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“And if we can show that you’re a great team player in your personal life as well as on the field, we’ll be in the perfect position to maximize the contract. What they’re offering, well, in Japan the salaries are generally lower than in the MLB. But a new corporation just bought this team and they’re pouring money into it. This opportunity won’t come along again any time soon.”
Billy was starting to wonder if he should take the Florida idea more seriously. Florida was much closer than Japan and the Rays probably weren’t as picky about things like the state of his ex-marriage.
But he didn’t want to go to hot and humid Florida. He was a Minnesota boy acclimated to cold and snow. He’d take a blizzard over humidity any day of the week. Once he’d run his own stats in comparison to the humidity readings during each game. Once that humidity got over sixty percent, his performance cratered. Moving to Florida might destroy his career. He was actually surprised that the Tampa Bay Rays hadn’t done that same research.
Or maybe they had, and they wanted him for his headline-grabbing past. Flashy players did well down there. Too bad he didn’t want to be that guy anymore.
What guy did he want to be, anyway? What kind of guy was he? He used to talk about that kind of thing with Jenna back in the old days. “I want to make my fucking mark,” he’d say. “I want people to know who I am and what I can do.”
They used to love dreaming and planning together. The elaborate fantasies they’d shared about the future…well, some of them had come true. He was a bona fide major league baseball player with his name in the headlines. They weren’t always the good kind of headlines, but still.
“I’ll talk to Jenna about the awards dinner. It might be hard with the boys in school.”
“It’s on a weekend. No excuses.”
“Fine. Any other ideas?”
“Yeah. Men’s magazine. I thought a woman’s magazine might be a better fit, but maybe I had it wrong. The focus would be how a ballplayer stays in shape during the offseason. You could talk about how you’ve seen the light and ditched the clubs for smoothies and weight training. I can picture the headline. From Billy Club to Billy Hot Tub.”
Billy snorted. “That doesn’t sound any different, but I know what you’re going for.”
He slowed down as he reached the gravel driveway that led to Richard Scarlett’s place. There was a mailbox with the name Scarlett painted on it in perfectly executed red curlicue lettering; Jenna’s handiwork. She’d painted it in fifth grade, spending hours on the hummingbird perched in the letter S.
“Listen, I have to go. But I’m willing to try the men’s magazine angle. It couldn’t be any worse, right?”
“Kid, that sounds like famous last words. But I’ll work on it. Make sure you go to that awards dinner. United front, remember. Teamwork. Dedication. There’s a word in Japanese. Wa.”
“I know all about wa. I did my research.” Wa was something the Japanese teams really valued, and meant something along the lines of “team spirit.” Sacrificing individual glory for the sake of the team, more or less. He could do that. Except he was sacrificing individual glory for the sake of his family. Did that count as wa?
“That’s my boy. That’s why you’re my favorite client.”
“Which you say to all your clients.”
“Eavesdropping now?”
“Educated guess.”
“Smart one, too, which is why you’re my favorite client.” He dropped from the line, which was how he always ended calls.
Billy checked the mailbox and found it stuffed full. It hadn’t been emptied in a while. In fact, the mail carrier had left a notice that, in official-ese, meant they weren’t going to cram any more stuff into the box and Richard would have to drive to the post office for his damn mail. The joys of rural life.
He collected the unwieldy pile of mail and jogged toward the house, dodging iced-over ruts as he went. This driveway needed some work. Maybe this coming summer he’d get someone to come out and spread some gravel.
Yeah, like he’d remember something like that while he was playing in Japan. That was the problem with being away for long stretches. So many things just slipped through the crack.
A light was on inside the house. Kitchen. Billy jogged around to the back door and knocked. A few moments later, Richard Scarlett swung open the door, an espresso pot gripped in one hand. He wore a green velvet bathrobe and a huge grin.
“Billy Cooper. What are you up to this fine December morn?”
Billy blinked. This was a whole different Richard than the one he’d helped off the bar at Archie’s. “I was just jogging past, so I picked up your mail. It’s getting a little full in there.”
“Brilliant. You can put it there.” Richard gestured toward the trash can and padded across the stonework floor to the stove. He wore thick felted slippers, which were absolutely necessary in the winter with that insane floor. Jenna had told Billy she’d dropped a grand total of twenty-three glasses/mugs/dishes on that floor as a kid, and none of them had survived. “Thanks for your help the other day.”
So he remembered. Billy hadn’t been sure he would. Sometimes, Jenna said, he never referred to such incidents again.
“No problem. Happy to help.”
“You’re a good kid.” Richard set the espresso pot on the burner of the old Wolf cast iron stove. Everything in this kitchen was old. Richard didn’t believe in modern appliances. He liked things vintage verging on antique. “Jenna’s a smart girl. She made a good choice.”
