Who's On First, page 2
IDC. They’d nicknamed him that, the fans who loved him. It stood for I Don’t Care, the character who played shortstop in the Abbott and Costello skit, Who’s on First. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, then took off his hat, gave a sweeping wave to the crowd, and limped off the field.
So that was that. He was no longer a Scorpion, no longer a shortstop, no longer a…somebody.
But he’d been right about one thing. Armand University was willing to take him back, old credits and all. Actually, they were thrilled to have him and asked if he’d be interested in acting as assistant coach to the varsity baseball team.
“Sure,” he said with a wry smile Why not?
“Oh, and one more favor?”
He eyed the chancellor cautiously.
“I understand you’ve purchased a house off campus. Would you be willing to rent out one of the rooms to a young man of my acquaintance? He’ll eventually be working out of Armand’s janitorial department, but he won’t mind helping you out for as long as you need him.”
“Helping out how?”
“Oh, doing some cooking and light housekeeping.”
“I hadn’t planned—” A cook? A housekeeper? Did the chancellor think he couldn’t take care of himself?
As if reading his mind, the chancellor murmured. “You are going to need someone after your surgery, at least for the first few weeks.”
Clance wanted to hurl something. It would probably be longer than a few weeks. He’d bounced back after the first knee surgery, not so much after the second, and even less so after the last. This one, scheduled for the beginning of the week…He sighed. As reluctant as he was to admit it, he was going to need some help.
“Mr. Newton won’t cause you any trouble, I assure you,” the chancellor was saying. “He’s quiet, doesn’t smoke, drink, or do drugs, so he wouldn’t be throwing any wild parties or having friends over who’ll keep you awake until all hours. And I understand he’s a superb cook.”
While Clancy could burn water. This proposition was beginning to sound promising, but…“Is he going to bring women home?” Clance wasn’t a prude, but he liked walking around in his skivvies in the morning, and the last thing he wanted was to expose his junk to an unexpected visitor.
The chancellor burst into laughter. “Charles Newton is gay.”
“Is he going to bring men home?” That situation was only slightly better. He was gay himself and had been out since 2004. And if anyone objected, he’d kick their ass. But people could be star struck, and Clancy didn’t have the energy to ward off unwanted advances.
The chancellor continued to chuckle. “No.”
“Can you guarantee that?” Suppose this Charles Newton’s male guest didn’t really care for him, was using him to get to Clancy? That would make them all miserable.
“You worry too much, Mr. Makem.”
“Maybe.” But he’d had reason to. “Is he going to come on to me?” Clancy blushed. “That sounds conceited but—”
“I can assure you Charles Newton has been too wrapped in his studies to show any interest in sex in the least.”
Clance narrowed his eyes. What gay man wasn’t interested in sex? “Is he asexual?”
The chancellor shook his head, and Clancy felt uncomfortable pressing for more information about Newton’s sexuality.
“Okay, fine, but is he a sports fan?” The last thing he needed was someone who’d steal his belongings and sell them on eBay or even worse, sell stories to some scandal rag. He’d known of that happening to other sports figures.
“The young man—he’s twenty-one, had I mentioned? He has no interest in sports whatsoever.”
“What is he interested in?”
“Mathematics, at one point,” the chancellor conceded, his expression abruptly saddened, and for a second, Clance couldn’t help wondering why.
He had enough going on in his own life, though; he wasn’t interested in some nerd’s problems, he assured himself. Instead, he asked, “What’s a mathematician doing working as a janitor?”
“I’m afraid that’s his private business.”
Ugh. This was like pulling teeth. “Does he know who I am?” Clancy had had plenty of people, men and women alike, claim they loved baseball in order to get close to him, only to have it turn out they regarded sports with nothing but disdain. They’d lied in an attempt to make money off his name or likeness.
The chancellor continued as if Clancy hadn’t spoken. “And of course we’d be more than willing to show our appreciation to your kindness.”
“You know I don’t need money.”
“Perhaps not, but good publicity is always welcome.”
He didn’t need publicity, good or otherwise either, but his knee was starting to ache, and what he did need was the high dose pain relievers he’d been relying on lately. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth and against his better judgement. “But I’m telling you right now if this guy causes any problems at all, I’ll boot his ass out.”
“I assure you he’ll be the model tenant.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “When can I expect Newton?”
“Would the end of the week suit? Say Friday?”
It was already Wednesday; maybe next week—No, he had his surgery scheduled for Monday. Clancy hunched a shoulder. “Looks like Friday it is, but you’d better make it around six-ish.”
“Excellent. Now get settled in. Oh, and welcome back to campus, Mr. Makem.”
“Thanks,” he muttered, and he limped out of the chancellor’s office. What the hell was he going to do? He didn’t want the guy across the hall from him, and the dormer rooms on the second floor weren’t furnished and weren’t even finished. Although he supposed he could be a bastard and make this Charles Newton buy a sleeping bag…
No, that was too cold. And besides, it wasn’t fair to the guy.
A thought occurred to him…but could it work? He considered it one way and then the other. Yeah, it could, if his friends had some free time. He’d check the Scorpions’ schedule, and if it turned out his former teammates were available, he’d give them a call.
Chapter 5
Owen Edwards sat behind his desk and drummed his fingertips on the blotter. It was interesting how the ball player jumped to the conclusion the chancellor was offering him money, when in fact the university’s appreciation would have been assistance in helping Makem pass his courses should the need arise. Well, no matter.
“Pardon me, Chancellor. Mr. Newton is here to see you.”
“Excellent.” As Archimedes had hoped, his son had contacted the university in hopes of being directed toward a paying position. He’d sent the young man a text message asking to see him. And talk about ships passing in the night. I wonder if Mr. Makem and Mr. Newton might have crossed paths in our hallowed halls. “Send him in, please, Andy.”
His secretary stepped aside, and Charles Newton entered, wheeling a large suitcase behind him and with a laptop backpack draped over a shoulder.
“Thank you for seeing me, Chancellor Edwards.” He had his hand extended.
“Not at all.” The chancellor was pleased to note the young man’s action. Very polite. Well, he’d expect nothing less of Archimedes Newton’s son. “Are you planning on moving in?” Owen eyed the suitcase.
“Excuse me? Oh, no. Sorry.” A flush colored his cheeks. “I came directly from the train station when I got your text. I haven’t had a chance to make arrangements for accommodations.”
“Ah. Please take a seat.” The chancellor observed with interest the slender young man who sank down gracefully into the chair before him. Arch’s son had left Armand shortly after Owen took over his current position. Except for his coloring, he looked a good deal like his father. Charles Newton’s dishwater blond hair made him appear even more washed out than the chancellor recalled. As for those blue eyes…pale. Very, very pale. The only thing that made them stand out were the lashes, which would have made the female of the species green with envy. They certainly weren’t what he’d expected. “How are you, Mr. Newton?”
He blinked and shrugged before meeting the chancellor’s gaze. “Please call me Charles. Mr. Newton is my father.”
Owen nodded. “In that case, how are you, Charles?”
“I’m fine, Chancellor. How are you?”
“I’m well, thanks, but I ask again, how are you?”
“I don’t understand. I told you—”
“I don’t mean physically. You were at the point of successfully defending your dissertation.”
“But I didn’t—”
“No, you didn’t.”
“—and I have no idea if I could have.”
“Bullshit.” Owen swallowed a grin, amused he’d succeeded in shocking a genius such as Charles Newton. He would have told Marie Newton that pressuring her son the way she had wouldn’t end well for any of them, but of course she’d have insisted she knew her son best. And as it turned out, she couldn’t have been more wrong. Did the woman even know the boy was gay? “You’re extremely good, Newton, and each and every one of the faculty members and professionals who’ve come into contact with you are aware of that.”
“How do you know that?”
“Academia is a small world.”
Charles Newton didn’t appear happy to hear that, but it was one of the facts of life. The chancellor hadn’t taught the young man, but the grapevine was exceedingly active where his friend’s son was concerned, and he’d kept aware of what was going on.
“I’m sorry you no longer wish to pursue your doctorate—perhaps one day you will—”
“No. I’m done with academia.”
“Very well.” He was willing to set that aside for the time being, although it would be nothing short of a criminal waste of knowledge and talent if Charles truly were done. “I’ve found something I think will help you regain your equilibrium.”
“I don’t think anything can, but for curiosity’s sake—what?”
He pretended not to notice the surliness in Charles’s tone—he could understand the young man’s distress. From what Archimedes had told him, Marie had pressured her son until the moment he’d walked out of the house. “I’m prepared to offer you a position here at Armand U.”
“A position as what? You know I refuse to teach or do research. I just can’t—” He actually sounded a touch desperate.
“No, nothing like that, although even without your doctorate, your degrees qualify you to do whatever you choose.”
Charles stared at him for a moment, then pushed himself to his feet. “Thank you for taking the time to see me, Chancellor Edwards. Good afternoon.”
The chancellor realized he’d done what he’d looked with disdain at Marie Newton for doing—pushed the young man too far.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Newton. Sit down, please.” It took a few seconds that felt longer than they should have before Charles acquiesced. “Thank you.” He decided he’d better get right down to brass tacks. “The position is not what you might expect. It’s in our janitorial department. It wouldn’t be a stressful occupation, and no one would bring up you walking away from defending your doctorate—you’d be surprised how many people work as janitors and yet have degrees.”
“What hours would I work?”
“You’d be here from eight until four, with occasional extra hours required after baseball or football games and the various social activities. And the salary and benefits are quite competitive.” He named them—they were actually being paid for by this young man’s father, but that wasn’t something he needed to know—then awaited Charles’s response.
Charles gave a helpless shrug, but at least he seemed to be thinking it over. Most scholars would resent the suggestion of taking a blue-collar job, because as good as the chancellor’s proposition was, Dr. Charles Newton would have made a good deal more at any think tank in the nation than a simple Mr. Newton could. However, Charles didn’t have his doctorate as yet, so this offer was quite good.
“From what I recall, Armand had three janitors.”
Owen couldn’t help his expression, which no doubt showed how startled he was. How was it possible Charles knew of this?
Charles continued. “Why would you need me?”
“One of our janitors will be away—he entered a lottery sponsored by the university and won a six-week, all-expenses-paid vacation. However, he needs to collect his prize within the next few weeks, and that will leave us short-staffed.”
“What’s your head janitor going to say about me turning up out of the blue?”
“As long as he has a full staff, he won’t care.”
Charles worried his lower lip before nodding. “Very well, Chancellor.” It might be reluctant, but it was a nod. “I accept the job.”
The chancellor permitted himself a prim smile. Perfect!
Chapter 6
He won’t care.
Yeah, the head janitor wouldn’t care a damn, and neither would the man Charles would be replacing. Why would they? It wasn’t likely the head janitor would have anything to do with Charles, and as for the janitor who was supposed to train him in what he’d need to do, he’d be sitting around on some beach sipping piña coladas.
It didn’t matter, though—he needed this job, like really needed it. After he’d arrived in Charlestown, he’d discovered the credit cards in his wallet were useless—not that he’d expected anything less. He’d just hoped for a little more time. Marie had probably had her personal assistant burn up the telephone lines in her rush to have them deactivated.
There was a light at the end of the tunnel, though. Once he’d agreed to the offer, Chancellor Edwards told him about the room he’d be able to rent in a house just off campus.
“It belongs to a former baseball player, Clancy Makem,” the chancellor murmured. “He attended Armand before he was chosen for the 2004 Olympics. He’s played numerous charity games here in Charlestown for the benefit of the university as well as his favorite causes. However, I’m sure you’re unfamiliar with the man.”
Was the chancellor out of his mind? Who hadn’t heard of IDC, captain of the Brookeville Scorpions and best shortstop in Major League Baseball? Charles’s mother would have had an aneurism if she’d ever discovered the reason he’d pleaded to go to Armand University was simply because his favorite team’s home field was only a couple of towns over. Fortunately, Armand’s reputation was such that she’d agreed. She wouldn’t have if she’d known he’d slip his “companion’s” leash and go to every home game he could while the man turned a blind eye to work on his own dissertation. Charles would even skip lectures if he had to, although for the most part he’d managed to arrange his classes around the team’s schedule.
Those were two of the happiest years of his academic career, during which time he earned his undergraduate degree in mathematics: computer science emphasis.
Marie insisted he attend the University of Pennsylvania to get his first master’s, but that was fine, because the program was excellent, and best of all, it only took a little more than half an hour to get to the Scorpions’ home field from campus. That had been an amazing time—he’d been noticing guys for the past few years, and the Scorpions were super-hot, especially their shortstop. Not that he’d ever have a chance with them. Charles would find a seat along the third base line, the closest he could get to Clancy Makem, and surreptitiously ogle the man. Meanwhile he’d enjoyed heckling the umpires.
His mother didn’t understand why he wanted to go to the University of Arizona for his second master’s, but something at home distracted her, and he was already enrolled before she could object, so she’d allowed it. What she didn’t know was U Arizona was only a couple of hours away from the Scorpions’ spring training camp in Scottsdale.
Unfortunately, she’d refused to budge when it came to his doctorate. It had to be Princeton, because that was where Albert Einstein had worked on a unified field theory. But his parents had given him a sweet Porsche, and he’d make the two hour drive to the home games whenever he could. And when that wasn’t feasible, he’d watch the games on ESPN.
If Marie had been aware of any of this, she would have fired Conway, the man who was supposed to be his tutor/companion but in fact had been hired to see Charles did nothing but study. Perhaps that was why, by his second year at Princeton, he was starting to burn out, and by the start of the third year, he’d become less and less interested in his thesis, until finally he decided he was done with it.
As soon as Charles told his mother he was walking away from his doctorate, Conway had been dismissed. Charles was sorry about the man, who wasn’t an awful person, although he seemed envious of Charles’s facility with his studies. He hoped Conway got a decent severance package—he was still working on his doctorate ten years after he’d been hired.
Charles pushed thoughts of Marie and Conway aside and breathed through his excitement, concealing it from the chancellor. “That should work well. I’ll be able to walk to work and won’t have to worry about transportation.”
“Excellent. And you won’t mind doing a little light housekeeping or cooking for him?”
Charles looked away, biting his lip. He was a good cook, but it was an open secret in the entire league that Clancy Makem couldn’t cook to save his soul. “I don’t mind.”
Chancellor Edwards rubbed his hands in poorly concealed glee. Did the chancellor think Charles was the proverbial nerd with his head buried so deep in books that he didn’t know when he was being manipulated? Marie Newton was an expert at it. Charles went along with her wishes for the most part, which was probably the main reason for his burning out.
“He’ll be having surgery early next week, and you’ll need to help him out.”
“I have no objection to that, Chancellor Edwards.” He’d love it! “But he is going to need help during the day. If I’m working at the university—”
“You have a point. Very well, Sanford can put off his vacation for the length of time it takes for Makem to recuperate.”
Charles blinked. “He wouldn’t object to altering his plans?”
