Boy's World

Derek Zumsteg

Back to Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Karen Moran dressed in her Sunday best, a grey Chanel suit, a present from her dad, and drove in with him from the team hotel in their rented black town car. Her dad didn't speak to her at all on the way in. There were television crews all over the parking lot, and cops in rain slickers pushed them back from their way. The rain tacked lightly on the roof of the car along with the time of the jazz CD her dad had picked out. Karen could probably not have picked a better CD for the occasion; she was all nerves and the music was comfortable and skilled at once. The shouted questions and requests were barely audible inside the car.

"Which album is this?" she asked her dad.

"It's Gerry Mulligan," he replied. "You bought it for my birthday last year."

"Reminds me of Miles."

He considered this as he followed a cop's instructions into the secured lot. "I can see that," he said. He pulled into the next spot. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm nervous, dad," she said.

"Keep calm."

Karen laughed. "I'm trying."

Her dad put the car into park and they opened the doors. There were camera crews all around the perimeter, but they were being crushed by the fans. They had bought up every pitching coach jersey available so they could wear something that had her name and Houston on it at the same time, and she scanned down the row, seeing them throw elbows at the beautiful sports reporters just so they could see her get out of a Lincoln, smiling widely and yelling incoherent encouragement.

Karen kept the game face. Rain fell lightly on her, across her forehead, black dots on her grey suit. She walked around the car. Cops waved her towards the Metrodome like runway personnel. They were hunched down in the rain, waiting to escort her into the dry, but she walked on, looking at the bright, hot camera lights showing the rain between her and the media, the yelling people who'd staked out spots along with the local news crews just so they could wish her luck.

Two cops stayed with her as she walked to the visitor's clubhouse. They were big, muscled cops that Karen would have picked for crowd control instead of spotting snipers. At the entrance to the visitor's clubhouse they stopped and turned to her.

"Can you sign this ball for my daughter?" one of them said, producing a ball and Sharpie out of his wet POLICE jacket. "She loves you." "Is her name Sergeant Willis?" Moran asked.

"No, it's Jessica," he said, blushing.

Karen signed. "Is she here tonight?"

"Yeah," Sgt. Willis said. "I snuck her in."

"I'd love to meet her," Karen said, handing the ball back. "Good luck tonight," the other cop said.

She nodded at them and went on in. The clubhouse was filled with fully clothed Astros who'd suited up early for her. They lined up to greet her and give her loose hugs, and then they left her to shower and suit up in private. Karen alone grinned.

She found her locker next to the other call-ups and set her bag down. Her uniform hung against the back. She turned it over to read MORAN 1 and set it aside. She stripped down and changed into her gear, from the sport underwear to the grey polyester road jersey, and finally the cap, and she looked at herself in the mirror and grinned widely. "I knew I'd look good in this," she said, nodding.

She worked on the ponytail for a minute until she got the braid to lay flat in the back. She smiled again and slammed her locker shut. Moran walked the passageway to the dugout, passing by people she didn't know who clapped her on the back and wished her luck on her way up. The team was spread out in the field, some still running drills. Dierker approached her.

"It's good to see you again, sir," Karen said. He smiled. "Not as good as it is to see you. How are you feeling?"

"I'm excited."

"Good." He beamed at her. "We're all glad to have you with us."

"Thank you."

"Now, you know what's going on. Normally I'd have you pitch some relief, maybe get your time in during some blowouts or something, but for the next two weeks we're in trouble, so I'm throwing you in the fire. Do what you can."

"Let me at 'em."

He smiled and nodded. "I've always liked you, Moran. Mitch?" Their catcher, first-year All-Star, got off the bench and shook Karen's hand again.

"Nice to see another home-town player," he said. "I'm sorry I didn't get to see you play way back."

"It's all right."

"Let's get you warmed up."

Karen stepped out onto the turf of the Dome. "Is it just me or are there a lot of people here this early?" A cheer rose for the section behind the visitor's dugout and carried around the stands.

"No, you're right," Meluskey said. "There's already twice as many people as yesterday's total. Average attendance here is under eight thousand."

She set her glove down and started into her stretches. From the stands, a crush of fans, card shop owners, and SellChannel ringers shouted for her attention.

"How's it been this year?" Karen asked.

"Great," Meluskey said. "I couldn't believe I made the All-Stars. That was cool. I got to meet Alex."

"Yeah? How was he?"

"Oh, he's cool," he said. "So are you as good as they say?"

"Don't you read my stats?"

"I've been kind of busy."

"I'm better," Karen said. "What's our plan tonight?"

Meluskey looked across the stands, which were filling in quickly. "Let's just win," he said. "Let's get this last Interleague series done and back to Texas." Karen went into her back stretches, to catcalls. "You get a chance to read the scouting reports?"

"On the plane, yeah," she said. "Sounds like sort of a pushover, to be honest."

"It'll be a good warmup before you face the Mets. You ready for tossing?"

"Sure," Karen said. She stood up, twisted, and walked to the bullpen mound. Scattered cheers. There was an autograph crowd mooned out from the bullpen seats, the few hard-timers being elbowed by the same card-dealers and card-dealer kids that were just background noise to her now. She'd been in the Dome before sometime, a Twins-Royals thrillfest, if she remembered right, but on the field it was something different again, the featureless scale of the roof across her vision, and the stands now dotted with people. "It's a great feeling, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

Karen sat next to her catcher in the first. She couldn't pay attention to the game, and there seemed to be much less noise than she would have expected from a sellout crowd in a stadium notorious for deafening players during playoffs years ago. There seemed to be a weird politeness in applauding the Twins for their modest play.

Meluskey worked on one of his straps again. Dierker leaned over on the other side of the bench, checked her, and then leaned back. It was time. The other seven jogged on the field, gloves hanging loosely at their sides. She looked at Meluskey. He nodded and they came out of the dugout.

And there was the noise. It was fifty thousand people there to see her pitch, chanting ten things out of sequence and harmony, throwing paper and cups onto the field, the noise seeming to take up the whole world, a weight like a second uniform. She looked up into the stands to see everyone waving, jumping, the crowd female and loud and not screaming but yelling louder than she'd ever suspected was possible. Moran stepped onto the mound and it got louder. Meluskey was smiling in his squat.

One finger. In.

After ducking back into the dugout after her scoreless first major-league inning, Karen noticed the rest of the dugout wore weird grins and dazed expressions.

"I think they want a no-hitter out there," Meluskey yelled into her ear.

"That's for the home crowd," she yelled back. Meluskey laughed and started to strip his gear so he could get to the on-deck circle.

Karen Moran leaned back against the bench and felt fifty thousand people start chanting for her to come back out through the concrete and wood of the dugout. She was on the TV, two different cameras were all hers, and she leaned forward and watched the Twins' pitcher, preparing for her first at-bat.

End

about the author

Derek Zumsteg had been retained to ghost-write the autobiography of Jerry Reinsdorf, but tore up the contract when he realized he'd have to sit and watch Reinsdorf eat.