Big Leagues Page 11

  Tell that to my nerves.

  “I’m going to do you a favor and forget you said that, Eddie. I think I’m going to go home now.”

  “Maybe you think too much.”

  Her phone rang and Eddie jumped.

  Cat took advantage of his jolt to step away from him. She pulled the phone out of her purse and smiled when she saw the caller ID.

  “Tams!”

  “So you do remember me?”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t called, but I did email.”

  “I know, but I hate talking via email. It’s impersonal and I don’t feel that you get the entire Tams experience to which you have grown accustomed.”

  Eddie leaned in. “I’m gonna go, but if you change your mind, I'll be at Orpheus.”

  She watched both him and his suitcase strolling away. “Phew. You just saved me.”

  “What was that?”

  “Eddie Lopez totally made a pass at me.”

  “I knew it was only a matter of time before you bagged a baller. You could pick somebody with better stats, though.”

  Cat hopped in the Jeep and took off without a second thought. “No, it was unwelcome and really creepy.”

  She shuddered in the warm seat.

  “Libido Lopez, huh? I guess salaries and egos aren’t the only things that increase in the majors.”

  “Don’t forget tempers.” Ray Hedd came to mind.

  “I called to give you the official countdown to the end of the Bulldogs’ sucky season, only twenty days to go, which means only twenty-one days before I come see you.”

  “Yay!”

  “I figure I’ll stay for the weekend but then the Bavarian Cream Puff will meet me, adore me and appoint me Head of Ballpark Operations.”

  “Naturally. You know, if you’re serious, you’ve been at Porterville for so long, I bet you could get a job with the Chips if you tried. I sure could use an ally around here.”

  “Aw. Is it that bad?”

  “Bouvier is going to eat me for breakfast and the players are going to use my bones for batting practice. And do you remember Dustin Carlyle? He came to Porterville with Derhoff that one time?”

  “I think so … greasy brown hair and dork glasses? On the short and scrawny side? Lifelong virgin?”

  “That’s the one. He’s made it pretty clear he’s gunning for my job.” She sighed. “At least I’ve got Erich.”

  “Wait, Erich? As in, Mr. König to the rest of us peons?”

  Cat giggled. Nothing got by Tams.

  “Just so you know, last time I checked he was still a billionaire, since I know you abhor money so much.”

  “He’s different than most rich people. He’s … nice.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He is!”

  “I thought you had your claws on that babe-next-door anyway.”

  “Benji is cute.”

  “I cannot wait to come out there. Maybe your good luck will rub off on me because right now, nothing’s rubbing on me. Are you guys home from Pittsburgh yet?”

  “I’m just now pulling into my apartment.”

  “I’m sure you’re exhausted so I’ll you go, but call me soon, okay? Preferably during work hours.”

  Cat chuckled. “Deal.”

  20

  Cat jerked her luggage out of the Jeep and dropped it on the asphalt. The large suitcase had lost a wheel somewhere between taking off from Pittsburgh and landing in Vegas. Although she had carried it across the tarmac, now that the bag was soon to be retired, she had no qualms about dragging it across the parking lot and up the stairs. It banged each concrete step with a loud thud. Noting that several of the neighbors’ lights were off, she pictured them stirring in their warm beds with each thump. While she normally prided herself on her basic human decency, this was her fourth city in ten days and she didn’t have enough strength in her to be a good neighbor. As she reached the second floor, Cat saw that one apartment was illuminated. Its door whooshed open and from the frame, a bellow sounded.

  * * *

  Benji had been watching the Discovery Channel on mute for the last two hours to make sure he didn’t miss his neighbor’s homecoming. A dull thumping distracted him from the closed captions, and he rushed out to the hallway. “You’re home!”

  His level of enthusiasm wasn’t matched. “I’m home.”

  He frowned. “Rough trip?”

  She lifted her suitcase and showed him the broken wheel. “That’s what I get for buying this out of a van in the mall parking lot.”

  He picked up the wobbling suitcase. “Let me help you with that.” He squinted at the crooked label that clung to the canvas by a single pin. He grinned and looked up. “Sunsonite. Nice.”

  Shifting the suitcase to his other arm, he handed her a rolled up magazine and several letters.

  “Got your mail, too.”

  “Thanks again.”

  She unlocked the door and closed her eyes as the cool blast of air-conditioning washed over them. “You can come in, if you promise to ignore all the unpacked boxes.”

  “Ah, still unpacking. I was hoping you were building a fort.”

  She pointed to the couch. “Just put the bag over there. Or chuck the damn thing out the window, your choice.”

  He placed the suitcase on the cushions. “Oh, don’t blame the Sunsonite. It’s probably not made for travel. It’s one of those closet-only kind of suitcases.”

  She filled a teakettle with water and flipped the stove’s dial to high. Benji joined her in the kitchen.

  “So? How was the trip?”

  “You know, I thought being a professional sportswriter would be all glamorous. A new city every three days to explore.” She sighed. “As with the city I’m in now, there’s no time.”

  “I assume you haven’t Viva’d Las Vegas yet?”

  She shrugged. “No, but it’s okay. I’m not really into the whole nightclub scene anyway.”

  “Oh, Cat, no. There’s a lot better things to do in Vegas than gambling and strip clubs.”

  She raised an eyebrow, and he smiled mischievously. “Well … gambling, anyway.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I’m serious. There’s Red Rock, Lake Mead, the Toiyabe Forest.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. The sandstones, the wildlife, the foliage … You’d fall in love.”

  “That does sound nice. Maybe I’ll ask you for a tour when the offseason comes around.” She raised her hands in front of her and spread them apart to form an imaginary banner. “The real Las Vegas.”

  “Just say the word and I’ll show you mine.”

  She averted her eyes and bit her bottom lip.

  He cringed. “Uh, Vegas, that is. My Vegas. Not my— Vegas. The city. I’ll show you my city of Las Vegas.”

  She giggled. “Deal. Right now, all I want to do is hop into bed.”

  They shared an awkward moment again. She put her hand to her forehead and looked up with a blushing smile.

  “M-my bed, I mean. Sleep. Much needed sleep.”

  They both shook their heads in amusement. She turned around to answer the whistle of the teakettle. She reached for two cups and the decaffeinated tea bags.

  “Between writing the pregame previews and the postgame recaps, not to mention following the actual games, I barely had time to sleep.”

  She handed him a teacup.

  “Hmm.” He twirled the tea string. “Too bad you’ve got to watch the games. Probably no getting out of that, huh?”

  She shot him a playful glare and took a sip. “Not so much.”

  “Do you ever get a day off?”

  “Only if the players do. Most of the time not even then. Just because there isn’t a game, doesn’t mean transactions aren’t being made. You know, players going on the DL, trades, that kind of thing.”

  “The news never sleeps.”

  “You got that right.”

  “Well, you get personal days, right?”

  She leaned against the fridge and
her eyes flipped to the ceiling. “Personal days. I think I read something about those. I assumed they were a myth.”

  “Oh no. I knew a guy who knew a guy who took one.”

  “I guess I could. Then I’d have to worry about what backstabbing tricks the reporter underneath me would try to pull. He wants my job. Or wants me dead. Only time will tell.”

  Benji brushed his dark hair off his forehead. “What’s this? You already have an arch nemesis?” He placed his teacup on the counter and sat on one of her barstools. “It’s been, like, two weeks. That’s pretty good.”

  She pulled out the other chair and joined him at the counter. “Ugh. He’s annoying, but trust me, he’s no, um, Lex Luthor? He’s a diabolical one, right?”

  Benji waggled his eyebrows. “Uh, only if you consider engineering an atomic death ray or building an army of supervillains diabolical. If you don’t, then, well, I have to ask, what exactly is your definition of diabolical?”

  “Dustin’s not in death-ray territory. Yet. Give him a day without supervision and watch out, Metropolis.”

  Benji rested his head on his hand and gazed at her with a smile. “Well, when’s the next rest day?”

  She grinned. “Tomorrow! No game. No work. I can’t wait.”

  Benji cleared his throat. “Say, Cat …”

  She looked up from the book of coupons she had been perusing.

  “Have you been to the—”

  Da-da-da-dut-da-duh … Charge!

  She bit her bottom lip. “Sorry, that’s my cell. Just a sec.”

  He nodded.

  She hopped up and pulled the phone from her bag, silencing the song. When she spotted the caller ID, she groaned: “Hohenschwangau Stadium.”

  Benji peeked at his watch.

  “This is Cat … Yeah … W-what? Dustin, I just got home … Well, who told you to stay late? I haven’t even unpacked … Emergency? W-what kind of emergency? Okay, okay. I’m on my way.”

  She snapped the phone shut, and Benji shot her a look of sympathy. She shook her head. “So much for my off day. Apparently there’s some sort of emergency and the entire staff is being called back to the office.”

  Benji’s forehead creased. “Emergency? Like a baseball emergency? What does that even mean?”

  “It could be anything. Scheduling change? An injury? A blockbuster trade?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Benji, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. Can we pick this up another time?”

  He stood up and waved her off. “Of course. Sorry about the day off.”

  “You said it yourself—the news never sleeps, right?”

  She glanced down at their steaming cups of tea, sighed, and slung her bag over her shoulder. Benji followed her as she hurried out the door.

  21

  The parking lot was jammed full. You would think it was two hours before game time rather than midnight on an off day.

  “Hey, Winston, any idea what’s going on?”

  The usually chatty guard merely shrugged his shoulders and lifted the gate. After parking in the first spot she could find, she hopped out of the Jeep and headed to the tunnel. A set of headlights twirled around the row of cars and sped toward her. She had to jump out of the way as star slugger Brett Hable’s black Corvette swung into his parking spot.

  The players were called back, too?

  Cat picked up her pace. During the six-month season—not counting a month of spring training—the players had a total of twenty days off to spend with their families. The organization had drawn up a list of commandments they gave out with the front office manuals, and number six was as clear as the other nine: players are not to be disturbed on a rest day. Not for payroll questions, not for legal updates and definitely not for promotional purposes. The only exclusion was for transactional moves and even then, communication went through the player’s agent. With the trade deadline looming, Cat’s best explanation for the midnight meeting was news of an epic deal about to go down. Now, seeing how the sixth commandment had been broken, she had a grim feeling the spontaneous summit was not to announce a new starter to the lineup.

  She walked into the crowded lobby and saw every member of the organization she’d met in the last two weeks: the clubhouse manager, the players, the coaching staff, the trainers, the administrative staff, the lawyers, the scouts, the special assistants, the advisors, the accountants, the interns, the secretaries, the grounds crew, even the off-duty security staff. Each department split up and formed small cliques around the lobby. She snuck over to the media relations crowd.

  “What’s going on?”

  Dustin, who had his back to her, didn’t even bother to turn around. Kiara, her gray UNLV tank top and sweatpants providing a stark contrast against everyone else’s business attire, shook her ponytail from side to side, her dark eyes wider than usual. The rest of the group offered nothing more than worried shrugs. Cat shifted from side to side, scowling at the heels torturing her throbbing feet. They were normally her most comfortable pumps, but after a cross-country flight, even kitten heels had fangs.

  As the congregation grew, one man was visibly absent.

  “Mr. König was the one to call this meeting, right?” Cat whispered.

  Before anyone could answer, the elevator chimed. Erich König swept into the lobby, the team doctor and the head of security trailing behind him with hurried footsteps. Erich’s tie was loose around his neck and, for the first time since they had met at his casino, Cat saw the team’s owner without a suit jacket.

  “Everyone, thank you for coming. I am sorry for interrupting your evening and calling you back at this late hour. However, I am even more apologetic to be the bearer of this news. There has been a tragedy in the Chips’ family. We just received word that …”

  All eyes remained on Erich König as he pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and dabbed the corners of his eyes. His once undetectable accent had emerged as he haltingly clipped each syllable and the Ws disappeared from his “vords.”

  “Excuse me. We just received word that beloved outfielder, Jamal Abercromby, went into cardiac arrest on his way home this evening. He veered off the road and paramedics were notified by the emergency response system in his car. I am afraid by the time they arrived on the scene, it was too late.” Erich dabbed his eyes again. “He is dead.”

  The room’s collective gasp was followed by a gap of silence. Stricken by the loss of one of their own, the group of players broke first. A few sobs rang out. Many stood with mouths agape, the color drained from their cheeks. Tears ran down faces. Jamal’s fellow outfielders sunk to the ground and buried their heads in their hands.

  Each of the faces of Cat’s media colleagues shared the same expression as her own—a ghastly mix of disbelief and dread. Dustin stared down at the floor and had yet to bring his head up.

  “I know, my friends, this is terribly distressing. I am certain everyone is stunned, as are we. Dr. Goodall is assisting the team of investigators to expedite this painful process and we will, of course, keep every one of you apprised of the information we receive. The Abercromby family is planning the arrangements and there will be an announcement forthcoming on the dates.”

  Numerous heads nodded helplessly. Erich directed his moistened eyes to her. “Catriona?”

  Her head shot up.

  “Before you leave tonight, could you write a statement for the public? Include the very basic information, nothing further. Until the investigation concludes, we should keep his heart attack classified. Please, request respect for his family during this time.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  He directed his attention to the next group. “Public Relations, you will release Catriona’s statement to the appropriate media outlets.”

  Their response was to set their heads in motion like a circle of bobbleheads.

  Cat leaned over to whisper to the group, “Just give me an hour to draw it up.”

  Erich König turned to the players. “Grief counseling will
be available over the next week. I beg each of you to take advantage of those services.” Addressing the rest of the baffled faces, he said, “I have nothing further. Everyone, please exercise caution on your journey home tonight. Also, bitte, bear in mind that for the time being this is a private matter.”

  The group filed out, their murmurs rising in volume.

  “Cat, do you want me to stay?” The glassy-eyed intern tugged on Cat’s sleeve. “I can help you.”

  She turned and gave her a gentle pat on her bare shoulder. “Oh no, sweetie. Thank you. You’re not even getting paid for this. Why don’t you go home, get some rest? There’s not a whole lot to do right now anyway.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, you go. I’ll definitely need your help tomorrow, though, okay?”

  Kiara rubbed her eyes. “Okay. Bye, Cat.”

  Cat shuffled to the elevator with a few other employees. The ride up to the fourth floor was silent.

  After staring at the blank computer screen for several minutes, Cat put her fingers to the keyboard. They froze. She drew them back and tried again.

  Nothing.

  Stifling a yawn, she placed her hands once more on the laptop keyboard. Finally, a soft clicking broke the silence.

  Chips’ rookie outfielder Jamal Abercromby died early Friday morning after his car skidded off Townsend Road in Spring Valley. More details will follow as they are released by the authorities. The Chips organization is greatly saddened by this sudden tragedy and respectfully requests thoughts and prayers for the Abercromby family.

  She e-mailed the generic statement to Public Relations and waited for a confirmation. Minutes later, her message alert beeped.

  “Thanks, Cat. I’ll send this off to all the major sports networks. Word of warning: they’re vultures. They’re not gonna let this one rest until they know everything. Privacy be damned.

  —Chris

  Cat stretched out her stiff legs.

  It’s gonna be a long night.