Jesse nodded.
“The best,” Lutz said.
Jesse nodded again.
“My old man used to say Pee Wee Reese was the best,”
Lutz said.
“Never saw him play.”
Lutz shrugged. Once when Jenn had been staying there, she had put small-wattage bulbs in all the lights. More romantic, she said. Hated bright lights, she said. When she left again, Jesse never changed them. So the room was dim. Only the light over the table where Lutz sat was on. And it wasn’t a bright light.
“Me either,” Lutz said. “I only know what my old man said.”
“He ever see Ozzie?”
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R O B E R T B . P A R K E R
Lutz shook his head.
“Died too soon,” Lutz said. “You ever play?”
“Yes.”
“Shortstop like Ozzie?”
“Shortstop,” Jesse said. “But not like Ozzie.”
“You any good?”
“I was.”
“Good enough?” Lutz said.
“Got hurt,” Jesse said. “Never got a chance to find out.”
Lutz drank some whiskey.
“Tough,” Lutz said.
Jesse waited. Lutz was quiet. He drank some more whiskey.
“Life’s tough,” Lutz said.
Jesse waited. Lutz poured himself some more whiskey.
“You ever been married?” Lutz said.
“Yes.”
“But not now,” Lutz said.
“No.”
“She still around someplace?” Lutz said.
“Yes.”
“Hard to cut it off,” Lutz said.
