It looked as if each team’s bench was underground a little. He and Lou sat one level up from the Brewers’ bench, or at least he assumed it was the Brewers’, as the name was painted on top of it. The scoreboard showed different spaces for ERA, RBI, and many more acronyms he couldn’t decipher. Al’s brow furrowed and he looked at Lou, her face raised to the sun like she wasn’t often in it.
“I know nothing about baseball. Is it like cricket?” Al asked. Lou didn’t open her eyes or move her head to respond to Al’s sudden confession. She just laughed.
“I imagine that isn’t all you don’t know. And I know less about cricket than you know about baseball.” She rolled her head to face him, smiled, then leaned forward to pull some folded papers from her back pocket.
“I thought your knowledge of baseball might be a little sketchy, so I put together a crash course. It’s mainly definitions, like what each position does, what the acronyms mean. It isn’t a fast sport. Everything happens in short spurts of action. In between, there’s a lot of standing around, strategizing, racing sausages, singing, and polka.” Lou handed Al the notes and resumed her relaxed sunbathing.
After a moment digesting her comment, Al said, “Racing sausages? You’re joking.”
“They run during the sixth inning. There are five; sometimes the mini sausages race, too. You pick your favorite and cheer along. Maybe make a friendly wager. I’m partial to the brat. He wears the green lederhosen.”
“Definitely not like cricket.”
“Just another reason Milwaukee rocks. Other teams try to copy, but they’re just cheap imitations.”
Al began reading the notes, looking up to scan the field, comparing the hand-drawn images with the real field in front of him. Lou’s notes were thorough enough that Al knew more about baseball than your average suburban housewife by the time the national anthem finished and the players took their positions. Al leaned forward, matching Lou’s eager position as the first pitch flew. Miraculously, the batter hit it. Al couldn’t even see the ball because the pitcher threw it so fast. Before he could finish processing where it went, a player in the grassy field picked it up and rocketed it toward first base. The player slowed and returned to his dugout (at least that was what Lou called it in the notes). That was right—he was out because he hadn’t beaten the ball to first base.
Al continued to compare the action on the field to the notes in his hand. By the end of the first inning, he tucked the notes into his jeans, confident he could manage the rest of the game without them. He settled into his seat, set his right ankle on his left knee as Lou did the opposite. Their knees brushed ever so lightly, yet he couldn’t stop himself from sucking in a quick breath and hoping it happened again. Instead, their legs settled a safe two inches apart—but he could still feel her.
“Nuts?” Lou offered him a bag of peanuts in the shell.
“We just ate.”
“Peanuts are an important baseball tradition. No game is complete without them.”
Al took a few, cracked one open, and popped the nuts into his mouth. He held the empty husk in one hand and looked around for where to put it.
“What do I do with the shell?”
“Drop it.”
Lou tossed her empty shells on the ground.
“You want me to litter?”
“Consider it a sacrifice to the baseball gods. We must appease them for our team to win.”
Al laughed and mimicked her.
“I’d hate to incur their wrath. Any other sacrifices I need to know about?”
Al looked her in the eyes and his heart thumped. At that moment, she could have anything she wanted.
• CHAPTER TEN •
John waited, tapping the bar, as Al worked to find words— words that would explain his problem.
“I like her,” he finally said, “but I don’t think she’s quite ready. She can’t be ready. Can she?” Al propped his elbows on the smooth, dark wood of The Harp’s bar and dropped his forehead into his hands, grasping at his hair. If only he could grasp his words as easily. For the first time since coming to Milwaukee, he had asked John to get a drink. He needed a friend to bounce his erratic thoughts off of, and John seemed willing.
“Ready for what? A car ride? Dessert? A lobotomy?” John chewed a handful of popcorn. Bits of it landed on the bar in front of him and on his already-wrinkled shirt. He didn’t seem to notice.
Al gaped at the questions.
“No. Is she ready to date someone?” Al said. “It hasn’t been that long since she dumped her fiancé. I like her, but I don’t want to be the rebound.”
“Does she like you back?”
“How can you tell?”
“You’re asking me? You’re screwed if you’re asking me for lady advice.”
“Valid point, but what do you think?”
“You went to the Brewers game on Monday, right? Now it’s Friday. You said she doesn’t normally call you on the weekends. Huh. I wonder why that is.”
“She said she was busy most weekends—that’s why we get together early in the week.”
“What’s she doing, do you think?”
“I don’t know; probably working.”
“What does she do?”
“I don’t know. Never asked. Something in an office.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Quite, but I tend to avoid discussing work for obvious reasons. If I pump her for information about her work, she’s bound to ask questions back. It’s easier if I don’t have to make up lies.”
“Oh. Right. I forget you have an alter ego. Too bad he’s an asshole food critic rather than an actual superhero. I could be your dashing sidekick.”
Al blinked. Was he really an asshole? Did everyone think that? Did Lou?
“So, what do you think? I could still call her, right? Even if she hasn’t called me?”
“Dude, calm yourself. Are you having fun? Is she having fun?”
“I think so. But our excursions are about showing me her favorite parts of the city. She doesn’t seem to dwell on the ex-boyfriend. That’s good, right?”
Al looked around at the bar he and John sat in and took something small out of his trouser pocket. He started tracing his thumb over the raised edges while watching the bubbles rise to the surface of the untouched cider in front of him.
“Are you playing with a bratwurst?” John asked.
Al turned a little red and stuffed the object back into his pocket. “It’s just a magnet. I picked it up at the Brewers game. I forgot to take it out.”
“You wore khakis to a Brewers game? You need to lighten up. It’s called dressing appropriately.”
Leave it to John to question his wardrobe choices. At least John believed he wore the khakis to the game rather than the crumpled jeans on his closet floor. He wasn’t ready to share his new hobby yet, or explain why he carried the brat magnet with him all week.
“Well. Now I know for next time.”
• • • • •
Lou listened to the hold music, a Muzak version of “Money for Nothing.” Who knew a bank could have a sense of humor? But as awful as the music was, she didn’t want it to end. If she stayed on hold forever, she would never know what the loan officer had to say. Hope could still exist. Hope kept her going. Hope now sounded like Dire Straits.
Alone in the Lair, she’d run the numbers again. If the loan came through, it would give her an extra year to turn things around. A year to pay bills and her employees. Another year to improve their reputation. One year could save Luella’s.