“I want to see Socko.”
Socko the mascot was a red, pear-shaped creature, with yellow clodhopper feet and a grinning yellow face. Gil hated mascots.
“Sure thing,” said the man in the blazer, knocking on the next door they came to.
“What is it?” came a voice.
“Visitors,” replied the old man. “Are you decent?”
“Decent as the next guy.”
The old man opened the door. They entered a little dressing room. Socko sat on a chair, wearing everything but his yellow head. He was in his early twenties, with long hair and several rings in each ear.
“Hi, Sean. How’s it going?”
“Can I put on the head?”
“Sure,” said Socko, giving it to him.
Sean put on the yellow head, looked in the mirror. “Oooo oooo,” he said in a scary voice.
Socko raised his enormous yellow hands; each with three fingers, like a cartoon character’s. “Don’t hurt me.”
“Oooo oooo,” said Sean.
Everyone laughed. Gil joined in.
Sean took off the head. “It’s hot in there.”
“No kidding,” said Socko. “I take water breaks every three innings.” Bottles of mineral water sat on the dressing table.
They went to their seats, in a glass-faced box high over first base. A waiter in a bow tie hurried to them. Sean ordered a hot dog, a pretzel, popcorn, and a Coke.
“Anything for you, sir?”
“Milk, if you’ve got it.”
“Whole, two percent, or skim?”
“Whole,” said Gil.
The game began. Bobby doubled down the right-field line in the first inning, driving in two runs. Socko danced on the first-base dugout. There was a lot of noise in the box. “See what your daddy did?” said a man with a highball glass.
“RBIs forty-nine and fifty,” said Sean.
Everyone laughed. Gil joined in.
In the third inning, a woman appeared, knelt in the aisle beside Sean.
“Heard you were here,” she said. “Any more trouble from the Arcturians?”
“Nope,” said Sean. “This is Mr. Curly Onis. That’s what his friends call him. He mows the lawn.”
The woman looked at Gil. She seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place her.
“Curly lives over the garage,” Sean added.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, offering her hand. “Jewel Stern.”
At that moment, the moment he learned who she was, Gil also placed her, standing by Boucicaut’s pickup in the alley behind the three-decker. A shudder went through him; her hand was still in his, but there was nothing he could do about it.
She let go, but tilted her head slightly, as though drawing a bead on something. “Enjoy the game,” she said. She tousled Sean’s hair, and then she was gone.
The Sox won nine-zip. Bobby Rayburn went 2 for 3 with two doubles, three RBIs, and a base on balls. After, the old man in the red blazer took them down to the clubhouse. It was a fan’s dream come true.
“Hey, there,” said Washington, spotting Sean. Soon he had the boy on his lap, was making a quarter disappear in his belly button and come out his ear. They were all there, Boyle, Lanz, Zamora, Odell, Simkins; loose and noisy, grabbing food from the buffet, drinks from the cooler: a fan’s dream come true.
Why do you think you ’re winning, assholes? Gil stood by the door and didn’t say a word. He just watched.
Bobby drove the Jeep, Gil sat in the passenger seat, Sean, in back, fell asleep right away. Bobby yawned. “Have a good time?” he said.
“You were sitting on the fastball both times, weren’t you?” Gil replied.
“Sure, with Zamora on. He’s a threat to go anytime.” After a minute or two, Bobby added, “I thought you didn’t know anything about baseball.”
Safe from observation in the darkness, Gil felt himself redden with pride. How much prouder he would have felt to have heard those words from Bobby in some earlier time, even a month ago! But now everything was complicated by what he’d done for the team, by, yes, the sacrifice he’d made. And suddenly he understood, in sharpest possible focus, what he had done, and his role on the team. He’d given himself up, laid one down to advance the runner, sacrificed himself. The sacrifice: a subtlety of baseball that came with a stingy reward-it didn’t count against your average, that was all.
“I just said I didn’t follow it,” Gil replied. “I played at one time.”
There was a silence, the meaning of which Gil knew immediately: Bobby was waiting for Gil to place himself on the ladder.
“Drafted out of high school, as a matter of fact,” Gil said.
“What organization?”
“The Padres,” said Gil, because they were far away.
“Yeah? Were they around back then?”
Back then? What was that supposed to mean? He was only three years older than Bobby, and looked younger, if anything, didn’t he? Gil remained silent until he couldn’t stand it anymore. “Had a cup of coffee, as they say.”
Bobby nodded, as though he’d heard it many times.
“Hurt my arm.”
“You pitched?”
“Some.”
Bobby yawned again. “Val says you did a nice job on the lawn. Worked things out with Wald yet?”
“What things?”
Bobby shrugged. “I don’t know. Salary? Duties?”
“There won’t be a problem,” Gil said.
More silence. Gil’s mind drifted back to the sacrifice he’d made in the steam bath of the Palacio Hotel. Bobby switched on the radio.
“Before we go to Jewel for the postgame, you’ve got an announcement for us, Norm.”
“Right, Bernie. JOC-Radio is putting together a panel drawn from our regular callers for a new weekly feature called Between Brewskis. ”
“Between Brewskis? ”
“That’s what it says here. This’ll give some lucky listeners what they’ve always wanted-the chance to shoot off their mouths on a regular basis.”
“Just like us.”
“Or even more trenchant.”
“Trenchant?”
“Something to do with bad breath. So listen up-would the following callers please get in touch on the JOC business number during office hours: Manny from Allston, Donnie from Saugus, Ken from Brighton, Vin from the Back Bay, and Gil, who’s usually on his car phone.”
Gil jumped at the sound of his name. He checked Bobby out of the corner of his eye. Bobby was yawning again and didn’t seem to have noticed anything. How could he have missed it?
“So what have you got for us, Jewel?”
“Just another dominating performance by this team, Bernie. They’ve got it all going now-pitching, hitting, defense. Turned things around completely, as though the horrible events out West were some sort of wake-up call. They could have fallen apart instead, written this season off, and everyone would have understood, but for some reason they didn’t.”
