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I didn’t believe it the first time she said it, and I sure as hell don’t believe it now.
This woman tapped on my shoulder as I was waiting for my double shot of espresso at a café around the corner from my apartment.
I skimmed her face and the light blue sweater dress she’s wearing trying to jog my memory into giving me a name. Her name.
I assumed I’d met her at some point in the past, but as soon as she started talking, I realized that I’d never seen her before.
She introduced herself as Melody something-or
-other. I didn’t catch her surname because the barista barked out “Alex” and I reached for my order.
Melody went on to explain that she had a surprise for me.
I waited with baited breath and raised brows for her to continue.
She tripped over her own words as she spit out that her boss arranged for a day at the ballpark for my nephew. I didn’t hear anything after she said that she heard that my Trey Hale jersey was stolen and that a guy named Buck wants to replace it. She mentioned tickets to a game and a personalized baseball jacket. If this is legitimate, it’s going to paste a permanent smile on Alvin’s face and cement my position as the best uncle who ever lived.
“I left two messages with your manager yesterday.” Melody sighs. “You’re a tough man to get in touch with, Mr. Donato.”
That’s by design.
I’m glad to hear that Vito, my manager, is doing his job and acting as a buffer between anyone I don’t personally know and me.
I sip the coffee, debating whether or not Melody is indeed here to offer me the experience of a lifetime for Alvin, or if she’s a friend of the thief who stole my jersey. Given the proximity of this café to my apartment, I can’t be sure.
I’ve been irritated since Jack and I came up empty at the club on Friday night. I’ve spent the three days since immersed in work, while Jack hit up every store in the five boroughs that sells sports memorabilia. I didn’t ask him to search for the stolen jersey, but he knows how much my nephew means to me. Unfortunately, he struck out.
The blonde clears her throat, so I face her. “How did you find me?”
Her gaze darts to the line of people waiting to place their orders. “I joined your online fan club yesterday morning. I read through every post.”
I know a fan club exists. I’ve never taken a look at it. I focus on the job, and the benefits that come with it, which often includes the company of a beautiful woman for a night.
Beyond that, I don’t give a fuck what people are saying about me. I grew a thick skin after my first solo cello performance in Berlin years ago. The reviews tore me to shreds. I trashed my dressing room, downed a bottle of whiskey and vowed never to let another person’s opinion impact my craft again.
“Someone posted that they saw you in here yesterday morning around this time.” She shrugs. “I thought it was worth a try.”
It’s a plausible explanation, but I’m still skeptical.
I call her bluff because I need to move my day forward and I can’t do that standing in this café. “I want to talk to your boss. Buck? Is that his name?”
“Buck Remsen.” She smiles. “If you give me your number I’ll have him call you…”
“No.” I narrow my eyes. “Give me his number.”
She spits out a ten-digit number before my phone is out of my pocket.
“Repeat that.”
She doesn’t hesitate. She relays each number to me again, slowly and clearly.
“I’ll give him a call,” I say after I program the number into my phone under the contact name Buck.
“He’s in the office all day today if you’d rather speak to him in person.” She eyes my coffee cup. “I’m heading back there after I grab a latte. We can share a ride.”
“Where’s the office?” I ask because there’s zero chance in hell that I’m getting in a cab with her. I’m still unsure if this Buck character is real.
“Lexington and Forty-Sixth Street.” Her gaze scans the large menu board behind me. “It’s the Remsen Agency building. You can’t miss it.”
