Hittin' It Out the Park (6 page)

“Good morning!” the gorgeous, raven-haired woman said in a cheery voice, making Cheryl wonder how long she'd been awake. “Oh, man, what a night. Right?”

Cheryl watched as the woman scooted up to snuggle against Randy's back, and noted with satisfaction that when she did, Randy moved closer into Cheryl. And when the woman tried to once again snuggle against him, Randy actually sat up in the bed and leaned against the headboard, pulling Cheryl up with him.

“Morning,” Randy said with a self-conscious smile.

“Actually, it's afternoon.” Cheryl pointed to a digital alarm clock on the night table. “It's almost one-thirty.”

Cheryl watched as the woman languidly edged the sheets from her body, slowly exposing a pair of 38DD's, a remarkably flat tummy, a voluptuous set of hips, and an incredibly full round butt.

“Well, then,” the woman said, trailing her hand down to her pubic mound, and then playing with her clitoris, “anyone up for some afternoon delight?”

Cheryl glanced at Randy and noted the slight hardening in his expression. “No, I think we're good, Vonda,” she said sweetly. “But thanks for a wonderful night.”

Initially, surprise spread across Vonda's face, but the woman quickly composed her mouth into a little pout, and then in a baby-doll voice said, “What about you, Randy? You feel like a little playtime with me?”

Cheryl's eyes widened as a wave of rage rushed over her. “Look,” she said, leaning over Randy to get closer to the woman. “Didn't you hear—?”

“My wife said, we're good,” Randy said, cutting her off. “Baby,” he said turning to Cheryl, “Do you want to call a car service to pick her up, or would you like me to take care of it?”

“I got this, babe.” Cheryl pulled Randy into a long kiss; opening her eyes, though, to glare at the woman over his shoulder. “You wanna go hit the shower, Randy? Maybe we can go to Havenwood for a post-Valentine's Day lunch. I want to show off my new ring,” she said when they broke the kiss.

Cheryl waited until Randy wrapped himself in a plush burgundy robe, and disappeared into the bathroom before jumping out the bed, and pulling the sheets off Vonda. “Okay, up and out! Thanks for the night, but your services are no longer required.”

Vonda tugged back part of the sheet to partially cover herself as she got up. “You've got some fucking nerve trying to treat me like some kind of whore. Please remember, you approached me. I did you a favor, sleeping with you and your husband.”

“First off, you did me no favor. I may have approached you, but you are getting paid five thousand dollars for the night, bitch. So, in my book that does make you a whore.” Cheryl stood over the woman, not caring that she was totally naked in her fury. “Secondly, I wouldn't be treating you like the gold-digging whore that you are if you didn't make a play for my husband.”

“Oh, please,” the woman said, yanking on her clothes as she talked. “So, big deal, I asked him if he wanted to go another round this morning. You didn't mind last night when I was sucking his dick and you were eating my pussy, now did you?”

“Last night was last night.” Cheryl walked over and grabbed her new ring off the night table and put it on. “When I said enough was enough this morning, you should have left it at that. But no, you have to try and establish your own little relationship with him.” Cheryl sat on the edge of the chaise lounge and crossed her long legs. “That shit doesn't fly, bitch.”

“Well, it wasn't anything personal, and I'm sorry you took it that way. I wasn't making a play for your man.” Vonda was dressed now, and was pulling her purse strap over her shoulder. “You don't need to get me a car service; I'll catch a cab outside.”

Maybe the woman wasn't trying to cozy up to Randy to try and establish a side relationship—but why chance it, Cheryl thought as she watched through the window as Vonda climbed into a taxi. There was no way she was going to lose her new husband, whom she loved, and the new lifestyle that she loved just as much.

No, she reasoned, she wasn't a gold digger; after all, it wasn't money that made her take Randy home that first night. It was quite plain he didn't have any. She didn't even know he had the potential to make it to the upper economic stratosphere until after she had turned him out. If she hadn't decided to grant him a pity fuck, she wouldn't be living in a $2 million condo in trendy SoHo, wouldn't be driving a Maybach that matched his, nor would she be sporting a five-carat pink diamond that likely cost a cool $2.5 million.

True, they had pretty much gone through Randy's $5 million signing bonus. But that was okay, she reasoned; with a five-year contract with the New York Yankees, there was plenty time to put money away in savings. And since that five-year contract was worth $120 million, there was also plenty of money to save.

Cheryl still couldn't believe her luck. After Randy left the apartment she shared with Stephen that morning, he texted her three to four times a day and called her on the phone every night for an hour-long conversation—each ending with another marriage proposal.

“Cheryl, I know we haven't known each other long, but I ain't never felt like this about anyone,” he begged each night. “It's so hard to believe that someone as together as you would even want to talk to someone like me, ya know? I don't want to lose you, girl.”

It took two weeks of his pleading before she consented to rent a car and drive down to Scranton to watch one of his games. It was a ninety-degree August day, so she wore a white halter top and tight linen pants, and her hair was swept into an up-do, with a thin wisp hanging down either side of her face. Randy made a big deal of introducing her to all of his teammates before the game, and the envy on their faces was evident.

“Boy, you'd better be sure to hit a home run today in honor of this fine young filly,” his coach told Randy after shaking Cheryl's hand.

“Coach, I think I'm going to have to hit two,” Randy responded.

And he did.

It wasn't until after the game was over that he found out that Danny Archer—the sports agent who had given him the tickets to the party—had been watching from the owner's box. “Randy, you're exactly the kind of kid I want on my client roster,” Archer said, slapping him on the back. “The kind of kid I need on my roster. Sign with me, kid, and I'll guarantee you a spot on one of the majors.”

“See,” Randy told Cheryl after he signed on the dotted line, “you really are my good luck charm.”

Two days later, the baseball commissioner announced that Alex Rodriguez would be suspended for the rest of the 2013 season, and the entire 2014 season.

Cheryl attended four more of Randy's games in Scranton before the big news came in September. He and a third baseman from another farm team were being sent up to the New York Yankees.

“Can you believe it? I can't believe it,” Randy excitedly told Cheryl on the telephone. “They're only signing me for league minimum, and only for the two months left in the regular season, but that's still more than ten times what I make now, ya know?”

“Baby, I'm so proud of you!” Cheryl gushed appropriately.

“I know you are, babe. That's why I love you!” He waited a beat before adding: “Will you marry me, now?”

Cheryl emitted a heavy sigh, before giving the response she'd rehearsed for the past two days. “I don't know if that would be fair to you, Randy.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Randy demanded.

“Big things are happening for you. You're young. Do you really want to get tied down now, Randy?”

Randy was quiet for a moment, then finally said: “I don't get it. You know how I feel. I love you, girl.”

Cheryl took a deep breath. “I know how you feel right now, but what about when all this money starts rolling in, and all the girls are all over you? Are you going to be thinking, ‘Damn, look at what I'm missing?' I don't want that. I don't want you to resent me. And I damn sure don't want you cheating on me.”

“What you talking about, Cheryl?” Randy pleaded. “Man, me getting a shot at the majors is exactly that . . . a shot. We don't know if I'ma get a real contract. And all these girls you talking about . . . where are they now? They ain't sweating me now, so why would I pay them any mind later? I ain't stupid, Cheryl. You've proved you want me for me, ya know? I ain't even trynta to be thinking about someone who wants me only 'cause I mights gots some money.”

“Babe, that's what you say now—”

“Marry me, Cheryl.”

“Randy—”

“I love you, Cheryl. Marry me—”

“Randy, I'm going to have to hang up—”

“Cheryl, I love you. Tell me you're gonna marry me—”

Click.

Cheryl looked up to see Stephen standing in her bedroom doorway, eating strawberry Häagen-Dazs ice cream from the carton. “I guess that was the young country bumpkin, huh?”

“I'll thank you to not call my possible multimillionaire husband a ‘young country bumpkin,' ” Cheryl said, walking over to Stephen and sticking a finger in the carton.

“Fair enough. How about I call him ‘young country boy'?”

“That'll do,” Cheryl said, making another finger scoop.

“So, how long are you going to make ‘young country boy' wait?”

“I don't know yet,” Cheryl answered after she swallowed.

“What are you waiting for?”

Cheryl shrugged. “I'm not in a hurry.”

“Bet you'll be in a damn hurry if he gets a ten million-dollar contract,” Stephen said, taking another spoonful himself.

Cheryl laughed.

“Okay, now here's the big question,” Stephen said, waving his spoon in the air. “When are you going to give young country boy a makeover? My God, every time I see him I want to buy a pair of hedging shears and whack that shit off his head. I get the heebie-jeebies every time I think about the mess he must leave on pillows. Ew!”

“Uh-uh,” Cheryl said, wagging her finger. “No makeover yet.”

“But—”

“Trust me . . . I know what I'm doing.”

“Well, make sure you give him some diction lessons, too.” Stephen made a face, then added, “Ya know?”

Cheryl rolled her eyes and sighed. “Oh, God, why does he have to say that every other sentence?”

Since the Yankees were already mathematically out of the pennant race, Cheryl knew there was a good chance that the coach would put Randy and Arnold Vare—the other third baseman who was getting a tryout—into a few games, so he could check them out. As luck would have it, however, it was Vare who was given the first shot while Randy rode the bench.

“He made an unbelievable catch in the seventh inning,” Randy told Cheryl at the 40-40 Club, where he went with other players after the game. “It's a shame they lost, but if he keeps playing like that, I might not even get a shot at showing what I can do, ya know?”

“Hey, stop worrying!” Cheryl lightly kissed him on the cheek. “I have faith in you, babe.”

“Yeah, but if I don't get a chance to show what I can do—” Randy repeated.

“Shush!” Cheryl put a finger against Randy's lips. “I have faith that you will.”

Randy shook his head, though a smile finally began to find its way to his face. “I love you, Cheryl.”

“Good! Keep that thought.” She patted him on the cheek. “I'll be right back.”

The ladies room was only about four yards away, but Cheryl's strut toward it garnered a lot of attention. Maybe it was the Yankees team crop top, or the low-rider jeans, but by the time she made it to her destination, she had been approached five times—twice by celebrities whom she recognized.

Cheryl emerged from the bathroom stall in time to hear a petite blonde, who was putting on lipstick in the mirror, tell another woman: “Wow, did you see who arrived and was looking good? The guy that plays on the TV show,
Law & Order: SVU.”

“Shit! I thought that was him! I'm on it.” The second woman turned and ran out of the bathroom, without drying her hands or even turning off the faucet.

“Oh, no you don't, bitch! I saw him first,” the platinum blonde said, scurrying after her.

Yeah, tonight is definitely a gold-digger's payday,
Cheryl thought grimly, looking in the mirror.
So why am I sitting on a bar stool consoling a guy who might never make more than $30,000 a year when I can be pushing up on someone already worth millions?
Unable to answer the question, and unwilling to ponder it further, Cheryl headed back into the club. As she was passing a group of woman huddled together, she heard one say, “Ew, who's that guy there? I hope he's rich, because he's sure ugly as shit.” Cheryl didn't need to look and see to whom the woman was pointing; the look on Randy's face let her know that he had both heard and seen.

Without missing a stride, Cheryl walked up to Randy's bar stool, positioned herself between his legs, and drew him into a long soulful kiss—so long and passionate that it elicited first giggles, then laughter, and finally applause from the people around them.

“Thank you,” Randy whispered in her ear when she finally released his lips.

“I love you,” she whispered back in response. It didn't matter to her if it was true or not; he needed to hear it, and she figured it wouldn't cost her a dime to fulfill that simple need.

The next day the coach once again put Vare in the game, and he once again did a magnificent job on third base, making an extremely difficult out in the first inning. But then in the bottom of the inning, the centerfielder was hurt while sliding into first base. Cheryl's heart almost stopped when it was announced that Randall Alston was coming in to replace the player. Randy trotted out to first base, to no fanfare since no one had heard of him, but that wasn't to last long. As soon as he got there, he started edging toward second as if to steal. Derek Jeter was at the plate, and the pitcher should have been focusing all of his attention on that homerun hitter, but couldn't since he was continually being forced to throw to keep Randy honest. And the crowd loved it. Finally, one of the pitcher's throws to first was too low and bounced off the first baseman's glove. The man on third stole home, and not only did Randy steal second base, he also stole third.