The Closer (10 page)

Read The Closer Online

Authors: Alan Mindell

BOOK: The Closer
9.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

While standing next to him and Terry on the left field bullpen mound in Oakland Stadium, Rick demonstrated by taking the ball and gripping it across the seams. Then he placed Billy's hand the same way. Maple, the bullpen catcher Rick had recruited earlier, crouched and gave Billy a target with his glove. The youngster wound up and fired a fastball, hitting the target perfectly.

“Great, Billy,” Rick praised.

The boy smiled his usual shy smile. Something he'd already done seemingly a dozen times since joining Terry and Rick on the field while Oakland players took batting practice. Clearly, Billy was thrilled to be there. Which in no way was diminished when Rick presented him with a new green and gold Oakland cap once they got to the bullpen.

It was well over an hour before the afternoon game with Anaheim was to begin, the second of a short homestand. Terry had wasted little time taking Rick up on his invitation to bring Billy out to the stadium. In fact, Terry had invited the entire Riley family, introducing them all to Rick prior to Billy going on the field. The workout had gone well, except for Billy experiencing brief periods of wildness, prompting Rick's suggesting the change in grip.

“Try one more, Billy,” Rick said.

The boy fired and again hit Maple's target perfectly. Except this time the ball bounced off Maple's glove. Terry glanced at Rick, who winked back, indicating he recognized what Terry discovered during previous workouts with the boy—Billy's pitches had unusual movement.

Rick shook Billy's hand before Terry walked with the youngster to the gate leading to the grandstand, where Lauren, Karen and Tammy waited. Billy quickly showed them his new cap. Then, predictably, they were all bombarded by a horde of kids seeking autographs. Even Billy was asked to sign a few before the youngsters finally dispersed.

“I'm sure Billy didn't tell you,” Lauren said to Terry once they were alone with only
her
children.

“What?”

“Today's his birthday.”

“Really.”

“We're having a little party later this afternoon. Just the kids and me at a pizza parlor near the house.”

“Nice.”

“Would you like to invite Terry?” she asked Billy.

The boy of course smiled, and then he nodded eagerly.

“Why don't you ask him?”

Billy kept smiling and nodding.

“Go ahead and ask him,” Lauren said insistently.

“C…C…Come,” the boy stammered.

“I'll be there,” Terry answered enthusiastically, realizing this was the first time Billy had spoken in his presence.

 

“Mommy, can I have another piece of pizza?” Tammy enthused.

“Sure, honey, go ahead,” Lauren replied.

“That's the last piece,” Karen interjected. “It's for Mama.”

“That's okay,” Lauren said. “Let her eat it.”

Five year old Tammy did, very quickly. Little girl, big appetite. Her brother, wearing his new cap, and sister had eaten plenty. Terry also. Only Lauren hadn't.

“Not very hungry?” Terry asked her.

“Pizza isn't my favorite dish.”

“Let me get you something else.”

“No thanks,” she said. “They don't have much else here.”

A nearby corner was devoted to video games, and their constant noise made hearing somewhat difficult. But of course, reminded patrons of their presence. Lauren took money from her purse and gave some to each of her children, who got up to go play.

“Great kids,” Terry said to Lauren now that they were alone at their table.

“Thanks,” she smiled.

The same shy smile he recalled from Billy's Little League game. He was also aware of her outfit—simple, yet attractive. Light-blue pants and blouse, with a matching sweater.

“You seem at home with children,” he said.

“I should be…I'm always around them. My own kids and at work.”

“Work?”

“I'm a social worker. In Texas I counseled teenagers. Mostly troubled kids from broken homes.”

“Are you working here?”

“No,” she answered after brief hesitation.

“Planning to?”

He wasn't sure of her reply. Partly because of the noise from the video games, partly because Tammy returned right then, interrupting them. No surprise, she had a stomach ache. Not that it kept her from ice cream after he suggested it, once Billy and Karen came back to the table.

A while later, sitting there with the Rileys, the children eating ice cream, Terry felt content—a sense of harmony and closeness, that he definitely belonged here—feelings he hadn't often experienced before. As the only child of much older parents, he'd spent a lot of time alone growing up. A circumstance that had persisted into adulthood.

It crossed his mind that he'd been lucky not to miss this little party. His game had run long, Oakland finally winning 6-5 in extra innings. If he'd had to depend on subways or buses, he'd have been too late. Fortunately, he'd followed through on his plan to rent a car after the road trip. And been able to easily locate the pizza parlor, from the directions Lauren had given him before she and the children left the stadium after Billy's workout.

“Billy checked out a library book,” Karen told Terry once she finished her ice cream. “All about pitching.”

“Oh?” Terry said.

“He wants you to come over our house and see it.”

“Let Billy invite him himself,” Lauren scolded her.

“Yeah, Billy,” Karen retorted. “Invite him yourself.”

The boy did nothing but smile.

“Go ahead, Billy,” Karen urged.

“C…C…Come over,” Billy mumbled, still smiling.

“Love to,” Terry answered, aware Billy had just uttered twice as many words as earlier, at the stadium.

 

“I'm embarrassed,” Terry admitted after Lauren sat down beside him on her living room couch and handed him a small green wrapped package.

“Why?” she asked.

“I can't accept a gift from you…when I didn't have time to get one for Billy.”

“You gave him the new cap.”

“That was from Rick. Not from me.”

“I think you had something to do with it,” she smiled. “You were the one who invited him to the stadium.
That
made his birthday special.”

“But I didn't even know it was his birthday,” he debated.

“Doesn't matter,” she said. “What matters is what you did.”

He shrugged. Then glanced around the room. The furniture was basic, even plain, yet seemed quite comfortable, chosen with care. If the little white house looked attractive externally, the inside certainly appeared very cozy.

They had arrived from the pizza parlor about dusk, more than two hours ago. Lauren had baked a cake for Billy, and she, Terry and the three children had eaten it in the kitchen, just as inviting. Then, before Lauren sent the children to their rooms to get ready for bed, Terry had sat down with Billy in the living room and looked through his book, a survey on baseball's greatest pitchers. Right after, requiring no less than equal time, Karen and Tammy insisted that Terry listen to some music tapes in their room.

“You're not going to make me open this now,” he said, frowning, motioning toward the package, which he'd set down on the coffee table in front of him.

“No,” she grinned. “You can wait till you get home.”

He gazed at her during the brief ensuing silence. At her light-colored hair tied behind her with a turquoise ribbon. At her hazel eyes. At several freckles, which lent her face a youthful appearance.

Certainly he was aware professional baseball put extra strain on any relationship with a woman. All the travel, the moving, the uncertainty. Over the years, aside from the occasional groupie, he'd had two long-term relationships. The more recent, and more serious, with Connie three or four years ago, lasted through most of two seasons before she finally gave up. Maybe, if he'd made the majors then, instead of now?

“Billy likes it when you're around,” Lauren spoke softly. “I think he gets tired being outnumbered by three females.”

“That why he's so shy?” Terry inquired, finally taking the chance to introduce that topic. “Being outnumbered by the three of you.”

“No, I don't think so. He's better with us. I think it has more to do with you.”

“Me? Why?”

“You're a man.”

Her reply startled him. What did gender have to do with it? Then, after reflecting a moment, he thought he understood. At least enough to hazard a guess.

“His father,” he said, also trying to take advantage of what seemed a good opportunity to initiate that subject now too.

“Yes.”

“They were close.”

“Yes.”

“His death…” he said carefully. “Was he sick?”

“No. Car accident. He was killed instantly.”

He shook his head.

“And I'm afraid,” she went on, “that Billy's afraid you'll disappear suddenly too.”

“How long ago did it happen?”

“Two years. Billy was traumatized…and as you can see, to some extent, still is. All it takes is a connection to his father.”

“And he connects me with his father?”

“Sure,” she sounded definite. “You're male. About the same age…baseball…”

“Baseball?”

“The usual father-son stuff. Playing catch. Going to games. Watching on television. Listening over the radio. Discussing players and teams.”

“What about the girls?” he asked. “Trauma too?”

“Not as bad for them. Tammy was very young. But they have their moments also.”

“And for you…?” he asked carefully. “Must've been horrible…”

“I'm like Billy…I don't want to talk about it much either.”

He could only shake his head again. He'd asked enough questions. And she'd answered them. Besides, he needed to let everything sink in. Plus, it was getting late; he'd had a long day and still faced the drive home.

And yet, sitting beside her, gazing at her again, he really didn't want to leave. Even in her sadness, she looked very pretty. He reached for her and pulled her gently toward him. Briefly, she nestled against his shoulder. Abruptly, she pulled away.

“Let's not,” she said.

“I'm sorry.”

“There are some more things you don't know.”

“Oh,” he said. “Want to tell me now?”

“No," she sighed. “Not now. I think we've had enough serious talk for one evening…don't you?”

He had to agree. He got up and she walked him to the door. Virtually at the same time, they both discovered that he'd left the green wrapped package on her coffee table. She went over, picked it up and gave it to him again.

He didn't wait until he got home to open it. In fact he hardly waited until he got to his car. Inside the green wrapping, he found a thick knitted woolen scarf, green and gold, of course Oakland team colors. In the dim street light, he was barely able to make out his name and baseball uniform Number 20 stitched into one corner.

Before driving off, he took one final glance at the little white house.

Chapter Thirteen

“You said you wanted to help,” Murdoch declared.

Once Terry determined whose voice was coming through the phone in his hotel room, he was surprised. Not only because the hour was late, well past midnight, and he'd already gone to bed. No, after he and Rick were caught red handed by Murdoch a week and a half ago, he was sure Murdoch would never speak to him again. And, if he ever did, certainly not this soon.

Oakland was in Los Angeles for their initial interleague series. They'd played earlier that night, a 5-2 loss, their only runs coming on a pair of Murdoch homers. Extending his consecutive game hitting streak to forty-one.

“Well,” Murdoch said, his tone clearly impatient. “You want to help? Or were you and Rick Gonzalez just blowin' smoke?”

“I'll help,” Terry answered groggily. “What you want me to do?”

“Take a ride with me.”

“Where to?”

“To Hollywood,” Murdoch replied.

 

An hour later, riding through some much deteriorated territory, Terry had distinct feelings of déjà vu. Except this time Rick wasn't here. And he, Terry, wasn't tailing Murdoch; he was sitting beside him, as his passenger. Plus instead of Boston, they were in Los Angeles.

There was another difference. Though Murdoch was in disguise, it wasn't the same one. Tonight he was a chauffeur—at least from the waist up. He wore an elegant black sports coat, black tie, white embroidered dress shirt and black chauffeur's cap. Terry might have teased him about the outfit, except Murdoch looked so serious.

“Where we going?” he offered instead.

“Told you. To Hollywood. Where we are now.”

“Why we here?”

“You'll see,” Murdoch answered. “Maybe.”

Since this line of questioning appeared futile, Terry tried a different approach.

“Hope you're not still mad at me.”

“For what?” Murdoch responded, seemingly without interest.

Other books

The Life of Lol by Andrew Birch
Stand Close 1 by Sabrina Lacey
My Cousin Rachel by Daphne Du Maurier
The Shores of Death by Michael Moorcock
First Offense by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg
Cornerstone by Misty Provencher
Instead of You by Anie Michaels