Boy's World

Derek Zumsteg

Back to Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

"Can she make it" is not an issue anymore, because Karen has already proven that she can play professionally and compete with the best prospects in baseball. It appears now that only injury can prevent her ascent to the major leagues, which could happen as soon as rosters expand later this year.

Karen took a loss on Wednesday, hit for two runs in the first and two runs in the second, her control eventually returning as she worked on, until she hit her pitch count and left to watch the last few boring innings. She spoke to the reporters outside the locker room calmly and easily, and later caught up to Alan for a ride home. Alan glanced nervously over at her as they drove and then shopped in silence.

"You seem well-adjusted today," Alan said, straining to carry his grocery basket to an express lane.

Karen picked up a copy of Baseball Weekly with Karen on the cover ("CAN SHE MAKE IT?"), pixelated and one of the color plates off, red bleeding on the right edges of all the solids. It was a glamour shot, posed, Karen holding a ball towards the camera.

"I look like Chunky Girl with a bizarre complexion problem."

Alan laughed. "You look fine." The cashier started to ring them up along with Alan's beer and bizarre basket of groceries. "She's cute, huh?" Alan said, handing the paper to him.

The cashier glanced at it. "I guess," he said.

Karen socked Alan in the shoulder. "Take better pictures."

"What I want to know," Karen said, "is where my cut of this stuff is. You got the cover, you get the feature article, and what do I get?" She walked on in through Steve's living room, where he was laid out in his new chair eyes closed, and flipped the Weekly onto Steve's head.

"Goodwill and endorsements," Steve said, "and the book deal. Don't forget the book deal."

Karen sat down on Steve's new couch. "I'm still impressed you manage to not talk about how I look, like all the other writers. It shows remarkable restraint. I liked it. It's a good article."

"Thanks," muffled Steve replied.

"Did you mean that we got the book deal?"

"Deals, actually," Steve said. "We're negotiating a deal that depends on how far you go, so if you win rookie of the year, everybody makes more money. I'm worried about signing a deal now for a book they could just republish later with somebody else's update."

"And guess who gets to take the pretty pictures?" Alan asked.

"What did you mean by deals?" Karen asked the writer.

"'What's going to happen is that we're getting the authorized and unauthorized bios. I can't guarantee there won't be other unauthorized bios, of course, but this'll work out pretty well."

"How about we write the authorized one, and we can have you imaginary friend write the other? Or we can use the stuff I toss from your first draft." Alan started to laugh as Karen started in on her reporter voice. "'Karen Moran is one of the best known and most exciting prospects today, garnering unprecedented attention for an undrafted prospect yet to play a major league game.'"' Karen paused. "'For good reason.'" She started to laugh, leaning into Alan.

"Hey, shut up," Steve said.

"No, no, wait," Alan said. "We should start with a poignant moment in high school."

"'Just as Karen once side-stepped a defender in a state soccer championship to shoot on goal, so has she moved around the baseball establishment for her shot at the major leagues.'" Karen put her feet up on the coffee table.

"I don't write like that any more," Steve said. "I'm past that."

Alan slapped Karen on the knee, drawing a glare he didn't notice. "'My friend Jimmy Lakes says Karen-'"

"Am I ever going to live that down?"

"No," Karen said.

"Unlikely," Alan said.

"Man, I got shelled today," Karen said. "Four runs. Too many pitches too soon. I need a nap." She laid out on the couch. "You don't mind, do you?"

Steve sat with his Powerbook up on his desk and paged through his transcribed notes.

Keith: yeah man, I think I was the only guy in our high school who did her

S: uh huh

K: seriously

S: I don't believe you

K: it happened

S: Why would a self-possessed, self-respecting girl like Karen do that for you?

K: hey, they all did that for me.

S: No, I'll bet they didn't. The real question is, can I disprove it?

K: I remembered some stuff since I talked to you that one time. She gets freaky if you spank her. I don't know why I forgot this-

Steve looked at the Powerbook, at his beer. What if that was true, what if any of that was true? Should he give her a quick whack, see what she did? Probably put his head through the nearest wall, most likely. There were hundreds of pages of notes on his machine, and this was the one that bothered him.

What amazed him, looking through his notes, is that he'd managed to recover from that and get a decent interview with the guy, moving from his sex life, past and present, to what Karen had been like, and what they'd had in common as prep stars.

Karen had given up two runs in the first and then pitched two shutout innings. Steve and Alan sat in the stands, discarded cups and food containers in practiced piles around their seats.

"I'm afraid that if I ignore this, he's going to pop up later, looking for a payoff, making me look bad for making Karen look good, which is what I'm trying to do. What if he's got some sort of proof -- why would he make claims like this if he didn't have something?"

"Don't ask me, man," Alan said. "I'm a gentleman, I don't tell."

"What's his plan? Does he think that he'll be able to file a sexual harassment suit against her later, or he'll become a sex symbol or something?"

"He's barely older than Karen. He doesn't seem as together as she is -- he probably just wants to see his name in print as the first to do the famous chick. Why don't you just ask her?"

"I think she'll kill me. And if this guy has proof, her dad's going to kill him." Steve dropped another beer cup into the beer cup stack, one more ring on the waxed tree. "Either way, somebody's going to get hurt."

Steve adjusted his headset again. Alan was playing on the new Dreamcast, volume down, glancing over at Steve between waves of 3-D enemies. Steve dialed.

"Good evening, Mr. Moran, this is Steve. Scott, of course. How's New York treating you?" Steve laughed. "Good deal. Hey, I need to ask you a quick question for the book about something that's come up, and this is going to sound sort of weird. Sure, Scott. Do you remember a kid Karen dated in high school, name of Johann? How long did they go out? You ever uh.. suspect anything? No, I mean...no, yeah. No, I don't, but he's been saying -- No, that's not...No, don't do that, it'll only make -- Weird stuff, Scott. I don't even want to talk about it. Weird. No. No. Yes. Yes. Really?"

Steve hit the mute. "He's already heard about the thing and the -- the thing." He hit the mute again. "What I'd like, if you can, is to describe to me, in as much detail as possible, what you remember from when they were dating."

Steve started to type. He muted the phone, still typing.

"Remind me not to ever ask dads about their little girl dating." He rushed to hit the mute. "No, I was just drinking some water. Please, go on."

When Steve got off the phone, he massaged his wrists and did his RSI exercises. "He's got a remarkable memory."

"He probably remembers most of his at-bats pitch-by-pitch."

"He doesn't like this guy, either."

"He's going to tell Karen you asked him."

Steve stared at the 3-D rendered zombies. "I wish you'd stop me before I do things like this."

"Can you come over after the game, talk about the book?"

"Sure," Karen said, dropping a slow pitch at Callahan, catching on the side. "What are we up to now, my brilliant grade school prep career?"

"Something like that."

Karen took the ball back and turned. "Why do you look all worried?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Take your time, it's kind of cute."

"Have fun charting pitches."

"That was yesterday," Karen said. "Pay attention to the rotation."

Steve skipped the game and called Karen's friends back, asking them each a couple of questions. Keith was described by all in the same words: he was a jerk, but he was a big man in high school, and cute to boot, and the understood why Karen went out with him but also why she dumped him. None of them would confirm anything Steve wanted left unconfirmed.

"Where's the ghost writer?" Karen called. "I can't see him." She opened his fridge and removed a bottle of KarenBait (Gatorade in original, whitewater, glacier, and fruit punch flavors). She sat in Steve's armchair. "Man, this is some nice seat."

Steve nodded and kept typing.

"What ever happened to that thing you were working on, the thing on how to win at trading?"

Steve leaned back from his desk and turned in his new ergonomic chair. "Funny thing," he said, "I decided not to finish that."

Karen's forehead scrunched up, like she was trying to push the elastic off her short ponytail mentally. "Why's that? That sounded really cool."

"I got the first draft done and I was consulting with a statistics guy I know at Wake Forest, working on better modeling, and we got an offer to knock it off."

Karen leaned forward, interested.

"Really."

"No kidding," Steve said. "In fact, we got a couple of offers. Some wanted us to turn over what we had and knock it off, some wanted us to just knock it off."

"And you took the money?"

"Sort of. We hired a lawyer, worked a couple deals at the same time -- no reason more than one club shouldn't pay us to not do work -- and let it sit. We're thinking of setting up a trade consulting service later."

"What did you make off with?"

"A lot of money, believe it or not."

Karen reclined and drank her KarenBait. "That's pretty impressive, Steve."

"Thanks."

"Between that and not talking to your--"

"Leave it alone."

"A'ight. So what's up?"

Steve picked up his reporter's notebook and walked to the couch.

"I need to talk to you about Keith."

"Aww, dammit. This is stupid."

"If we don't talk about it, it'll just get worse."

"I told you, he's trying to taint me. He's still mad I dumped him. He tell you I liked clamps?"

"No. What?"

"What are you so wound about?"

"If he shows up later with letters from you that say 'take me home and spank me, yeah!' and writes a tell-all about what a psycho girl you were, your media strategy...our media strategy isn't going to count for jack."

Karen sighed. "Why would he have those letters? Why would you think he might have those letters?"

"Because I can't prove he doesn't, and I need to prove that."

"Why would I be that stupid? Do you think that, even then, I didn't know better than to leave evidence like that?" She almost set the bottle down but didn't. "Don't look like that, there's nothing to leave evidence of. I told you, I'm pure as the driven snow." She threw the half-empty plastic bottle off his forehead with her right arm and grinned at him. "Do you want to check?"

"Do I want -- no!" Steve's ears were burning, and he knew he was turning colors for her amusement.

She put her legs up on his coffee table. "It doesn't matter, I'd fail anyway."

Steve picked the bottle up off the floor, uncapped it, and took a drink. "That doesn't matter to me."

"Doesn't it? You sure look pretty worked up about it." Karen pointed at him. "Look at you!"

Steve smiled. "Alright, you win."

"You're developing a nasty bruise on your forehead." Karen closed her eyes and curled up in her seat. "Why would I sleep with a guy like that? Why would you think that I would do that?"

"What kind of guy would you want?"

Karen came open and looked at him. "Someone with a sense of humor, who can take a good joke, even if it's on him. Cute. Smart, or at least smart in some ways." She snuggled back into Comfy Chair. "Why do you ask?"

"I was thinking I was thinking maybe I should check."

"Mmm? Check what."

"You know."

"No."

Steve took a sip of his KarenBait. "The thing to check. Before?"

Karen pulled one of Steve's long shirts around for a blanket. "Oh, that."

"Yeah."

"It wouldn't matter -- I took care of it myself a long, long time ago."

Steve listened to the loud whining in his ears and felt the dizziness build in his head.

"It's funny," Karen said, "that they call me weaker, when it's the men who can't do anything, all fear and caution." She put her head down, eyes open. "Last chance."

Steve sat, hand on bottle, jaw down, and stammered softly.

"Oh well," Karen said, and went to sleep.

A little later, Steve made one last call.

"Keith! Hey man, it's Steve Kelitts, Orlando Sentinel? I interviewed you twice about Karen Moran. You remember?"

"Yeah, sure."

"I wanted to talk to you about something. You were a decent small-town quarterback, and now you're a backup at a small college. Maybe you're telling the truth, but you know what? I heard some rumors about a date rape complaint filed against you back in Yakima. I looked it up, and there it was. Yakima's a pretty friendly town, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Don't think someone would file a charge like that against somebody else lightly, huh?"

"It's not like that."

"I understand. I also heard you got a summer job from a booster out there?"

"Yeah."

"But you were back home when I interviewed you."

"I uh-"

"Let's cut the crap, Johann. You've got a happy little life now, and if you ever tell anyone any of those things, I'll take it away from you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Great. I hope to never talk to you again. Bye-bye."

Steve hung up the phone, found Karen a blanket, and went to bed.

Sometime later, Karen got up and walked in her bare feet into Steve's room, kissed his bruised forehead, and then padded on out, cat-like, to go read up for her start, two days hence, planning a shutout of another team of free-swingers. It would be beautiful.

To Chapter Nine

about the author

Derek Zumsteg has been commissioned to make Bill James' essays readable.