ONE CUP (Part 14)

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49

Mike Prescott

I probably should have taken the walk, let Notso put in a pinch runner for me, and hope we could manufacture a run to win the game. But the Three-Oh pitch was just too inviting. I knew the moment I made contact it was gone, and we were division champs.

My teammates greeted me at home plate, and we piled on top of one another in celebration. Afterward, I did a couple of brief on-field interviews, with fans shouting, “MVP! MVP! MVP!” in the background. MVP are my initials, but honestly, I don’t think it is bragging to say I had an MVP season. But, it’s all out of my hands. We’ll have to wait and see.

Inside the clubhouse, guys were spraying champagne on one another. I couldn’t avoid it altogether, but I didn’t actively participate. I prefer to keep my eye on the real prize, the World Series championship. We win the series, you’ll see me get my party on.

This thing tonight, our celebration party at the Grand Hotel in downtown Indianapolis, was more toned-down. Kayla couldn’t come with me, due to a prior commitment to host a charity event in Eagle Creek. When I told her I was thinking of staying home, she said, “Don’t be ridiculous, Michael. You’re the reason this team is a winner. If you don’t show up, it would be rude. People would think you’re . . . What’s the word I’m looking for?”

“An asshole?”

She smiled, kissed me on the cheek, and said, “Thank you! Yes. That’s exactly the word I was looking for!”

I dressed casually, polo shirt, slacks, and sandals. Kayla, on the other hand, was going out in a mid-thigh length yellow dress with matching heels and purse.

“Michael, do you mind if we switch cars tonight?” she asked. “I forgot to get gas for the Escalade today, and I don’t want to bother with it. Especially in this dress.”

“Sure,” I said. “I can top it off on the way to the party and you’ll be good to go tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you.” She rewarded me with a peck on the cheek, then quickly wiped her lipstick off with a tissue.

So, Kayla took my Corvette and I drove her Escalade to the party alone. I was there maybe ten, twelve minutes, and involved in a conversation with J.T. Washington and his wife, Camille, who was due to deliver their first child any day, when, I felt someone brush up against me, on my right side. I leaned away slightly and turned to see who it was.

I don’t know how, but Fredericka managed to infiltrate the party. “Hello, Michael,” she said with a warm smile. My entire body stiffened, as if jolted by electricity. “Congratulations on your home run today.”

I nodded, trying not to show my nervousness. “Thank you,” I said, with a wavering voice. I could feel my pulse quicken, my breath becoming more rapid. Inside my button-down shirt, a cold bead of sweat dropped from my armpit and trickled down one side of my ribcage. Do not have a panic attack! Not here. Not now. Thank God, Kayla couldn’t come to the party.

Fredericka turned from me to the Washington’s, who were holding hands, and said, “Michael, who are these lovely people?”

“I’m Camille,” Mrs. Washington said, “And this is my husband, J.T.”

“Hi, I’m Fredericka.” She offered both her hands, one to each of them. A rather unique greeting, I thought, but it worked well, the three of them forming a small circle of friendship.

Fredericka wrinkled her nose, scrunched her shoulders, and in an excited, squeaky voice women use when they are excited or pretending to be, said, “When’s the baby due?”

Camille Washington’s voice became squeaky then, too. “Any day now! We’re so excited!”

Lou Brannigan was in the buffet line. I caught his eye, motioned for him to join me.

“What’s up, Mike?” he said, biting into a meatball on a toothpick.

“This person needs to go.”

“Who?” he said, scanning the room.

“The woman over there, talking to the Washingtons. Her name is Fredericka”

“Her? How come?”

“Never mind how come. She needs to go. Now!”

“Okay,” Brannigan said. “I’ll get security to—”

“No! Don’t do that!”

“But, you said—”

“I said she needs to go. I didn’t say make a scene. Get someone to take her home.”

50

Ray Garrett

I had just filled my plate and was about to go mingle with a couple of other players and their dates when Lou Brannigan called out to me, just loud enough for me to hear him above all the chit chat in the room. “Garrison!” he gestured with a jerk of his head for me to join him.

“It’s Garrett,” I said as I approached.

“Whatever.” Brannigan scanned the room, locking on an attractive female talking with Mike Prescott in the corner. “Listen, Mike needs you to do something.” The way he said it implied I should be jumping with glee at the opportunity.

“What’s he need?”

“See the chick talking to Mike and Kayla?” Brannigan’s eyes darted in the general direction he wanted me to look. “The one with the big tits?”

I glanced their way. “You mean the only woman other than Kayla over there?” Her back was to me, but there was something familiar about her.

“He needs you to give her a ride home.”

I thought about it. “Why me?”

Brannigan’s head jerked back as if I’d thrown a cold drink in his face. “Why not you?”

Clearly, I was expected to say something. After all, shouldn’t I feel honored to have been chosen? I started picking at my food. “This shrimp is delicious. Have you tried it?”

Brannigan, exasperated, sighed heavily. “Look, Mike really needs you to do this, okay?”

It wasn’t that I objected to the idea of helping a friend, but I barely knew Mike Prescott, and I didn’t like Lou Brannigan at all. I damn sure wasn’t about to do him any favors. “Why can’t he take her home? Why can’t you do it, for that matter? Or pay for a cab. Geez, Mike Prescott makes more money than God. I think he can afford it!”

“Look Garrison,” Brannigan said. I raised an eyebrow, cutting him off. He brought a hand up, as if to ward off an attack, corrected himself, “Garrett . . .  he really needs you to do this. Trust me, rookie, he can’t do it himself. And, I’ve had too much to drink.”

Reluctantly, I agreed. “Okay,” I sighed. “I’ll do it.”

I turned to go back to the buffet again. “Where do you think you’re going?” Brannigan demanded.

“Well, duh! I’m going back for more food.”

“You said you’d take her home.”

“I will, just as soon as the party’s over.”

“Now, Garrett! He needs you to take her now! And, babysit her. Don’t let her come back!”

It occurred to me this could be another prank, a setup. They’d gotten me once already. I handed him my half-full plate. “You’d better not be dicking with me, Brannigan.”

51

Mike Prescott

I was not prepared for Fredericka to show up uninvited. After what had happened in church, it should not have surprised me, but it did. It was embarrassing, and a bit unnerving. I was desperately searching for something, anything to say to the Washington’s or anyone else who might be curious as to just who this woman was. And then, the worst thing I could have imagined happened.

“Michael! Darling, I got here as fast as I could!” Kayla’s voice carried across the room, and all eyes turned toward her, watching as she glided through the crowd, stopping briefly to exchange greetings with everyone. Working the room I think it’s called.

The Washingtons excused themselves, and Fredericka rejoined me just as Kayla approached. She stopped dead in her tracks, eyed Fredericka. I swallowed hard.

“Michael,” Kayla said, “Where do I know this person from?”

“Church!” Fredericka said, before I could open my mouth. “We met after church the other day.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Kayla smiled warmly toward Fredericka, then turned to me with a long glance that could freeze water.

“I was hoping to see you, Mrs. Prescott,” Fredericka said, eyeing me mischievously as she spoke.

Just then, Lou Brannigan came to my rescue. “Excuse me,” he said to Fredericka, “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt. Could you come with me? There is an emergency phone call for you.” He turned to Kayla, “Excuse us.” As he ushered the unsuspecting Fredericka toward the door. For the first time since I’d met her, Fredericka appeared to be confused, maybe even frightened. Not in complete control. She was human after all.

52

Ray Garrett

“Go away,” Lou Brannigan said as he guided the girl into the passenger side of my car. “He doesn’t want to see you anymore.”

She looked at me, shrugged and said, “Majestic Oaks. It’s at Thirty-Fourth and Wiseman.” As I reached for the GPS to program the address, she said. “Just go. I’ll give you directions.”

Despite her initial protests when Lou Brannigan escorted her outside to my car, the girl didn’t seem all that upset once we pulled out of the parking lot. I, on the other hand, was pissed. My once in a lifetime opportunity to celebrate clinching a playoff berth in the major leagues was effectively terminated, and there was no one to blame but myself. Despite Brannigan’s insistence, the fact is no one held a gun to my head. I allowed myself to be coerced, manipulated into doing someone else’s bidding. I kept my eyes on the road, alone in my thoughts.

“Left turn coming up in half a mile,” she said. “You mad at me?”

“Nope.” We turned onto Wiseman.

“Stay on this road for about two miles or so. The apartment complex is on the right side,” she said. “Do your nostrils normally flare and your jaw clench when you’re not mad?”

“Didn’t say I wasn’t mad,” I replied. “I said I wasn’t mad at you.” I glanced toward her for a moment. She was quite attractive, classy. Not like the countless groupies I’d seen in hotel lobbies and player exits at the stadiums since being called up. I guessed her to be in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. I stared, trying to remember where I knew her from as she took her cell phone out and began texting.

“I’m running low on battery,” she said.

I kept stealing glances, thinking, Where do I know her from?

When she finished her text, she looked up. Her eyes widened, and she pointed ahead. “WATCH OUT!”

My arm instinctively reached out as if to protect her as I swerved back to the right, just in time to avoid a head-on with a compact car. The other driver laid on his horn. Our windows were up, but in my mind I could hear him cursing me.

My heart was pounding and my breath was short. I was overcome by a feeling of déjà vu. And then, I knew. She was the girl in my dream. The one I almost drove to Tallahassee to find. Not someone who looked a lot like her. It was her. Her name wasn’t Nicole, and she was in Indianapolis, not Tallahassee, but those were just details. It was her. And I couldn’t help feeling somehow we were destined to meet.

“You scared the crap out of me “

“Sorry I almost killed you. I guess I was staring.”

“I get that a lot,” she said.

We drove on in awkward silence for a while. I offered my hand. “Ray Garrett,”

She took my hand, grasping it firmly. “Whitney,” she said. “Keep your eyes on the road, Ray Garrett.”

“Whitney? I thought Lou Brannigan called you Fredericka.”

“He did. That’s my, umm . . . nickname.”

“Oh.” I glanced at her. “Which do you prefer to be called?”

She took a moment, then replied, “My friends call me Whitney.”

Considering that was the name she had used to introduce herself, I supposed it meant she saw friendship potential in me. “Nice to meet you, Whitney,” I said.

She pivoted slightly in her seat to look directly at me. “So, Ray Garrett, are you married? Engaged? Gay?”

I cocked my head, gave her an ‘Are you serious?’ look.

“Hey, I’m hot,” she said. “Gay guys check me out, too. You’d wouldn’t be the first.”

I shook my head and grinned. “No to all three.”

We drove on in silence for a couple minutes. I broke the silence. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“Married? Engaged? Gay?”

She fidgeted, echoed my answer, “No to all three.” Clearly, I had hit a nerve.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You just met me. I was only trying to make conversation.”

Whitney softened a bit. “I’m a single mom. One daughter. She’ll turn seven years old next week.” I didn’t reply. “Her name is Rylee. She’s my reason for living.”

“First grade? Second?”

“I’m home schooling her,” Whitney said. “Lots of resources on the internet. She loves computers. I got her an iPad to do her work on. Plus she likes to watch videos.”

“Gotta be careful, I bet. You know, with all the crap out there on the web.”

Whitney nodded. “That’s an understatement. I caught her looking at some things earlier today. Stuff I’d told her was off limits. Had to take it away from her for a couple days. I put it in the trunk of my car. If I left it in the apartment she’d find it no matter how well I thought I’d hidden it.”