50 (27 page)

The crowd did not reach all the way back to Doug, closest to him was a burly man of about 40 in a wind-breaker drinking beer, three rows in front. He was a grandstand manager, turning to make pronouncements to Doug, the only person in his vicinity.

“Third-base coaching, it can kill you,” the man said. “It’s a split-second thing, to send a guy, hold him. And who do they get for it, a lot of teams? Fat guys. Management. I’d have guys who were good base runners, that’s who I’d get. Pennants been won and lost by third-base coaches but you don’t hear about it.”

When a pinch hitter came to bat for the Mets, he said to Doug, “I say, let the righties hit against the righties more and the lefties against the lefties. It’s too much with the percentages. You follow my drift?”

“I do.”

“You got to give them confidence instead of all this platooning, platooning. These are human people here. This is not computer baseball.”

He kept up a running commentary, and at one point challenged Doug to prove he was worthy of his attention. He wanted Doug to call the Mets’ strategy with a runner on base. Doug successfully predicted a hit-and-run, which satisfied him that Doug was a real fan. The Mets, behind 3-2, scored a run in the eighth.

“All right! We tied it!” the man yelled. “You want a beer? I’ll buy you a beer.”

“That’s okay.”

“No, no, for good luck.”

He brought Doug a beer and returned to his seat, calling out instructions to the players. When the Mets won in the tenth on a Gary Carter home run, the man, beaming, walked back to shake hands with Doug.

“Nice game,” he said.

“You, too.”

“I’m Mike O’Brien. I’m here a lot. This is my spot.”

“Doug Gardner.”

“The sports guy?”

“The sports guy.”

“No kidding? I used to read you at the
Post.
What ever happened to you?”

“I moved up.”

Doug sat for a long time watching the crowd leave and the stadium become empty. I love it. I love the Mike O’Briens and the Tony Rossellis and the ball games. And I wasn’t as good a writer as I could be. I hadn’t done my best yet. I can be better.

The next day he made calls to editors at the New York City newspapers looking for a job. As he had suspected during the conflicts with Reynolds, there weren’t any openings for a columnist and the people of his prominence in the sports departments were all in place. The most encouraging response was from the
Daily News.
He knew the sports editor, Dave Goodman, for whom he had worked when they were both at the
New York Post.
Goodman said he was interested in Doug, but couldn’t make a decision unilaterally, it would have to be discussed within the company.

Doug was scheduled for another black-tie event with Ann the following night, a dinner party at the Sutton Place apartment of Dr. and Mrs. Mitchell Breen—a night for his backup tuxedo. He contacted Ann and asked if he could stop by at her apartment. She dismissed the staff and they sat in the living room, where she served wine and a perfectly displayed assortment of cheese and crackers.

“We were supposed to go to that dinner tomorrow night,” he said. “And I wanted to tell you, I can’t go, Ann. I can’t go to any more of these events.”

“What are you saying?”

“It’s not working out. And on top of everything, I realize I’m in love with someone else.”

“Doug, this is very unlike you. To be so duplicitous. Carrying on with two women at the same time.”

“I’m too monogamous for that.”

“I don’t follow.”

“It’s a woman I was seeing a while back, a prior commitment I have to renegotiate, if I can. I just felt with another dinner tomorrow and two more next week and more to follow after that, I couldn’t go through with them anymore. In a sense, I’d be deceiving you.”

“I see. My mother will be disappointed.” And with a trace of a frown she added, “And I am, Doug.”

“You’re lovely, Ann. I’m really sorry.”

“I suppose we won’t be having your birthday party then?”

“No, we won’t be having my party.”

“Maybe I should have been, I don’t know, what should I have been, looser, more frivolous? I can’t be.”

“That’s the thing. We were ourselves. There’s a sports expression, ‘playing out of position,’ when you’re where you shouldn’t be on the field. With this life-style I’ve been playing out of position.”

“This life-style is all I know.”

“I thank you for everything. You’ve been very generous, the contacts, Tom Daley—”

“That was part of the deal,” she said softly.

He tried several times to reach Nancy by phone that night. The time was after eleven when she answered.

“Hello?”

“It’s Doug. I have to see you. Nancy, I love you.”

“Doug—”

“Can I come over right now?”

“Aren’t you in a relationship with somebody?”

“I can honestly say I’m not. Are you with anyone?”

“No.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Doug, I literally just came back from work. I’m completely exhausted. We’ll have dinner one night.”

“Tomorrow.”

“I can’t tomorrow. I’ll call you. I’ll let you know.”

The exchange reminded him of what he might have sounded like putting off Tony Rosselli. Rosselli would not take an “I’ll let you know.” Rosselli would be standing in front of the woman’s building the following morning at 7
A.M.,
waiting for her to leave for work, ready to sell, hoping she was not with a man, and prepared to deal with it if she were.

Doug was there at seven and when Nancy emerged at nine, alone, he approached her.

“How long have you been out here?”

“A couple of hours. I have a speech. It keeps getting shorter. I love you and I want to marry you.”

“You said you didn’t want children. You were very direct about your feelings.”

“I’m not going to lose you over children. We’ll have wonderful children.”

“And what about not having the energy for it?”

“Well, it’s not like I’m one of those guys trying to fight off old age with young kids. If I’m still thinking about my options, I’m not that old, am I?”

“No, you’re not that old, Doug, which I was trying to get you to see. Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

“It took me a while to get here. Unfortunately, I took the scenic route.”

Perplexed, she sat on the steps of the building.

“After we broke up, I had to think about the possibility that I’ll never get married,” she said. “And I thought, I have my work, and if that’s my life, I can accept it. But if my work is important enough to sustain me, how could I throw it away to have a family?”

“You wouldn’t have to.”

“I don’t know what you expect. What if we had children and I went back to work? I wouldn’t work insane hours, but I might work full time.”

“Fine. I’ll arrange my time for our children. I’ll make my tuna croquettes.”

“Until you resented my working.”

“I won’t. Nancy, I offer my first marriage in evidence. It was messed up partly because I didn’t accept then what I’m accepting now.”

“You
say
that.”

“I mean it. This is like the guy who wants to sleep with the girl and she says, ‘Will you respect me?’ and he says, ‘I’ll respect you like crazy.’ I love how smart you are, and that you have a career, and I will
after
we’re married. I’ll respect you like crazy.”

“Do you know how many two-career marriages fail?”

“
All
of mine. I can cut that ratio in half if we make it.”

Doug and Nancy began seeing each other again. He was attentive whenever she talked about projects at work, trying to prove his good intentions. But he thought the only test of how he would react in a marriage to a working wife was to be in the marriage. She was still uncertain, though, and wanting to proceed cautiously she suggested they not get together every night. He was so happy to be with her, and she seemed to respond the same way, that not seeing her was maddening. He didn’t think they could continue like this, a decision would have to be made.

Doug was still awaiting a response from the
Daily News,
and two weeks after his inquiry, he was asked by Dave Goodman to meet at a coffee shop near the newspaper offices. Goodman was an amiable, balding man in his 50s with a round, cherubic face.

“Doug, this wasn’t something I could do on my own. I had to talk to the higher-ups.”

“I understand.”

“I said this was an excellent opportunity for us and I definitely wanted you. Except everybody’s in a slot. So we can’t offer you that much. Fifty thousand is our limit.”

“I see. That would be to start. One hopes it will get bigger.”

“Obviously, later on.”

“And if I want to do any TV or books on the side, I assume I can. I’d also like to retain syndication rights on my pieces.”

He smiled at Doug’s response. “Have you been negotiating lately? I’m sure we can work all that out. Look, Doug, basically we’d be making room for you because it’s you. You’d have to cover a beat. With the season on now it would be baseball. And we’d give you a Sunday column for whatever you’d want to write.”

“Great.”

“But isn’t this a comedown? It’s like starting over.”

“That’s what I need.”

“Then you’ve got a job, friend.”

Goodman took Doug through the
Daily News
offices, Doug saying hello to people. He was jubilant to be at a newspaper again. Then he went to see Macklin and told him it had been an interesting experiment and he was grateful for the opportunity, but he was going back to sportswriting. He also sent a letter of explanation to Tom Daley.

When Doug spoke to Bob Kleinman, Bob started to stutter.

“You—you turned down that job? And—you’re going to live on that?”

“I intend to increase the money.”

“I should hope so. And what about the terms? We’ve got to find out if your services are exclusive, what rights you retain.”

“That’s already been discussed. And you won’t have to negotiate clothes this time. This is not about clothes.”

“Doug, is
this
what you want?”

“It’s what I am.”

Andy was coming to New York for the weekend and Doug had plans to take the children to dinner on Friday night. He called Nancy and asked her to join them. The atmosphere at the Blarney when Karen, Andy and Nancy saw one another again was like a reunion. They accounted for the time that had passed since they were last together. Then Doug made his announcement.

“I have a new job. I’m on the sports desk of the
Daily News.
I’m back!”

Nancy threw her arms around him, the children were giving him high fives, low fives.

“This is so wonderful,” Nancy said.

“We get good seats again,” Karen teased.

“And we get to read you again,” Andy said.

They were excited for Doug, he was excited, it was a victory dinner. At the end of the meal Doug asked Nancy if she would linger over coffee for a few minutes, and if Karen and Andy didn’t mind, he would put them in a cab.

“I’m thrilled about the job,” Nancy said when they were alone.

“Nancy, anything more you need to know about us you can only know after we’re married. I have you on this point, Counselor. You have to marry me to know if you want to be married to me.”

“I love you, Doug. It’s the marriage I have doubts about.”

“So do I.”

“Then if we both have doubts—”

“The doubts are going to save us. They mean we’re not naive, that we’ll be watching out for the problems. As for me, I’m going to get it right this time.”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s give it a try.”

She began to laugh. “With the entire body of romantic literature in the English language, do you think that ranks with the great ones? Let’s give it a try. All right, Doug. Let’s give it a try.”

The marriage ceremony was held at the home of Nancy’s parents three days before Doug Gardner’s 50th birthday. Doug’s mother came from Florida, Jeannie and her husband from Arizona, Nancy’s relatives, friends, and business associates were there, as were Tony Rosselli, John McCarthy, Marty, Ellen, and their children, Sarah and Bob Kleinman. Karen was the maid of honor. Andy was the best man. Next to the wedding cake was a birthday cake for Doug with fifty candles. On the cake was an inscription Doug had asked for, the words of the sage Yogi Berra: “It ain’t over till it’s over.”

Avery Corman (b. 1935) is an American author best known for novels that inspired hit movies such as
Kramer vs. Kramer
and
Oh, God!
Corman has written powerfully of divorce and family, as well as midlife crisis and the experience of living in New York City.

Corman was born on November 28, 1935, in New York City. His parents were working-class residents of the Bronx, and they divorced when Corman was a young child. Corman moved with his mother and sister into the apartment of an aunt and uncle, who were both deaf mutes. Complicated family dynamics and the challenges of communication would come to be prominent themes in Corman’s later work as a writer.

Corman attended DeWitt Clinton High School and then New York University, from which he graduated in 1956. After a short career in magazine publishing, Corman began writing humorous pieces for small magazines. He spent more than ten years cobbling together an income as a freelancer before completing his first novel,
Oh, God!
, in 1971. The story of a writer who becomes a messenger for God after an interview on Madison Avenue,
Oh, God!
was made into a hit film starring George Burns in 1977. Next came
The Bust-Out King
(1977), a caper novel, quickly followed by one of Corman’s best-known works,
Kramer vs. Kramer
(1977). The novel depicts the toll divorce can take on parents and their children, and helped change the landscape of divorce and custody in America. The courts, and divorcing spouses, began to view divorced men’s participation in their children’s lives more positively. The novel’s film adaptation, starring Dustin Hoffman and Meryl Streep, was released to overwhelming acclaim, and went on to win five Academy Awards, including Best Picture.  A French language stage adaptation of the novel,
Kramer vs. Kramer
, by Didier Caron and Stéphane Boutet, was produced in Paris in 2010 and subsequently played in other French cities and in Geneva, Switzerland. Corman then wrote his own stage adaptation of the novel, which has been optioned for a Broadway production, and for productions in several foreign countries.