Chapter Twelve.
Two weeks after Nathan’s giddy call from Milwaukee, Nathan’s team was embroiled in the National League playoff series against Chicago. They had won the first two games, making Nathan drunk with glee that they could win two out of three games in San Diego and celebrate winning the pennant at home. But then they lost two of the three games in San Diego, causing all the sportscasters to say that Chicago might go to the World Series for the first time in 101 years.
Late during the second game in San Diego, a game they were losing 12-3, Nathan called Suella from the bullpen. “Get a ticket to Chicago. Bring Nat with you.”
She knew she couldn’t refuse, and while she and Natalie boarded a tube for Chicago, she reflected on how much airline travel had changed since she was Natalie’s age. Back then, it was like riding a bus, with the seats three across and separated by an aisle, with flight attendants flitting about. After 9-11 they got so strict with security and before long only cargo flights could carry luggage. Then someone came up with the bright idea of catapulting a jet off the edge of the atmosphere and powering it with something called “anti-matter.” It could get you to Chicago in an hour, when it used to be a four and a half hour flight in the old, jet fuel days.
The catch was that the passengers would have to sit in a cocoon like plexiglass enclosure called a tube. For ten minutes the flight would skirt the edges of zero gravity, causing weightlessness that reminded Suella of swimming underwater. It would be Natalie’s first trip in the tube. Suella paid extra for one that could fit two people rather than try to cajole the airlines into allowing Natalie to ride on her lap. To pass the time on the flight, she read to Natalie out of a storybook.
When they landed, it was already dark in Chicago. And cold. Suella felt glad that she brought winter coats for the both of them. A shuttle took them to a nice, new hotel and along the way Nathan pointed out the new gleaming concrete and glass stadium. It looked nicer to her than the one in San Diego, at least in the dark.
They would play the next day’s game at one o’clock in the afternoon. That seemed strange to Suella until Nathan pointed out Chicago’s long history of day baseball. “Hon, they didn’t even have lights at the old stadium until 1988. Old habits die hard.”
Suella shrugged. “Well then I guess we’ll have to take our little sight-seeing tour some other time.” She patted the bow on top of Natalie’s head.
At the game the next day, Suella met all the wives she’d sat with all summer at various games, pretending to watch the game while holding endless conversations about their families. Thankfully, a couple of girls and a boy Natalie’s age would play with her in a couple of the rooms at the luxury box. Suella felt distracted by all the video screens and the announcer’s voices booming through speakers in every room. “All we have to do is win one more,” Claudia Rodriguez said, as she raised a glass of wine and gestured to everyone in the room to toast with her.
It was not to be.
Chicago scored four runs in the first inning. The applause outside the luxury box rumbled the ground beneath their feet. Since the announcer’s voices filled all the rooms, the loud cheering from the crowd assaulted their eardrums, also. At the beginning of the seventh inning, the announcer said “Here comes Methuselah!” Suella glanced at the screen just in time to see Nathan tossing some warm up throws. His chest rose and fell a lot and the corners of his mouth turned down as he threw. Her husband was “mopping up,” one of his least favorite roles in baseball. The score was 10-2.
Natalie, who’d been playing with some children her age, ran back into the room with Suella just in time to see a close up of Nathan throwing a ball plateward. She froze, gazing at the screen with bewilderment, her cupid bow lips parting. “Daddy looks mad. Why is he mad?”
Suella curled her arm around Natalie and brought her toward her shoulder for a quick hug. “Oh, I don’t think he’s mad, honey. He’s just serious.” Smart little whip, that girl, she thought.
In the next instant, Natalie put on her carefree smile and ran toward the other room. A few of the other wives drifted down into the lounge seating area, some of them teetering from wine and champagne. “I want to go home, guys,” Heather Donovan said, slumping in her seat, her long legs splayed out in front of her. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Suella sat in a unique position where she could look down and see through the tall glass window out into the stadium. If she glanced upward, she could see the video monitor and hear the announcer’s voice as he said “It’s official folks. Worthy is the oldest pitcher to appear in a post-season game.”
The first batter fouled a couple of pitches into the stands before Nathan caused him to hit a weak ground ball to third base. By the time the next batter strode to the on-deck circle Suella saw something eerily familiar about her husband. He bowed his head down and kicked at the dirt around the pitching rubber. It was the same, casual air he showed when he strode around the edges of the yard, checking out the landscaping. “Oh, oh, this doesn’t look good,” Suella murmured.
Claudia replied. “Of course not. They’re down 8 runs and they only have one at-bat left.”
“No, I don’t mean that,” Suella said, but before she could get all the words out, the batter drove the ball in a vicious line over the fence in left field. It reminded her of someone viciously whacking a golf ball off the tee at the driving range. She shook her head.
After the game, the wives who’d traveled to Chicago met their husbands at the locker room door. Many of them showed red, watery eyes as they hugged their husbands, consoling them. “There’s only one more tomorrow,” a man’s voice said.
Suella knew it was fifty-fifty that Nathan would want to hit a bar with a couple of his friends and meet up with them later. Instead, he shuffled out of the locker room, dressed in his best jeans and nightclub shirt, looking like a hurt little boy. “Let’s go,” he said. Natalie ran over and hugged her father hard around the tops of his legs. He patted her softly atop her lush blond hair as they walked along.
“I’m scared,” Nathan said later, as they lie in bed with a monitor droning on at the other side of the room. Suella lay on one of the queen beds with Natalie, while Nathan slept in the other bed himself.
“About what?” Suella asked.
“That might be the last time I ever pitch, and I stunk it up.”
“No you didn’t.”
He sighed loudly. “That one Rentschler hit would have been out at the
Grand Canyon.”
“So? It happens. Isn’t that what you always say?”
Nathan shook his head back and forth, slowly. “Not the way I wanted to go out. Not the way I wanted to go out.”
“Then make him put you in the game tomorrow.” She turned on her side to face Natalie, who lay peacefully, her lips slightly parted. She looked like a porcelain doll. Suella leaned forward and kissed her goodnight on her cheek.
The next morning, rays of sunlight sliced through the sliding glass door of the balcony, waking Suella before Natalie or Nathan. She wanted to go out there, to enjoy the view of the city waking up below her. As she opened the glass door, though, a chill breeze knocked her back. She noticed lacework of frost on the other window. How cold was it out here? Halloween was coming up quickly and they’d not even settled the league championships yet. At this rate, they would be playing baseball on Thanksgiving. If they could plow the field!
Nathan woke up soon after that, causing Suella to wonder if the cold breeze from the door had stirred him.
When Natalie woke up shortly after, they all dressed and rode the elevator down to the hotel restaurant. “Wow! Do they have boo-berry waffles here?”
Suella narrowed her eyes and glared down at Natalie. “Do they have what?”
Natalie’s cheekbones tinged red as she slumped down in her chair, sliding below the tablecloth. “Blue-berries,” she murmured.
“That
’s better,” Suella said, patting her atop her head.
“That’s okay, sweet pea,” Nathan said, winking at Natalie. “She always makes me say things right, too.”
The waitress brought the waffles with whipped cream and blueberries that kept Natalie occupied for the rest of their breakfast. Meanwhile, her parents nibbled at their omelets and sipped their coffee. Suella would look across the table at Nathan every so often, just to let him know she’d been thinking about him, that she was with him. “It’s Chicago,” he said, finally. “Let’s go to the aquarium.”
For the next few hours, Nathan happily showed Natalie all the seals, tropical fish, and the sharks in the aquarium. Seeing him play with her caused a twinge in her insides. There was something sexy about the way he looked after her, joked with her and bounded through the day in his carefree way.
When they walked out into the fresh Chicago air, Suella couldn’t believe they would be playing a baseball game that night. They’d all had to wear their California winter jackets out into the late October chill. As Nathan dropped them off at the hotel to catch his early shuttle, someone called Suella. An area code she didn’t recognize. “It’s Cynthia Brae,” she said. “Claudia gave me your number. Listen, we’re going to sit behind the dugout today because the guys really need us. You might want to dress accordingly.”
Great, she thought. At least Natalie had a cute, fuchsia down jacket with a hood. It looked really cute on her but she always seemed a little downcast when she wore it.
“We’re going to sit with the people?” she asked, when her mother was finished explaining to her why she was getting so bundled up.
“Yes honey.”
Natalie’s eyes brightened. “Yay!”
A couple of hours later, they both arrived at the stadium to meet the other wives at the rotunda. Natalie jumped up and down when she reunited with the two other little girls and the little boy she’d played with the day before. The noise of the crowd swelled around them. Had they arrived early? Suella clicked herself and checked the readout: game time was still an hour away. She saw a sea of winter coats and parkas with down and fleece edged collars.
Claudia said “Shall we brave the tundra?”
The first thing they did was enter the lower level at a place called “New Waveland Avenue” which was a club that overlooked a grouping of seats that led down to the visitor’s bullpen. Suella knew she could find Nathan there. As soon as they reached the edge, Nathan turned around and looked up at them from the bullpen. “Hi Daddy!” Natalie said, jumping up and down with glee.
“Hi precious! Give Daddy a kiss!”
Natalie took her little hand, pressed it against her lips, and threw her father a kiss. “Aw, sweetheart, why don’t you give me a real one? I need it! For good luck!”
Suella looked down at him from the edge of the aisle and the metal rail. Nathan had walked up to the spot directly beneath them. He was at least ten feet below them, but he held up his arms beckoningly to her. “Nathan, are you saying what I think you are?”
“Dangle her down, honey,” Nathan said. A couple of the other pitchers gathered.
“Yes Mommy!” Natalie said; “I want to kiss Daddy!”
Claudia overheard them and stepped beside Suella. “You do one leg, and I’ll do the other. It’ll be a cute photo op.”
“What?” Suella said. “Are you both crazy?”
By this time a few of the regular fans seating in the seats noticed them. A few of them said “Aw, come on, mom!” and chanted for them to lower Natalie down.
“Okay,” she said, finally. “I guess I’m outvoted.”
Suella and Claudia gently lifted Natalie up, then each took hold of one leg, so she could be dangled down to her father. From the bullpen floor, two of the other pitchers boosted Nathan so that he could clear the remaining space between them and father and daughter could kiss. When they kissed for a brief second, Suella imagined flashes of light pulsing around them.
Then, someone tapped Suella on the back. When she strained to turn around, she saw two gray-haired men in orange jackets and captain’s hats. “What’s going on here?” one of them asked.
“That’s my husband, Nathan Worthy, down there,” Suella explained. She and Claudia lifted Natalie upward quickly. She squealed while they hoisted her back over the railing. Suella quickly brought her to her side, holding her against her hip.
“Do you think you’re being funny?” the other guard said. “That kid could get hurt.”
One of them smiled, but the other scowled. Suella knew that guards like that had to check out anything weird that was going on in the stands, and she couldn’t tell if she was in trouble or not. “I’m sorry if I did anything wrong,” she said.
Nathan shouted up from down in the bullpen. “It’s okay officers! It was my idea.”
Both of the guardmen grinned wryly. “Okay, we’ll let it go. Do you know you could get thrown out of here for pulling a stunt like that?”
Suella suddenly remembered something from her childhood: an image of Michael Jackson dangling his child out of an upper-story window to show to the paparazzi. They’d discussed it in her social studies class and everyone agreed that it was inappropriate behavior for a father. Oh well.
Claudia leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”
Suella took Natalie’s hand and they ran away from the seats near the bullpen. They had to weave their way through throngs of excited people on the concourse, all the while looking for the aisle that led to their box seats near the dugout.
Previously, Suella had enjoyed staying up in the luxury boxes with dinner delights served under gleaming silver pans. As they made their way to the box seats behind the visitor’s dugout, she saw old-fashioned vendors hawking hot dogs, beer, and peanuts. Most of them wore gloves and caps to go with their sweatshirt sleeves under the uniform.
Megan, a lady whom Suella was familiar with, said “This has to be the coldest baseball game played ever.”
Arlene, one of the Hispanic player’s wives said “No. I checked that. It’s forty-two degrees. They played a home opener once where the temp was 32.”
“As long as it’s not windy,” someone said.
Baseball stadiums were supposed to have a ban on screens on the lower deck.
It could be distracting to the players. That night, Suella counted three of them near the section where they were sitting. The owners had turned the sound up, too, so that she could hear all the commentators.
She felt as if she’d been sitting in her living room watching the game on television. After the formalities, such as a Celtic singer doing the national anthem, which seemed strange even for Chicago, they started playing. Suella heard an announcer say “It’s do or die tonight, folks.”
One of her friends, Melinda, had sneaked in a bottle of Ouzo and offered shots from it. Suella took a couple of the shots in little paper cups to keep herself warm. She worried about Natalie, but her daughter happily jumped around and played with her friends.
“We’ve got Ronnie pitching,” Claudia said. “We can win!” She was talking about Ron Hellinger, the single young man who threw fastballs that looked like white streaks. Suella noticed that the pitcher from Chicago also threw fastballs that looked like aspirin tablets and hit the catcher’s mitt with a boom that she could hear even above the expectant, raucous crowd.
The innings wore on, the pitchers dominated, and Suella felt a warm glow that intensified with every drop of Ouzo that she drank. Around her the crowd rose and sat down, cheering loudly with every long fly ball or hit. Yet, when she looked at the scoreboard, she saw zeroes at the end. Natalie held her around her hips, drawing tightly against her. “I’m cold,” she said.
As the Chicago pitcher tired, he walked a batter. Someone popped out, causing Suella to think of Nathan. San Diego’s next batter, was a righty, his back to them.
When the Chicago
pitcher reared back to fling his next pitch, the batter swung hard and hit the ball with a loud crack. All of the women sprang upward from their seats, shouting expectantly as a long, arcing fly ball soared into the cold night. They all watched it land near the stands where Suella had dangled Natalie a couple of hours before. All of the action happened like a slide show for Suella, as she saw the two San Diego players in helmets joyously jogging on the basepaths and the giddy women around her jumping and hugging each other. “What happened, mommy?” Natalie asked having to raise her voice above all the shouting.
“Someone hit a home run!” Suella shouted down to her.
Later, when the Chicago players all ran off the field, Melinda said “Just two more innings! Come on boys! Just hold ‘em for two more innings!”
A different pitcher, one Suella did not recognize, took the mound for the eighth inning. He walked the first batter, causing everyone to groan. All of the Chicago fans around them and the thousands of others in the bowl cheered thunderously. The next batter popped out, quieting them. Claudia said “Come on, Jose! Make ‘em hit a ground ball!” As if following her advice, the next batter did hit the ball on the ground, but it squirt through infielders who dived after it and rolled all the way to the outfield track. More thunderous cheering. Suella saw Melinda bite her fist. The runner who had walked slid into third.
The manager walked toward the mound, his hands jammed into his pockets, his rapid breathing puffing small clouds around his face and gray hair. They all looked toward the bullpen as the Chicago fans around them laughed and joked. The manager raised his left hand, causing Suella’s stomach to frost over. The bullpen door opened.
Nathan ran out of the door, galloping briskly toward the mound. An announcer on one of the screens bellowed “And here he comes, Methuseleh!”
Claudia’s mouth dropped open and she narrowed her eyes. “Nathan? Oh my god!” Someone else said “That old man? He’s gonna blow it! What the hell is Chester thinking?” They all watched him take the mound and start his warm up throws. Even from their seats, without looking at a monitor, Suella could see his look of smug satisfaction. “We’re going to the series!” a man’s voice shouted, from one of the sections near them. “That fag junkballer doesn’t have a chance.”
Suella, who’d had four drinks of Ouzo by then, saw things differently. She slurred “He’s gonna get both of those guys out!”
Claudia said “What? A double play?”
“No! He’s gonna get both of those guys out.”
They all watched it unfold. Nathan finished his warm ups, then put on his scowling game face as the next batter strolled to the plate. The roar of the crowd reached a buzzing crescendo as the batter dug his heels in and rocked back and forth, causing his bat to sway, making it look like a cobra ready to strike. Quickly, Nathan shifted his feet and glanced at the runner on first, who was dancing around, juking back and forth.
Nathan gathered himself again, gazed down at the mound and peered in at the batter. When he appeared ready to lift his hands and start a windup toward the plate, he shifted his feet again and stared the runner back to the first base bag. “Come on, throw it to the plate, jagoff!” a grumpy man’s voice bellowed from one of the nearby sections. Nathan dipped his head and squinted, reading the catcher’s signs, as Suella knew.
Quickly he whipped around and slung a pitch toward the plate but it sailed away from the batter. The catcher was standing, tensing his muscles, faking a throw to first, chasing the runner back. A few boos emanated from the crowd. “Come on you stupid old piece of shit! While we’re young!” the grumpy man shouted.
On the screens in the sections surrounding them, the announcer, in an exasperated tone said “And Worthy again goes into the windup.” He stopped, his feet shifted, he glared the runner back to first base took a step toward third and whirled back to the runner at first. The crowd booed, louder and longer. Suella saw her husband sigh, the front of his shirt lifting. He set, stopped and arced a pitch toward the plate. The batter swung mightily and fouled it straight back, bonking it off the glass off one of the luxury boxes. Someone behind the glass waved a white sheet of paper as if it was a flag for surrender.
Back on the field, Nathan brought his hands to his chest to start a windup. He glared straight ahead at the catcher. After that, it happened quickly: Suella was sure her husband was going to throw a pitch to the plate, he snap-shifted his feet, like a rap dancer and fired toward the first baseman. The runner, who’d been cocky and dancing just a moment before, dived back toward the bag with a horrified look on his face. The umpire behind them all thrust his right fist high into the cold air, his thumb extended. Nathan had run toward them. The first baseman shuffled him the ball as if he’d been playing j’ai alai. Nathan caught the ball in his left hand, spun, and fired it toward home plate. The runner on third had taken off, trying to steal a run. Nathan’s throw, and the runner arrived at home plate at the same time.
The runner and the catcher collided, tumbling backward in a plume of dust.
All of the wives inhaled, clasping their hands together. The umpire at home, who’d backed away from the colliding baseball players, lowered down and thrust his fist into the air, thumb extended. Suella didn’t see the players jump together at first base and at home. She was too busy jumping up and down herself, hugging Natalie, then Claudia, then Megan. From the speakers around them, the announcer bellowed. “I don’t believe this! Worthy gunned down two runners on the same play!”