Love's Home Run, page 43
Jack looked down from the television to Djuana on his lap. They were sitting on the couch, watching yet another rented movie. Going out in public without being disturbed was becoming more and more taxing.
He ran a finger over Djuana’s wrinkled forehead, “You okay, baby.’’
“Sure,’’ she turned her head up to see Jack’s face. “But do you realize we are supposed to be marrying in less than a month?’’
“Shit.’’
“You forgot? That’s okay. It has been hard to think about with the World Series and all.’’
Djuana closed her eyes and buried her head deeper in his lap. She tightened her grip on his thigh. “Maybe we should just cancel it for awhile.’’
“No, I don’t want to.’’
Djuana’s eyes opened. She exhaled a silent sigh of relief.
“Naw,’’ Jack said. “We’ve got time.’’
Djuana watched Jack spin one of his patented smiles, but it didn’t comfort this time. He kissed her frown.
“Jack, how am I going to have enough time to get my dress, the bridesmaid dresses and plan this right.’’
“You want to push it back? Maybe the spring?’’
“I don’t know.’’
“Listen, you can do this, I know you don’t want to do it alone, but I can’t be of any help until after the Series.’’
Worry kept Djuana’s frown alive.
“Maybe I should hire help.’’
“If you want to, I surely don’t mind.’’
“I don’t know,’’ Djuana gave in.
“Relax, baby. We’re going to be all right.’’
When Wednesday came around the city came alive with Crowns fever. The color burgundy was everywhere. T-shirts, pants, sneakers, blouses, skirts. Anything that could be worn. In grocery stores and in the malls, also at the Adkins, yellow hand cloths were being handed out for free.
Djuana remembered October days like this, when any clothing item the color burgundy would sell from DeLux’s. She had always thought the people to be a bit overboard with their love of the Crowns. But now she understood after seeing Los Angeles and Las Vegas stand behind their ball clubs.
Throughout the morning, as Djuana drove around downtown, cars blew their horns at the Pathfinder and waved or pumped their fists, and pedestrians approached when she stopped. People shouted encouraging words at Djuana, even after finding no Jack Newhouse in the ride.
She picked up Tia from the Square before noon for an afternoon of shopping for the bridesmaids dresses. Tia did not take for granted that she would be the maid of honor, and took the responsibility seriously. From the moment Djuana had asked her, the night Jack proposed, Tia had been making sure Djuana kept an agenda and stuck to it.
“Damn, this year is crazier than any,’’ Tia said as she got in the truck.
Djuana shook her head, “I guess it seems that way because we never were a part of it before.’’
“Yeah,’’ Tia nodded, “And, you know, the city hates Bingo Wells and Lee Spencer for trading. Not so much Lee though. He didn’t want to leave, I hear.’’
Djuana smirked as the Pathfinder joined traffic, “How you know all this?’’
“I read the papers. I listen to the news. I’m there.’’
Tia dug through her school bag. “I got some ideas from that magazine you gave me.’’
“Really?’’
“Yeah. And Mable’s Fabric is having a big sale.’’
Djuana swerved the Pathfinder across the lines, into the left-turn lane. She flicked on the indicator and wheeled the truck down Ninth Avenue. People in the crosswalk waved heartily. Djuana smiled and waved.
“You a star, girl.’’ Tia gushed playfully.
“Not even. All day people have been aching’ to get a look at Jack.’’
“Hookers too, huh?’’
“Of course! Some little young floozies tried to roll up, but stopped in their tracks when they saw me.’’
“Oh, you didn’t smile and wave at them, eh?’’
“Not.’’
Djuana slowed at a light, and found herself looking for people to wave to.
“You think Mrs. Spencer can have all these dresses ready?’’ Djuana wondered aloud.
“I think so. Her daughters will help her. Besides, she’ll be getting paid up front for a change.’’
“Yeah,’’ Djuana chuckled.
She turned the truck into a packed lot off Morrison, the first one they approached.
Tia pointed out the neon “full’’ sign above the attendant’s stand. “This place is full, Dee.’’
The attendant leaped out of his seat when he saw them pull in. He raced over to the Pathfinder. Djuana eased down the window, lightly touching the button.
“Do you have any space?’’
“Sure,’’ the young man said, with a hint of a Spanish accent and a pleasant smile. “Just put it over here, Mrs. Newhouse.’’
Djuana turned to Tia and stuck her tongue out.
“Spoiled,’’ Tia smiled.
They parked in a spot reserved for the owner of the lot.
Two blocks down Morrison, the ladies stopped in front of Stephanie’s, an African American owned bridal shop. One by one, the bridesmaids arrived. Djuana selected Marla, Charlotte, Anesa and Liela Cruz to be in her bridal party. Liela was an easy choice, she and her husband loved Jack, and they were the first to make her feel a part of Jack’s life in baseball.
Charese, who was promoted into Djuana’s spot at DeLux’s, was not thrilled to be left out. She would be more upset when she wasn’t invited to the wedding.
Djuana asked Pamela to be in the wedding, but she politely refused.
“I will not be a bridesmaid,’’ she explained. “It’s bad luck.’’
Instead, she offered a sharp discount to do the hair of all the women involved, and Djuana’s free.
The women entered Stephanie’s with no collective plan. Djuana knew what she wanted, and all the women had different ideas. Only Marla agreed with the color scheme; or at least she didn’t complain. Four hours later the women settled on the dress Tia had that selected, even though hers would be slightly different.
The dress was off the shoulder with a modest Princess neckline. It was fitted to the ankles, had a slit on the right, cut to the mid-thigh. It was made of raw silk, and Stephanie had six of them in forest green.
Surprisingly, not much altering had to be done. Tia was tall for her dress, which was nearly the same, just that it had a white shawl collar, and came with opera-length gloves.
Liela had the most difficult time being fitted. She had more hips and breasts than any of the women had. She thought the final dress made her look hippie.
“It doesn’t look right on me,’’ she said into the mirror.
“Lord, you look great,’’ Tia said. The other women nodded in envy.
“How many kids you have? Shit, I better go get pregnant so I can gain some ass.’’
The women laughed and touched.
“She’s right,’’ Djuana added. “You’re beautiful, and you got a figure. No belly.’’
The ladies did agree, however, to purchase white shoes and dye them the color of the dresses.
Djuana treated her assembly to a late lunch at Hunan’s, two blocks away. They laughed through a Chinese meal, telling jokes about men and marriage.
Before the game, Adkins Stadium hosted a humble string of festivities. The Queen of the Portland Rose Festival rode a convertible on the outskirts of the manicured playing field. The University of Oregon’s marching band performed, and played behind Lisa Stansfield when she sang the national anthem.
Mayor Meier threw out the ceremonious first pitch from the mound. She was wearing a burgundy skirt suit with a yellowish-gold scarf. Security escorted her to a seat in the first row, behind the Crowns dugout. She chose to sit there instead of with Slight and Honeywell in Slight’s skybox. Often, she would stand and waved her Crowns cap to incite the crowd to cheer on the Crowns.
Djuana watched her, recalling how far she had come since meeting the mayor. She knew that night, though, that she loved Jack Newhouse. And, here she was, deeper in love, and soon to be married to him.
From the end of the national anthem until the first strike was thrown, the fans at Adkins were on their feet cheering. They roared for every strike pitcher Timm Peaston threw, until the strikes starting coming far and few between a string of bad pitches. Peaston walked three batters before Bingo strolled to the plate.
The booing from the crowd was loud, louder than the cheering had been. And, Djuana joined in, but the stadium fell silent when Bingo pulled a fastball down the left field line for a grand slam. The ball seemed to be hit on a line, not rising more than 10 feet off the ground. It landed above the left field wall, in the waiting glove of a fan in the first row.
Timm settled after the blast, with those four runs all he gave up. From then on, whenever Bingo batted, Timm threw him nothing but slow curves, and Bingo popped up to Don at first and Bryant at third. Timm was far from a great pitcher, but he was experienced. He had pitched for six teams in seven years before joining the Crowns.
On offense, the Crowns could not put together more than two singles in a row against another solid pitcher on Las Vegas’ staff. When the ninth inning came, the fans were still behind the Crowns, they gave Timm a standing ovation, waving their mini towels, as the team came up for their last at bat. They continued to cheer through the commercial break.
Down four runs, Juris sent Hector Aponte up to bat for Timm. Aponte, invisible on the Crowns team since he lost right field back to Jack, walked on four pitches to receive an ovation. On the next pitch, with Russ Jones batting, Aponte stole second.
The Las Vegas pitcher settled, striking out RJ on three wicked fastballs. Before Pugsley got out of the batter’s circle near the dugout, Oscar grabbed his chubby arm, “Get on, man, I don’t give a fuck how, but we ain’t losin’ this game.’’
Pugs just nodded. He hadn’t had a hit since the Boston series, almost two weeks.
With the fans chanting “Here we go Portland, here we go,’’ Pugs extended his arms and bat out on a fastball and slapped it past the first baseman. Aponte raced home from second, sliding in ahead of the throw from the right fielder. Pugs hustled to second on the throw home.
O snarled at Jack, waiting for Jack to come into the on-deck circle. “We ain’t getting swept.’’
“I’m there,’’ Jack said.
Oscar walked out to the batter’s box, his head down, thinking it was time for him to carry his team to victory. When he looked up, the manager of Las Vegas was on the mound making a pitching change. O’s first reaction was anger.
They ain’t getting me out.
The pitcher brought in was the barrel-chested, Ray Tidrow. The 6-foot-5 ace of the Gamblers’ bullpen had a terrorizing fastball. He threw it up to 110 mile per hour. It was straight, but tough to catch up with. Last year, in the World Series, Tidrow struck out 16 of the 19 Crowns batters he faced.
Oscar ran those numbers through his mind. He was fanned four times by Tidrow. The year before, Tidrow had struck him out three times. He had only one hit off of Tidrow in his career going into that at bat.
Jack went down to one knee in the circle. He watched Tidrow’s fastball pop the catcher’s mitt during his warm up. “Base hit, baby, that’s all we need,’’ he called out to O.
O stepped in the left-handed batter’s box and after one practice swing was set. Tidrow looked back to Pugs at second, who had a small lead off the base, then back to his catcher. He cocked and twirled, unleashing a blazer.
O turned on the pitch, connecting and driving the ball high and on a line. It landed in the hands of two fans in the right field bleachers.
The two-run homer put the Crowns within one run, 4-3.
Oscar did a side stepping, hip rotating dance down the line heading to home plate. Jack was the first to greet him, and O popped him with a hard five.
“He ain’t shit, rock him, New!’’ O said.
The rest of the Crowns were out of the dugout, and O did another dance to them. He let them mob him, turning his body toward the mound and pointing his index finger at Tidrow.
“You going down, big boy,’’ O yelled to the unshaven mountain of a man. “All the way down!!’’
Tidrow stood on the mound, chewing tobacco and watching O the whole way. He was marveling how easy it would be to snap the bony Negro’s neck.
Jack stepped in the right-handed side of the box swinging his bat, gearing up for the heat. Inside, inside, his mind told him. That’s all that bastard can throw me. He ain’t going to test me across the plate. He knows I can’t hit the inside heat. But I’m ready. I’m ready for your ass. If O can hit one off your ass, then I know I can.
Tight, and high, heat was all any pitcher with a knowledge of Jack Newhouse threw him. He was a dangerous hitter, but Jack could not get his bat around quick enough to do any damage to good inside fastball.
The first pitch Tidrow threw Jack that evening was an inside fastball, high and inside. Before Jack could fully react, the ball hit his helmet near the ear hole as he cowered away. Jack was unconscious before he hit the ground. But he sat up instantly, feeling around for his bat. He was oblivious to the almost immediate brawl that happened around him.
O had anticipated Tidrow may throw at Jack, and had hoped Jack had also. O’s body was ready and as soon as he saw the ball was thrown at his best friend, he was on his feet. He was the first one out of the dugout when Jack hit the ground. He raced to the mound, where Tidrow fought him off. But Don, coming from the on-deck circle, knocked Tidrow down with a hard tackle.
O and Don pounded the bigger Tidrow until his teammates came to his aid. Then, Don broke off, trying to hurt anyone in black and gold. O tried to hang onto Tidrow, absorbing blows from Gamblers. Mike was choking a Gambler into submission.
Djuana was on her feet instantly, hands covering her cheeks. She could not believe her eyes, grown men were fighting like dogs; many scuffling on their hands and knees.
“Shit,’’ Tia said.
Devon was excited, joining in with some of the people around them in urging the players to kill one another.
“Fuck ‘em up, O!’’ Devon yelled, standing on his seat spilling his popcorn. “Beat that ass!’’
“Watch your mouth!’’ Djuana elbowed him. “I think you better sit down.’’
“You hear that boy?’’ Tia said in amazement.
“You see what they did to J-New? Naw, they gotta go to blows for that!’’
Djuana was afraid the other baseball wives had heard her foul-mouthed brother, but their attention was on the field with their respective men. She found it difficult to watch Jack, his teammates were surrounding him as if he were their general in a combat. When the fighting was finally over, she followed his movements to first base. He seemed groggy, and stood on the base with his hands on his hips while another Crowns batted.
Djuana chose not to stop her brother from chanting “BULL SHIT, BULL SHIT,’’ with the other 60 thousand fans in Adkins.
Don, Oscar and Danny were ejected from the game. Danny had come out of the Crowns dugout with a bat. He swung it once at a Gambler before two of his coaches disarmed him. Tidrow, his manager and one other Gambler were also thrown out for the remainder of the game.
Jack ran the bases and scored the tying run, but he would never recall the finish of the game. The Crowns continued to rally, and defeated Las Vegas, 5-4.
During the drive home Jack gave short answers to Devon’s excited questions. When they dropped off the boy, Jack pushed his seat all the way back and rested his hand on his head. While Djuana walked up to the building. Cal was downstairs waiting for them.
“Great game, Jack!’’ Cal yelled.
Jack waved.
“He all right?’’ Cal asked his niece.
“Hello, Uncle Cal.’’
“I’m sorry, baby,’’ Cal kissed her. “Is he all right?’’
“He’s tired.’’
Djuana got back in the truck, looking at her man.
“You okay, Jack?’’
“I have a serious headache.’’
“You want me to stop and get you some aspirin?’’
“No. I took two horse pills after the game. They should kick in once I get to bed.’’
Jack got out of the Pathfinder and climbed the stairs into the house. He went directly to the bedroom. He was naked and in bed before Djuana came up to the room.
Djuana undressed slowly, listening to Jack moan. “Maybe I should take you to the hospital. Wasn’t that guy throwing the ball hard?’’
“I’m okay.’’
Djuana sat on the bed, “No you are not. You’re in pain.’’
“Pain is a part of life,’’ Jack grimaced as he turned onto his back. “I have lived through worse.’’
“I don’t like seeing you like this,’’ Djuana said beginning to rub his temples with her hands on each side of his skull.
“Ah, now that’s good,’’ Jack said, his eyes closed, and his grimace relaxed into a comfortable grin.
“Let me get undressed, then I’ll put you to sleep.’’
Djuana voice was as soothing her touch. She stood and dropped her jeans past her ankles. She slid her bra down her shoulders, turned it backwards at her ribs and unhooked it.
“I’m not ready to go to sleep,’’ Jack grinned.
“Listen, now,’’ Djuana chastised. “You are not feeling well, and there is another game tomorrow night. We can’t do anything. Sorry.”
“Come here.’’
“Jack! I need to take a shower, then we are both going to bed. I’ll massage your temples, but that’s it.’’
“Come here.’’
“Jack?’’ She took small, slow steps to the bed. She watched him pull back the covers, and let him take her arm and guide her in.
“Just let me take a shower, honey,’’ she whispered.
Jack kissed her mouth, and whispered, “When I’m done, we’ll both need a shower.’’
FORTY-FIVE
