleased to sit next to Liela and her three daughters. Liela took Djuana under her wing, telling her how the cameras were fixed on them, and how television would show her reaction to every thing, good or bad, Jack would do.
“Just be real, that’s all I can tell you. Some of us aren’t,’’ Liela’s eyes fixed on Bobby Lyle’s glamorous wife. She was light skinned, slim, long hair and nails and was wearing diamonds on each hand and gold chains around her left wrist and neck.
“You’ll see when the game starts,’’ Liela continued, dragging Djuana’s attention back. “How all of a sudden we have actresses on this row.’’
The Money Dome was beautiful. Its roof had dark, golden rafters from which 11 championship banners hung, along with the numbers of former great Las Vegas players. The seats, including the armrests, were cushioned. The cement ground and stairs glittered with imitation gold dust. Most of the Gamblers’ fans seemed well to do, dressed extravagantly and spreading big dollars around. They had to be, Djuana reasoned, the price of food at the dome was exceedingly high.
“Do you see how much they want for a hot dog?’’ Djuana asked Liela.
“What? Three fifty, right? Disgusting. I don’t now why these people pay it.’’
“I guess they don’t have a choice.’’
“We do. The Gamblers will have food brought to us three times during the game, and unlimited pop.’’
“That’s the big difference between the owner of the Gamblers and Slightly rich, as I call him,’’ Liela clued Djuana in. “Everything here is first class.’’
Emma had a huge party at her house for the opening of the World Series. She wasn’t a sports fan, but she did watch the championship of just about every sport. Tia and Marla helped her with the cooking, Cal, of course helped with selection of the booze. Family and friends crowded around the two 27 inch televisions in the living room, with chips and popcorn all about. When the game began, the ladies were still frying chicken.
In the living room, they watched the pre-game show, falling silent when the interview with Jack began. NBC showed clips of Jack and Djuana in the hospital, and the reporter spoke of true love.
“On paper, Jack, this seems to be the worst season of your career,’’ asked the charming and beautiful Amber Marie.
“I hope Jack don’t screw her!” Cal chuckled.
The others hushed him.
Jack, sitting on a stool near the Crowns dugout in Las Vegas, calmly replied, “No. I don’t see it that way. I didn’t hit as well as I had in the past, but here we are in the Series again. I get hot now, and we win, nobody remembers what I did all year.’’
“What about the fact that you haven’t hit a home run this year for the first time in your career?’’
“Please!’’ Tia injected, from the doorway leading to the kitchen. “Why are they always talking about home runs?’’
“Shhhh!!’’
Jack said, “There are a lot of players in this Series that haven’t hit a homer this year.’’
“None better than you,’’ Amber retorted.
“Word up!’’ Cal shouted. He popped his friend a high-five. “Shit, what the man had been hitting 25 to 30 homers a year, now he has none?’’
“Shut up, Cal!’’ Emma barked. “You ain’t no genius!’’
The room fell silent in time for Jack’s reply: “I hit the biggest home run of my life when I met Djuana Pioneer.’’
Before the game began, two bands played a few of their tunes on the infield while showgirls danced. Afterwards, the entire Sounds of Blackness gospel ensemble performed “The Star Spangled Banner’’ to a roaring ovation.
Djuana enjoyed the players’ introductions. First were the Crowns, and most of them were booed. All of the wives stood and cheered. Djuana took this opportunity show everyone how proud of her man she was. Liela and the girls cheered with her, and she also cheered loudly with them when Don was announced next.
After the Crowns, the Money Dome went dark; all the lights shut off. Then a laser show began with the pumping bass line from the rap song, “Punks Jump Up to Get Beat Down’’ in the background. The announcer bellowed, “And now. Your Worrrrld Champion Gamblerrrrrrs!
“It’s on!’’
The roar of the crowd was deafening; as if the Money Dome was hollow. Djuana had to cover her ears, she had never heard a crowd explode so suddenly. The Cruz girls giggled and followed her lead. The Gamblers, in white satin uniforms with gold and black trim, came waltzing out of the dugout one by one as their names were shouted with zest.
“Welcome to the World Series,’’ Liela shouted, and Djuana had to focus Liela’s lips to hear her.
The Crowns went down in order in the first inning. Then, the Gamblers went to work. Danny walked the first batter, the next guy singled, and the number three hitter homered. The noise in the dome was louder than the introductions. The Crowns were down by three runs instantly.
Danny tried a curve to Bingo, and he rocked it. The ball went into the third deck of bleachers, some 500 feet away. Only the ninth ball ever hit there. The next batter waited until the cheering calmed before he stepped into the batter’s box. This angered the already pissed off Danny. He had wanted to strike out Bingo badly.
When the batter was ready, Danny fired a fastball off his helmet, knocking the tall, slender hitter to the ground. Both dugouts emptied in an instant. Danny immediately dropped his glove and came off the mound. He waited for someone to come his way. And when someone did, he hit the guy.
Jack was fighting with the first player in white he ran across, when someone hit him from behind. He looked back to see Bingo hit him again. Before he could get up, Bingo shoved him and three other Gamblers pounced on him. They didn’t get in too many hits before Jack’s teammates came to his aid.
When the umpires finally got the field cleared, separating the men in white and gold from those in gold and gray, they ejected four Crowns, including Jack and Danny, and only two Gamblers, neither a starter. The batter Danny hit had to be taken out in an ambulance.
Djuana stood on her chair to see when Jack tumbled over and three players covered him. Liela noticed the blood on his jersey first, and she looked to Djuana, to find her crying.
“He’s bleeding, oh my God,’’ she stepped down, her hands shaking.
Liela held her arm and forced her to sit. “He’s okay. He’s fine. You see he’s walking, right.’’
“Oh, my God. Did you see how those guys jumped him. The Gamblers ain’t nothing but thugs!’’
“Djuana, these teams don’t get along, at all.’’
The Gamblers won the game easily, 9-0. Lee pitched his usual fine game during playoff time. He toyed with his ex-teammates, none able to touch his fastball or slider.
Djuana fumed throughout, as did most of the women she sat with and the Crowns players. She couldn’t wait until the game ended to see for herself that Jack was okay. She patiently waited for Liela and the girls, though, and then they went down to the bus together. She greeted the players as they walked by her, no smiles exchanged. When Jack appeared his swollen lip took her aback. She grabbed him into a fierce hug. She felt her tears when her eyes closed in his embrace.
“I hate those bastards,’’ she whispered in his ear between kisses.
Jack smiled. “Yeah, only their mothers love them.’’
“They jumped you like they were in an alley somewhere.’’
“I know, baby,’’ Jack wiped her cheeks. “But payback is a bitch, and she’s on her period.’’
Game Two on Sunday evening was no better for the Crowns. Jamie McLennon’s sinker was working to perfection, and beat them for the fifth consecutive time in World Series play, 3-1. Jack had three of the team’s five hits and he was playing determined. Floyd pitched well, and the defense behind him sparkled, but his one mistake, a belt-high fastball that Bingo crushed for a two-run home run, was too much for his teammates to overcome.
The plane ride home was silent, except for Floyd reading a passage on courage from his bible. Djuana laid in Jack’s lap, but did not sleep on the late night flight. The Crowns flew out Sunday night, Slight wanted his team out of Las Vegas as soon as possible. The Gamblers didn’t come to Portland until Tuesday; Game Three was on Wednesday night.
On the flight, her head nestled into Jack’s lap and legs bent in the seat towards the window, Djuana daydreamed about Jack winning the games single-handedly and Slight loving him for it. Giving him a big bonus and signing him for life so they would never have to move out of Portland. They could get married, buy another house; Djuana did not want to make Jack’s home theirs...too many memories.
