25
“YOU HAVE no business talking to my wife without me present,” Ingersoll said.
Jesse didn’t answer.
“What have you told him?” Ingersoll said to his wife.
“What is there to tell, Jay?” she said.
“This is harassment,” Ingersoll said to Jesse.
Jesse smiled and didn’t say anything.
“And you know it is,” Ingersoll said. “Don’t you.”
Jesse smiled some more.
“Can’t you make him leave me alone?” Betsy Ingersoll said.
“I can,” Ingersoll said, “and I will.”
“I wish you would,” Betsy said. “In fact, Jay, I wish you already had.”
“I told you,” Ingersoll said, “if he approached you in any way you were to call me at once.”
“Yes,” she said. “You did.”
“But you chose to disobey me,” Ingersoll said.
“I know,” she said.
“We’ll discuss that later,” Ingersoll said.
“Why later?” she said.
Ingersoll shook his head.
“Stone,” he said, “I have spoken to the district attorney about you.”
“He mentioned that,” Jesse said.
“And I have spoken to your board of selectmen,” Ingersoll said. “You will, I’m sure, hear from them shortly.”
“Doubtless,” Jesse said.
“Why not now,” Betsy Ingersoll said.
“What?” Ingersoll said.
“Why can’t we discuss my disobedience right now,” she said.
“For God’s sake, Betsy. We’re in the police chief’s office.”
“Perfect,” she said. “You can have him arrest me for disobedience.”
Jesse could see Ingersoll fighting his temper.
“I have no plans for that, Betsy.”
Ingersoll smiled.
“Let’s pursue it at home,” he said.
“When will that be?” she said.
“When will we be home?” Ingersoll said.
“I’ll be home pretty soon,” Betsy said. “But you. When will you be home?”
“When you are,” Ingersoll said.
Puzzlement was pressing for position with anger in his response.
“That will be refreshing,” she said.
Puzzlement was winning.
“That I’m home?” he said.
“You so rarely are,” Betsy said.
Ingersoll looked as if he’d been physically jostled. He stared at her.
“Betsy,” he said finally, “I am the managing partner of the biggest law firm north of New York. I work long hours, and I work very hard.”
“I know how hard you’re working,” she said. “And at what.”
Ingersoll said to Jesse, “Could you excuse us for a moment?”
“You mean step out of my office?” Jesse said.
“Yes.”
“No,” Jesse said. “You’re free to leave.”
Ingersoll stood silently.
The he said, “Betsy. Time to go.”
“You go along, Jay,” she said. “I’m not through here.”
He stood silent again.
Then he said to her, “God, you’re an embarrassment,” and turned and left the office.
Jesse looked at Betsy and waited.
“He orders me around like I’m some kind of junior law clerk,” she said.
Jesse nodded.
“I’m his wife, for God’s sake,” she said.
Jesse nodded again.
“He ought to pay more attention to that,” she said.
Jesse waited. Betsy Ingersoll didn’t say any more.
“Is it that he orders you around?” Jesse said.
“It’s a lot of things,” Betsy said. “Are we through here?”
“I think we probably are,” Jesse said. “For the moment.”
26
“HAVE YOU seen me?” Jenn said when Jesse answered the phone.
“On the tube?” Jesse said.
“Yes, silly, where else?”
Jesse sipped his first drink of the night, carefully, so Jenn wouldn’t hear.
“I haven’t,” Jesse said.
“Probably not syndicated up there yet. But we will be. The show is really taking off.”
“I’ll keep an eye out,” Jesse said.
“I’ve been doing a style report every Wednesday morning and some interviews, and of course the weather.”
“For the whole syndication area?” Jesse said.
“You know,” Jenn said, “one of those generic reports: Weather in the east is mostly clear and mild. There are some storm clouds in the area of Chesapeake Bay, and unseasonable temperatures along the coast of Maine. Now, here’s the forecast for your area. Cut to local news, one minute.”
“Find a place to live?” Jesse said.
“Downtown,” Jenn said. “Nice little studio on Tenth Street, between Fifth and Sixth. Rent-controlled.”
“Sublet?” Jesse said.
“No, my friend has had it since rent control,” Jenn said.
“You sublet from your friend?”
“No, we share,” Jenn said.
“Helps with the rent,” Jesse said.
He took another drink, carefully.
“Yes,” Jenn said.
Jesse didn’t say anything.
“Well, actually,” Jenn said, “I guess he pays the rent.”
Jesse finished his drink.
“Helps quite a bit with the rent,” Jesse said.
Jesse considered whether he could make another drink without Jenn’s knowing.
“I’m trying to be honest with you, Jesse,” she said. “Please don’t make it harder for me.”
“Sure,” Jesse said.
“We’ve always been honest with each other,” Jenn said.
“Actually,” Jesse said, “we haven’t.”
“Well, it’s not too late to start,” Jenn said.
“Nope,” Jesse said.
He stood and walked to the bar, took a handful of ice from the bucket, and put it in his glass.
“Are you drinking?” Jenn said.
“You bet,” Jesse said.
He broke the phone connection and shut off the answering machine. Then he put more ice in the glass, added some scotch to his usual level, and filled the glass with soda. The phone didn’t ring again. He took a long pull on the drink and sat on a bar stool and looked at Ozzie’s picture. He nodded to himself. He could never have been Ozzie, but he could have made the show. Whenever he looked at Ozzie’s picture he remembered. Playing at Pueblo. The three-hopper to the right side. The runner coming down from first. The second baseman’s feed, a little high, as Jesse covered second. The takeout slide was a clean one, but it caught him as he was reaching for the throw and trying to stay with the bag. He flipped. He landed on his right shoulder. He hung on to the ball, but they missed the double play, and his shoulder was broken. It was his last professional game. He stood and walked to his French doors and stared out at the harbor. He had no claim on Jenn. They were divorced. He slept with other women. She slept with other men. She started it. They were still married when she started it.
Jesse took in more scotch. That was then. This is now. It all seemed a downward spiral. He was going to be a big-league shortstop, and then he wasn’t. He was a detective in Robbery Homicide in Los Angeles. Then he wasn’t. He was married to Jenn. Then he wasn’t. He finished his drink and went back to the bar and made another one. He gestured with the full glass at the picture.
“You and me, Wizard,” he said.
Now he was a small-town cop in the far corner of the country, drinking alone at night and talking to a fucking baseball poster. He took his glass to his chair and sat and looked at the phone. No need to turn the answering machine off, she wasn’t calling back anyway. He reached over and turned it on. He looked around the empty room and took a drink.