was probably mid-fifties, what was commonly called a handsome woman, her hair gray and neat, her back straight, her handshake firm, her arms tawny, her eyes twinkling with hints of mischief and cunning. Jared was twenty- fiveish. He wore his hair parted on the right with no hint of style, wire-rimmed glasses, a blue blazer, and a polka dot bow tie. Youths for George Will.
The office was sparsely decorated, or maybe it just appeared that way because the scene was dominated by a moose head hanging on a wall. A dead moose actually. A live moose is so hard to hang. Quite the decorating touch. Myron tried not to make a face. He almost said, You must have hated this moose, a la Dudley Moore in Arthur but refrained. With age comes maturity.
Myron shook Jared's hand, then turned toward Sophie Mayor.
Sophie pounced. Where the hell have you been, Myron?
Excuse me?
She pointed to a chair. Sit.
Like he was a dog. But he obeyed. Jared too. Sophie stayed on her feet and glowered down at
him.
In court yesterday they said something about your being in the Caribbean, she continued.
Myron made a noncommittal uh-huh sound.
Where were you?
I was away.
Away?
Yes.
She looked over at her son, then back at Myron. For how long?
Three weeks.
But Miss Diaz told me you were in town.
Myron said nothing.
Sophie Mayor made two fists and leaned toward him. Why would she tell mfe that, Myron?
Because she didn't know where I was.
In other words, she lied to me.
Myron did not bother replying.
So where were you? she pressed.
Out of the country.
The Caribbean?
Yes.
And you never told anyone?
Myron shifted in his chair, trying to find an opening or gain some sort of footing here. I don't
mean to sound rude, he said, but I don't see how my whereabouts are any of your business.
You don't? A sharp chortle passed her lips. She looked at her son as if to say, Do you believe
this guy?, then redirected her laser grays back toward Myron. I relied on you, she said.
Myron said nothing.
I bought this team and I decided to be hands-off. I know software. I know computers. I know
business. I really don't know much about baseball. But I made one decision. I wanted Clu Haid. I had a feeling about him. I thought he still had something left. So I traded for him. People thought I was nuts three good prospects for one has-been. I understood that concern. So I went to you, Myron, remember?
Yes.
And you assured me he was going to stay clean.
Wrong, Myron said. I said he wanted to stay clean.
Wanted, was going to What is this, a lesson in semantics?
He was my client, Myron said. It's my job to worry about his interests.
And damn mine?
That's not what I said.
Damn integrity and ethics too? Is that the way you work, Myron?
That's not it at all. Sure, we wanted this trade to happen
You wanted it badly, she corrected him.
Fine, we wanted it badly. But I never promised you he'd stay clean because it's not something I
or anyone else can guarantee. I assured you we would try our hardest. I made it part of the deal. I gave you the right to randomly test him at any time.
You gave me the right? I demanded it! And you fought me on it every step of the way. We shared the risk, Myron said. I made his salary contingent on his staying clean. I let you put in a strict morals clause.
She smiled, crossed her arms. You know who you sound like? Those hypocritical car commercials where General Motors or Ford tout all the pollution-saving devices they've put on their cars. As though they did it on their own. As though they woke up one day more concerned with the environment than the bottom line. They leave out the fact that the government forced them to put on those devices, that they fought the government tooth and nail the whole way.
He was my client, Myron said again.
And you think that's an all-purpose excuse?
It's my job to get him the best deal.
Keep telling yourself that, Myron.
I can't stop a man from returning to an addiction. You knew that.
But you said you'd watch him. You said you'd work on keeping him straight.
Myron swallowed and shifted in his chair again. Yes.
But you didn't watch him, Myron, did you?
Silence.
You took a vacation and didn't tell anyone. You left Clu alone. You acted irresponsibly, and so
I blame you in part for his falling off the wagon. Myron opened his mouth, closed it. She was right, of course, but he didn't have the luxury of wallowing in that right now. Later. He'd think about his role in this later. The pain from last night's beating was angrily stirring from its snooze. He reached into his pocket and shook out a couple of extra-strength Tylenols. Satisfied or maybe satiated Sophie Mayor sat down. Seeing the pills, she asked, Would you like some water?
Please.
She nodded at Jared. Jared poured Myron a glass of water and handed it to him. Myron thanked
him and swallowed the tablets. The placebo effect jumped in, and he immediately felt better.
Before Sophie Mayor could strike again, Myron tried to shift gears. Tell me about Clu's failed
drug test, he said.
Sophie Mayor looked puzzled. What's to tell?
Clu claimed he was clean.
And you believe that?
I want to look into it
Why?
Because when Clu was caught in the past, he begged forgiveness and promised to get help. He
never pretended a test result was wrong.
She crossed her arms. And that's evidence of what exactly?
Nothing. I'd just like tq ask a few questions.
Ask away then.
How often did you test him?
Sophie looked over at her son. His cue. Jared spoke for the first time since greeting Myron at the
door. At least once a week, he said.
Urine tests? Myron asked.
Yes, Jared said.
And he passed them all? I mean, except for the last one.
Yes.
