Big Leagues (11 page)

“Why didn’t you take Kaufman out when his pitch
count hit one hundred?”

“Ron, was the bullpen short
tonight?”

“Did you feel Kaufman was the best choice
against their cleanup hitter?”

“Were you aware of Garcia’s ten-game hitting
streak?”

When it appeared the smoke had cleared, Cat
shot off one of her own. “Ron, did you consider walking Garcia to
get to the less dangerous Warren?”

The fiery manager’s eyes flashed.

Uh-oh.

“Well, of course I considered that. What do you
guys think I’m doing in the damn dugout, playing with
myself?”

Cat watched the veins in his neck bulge like
the busted seams of a baseball. Her skin began to warm as his voice
rose.

“Newsflash for the news hacks. If I’d walked
the bases loaded and Warren comes through with a single, then they
wouldn’t have tied the game but instead been two runs up on us.
Then I’d have to field questions like, ‘Ron, why’d you walk him?’
and ‘Ron, did you consider not walking him?’ Kaufman got out of
there with the game tied and our offense came through in the
end.”

Cat accepted his tirade with a short nod and
scrunched down in her seat.

Ron shook his head in angry astonishment. “Did
I consider … please. I do plenty of considering. Maybe you all
should consider a job that doesn’t involve crapping on
mine.”

Cat scrawled gibberish onto her notepad,
anything to keep from making eye contact with the irate manager.
She shook her hair forward to cover her face and disguise her
mortification, but she knew her rusty locks were no match for the
clashing scarlet flush that must be staining her cheeks.

“Ooooh, that’s a swing and a miss for the
rookie reporter,” Dustin hissed from the row behind her.

She stiffened and shook off a
response.

* * *

Ron Bouvier’s oversized serving of public
humiliation notwithstanding, Cat considered the evening a success.
She perfected her game summary with quotes from the team, sent the
article off to her editor and milled around the office, refusing to
leave until she’d verified her very first Web publication. Minutes
later, there it was, her first headline.

CHIPS RALLY IN THE EIGHTH by Catriona McDaniel,
Senior Beat Reporter

Her heart swelled. She wanted to print out a
thousand copies and wallpaper her entire apartment with the
beautiful words. She scanned the article once more, proofreading
every paragraph for the twentieth time.

“Your cup of coffee, my liege.” Dustin entered
the office and plopped the mug down on the desk. “Is there anything
else I might do to serve you?”

She moved the mug to a coaster and ignored his
sarcasm. “Actually yes. I forgot to tell you earlier, but I met
Deidre Derhoff today.”

“Brad’s wife? I didn’t know she was in the
building.”

“She was. Do you know her?”

“Of course. I told you Brad and I
were—”

“Close, I got it. Anyway, she said some strange
things. Did you know the Chips had hired another reporter before
Brad?”

He raised his eyebrows over his dark frames.
“That’s news to me. I thought Brad and I were the only team
reporters in Chips’ history.”

“And me.”

Dustin gave her a smirk and she knew their
brief truce was over.

“Well, we’ll see. It’s been one day.” He
pointed to the mug. “Enjoy your coffee, I’m out of
here.”

Cat perused the rest of ChipsBaseball.com,
resisting the temptation to read her article again. Dustin’s
Rumor Mill
feature caught her attention. Her eyes flittered
through the first paragraph and stopped. She reread the words and
mouthed the last sentence aloud. Looking out the open floor, she
saw he was still at his desk and stormed out.

“Dustin.”

He glanced up for only a second and returned
his attention to the newspaper on his desk.

“Dustin, I read your latest column in the
Rumor Mill
.”

“Oh goody. Well I’ll sleep easier knowing
you’re a fan.”

She crossed her arms. “No, not exactly. Isn’t
it a little risky to voice your two cents like that?”

Dustin shrugged. “Everybody’s a
critic.”

He spun in his chair so that his back was to
her. Cat stepped around to the other side of his desk.

“I’m serious. Our job isn’t to decide if we
need a new starter. Our job is only to report
if
we have a
new starter.”

Dustin yawned and rested his head on one hand,
flicking his nails on the other one.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m just trying to help you
avoid a reprimand down the road.”

“Thanks
so much
for your concern,” he
said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“We’re not here to be opinion
columnists.”

He had no reply, so she left, holding her
tongue with some difficulty.

Well, Ron Bouvier
and
Dustin
notwithstanding, the day had been a success.

She packed up her belongings and closed her
door, blowing past Dustin’s desk without so much as a
goodbye.

The elevator doors opened to the clubhouse
level and Cat took off at a brisk pace. The lower level was full of
action during the day and around gametime, but it was tomb-like
after hours. The suffocating gray tunnel made the short hairs on
the back of her neck stand up. And the not-so-short ones on her
legs, too, which reminded her not to skip the leg shaving
tonight.

“Hey you!”

Cat stopped in her tracks at the vicious bark,
praying it wasn’t directed at her. So far, her second day had been
going so smoothly. Another ballgame and another win.

She turned around to see the brawny outfielder
known by the fans as Rage Head charging toward her. His tattooed
armed shoved a newspaper in her face.

“You see this?”

“Uh …” Cat juggled the newspaper with her
digital recorder and coffee mug. “Ray Hedd gets pulled over for
DUI?”

“I did get pulled over last night but I passed
the sobriety test.”

She handed him the paper back, her hand shaking
as she did so. “Okay, but I didn’t write that.”

“Yeah well, I know where they get their
information.”

“Ray—”

“It’s Mr. Hedd to you, got that? You don’t know
me.”

“Okay …” her shaky voice betrayed her false
bravado. “Mr. Hedd—”

“I know how you people are, sticking your nose
in everybody’s business. I’m letting you know now that I’ll be
watching you, so don’t even think of that sneaky spy crap Turd-hoff
liked to pull.”

“I can’t help what problems you and Brad had or
what the
Daily News
says about you, but I’m here to help the
team. I don’t want to have any problems with anyone.”

He took a large step forward, backing Cat into
the wall. “I hope so. As far as I’m concerned, that prick you
replaced is where he belongs.” His eyes bored into hers. “Got
it?”

“Yes.” Her voice was barely audible.

He stepped to the side and Cat seized the
moment to move past him, hurrying down the hallway. She slowed as
she reached the elevators, just in case she met any curious
coworkers. Even if he was known as a hothead, she didn’t want the
confrontation to get back to Erich. If the big man was forced to
choose between the outfielder with twenty mil and two years still
left on his contract or the two-day old employee, she had no doubt
she’d lose. Once on the elevator, Cat hugged herself in an
unconscious gesture of self-protection.

An hour later, she was sitting at her desk,
rubbing her eyes. Her work had been done for the last half-hour but
she purposely dilly-dallied, hoping enough time had passed that Ray
had gone home or wherever he went when he wasn’t lurking in the
clubhouse. She gave her postgame recap one more look before hitting
the print button; then she popped out of the leather chair and
strolled to the shared workstation to pick up her prized creation.
A pretty young woman was leaning against the copier, twirling a
strand of long black hair around her finger. She shuffled away from
the machine as Cat approached.

“I’m sorry, am I in your way? Or do you need me
to copy something for you?”

Cat shook her head. “Oh no, you’re fine. Just
here for a pickup. My second Chips article.” She grabbed the paper
out of the printer’s tray and, with a proud smile, showed
her.

“Ooh la la.” The girl grinned.
“Congrats.”

“Thanks.” Cat folded up the article and stuffed
it in an envelope. Upon seeing the girl’s curious gawk, she pursed
her lips. “It’s for my grandmother. She’s in Illinois and not
exactly a webmaster, so I snail mail her a copy.”

“Aw, that’s so cute.”

Cat paused. “Forgive me, I’ve met so many
people in the last two days, have we been introduced
yet?”

“Nope. I’m Kiara Choi.” She rolled her eyes and
sighed dramatically. “Intern.”

“Catriona McDaniel. You can call me
Cat.”

“Fun! You can call me Key.”

“Key? I like that.”

Kiara pulled a chair out from a nearby vacant
desk and plopped down. “It must be so awesome being the team
writer. I swear, media relations intern is, like, code for
corporate slave.”

“I’ve been there.”

A short blonde girl came through the door and
Kiara’s hand shot up, fluttering through the air.

“That’s Lydie. Poor thing. She’s an intern on
the third floor with the nerd patrol.” Kiara stood and turned back
to Cat. “Hey, we’re going out tonight, wanna come?”

Cat hesitated and Kiara quickly added, “Unless
you already have big plans.”

Cat rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, big plans. Let’s
see … Dustin and I are heading to the Strip to get married by Elvis
and then we’re going to consummate our wedding vows on the
Stratosphere.” Kiara’s eyes widened, and Cat shook her head.
“Teasing. I’ve got to go to the drugstore.”

Kiara giggled. “The drugstore? On a Tuesday
night? You know every Tuesday is Ladies’ Night at half the bars in
town, right? Free Jell-O shots and half-price margaritas. You can’t
miss out.”

“Tempting. I’ve got to get travel supplies for
the road trip. Those little hotel bottles of shampoo don’t quite
cut it.”

Kiara tilted her head. “Are you sure? It’ll be
fun. I swear.”

Cat shook her head and smiled at the two girls,
who were inching their way toward the door.

“I’m sure. Go on, get out of here. Next time,
okay?”

“I’ll remember that. Later!”

Cat scanned the office for anything she might
have forgotten. Her laptop was in her bag, her office door was
locked, the copier was on standby, the coffeepot was off and, with
the flip of one switch, the lights would be, too. She trotted to
the elevators and examined her chipped nails while waiting for the
doors to open. Stepping onto the elevator, she bumped into a
figure, gasping as she looked up the tall body.

“Oh uh, Mr. Snow, you scared me. I wasn’t
expecting anyone else to be on here.”

“Expect the unexpected, ain’t that what they
say?”

“I guess. I thought I was the last person in
the building.”

“Not tonight.”

Cat sank into the corner. Otis’ frame took up
nearly half the elevator and the stench of stale cigarette smoke
filled the rest.

She broke the awkward silence. “I think you
were here when I came in this morning. That’s a long
day.”

“Ain’t kidding. You’re one to talk. Weren’t ya
here last night until nine?”

“Yeah, I just want to make sure everything’s
perfect. I don’t like to leave until I’ve got everything lined up
for the next day.”

“A real perfectionist, huh?”

Cat nodded and watched the lights change from
floor to floor. She looked back up at the tall guard. “What keeps
you here so late?”

“The boss. He runs me like a thoroughbred one
race away from the glue factory.”

“Oh.”

“Not that I mind or nothing. Just glad to have
work. Say, what was that all about with Deidre Derhoff
yesterday?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t really know. I turned around
and there she was, standing in the press box.”

“I’m sure you figured this out, but she’s
cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.”

“Well, she just lost her husband. That’d make
anyone a little crazy.”

“Maybe.” He bent his head down like he was
preparing to tell her a secret. “Between you, me and the elevator,
she never really had a full bowl.”

The elevator opened on the bottom floor. He
stood up straight, once again towering over her.

“Well, Red, that’s our stop. Ladies
first.”

She tossed a smile at the looming guard as she
exited right for the parking lot’s tunnel.