Binding Arbitration (33 page)

Avery ignored the introductions until he caught a glimpse of Olivia. Then he seemed torn between the sports and staring. Olivia, knowing what she was about, completely ignored him, or made him believe she did, but I caught her giving him the once over out of the corner of her eye.

Fletch and Tricia arrived as Rick was taking Vicki to the cafeteria. Tricia was beaming and Fletch’s usual stern face seemed bemused. “If you get that big, Wife, how are we supposed to do what we did this morning?”

The room’s audience suppressed their reaction until Aidan said, “If there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Then everyone erupted in laughter. Kat placed her hands over Cass’ ears and bright red spots danced on the crest of her cheeks. “I think it’s time for us to leave, Cass. Old Fart will teach you how to fish up at the retreat.”

“Okay, Mrs. Pole-ow-ski. I mean Grandma Pole-ow-ski.”

“How about Grandma Kat?”

“Okay, I like that, Grandma Kat.” Cass meandered toward Aidan and leaned in close. “When you and mommy come home, can we all have a big family dinner with Uncle Avery and everybody?”

“That’s a great idea, son. But I want you to promise me one thing. No TV.”

“No TV, got it.” He threw his arms around Aidan’s neck before he assured me that he would be a good boy. Aidan’s parents said their farewells and invited Avery to go with them, but once he had set his sights on Olivia, he wasn’t about to leave. Instead, he stood graciously, and asked her if she’d like to walk with him to Starbucks around the corner.

Nurse Kratchette sailed into the room. “Once we get the results of your blood count, we’ll get you released.”

Mr. O’Leary rushed through the door, his face buried in his Crackberry. He and Nurse Kratchette had a haughty standoff in the doorway. “You’re not allowed in a patient’s room,” she said.

Mr. O’Leary rolled his eyes. “I just came to see if we could begin on time.”

“If I don’t discharge him, will you send that pack of wolves on their way?” The nurse growled.

“He requested the press conference, Nurse Crusty.”

“Obviously, he doesn’t know what’s good for him because security said there’s hundreds of story-hounds downstairs, sniffing around for blood.” She charged out of the room.

I cleared my throat. “How many reporters showed up?”

“Last count, about two hundred, but that includes cameramen, sound, and lighting,” O’Leary replied.

“What could go wrong in a room full of reporters?” Aidan said a little too confidently.

I looked at him over the rim of my glasses. “Disaster, that’s what!”

25

UP IN THE PRESS BOX

The press, like fire, is an excellent servant, but a terrible master.
James Fenimore Cooper

Aidan (I’m a little loopy—but there’s no time like the present)

Flashes of piercing light and snapping shutters greeted me, as I followed tail of Dr. Seuss’ white lab coat to the raised platform. It was time for me to man up. Fletch was already seated, and as I passed him, he gave me a grin just cocky enough to rile me.

The bullpen, the mound, the locker room, stadiums filled to capacity… I was at ease in any one of them, but the media circus that filled all the empty spaces around me was a foreign experience. I never before felt as if the reporters wanted to slice sections of my skin off for dissection. My head was a spinning whirlpool, and my mind was being sucked into its core.

Reporters called out ‘Palowski’, ‘Band-Aid’, and ‘Aidan’, trying to get me to look at their cameras. This was the first press conference where I had my own cheering section, and I wasn’t sure if I felt better or worse that those closest to me would witness this from the front row. I preferred locker-room interviews. At least then, I had the barracudas on my turf, even if I was half naked in their midst.

The front row of the audience became crystal clear, all of my bedside visitors, with the exception of my parents and Cass, were here to shore me up. Thank God, Jeanne the clown hadn’t entered this three ring circus. Libby sat at the far end of the row, sandwiched between Tricia and Vicki. So much for her keeping a low profile, but once she knew that everyone else was going to be here, she refused anything other than a box seat.

She smiled with a hesitant glance. Fletch began with introductions, each of the physicians acknowledged the crowd as his name and title was announced. The collar of my new shirt was as stiff as a board, and every time I moved, it rubbed a raw spot along my neck. I was happy I’d look respectable, when my face was smeared across every media outlet in the country.

I had lost track of Fletch’s prepared remarks, but I heard him introduce me. “Mr. Palowski has a brief statement and then he will answer a few questions. Go easy on him, folks. He just had a major medical procedure.” Fletch glared at the crowd.

I cleared my throat, adjusted my microphone, and glanced at Libby. “Some of you may already know that I came to the hospital this morning to donate bone marrow. It was an allogeneic harvest, meaning that I share the same genetic type as the child I donated for. I was a haploid-identical match, which can only come from a parent, and only if the genetic match is at least half identical to the recipient.” A buzz rose from the front of the room crashing toward the back wall. I fumbled for air. “The recipient of my bone marrow will be my six-year-old son, Cass.”

A twitter rose from the crowd, and I’d swear wireless connections fizzled through the conference room.

“There are two things I want to briefly speak about, and then I’ll answer questions. If they’re technical questions, one of the docs will answer them.” Shutters continuously fired and the reporters bent toward the dais. “The National Marrow Donor Program is a nonprofit organization with the largest volunteer donor’s list in the United States. The registry is located in St. Paul, Minnesota, and has more than six-point-three million donors registered, and has helped to coordinate more than twenty-five thousand transplants since its founding in nineteen-eighty-six. You might think that with millions of donors more aren’t needed, but you would be wrong. Only about thirty percent of patients with treatable diseases are able to find donors from family members, the remaining seventy percent would have to find a random donor. The chances of two individuals being HLA matched exceeds one in twenty thousand. If I had those kinds of odds in my game, I’d be out of a job. I hope you will all visit the National Marrow Donor Program at
www.marrow.org
and remember that the cost of a bone marrow transplant is about a quarter of a million dollars. In light of recent events, I am setting up a charity called Cass’ Game, named for my son, and I will personally sponsor one bone marrow transplant a year for the remainder of my life. After that, I hope Cass will continue this charitable endeavor.

“I’ve learned more than any parent wants to know about Leukemia in the past two weeks.” Before I could finish my thought a flustered looking reporter jumped up and vaulted into a question. “Did you abandon your child?”

“I just recently met my son, but I knew when I went to the minors that a young woman was pregnant with my child.”

Once again cameras blinded me.

“Why hadn’t you looked for your child?”

“My sole focus was on the sport, and I was so determined to succeed that I lost track of what was important in life.”

I swallowed down hard, closing my eyes, willing my vision to clear. Each question felt like a stain on my once-impeccable public image. “I received Dissolution of Parental Rights papers, and I signed them, wishing to put the whole matter behind me. It is the only thing I’ve done in my adult life that I truly regret. I’m ashamed of my neglect in this matter.”

“So you ended your relationship with Vanessa Vanderhoff so you could have more time with your child?”

“That and he’s more fun to talk to.”

The crowd chuckled, dissipating some of the tension.

“There’s a rumor circulating that you had arm surgery at the end of the season?”

“There are all sorts of rumors floating around right now, some are true and some aren’t.”

The reporter waited for me to say more. He lost his opportunity at rebuttal when another reporter stood.

“Recently a wrongful death suit was filed against you. Did you have anything to do with the death of Sam Landscale?”

Fletch jumped up and seethed. “This press conference is about Aidan’s foundation. A man who would go to such lengths to save his son would not intentionally or otherwise hurt anyone.”

“Mr. Palowski wasn’t involved with Mr. Landscale’s death?”

I gave Fletch the calm down look before I answered. “The only thing I had to do with Mr. Lanscale’s death is that I was on the same mountain, on the same day, in the same blizzard. His death was tragic, but there were six men on that climb, and I was the only one to come out of it alive. I’ve wondered why, and now I know I was spared because a six-year old kid needed me more than the mountain did.” The reporters seemed to lurch backward, as I looked up and made eye contact with as many reporters as I could. “I’ll take the next question from Winslow O’Leary. Thanks again for setting this up.”

“Mr. Palowski, we can assume your son has Leukemia?”

“Yes, he does. I am not going to talk about the specifics of his case, but you can ask the doctors questions about Leukemia in general, and there is also information in the media packets that will be distributed as you leave today.” I thanked my lucky stars for O’Leary, with that one question he seemed to distract the vultures for a time, and I could compose myself. Fletch regained his seat, but he exchanged a look with Libby.

I answered a few questions from several local sports reporters about next season. I thought the questions were winding down, when a reporter stood and stated his name. “Albert Rothstein, from the Globe.” The Globe, as everyone knows, is a New York tabloid; the room became hushed. Up until this point, all the reporters seemed to expose their claws, but not sink them in. I had a sneaking suspicion this guy could hit a hundred-mile fast ball no matter how athletically challenged he looked. I could feel it as clearly as the seams on a ball.

“Mr. Palowski, I don’t mean to sound cruel when your son is ill, but it has come to my newspaper’s attention that this whole press conference is a cover. Isn’t it true that you’ve been involved with another man for years?”

The other reporters took affront to the New York jerk, who’d come to Chicago to accuse a hometown hero. He obviously did not understand Midwest sentimentalities, when he continued to speak. “Your ex-fiancée has stepped forward to say she was a diversionary tactic to perpetuate the belief that you are heterosexual, when in fact, you have been in love with a man for most of your adult life. Your response?”

Before I could respond, Fletch was on his feet, his voice direct and firm. “Mr. Rothstein, that is a fabrication, and if anyone prints anything of that sort about my client, I will have no other recourse than to sue for libel.” A red flush went up Fletch’s neck. I was certain that if his eyeballs didn’t pop out of their sockets, flames from his furiously flared nostrils would singe the entire first three rows.

I became still. “Mr. Rothstein, as sensational as you think this revelation is, I am not now, nor have I ever been involved in a sexual relationship with a man. I have no problem with homosexuality, but I’m heterosexual.”

“So any photos showing you in a compromising situation—“

“If you have any photos that compromise my sexuality, I would like to have them carefully examined: for fraud. As for your source, I can only say that Ms. Vanderhoff did not take it well when I ended my relationship with her. So if you received photos from her, seriously consider the source.”

“The Globe does have possession of such photos, and our experts have determined they don’t appear to be doctored.”

“I will reiterate, Mr. Rothstein, I have never had a sexual relationship with a man.” I looked around the room shooting them a confident smile. “If you continue in this vein, I’ll have no other choice than to assume you’re hitting on me.”

Mr. Rothstein pulled his eyes away from his iPad quicker than I could say lickety-split. The rest of the reporters started to chuckle before out-and-out laughter took hold of the room. Even Dr. Seuss and Libby were trying to contain smirks.

“If you want to work a legitimate salacious story, why don’t you look into Ms. Vanderhoff’s free prescription drug discount cards?” A murmur swept through the crowd, and cameras started flashing again, creating a buzz as insidious as flies on horse manure. “I have nothing else to say on the subject of my personal life, and any claims Ms. Vanderhoff has produced should be considered before publication. As a serious journalist, I’m sure you consider the source. She has been…set aside.”

“Didn’t you set aside your own child for your career? There seems to be a lot of setting aside from you.”

“In an effort to set the record straight, I’ll give you insight into my personal life. More than anyone is entitled to know. My son is a wonderful kid, and that’s because he has an outstanding mother. I am going to do everything in my power to make amends to both of them. I have every intention of standing alongside them through this difficult time. I hope they can both learn to depend on me the way they have depended on each other for so long; I hope they will let me care for them with the love and kindness they both deserve. I know you want to know all the details of this story, and I will share what I feel is necessary, but I would ask that you respect my son and his mother and their private lives. It is one matter to chase down athletes for a story, and it’s totally another to go after our families. Please remember when you cover this story that I’d set aside anything to protect them.”

I looked at Fletch who seemed to be happy with my response, when he called on Winslow O’Leary again.

“Mr. Palowski, when you said families…Are you planning to make Ms. Tucker your wife in the near future?”

I heard the question but it seemed that the focus of the room had shifted toward Libby. Even though she was seated facing away from the cameras they were snapping photos’ of her trying to capture her reaction. Her years of courtroom dramas had schooled her well. She gave no visible reaction.